Poisoned Gifts
Fifteenth Day of the Second Month 294 AC
Forest of Qohor
The days flowed together like fine wine, like mother's milk, the forest thrummed and beat like one great heart, and all within it in harmony. Hail... hail... hail the unborn.
"Forgive me, for I am not worthy!" did the words come out of his mouth, did he merely think them. Did it matter? The flesh had sloughed off from Hernor's face like the lies of the unbelievers, but the Great One did not see fit to give him new flesh with his thunderous caress. This was his penance, perhaps his end.
The lion devours the lamb and then it falls dead to be eaten by the worms. The worms squirm and writhe, the roots come too. Soon... soon... he was so close. He could feel them pulling at his ankles, the
First Shoots, he could feel their thoughts tangling with his, weaving... binding.
Screaming pulling ripping wracking.
The mage gave thanks to the Mother of All for choosing him, and if the words sounded like rasping over dry bones, it did not matter. She always heard, always knew Her Children from the Devoured. She would exalt him.
The forest twisted and flowed around him, green and black. The sound of breaking wood...
Oh I must have fallen. Hernor tried to get up, hoped he could get up, He remembered... his sis... the Traitor Yaelys, had fallen and not been able to get up, her limbs turned to hooves and she brayed and screamed. She hadn't been speaking, she couldn't have been speaking.
They are eating them! They are eating them!
Blackness fell.
Captured Outer Mutant Druid 5 (CR 6; 5 HD)
***
Headquarters of the Inquisition, Sorcerer's Deep
"They are eating the Far-Touched babies?" Mia knew her voice sounded unusually flat, but she really did not care. There was a limit to what even an inquisitor was expected to take in stride.
"No," High Inquisitor Drekelis replied quickly. "The babes are eating their wet nurses, some of them, consuming their souls as they suckle. It's hard to pick it apart entirely, the cult uses magic..." he glances at Xor. "Or I suppose mind arts, to edit memories their adepts are not supposed to have, and the mage's mind was already fragile from his supposed failings in getting a 'proper' mutation."
"Why did he get a skull head?" Nuri asked, looking down at the bound and unconscious blight-druid, seeming somehow more monstrous in the harsh light of the Head Office's interrogation room.
"The mutations of the Far Realm are not like the Blessings of Baator or even Daemonic Gifts," Wisdom Xor replied quietly "They resonate with some aspect of the soul they are being grafted upon rather than simply being a reflection of the patron. It is more... well I suppose you should say energy efficient that way. The 'Far Realm' is rightly named."
"Getting back to babies eating their wet nurses," Mia interjected, not really wanting a lecture in the workings of utter madness, no matter how personable the lecturer was. "You said some of them feed that way. What happens to the rest?"
"They vanish, I imagine much like the one I bought," he replies. "Some part of the ritual must not be fulfilled."
"Perhaps the better question is what happens to the bodies," Kira mused, pushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes to better look at the prisoner. "The dead can be persuaded to talk with the right spell."
***
New Wood Lichyard, Qohor
The Qohorick used to burn their dead, now they buried them among the roots of gnarled pines dripping with pallid lichen.
They were too young to have grown so swift, Wisdom Xor had said. He did not need to add the rest.
The Forest was making its place here in the city among the tall hollow towers of what had once been an estate of the Teregyl Family which did not appreciate the change in faith and had paid for it by being the first to be inferred among twisted roots. Others had been brought here, the honored, the martyred, who had died from the touch of the divine... and at least one slave wet nurse whose tale Mia very much wanted to hear.
The earth squelched and stemmed as they worked, the smell that rose from it indescribably foul.
Well alright, maybe 'want to know' is a bit much, Mia thought. I need to know it definitely.
Although they waited with baited breath for some horror to emerge from the grave and try to protect its secrets, no such thing could be found there, only fragile bones and a few tatters of flesh that looked like they had been interred decades not months ago.
Thankfully, bones were all they needed, the sign of the pact near as soon as the whispers rose from hollow skulls. The wet nurses who had perished had been the ones who had come to care for their charges.
What next?
[] Try to track down more of the far-born infants to see what the next stage of their development is
[] Try to impersonate Hernor, returned in glory with proper mutations to learn more
[] Attempt to enter the flesh forge
[] Write in
OOC: I had originally wanted to do the whole interlude from the cultist's perspective, but it would have just been too confusing. Not yet edited.