By Bloody Threads
Second Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
You gently shake the young lord awake and explain what needs to be done, and why. He struggles to be brave, or seem to at least, but clearly finds the thought of anyone looking through his mind and memories terrifying. Thankfully, Nizuss takes the chance to pop his head out of Jeyne's bag as though just waking from slumber, drawing a giggle from the boy that only grows louder as the mind dragon says something heard only to the child.
Once young lord Maron and his mother are more at ease, the mind dragon binds itself, you, Vee, and Jeyne together in his
web of mental communion while Ser Richard chooses to stand apart. "I'd be no use in wizard's work," he says aloud, but from the way his hand finds Oathkeeper's hilt, you can guess what he does not say. Best to have a guard who is not distracted with tangled memories should the Deep Ones choose to act in a more physical manner. Beyond the walls of the tower, the sea still rages against the shore.
The words of the
spell are familiar upon your lips, though usually from far darker moments than this. You lay a hand on the boy's brow and
see...
...the fear of being set in an unfamiliar place, suspicious glances quickly averted and insincere apologies, his mother's face pale and drawn...
...the world glimpsed through the holes in a net, the smell of salt and stale sweat, the crunch of scale underfoot, a child's game turned deadly earnest...
Don't find me, don't find me, don't find me...
Memories fade into a grey haze that might be the mind's natural guard against things best left forgotten or something more sinister. There is no arcane resonance, no subtle song of sorcery. Yet you cannot be sure, this is no power of the spheres. Frustration dances along the thread of communion like ephemeral fire.
"Look for anchors, familiar faces, his mother, his father, maybe his old nurse," Jeyne calls back across the thread of power.
"Not his mother, his fear of being parted from her is part of the veil of fear," Nizuss adds.
"His father died in the Greyjoy Rebelion," you reply, recalling the first message you had gotten from the Reader a few days ago.
"Perhaps..." Something ripples through the mental landscape before you like a stone cast into a pond. Not one ripple, two, like a film of water on oil, before the distinction can be lost you ask:
"When did you last see your father?"
Joy... sorrow... dreaming... waking...A craggy face, worn by salt and wind, floats to the surface of the Maron Volmark's mind.
"Three months ago."
"There were shape-shifters in the keep, maybe it was one of them trying to get something out of him," Vee offers softly.
"Or the Mind Eaters could have just used magic to veil themselves, like the one that brought wildfire to Sorcerer's Deep."
"What did he smell like?" Jeyne asks surprising you.
"Was it stale and musty, with a painful tang more taste than odor, like rotten meat bathed in strange spices?" A memory from her own emerging dreams of captivity, you suspect but do not have the time to ask, even if you wanted to. Fear and confusion rises from the boy's mind like a thunderstorm, almost enough to push you out entirely from sheer surprise, but you just barely manage to cling on as the memories wash over you.
...you see Darick Volmark again, but pale and bloodless, a corpse bloated from the sea and something else, something worse that crawls under the skin like a swarm of maggots, but somehow you know united in purpose. As a part of
it squirms under his eye, you catch a glimpse of blood red ridges and almost feathery tendrils.
Pushing through the lurch of disgust in your stomach at the image of a half-enchanted child being lulled into trusting the infested corpse of his father, you reach out to Jeyne physically and once more gift her with a measure of draconic lore before describing the thing to her.
For a moment she is silent before replying:
"That looks a little like a neogi spawn, but those should not live inside corpses, or living victims for that matter, it's been altered somehow, probably legless too...." The description she gives of a
scuttling horror with an innate power to subdue the minds of others by poison and sheer tyrannical will is dreadful enough without considering how the Deep Ones may have made its brood 'fit to purpose'.
"The spawn shouldn't even have any magic to enslave someone."
Even as she speaks these words, the veil of grey parts a little further in response to your next question. You see the dead lord's corpse reach out to touch his son's brow so carefully one might almost mistake the motion for affection, that is if one did not see the the flesh of his fingertips burst like an over-ripe fruit as something like a worm filled with lumps and growths crawls on the boy's face and into his ear.
It's still in there, you realize, somehow responsible for the greater clarity Jeyne feels.
What do you do?
[] Try to have Vee operate to extract the parasite
-[] Write in
[] Speak to the other children
-[] Write in
[] Travel to Volmark and see the ruined ritual chamber for yourself
-[] Write in
OOC: I thought about taking this further, but I figured that finding a psionic parasite in your subject would be worth breaking for a vote. Not yet edited.