Spikes, Horns, and Stone 25
As you've come to learn, thanks to the efforts of Gwendolyn, the inhuman focus and dexterity of the elves is rather good at the production of black powder and bombs afterwards. It is further aided by their senses, and while Eldyra's nose wrinkles and then remains like that much of the time as you instruct her in the how and the what, the fact of the matter is that she seems quite adept at knowing what mixtures smell correct and which ones do not. At least, after you explain things. As expected, the daughter of a proud warrior bloodline of Ulthuan and further one proved more than worthy of her squiring by one who, as near as you can tell, is quite possibly the best swordsman among all the Asur requires very little repetition in instruction. She comprehends and understands just about everything you put before her, and has never gone beyond asking for you to repeat yourself more than the once. At other times she quickly accepts aid whenever you offer it, and in a contrast to what some might think regarding elven arrogance, whenever she doesn't immediately know the answer she asks for help. Which, considering you're working with bombs, is extremely important to keep everyone from blowing up. Important enough for you to be waring your Ledstahli armor, just in case something starts to go boom.
Especially because she's still incredibly twitchy.
Something that you've watched, as the morning has gone on, slowly irritate her more and more as her body refuses to remain under complete control.
It is not that it happens constantly, or rather, it does, but its mostly small spasms below the waist as her feet tip or tap, twisting every now and again as if preparing to run. At other times, it is one of her eyes, flickering and pulsing at random moments that only sometimes appear to be connected to her emotional state. Some of the worst pulses causes her to lurch in one direction or another. Each and every time it happens, she freezes up after it passes, growls quietly to herself, and mutters quiet curses in Eltharin that your basic grasp of the language cannot properly understand. When you can even make out what she's saying, that is. But what you grasp immediately is that as long as Eldyra's hands are moving around, whether grinding or mixing or sliding components into each other or sealing bombs up, her hands and arms are dead still. So long as she's doing something with them at all, she has control. But she can't do that with every other part of her, at the moment, and so with each obvious sign of that lacking control, she grows more and more frustrated.
Gwendolyn notices as well. While she brought it up in the first place, the child is now quietly sitting at the table where normally she would be constantly babbling to you about any number of things. In the past many weeks, she's asked a great many things of you. Not as much about you than has already been discussed, but where you come from. Ostland. The Empire. The Old World entirely, actually. In these kinds of discussions she has revealed that her mother has shown her a great many things with her magic. Ulgu may be called the Grey Wind, but mastery of it allows for illusions of vibrant color and sound and even the impression of texture if the mind is manipulated enough. And, admittedly, globetrotting and marauding over the entire world for centuries has allowed Hultressa to show Gwendolyn more environments and places and things than you could possibly have ever experienced, but illusions are still illusions. Gwendolyn hasn't been out of the chambers of this place possibly more than once or twice, and even then only for incredibly short periods. Maybe even never, though she manages to avoid ever saying that directly. But she wants to know about the world outside, and has been so painfully earnest about wanting to know what it is like to really feel the rocky trails of the Middle Mountains beneath your boots. Or the snap of twigs and pressing crush of grass and shrubs in the forests. Things she knows, and has, in a very technical sense, experienced. But not in the way she truly desires. All such things, all the earnest questions and answers, are gone from the table this day.
Instead, the poor child spends all of her time flicking glances towards the Asur at the table and then going back to her work. You know she yearns to speak to her more openly, but every time her lips even begin to part Eldyra's head all but whips towards the new movement, at which point Gwendolyn's head goes right back down and her mouth snaps shut silently.
"Damn it!" Eldyra finally snaps, making Gwendolyn jerk where she sits and your eyes rise up from the bomb you've been working on.
The squire all but throws herself away from the table, grumbling to herself and mashing her face about with one hand.
"Eldyra," you say cautiously as you rise up and follow after her as she stomps away.
"I can't – I can't – I need…!" She strains to find the words and then barely holds back the scream that tries to rip out of her by shoving a fist halfway into her mouth and biting down on it, hard enough to draw blood.
"Should I do something?" Gwendolyn whispers to you, eyes wide.
"No, no, stay there," you murmur back to her before carefully stepping after Eldyra.
"I…all this…," the squire is hissing at herself, glaring down at her hands that are beginning to tremble and shake once more. "Why…why?!"
"Eldyra," you call out again, and this time she wheels about towards you, eyes that disturbing and distressing darkening grey.
Eyes that are not even focusing directly on you.
"I…I need to do my drills," she says, voice strange and distant. "I need to do my drills. I'm supposed to do my drills every day."
Slowly, carefully, she moves over to
Death Thorn and walks to a slightly more open space amongst the rest of the furniture. Though your concern is rising up with just about every second, you do not do anything as stupid as try to run up and shake her given the state she's in at the moment. But contrary to any expectation of her collapsing entirely into the murderous fugue state of before when she first was accidentally woken up from her coma, she actually manages to somewhat steadily move up into a guarding stance. Practically leaping into her own private little world, she begins to start moving through different movements and sword forms, some you vaguely recognize, and others you do not. It is not perfect, however, something that she definitely takes notice of as her breath jitters and shudders on occasion, followed by minor imperfections with each movement. It doesn't help that
Death Thorn is damaged by whatever it was that Tullaris got up to with it. Chipped and jagged here and there. Not enough to fully compromise its structural integrity, but while you might not be a wizard yourself you can tell that something of the enchantments woven into its structure have been similarly damaged somehow. And, especially unfortunately, you don't know anything about working ithilmar and probably never will. Let alone trying to fix the enchantments. All of which means that this ancestral blade, this thing that is as connected to her sword arm as
Brain Wounder is to yours, feels off. Not too much, no, that would almost be easier. But just barely enough to be noticeable, which means it is all the more keenly painful.
Each swing, each thrust, each movement, is just wrong enough for you to notice.
Which means, of course, if you can notice it, then Eldyra very much does so.
"No…no…," she mutters to herself as she tries to reset again and again, only to get angrier as she continues to fail. "NO!"
"Okay," you sigh and begin to move, extremely carefully. "Eldyra, I think-,"
You had a good idea of what was coming.
That does not mean that you enjoy it happening.
"NNRRAAGH!" Eldyra screams and then whirls on you, the storm grey in her eyes going so dark that it is practically an all-consuming black.
(
Bokdrungni Activates! Rolled: 4. Ward Save Unsuccessful!)
(The Broken Squire: 48-Eldyra Martial(20)+Dreadbringer's Lingering Touch(5)+Frederick Martial(19)=52/100)
(Major Wound Sustained!
Light of Summer Activates! 80! Successful!)
The runed gauntlet on your left arm springs upwards, the warding effect triggering from her assault, but in this case it doesn't prove enough to stop Eldyra's swing. Rather,
Death Thorn lets out a metallic squealing shriek as it slams thunderously against
Bokdrungni and then grinds down the side so that the ithilmar blade can flicker underneath and past. You can't stop it even if you wanted to, all the lurches and twitches disappearing the instant she actually has a true target, and so instead your daughter Alexandra's work finds itself screeching and cracking as it is pierced. The blow is not a simple cut, either, but instead a deep gouge right into your side. Though it misses any organs, at least as far as you can tell, it saws itself against one of your ribs before it begins to slide and slice its way out of you. In that frozen moment, you can see a mixture of dreadful relief on her face as she does something successfully mixed with absolute horror and revulsion at what it is she has actually done. Blood splatters across the ground and out of you as the blade strikes semi-true.
(Disarmament: 71-20+5+19+Gwendolyn Martial(12)+Reasserting Self-Control(10)=97/100)
Gwendolyn's bare foot slams into Eldyra's face, shattering her nose.
The Druchii child's teeth are bared in a feral sneer, a faint red dot glowing where her irises would be in the inky black totality of her eyes, and there are streamers of unholy darkness billowing from random points on her body. How she managed to get that kind of velocity from a sitting position in a chair, you can only presume. Either way, the strike is effective, to the point that it comes dangerously close to forcing Eldyra's head backwards at an angle that could be considered fatal. Worried as you are, you have to take advantage of the strike while you can, and reach forward and rip
Death Thorn forwards out of an impressively tight grip from the squire and throw it behind you to clatter on the floor. Eldyra doesn't resist much past that, and even as Gwendolyn springs upwards straight up in the air a few feet with shadowy daggers flitting out of nowhere into her hands, the Asur just sags in place as you grapple her. As a result, you end up sliding towards the floor with her in your arms and smacking your knees against the carpet as she goes mostly limp. There is a brief moment where Gwendolyn's bare feet land on your shoulders before she hops off, and then with a feral hiss ends up flanking your right side, those dark streamers still drifting up from her body and those glittering black daggers in her hands.
"I'm…I'm so…," Eldyra is gasping as she tries to sob, "I'm…I'm sorry," she huffs out between the beginnings of more sobs.
"It's okay," you grunt, feeling the blood start to get caught in your armor as it slowly begins to re-freeze into place.
A brief healing bloom of Ghyran erupts from the
Light of Summer in the meantime, lessening the pain all the more as tissues reknits itself.
"It's
not!" She cries out, shielding her face with her hands. "It's
not! They…I am…I am
Cynatirosenthmenlu," she whimpers.
It takes a little bit for you to understand it, but when you do you realize the meaning of the word is practically a blade she has aimed at her own heart, and it strikes you like a hammer blow to the head.
"What you are, is wounded," you interrupt. "That's all. Wounded. Some wounds take a long time to heal."
Gwendolyn is still breathing hard, but this time you can actually track where she's looking as the red dot in the center of her eyes flicks your way, then back to the Asur. It takes a few more seconds before her breathing starts to even out, and the red glowing ember starts to wink out until disappearing entirely. The oily black energies seeping out of her start to gutter out until disappearing entirely. Last to go are the daggers, looking like translucent obsidian, until those too begin to dissipate. Rather than fading up and away like the other energies coming out of her, rather more disturbingly the daggers start to melt down like pitch which then appears to be literally absorbed back into her hands. Still, the kind of sheer murderous anger on her face is something that a child should not be capable of showing. Not the pretend murderousness of a child being denied a sweet or tricked, but outright fully aware and mature murderousness. The kind of thing that accompanies someone snapping and killing someone in the middle of the street.
"It may take a long time, but it is time you
will have," you promise her, holding her as she weeps at the deep wounds that the Cult of Khaine has left in her.
Wounds that will, Gods willing, eventually scar over.
But that time is not yet.
That time is not today.
=================================================================
(Religious Fissures: 69+Gruesome Reputation(20)+Growing Presence(10)+Prior Habits(10)+Pre-Party Planning(5)+One In A Crowd(10)-High Alert(20)-Druchii Paranoia(10)-The Event of the Season(5)+Sharks Scenting Blood(5)=94/100)
When Hultressa finally returns, she once more finds herself pausing in the middle of what would have been a bombastic announcement to stare at Eldyra. This time, however, it is because Eldyra is currently horizontal and shuddering underneath a blanket, an uneasy sleep coming over her only after hours of trying. It is not as bad as when she was awake, at least. She isn't crying anymore, that stopped after the first hour after she'd finally managed to go to sleep, and even then didn't start up again after you stopped holding her hand. Well, after the first few times at least. Gwendolyn greets her mother with far more curtness than usual as well before going back to furiously making more bombs, her little hands almost blurring as they move about, all without making a single mistake that you can see. She was not happy with Eldyra, that was easy to tell, especially after she'd bled you. Hultressa definitely doesn't miss the actual frown on her child's face, and so then raises an eyebrow rather expectantly at you.
"There was an incident," you shrug, and then her gaze drifts lower so that she can see the crimson streak of your own frozen blood within the repaired and resealed breastplate of the Ledstahli.
"So. It. Would. Seem," she drawls before she unfurls a single index finger and curls it towards her, head tilting to the side with her eyes wide and unblinking.
"Right," you grunt before getting up and walking over.
Another gesture from her has the rest of the world take on distant nature that you've come to associate with blocked off sound, while Hultressa takes a single long imperious step forward until she is just shy of making full bodily contact with you which in turn forces you to crane your head upwards to look her in the eye.
"What. Happened," she says, teeth clicking with each bitten off word.
"Small breakdown, that's all. I'm the only one that got hurt," you inform her promptly, watching as the dark purple of the Druchii's eyes begins to be obscured by a bleed through of Dhar creeping in from the outer edges.
You can see the knuckles on her right hand tightening against the haft of her staff, her head rotating like a bolt thrower being shifted by a weapon team to face towards the slumbering Eldyra.
"She is not a threat to your daughter," you add quickly, making Hultressa's head snap back towards you. "I'm serious. She went for me, because I'm the one that got too close. Then Gwendolyn kicked her in the face so hard she broke her nose."
Hultressa's inhale is so sharp and deep that it almost seems like the air around you is sucked away, leaving you slightly breathless.
"I ought to
make her incapable of being a threat," she hisses, and though you are no wizard you can feel the crackling heat of black flames as they spark into being in the air around her, accompanied by hideous whispering that you can't quite make out somewhere in the back of your mind.
"Hultressa."
"I have never granted an Asur the true taste of my art," she continues while drifting out of Reikspiel and into Druhir instead, not looking at you anymore. "I know her flesh, her skin, her
bones, I remade them, and what I make I can
shatter," she growls to herself.
"Okay," you mutter and then rather forcibly step into her space, the creeping cold of your Ledstahli easily communicated across the string-thin distance between you now.
Only then does she turn back to you.
"She broke a bit, but she recovered, and she gave up her weapon. She is not a threat," you say steadily. "Your daughter broke her face a bit, and if she acts up again I'm quite sure that Gwendolyn might end up throwing one of those bombs at her. So instead of doing anything we might regret, such as harming the squire of the great champion of Ulthuan known as Tyrion the Defender and close companion of the Everqueen…," you trail off.
(A Mother's Wrath: 50+Frederick Diplomacy(5)+Appealing to Hopes(20)-Obsessive Protector(30)+Gwendolyn Unharmed(10)+Desperate Times(10)=65/100)
The black fires of Dhar grow hotter and hotter around you, the unintelligible whispering growing more and more insistent and furious to the point that the very acidity of those words makes your ears burn like acid is being poured inside. Her grip on her staff grows all the tighter, knuckles popping slightly from the pressure. Each breath is hard and fast, guttural even. But whatever illusion she wove is enough that out of the corner of your eyes you can see that Gwendolyn doesn't appear to have noticed. Her eyes flickered over your way a few times, but she isn't showing the sort of reaction you might assume from the power that Hultressa is starting to bring to the fore. The very air around you is starting to stink like the world after the scorching flames of daemons have been thrown past, until all of a sudden it disappears. All of it does. The fire, the whispers, the smells, all of it disappears in a single thump of Hultressa's staff upon the ground. She trembles with the containment of all that magic, and then exhales a single slow hot breath.
"
Fine," she grinds out.
"Okay," you nod, and step back slightly.
She is silent save for her hard breathing for another minute before she takes in a single slow inhale, eyes closing tight. When they open again, the darkness is mostly gone, revealing glowing dark purple irises once more.
"Okay," she whispers, a deadly glare still shot towards Eldyra in the meantime before she looks back to you and nods.
"Okay," you nod back before clearing your throat. "So! How was your day, today?"
The sorceress blinks rapidly at you.
"…yes, my day," she murmurs. "Yes."
"The Cults?"
"Right," she reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose. "My investigations bore a considerable amount of fruit. The Cult of Khaine is clinging to my sister's coattails, they're
debasing themselves," she drawls with a dismissive roll of her eyes. "She is the greatest power on the Ark, and they believe their only chance at retaining their previous levels of prominence is to bow to her, for now."
"Well, we could have expected that," you point out, and she nods tiredly.
"Correct. The followers of Eldrazor are few after the loss of his champions in the fighting, and have largely broken up under the major military leaders of the Ark," she shrugs, hand stretching out so that she can start ticking off fingers. "Few Druchii ever worship Estreuth for anything but calling upon his power upon our enemies. But that they are moving more openly makes others wary – it is never a pleasant thing to be near those who follow the Lord of Hunger."
You frown in thought.
"Could that be related to our destruction of the farms?"
"Likely," she shrugs a single shoulder, "They are drawn to such things, on occasion. Usually to cry out that more funds, more attention, more power must be paid to the Lord of Hunger so that such events do not occur. The same is true of the followers of Ellinill, Ereth Khial, Hukon, and more. All minor, comparatively. More likely to end up subsumed by the greater religious powers that end up taking prominence."
"Right," you cluck your tongue, arms folding over your chest with a faint crackling and crunching of ice. "So who are the major players? The ones trying to be, at least."
"A considerable amount of the forces from our subordinate Ark fled here, and so Anath Raema is more strongly represented than ever before on the
Claw," she says, snorting in derision. "But not so strongly as to beat out Hekarti. It is her followers that have grown strong under Screamtaker, and now under my sister. However," she raises up one finger, and here the sorceress' expression turns somewhat perturbed. "I only barely caught it, the faint echoes of whispers spoken thrice-removed. But there are rumors that the Cult of Atharti is moving."
"The Goddess of Pleasure and Seduction," you say slowly, brow furrowing. "Really? Frankly, seems a little dangerous to have, all things considered…," you say with a general wave to the side. "Given a certain Dark God."
Hultressa huffs, rolling her eyes.
"That is rather the point, Frederick. To bequeath unto Her all the pleasures and joys that said entity would
wish to draw power from. Know this, Frederick, there are few things that those eldritch foes despise more than their greatest domains to be 'stolen' from and delivered unto the grasp of others," she lectures you, waggling one finger like a schoolteacher. "They may take some, for they are mighty, but to deliver even
some of that which they draw strength from elsewhere weakens them."
"…so you're saying you use Atharti to, what, cuckold the Dark Prince of some of their power?"
Hultressa's lips curl into a smirk.
"Something like that," she chuckles huskily before straightening and taking on a serious cast once more. "The fact of the matter is that they rule the pleasure district, and are thus some of the wealthiest on the Ark. With power and connections and blackmail aplenty to draw upon. In general, however, they only move…," she shifts uncomfortably, "In the kinds of strength they are moving in at the moment, when said foe presents itself."
You feel yourself go still as she gives you a commiserating look.
"What – are you saying…,"
"A single year – half a year – a handful of
months ago," she says, exhaling sharply and shaking her head. "I would have said that it would be impossible for a Cult of Pleasure to begin forming on this Ark. Screamtaker would never have allowed it, she
despised them, as a regular patron of the Cult of Atharti herself. Any time even the smallest trinket or symbol appeared on the Ark, she would utilize," she huffs in exasperation, "The
entire strength of the Coven to torture and ruin all involved."
She blinks a few times to banish whatever memories well up in her mind and looks back at you.
"But, as I suspect you may know, the Dark Gods can speak in whisper and dream past a great many wards even at the best of times."
Unbidden, the wretched pain and grief on your wife's face as she tells you of what nearly slew her from within flashes to the fore of your mind. The pain of it is enough that, through the soul bond, you can feel your wife twitch in her own recovering slumber.
"So we have that to potentially look forward to," you groan, rubbing at your forehead.
"The important thing is that we know," she insists. "I only barely caught it myself," she shakes her head again in disbelief. "If the Cult of Atharti finds any sign of them, they
will go on the warpath. They do not appreciate their rival in pleasure."
"If we could point them out towards someone…," you realize, and Hultressa favors you with another wicked smirk.
"Very good," she purrs. "It is one more weapon in the arsenal for what is to come."
"So, Hekarti and Atharti are moving in strength, Khaine is clinging to Alyssa's skirts, and Anath Raema is sniffing around for who has the most advantage and who might be the most vulnerable prey. All while the others circle and see who to fall in behind," you conclude, and Hultressa inclines her head.
"Correct."
A thought comes to the fore, then.
"But what about the Cult of Mathlann?" You say frowning. "Aren't…shouldn't they also matter?"
"They do, but enough so that most of them are staying in the dockyards," she says with brushing motions. "They're too valuable, too important, for any other faction to dare do anything but offer them support as they rebuild the ships and beseech Mathlann for aid and protection for the Ark's well-being. For a Black Ark, any Black Ark, the Cult of Mathlann is the ultimate neutral force in the politicking, more often than not," she says with a cluck of her tongue. "We
all need them, no matter what. At most, some representative of the Cult will be there, but the majority will not. Probably."
"Probably," you hum.
Hultressa and you share a contemplative silence before she speaks again.
"It has been a tiring day, and the Auction shall be at dusk tomorrow," she informs you. "I can still attempt to try and bring forth one more accompanying asset with us, or return to the pyramid, but either will be more difficult."
"Would it be better to not, and just try to conserve your strength?" You posit, making her eyes narrow in thought.
"…perhaps," she admits. "Nevertheless, some form of preparation must be had."
Choose For Final Preparations before Auction:
By refusing Gwendolyn's Choice, you have lost all chances at gaining early entry to the Temple of Khaine and must move outwardly instead. Hultressa can dedicate her time to either increasing the damage dealt to the Pyramid or to making efforts to pretend at rebuilding her retinue so that she can actually bring in other assets - such as Frederick himself, Johanna Fuerbach, Roland, and perhaps even Jaqueline or other Bretonnian slaves. But she cannot do both with equal time and effort, and one must take primacy. You are now aware of a coming potential conflagration of the Cults of the Cytharai at the Auction, as well as the potential presence of a Cult of Pleasure, Slaanesh worshippers. Moratorium For 3 Hours.
Auction Retinue Secured
- Hultressa and Terror Guards
- Frederick von Hohenzollern
- Johanna Fuerbach
[] Pyramid - The more bombs, the more confusion amongst the overseers, the more manipulation, the greater the effect when the trigger is finally pulled. The greater the effect, the worse of Alyssa's position on the Ark will be, and the worse the food crisis would become. Hultressa will already be spending time with this, and has done so already, but the more she does, the better the end result - or worse, if you are Alyssa Voidreaper. The kind of destruction that could occur if properly focused upon could be quite effective if triggered at the right time, even if it is just to force Alyssa to send away some of her strength at the Auction to investigate.
[] Retinue - The more effort and time Hultressa puts into this act, the more assets she can actually bring with her to the Auction as her presumed efforts 'work out' in terms of recruitment. Some effort will already be made, enough to bring Frederick, but any other assets will require some time put towards this. Doing so will allow Hultressa to much more strongly justify bringing in others, arming them even as her guards, and so on. Therefore, once you are at the Temple of Khaine, you will have that many more weapons and bodies at hand to aid you.
[] Conserving Strength - Spending time running about may well end up being less valuable than Hultressa focusing purely on conserving her strength and building her focus and power for what is to come. Also, apparently, something about scrolls, possibly something about potions. Either way, it would mean no effort put behind anything else but ensuring that Hultressa is able to bring her full focus and power to bear when it comes to the Auction proper.
