Age of Mystery: Measure of Being A Manipulative Drow Elf In A Fantasy World

You begin to track the mage. You pick up a psychic trail and follow it through the caves, going from where the skeleton hath come. Sooner, or later, you will go to the place where it was roused to service, and from there you can pick up a trail of the necromancer.

Crossing several grottos full of waterfalls and natural springs, you frown deeply. The people of Al-Hassad are thirsty and constantly seek out oases to draw water from, yet so many sources of fresh water dwell under their feet. Idiots.


Continuing through the caves, you end up in a single, small chamber. Focusing and leaning out with your mind, you... find nothing. No leftover psychic remnant of a spell to follow. No magical energy cloud left behind. Perhaps you aren't focusing hard enough, maybe your mind is too clouded with the events to come. Malcer kept mentioning the end of days. It's sitting in your mind, like a looming shadow of doom. You cast away the parasitic thought and go back on track to returning to the city.

---

The city is in a worse state than you expected.

The guards at the gate numbered in twenty, but as you walked through, you learned there is a military curfew. As soon as you enter, a patrol of six soldiers marching in formation march by you, followed by a drider, followed by six more soldiers and two low-rank clerics.

A quartet of guards, all female, walk up to you. You look at them. They look at you.

A moment of silence. You just stare, blankly. You can't tell their expression through the helmets.

Then, one of the women growls. "Bow already, then go home!"

Bow? Pffft. Do they know who you are? "I bow to no one as filthy as you," you state with undeterred pride. She clenches her hands as you continue to speak, "Do you have any idea who I am? I am"

"A male," she spits, then draws her sword. "I don't care about your rank. Bow, now."

"Leave it," another of the guardswomen says.

"No," the angered one argues back, then looks at you. "This filth has to learn." She cockily waves her sword up and down in her hand, then looks at it. Before long, she hops in your direction and swings the blade, aiming above the shoulders and intending to behead you.

You step back, leaning the entirety of your body backward. The very tip of the sword's thrust scratches the upper portion of your chest armor. Before she can go for another swing,


"Listen to me, you putty, menial whore," you call her, as she suddenly drops her sword and falls on her knees before you in total submission. Her windpipe contorts and she begins to choke, trying to force herself to breathe. The other guardswomen watch in shock as you continue. You look at her cruelly, "I am Cesimir of House Ludenwick. You will respect me, or I will show you how to behead someone."

You flick your wrist. The sword flies up and stops short of her neck. "Understood?" Your voice knows no such thing as remorse.

She nods slowly, out of submission. You grin in total satisfaction, but the others step in, prompting you to frown as one of the guardswomen yells: "You're under arrest!" The guardswomen draw her swords.

"Are you sure?"


You move your whole arm from the right to left. As you move it, a discharge of kinetic energy follows and the swords shoot out of their hands and fly behind your back, hanging in midair. You grin even deeper. Before this, you already had plenty of power in the city. Now, you can rule not through your mother's influence, but your own intimidation. "Take a hint," you say, then sprinkle the next word with magic, as your eyes glow a hellish red, "run."


You release the knelt guardswoman. They all pack it and run away at full speed. You beam in sadistic pleasure, as you can hear the female screams of terror reach you from their direction. Bow to them? Even if Lolth told you to, you bow before no one.

No one!

---

You bow before Margretta, gulping.

She looks at you, squinting and observing. It's the third circle she's made around you, watching you from every direction. She's been completely silent for two minutes and told you to stay silent as well. Finally, after the longest trepidation you've felt in a long time, "You appear to be my son, indeed. How are you alive, Cesimir?"

"That I do not know, mother," you answer, not looking up from the ground in submission and humility. It'd be embarrassing if anyone else saw you but fortunately, that isn't the case.

"And why have you scared guardswomen on the way here with... magic?" she asks. So, the word spread quicker than expected.

"They told me to bow," you say, as politely and nicely as you can, throwing in a little, faked regret.

"Mhm," she nods. Margretta turns away.

You look up, just slightly, and stare at her back. You're powerful enough to challenge her. If you were to get up right now and stab her in the back with a poisoned dagger. The only thing keeping you back is the lack of a poisoned dagger. As Margretta turns around again, you look down at the ground.

"Cesimir, bow to women. Lolth finds it unacceptable for a man to carry himself as high as a woman. I was expecting you to learn as you grew, but clearly, you have no idea how things work in our society," she says, then shakes her head in disappointment. Her shake reminds you of Malcer, making a tinge of anger to boil in your heart. Your breathing gets heavier at the thought.

"I will not cover for you every time you decide to harass a mistress, lift lieutenant, or anyone else. I will also send you to Vuzlan, for a check-up. We must learn how you came to life again, and perhaps test you for aptitude as an arcanist," she says, then prepares to leave. "Dismissed."

---

You enter the palace of Teme-Napish. Detailed ornaments and vaguely arthropod statues from gold are at every crossing, each one probably costing roughly the amount of money you make in several weeks of dedicated work on the market. There are hieroglyphs and symbols carved on every wall. You approach a pair of guards, requesting an audience with a certain someone. They aren't bothered by your dark skin, or the fact that you're carrying a morningstar around.

The human guards lead you to Vuzlan with all haste, who, himself, wears a magical disguising spell, looking like a human diplomat in bright, yellow, velvet robes from expensive material, coated partly in golden, silk weave.

"Welcome," he says, then drops the disguise. "Good to see you're alive, brother."

"How are things up here?"

"Worse," he says. "But I have good news."

"Good news?"

"I hope you can deliver them to mother on your way back. The necromancer is a member of House Teken'th, most likely their Matron Mother; Avar'izz."

House Teken'th? They are known for their magic. His deduction seems to be correct, but did he actually investigate, or is this a plot? Regardless, it's a good way to exploit the chaos. Throw around accusations and find a scapegoat for everything that's happening. No one would blame House Ludenwick if they were wrong. Anything goes down here. Telling Margretta is a sound move.

"Surely," you say, grinning smugly. Though, you ponder how those are 'good' news.

Vuzlan leads you to his workshop, in the lower floors of the palace. He runs medical checks on you, scans you with spells, and does similar things. He can't figure out the cause of the resurrection, but he figures out you are a sorcerer, much like himself. "Since when do you have magical power of this degree?"

[] [Vuzlan] Lie: "I just had it, ever since I woke up."
[] [Vuzlan] Truth: "I received it from a Flumph, believe it or not."

He nods. "That will be all. You should seriously consider becoming my apprentice with that kind of power. I can offer you a dashing education." Vuzlan turns away to clean his tools, then looks at you, as if in anticipation for your opinion.

"I will consider it," you say with a positive and assuring tone, "But mother might want me elsewhere. I can't go against her word."

"That's understandable, naturally," he answers. He gives you a hefty clap on the shoulder and sends you off, back down to the city. When you return, you...

[] [Culprit] Tell Margretta that House Teken'th is the cause of the undead infestation.
[] [Culprit] Tell Margretta that Flumphs are the cause of the undead infestation.
[] [Culprit] Tell her nothing.
[] [Culprit] Tell her nothing and investigate House Teken'th.

---

At night, you decide to rest for the first night, in your own chamber. You lock yourself, take a warm, bubbly bath, change your clothes into a comfortable night garment, then lay down on your bed and decide to forgo reverie tonight, the odd chances of an assassin be damned. Instead, you go to sleep. As in, actual sleep. Your organism slows down and you experiece the dreaming, with vivid colors and imagery.

But your dream carries another vision, much more powerful and long than those prior.

"The prodigal son returns," the voice says. "To spread misery in his own birthplace and hunt down the rot that has brought about his demise. Yet, he does not yet understand the gravity of his situation. What he believes a powerplay, is a struggle that will decide the fate of the very gods."

You stand in an empty field, with only scattered bodies to act as your companions and only broken weapons to act as furniture.

Then, an outsider swoops down. Wreathed in darkness, which surrounds him like a noxious gas. The darkness licks his body and he looks at you with his equally black, colorless eyes. With but a glance, they promise you death, "And I will crush him."

The darkness spreads, but you fight back mentally. Monsters, similar to the outsider, step out of the clouds of inky darkness around you. You swipe your morningstar one time, then another, knocking the beasts back into their ranks, but they keep coming in larger and larger numbers.

"And once the tyrant falls, the universe will breathe anew," he prophesizes. "So, die, Cesimir. Die, now!"


Your eyes shoot open and you instantly roll off the bed, to your right. The assassin's dagger misses narrowly and digs into your pillow. You look to your right and reach out, as your morningstar obediently flies into your hand. The assassin jumps off the bed, on the other side of the room.

"Who the hell are you?"

"An assassin. Can't you tell?" the killer responds with crushing honesty.

You nod. "Fair enough."

You clear your throat and prepare to rumble.


You notice the assassin's hourglass silhouette and quickly realize you are faced with a woman. Doing what any proper gentleman would, you lean forward, pull your leg backward and bow in front of her in the most chivalrous way imaginable. "Will you give me this dance, m'lady?" you jest.

The assassin scoffs and aims her handcrossbow at you. The bolt rapidly rages through the room and you do not have the attention or dexterity to dodge it. The bolt digs itself into your left shoulder. You squeal in pain, then look at her with anger. Blue lightning emits from your eyes - pure psychic energy, leaving in the heat of passion.

"Oh, crap," the assassin exclaims, realizing she had just angered something powerful and eldritch.

... The door to the room opens. A calm, whistling halfling slave walks in nonchalantly with a broom, "Cleaning," he exclaims, then stops dead in his tracks. You ignore him wholly. His eyes widen as he notices what's happening, then he leaves through the door and closes it, deciding that, maybe, just maybe, getting involved isn't a good idea.

The lightning pours from your eyes and sentiently seeks out the assassin, entering through her own eyes and into her cerebrum. The psychic energy attacks her mind, overloading her nervous system and brain. You stand, calmed down now, as she convulses on the floor in absolute and utter pain, much like you did quite recently. While she's being enfeebled, you walk out to the balcony and whistle with your fingers, then wave down onto the guards downstairs.

"Up here! Get up here, right now!" The guards look up at you, process the command, realize who you are, and then run in the direction of the entrance to go upstairs.

You return to your room and look at the assassin, who is, still, very much writhing on the floor. She shakes like a snake that bit itself and injected itself with a little bit of venom on accident, without an immunity to speak of. A disgusting sight to say the least, and this insect also has to infect your floor with its unsightliness.

Soon, guards slam the door open, cuff her in manacles, and carry away the intellectually disabled assassin away. You wave at her as they carry her away, "Tatty-bye!" you cheer. Tonight, you've gained even more confidence in your powers, however, you are starting to feel mentally exhausted; a significant sign that you are running out of magical fuel.

You lay down on the bed and continue the dream, but this time in the form of reverie and meditation. Instead of any visions, however, you receive only past memories to indulge in.

You wonder. Is the vision and assassin related? You decide to show up in jail tomorrow and snoop around. Drow sentence others for getting caught rather than committing the crime, but you want to know the motive. No, in fact, you need to know the motive. Knowing the motives, goals, and tools of your enemies, as well as your enemies, is the 101 of all intrigue ever.

Yeah, remember the name of the city you're in? Gotta live up to the name.

You've also noticed a recurring quirk of people you barely know calling you 'the Prodigal Son.' First, it was Malcer, and now it was Mr. Darkness in that dream of yours. Is the dream literal, or to be interpreted in a metaphysical manner? Or maybe it's pure philosophy, about you being consumed by darkness?

The next day, you spend the morning...

[] [Free Time] Drinking wine like a douche.
[] [Free Time] Training your psychic powers in the garden, on hapless slaves.
[] [Free Time] Training your weapon skills in the garden, on hapless slaves.
[] [Free Time] Chilling.
[] [Free Time] Write-in.