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Fantasy Terrorchild: Awakening

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THE FINAL CHOICE New
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    • One by one, they make their pitches - everything from carving out charming little niches in their own private heavens for your loved ones where they'd be out of your reach forever, to kitschy festivals and folk-tales about your adventures... Karal, Vestria, and Gallanis lay out their plans to nurture the world they've spent centuries neglecting, as if the power you now hold was all that was missing.

    Your heart remains unmoved, even as Gallanis, the last to speak, offers to put your divinity to work caring for children in poverty. It isn't because you don't care; it's just the opposite, in fact - every decision you made on your two year journey to climb the ranks of the coven and achieve your sister's resurrection have been colored by your impoverished beginnings. Yes, you had been impatient, violent, and spiteful, but you had also been robbed of your innocence by the very people who should've protected it, all for a game between them that benefits no one. And worse yet, you had so little time to plan ahead; ever since you escaped from Diala's clutches, your life has existed on a razor's edge, with the scant few who have stood beside you facing death and despair around every corner.

    And Gallanis was right, after all; your compassion hasn't died - no matter what you've been through - but your trust is a very different matter. These things that they offer... they've always been within their power to achieve, haven't they? But they refused to act, unwilling to spend their own divinity to see it done, and so they ask for yours. How could you even expect them to honor their promises? With the threat posed by Syrith greatly diminished, would they not just throw you to the same wolves they abandoned you to before? No... You will not hand over anything you've struggled for so dearly just so that they will promise to do the jobs that they ought to be doing already.

    Instead, you'll do as you've always done: find your own path, and do whatever it is that you desire - and some of what you desire is even good and selfless! You're under no obligation to serve any other god, and if they haven't learned that yet, they will, and very soon... just as Syrith already has. You welcome them to change their minds and treat you as something more than a - what was it Syrith said...? A 'plaything of the gods?' - although thousands of years of history that chronicles the squabbles between light and dark suggests they never will.

    Oh well.

    Having had enough of you brooding silence, Zephimus finally demands an answer. "...Well?"

    A cynical smirk draws itself on your lips as you remember his reply from before. "I suppose I'm not impressed."

    He sighs, heavily, shooting a look back to Gallanis, who in turn simply hangs his head. When the creator god turns back to you, he seems barely composed. "How very adolescent. ...You've been coddled, Agranne - shielded from your own inadequacies by a naive god - with more faith than sense and naught the fortitude to end his misadventures before the consequences come home to roost!" Zephimus rants, before wheeling back around on Gallanis again. "You and your endless compassion, Gallanis... You should've let her die when I told you she was a lost cause!"

    "You've let her wound your ego, Zephimus," Gallanis replies, hotly, "and you aren't seeing things for what they are! Agranne and Syrith are birds of a feather, but that doesn't mean we have to repeat the same blunders-"

    "BLUNDERS!?" Zephimus explodes. "Is it now a blunder that we stood united against the usurper and her kin, and halted her before she could destroy our mandate? Is it a 'blunder' that we prevented her followers from corrupting the entire world, just like your precious Agranne has done to every land in her travels?"

    You feel the weight and pressure exerted by the word "united" in Zephimus' speech. Karal is instantly on her toes, glaring daggers at Gallanis for speaking out against the creator for his lack of tolerance for ascendent gods like yourself. Meanwhile, Vestria looks away, pained by the sight of two old friends trading harsh words. Likewise, Upa's slack-jawed smile fades, leaving only worry behind. Regardless, Gallanis stands tall, his old and weathered vessel appearing almost fatherly to Zephimus, despite the fact that the two gods have nearly the opposite relationship.

    "I don't know how else to describe any series of decisions that results in a world in which there are both too many gods, and not enough gods - where divinity is on-hand but saved endlessly for some far off, apocalyptic battle. If we don't change our ways soon, there will be nothing left to save from Syrith!" Gallanis argues passionately, the weight of the world's suffering clearly evident on his brow in a way that's clearly missing from his master. "And you know that she wasn't like this in the beginning. There's no going back now, but here, right here, is our chance to avoid creating another evil like her. You've seen the future - just as I have; why do you insist on this course of events!?"

    "Because I don't compromise with my creations. Not you, nor Syrith, and certainly not Agranne. I'm the only one who can survive the unmaking of this world; perhaps that's why you cling to it so dearly. But if I should start again, I would imbue the creatures of the new world with reverence for the divine, and obedience to my will, so that the suffering these mortals have caused can never be repeated! So..." he says, turning back to you and your allies, who have watched in horror at his increasingly sinister declarations, "if you cannot compromise, you will know my fury."

    Not just Gallanis, but Vestria and Upa shout at once as Zephimus raises his palm to face you. A bright light erupts and a sound of thunder crashes across the landscape, shaking you to your core. As the light fades, you find that Syrith has appeared, her sword leveled at the creator unflinchingly. The surrounding land of the island in the river has been changed - an ashen, deathly texture overtaking all of it as barren trees and even rocks seem to slump into dust around you, but the Eldest had effortlessly protected you and your allies, who have huddled behind you.

    But even more surprising than Syrith's quick appearance is Gallanis, standing at her side, and lending his limited strength.

    "...I will tear you down, Gallanis," Zephimus promises, his enraged voice falling to an eerie calm. "The world will know that Agranne is your doing."

    Vestria begins to cry as she observes the confrontation. "This is madness;" she pleads. "Gallanis is right; we cannot stand by idly and wait for this world to be destroyed! What I offered you, Agranne," she says, turning her attention to you, "...I'll give freely of my own divinity."

    "I FORBID YOU!" Zephimus screams, turning back in wrath. "Every mote of divine power wasted on mortal frivolities is sabotage in our war against the forces of darkness. If you intend to bend to their demands, then I'll have your divinity, just as I've taken from Gallanis. Look at the fool! With the fraction he still holds, he insists on defying me!"

    Syrith lets out a cold laugh. "If every mote must be devoted to our destruction-"

    "...Then you intended to take my divinity without honoring your agreements!" you inject, finishing Syrith's thought.

    "It doesn't belong to you."

    "Nor any mortal!" Karal adds, fiercely.

    Zephimus looks from you to Vestria, and then to Upa, and realizes that his rejection of Gallanis has nearly turned them against him as well. Suddenly surrounded on all sides by enemies aside from Karal, some inescapable conclusion settles upon the creator, something which strikes at his very foundation. "I... I've said too much - spoken without thinking... Vestria, please, let's discuss your intentions at the Table of Creation and I'm certain we can reach an agreement."

    She glares at him. "I won't speak with you if Gallanis is cast out of the Pantheon."

    The creator balks at first, suppressing another bout of rage as he breathes hard, before swallowing and accepting that there's only one path forward. "...Fine. FINE! Gallanis, we'll discuss your rebellion as well, and ensure that we all agree on what side we're on," he says, voice dripping with hatred and venom. "As for the rest of you... Know that there's no relief from the suffering you'll experience once your reckoning arrives."

    Your allies hang their heads and hold their tongues, knowing that any argument will simply prolong the confrontation.

    "Above all else..." Gallanis says quietly as he glances over to you, a numb expression on his face, but as Zephimus turns his back on you to walk back to his circle of divine runes, the charity god cracks an amazing and unexpected smile, full of sly satisfaction "...Stay true to yourself - free from the Pantheon."

    You nod in quiet amazement, and he takes his leave with the others. The return to the rune circle, and moments later, another bolt of lightning erases them from the scene, whisking them away to some faraway place called the Table of Creation, where they can apparently settle their differences by yelling at one another. You turn to Syrith, wondering what she thinks of what transpired, but she doesn't say anything. She simply grins, brimming with self-satisfaction at the course of events, then puts her sword back in its scabbard and places her hand on the pommel. She teleports away, reappearing with the others near the entrance to the cave.

    You read her mind, and find that she's already reading yours.

    The days ahead are the best you'll ever have. I'll be waiting, when they're over.

    Who's to say they'll end? From here on, I'm choosing my destiny.

    "Agranne," Embryx says, grabbing you into a hug and breaking your concentration. "That was intense. I can't believe that just fucking happened - I mean... Syrith and Gallanis just... Are... Are we safe now? What do we do?" she stammers.

    You look to the others and sigh, letting go of the stress your encounter with the gods had left you with. "...Let's go north, towards Ryggander. I have a few dying wishes I need to fulfil for Stalna, Raka, and Rheyah," you reply. "I'd also like to work some miracles there, and maybe start a coven of my own..."

    Gradually, your unbroken confidence begins to settle her nerves, and the nerves of your other companions. They begin to realize that, although the future is full of danger and treachery, they've faced their greatest adversaries head-on already and found it possible to survive unharmed. There is a great wide world into which they can venture, and a lifetime of possibilities to explore, and they're going to enjoy every moment of this chance they've been given without any authority to rule them - aside from the wild desires in their hearts.

    -THE END-
    ​
    Thank you everyone for reading and contributing to this crazy project over the past year. Terrorchild has been a fixation and a passion for me since it began, and seeing it finally come to a conclusion, even one which remains open-ended, is a bit bittersweet. I look forward to future games set in its universe, so that Agranne and her friends (and foes) can continue their adventures. I'll also begin an epilogue in this thread sometime soon which will allow us to peek through a crystal ball at a few of the options we didn't take to reach this ending.

    Lastly, I just want to take this moment to say that, since I began writing Terrorchild, the world has become a much darker place for me and many of the people I love. Life has never felt more uncertain - but like Agranne, we're free to be always true to ourselves, free to love, free to uplift each other, and free to resist any attempts by others to beat us down - no matter how we're labeled or excluded in the process.

    Take every opportunity to thrive, give everything you have to give, and appreciate every small gesture of kindness.

    -Lydia
     
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    • An epic tale has finally come to a close after almost an entire year, I don't know if I can even put into words the fun I've had reading it and contributing as a voter over at Inko! (even managing to spread it further). In many ways, it's been phenomenal seeing your writing at its A-game, refined over ten years of continuous writing. Overall, it's just been an absolutely incredibly time! I look forward to seeing not just those alternate endings, but also seeing where you take this universe further.

    The votes may be over, and in turn, what little influence we voters had on Agranne, but if you can still hear me, Agranne, don't let your hate for Syrith wane! Never work with her, to your final days! If an opportunity presents itself where you can not just kill her, but erase her from existence, take it! TAKE IT! SHE DESERVES NOTHING!
     
    From fairly early on, I decided to forgo any idea to play this game in a cautious or "good guy" manner, save for the odd choice here and there. I wanted to see Agranne grow her wicked side and to become the titular Terrorchild of legend. For that reason, I became known as the Dark urge among the fellow posters at Inko. Every time the fae roll fell on my choice, K0mo would spin the bloody consequences with enough force to give everyone pause, both in game and outside of it. This year-long experience is one I will never forget and hope everyone voting and reading thoroughly enjoyed it.

    Borrowing from above. Agranne, you have what you wanted, but they will still come for you. Don't trust the gods to forgive and forget. Don't trust Syrith to be content with her lot in divinity. Meet them with all your fury and bloodlust when the time comes and I'll be there with you. The little voice at the back of your head, happily cackling as the Terrorchild makes her name known to the world.

    Your friend and ally - The Dark Urge
     
    Such a fun Journey to have read along with! Always had excitement whenever I got a ping of a new Terrorchild post. Even when I probably should have been heading to bed… sending Embryx alone with artifact.

    One thing I’d like to really compliment on is your descriptions of magic. Throughout the whole series discovering magic and how the different forms worked was superb. Looking forward to reading more!
     
    At the start of this RP, I was fully intent on being one of the voices of reason and good. Sort of a 'Volition' sort of voice, in Disco Elysium terms. Boy, did things go off the rails for me as time went on. Its been a wild ride, and one I wouldn't trade for anything.

    Corrinth grew on me over the course of the RP, mainly because I always love those sorts of characters. The unstable, barely held together types. Often insane for one reason or another. I pushed for her downfall at first, but over time, that shifted to trying to keep her alive. Then, make her happy. A little at a time, finally fixing her mental instability through one hell of a horrifying process. She has her lover back now, here in the end, and maybe she might have her mother and other friends back too as time goes on. After the hell she's gone through, she deserves happiness just like Agranne and Embryx do.

    I personally can't say that I'm super thrilled with this route we took, with Syrith having half her divinity back and is now plotting and scheming elsewhere in the world. She actively made Agranne's life hell, just like the Gods themselves did with their inaction. Still, at least Agranne has the chance to do good things in the world instead of following Syrith's example.

    This was still a fantastic ending, regardless as to my personal feelings. I'm happy to have been part of this, and thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it. I'm looking forward to all the other things up ahead in this universe, as well as with these characters.

    You're one hell of a writer, Lydia.
     
    It has been an absolute pleasure to read through and participate through this wild ride, going from Agranne's humble beginnings to this wonderful ending. I had originally started as trying to be the good part of Agranne, trying to salvage her kindness and charity throughout - and although I made some... questionable votes along the way, I feel as though I have succeeded, at least with how I interpret the possibilities following the conclusion of this narrative. And that truly is the best kind of ending, one that is open to interpretation as it allows for so much to be considered with regards to Agranne's path. She has committed evils, but she herself is not fully evil... or at least, not fully like Syrith is.

    K0mori K0mori I wanted to express my gratitude for allowing me - and others - to partake in this journey, and that you serve as an endless well of inspiration for my own writing. I can only hope to be even a fraction of the writer that you are and I look forward to any and all stories you create in the future and I look forward to seeing what new characters and plots you explore. Cheers to you.

    To Agranne, never let go of that kindness in your heart to those who need it most. And be ruthless to those that bring suffering upon others for their own gain. You are the captain of your own destiny, and I hope you never lose sight of that.
     
    Epilogue: Alternate Timelines New
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    • Two Days Later
    ​
    "...Oh gods, are you serious?" Embryx asks, her voice hushed and full of pity. "That can't really be it, can it?"

    "Oh... Oh no," Kulka hums, shaking her head.

    Corrinth shrugs. "I tried to tell you..."

    "I know," Embryx replies, "but I thought you were exaggerating! This is awful..."

    You haven't moved since you realized what you were looking at. It's been over two years - three, for Rigatte - since you last stood in the middle of this barren road and looked back on your family's homestead. The snow is patchy here, and full of grime from the days past; the trees quake in the wind, devoid of leaves. It isn't just the chill of winter that's made it feel so hollow - something intrinsic, something beyond nature has marked this as a place of misery. The Pantheon's judging eyes are burned into your mind, and you remember the gnawing hunger, and remember that this is the childhood they ordained for you.

    The house is a destitute shack, leaning unnervingly to one side. The thatch of the roof looks rotten and full of moisture. The door hangs open and still, an invitation to come and look, but also a cold reminder that there's nothing of value to hold onto here - if there was anything aside from dust and squalor, someone doubtlessly would've come to take the place of those who lived here before.

    Someone would've tried to heal this place - but no one did. It was too far gone, too hopeless, and cursed.

    Rigatte steps by you, sighing in resignation at the final collapse of what had once been home for the two of you. "...I always had a feeling that this was how it was going to end. I'm glad they left it behind while they had the strength," she says, before turning back to look at you and the trouble in your eyes. "Are you okay, Agranne?"

    "...Yeah," you reply, pushing down your disgust for the gods and remembering why you came here. When you left from Edniewebotm, you had fully intended to change Ryggander with your newfound godly power. You could alter the divine runes of any plant you encounter in order to produce the most delicious and bountiful crops, or even turn the rocks which pierce the soil here and there into solid mounds of gold. Your neighbors had been just as hungry and sick as you, and now you could feed them and provide for them for the rest of their lives - and if any were old enough that these miracles would seem like a cruel windfall as they wait on death's doorstep, then you would turn back the clocks on their mortal bodies and give them a second lifetime in which to know happiness and freedom from want.

    But it's all too late. As you walked from that island of resurrection, Corrinth finally explained to you the extent of what she had done when she came to visit two years ago while wearing your face. She hadn't just killed one or two, but nearly a dozen - and she had burned down the temple of Gallanis when she was done, cackling from the inside amidst the enchanted fire, unburned as everything around her blackened and fell to ash... all before slipping away in the form of a crow. The authorities would find the skeletal remains of her final victim amidst the scorched rubble of the church, and concluded that it was you - that you had come home to Ryggander to take revenge against the very same church that burned Rigatte.

    On your travels northeast from your summit with the gods, you gathered a few details about what happened next from the strangers your party passed. They, under the influence of a manipulation that made them dumb and talkative, revealed that your awakening and subsequent "return" had caused a ripple of panic that turned into an earthquake. Within days of Corrinth's escapades, the residents of Ryggander began to pack their things into knapsacks and abandon their homes for the road, never to return. Word of Ryggander's status as a cursed town spread throughout the provinces of the Empire, and now, two years later, it still sits empty and utterly forsaken.

    And on a personal level, it would've been years before your actions in Turadal would make your family aware of your survival.

    You concentrate on what Rigatte said: Your family escaped, resettled in Halax, and are presumably living a better life. You'll be certain to verify it, at some point, but for now you focus on the increasingly clear notion that Ryggander's reputation may actually be perfect for what you have in mind. If the gods have abandoned Ryggander, then you'll have it all to yourself - no interference from the church or the hunters. You'll carefully send around word of your existence, and take visitors here where you might judge them worthy or not of joining your circle. You'll be more discerning than you were in Turadal...

    And once you've gathered them up, you'll reveal the task at hand. Unlike Syrith, you won't cling to your divinity, nor will you challenge the Pantheon at every turn. Instead, you'll make good on the promise of freedom that the unknown driver who carried you out of Zuklanar made, when you asked what joining Lythrefang would mean for you: freedom from guilt, freedom to do and take as you please... and release from the shackles of others' designs.

    But to that, you would add an important caveat: the Pantheon have abandoned the world to vice and squalor; that is their design, and we must resist their cruelty.

    You give a bittersweet smile at the hopeful thought. "I'm just going to take one last look, and then I think we ought to burn it down," you say quietly to Rigatte.

    "Why?"

    "Because this place was created to torture us," you respond. You pause a moment to allow her to better come to grips with her own relationship with the gods before you offer another perspective on the future. "...We could build a better home on this land, without the bad memories. No one should ever live in those four walls. Never again."

    She nods, managing to smile as she kindles a bit of renewed hope. The two of you walk up the path to the shack and push the door inward, and with your godly vision you begin to see the innumerable little signatures of the gods on the runes of everything inside - all the old and damaged furnishings, and the dusty housewares and sundries that your family left behind in its despair, two years ago. You don't understand most of what they did - for all you know, the Pantheon had made provisions for your survival into adulthood as much as they had ensured that your upbringing would be joyless.

    "Agranne!" Rigatte gasps just as Embryx ducks through the doorway behind you. You join your sister in the room where you and your siblings all slept, and find positioned on the bed that you once shared - little more than a pile of straw with a few threadbare quilts tossed upon it - an assortment of you and Rigatte's old possessions. A pair of shoes that no longer fit you... A few birch-bark drawings of your family that you and your sister made together, before your youngest brother was born... The ragdoll that was Rigatte's before it was yours.

    Everything they still had from you both is here - not just abandoned, but lovingly arranged, so that the sunlight falling in from the small window on the eastern wall casts its rays upon them. You almost feel as if you're in the room with them, as they ensure your brothers have packed everything they need for the long walk to Halax. Battered trunks and drawers are emptied out onto the beds, and slowly, three piles emerge. The first of course is made up of what they would take. The second, soon-to-be swept back into the dark confines of the furniture where they would be forever forgotten, was all that they couldn't carry. The last is this: what you see before you.

    Things they couldn't take, but also couldn't bear to forget.

    Rigatte turns away, heartbroken, and you embrace her as she cries into your shoulder. Whether your family feels they lost you to the flames, or to the darkness of Lythrefang, the fact remains that they were burdened by grief. Their goodbye to this miserable home was also a solemn farewell to promise you both once held. You want them to know that you aren't gone, and despite your flaws, you aren't entirely a monster. But you aren't sure of how to make contact without hurting them even more, and you know that Rigatte feels the same way.

    You dry your tears. "...We'll make it right for them somehow, won't we?" Rigatte pleads.

    "Somehow," you repeat, even if you're not even sure what that means.

    In time, you're certain they'll become aware of your status as a goddess, due to the speed at which word can travel whenever miraculous events occur. You'll ensure that they learn that Rigatte is alive as well. And then, maybe someday, you'll invite them to meet with the two of you again, only after you've devoted a significant effort towards improving the lives of the poor, and only after you've shrugged the mantle of Terrorchild from your shoulders for once and for all.

    ---
    ​
    You emerge from the house a short time later, having taken the old ragdoll and a few other mementos. Satisfied with your new path forward, you and your allies set fire to the old building. As it burns, you sit by the old well and think about the future.

    "So," Embryx says, "we're forming a new coven, right? I guess we're just gonna call it the Ryggander Coven?"

    You nod. "Sounds good to me. Once we get a nice camp set up closer to the center of town, where the church used to be, I think we can start looking for some inductees."

    Kulka drums her hands a bit on her knees. "Well... Who's that going to be, then? Just about everyone who's awakened to dark magic in this area finds themselves pulled into Lythrefang," she replies, thoughtfully. "With the Eldest being back, you can't really expect much in the way of defection."

    "You talk about it like we're at war with each other," you reply. "Syrith wouldn't have helped me revive you if she didn't believe in her heart of hearts that the two of us will be allies, one day."

    Embryx frowns. "Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, I think we have a much better chance if we're on good terms with Lythrefang, rather than treating them like an obstacle. Kulka's right, though. Even if they like us, it's not like they're going to be lining up to switch to a new sisterhood."

    "...Are you guys serious?" Corrinth balks. "You two wanted your freedom from Diala so badly you killed her for it. I can't even imagine how many other witches there are out there that would run to your side if it meant getting away from people like her. Plus, think about how many of them screwed up in one way or another, like Veralt and I did. They've got no way to grow or to learn, except this new coven out in Zuklanar..."

    Veralt nods in agreement. "Yes. If anything, there will be more wanting to join than you're ready for," he sounds out.

    "Then we'll have to be careful who we accept," you say. "We'll probably be relying a lot on telepathy," you say, eliciting an approving nod from Kulka.

    Rigatte's eyes light up. "There's also mysticism," she adds. "We could take a peek into the future and see if we need to worry about anyone."

    "Gotta be careful about that, too," Embryx says. "If Syrith or the other gods have their eyes on their future, too, we could get stuck plotting against each other, just like what happened with Agranne."

    You sense an opportunity. "I could just... make some new witches," you say with a sly grin. You imagine there are more than a few morally-ambiguous sorts out there that are willing to break a few laws and more than a few norms in order to improve their lot in life, and hopefully the lots of those around them. With a simple amendment to their divine runes, they could be casting dark magic for the first time in their lives.

    "That's true," Kulka says. "Syrith could be doing the same, but she won't. She wouldn't want to waste the divinity. For what it's worth, Agranne, I'd love to join you, but you know that I can't. Lythrefang needs leadership, badly, and it'll help you more to have a friend like me on the inside."

    You smile and nod several times, once for each time she had already implied this during the walk to Ryggander. Meanwhile, Rigatte sighs wistfully, still searching for a valuable role to play in this new adventure. You pick up a smooth stone nearby that had fallen out of the crumbling masonry of the well, and toss it up and down in your hand a few times. "...So, you need a crystal ball for mysticism, right?" you ask her.

    She excitedly nods. "Oh, uhm, yes! It's a special type of glass, with magical materia baked in. The better the materia, the better the predictions, too."

    "That's easy," you reply, setting the stone down for a moment as you take out your sickle and slice your hand, creating a heavy trickle of blood. You then pick the stone back up in your bloody grip and bring forth your divine power. Almost instantly the stone begins to ripple and seemingly melt into a ball of liquid, fading from the deep, bluish gray it was before into a shiny, silvery color, before at once turning translucent, aside from your deep red blood dripping into it from the base, defying gravity. After the red of the blood is evenly dispersed throughout the now-perfectly spherical orb, you quickly alter yourself back into a sorceress so that you can heal your hand.

    You place the newly-created implement into Rigatte's shaking hands as she remains in awe of your abilities. "W-wow..." she whispers.

    "So... just how good of a mystic are you, Rigatte?" you ask, giving her the floor to show off her unique ability.

    "Well, my visions of the future are a little murky; I was still working on getting good at it when I died, but now that you're here and you can do that 'infinite magic' thing, I guess I'll be getting really good, soon. But one thing I'm already really good at is pulling up pseudos," she explains. She soon finds that Kulka is the only one here who knows what she's talking about. "Oh!" she continues, "pseudos are basically like... alternate timelines. Yeah. If you give me a particular moment in the past where something important happened a particular way, I can look into the future of what would've been, if it had gone differently, since the future from that point is still in our past, if that makes sense..." she rambles.

    Everyone pauses for a moment as they realize how fascinating such a glimpse might be, even if it's less practical for the new coven's future, at the moment. You don't particularly care about wasting time, and so you, like the rest, imagine all the ways things could've played out differently...

    ---​

    [Feel free to use this thread to suggest ideas for alternate timelines to explore - things like "What if Agranne had chosen Corrinth to stay behind in Mardenaal, instead of Embryx?" or "What if Agranne had agreed outright to wed Sharyx?" for example. I'll periodically select one and write a glimpse into how things might've gone.]
     
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    • How things would be different if we had chosen to keep The Door with us and instead either accompanied Embryx or let her speak before the surprise by Sharyx
     
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    What would've happened had the fae roll chosen Option 3 of "Take Control" and Syrith was framented between everyone present?
     
    What would have happened had we remained on good terms with Lachlaen in the beginning?
     
    Pseudo I: Trust New
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    • Suggested by Infab Infab
    ​
    Corrinth suddenly looks a bit sullen. "That means you can see all the ways things could've shook out in Tashlaan," she says, "instead of how they went. It'd be nice to know how my mom would've reacted to seeing my head get fixed," she comments. Veralt takes her hand gently and gives it a squeeze to remind her that things will be alright, and she gives a dejected sigh. "...I should probably just keep my mind on the future, not the past."

    "How far back can we even go?" you ask your sister. "A lot can happen in a couple of weeks, let alone years, and I'm assuming that the further back we go, the less reliable any of these 'pseudos' will be. Am I right?"

    Rigatte shrugs. "No mysticism is perfect, but the gods managed to chart out your life to this point before you were even born, Agranne. As crazy as it sounds, pseudos are even more accurate than looking into the future."

    "How so?" asks Embryx.

    Kulka weighs in. "Obviously, everyone is making decisions moment-to-moment, and so any prediction of the future is filled with uncertainty. A prediction that holds true nine times out of ten is still capable of burning you if you're not careful. But if you look into the past and change your own course, only you, and the people you directly influence would be effected."

    "Exactly," Rigatte says. "And plus, just because some things are possible doesn't mean that they're likely. Changing one moment in the past wouldn't dramatically change your personality, most of the time, so your actions in the alternate timeline are more predictable than your actions in the future will be - partially because of converging mysticism."

    You nod, sensing where she's going with this: "I think that's what Gallanis was talking about, where the gods were changing the future with their own predictions."

    "Sounds about right," she says with a shrug. "If they were all watching you and trying to control your destiny, then yeah, it would've made you more unpredictable because of all the little changes they would introduce in their attempts to control the outcome."

    There's a moment of quiet as everyone takes in the explanation. The roof of your childhood home caves in under the burden of its own weight. After looking at the flames, for a moment, you decide to re-examine one of your early mistakes, to test Rigatte's claims.

    "Alright then, I've got something that's been bothering me for a long time. Right after I had my awakening, and before I joined the coven, I met an elf named Lachlaen," you begin, explaining it all for Kulka and Veralt's benefit. Corrinth snickers, but then tamps down her enthusiasm when she catches side-eye from Embryx and realizes you aren't joking.

    "...He knew I was in trouble, and he wanted to help me, but I didn't tell him the truth about what I was or who I was running from. In the end, he thought I was just going to rob him. He ran me off into the woods, and that's where Corrinth found me."

    "...Lachlaen's a dick," Embryx mutters. "You told me back in Mardenaal that you wish you hadn't pissed him off, and I get that, but he's still a Sonamille elf," she reminds you, referring to his distrust of tabaxi. "...I really don't think he would've kept you away from the coven for long."

    You sigh.     "There's no harm in knowing. If I hadn't come to Tashlaan when I did, who knows how things might've shaped up."

    "Alright," Rigatte says, indifferently. "Let's find somewhere shadier than this. It's easier to see in low light..."

    You stand and dust yourself off along with the others and excitedly move along to the nearest building, which turns out to be an empty barn on your neighbors' field, whose shoddy boards creak and rattle in the wind. At least, once you're inside, the room is nice and dry, and with a hint of flame that's enchanted not to spread, it makes a decent spot to gather round and watch a new type of magic unfold. Even Kulka, who's witnessed mysticism before, seems thrilled to glimpse your past.

    Embryx seems to notice as well, and asks Rigatte whether one can simply use a crystal ball to see the unaltered past, which elicits a chuckle.

    "Of course," she beams, before conceding a bit more sheepishly: "...Well, so long as it's a particular moment in time, and I know exactly when it occurred. So, even though I've met Syrith, and I know that she was once a mortal, I couldn't use my mysticism to see her true face because her entire mortal existance was so long ago, it's nothing but an abstract concept to me. As for Agranne's memories," she continues, "when I was dead, each time she spoke with me, Syrith was somehow able to induce a familiarity within me for Agranne's past, so that there'd be no need for long-winded recountings of what was going on. It'll be pretty easy for me to pinpoint it."

    You nod. "So how do we begin, then?"

    Rigatte presents the crystal ball you made for her, infused with the daemonika of your blood - the rarest of magical materia - cupped gently in her hands. "...I'm going to focus on the moment you betrayed Lachlaen's trust," she says, entering an almost trance-like state. "I need you to focus with me, Agranne. Think about that day..."

    Your eyes dart between the crystal ball and your sister's glassy eyes and feel a strange sensation, but you aren't quite certain of what it is. Your allies lean in close to get a better view, and you struggle to follow the simple direction you were given. You stop looking around and fix your gaze directly on the ball, at first watching how the firelight dances on its smooth surface, but soon, you feel as if you're peering into a very wide expanse.

    "Remember that day..." Rigatte commands, lulling you further into a sort of hypnosis. The expanse seems to open wider, and that sensation you felt begins to sharpen as you fall away from your current reality. As the current moment dissolves away and you find yourself lost in a cloudy sea within the once perfectly translucent ball, the others watching you begin to perceive the world through your eyes, playing out on the crystal ball's surface. You hear the echo of Corrinth's voice, reacting to the eerie ritual unfolding - and Kulka shushing her the next moment - but beyond that point, they're either silent or you've lost them completely.

    Your memory clouds, just like your surroundings. They darken and take shape, and you gradually accept your younger mind and body, as if all that had happened since was only a dream...
    ---

    Two years ago...    ​

    K0mori said:
    1. Trust - You shake off your suspicions. Lachlaen has done nothing to warrant them by providing you a meal and helping you gain a sense of direction in a new land. You get undressed, dry yourself completely, and tightly wrap yourself in the towel.
    Click to expand...

    Your hand hovers over the knife block for a moment, but you quickly pull it back. You aren't thinking straight; ever since yesterday, your imagination has been wheeling out of control, and now you feel as if everyone is a threat. You need to eat, to get dressed in warm, dry clothing, and to just... talk to someone, before anything else bad happens.

    You leave the shack wrapped in the towel Lachlaen gave you and place your woolen clothing near the fire so that it'll dry out, before seating yourself nearby, and watching him clumsily prepare the bird he had reluctantly killed without any spices. He eventually hands you a bowl and then sits on a tree stump across from you with his own, meatless meal. "...Once you've got something to wear, we can set out for Tashlaan. It's the only place I can think of," he says.

    "Which way is that?" You ask, wondering if it's in the direction of Yan's Find.

    He points off to his right, but you aren't sure what he means. He sees your confusion and swallows his food. "South."

    From what you remember of your conversation with the driver last night, you think she meant to take you to the northeast. You take a deep breath and visibly relax, which puzzles the elf. As you chew on the gamey meat and try to find the words to thank him without also making him feel worse for violating the tenants of his religion to feed you, he asks you a question, first.

    "Do you have any way to care for yourself, Agranne? Any skills?" he asks.

    A crow caws loudly in the trees above you. You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant and ignore the bird, even though your heart is beginning to race just at the sound. "Just the sort of stuff you learn on a farm. I was hoping someone might take me in as a field hand, or even a housemaid if that's what they need."

    "Well..." he grumbles. "There's not much in the way of farms until you get further inland. Can you forage, at least?"

    You nod. "We had to sometimes, since there wasn't enough food to go around. It, um... It doesn't take much to feed me. You don't have to shoot anything else, I can make due on whatever we find on the way."

    Lachlaen sighs. "...You're hiding something," he says, although your last statement has brought some empathy to his previously stern features.

    You can't hide your fear, and look into the fire to avoid eye contact. "What do you mean?"

    There's more than one crow, now, and their chattering sounds as accusatory as Lachlaen's statement. "...You told that you were running from your family out west, but there's something else that you're afraid of, isn't there? Something closer?" he asks, before adding quietly: "Is someone after you?"

    Careful.

    You feel the thought strike you from the darkest corners of your heart and mind, warning you that saying too much could put your life in mortal danger. But you take another deep, ragged breath, and swallow your fear as you speak again, nonetheless. "...I'm in trouble," you finally admit. "I lied before, and I'm sorry for lying, but it's all so much..." you struggle, getting a bit emotional.

    Lachlaen places his bowl down, and leans in, intensely. He doesn't seem frightened of you, but he might be frightened on your behalf, due to your increasingly nervous body language. "...Was it something you did? Or is it something you didn't do?"

    "...It's... It's both," you reply, as the crows above begin to chatter and heckle with noise, excitedly. You need to get out of sight, and soon. You keep glancing up at them, and gradually, the elf begins to notice them as well. "It's Lythrefang," you start to say, before one of the birds drops from the sky and crosses through the fire between you, suddenly erupting into a ball of shadow that expands, becoming the figure of a young, human woman. Lachlaen, already, wide-eyed from the revelation, scrambles backwards with a shout at the sight of her, while she straightens up and points her gnarled wand at him.

    "Hands into the fire!" she orders gleefully, another puff of shadow rising from her instrument. A vicious grin adorns her face as Lachlaen, utterly incapable of resisting the hex, falls to his knees beside the cooking fire, and drives them into the flames with a scream. You panic, taking the wooden bowl you had been eating out of in both hands and slamming it into the side of the witch's head - or at least you would have, if she hadn't noticed your movement and raised an arm to defend herself. You thwack the bowl against her several times.

    "Ow! Fucking...! Really?" She barks, before turning and pointing her wand towards you. "Stop."

    You feel an icy chill run through you as your arms and legs cease to obey your mind. As you stand there, frozen in place, the blonde, human girl in front of you begins to snicker with malignant glee. Lachlaen, meanwhile, moans and writhes on the ground in pain, trying to crawl away from the flames towards a bucket of water you saw nearby.

    "You're a whole lot of trouble, you know that!?" the witch says, half triumphantly and half exasperated. She calmly reaches into her bag and takes out an apple, breathes on it, and wipes it on her blouse. "...It's bad enough you jumped into the Turus before anyone could get your damned name, but now you wanna fight someone?" She bites into it and continues talking with her mouth full, while you try to resist her magic. It's no use; if you're going to prevent her from taking you against your will, you might have to rely on the same accursed power that took the merchant's life, yesterday. "...You're not even dressed!" she continues, now laughing in cruel delight. "So how about you and I take a walk back to Tashlaan and we'll get you all ready for-"

    ...She's silenced as an arrow rips its way through her neck and into the apple, her hand falling limply away as the fruit bobs up and down on the arrow's barbed tip. She backs up, voice gurgling some unintelligible words until she collapses.

    "...Holy fuck... Oh gods... Oh gods..." you stammer, backing away from the dying girl as blood continues to pump from the wound. Behind where she stood, Lachlaen looks to be in utter agony from his burns, and soon drops the bow to the ground to look in horror, both at his bleeding, blistered hands, as well as the girl - who wasn't much older than you - that he just killed.

    Breathing heavily, the elf regains some of his lost composure. "...A-Agranne, g-get me some water, and... And some rags... W-We need to get moving."

    "To where?" you ask, stepping around the fire and heading for the water bucket you saw before. "She was going to take me to Tashlaan-"

    Lachlaen interrupts. "Sh-she's the tavern keeper's daughter...! Corrinth - I think that's her name... There m-might be more of them in Tashlaan, b-but I need a cleric. Take my bow, p-please, I can't use it like this! It hurts...!"

    ---
    ​
    Your surroundings grow murkier as you attend to his burns, until all that remains of the vision is your shared shock at Corrinth's true colors, as in death, her skin and hair turns an eerie white that can only mean one thing: you've killed a changeling, a fae imitation of a human being. Eventually, you arrive in town by nightfall and head directly to the church, which takes you in with open arms upon seeing the state of Lachlaen's injuries. Along the way, you tell another half-truth, revealing that you accidentally killed a man in Zuklanar, but you imply that the coven has only mistaken you for a witch, and has been pursuing you ever since. You rest under the watch of the clerics with your new protector before leaving in the morning, temporarily relieved of your fears of exposure.

    ...But word spreads after your visit of Lachlaen's mysterious injuries, and a grief-stricken mother turns to the local circle in search of answers, suspecting that one thing might be connected to another.

    ---
    ​
    Weeks have passed since your arrival in Turadal. As you forage for food amidst the forested trails around Lachlaen's home, you think about your family and feel a terrible loneliness, and how could you not? Alone with the elf out here in the wilderness, you've been taught plenty of survival skills, and Lachlaen has encouraged you to learn the bow, since he's acutely aware of the danger you're in, but you're not able to open up to him while you're also keeping your dark secret. Your trips to town are often, but very short, and your resources are painfully limited as they've always been. In other words, making friends is out of the question, since any one of them could turn out to be a witch.

    That doesn't mean they haven't tried. While trading some hand-whittled hooks to a goblin fisherwoman in exchange for some bread from the local tavern, she seemed eager to know more about you, but you did your best to keep mum. Another young lady, a drow named Embryx, also seems particularly keen on talking to you any time you cross paths, but you've repeatedly brushed her off. It could be a very long time before you're comfortable meeting new people.

    With your bow slung over your shoulder, you're constantly on the lookout for danger, ever watching the trees for crows - those accursed messengers of the coven.

    You'll be watching, next time, so that no one will get the drop on you.

    As you pick a handful of berries off of a bush, you hear a sound from a creature nearby - something larger than a rabbit - and you freeze, taking out your weapon immediately along with an arrow. You watch the trees, and suddenly, a blur darts from between the trunks in your direction and you loose your missile - it strikes the incoming figure and sends it crashing to the ground, and you cry out as you realize that it isn't a person, but a deer.

    As the doe writhes on the forest floor, you feel an intense guilt take hold of you. Family and friends isn't all you've been missing, here. It's been weeks since you've eaten meat, and you're certain you'd be happy with a rat or a frog if only you could have one without Lachlaen noticing. But now, you feel almost as bad for killing this innocent animal as you did for the merchant you killed in Zuklanar. You're certain that Lachlaen will suspect you of having killed it intentionally in order to justify things like cooking the meat, or making boots of its hide, and a heavy fear grips you that he'll be angry with you for days, or maybe even take your bow away.

    You approach the animal quietly, knowing that it's in agony. Lachlaen has told you all about the tenets of the elven religion - to cause no harm to wild animals, and if you do so accidentally, to help them if you can, or end their life if you must to prevent further suffering. You've struck it through the ribs at a shallow angle, and likely pierced a lung; it won't survive. Worse yet, you aren't using the arrows a hunter would use; you're using ones with barbed tips, designed to kill people. Pulling the arrow out now would inflict even more damage and pain upon the creature.

    You know you need to end its life. There's nothing you can do, but it's breaking your heart nonetheless. You take a flint out of your pocket and press it against the animal's neck; it's already stopped thrashing as much as the life is quickly fading, and you open a large gash by slicing so that the blood can run free. The deer loses consciousness and falls flat, its life ending in a few merciful seconds. You then grip the arrow shaft and pull, your foot against the carcass, until it rips free and you stumble backwards. You back up even further, your hands trembling, and break down in tears. You've killed small animals before, but nothing like this - nothing that had eyes large enough that you almost felt the presence of a soul behind them.

    If Lachlaen had been here, he would've seen that it was a mistake. He would know you didn't mean to hurt it, and how much guilt you feel for what you've done. But he's not here, and so you're free to sink into your feelings and be overwhelmed with grief, not just for the animal, but in the unraveling of your life, the loneliness, and the lack of seemingly any meaning behind it all. And then, out of that darkness, a jealousy emerges.

    Those clerics who healed Lachlaen's hands... Why do they get to heal others, when all I can do is hurt people!?

    You haven't dared to explore your evil gifts since the merchant died, but every night, in your dreams, you feel beckoned towards it. You've promised yourself repeatedly that you won't allow witchcraft to consume your life, that you'll outlast the interest in others to seek you out, and then slip back into the world of light to live amidst the company of others. You've even begun to pray each morning to Vestria, hoping that you'll bring good fortune to Lachlaen for taking care of you.

    But right now, you feel weak.

    The darkness in your heart is strangling you from within, and you can't deny it any longer. But unlike before, when you killed the merchant, this time the object of your hatred is yourself. You cry out in frustration and self loathing, demanding that your magic somehow transform itself into its light equivalent so that you can maybe transform your destiny along with it. You feel it surging to your fingertips, the life force of nature all around you, and you begin to draw it in. Instinctively, you direct it towards the dead deer, begging the gods to guide your hands so that you could undo what you've done.

    Unbeknownst to you, the grasses and weeds about your feet have begun to wilt as they surrender their life to your will. The two wounds on the deer, however, appear to close themselves, and then, miraculously, the animal shudders to life and rises from the ground. Your mind wheels, and through your sobbing tears you let out a truly desperate sort of cry, stumbling forward exhausted to the animal as it seems to regard you unafraid. You throw your arms around it and embrace it, hugging it tightly as if it were a pet, and it doesn't move or react, as if it trusts you completely.

    "Agranne..." you hear Lachlaen say, and you look over your shoulder in terror at the elf, who came looking for you after hearing your cries of frustration and elation, only to witness your witchcraft on full display. "...Let go of it," he says, heartbroken.

    You do as instructed, and realize, in the midst of your hysteria, you hadn't noticed that the deer had risen, but wasn't breathing or blinking. You hadn't healed it at all; you had instead performed one of witchcraft's most reviled acts: necromancy. You gesture helplessly, feeling as if the miracle, the release from your dark destiny, was slipping through your fingers. "I- I-" you try to speak, through choked tears.

    He steps through the brush and down to the berry bush where you are, guiding you away from the undead animal before embracing you the way that you had just embraced it. "Breathe," he says. "Breathe..." He holds you there, letting you vent your frustrations and hopelessness into his midsection until you've calmed down. "I understand, now, and I understand why you didn't tell me before. I heard you praying; I know this isn't what you want."

    "Why me!?" you lament. "I just want to be good! I want to go home!"

    He squeezes you a bit tighter before letting you go. "...This is why Lythrefang wants you, then? You killed a man with witchcraft, and now they want to make you a part of their coven, but that isn't you. That isn't your heart. I'm going to keep taking care of you until you're ready to move on. It doesn't matter if it takes days, or years, you can stay with me until you feel safe. But promise me - you won't do anything like this again. Witchcraft will only deceive you and lead you down darker paths."

    You nod, looking back on the abomination you've created. You hold out your hand and with a gentle tug, you unravel your creation, an invisible construction inhabiting the dead flesh. The wounds reappear and the deer drops to the forest floor immediately, but now that Lachlaen is with you, and now that he's experienced this pain with you, there's a peacefulness to the creature's death that makes it seem almost fair.

    "Good," Lachlaen says. "Now, help me move it; there's nothing we can do about the killing of it, but we can at least avoid wasting it."

    ---
    ​
    The vision advances through your unplanned trip into Tashlaan that day, handing over the deer carcass so that it can be skinned and butchered properly. Lachlaen never questions your ability to use magic without a wand or other implement; he doesn't understand the significance of a dark sorceress. After another round of avoiding conversations, making only ethical choices and leaving town without a profit, your only prize for the unintentional hunt proves to be a pair of leather mocasins and some better clothing, traded to you by the town's leatherworker in exchange for the deer's entire hide. Over the next few days, you train your survival skills extensively with Lachlaen, the latter hoping to teach you enough that you'll avoid needing to ever rely on your dark abilities.

    ---
    ​
    You've found a fallen tree, somewhere west of Tashlaan, and it's a good one. Although rather old and somewhat rotten on one side, you reason that the other side is dry enough that it'll create excellent firewood. You take out your hand axe and begin to pound, trying to split the wood in an area that doesn't seem too thick or two strong, and slowly, a crack opens along its length. You lift your arm to strike one more time, and hear a crow caw somewhere nearby. Immediately, you grab your bow and turn around, and this time see an unfamiliar elf and a human woman approaching you. Your fearful reaction brings them to a halt, until the elf addresses you.

    "...Are you alright?" she asks, dully. "You seem frightened."

    You remain still, gripping your bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. "I'm fine," you reply. "You just surprised me."

    The elf shrugs, annoyance clearly visible in her body language. "You're that tabaxi Lachlaen took in, right?" she asks.

    "What do you want?" you demand, knowing that the newcomers already knew the answer to their previous question.

    The elf frowns at you. The human, however, hasn't said a thing, but her glare tells you how much she despises you. You briefly wonder if she might be the innkeeper whose daughter Lachlaen killed, and a moment later, the elf answers your question. "...We want to know how Corrinth died."

    You lie. "I don't know who that is."

    "Yes, you do."

    You shake your head, feigning confusion.

    "You were there - the night Lachlaen turned up in town with his hands burnt was the night she went missing," the elf says. "We've been asking around, learning all we can."

    You stare her down. "Good for you; maybe you'll find someone who knows something."

    "Agranne of Ryggander, sister of Rigatte," the elf says, intensely. "Hethal of Whycham lost you in the Turus after saving your life, and sent word by crow to the Elders of all the surrounding towns. Corrinth went out looking for you without telling the rest of us, and never came back."

    You don't hesitate. You draw and loose the arrow, aiming to kill. But the same moment you move, so does the witch at the edge of the trees, and a flick of her wand, she stops the arrow in mid-air with an invisible force.

    "...You've made a terrible mistake," she warns.

    Meanwhile, the human next to her cries out: "You killed my daughter!"

    "No, I didn't!"     you snap back at her. "Lachlaen did it after Corrinth made him put his hands in his own cooking fire!"

    The tavernkeeper looks to the elf, furious and broken hearted, while the latter raises an eyebrow. "...That does sound like Corrinth," the elf mutters. "On the other hand, you must've had a hand in her death, since she clearly had Lachlaen under compulsion at one point; you must've distracted her. So, unfortunately, I'm going to have to rescind the coven's invitation, Agranne, seeing as you and your caretaker keep trying to kill us," she explains, tossing the arrow aside.

    "You all won't leave me alone!" you shout back at her. "I don't want to be a witch, I won't-"

    With another flick of her wand, you suddenly feel yourself being ripped from the ground, flying through the air towards the two women. You land and tumble to a stop at their feet, having lost the bow along the way. Then, as you panic and try to lift yourself up, the elf points her wand at you one more time, and you crash back down, feeling as if a hundred-pound weight has just been dropped on your chest.

    The tavernkeeper takes out a dagger and puts the blade to your throat. "My daughter wanted to call you sister," she hisses. "I hope you and Lachlaen burn in hell together."

    You have no way of escaping your imminent death, aside from breaking the promise that you made to Lachlaen. By now, it's occurred to you that every witch you've encountered has relied on a wand. Maybe they don't know that you can cast without one. Either way, the terrible power lurking in your heart comes alive at the thought that if you die here, Lachlaen will be next.

    You attempt to copy the invisible, telekinetic force the elf uses. Shadow begins to rise in wisps from your hands, and the elf notices and lets out a gasp at the last moment... before you rip the knife loose from the tavernkeeper's hand and send it right into the elf's face. She screams and clutches her eye, and the weight disappears from your chest. Your adrenaline running wild, you slash wildly with your claws at the tavernkeeper and the elf, your magic flaring up in random puffs of shadowy smoke to strike at them with deadly force. Within moments, you feel utterly exhausted from the expulsion of the evil energy, and the tavernkeeper lies dead.

    The elf, however, is still alive - but mortally wounded. "Y-you're a hexblood!?" she stammers as you crawl on your hands and knees toward the knife.

    "I don't know what the fuck that is, and I don't care," you hiss at her. "Who else... Who else is coming for me!?"

    She shakes her head, laughing in utter amazement. "Oh, no..." she says, laying back and facing the blue of the sky between the trees. "By now, every circle within two day's journey knows your name, Agranne. When I don't come back from tracking you, my sisters are going to raise the alarm... and I can't even warn them..."

    You place the blade against her throat and do the elf what you did to the deer.

    ---
    ​
    The vision advances. You stumble through the fog, your suddenly weakened legs carrying you slowly back towards Lachlaen, even though you know his shelter won't offer you safety any longer. You're going to say goodbye, and promise to send word when you think it's safe. Your meeting, when you reach him, is solemn and tearful, but also brief. You can't afford to linger, you have to go. Your surroundings once again melt into uncertainty as days pass by in a blur. But soon, they solidify, and you've arrived...

    ---
    ​
    The sky has seemingly given birth to a new ocean above your head, as rain comes down in heavy buckets. You couldn't be more thankful that you waded across a shallow and narrow portion of the Turus back into the Empire before the rains came. Now that you're on the other side, you head west, towards the port city of Valrath, where you're certain you'll be able to blend in. Like many cities across the Empire, the streets of Valrath are home to plenty of homeless people, including teenagers like yourself. From there, you might move inland to find a farm to work on. As much as you'd prefer to join a ship's crew and sail for free to some distant land, you know that none will take you; you have no sailing knowledge or skills, and you're too weak to be used as muscle.

    As you enter the city, shivering from the rain, you notice a man in a heavy, rain-fast garment, carrying a lantern. He begins waving it at you as soon as you appear from the mist, and as you near him, he shouts to you: "Inside! Inside, girl! Get out of this squall!"

    You turn to look at the building behind him, and although you can't identify its purpose, you recognize an image of Gallanis next to the entrance. You nod, tiredly, and shuffle through the puddles of water until you reach the threshold and wander inside. The interior is dimly lit, foul-smelling and damp, and crowded with other destitute figures like yourself. You suddenly realize that this is a church-run shelter, the kind that only opens during weather that would leave the homeless dead, otherwise. You shamble in, find a spot on the straw-covered floor that isn't taken, and sit down. Propping your head in your hands, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep almost immediately.

    You find yourself alone in a massive crowd, all pushing in the same direction as if trying to reach the same destination. The ground beneath you is perfectly black and smooth, and the sky above starkly white and empty. You attempt to speak to those around you, to ask them what's happening and where everyone is going, but when they answer, their faces are a smear of a blur, and their voices are muddled - their tongues incomprehensible. It's as if everyone is speaking in a foreign language, and worse yet, their tone suggests contempt, or even disgust with you for having asked. You desperately begin to jump on your tired legs, trying to glimpse the path ahead, but slowly, you come to realize that the entire mass of people is heading towards a large cliff, towards death itself.

    You try to tell them, but you're ignored, or mocked, and they begin to push you more aggressively, elbowing you and kicking the backs of your ankles. You have to get out of this place before you fall to your death, but there's nowhere to escape to. Just ahead, however, a half-elf woman with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, floats on the air above the crowd, leisurely watching their demise. She holds in her red-gloved hands a strange object, a three-sided pyramid. You call out to her for help, but she laughs at you coldly and speaks the only coherent words in this nightmare:

    "Run from us; fall like the rest!"

    You awaken to the sound of bells; the priests and clerics responsible for the shelter are turning you and the others out, now that the storm has cleared. Blearily, you rise to your shaking feet, but before you can even rub your eyes, the other homeless are already pushing and shoving you towards the door, just like in your dream, and you quickly begin to panic. "Stop pushing, stop pushing!" you yell shrilly at the others. "Stop touching me!"

    But unlike in your nightmare, the other homeless quickly back off, and you realize you must appear unwell, maybe insane. "...Th-thank you," you say, calming down, and reminding yourself that letting your emotions run unchecked might lead to disaster. You walk out the door and onto the roadway, well-paved but covered in dark mud and muck, and take note of your surroundings. It's a muggy, summer evening and the sky is overcast, giving it the same black-and-white contrast which haunted you in your sleep, and you begin to wonder whether it's simply your conscience and imagination that's toying with you, or if you're the victim of some divine conspiracy.

    Regardless, you immediately resume your long walk.

    You're far too dirty to be welcomed into any home; you have to reach a farm, preferably one near a large city where a nobleman might own property, as those are the only types which might welcome you as a serf; further away, in the smaller villages, you would only find peasant families like your own which would definitely not want another mouth to feed. If you don't find something near here, then you suppose your only chance is to go all the way to Varsana, the capital of the Empire. You only make it a few blocks over before you're stopped once again, however.

    "You there, tabaxi girl!" A voice calls out. You look up to find a human girl with black hair who's a few years older than you, and much better-dressed, with a few pieces of jewelry revealing her wealth. She might be a noblewoman, or else a merchant. Probably the former, you reason, since she's so young.

    Having pushed yourself to the point of exhaustion, you can't simply walk away from her. She can easily keep pace with you on fresh legs, and so you slow down and face her. You clear your throat and look at her pathetically. "Yeah?"

    "I haven't seen you around here before. You're... rather gaunt. Do you not think that you could maybe stop for the night?"

    "...Why?" you ask, the question sounding more like a statement than an inquiry.

    She gives a warm smile. "I was once like you," she says, quietly. "I don't much enjoy seeing other people suffer through the indignities that I went through. Can I please help you on your way, just a trifle?"

    "There's a whole shelter full of people like me that just emptied itself out onto the streets. Can't you help one of them?" you reply.

    She sighs and nods. "I don't suppose any of them is as young as you are without a parent nearby. But, if you're absolutely certain you don't need anything that I can provide, then I can't stop you," she says, sadly, before turning away to move on.

    As she walks away, you realize that if she were a member of the coven, and if she were looking for you, she wouldn't be taking no for an answer. "H-hey, wait," you speak up, "I'm sorry. I just... I don't really trust people."

    The girl turns back hopefully and smiles again. "Oh, there's no need to apologize. I know it's a sudden overture from a complete stranger, but occasionally we all need a reminder that there are good people in the world. My name is Venza, of Revendal. And you are?"

    For a brief moment, you consider giving her a false name. Even if Venza isn't a witch, there might be a circle in this city that would learn of you through careless talk, and you would once again be spurred into a long journey to escape their pursuit - one which you have no guarantee of surviving. On the other hand, you're already a good distance away from home and all of the issues which arose in Turadal. Eventually, the memory of your crimes will fade, and you will be left having to use a false name for the rest of your life to maintain appearances.

    All at once, the exhaustion of such a thought - of maintaining the lie forever - nearly leads you to a tantrum. You figure that if you're discovered again, all the way out here, then you might as well just let them kill you. "...Agranne of Ryggander," you say.

    "It is a pleasure to meet you, Agranne," Venza says, giving a slight bow. You aren't sure whether you should return the gesture, but you don't get the chance, regardless. Venza immediately begins to introduce herself more formally. "Now, there are a few things you ought to know about me: First, I am of noble but illegitimate birth. As to whom my father and mother might be, that I do not discuss. Second, I was cast out of my father's court upon my mother's discovery of his dalliances, and I spent two years, from the age of sixteen, in search of a home and a means to increase my station. Third, I have found a truly enriching enterprise in which to apply my utmost devotion, and with the windfalls I've received, I have no choice but to share them with the downtrodden!"

    You stand there, a bit dumbfounded by the speech she just gave. "...I'm a farmhand," you reply.

    She looks at you sympathetically. "Is that all you wish to be?"

    "I'd like to be a farmhand with a full stomach," you reply, cynically.

    Venza huffs and laughs, covering her mouth politely as she beckons you to follow. "Now, Agranne, that's not at all what I meant. What I mean to ask is whether you would like to do as I did, and, well... become independent of the land?"

    You appreciate the attempt to find an inoffensive turn of phrase. "Whatever it is that you do, Venza, I probably wouldn't understand it," you reply honestly. "I can't read; I don't even know my letters."

    "One is never too old to learn new things. You aren't even an adult, are you?" she asks as you round a corner to a somewhat expensive-looking villa.

    You stop at the gate. "...A- Are we going in there?" you stammer. "I can't, looking like this..."

    "Don't be silly, Agranne, I'm very good friends with the owner of this estate; you will be welcomed as my personal guest."

    ---
    ​
    The surreal experience continues as the vision melds the evening, and the next several days, into a blur of experiences. Venza invites you to use the villa's bath house, and has a clean set of clothing available for you to wear once you're clean. She has the servants prepare a good meal for you, and you dine together and get to know one another. Afterwards, as the sun sets, you retire to a bedroom in one of the villa's towers and sleep in a proper bed for the very first time in your entire life. You decide to stay as long as Venza will have you, and several days go by in which you're treated to luxuries like you never believed would be possible for you. Never before have you felt so cared for, and you begin to suspect that Gallanis has finally intervened on your behalf to reward you for resisting the coven.

    Unfortunately, your understanding of the situation is entirely inverted.

    ---
    ​
    One morning, you descend the stairs into the villa's spacious courtyard to find Venza conversing with another tabaxi, whose fur is white as snow. Upon seeing you, they beckon you closer. "Ah, Agranne, good morning to you. May I introduce my associate from across the sea, Miona?"

    "Oh, um, hello," you reply awkwardly as the other tabaxi looks rather unimpressed.

    Miona nods, then turns back to Venza to continue what she was saying. "She's sent word to Callypseae about the discovery as well, although I don't approve of her sudden insistence upon this drow girl as her new protege; all she did was bring her the damned thing. She ought to be supporting those who have given her the opportunity to lay the foundation for her plans, rather than leaning into superstitions about the... overall plan of things."

    Your heart rapidly sinks as you realize that nearly all of Venza's trusted colleagues are women, and they seem to be conspiring in some way that requires Miona to hide what she really means behind an obvious euphemism. If they are witches of Lythrefang, then they aren't trying particularly hard to hide it from you - which raises the question of whether they already know that you're a witch as well. As you stand there in silence, watching them speak flippantly about some sort of confrontation between a woman named Diala and another named Kulka, you quietly decide that, yes, they clearly must know that you're a witch, and that's the true reason you've been invited to this place.

    As frightening as the prospect of blindly falling for this trap may be, what you really fear is them knowing why you came to Valrath in the first place.

    You wonder if witches have the power to read your thoughts.

    "As exciting as all of this is," Venza says, "I must reiterate my desire to stay out of it until I've fully secured my position in Varsana. However, you can tell Diala that I will enthusiastically support her bid once I've done so."

    Miona seems pleased with the response. "We're much obliged, thank you," she says, before excusing herself from the villa.

    Afterwards, Venza sighs, and you can feel the pressure to drop the pretenses mounting. "Well, Agranne? I think you'll agree that life is better on the inside than it is on the outside. To answer your suspicion... Yes, we are witches of Lythrefang, and I can, in fact, read your mind - with the help of my wand, of course," she says, touching an inconspicuous pocket in the front of her clothing.

    "Oh, godsdammit," you groan, feeling as if the tiny amount of hope you accumulated since arriving in Valrath has evaporated, leaving you even more ruinous in its wake. Sadness and futility wash over you, and you genuinely wonder whether it's worth fighting anymore.

    Venza bows her head and holds up her hands, as if to assure you that there won't be a battle, regardless of your next move. "Please, don't be hasty; I may have led you here under false pretenses, but I truly mean you no harm. You see, I had a premonition of your coming in a dream, the night before you appeared in town. I believe that the Eldest wishes for us to be friends and allies."

    "You're out of your mind."

    "Come now!" she says humerously, not taking any offense whatsoever. "I know you killed that changeling sister in Turadal as well as the elf who replaced her, but your past is really of no consequence to me. I'm far more interested in your future. Do you know why?"

    You shake your head, helplessly. "...Because you had a dream?"

    "No, dear," she says with a self-satisfied smile. "Does the word 'hexblood' mean anything to you?"

    You remember how the elf you killed in Turadal used the same word, but you still don't know what it means. Venza invites you to sit with her as she explains the significance. You feel nothing despite the witch's attempts to inspire some sort of awe or excitement within you for the unique ability you possess. She desperately wants you to join the coven so that you can become a member of her circle. You've escaped from Lythrefang twice, now, but just as the driver warned you after you jumped off the bridge, the coven is everywhere, and they've quickly found you both times.

    ---​

    The vision lurches forward again, as Venza, like Corrinth in your own timeline, makes every effort to endear you to the coven. Unlike your true self, however, you give up more easily - your spirit broken from your second escape attempt. Venza invites you to speak to Syrith right in the middle of her borrowed villa - which you've learned, of course, has actually been appropriated by means of manipulation from its rightful owners - and does so on a clear night under the full moon.

    ---
    ​
    You sit down on a stone bench to think long and hard about the choice you're about to make. Venza glances back with a faux-reassuring smile, the same one she often wears around you, before opening the door to the interior of the villa and leaving you perfectly alone.

    In hindsight, you've probably been alone since you said goodbye to Lachlaen in Turadal. You promised not to contact him until you're certain that you're safe, but now, you're convinced that the day will never come. Maybe, if you should be so fortunate as to die of old age, or at least a way that's predictable, you'll send word - to give closure to the man - if nothing else. He's an elf; he'll still be alive. Your family, however, will likely never know of your fate, and that might just be for the best. Becoming a witch like Rigatte and then murdering people probably broke their hearts completely, and any further contact would only harm them further.

    And so you find yourself here, on this cloudless summer night, dressed in opulant clothing and full of expensive food, up to your neck in luxury without a soul in the world that cares how you really feel about it. You stare into the shadow cast by the tower where your bedroom waits, and feel as if it's watching you. That void, that pit of darkness... You feel as if you would fall through it if you tried to walk on it. On some level, you wish you could. A world without love, without justice, and without trust is all that awaits you in life beyond this point.

    "Am I supposed to trust you, Syrith?" you suddenly ask aloud. "...I don't think I can. But there's a wicked part of me that already does, and I think that part of me is all that'll be left, soon, if I let it control me." You feel bitter, and you eagerly expect the promised answer. But when none arrives, you lay into the goddess. "What am I supposed to feel right now!?" you demand.

    The distant sound of the sea's waves crashing against the rocky beaches quiets down, as does the wind, until the only sound is the quiet ringining in your ears that only comes around in moments of perfect silence. It's as if the world itself is inviting you to continue.

    "Am I supposed to feel like I belong here!?" you shout against that emptiness, your voice cracking with anger and sadness. "...Am I supposed to want any of this?"

    Still, no answer arrives.

    "...Why do you want me?"

    You plant your face into your hands and calm yourself, taking deep breaths and shaking as you exhale. "...I was told that Lythrefang meant freedom from guilt," you begin anew, quoting the driver who abducted you. "I want to be free, Syrith. I want to be free to enjoy life, to have friends and family again... And I want to be good to them. I know I can't run away from you; but if you expect me to stay in this world and do your dark work, if you want me to be a part of this coven, then let me do good in the world. Don't make me a monster..."

    You look up from your hands and gasp - the shadows you had been speaking into seem to be creeping towards you, just like in your nightmares. You look into the void at the base of the tower, and somehow in that inky darkness, you perceive the presence of another. A chill runs through you as the shade stretches to the ground beneath your feet, and then... with a terrible, stabbing pain that races through your heart, the shadow recedes, and you fall to the ground, unconcious.

    ---
    ​
    The vision fades, and then returns; a year has passed and you're now seventeen. Venza has taught you all sorts of tricks, including telepathy, enchanted fire, and necromancy, but also the ability to throw lightning bolts - something your true self has yet to master. And as you grow stronger, you keep up your practice with the bow and arrow, eventually learning to enchant your arrows for additional options. You prove to be Venza's strongest protege, which is increasingly important in a world that's about to be changed irreversibly by the Eldest's Grand Design.

    In Turadal, Embryx of Aelesh-Yna, the very same drow girl you avoided in Tashlaan, also received the sort of divine inspiration that Venza was given that led to your easy recapture, except in her case, Embryx was led to attack a noblewoman's carriage that was secretly transporting the Pandemonium Door - an unholy artifact said to have been created by Syrith herself. With this artifact back in the coven's hands, it won't be long before great and terrible magic is unleashed on Gondia. Having just lost two of her mentors, Embryx decided the best course of action was to take it to Diala, the Elder of Mardenaal. In response, Diala made Embryx her protege.

    Diala, it seems, is a power-hungry schemer. She has made pacts with powerful allies in Sonnamille and Zuklanar in order to stake her claim for leadership of the coven across all of Turadal. Her opposition is Kulka, a goblin lich known for her nurturing attitude towards the coven, in stark contrast to Diala's authoritarian stance.

    In order to assist Diala's plan, Venza has brought you to Varsana, so that she can challenge the elder of the Empire - a tiefling named Nembrath - for control. Venza's motivations make little sense to you; she seems to be kind, generous, and patient, even if she isn't always genuine... These sorts of traits would make her better-suited to support Kulka's stewardship of the coven in Turadal. Perhaps Venza is a true snake underneath it all. You fear that there will soon be a point where you must choose between supporting Venza, Diala, and the coming disasters wrought by Lythrefang, or opposing them, and watching your fragile life come apart once again.

    It's especially difficult to consider, as you're finally beginning to enjoy life. You're young, powerful, and increasingly wealthy, but you're also charitable and take an active role in assisting the poor. You travel frequently of your own accord, and have even had a few romantic partners - but nothing serious. Despite your association with a murderous cult, you're certain that you'll eventually find a boy or a girl as genuinely kindhearted as you delude yourself to be. Then you'll fully commit yourself to their happiness...

    The vision comes back into focus on a fall afternoon in Varsana. If you do as you're told, this will be the day that Nembrath dies.

    ---
    ​
    "Did you sleep alright, Agranne?" Venza asks as you arrive at the meeting hall. It's a large, empty loft above a tavern in the midst of the city that's so busy that the patrons below never hear the sound of footsteps above them.

    You remove your wide-brimmed hat and hang it on the hooks near the stairwell door. "Just fine, thank you," you answer politely.

    "We have a few honored guests from the east."

    "Oh?" You hadn't noticed them when you first entered, but as you look at the long table, you notice some of the normally empty seats are occupied. You recognize Miona, having met her a few times over the past year, but the others are all new faces... aside from one dark presence at the far-end of the table, glowering at you over her clasped, gauntlet-ed hands. Is that... Embryx?

    You smile disappears momentarily. You can't imagine that the drow has forgiven you for your killings in Tashlaan, but she would have to be a fool to make a fuss about it right here and now. She works for Diala, and Diala and Venza are allies, and soon to be the elders of two of the most important realms in Gondia. Therefore, you must work together for the time being. You shake off your reservations and join the table jovially. "It's a pleasure to see you all, as always," you say.

    Moments after you sit down, the last member of the conspiracy arrives and grants herself a seat at the table. With everyone finally present, Venza outlines the plan.

    "As you know, the elder's lodgings at the Black Palace are impossible to breach. As I live there as well, I've been able to personally oversee the expansion of security and the elimination of any opportunity for saboteurs or assassins to enter, even from the highest windows on the tallest spires. The palace is a perfect fortress. But I did these things with sound judgement, I assure you, because Nembrath occasionally leaves the Black Palace. And today, my friends, she will be in the halls of the Palace of the Emperor."

    Immediately, the expressions around the table are overtaken with worry. The Emperor, being possibly the most well-guarded man in all of Gondia, has employed the realm's best mages to render magic useless within the walls of his home, and has done so for decades. Attacking Nembrath there would offer little, if any, advantages over attacking her at the Black Palance.

    ...Except that Venza, of course, has more to say.

    "She is there, of course, to pass along the coven's demands for the coming year. Hunters are not to be permitted into the cities of Varsana, Cantan, Rychten, Revendal, and Valrath, and the guardsmen therein are not permitted to intervene in the coven's affairs unless they're responding to a wanton slaying in daylight, as to keep up apperances. Jailors are to know of our presence, and to release prisoners upon our demand. Taxes will not be levied against our homes and businesses, or, if they have been collected already, they will be repaid with interest... The standard demands, you see," she explains.

    "To prepare for this visit, of course, the Varsana pact has been hard at work softening the magical defenses of the Emperor's grounds for weeks. Nembrath is convinced that the greatest threat to her safety is a sudden betrayal from the Emperor, in response to our capture of the Pandemonium Door. In order to keep up appearances of confidence and strength, she has gone into the Palace with only her strongest guards, but members of her inner circle have taken up position around several entrance points, ready to intervene at a moment's notice, if necessary."

    At this point, Venza stands from the table and walks to the edge of the room, lifting a heavy scroll off the floor before lugging it over to the table. It lands with a heavy thunk before she unrolls it, barely giving those present time to lift their drinks out of the way as the parchment races across the table, stopping just short of Embryx' elbows. On it, a detailed map of the Imperial Grounds is laid out, with the exterior courtyard and main floor at the near end of the table, and the upper floors and spires depicted on separate layers further away.

    Numerous red lines criss-cross the maps at different points, which Venza eagerly explains: "These are all of the coven's entrypoints, as well as every room and hall which is no longer warded to the degree needed to stop a witch of our strength from casting. This, however-" she says, jabbing the map with her finger where a particular doorway has been circled, "only we know of this entrance. We will make our way inside, stick to these chambers and corridores, and work our way to this room," she says, now directing your attention to a particular chamber for audiences with the Emperor. "We will enter, kill Nembrath, and then I will introduce myself to the emperor as the new elder of Varsana and of the Empire of Zuklanar. Any questions?"

    ---​

    The vision grows hazy again as you and your sisters debate the plan, testing Venza's foresight and developing strategies for any eventuality. All along, Embryx remains silent and deathly serious. It isn't until you're all outside and walking together towards the heart of the capital that she finally stalks up beside you, a frighteningly large morningstar hanging from her belt.

    ---
    ​
    You glance over at her, and her lip curls just slightly. Not a smile. She's trying to contain whatever curses she wants to throw your way. And why wouldn't she? You've spent the past year in comfort, living what can cynically be described as your best life. From what you understand about Diala and her base of operations in Mardenaal, Embryx has been living under the "care" of a wrathful, control-freak matriarch within the walls of a sanitarium. The drow hasn't lost her beauty, but there's a terrifying emptiness behind her eyes. What did she trade to become Diala's enforcer? Does she not have friends or family in Tashlaan to return to?

    "Have something to say?" you finally ask her, since she clearly wants you feel her presence.

    Her eyes narrow. "I've been waiting all year to ask you why you did it."

    "...I was afraid I'd be trapped in the life you're living," you reply, suppressing the chills you received from the sound of her voice.

    Her anger only seems to intensify. "That explains Corrinth and Nytha. Tell my why you killed Iona."

    "The tavernkeep? She wanted to kill me as revenge for her daughter," you reply, stopping just short of telling the drow that it was actually Lachlaen who did the deed, since you don't want any retribution to come for the elf - if none has reached him already. "The knife I used to slit the elf's throat was the one the tavernkeeper brought to kill me. You have your answer. Satisfied?"

    Embryx snickers at the question. "No."

    She steps away, leaving you to stew on the implication.

    ---
    ​
    The attack would prove to be a bloodbath, but is ultimately successful. As the scenes of battle play out in quick succession, fading into each other as the vision moves ever onward, you watch as Embryx redefines your understanding of cruelty, utilizing manipulation and compulsion in equal measure to physical force, breaking bodies, minds, and spirits without a second thought. Your own contibutions include the construction of multiple undead combatants from your fallen foes and allies, as well as a well-placed lightning strike against Nembrath which may have saved Venza's life - or at least prevented her from a truly grevious injury.

    By the time it's all over, you stand beside Venza, Embryx, Miona, and a handful of other familiar faces as you declare to the Emperor that the face of the coven in Zuklanar has changed. Afterwards, you leave behind a battlefield's worth of corpses for his men to clean up, the news of your brazen attack spreading through the magical world like wildfire. As Embryx departs for Turadal again, you get the unshakable feeling that she'll return someday to have her own vengeance for what you've done. All you can do is prepare yourself.

    Now, the vision grows muddy again, until the day arives, nearly a year later, that Diala has won control of the coven in Turadal. The news is received tepidly in Zuklanar; Venza may have supported the half-elf's ascent the year prior, when Diala's support helped lead to her own success in Varsana, afterwards the two had very little to offer each other, and Diala's superiority over Venza made the latter fear that the coven's leadership would shift eastward, away from the Imperial seat. Around Gondia, many believe that this move was inevitable, as the Empire seems to sink further into decline every year.

    The talk has shifted away from the coups and backstabbings, and towards the once-in-a-century passing of the red comet, which signals an opportunity to bring a single witch back from the world beyond death. Fears are mounting that the honor of selecting the recipient of renewed life will be the wedge that finally makes enemies of Venza and Diala, and that you will soon be thrust into a battle against your coven sisters - including Embryx, who has haunted you ever since your last meeting. You also feel somewhat bitter that, through your lack of knoweldge about the ritual, you have missed any chance you might have had to resurrect Rigatte, although you don't find yourself thinking of her often.

    She was a good person, and any time she does enter your mind, you miss her deeply. But you've finally come to terms with her death, and have accepted that the most you can do is be thankful for the life she helped to provide for you. You wonder what she would say, if you could only speak to her.

    Another piece of news of potential import reaches you, one morning. The last of the deposed Valghemora royal line of Aelesh, Princess Sharyx, has resurfaced after decades in solitude - and has gone on a killing spree throughout Sonamille. Although the possibility of her return to Aelesh is breifly discussed in Varsana, Venza shows little interest in seeking the apparently-deranged heir out. You, however, have been having disturbing dreams in which you're certain you've seen her face...

    At last, the vision clarifies as you accompany Venza on your trek to Edniewebotm.

    ---
    ​
    Snow crunches beneath your feet on the still-icy roadway, the setting sun low in the sky. The golden light sparkles off of the many items of jewelry worn by you and your elder - highly visible signs of your wealth and power which you wear with a great deal of pride. Venza lifted you up from nothing, protected you from some of the coven's worst, and has never asked anything of you besides your loyalty. Despite your attempts to find someone in the world who would make you feel whole, you realize you won't be satisfied unless you find someone as kind and selfless as she is.

    In fact, you would have Venza herself, if not for the fear that crossing the line from friendship into something more might shatter the trust you hold for each other - or, more simply, that she would reject you and damage your pride. Regardless, you still daydream about a day sometime in the near future that you meet someone and, with Venza's blessing, depart Varsana for a more remote town or city in which you could be the elder of your own circle, your partner by your side to keep you warm and happy each night.

    You walk across the frozen river to the island where the coven has conducted this ritual for centuries, on the site of its oldest preserved ground. Its ancient steles still stand between the barren trees, inviting you to enter the cave and claim your spot to witness the ritual. To no one's surprise, Venza's lot is the first to arrive. Not long afterwards, Callypsaea's mostly-elven circle reaches the island, but hours tick by before anything is seen from the Turadalians. At last, long after the sun has set and you're all convinced that Diala will somehow miss the ritual completely, the final quartet arrives, of which you recognize three.

    Diala, Embryx, and...

    Your eyes widen. "That's Sharyx Valghemora...!" you say aloud.

    Venza glances to you in surprise at first, but then remembers you speaking of your dreams. "I see... But why is she here?" she whispers back.

    Then, to your great shock, Embryx holds out her hand and Diala, looking almost blissful in a way that leaves you all feeling totally unnerved, draws out the Pandemonium Door and gives it to her protege. "Hello, sisters," Diala says with a smile. "This'll come as a surprise, but we're not here for the resurrection ceremony."

    "...What is this? What's happening?" Venza demands, realizing that her counterpart from Turadal is under the manipulation of her underling. You have no doubt that Venza could break the hex, but she doesn't - instead, she decides to listen and understand the intrigue of the moment. Moreover, if you understand the mechanics of the Pandemonium Door correctly, Embryx could simply re-apply the hex over and over, and Venza's magic would soon be depleted whereas the drow would remain at full strength.

    "I can answer that," Embryx replies, coldly. "Seems that the Eldest wants to enact her Grand Design personally. We learned a lot in Thandan, when we came to settle things between Diala and Kulka. Part of it was revealed to us in our dreams, as well. Namely, that there's a good reason you all never held Agranne accountable for killing several members of the coven before she pledged herself, and there's a good reason she's here tonight. It was all a part of her plan," she says, grimly.

    Callypseae balks. "What are you talking about? Who's Agranne?"

    "I am," you reply.

    The entire gathering shifts its attention towards you as you nervously step forward. "What plan, Embryx? What do you know?"

    "You mean Syrith left you out in the cold?" she says, laughing a bit at your ignorance. "...You're part-god, Agranne."

    The revelation is met with shock and dismissal. Venza seems particularly angry. "Oh, what, like Zephimus had a lay with one of Agranne's ancestors? Did Vestria have a thing for men who cough up hairballs?"

    "Hey,"     you say, mildly offended.

    Embryx, however, is undetered. "No, it doesn't run in her family. Agranne was picked special so she could serve one purpose, and that's to open the Pandemonium Door, tonight, just ahead of the comet's passing. Only she can do it, thanks to her divine touch. Inside, a fragment of Syrith's soul and divinity are intertwined, and Agranne will absorb them to become the Eldest's mortal vessel. Then, she'll claim the other half from the comet as it passes overhead, and be made whole again."

    "And who are they?" Callypseae asks, gesturing to Sharyx.

    The drow princess grins at her manically. "I'm the heir to the throne of Aelesh," she answers, "and I'm here to witness the rebirth of my patron goddess."

    "My name is Seith," the apparent warlock answers, pleasantly. "I go where she goes."

    The remainder of the vision plays out in a series of horrors, each worse than the last. At first, you try to resist, but with the Pandemonium Door, Embryx is able to rapidly manipulate the other elders, forcing them into line against their will. Soon, even Venza, whom you've shown nothing but loyalty to since joining the coven, is helping her lead you to the accursed artifact. As you struggle to tap into the power of your latent divinity, unsure if it's even there, to begin with, Embryx begins to kick and abuse you, or beat you with the polearm of her executioner's axe.

    And then, you do it. You open the door, and the night air is filled with the sound of your demise as the power of divinity rips through your body like a hundred lightning strikes, burning wide, gaping holes in your flesh and destroying you.

    And worst of all, just as Embryx described, your soul is rended by the presence of the Eldest - never to be repaired. You will be erased from existence in mere moments, doomed to never glimpse the world beyond death. And as you lay dying from the wounds of the dark miracle you've just performed, you call out to Sharyx with words that aren't your own, but rather Syrith's...

    "Stay close to me," you hiss, a rotten smile on your bloody lips. "This body will die, but my soul will pass to a new vessel. Take only what you need to call the rest of my soul down from above..." you instruct her as she takes your hand. You infuse her with divinity - enough that she can finish the ritual herself once your divine half takes root in her body. "...I'll retrieve the rest from this corpse once I'm finished."

    ---
    ​
    "Gods!" Embryx screams, snapping you out of your trance and back into the real world. You're still seated in the barn with your lover, your sister, Corrinth, Kulka, and Veralt. Nothing has been changed from the vision, but everyone present has grown very weary and upset from the experience. "That couldn't have been me! I- I wouldn't have..." she stammers.

    Corrinth sits, saddened from having watched her mother die by your hand. "...It's a good thing I found you after you were alone," she says, bleakly.

    "Looks like I'm going to need to deal with Venza, now," Kulka remarks.

    You take a few deep breaths, amazed by the magic your sister possesses. "...That was horrible," you say at first. "I think it's going to be a little while before I ask you to do that again, Rigatte. ...All of that would've happened if I hadn't tried to steal a knife from Lachlaen?"

    Rigatte, looking very tired, paws at you until you get the hint and grab her hand with a bit of rejuvination for her magic. Once she isn't feeling so exhausted, she responds. "I think... it's more to do with how you trusted him so quickly. He protected you, and it helped you avoid the coven until you found someone else who was willing to keep you out of danger. You never learned a lot of the skills you learned, and you never got close to the heart of the action. Syrith eventually gave up on you."

    You blink at the explanation and realize how much of an early mistake it would've been to not protect yourself, even if it resulted in short-term trouble. "I think," you say looking up at Embryx, "if we do this again, we should avoid any choices which might've made us enemies, Embryx. This is powerful magic; there's no telling what else we'll learn about ourselves."
     
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