Stillborn Sanctity
Fourteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
The four of you race across the town on wings of wind and spellcraft, hardly needing to consult further. The dead you can deal with, specters can be banished, hungry dead slain by sword and fire, but the hand of a goddess is not lightly turned aside. You remember the fear, the moment your soul had almost been torn from you. She is not here, not overtly, only ghosts and madmen.
You cannot take the chance.
Thankfully, the temple is empty of worshipers this late. It is sunset that is holy to the Mother of Dragons and the sun is long past over the horizon, soon to arrive again over the ridge of the world, in fact. Light descends much sooner upon the temple of the Old Mother, its stilts and its idols. Fire such as ended Valyria descends over wood and soaked with blood and tears. Wards flicker against the onslaught, spells uttered in secret and in silence, spells shouted to the frightened faithful. All for naught, her temple burns.
As the green flames illuminate the town Lya, Waymar, Vee, and Malarys manifest into being, hanging in midair just as you do. The former priest of Balerion gives the scene before him a cold smile. For a moment you are concerned he is about to make a comment about the temple's obviously Rhoynar asthetic. Instead, he just notes, "Better Hell than what fools think will be paradise."
Yet the battle is not won, amid the smoke and ruin the figure you had glimpsed inside the temple rises, her face distorted with rage and loss, swindled faith filling her like a thousand thousand flaring embers. The smoke coils into tendrils grasping around Tyene's throat. "Traitor!" she howls as much in pain as rage.
Tyene takes 16 Damage
Words of fire and ruin are on your lips to burn away the spirit just as Waymar conjures lightning in his hand, just as Oathkeeper is drawn, but Malarys is swifter. He speaks not a spell of banishment but one of
binding, brandishing a spellsteed dagger set with rubies bright as drops of blood. As the spirit is drawn inexorably into the blade, she gives one last dreadful wail. A shard of enchanted steel snaps off the edge... and would have struck Waymar clean through the hand had you not spun
warding wings to guard him.
"Not like that would have hurt me much," the young knight laughs.
"It would have struck your finger, your ring finger," Lya motions to the circle of rune forged metal that keeps him safe from foresight and compulsion. "She had already suppressed the power of your amulet.
That almost possessed you."
"How the hell...?" Waymar bites back a curse reflexively.
"If you pretend to be a god from long enough, the lie becomes a little true," you reply, thinking back to the moment your own spell took root in the temple below. You had felt something on the very edge of awareness, but hardly clear enough to bring the power of your ring to bear and counter the magic. Glancing at the dagger shivering with the rage of the imprisoned spirit, you add, "Nowhere near true enough for Yss though."
What do you do next?
[] Hunt down more of the Risen Nine
-[] Write in
[] Attempt to gain control of the Town
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: Really short unfortunately but given how chaotic things are right you guys aught to be setting the priorities. Not yet edited.