hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
1
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Fantasy Terrorchild: Awakening
- Thread starter K0mori
- Start date
turtwigwins
Junior Member
2
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
2
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
1
dikdik
colossal leaf and prince of the universe
1
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
1
bat_hacker
New Member
11111
let's take ibuprofen together
let's take ibuprofen together
Encourage
New
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 5 Votes (63% - Range: 1-62)
Option 2: 3 Votes (38% - Range: 63-100)
Fae Roll: 23
Embryx doesn't hesitate to affirm her choice, of course - how could she? In an instant you feel as if you might have manipulated her when all you really sought to do was support her. To back down from her pledge to drink the wine would undermine her prior sincerity - and then it would be her turn to suffer the inadequacy of speech when the moment calls for action. So instead, she steels herself, smiling grimly as she promises: "...As long as I'm with you, everything will be okay."
You sense that it's not the truth. But you also sense that she doesn't care... And if you're being honest with yourself, you don't really care either. It's been years since you've allowed yourself to hope for everything to be "okay." What would that even mean? For you, it would probably mean summitting the whole mountain of obstacles between you and living peacefully, happily, and fed. For all you've done in pursuit of returning Rigatte to the world, you would need her at your side to feel peace for your actions. And if you lose Embryx... You don't even want to think about how much worse you'd be. You'll need to keep both of them safely in your life.
For Embryx, you can only assume that it means she'll be able to cope with all of the sudden and veering changes in her life, most of which you're responsible for. It settles into your bones that her life would have been a lot simpler had you never come along, and the solace of having your undivided affection is the only thing that can balance the scales. For all the wrongs you've put in the world, here is one opportunity to make things better. "...As long as I'm alive, you will be," you assure her.
She approaches you until you're standing face to face, where she can see lost in all these guilt-laden thoughts. She gently reaches out and lifts your chin up, and then gives you a kiss - not the disposable, spur-of-the-moment gesture you made this morning, but something much more delicate and intentional, like a love letter that she spent untold nights composing before delivering it to you. You feel... unworthy of all this, but also deeply, deeply thankful, and safe in a way which can't truly be quantified.
When your lips leave hers, she smiles again, more confidently, and full of pride. You're breathless. For once, you feel as if your life isn't just about you, anymore.
She reaches down and picks up the jug of water off the floor, and although it seems heavy, she lifts it with relative ease. "...How come you didn't just use your telekinesis to move this?" she suddenly asks. You break into giggling laughter, and she does the same.
A thumping against the road, however, alerts all of you. It only takes a moment to determine that it's horses coming from the west - the coven! Within seconds, you spot the dark-clad riders from around the Turus River valley, having linked up on the correct road to join you before the Kingdom's response could arrive. At the head of this newly-arrived group, and old hag of surprisingly-able body salutes you: "Hail, Terrorchild!" she shouts over the rumble of hooves against the dirt, with her fist high in the air. One after another, the witches pass you, their complexions pale and sickly, and yet their eyes burn with enthusiasm for the coming confrontation, their grins bloodthirsty.
The excitement proves infectious, and you leap into the air in celebration. "Hail, sisters!" you cry out. They begin to slow their horses and dismount onto the ground near the temple, and soon, your small circle of four is surrounded by two dozen witches and a warlock. From their expressions, you get the impression that more are on the way, and that these are only the most zealous supporters of your cause.
1. Greet the Elder - The old hag seems to be in charge of this lot already, and so you decide to pay your respects by introducing yourself to her, first.
2. Pick of the Litter - Figuring that these witches all came from different places and circles originally, they probably don't know which among them is most worthy of being your pact sister. You decide to test them and see which is most worthy of the title.
3. The Lancer - The warlock among them is quite reserved, compared to the exuberant witches all around. It's no surprise - warlocks are often treated as less authentic siblings of Syrith. You decide to investigate and see whether or not that's true.
Option 2: 3 Votes (38% - Range: 63-100)
Fae Roll: 23
Embryx doesn't hesitate to affirm her choice, of course - how could she? In an instant you feel as if you might have manipulated her when all you really sought to do was support her. To back down from her pledge to drink the wine would undermine her prior sincerity - and then it would be her turn to suffer the inadequacy of speech when the moment calls for action. So instead, she steels herself, smiling grimly as she promises: "...As long as I'm with you, everything will be okay."
You sense that it's not the truth. But you also sense that she doesn't care... And if you're being honest with yourself, you don't really care either. It's been years since you've allowed yourself to hope for everything to be "okay." What would that even mean? For you, it would probably mean summitting the whole mountain of obstacles between you and living peacefully, happily, and fed. For all you've done in pursuit of returning Rigatte to the world, you would need her at your side to feel peace for your actions. And if you lose Embryx... You don't even want to think about how much worse you'd be. You'll need to keep both of them safely in your life.
For Embryx, you can only assume that it means she'll be able to cope with all of the sudden and veering changes in her life, most of which you're responsible for. It settles into your bones that her life would have been a lot simpler had you never come along, and the solace of having your undivided affection is the only thing that can balance the scales. For all the wrongs you've put in the world, here is one opportunity to make things better. "...As long as I'm alive, you will be," you assure her.
She approaches you until you're standing face to face, where she can see lost in all these guilt-laden thoughts. She gently reaches out and lifts your chin up, and then gives you a kiss - not the disposable, spur-of-the-moment gesture you made this morning, but something much more delicate and intentional, like a love letter that she spent untold nights composing before delivering it to you. You feel... unworthy of all this, but also deeply, deeply thankful, and safe in a way which can't truly be quantified.
When your lips leave hers, she smiles again, more confidently, and full of pride. You're breathless. For once, you feel as if your life isn't just about you, anymore.
She reaches down and picks up the jug of water off the floor, and although it seems heavy, she lifts it with relative ease. "...How come you didn't just use your telekinesis to move this?" she suddenly asks. You break into giggling laughter, and she does the same.
---
The rabbit proves to be quite delicious after Jannava has finished cooking and seasoning it. Only Corrinth, lounging above in the limbs of a water oak tree, seems to have been indifferent to the taste, and has already taken another apple out of her bag. Although she seems tempted to eat it, it's probably the last she has on her, and so she sits and tosses the shiny red fruit up into the air, over and over, kicking her dangling feet in boredom.
A thumping against the road, however, alerts all of you. It only takes a moment to determine that it's horses coming from the west - the coven! Within seconds, you spot the dark-clad riders from around the Turus River valley, having linked up on the correct road to join you before the Kingdom's response could arrive. At the head of this newly-arrived group, and old hag of surprisingly-able body salutes you: "Hail, Terrorchild!" she shouts over the rumble of hooves against the dirt, with her fist high in the air. One after another, the witches pass you, their complexions pale and sickly, and yet their eyes burn with enthusiasm for the coming confrontation, their grins bloodthirsty.
The excitement proves infectious, and you leap into the air in celebration. "Hail, sisters!" you cry out. They begin to slow their horses and dismount onto the ground near the temple, and soon, your small circle of four is surrounded by two dozen witches and a warlock. From their expressions, you get the impression that more are on the way, and that these are only the most zealous supporters of your cause.
1. Greet the Elder - The old hag seems to be in charge of this lot already, and so you decide to pay your respects by introducing yourself to her, first.
2. Pick of the Litter - Figuring that these witches all came from different places and circles originally, they probably don't know which among them is most worthy of being your pact sister. You decide to test them and see which is most worthy of the title.
3. The Lancer - The warlock among them is quite reserved, compared to the exuberant witches all around. It's no surprise - warlocks are often treated as less authentic siblings of Syrith. You decide to investigate and see whether or not that's true.
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
1
joshuadim
the writer
2
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
2
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
3
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
1
turtwigwins
Junior Member
1
bat_hacker
New Member
1
Pick of the Litter
New
K0mori
Servant Supreme
Option 1: 4 Votes (57% - Range: 1-57)
Option 2: 2 Votes (29% - Range: 58-86)
Option 3: 1 Vote (14% - Range: 87-100)
Fae Roll: 82
Your first impulse, as you look over this pack of dark strangers, is to lean on the experience of the most wizened witch. After all, simply surviving as a witch in this world is difficult enough that it would take one especially crafty and dangerous to survive into old age - the temptation to give into one's darkest impulses is strong, and once indulged, the exposure almost always leads to a quick death. That's why you've seen so few witches in their autumn years... But as you move to speak to her, a less-predictable notion comes over you. Your lip twists into a smile, not unlike the one Corrinth wears, as you feel almost compelled to eschew conventional reason.
"Acolytes of Syrith!" you address them, excited to finally wear the mantle of Terrorchild as a title of high esteem and authority. These people look up to you, and you'll meet or exceed their expectations in every way you can - even if it means getting a little theatrical. "I seek a pact sister. If you think yourself ready, then step forward - so that I can know your name and talents!"
The old hag bows to you as she speaks her name: "Halfiya!" she says, as the other witches look on with wide-eyed expressions, eager to see some momentous thing happen here. "...I've waited my entire life to witness the fruition of the Eldest's design. Agranne, you beautiful thing... I'm ready to offer you my insight. I possess a talent which few in the world can claim, and which Diala sought to keep all to herself until you destroyed her for her avarice. I can read the minds of others!"
Immediately, the rest of the crowd backs up in awe, aside from a tall and brutish-looking half-orc, and the warlock you spotted from afar... a fellow tabaxi. You point to them in order to test Halfiya's claim. "...Open their minds, then, sister. Tell me their secret talents!"
She eagerly takes out her wand, and with a skillful flick that traces a line of shadow through the air, she gazes deeply into the half-orc's eyes. "You... you look all brawn, but your greatest talent is with the quill. You... know ancient things! Terrible things! But more importantly, you know how to record them."
The half-orc nods, begrudgingly. "Rowgu," she introduces herself in a deep and husky voice. "I'm a darkscribe. With a quill, or a blade, anything which I can use to leave my mark, I can give myself over to the will of the Eldest and record her intent. Those who gaze upon the work are inflicted - or inspired - by Syrith's design!" she roars, eliciting a fascinated round of reactions. She takes out her weapon, a large and heavy claymore, and plants its tip against the ground. A large, onyx ring on her finger begins to smolder with dark magic as she begins to groan and weave her body back and forth, dragging the tip about. You watch in spellbound fascination as her eyes disappear within a cloud of darkness, as if she's a mere puppet in Syrith's control.
The crowd encircles this display as she carves a design into the dirt of the road, eventually regaining control as she steps away, out of breath and stamina from the apparently-taxing effort. You lean in to take a better look, and an image flashes through your mind - a potent one - the silhouette of the Eldest herself. And yet, unlike your prior visions and dreams of the figure, she somehow seems more solidified in this form, as if this vision is close to revealing her true, physical form. And just as it materializes, the image disperses, leaving you and the others who witnessed it utterly impressed.
That is, except for Corrinth, who looks down on all of you from her perch in the tree above. "Quite a trick," she says with a smirk. "All that effort for just a glimpse of Syrith's true face, but does it get us any closer to disposing of the church and its loyal stooges? And mindreading," the says, looking back to Halfiya, "as exclusive as such a thing is, thanks to Diala, I think Agranne ought to be more interested in a destructive power."
"Sticking to what you know, fae?" Halfiya says, gripping her wand as it sizzles with smoke. "Diala was a pretender, but she did right by casting you out."
"Oh?" Corrinth replies, flippantly. "Then what about Agranne? Is the Terrorchild wrong for welcoming me back?"
"That's enough, both of you," you warn before Halfiya can say anything which would sour her introduction further. "Tell me, about the warlock, Halfiya." She seems to be tiring, and so you take out the Pandemonium Door and hold it out for her to touch. The entire crowd reacts to its emergence from your pocket - a holy artifact, and you carry it in your pocket like a handkerchief - at once, they're stunned back to respect, aside from Corrinth, Embryx, and Jannava, who all snicker in amusement at their reaction. Halfiya notices their casual demeanor and, apparently emboldened, reaches out and touches the object to experience its restorative power.
"Oh, it's true..." she says quietly in amazement. Then, obediently, she turns and points her wand at the quiet warlock. "He's... He's a shadowmancer!" she says with exuberant fascination. "My... Where have you been hiding, dear boy?" she asks, but instantly, her expression turns to dismay. "You... You poor thing, you're mute!"
The tabaxi hangs his head ashamedly and nods, unable to speak his name. He instead crouches to the ground, taking his finger and writing out a few letters:
VERALT
As you speak the name out loud, he's apparently satisfied with your pronunciation and gives a nod, his expression calm and thankful for your consideration. Since he's unable to speak, Halfiya speaks for him: "He comes from Travana... in Sonnamille. Elven country? That's no place for... Oh... He was a captive... a slave!" Halfiya explains, to the anger and disapproval of all around. The old hag turns back to you and explains: "the essence of death is invisible to the eye, just like anima. But shadowmancers can bind it to darkness itself, and turn a common shadow into a construct, like a creeping, open maw into to the land beyond death."
Your ears perk up at her choice of words. Working with a mute pact brother would have its challenges, but his talents seem especially useful to your long-term goals. You want to learn all of these skills - mindreading, darkscribing, and shadowmancy, but you can't possibly make time for all three. You'll need to commit to one ally whom you can make the most use of for the short term.
1. Halfiya - Your earlier instincts were correct. No matter how enticing the tabaxi's powers are to your future goals, or how much potential the half-orc's abilities might have for charting the path ahead, you must gain the ability to see into others' minds and discern their secrets. Halfiya is also the most ardent of all of these new witches, and will do everything in her power to bring victory to the coven - since she is at life's final chapter already.
2. Rowgu - The half-orc woman's strange power reminds you of the experience of holding that accursed book you found in the Mardenaal circle's library. Perhaps a darkscribe wrote that book? In any case, the mysterious runes on the Pandemonium Door have done great wonders to unlock your destiny thus far. You wonder if maybe Rowgu's ability could reveal the next chapter.
3. Veralt - You suspect the young man hungers for vengeance in much the same way that you do. With his ability to control the essence of death, perhaps you can come closer to that all-important goal of seeking Rigatte in the afterlife. The fact that he's also a tabaxi feels like a wink from the Eldest herself. But then again, when you look at him, he seems... pathetic. You decide that he needs a mentor, much like you did when you came to Tashlaan.
Option 2: 2 Votes (29% - Range: 58-86)
Option 3: 1 Vote (14% - Range: 87-100)
Fae Roll: 82
Your first impulse, as you look over this pack of dark strangers, is to lean on the experience of the most wizened witch. After all, simply surviving as a witch in this world is difficult enough that it would take one especially crafty and dangerous to survive into old age - the temptation to give into one's darkest impulses is strong, and once indulged, the exposure almost always leads to a quick death. That's why you've seen so few witches in their autumn years... But as you move to speak to her, a less-predictable notion comes over you. Your lip twists into a smile, not unlike the one Corrinth wears, as you feel almost compelled to eschew conventional reason.
"Acolytes of Syrith!" you address them, excited to finally wear the mantle of Terrorchild as a title of high esteem and authority. These people look up to you, and you'll meet or exceed their expectations in every way you can - even if it means getting a little theatrical. "I seek a pact sister. If you think yourself ready, then step forward - so that I can know your name and talents!"
The old hag bows to you as she speaks her name: "Halfiya!" she says, as the other witches look on with wide-eyed expressions, eager to see some momentous thing happen here. "...I've waited my entire life to witness the fruition of the Eldest's design. Agranne, you beautiful thing... I'm ready to offer you my insight. I possess a talent which few in the world can claim, and which Diala sought to keep all to herself until you destroyed her for her avarice. I can read the minds of others!"
Immediately, the rest of the crowd backs up in awe, aside from a tall and brutish-looking half-orc, and the warlock you spotted from afar... a fellow tabaxi. You point to them in order to test Halfiya's claim. "...Open their minds, then, sister. Tell me their secret talents!"
She eagerly takes out her wand, and with a skillful flick that traces a line of shadow through the air, she gazes deeply into the half-orc's eyes. "You... you look all brawn, but your greatest talent is with the quill. You... know ancient things! Terrible things! But more importantly, you know how to record them."
The half-orc nods, begrudgingly. "Rowgu," she introduces herself in a deep and husky voice. "I'm a darkscribe. With a quill, or a blade, anything which I can use to leave my mark, I can give myself over to the will of the Eldest and record her intent. Those who gaze upon the work are inflicted - or inspired - by Syrith's design!" she roars, eliciting a fascinated round of reactions. She takes out her weapon, a large and heavy claymore, and plants its tip against the ground. A large, onyx ring on her finger begins to smolder with dark magic as she begins to groan and weave her body back and forth, dragging the tip about. You watch in spellbound fascination as her eyes disappear within a cloud of darkness, as if she's a mere puppet in Syrith's control.
The crowd encircles this display as she carves a design into the dirt of the road, eventually regaining control as she steps away, out of breath and stamina from the apparently-taxing effort. You lean in to take a better look, and an image flashes through your mind - a potent one - the silhouette of the Eldest herself. And yet, unlike your prior visions and dreams of the figure, she somehow seems more solidified in this form, as if this vision is close to revealing her true, physical form. And just as it materializes, the image disperses, leaving you and the others who witnessed it utterly impressed.
That is, except for Corrinth, who looks down on all of you from her perch in the tree above. "Quite a trick," she says with a smirk. "All that effort for just a glimpse of Syrith's true face, but does it get us any closer to disposing of the church and its loyal stooges? And mindreading," the says, looking back to Halfiya, "as exclusive as such a thing is, thanks to Diala, I think Agranne ought to be more interested in a destructive power."
"Sticking to what you know, fae?" Halfiya says, gripping her wand as it sizzles with smoke. "Diala was a pretender, but she did right by casting you out."
"Oh?" Corrinth replies, flippantly. "Then what about Agranne? Is the Terrorchild wrong for welcoming me back?"
"That's enough, both of you," you warn before Halfiya can say anything which would sour her introduction further. "Tell me, about the warlock, Halfiya." She seems to be tiring, and so you take out the Pandemonium Door and hold it out for her to touch. The entire crowd reacts to its emergence from your pocket - a holy artifact, and you carry it in your pocket like a handkerchief - at once, they're stunned back to respect, aside from Corrinth, Embryx, and Jannava, who all snicker in amusement at their reaction. Halfiya notices their casual demeanor and, apparently emboldened, reaches out and touches the object to experience its restorative power.
"Oh, it's true..." she says quietly in amazement. Then, obediently, she turns and points her wand at the quiet warlock. "He's... He's a shadowmancer!" she says with exuberant fascination. "My... Where have you been hiding, dear boy?" she asks, but instantly, her expression turns to dismay. "You... You poor thing, you're mute!"
The tabaxi hangs his head ashamedly and nods, unable to speak his name. He instead crouches to the ground, taking his finger and writing out a few letters:
VERALT
As you speak the name out loud, he's apparently satisfied with your pronunciation and gives a nod, his expression calm and thankful for your consideration. Since he's unable to speak, Halfiya speaks for him: "He comes from Travana... in Sonnamille. Elven country? That's no place for... Oh... He was a captive... a slave!" Halfiya explains, to the anger and disapproval of all around. The old hag turns back to you and explains: "the essence of death is invisible to the eye, just like anima. But shadowmancers can bind it to darkness itself, and turn a common shadow into a construct, like a creeping, open maw into to the land beyond death."
Your ears perk up at her choice of words. Working with a mute pact brother would have its challenges, but his talents seem especially useful to your long-term goals. You want to learn all of these skills - mindreading, darkscribing, and shadowmancy, but you can't possibly make time for all three. You'll need to commit to one ally whom you can make the most use of for the short term.
1. Halfiya - Your earlier instincts were correct. No matter how enticing the tabaxi's powers are to your future goals, or how much potential the half-orc's abilities might have for charting the path ahead, you must gain the ability to see into others' minds and discern their secrets. Halfiya is also the most ardent of all of these new witches, and will do everything in her power to bring victory to the coven - since she is at life's final chapter already.
2. Rowgu - The half-orc woman's strange power reminds you of the experience of holding that accursed book you found in the Mardenaal circle's library. Perhaps a darkscribe wrote that book? In any case, the mysterious runes on the Pandemonium Door have done great wonders to unlock your destiny thus far. You wonder if maybe Rowgu's ability could reveal the next chapter.
3. Veralt - You suspect the young man hungers for vengeance in much the same way that you do. With his ability to control the essence of death, perhaps you can come closer to that all-important goal of seeking Rigatte in the afterlife. The fact that he's also a tabaxi feels like a wink from the Eldest herself. But then again, when you look at him, he seems... pathetic. You decide that he needs a mentor, much like you did when you came to Tashlaan.
hardcore.munchkin
Professional hater
2
Infab
The Demon Fanatic
3
turtwigwins
Junior Member
1
joshuadim
the writer
3
Damian0358
Roleplaying Procrastinator From Elsewhere
1
Breadman
Big loaf supreme
3