[X] Plan: Exploring Beyond the White -[X] You are injured (You currently have one wound. You'll make a roll at +10 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] The medicine is dark black, it's easy to think you've been poisoned (Costs 30 Funds, one recovery dice will automatically succeed)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Lantern
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] Head to the White Door, and its hurdle of Winter (x3)
---[X] On failure to understand, pass through
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] (Dappled Wings) Search out a Ritual --[X] (Dappled Wings) Search out a Ritual
-[X] A fleeting opportunity (rumor mills spin, opportunities come and go. These actions might never be available again)
--[X] Move Damsel out of the PRT controlled apartment. No doubt they'll be hunting for her (ask if Delilah would be willing to assist) -[X] On Charlotte, and your aid (These are actions exclusive to Charlotte)
--[X] Request a lesson on Heart
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] The Attention of the Laws (Edge)
[X] Move Damsel in with Lady Mylissa
[Moving Damsel DC: 80]
[Roll: 84+12(Intrigue)+10(Moth) = 106]
The air was still as you left the car running, stepping out into the cold. The faint sound of the engine hummed behind you, a low and steady rhythm, as you approached the door to Damsel's residence. You didn't need to speak. You wouldn't. Not here.
The PRT had likely riddled the place with surveillance. Their eyes were always watching, ears always listening. It was the nature of the game, and you'd have to play carefully if you wanted Damsel of Distress to slip through their grasp unnoticed.
When you knocked, there was a brief pause and then the sound of shuffling from within. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing Damsel. She stood in the doorway, and from the looks of her, it was clear that her mood and control of her power had plummeted.
Her apartment was a disaster behind her—furniture upturned, walls scorched, fragments of whatever had once been whole scattered across the floor. The chaos in the room mirrored the dark circles beneath her eyes and the barely contained twitch in her hands.
Her power had been surging—often, too often. You could see it in the wreckage and in her rigid posture, the tension humming beneath the surface.
You said nothing. Instead, you jerked your head toward the car, a silent invitation. Damsel's expression tightened, and for a second, it seemed as if she would say something, refuse you, maybe lash out. But then, she bit her tongue and stepped out of the doorway, following you in silence to the car.
The door shut behind her with a faint click, sealing the wreckage inside.
As soon as you were both seated, you began to drive, pulling away from the scene of her destruction. It wasn't until you had put some distance between you and the apartment that you finally spoke.
"The PRT has bugged your place," you said, your voice calm but deliberate. "It won't be long before they make their move. They're likely planning to arrest you."
Damsel's fists clenched at the news, her knuckles whitening as her nails dug into the flesh of her palms. Her jaw tightened, and you could almost feel the swell of anger rising in her, the bubbling fury that always lay just beneath the surface.
"I see," she hissed, her voice low and venomous. Her mind was racing, no doubt contemplating a million different responses—violent, reckless responses that would only make things worse. You had to cut that line of thought before it could take root.
"I've got a place you can stay," you interjected smoothly, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. "It'll be safe. Completely off their radar. Trust me."
You allowed a faint smile to touch your lips, one that carried just the right amount of warmth, just the right hint of reassurance. Your influence was subtle but palpable, the presence of Grail filling the small confines of the car, curling around both of you like a silken thread. Damsel's tense posture eased slightly, her shoulders relaxing as the intensity of her anger began to dull.
After a few minutes of silence, her voice broke through again, softer this time. Almost hesitant.
"You can call me Ashley," she murmured. It was faint, barely above a whisper, but there was trust in it—tentative, fragile trust that she was extending to you. A rare thing for someone like her.
You nodded, acknowledging the vulnerability in her words.
"Thank you, Ashley," you replied, your voice gentle, as if you were handling something delicate. You glanced at her again in the mirror, seeing how she had withdrawn slightly, her gaze now fixed on the window, watching the faint snow that was beginning to fall. In that moment, she looked younger than you had ever seen her. Her face softened by the falling flakes, by the quiet.
The rest of the drive passed in a similar silence. Ashley's thoughts seemed far away, lost somewhere in the drifting snow, while you remained focused on the road, always aware of your surroundings, ensuring that no one was following you.
When you arrived at Lady Mylissa's manor, the grandeur of the place stood in stark contrast to the state Ashley had been living in. The mansion was opulent, adorned with flowers and vibrant greenery that thrived despite the biting chill of winter.
Ashley's eyes widened as she took it in, her posture straightening unconsciously as if realizing that she was about to step into th domain of somebody with wealth and power, something she craved.
Her hand smoothed over her dress, though it did little to hide the fact that it was a worn, ragged thing. Torn sneakers scuffed the pristine driveway as she walked toward the entrance, trying to hold her head high despite her appearance.
You noticed her efforts but said nothing, simply moving to the large, ornate door and raising the brass knocker. The sound echoed through the stillness, and a moment later, the door swung open to reveal Ava.
Ava's gaze was as sharp as ever, her displeasure with you clear in the icy glare she gave. But she remained professional, as always. With a deep curtsey, she addressed Ashley with the utmost respect.
"Greetings, Miss Damsel of Distress," Ava said in a practiced, formal tone. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room."
Ashley preened under the recognition, her chin lifting slightly as she tried on a regal demeanor, one that might have seemed ridiculous coming from any other teenager dressed as she was. But Damsel had power. Real power. And that was what she thought Ava was acknowledging, which only served to bolster her emotions.
"Of course," Ashley replied, her voice carrying a note of self-assurance.
As Ava led her into the manor, you remained at the door, watching them disappear into the elegant corridors. A sigh escaped you as you ran a hand through your hair. This was delicate work. You couldn't stay long.
If Ashley started to think you were doing all of this for Lady Mylissa, it would complicate things. It was best to let her believe what she wanted for now—best to keep your distance and let her come to her own conclusions about your relationship with Lady Mylissa.
Besides, Ava's thinly-veiled annoyance made it clear that your presence wasn't entirely welcome at the moment.
Delilah's influence could only smooth over so much tension. It would be wise to make yourself scarce for the next few days until the dust settled.
You have moved Damsel of Distress, Ashley, as she has allowed you to call her, into Lady Mylissa's manor. She has taken over providing for the young parahuman, removing that financial burden. Time will only tell how well they get along.
[Understanding the White Door DC: 70]
[Roll: 3+9(Learning)+20(Lantern)+10(Winter) = 42]
You stood before the White Door once again, its towering, frozen facade looming silently. The ice gleamed cold and still, seemingly inscrutable. Its presence was both familiar and alien, a threshold carved in frost and silence.
Your hesitation was brief, almost nonexistent. You had seen what lay beyond, and while it had scarred you, it hadn't deterred you. You would not allow the cold to bar your path. Steeling yourself, you extended your hand, ignoring the sharp sting as your flesh met the frozen surface.
Once again, the ice exacted its price. Blood welled from the small, cruel cuts forming along your skin, a thin trickle of red seeping from your arms as the ice carved its toll with silent indifference.
[Emir suffers one wound. He has Four Health remaining.]
But as you passed through, that pain and concern melted away, smothered beneath the deep, otherworldly calm of the plane beyond. The White Door closed behind you, and you felt the familiar stillness settle over your mind, cold and distant, yet somehow soothing.
The crimson droplets of your blood dotted the pale ground beneath your feet, their stark color in sharp contrast to the endless, frost-touched expanse.
You walked on, your body moving without urgency, your heart still beating but slowed, deliberate. It was as if you were adrift in a sea of ice, the weight of the world above slipping away as you wandered deeper into this strange, silent land.
[Exploring Beyond the White Door]
[Roll: 38+14(Diplomacy)+10(Winter) = 62]
In the distance, shadows moved — faint, ethereal figures, cold and listless, drifting without purpose. The dead. They were there, always there, lingering at the edges of your vision. But they would not approach you.
Your heart still beat, and that alone seemed to repel them. It was as if your very pulse carried warmth that their stillness could not tolerate. You were something alien here, something alive in this place of death and silence.
Your feet carried you forward, deeper into the expanse, until something new appeared in the distance. A shape, unnatural in this barren realm. You approached cautiously, your steps steady but slow. As you drew closer, you realized it was a garden, or rather, what was left of one — overgrown, wild, untended for what seemed like ages.
Trees twisted upward, their branches heavy with a faint, pale glow. Hanging from them were strange, luminous plants, their light dim but persistent. Everything was covered in a thin layer of ice, delicate and treacherous.
As you ventured nearer, the air grew heavy with an almost imperceptible tension. A rustling sound reached your ears, quiet yet unmistakable. You froze, your eyes scanning the frozen undergrowth, the thick mass of plants and vines that had overtaken the space.
There was something there, lurking within the frost-covered foliage. You couldn't see it, but you could feel its presence, watching, waiting.
A faint pulse of blood dripped from your wounds, a slow, rhythmic warning. Your instincts stirred, urging you to turn back, to leave this place before you faced whatever lay in that frozen garden's depths.
The silence pressed in around you, the cold biting at your skin, but you could feel the edge of something darker lurking beneath it all.
Without hesitation, you turned on your heel, the pool of blood beneath you smearing as you pivoted. Your feet carried you away, further into the endless expanse of the frozen plains, your heartbeat faint but steady, the only sound in the vast, empty silence.
You have discovered the Overgrown Orchard, a cold and empty place that has fallen into ruin and grown wild.
Once again, the White Door denied you its secrets, its answers just out of reach, slipping through your grasp like mist. You had thought that perhaps, with a deeper understanding of Lantern, the enigma would begin to unravel before you, but no such revelation came.
It wasn't intellect or insight that would grant passage here, not for you. Still, your body remained strong, and you knew what you could afford. Ignorance had a price, but it was one you could pay. Without hesitation, you stepped forward, bracing for the inevitable toll.
[Emir suffers one wound. He has Three Health remaining.]
Your blood dripped in slow, deliberate lines across your body, scarlet paths crisscrossing your skin as you pushed through the pain. The sensation of cold steel sliding against flesh, the sting of the White Door exacting its toll, it barely stirred you.
Your mind, distant and composed, acknowledged the injuries, filed them away with clinical detachment. Beyond the White Door, fear didn't have a place, not for you. Perhaps you should have felt it, the primal terror of harm and the unknown. But instead, your heart steadied, because even in this place, in this moment, you could look up and see it.
Glory.
The radiance was always there, just beyond your reach. The promise of something higher, something transcendent. It was the beacon that pulled you forward, even as your body bled, even as wounds piled upon wounds.
That singular purpose, the thought of standing in the presence of that brilliant light, was enough. But now wasn't the time for reverence, for standing transfixed by its beauty. There was more to see, more to find. You needed to move.
You tore your gaze away from the brilliance of Glory and started to walk, each step steady despite the blood you left in your wake. The plains of the Mansus stretched out before you, strange and eternal, but at least there was a sense of direction here, unlike the untamed Woods where instinct reigned supreme. Here, there was something to explore, something to uncover.
[Exploring Beyond the White Door]
[Roll: 42+14 (Diplomacy)+10(Winter) = 66]
You moved with purpose, heading away from the familiar paths leading to the Overgrown Orchard. The thought crossed your mind briefly: what might you find, now that you ventured into the less-trodden areas of this realm?
The plains were quiet, the air cool with a hint of winter's bite. Your wounds throbbed dully, a reminder of the toll you had paid to be here. And yet, that same cold seemed to offer a strange solace, a numbing of pain as much as mind.
It wasn't long before something new appeared on the horizon. Pale, towering pillars came into view, stretching upward like twisted fingers, straining toward the distant moon.
The material of the pillars seemed almost bone-like, ivory spires that gleamed faintly in the dim light. They rose impossibly high, touching the sky in defiance of the laws of reality, as things in the Mansus often did.
You drew closer, your feet sluggish, blood seeping into the cracked ground beneath you, and there, at the base of those spires, you saw them. The dead. They milled about in quiet, solemn silence, their pale forms casting long shadows against the pillars.
Unlike before, they didn't react to your presence. There was no scramble to avoid you, no desperate attempts to drain your warmth or claim what little life you still held. Instead, they shuffled in place, their empty eyes fixed on the moon high above.
Some of them were trying to climb the pillars, their skeletal hands scraping futilely at the smooth surface. They couldn't ascend, no matter how hard they tried, but that didn't stop them from reaching—always reaching—as if the moon itself held the key to their release.
You stood among them, an outsider in this gathering of the dead, the only living thing in this place. Your blood pooled around you, seeping into the cold ground, yet it felt almost natural, as if this place expected such offerings.
The moonlight bathed the scene in a cold, silvery glow, and for a moment, you found yourself staring up with them, lost in the endless expanse of the sky. The moon was not Glory, but it had its own quiet beauty, its own allure.
You didn't know how long you stood there, watching, waiting, but eventually, the pull of the waking world began to stir at the edges of your consciousness. It was time to leave. Time to return. But as you woke, a single thought lingered—those spires, those dead, and that cold, distant moon. You would come back. You had to. There were still secrets here, secrets you needed to uncover.
You have discovered the Ivory Spires, tall pillars of bone that reach up towards the moon like grasping fingers while the dead walk under that cold light.
You were back in front of the White Door, your fingers running across its surface as you tried to understand it. You knew that it exacted a toll for your ignorance, one that you had bandaged in the Wake. That was unacceptable and so you tried to understand this door of the Mansus.
Your fingers ghosted over the surface, and through the cold, you understood. This was a peaceful place, one that accepted everybody with open arms. It may be a door, but it was one with open arms that you had been shattering as you forced your way through.
You felt a tear trickle down your cheek as you saw something. Something old, and beautiful.
You were dead.
After all those years, with their ups and downs, struggles and triumphs, you were finally dead. It had been a confusing end, not peaceful like in the stories people tell to comfort the living.
Your death had been a frantic mess, a whirlwind of chaos and violence, flashes of fire and the deafening crack of gunshots cutting through the cold night air.
You can still recall the bitter chill of the trenches, the smell of smoke and blood heavy in the snow-covered ground as artillery boomed in the distance. You remember running, trying desperately to flee, feet slipping on ice and slush.
You don't remember much beyond that. The rest is a haze of impressions, faint and dreamlike, as though you were already losing your grip on what had once been your reality.
Now, you stand at the crossroads.
There's no more fire, no more gunshots, no more snow. Instead, there's an eerie quiet, the kind that creeps in like a thick fog, wrapping around your thoughts and stilling the remnants of your fear.
You aren't afraid.
Somehow, it feels right—natural, even—to stand here in the liminal space between the world you knew and the one you are about to step into. The crossroads stretch out before you, and in the distance, something calls.
Without hesitation, you walk. The dark woods rise on either side, casting long shadows across the path, yet there is no dread in your steps. You move forward on the blue brick road, feeling the weight of memories trailing behind you, slipping off your shoulders like old, worn garments.
The further you go, the lighter you feel. Perhaps, under different circumstances, you would have been disturbed by how easily your past falls away, but now it brings you a sense of peace, of inevitability. This is how it was always meant to be.
The road winds upward, and you arrive at a door.
There's a soft glow emanating from it, a light that spills out and touches your face like the gentle warmth of a morning sun after a long winter's night. You recognize this place, though you've never seen it before.
There had been whispers of this door, old tales told by those who feared death or longed for its release. You had heard about it once, in passing—the House of the Sun, the place where you would go when your life ended, where your journey through the world would conclude.
This door would be the last one you ever cross.
You know this. You feel it deep in your bones, or rather, what's left of them. Still, the thought doesn't frighten you, though perhaps it should. Instead, questions rise to your lips, unanswered but not demanding.
Would it hurt, this final crossing? Would you feel the loss of those bonds forged in the trenches, under the scream of gunfire and the weight of war? Would you simply cease to be dead in every sense of the word, with no trace of your existence left behind?
You already know the answers, though. No. It won't hurt. You won't miss anything, for nothing will remain to miss. You will not vanish—not in the way you think.
This is death, but not an end. It is a conclusion, yes, but a quiet one. You were thrust into the world screaming and wailing, and now you will depart it in silence, with the grace of one who has accepted what lies ahead.
You stand before the door, knowing what it means. Knowing that when you step through, you will shed the final pieces of yourself. The extra weight of your humanity will fall away, leaving behind nothing but a wandering spirit, stripped of all that once made you who you were. That thought should terrify you, perhaps. Yet, as you look at the door, you feel only a deep, serene understanding.
It will be beautiful.
And so, the very last tear you will ever shed slips down your cheek, tracing the curve of your smile. Without hesitation, you step forward, and as the door opens to welcome you, you pass through it, into the radiant light of your conclusion.
You pulled your hand from the door, your cheeks wet with tears you hadn't noticed until now. Deep down, you had suspected, toyed with the notion in your mind, but now you knew for certain.
This was where everyone went when they died. This was the light at the end of the tunnel, the serene, final conclusion. It was beautiful, that much was undeniable. But the beauty didn't mask the somber truth of it—death's veil, thin yet impenetrable, lay just beyond.
You wiped at your face, but it was a gesture done more out of habit than necessity. There was no need to hide these tears. No one else would see them, and here, perhaps, they held a different meaning altogether.
With a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, you took another step forward, your heart oddly lighter. You weren't harmed by your ignorance of the plains, not this time, and the faint chill that had settled in your bones felt... almost comforting.
There was more to see here. More to learn.
[Exploring Beyond the White Door]
[Roll: 95+14(Diplomacy)+10(Winter) = 119]
Your steps carried you back toward the Overgrown Orchard, a place that had captured your curiosity earlier. You had sensed something there, some deeper mystery waiting to be uncovered. But as you approached, your eyes were drawn to something else, something far more striking.
A figure stood tall amidst the plains, its form clad in a robe so pristine and white it gleamed like untouched snow in the morning sun. The cut of it was regal, the kind you might see draped over royalty in distant lands, embroidered with delicate, flowing designs.
But it wasn't the robe that held your attention. It was the figure's face—or what remained of it. Where a head should have been, there was a smoldering ember, a flickering light that reminded you of a dying star, small and guttering.
The light cast a soft, warm glow across the figure's form, but even from a distance, you could see the scars, the marks of some terrible wound. The fire that once burned so brightly had been reduced to a fragile spark, and the figure, though imposing, felt... diminished.
It turned its head toward you, the ember flaring briefly in response.
"A living one?" The voice that followed was low and distant, carrying with it the echo of ages long past. It spoke as if it had been here far longer than you, as though the very fabric of the plains had woven it into existence.
You felt a subtle pulse within yourself, a faint thrum of something like interest or recognition, but the coldness of the plains dulled it, keeping you from reacting too much. The figure stepped closer, its movements deliberate and graceful, as though even the act of walking was sacred.
It bent down slightly, as if to get a better look at you. For the briefest of moments, you felt as though you were under the gaze of something far beyond human comprehension.
The spark within its face flickered again, casting long shadows across the ground. And then you saw it—a single red trail running down what would have been the figure's cheek, like a tear of blood. It wept, silently and endlessly, and yet its posture remained tall, unbowed by the sorrow it clearly carried.
"Summon my kind as you wish," the figure said, its voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. The words were regal, yes, spoken with the authority of someone—or something—used to being obeyed. But beneath that royal tone was something else. Pain. Grief. A hollow sadness that rang through the air like a distant bell.
You opened your mouth, perhaps to ask a question, perhaps to reach out to it. But before you could say anything, the figure straightened and began to walk away, its back as proud as it had been when you first saw it.
For a moment, you thought you heard the softest sound—something like a stifled sob, or the quietest of breaths escaping from a place deep within. But then, it was gone, fading into the distance, leaving you alone in the silence of the plains once more.
You have seen a memory, a memory of a person perhaps, or perhaps the Mansus itself. It matters not, except that it is a precious truth that you have learned. Gain 1 scrap of Secret Histories Lore.
Secret Histories Lore is now Level 2.
The White Door will no longer harm you when you pass through it, for you understand it now.
You have found the Sun Sparks, spirits of Winter and Lantern that wander the plains mournfully.
[X] Plan: Exploring Beyond the White -[X] You are injured (You currently have one wound. You'll make a roll at +10 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] The medicine is dark black, it's easy to think you've been poisoned (Costs 30 Funds, one recovery dice will automatically succeed)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Lantern
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] Head to the White Door, and its hurdle of Winter (x3)
---[X] On failure to understand, pass through
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] (Dappled Wings) Search out a Ritual --[X] (Dappled Wings) Search out a Ritual
-[X] A fleeting opportunity (rumor mills spin, opportunities come and go. These actions might never be available again)
--[X] Move Damsel out of the PRT controlled apartment. No doubt they'll be hunting for her (ask if Delilah would be willing to assist)
-[X] On Charlotte, and your aid (These are actions exclusive to Charlotte)
--[X] Request a lesson on Heart
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] The Attention of the Laws (Edge)
The warm water lapped gently against your skin as you reclined in the bath, muscles aching but slowly unwinding. You had pushed yourself, twice now, through the White Door, and its toll had been exacting. Despite the proper bandages that adorned your wounds, there was something comforting about the heat of the bathwater, sinking deep into the soreness, numbing the ever-present sting.
Slumping further into the bath, you let the warmth cradle you, eyes closed in surrender to the relief it offered. Yet, despite the softness of the moment, your mind refused to be still. Thoughts, faint but insistent, swirled like eddies in the water, touching on everything and nothing. It was strange how vulnerable you felt, how startlingly mortal.
You were not mortal. Not in the way others were. There was no denying the resilience in your bones, the knowledge that had fortified you—knowledge that stretched across half a dozen fields, enough to make you an expert among common minds. And yet, here, in this moment, you felt human. You traced the contours of your stomach, fingertips ghosting over the edges of the wounds beneath the water, the crimson threads mingling with the bath. They were a reminder, a tangible proof of your mortality, despite how often you forgot it.
Your body, sculpted and slender, was the picture of health—lithe rather than bulky, as if the flesh itself had been shaped by a master artisan's hand. No the brute perfection of statues, but there was grace in your form, an elegance in the lines of your muscles. You chuckled softly as you ran your hand through your damp shoulder-length hair, remembering how, in your youth, people would often mistake you for a girl. The thought amused you now, but back then, it had sparked no small amount of frustration.
Sighing, you leaned back further, allowing the water to rise to your nose. Feeling its weight settle on your chest, it submerged you deeper into your thoughts. But those thoughts were soon interrupted.
[Dappled Wing - Search for a Ritual DC: 60/80/100]
[Roll: 48+15(General Bonus) = 63]
"Good evening," came a voice, sharp and clattering like the clicking of bones or sticks taped together in rhythm. It startled you, water sloshing over the edges of the tub as you sat upright, heart pounding in surprise. You blinked rapidly, searching the dim room until your gaze settled on the source of the intrusion.
The Dappled Wing.
It stood there, insectoid and imposing, its many eyes glinting with amusement. Your scowl deepened as you realized the absurdity of being startled by it. With an irritated sigh, you leaned back against the tub, arms crossed over your chest.
"If you've brought papers, leave them outside the door," you muttered, rubbing at your temples. The Dappled Wing clicked again, as if bowing, then rustled off into silence, vanishing as abruptly as it had appeared.
You sighed again, this time with weariness rather than annoyance. You had spent long enough soaking in the water, so you drained the tub, drying yourself off with practiced efficiency. Dressing for bed took little time, though you found yourself absentmindedly brushing your teeth, the ritual comforting in its simplicity.
As you stepped out of the bathroom, you noticed something new on the counter—a single sheet of paper, rough and somewhat grimy like it had been exposed to the elements. You picked it up, examining the rough sketches drawn across its surface. Two circles were prominently placed, connected by a series of hurriedly scribbled notes and sigils.
You carried the paper into the kitchen, settling yourself at the table in your bathrobe, pencil in hand. The ritual was simple at first glance, though the lines of Lantern and Grail required careful consideration.
The ritual was designed to inflame desire, to strip away restraint and social comprehension, leaving only raw, unbridled yearning. It was not a kind ritual.
It would drive someone toward their deepest longing, urging them to pursue it at any cost. Yet it was also limited by the desire's existence—there had to be something there to amplify, a hunger to exploit.
A useful tool, in the right circumstances. But for now, it was just another piece to file away, another tool in the arsenal you were slowly building.
With a yawn, you folded the paper neatly, tucking it away for future consideration. The ritual would keep until the morning, and for now, sleep beckoned.
Rising from the table, you padded softly toward your bedroom, letting the thoughts of desire and rituals fall away with each step, sinking into the welcome embrace of dreamless sleep.
You have learned The Sparks of Desire, a two circle ritual that provokes a person towards action with an all consuming desire.
It was early morning, the kind where the world still felt quiet, untouched by the rush of the day. The sharp chill of January was beginning to yield to the biting winds of February, but the cold still seeped through the cracks of the old church, wrapping itself around everything in its reach.
You sat by the window, sipping a lukewarm cup of tea, your eyes skimming the pages of a novel you had chosen more on a whim than intent. Some unremarkable fantasy book—just enough to hold your interest, but nothing fancy.
The sound of a knock echoed through the church halls, snapping you from your quiet moment. You marked your place with a finger before closing the book and setting it down gently on the side table. A glance at the large clock on the wall told you it was midmorning—an odd time for visitors.
You stood, a little confused, padding softly toward the heavy double doors of the church. Your footsteps barely made a sound on the worn wooden floor.
Pulling open the door, you were greeted by a man whose appearance was as ordinary as they come. Brown hair, blue eyes, pale skin, all wrapped up in a bland, nondescript package. The only thing that distinguished him was the badge he held out in front of him, polished and gleaming under the faint morning light.
"Agent Coulson," he introduced himself, his voice polite yet firm. "Do you mind if I come inside?"
There was a pause, a split-second hesitation in which you considered turning him away. You suspected he couldn't force his way in if you refused, but denying entry would only provoke further curiosity, and from the look of him, he was already asking questions you didn't particularly want to answer. Best not to make this more difficult than it needed to be.
"Of course," you said, stepping aside to let him pass. "Would you like something to drink?" You kept your voice cordial, a veneer of hospitality masking the slight apprehension coiling in your gut.
Agent Coulson shook his head, already reaching into his coat pocket for a small notepad and pen. He didn't waste any time. "If you don't mind, I have a few questions," he began, his tone still polite but carrying an undercurrent of something sharper.
His blue eyes, calm but calculating, were locked onto yours, and though his words remained soft, you could feel the weight of the interrogation behind them.
"I know you were involved with Damsel of Distress. Would you mind explaining how that came to be, and what happened after?" His words were framed as a request, but there was no real option to refuse. His pen hovered above the paper, ready to capture every detail.
You kept your expression neutral, though your mind was already turning over potential answers. You leaned into a half-truth, a story with just enough authenticity to pass. "Charlotte—she's a good friend of mine—runs a local soup kitchen," you explained, injecting a bit of warmth into your voice as you mentioned Charlotte's name. "She asked me to help hand out food one day, and we stumbled upon her—Damsel." You allowed yourself a sheepish smile, one designed to disarm, though you knew Coulson wasn't easily fooled. "She was clearly malnourished. We thought maybe offering her some food could help. It seemed like the right thing to do."
Agent Coulson nodded as if acknowledging your account, but his eyes remained sharp, unyielding. His pen scratched along the page, documenting your words. "That was kind of you," he remarked, though there was a distant quality to his voice. His mind was elsewhere, already piecing together something you couldn't see. "I shouldn't have many more questions if you'll bear with me a little longer."
[A Contest of Wits]
[Your Roll: 24+12(Intrigue)+10(MOTH) = 46]
[Agent Coulson's Roll: 79+?(???)+?(???) = ???]
[Clear Defeat]
The conversation stretched far beyond the few questions he had initially promised. What began as simple inquiries quickly grew into a detailed interrogation, his questions probing deeper, his eyes never straying from yours. You felt the weight of the encounter growing heavier with each passing minute.
At last, after what felt like hours, Coulson finally tucked away his notebook, rising to his feet. He offered you a hand, and you accepted it, feeling the cold firmness of his grip as his eyes flickered with a fleeting hint of something harder, more resolute.
"Thank you for your cooperation," he said, his voice still polite but now edged with a sense of finality. "We'll make sure Edict's killer is brought to justice." For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing something colder, more relentless beneath the surface. It was clear this man was determined, and you hadn't shaken him off as easily as you had hoped.
"Good," you replied, though your voice felt hollow, even to your own ears. You carefully extricated your hand from his, watching as he turned on his heel and made his way out the door. The sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, leaving behind a heavy silence.
You remained still, your heart still tight in your chest long after the door closed. The tension that had coiled in your stomach throughout the conversation finally began to unravel, though it didn't bring relief—only a cold, gnawing sense of dread. Agent Coulson was thorough, sharp-eyed, and he had already set his sights on you.
This could be a problem.
You have met Agent Coulson, an out-of-town detective who has been brought in to investigate Edict's death. He is a seemingly intensely determined man, driven to ensure whoever got her killed is put behind bars. He is also now your Foe.
There was a knock at the door—a steady, rhythmic rap that pulled your attention away from the stack of papers you had been meticulously reviewing.
The sound was firm, deliberate, enough to shake the quiet air of the room. You frowned, glancing at the clock. No one was expected at this hour, yet the knock persisted, patient but insistent.
Setting the papers aside, you rose from your chair, feeling an odd weight in the pit of your stomach as you crossed the room. Something about this visit was unexpected, and that always set your nerves on edge.
You approached the door cautiously, peering through the peephole into the dim light outside. To your surprise, there were two familiar figures waiting on the other side: Christopher, leaning on a cane, and beside him, Sol, beaming with his usual exuberance.
You hurriedly undid the lock, wrenching the door open as a cold breeze swept inside. Sol smiled broadly, his youthful energy infectious, while Christopher, older and more composed, nodded in greeting. But even from where you stood, you could tell something wasn't quite right.
"It's good to see you, Emir," Christopher said, his voice calm but distant, like an echo of the man you knew. He extended a hand, and you shook it, immediately noticing how cold his skin felt, a chill that seeped into your bones. His fingers trembled slightly, though he did his best to steady them.
Sol greeted you next, his hand a stark contrast to Christopher's—warm and full of life. He seemed oblivious to the strange atmosphere lingering between you and his mentor. As you closed the door behind them, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Christopher, not just the cane that seemed to prop him up, but something deeper, something in the way he stood, or perhaps in the emptiness of his gaze.
"I just wanted to stop by and let you know I'll be completing the scrying ritual this month," Christopher said, his thin lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Lady Mylissa and I have spoken. We've come to an understanding."
His words hung in the air, a hollow declaration that sent a faint chill crawling down your spine. The way he said it, with those empty, dead eyes fixed on yours, made your skin prickle with unease. There was something lurking in that gaze, something he wasn't saying.
"Oh?" You leaned against the doorframe, feigning casual interest, though the sense of wrongness gnawed at you. A faint buzzing filled your ears, a strange hum that seemed to rise and fall in tandem with Christopher's voice.
"I'll be training Sol here to take over my position," Christopher continued, his voice thin and flat. "After that, I'll be retiring. It's time for me to rest. I may not have the same fire as before, but…" He trailed off, that unsettling smile remaining plastered on his face, as if he were delivering a rehearsed line.
Beside him, Sol grinned, eyes bright with excitement. "Yeah! Christopher's been showing me everything he knows. It's been great. Lady Mylissa's really nice too!" His enthusiasm felt genuine, but even that didn't seem to lessen the creeping discomfort that lingered in the air between the three of you.
You nodded slowly, your mind racing behind the calm facade you wore. The words sounded right, logical even, but there was something about Christopher—his mannerisms, the way he seemed to drift through the conversation—that set you on edge. His energy was hollow, a faint echo of the man you once knew. And that buzzing… it hadn't stopped. It had only grown louder, a low hum vibrating at the edge of your consciousness.
"That's good," you finally managed, forcing a smile of your own. "Thank you for letting me know."
Christopher tipped his hat slightly, the motion stiff and mechanical, before he turned and began to hobble back toward the car waiting at the street corner. Sol, ever the dutiful student, held his arm, guiding him as they made their way down the path. You watched them go, the buzzing seeming to die down as they made their way away from your church.
Once they disappeared from view, you closed the door, locking it behind you with a quiet click. Silence fell over the room, but the sensation of unease remained, wrapping itself around you like a cold shroud.
Rubbing your ears, you tried to make sense of it all—the wrongness, the buzzing that seemed to persist even now. Something had changed in Christopher, something subtle but profound. And it wasn't just the cane or his impending retirement.
The Standing Armory has been built, providing a +5 bonus to Personal Combat to members of the cult given the time to prepare.
Nearly everybody in the small town of Stafford has been recruited. The only exceptions are Baldr, Agent Coulson, and the handful of PRT agents new to town. (+10 to some actions)
The Financial Records has been improved, with a small but steady stream of money set aside for the cost of rituals (The first ritual each turn has its cost reduced by 20 Funds)
Manuscripts of Heart, Knock, Moth and Secret Histories have been added to Lady Mylissa's library
Lady Mylissa's Library's Secret Histories has improved to Level 2
Emir's Cadre bonus has improved to +22
You are no longer under the effects of An Incarnadescence
Vote by plan
Possible Actions: You have 4 Actions each month; more can be gained by spending less time at work.
You have access to three extra Actions due to your summons and Confidante, please mark which actions you are having them do.
-Charlotte
-Dappled Wing (Bindings decay at the end of Turn 10)
-Dappled Wing (Bindings decay at the end of Turn 10)
Remember that you have Attention of the Laws, a Free Action that doubles your Application bonus for a single Lore on a single Action
You have 1 month until the cult reconvenes, it is expected that you have a Lantern aspected creature summoned then
Current Funds: 300
Income: 60 Funds/Month
-[] You are injured (You currently have two wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
--[] Take a break here and there (Costs one action, roll two recovery dice. 0/-15)
--[] Sit down, take time to care for yourself (Costs two actions, roll three recovery dice 0/-15/-30)
--[] You're near death, you have to slow down (Costs three actions, roll four recovery dice 0/-15/-30/-45)
--[] Even breathing hurts, you'll just use your mind (Costs three actions, roll four recovery dice 0/-15/-30/-45/-60)
–--[] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
–--[] The medicine is dark black, it's easy to think you've been poisoned (Costs 30 Funds, one recovery dice will automatically succeed)
–--[] A touch here and there of something a bit stronger (Costs 60 Funds, two recovery dice will automatically succeed)
–--[] A stay at home nurse, to tend to your wounds and the more unpleasant tasks they require (Costs 90 Funds, three recovery dice will automatically succeed)
–--[] His services don't come cheap and his silence is even more expensive (Costs 120 Funds, four recovery dice will automatically succeed)
–--[] Potions may sound like fantasy, but this kind of healing comes with power (Costs 150 Funds, five recovery dice will automatically succeed)
-[] On your Foe and the problem he poses
--[] Attack him, knock him off the board (This is an Assault an Opponent Expedition)
--[] Stalk him and figure out what he is doing
-[] On work and the people you preach to.
--[] You'll pray and preach as you have been told to (Gain no extra actions, reduce any worry raised by taking time off, default)
--[] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
--[] It is simply a busy month, you don't have as much time to preach (Gain two extra actions, will not be noticed if not done often.)
--[] There's been a crisis, one that you must handle yourself (Gain three extra actions; a few people may notice.)
--[] The doors shall be closed, the church will be empty (Gain four extra actions, people will check up on you.)
-[] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[] Search out a Ritual
--[] Research a Ritual
---[] What Lore? (Write in)
--[] Create a Ritual
--[] Search the Woods for summonable creatures
--[] Search the White Plane for summonable creatures
--[] Gather supplies
---[] For which ritual? (Write in)
-[] On furthering the cause.
--[] Assist somebody else in their task
---[] Dismas is working with some crooks in Boston, he could use your silver tongue
---[] Ava is talking to folks about lending financial aid to the cult, a well liked local such as yourself might be able to help
---[] Charlotte is spreading the good word in Boston, shadow her with a smile
---[] Christopher and Sol are working on a scrying ritual, why not stop by and help out
---[] Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
--[] Items and strange artifacts, go search for them. They could be useful
--[] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[] How much? (Write in, up to 30)
-[] On learning the Lores.
--[] Search for books
---[] In the local libraries and bookstores
---[] Stranger and more hidden places
---[] Online, from places abroad (Will cost 10 Funds per book in shipping)
--[] From the Cult's very own library (Gain 1 scrap of the chosen Lore)
---[] Forge
---[] Moth
--[] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[] What lore? (Write in, she is willing to teach all Lores, up to level three)
-[] Cast a Ritual
--[] What ritual are you casting? (Write in)
-[] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[] The Woods
---[] Travel down the Wax Melted Trail (Mansus Expedition)
---[] Descend down into the Luster Drowned Well (Mansus Expedition)
---[] There must be something you haven't found, keep exploring
--[] The White Plane
---[] Head back to the Lodge of the Sadge Knight and Baldomerian who dwells within
---[] Traverse through the Overgrown Orchard (Mansus Expedition)
---[] Climb up the Ivory Spires (Mansus Expedition)
---[] In a place as empty as this there is always more to explore, so keep at it
--[] Upward, to Glory
-[] On Charlotte, and your aid (These are actions exclusive to Charlotte)
--[] She should double down on recruitment
--[] Turn her smiles and relentless optimism to tripping up Agent Coulson
-[] On Dappled Wings and their trickery (These are actions exclusive to Dappled Wings)
--[] Infest somebody, transforming them into your minion
---[] Who? (Write in)
--[] Sneak into places of wealth and take artifacts, much cheaper than buying them
--[] Head out and steal books, they are plenty sneaky
-[] On matters outside the cult.
--[] Spend time with somebody
---[] Who? (Write in)
--[] Get to know somebody
---[] Who? (Write in, one of your parishioners, a low level person inside the cult, a random joe on the street etc) --[] Talk to Charlotte about hope, about the future, about what might be (Will transform her into a minion. Only available while you are under the effects of An Incarnadescence) You are not under the effects of An Incarnadescence
--[] Help Ashley control her powers
-[] Something else? (Write in, must be approved by QM)
Winning Vote:
[X] Plan: Finishing Up and Staying Low
-[X] You are injured (You currently have two wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] 30 Funds, for summoning Sun Sparks
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] (Dappled Wing) Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Winter
---[X] Grail
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] Summon a Sun Spark (x2)
--[X] The Attention of the Laws (Heart)
--[X] (Charlotte) The Calling of Influence (Heart), on us
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
---[X] Travel down the Wax Melted Trail (Mansus Expedition)
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] (Dappled Wing) Search out a Ritual
Scheduled vote count started by Witherbrine26 on Feb 14, 2025 at 2:01 PM, finished with 66 posts and 20 votes.
[X] Plan: Finishing Up and Staying Low
-[X] You are injured (You currently have two wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] 30 Funds, for summoning Sun Sparks
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] (Dappled Wing) Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Winter
---[X] Grail
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] Summon a Sun Spark (x2)
--[X] The Attention of the Laws (Heart)
--[X] (Charlotte) The Calling of Influence (Heart), on us
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
---[X] Travel down the Wax Melted Trail (Mansus Expedition)
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] (Dappled Wing) Search out a Ritual
[X] Plan: Grind Socials while recovering
-[X] You are injured (You currently have two wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] 30 Funds, for summoning Sun Sparks
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] (Dappled Wing) Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] (Dappled Wing) Search out a Ritual
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Grail
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] Summon a Sun Spark (x2)
--[X] The Attention of the Laws (Moth)
-[X] On matters outside the cult.
--[X] Spend time with somebody
---[X] [Charlotte] Who? (Damsel)
---[X] Who? ( Delilah )
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
---[X] There must be something you haven't found, keep exploring
[X] Plan: Spark of the Sun
-[X] You are injured (You currently have one wound. You'll make a roll at +10 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X][Dappled Wing] Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
--[X] [Dappled Wing] Items and strange artifacts, go search for them. They could be useful
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] How much? (30)
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] What lore? (Winter)
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] What ritual are you casting? (Sun Spark) (x2)
--[X] What ritual are you casting? (AotL, Moth)
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
---[X] There must be something you haven't found, keep exploring
-[X] On matters outside the cult.
--[X] Spend time with somebody
---[X] [Charlotte] Who? (Damsel)
---[X] Who? (Christopher)
[X]Plan: Finishing the tasks
-[X] You are injured (You currently have three wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X][Dappled Wing] Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
---[X] Christopher and Sol are working on a scrying ritual, why not stop by and help out
--[X] [Dappled Wing] Items and strange artifacts, go search for them. They could be useful
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] How much? (30)
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] What lore? (Winter)
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] What ritual are you casting? (Sun Spark) (x2)
--[X] What ritual are you casting? (AotL, Moth)
--[X] (Charlotte) The Calling of Influence (Heart), on us
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
---[X] Travel down the Wax Melted Trail (Mansus Expedition)
[X] Plan Keeping Everyone Mum Is More Important Than Guaranteed Summoning of a Sun
-[X] You are injured (You currently have two wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll pray and preach as you have been told to (Gain no extra actions, reduce any worry raised by taking time off, default)
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] What lore? (Winter)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] 30 Funds, for summoning Sun Sparks
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X][Dappled Wing] Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
--[X] [Dappled Wing] Items and strange artifacts, go search for them. They could be useful
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] What ritual are you casting? (Summon a Sun Spark)
--[X] What ritual are you casting? (AotL, Moth)(Free)
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
--[X] Spend time with somebody
---[X] Who? (Christopher)
---[X] Travel down the Wax Melted Trail (Mansus Expedition)
--[X] (Charlotte) The Calling of Influence (Heart), on us
[X] Plan: Finishing Up and Staying Low
-[X] You are injured (You currently have two wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] 30 Funds, for summoning Sun Sparks
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] (Dappled Wing) Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Winter
---[X] Grail
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] Summon a Sun Spark (x2)
--[X] The Attention of the Laws (Heart)
--[X] (Charlotte) The Calling of Influence (Heart), on us
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
---[X] Travel down the Wax Melted Trail (Mansus Expedition)
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] (Dappled Wing) Search out a Ritual
Ava's displeasure was palpable the moment you stepped into the room. Her gaze was sharp, lips pressed into a thin line that only accentuated the tension coiling around her.
She stood behind her desk, fingers tightly interwoven, her knuckles white as if containing an irritation she was on the verge of letting loose. Despite her visible annoyance, she was here, present and professional, though it was clear she would rather be anywhere else.
"You're here for money, correct?" Ava's voice cut through the silence, cold and businesslike. You nodded, a touch sheepishly, feeling a momentary pang of awkwardness. Her eyes didn't leave you as she turned to a drawer, pulling out a check.
She slid it across the desk with the same detached precision she used for everything. But just as your fingers brushed the paper, her hand shot forward, grasping your wrist firmly.
You froze, surprised by the suddenness of it. Ava wasn't physically strong—you could easily pull away if you wanted—but her grip held a certain weight, not of force, but of intent. Her eyes met yours, unblinking, the tension between you palpable. Ava was not one for theatrics, which only made the gesture more unsettling. You waited, sensing that she had something more to say.
"I would greatly appreciate it," she began, her voice calm yet carrying an underlying edge, "if you could ensure Delilah is successful in preventing the PRT from arresting Damsel." There was no rise in her tone, no outward frustration, but you could tell this situation with Ashley gnawed at her. It wasn't just a favor—it was a demand, cloaked in civility.
"I'm already working on it," you assured her, your words slipping out smoothly, even if they bent the truth just a little. You were sending your Dappled Wing to assist, and in your mind, that was more effective than anything else you could offer at the moment.
Ava's grip loosened as she released your wrist, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she leaned back in her chair. "Thank you," she said simply, though there was no warmth in her tone. "You can leave now. Have a nice day." Her attention shifted away from you, back to the papers strewn across her desk, dismissing you with a casual wave as though you were already forgotten.
Recognizing her mood and the delicate balance of your interaction, you didn't linger. It was clear that staying any longer would only exacerbate whatever frustrations simmered beneath Ava's composed exterior.
Without another word, you turned to leave, quietly slipping out the door and leaving her to her work. It was best not to add any unnecessary complications to an already fraught situation.
You have received 30 Funds to be used in summoning; ensure they are spent on that.
"Hey," Charlotte greeted warmly, her ever-present smile lighting up her face as she wrapped her arms around you in a hug. You felt her familiar warmth as you instinctively patted her back, returning the embrace.
Despite the ritual preparations unfolding around you, a moment of calm settled between the two of you, her energy a comforting presence amidst the chaos. The cadre bustled about, drawing intricate symbols on the floor, preparing the space for the ritual that would invoke Heart's power, meant to accelerate your healing.
As she pulled away, Charlotte's hands gently tapped your bandaged arms, concern flickering in her eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her usual optimism tempered by the sight of your wounds.
You gave her a reassuring smile, always grateful for her genuine care. "I'm fine. The Mansus is just… a hard place to climb," you said, your tone light, trying not to make it sound like a bigger deal than it was. "That's partly why I'm doing this," you continued, gesturing to the ritual space forming around you. "It'll ensure I heal faster."
Charlotte nodded thoughtfully, her expression softening. "Sounds about right. The Well was hard to get through," she remarked casually, patting you on the shoulder before skipping toward the center of the interlocking circles being carefully etched into the ground.
You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She had mentioned the Well—the Luster Drowned Well. You had told the cult about its existence, but you hadn't expected Charlotte, of all people, to be the one to delve into its treacherous depths. There was a pang of worry, but now wasn't the time to pry. You made a mental note to talk to her about it later. For now, you had to focus on your role in the ritual.
[The Calling of Influence - Heart DC: 60/80/110/150]
The drums began, low and steady, as Charlotte moved gracefully within the circles, her movements rhythmic and deliberate. She swayed with a hypnotic grace, stamping her feet to the beat as the sound reverberated through the room.
You took your place on the edge of the ritual, waiting for your cue, eyes following her as she performed her part with an effortless fluidity.
It came quickly—Charlotte spun by you, her hands reaching out, and you clasped them firmly. The connection sparked something immediate, almost primal, as the cadence of the ritual quickened.
Music filled the air, a haunting melody that resonated deep in your bones. The rhythm of the drums grew louder, faster, in sync with the pounding in your chest. You felt it all at once—sound, movement, energy—coursing through your body, pulling you deeper into the ritual's thrall.
Your feet slammed against the ground, each impact a jolt of raw power surging through you. Your veins pulsed with a force beyond your control, your body straining under the immense pressure as the ritual took hold.
Your bones ached, your breath caught in your throat, and for a brief, terrifying moment, it felt like you were drowning. Stars danced behind your eyes, spinning wildly as the beat rose higher, faster. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, each thump a resounding echo, shaking you to your core.
But you kept moving.
Would not stop.
Could not stop.
Would not stop.
Could not stop.
Would not stop.
Could not stop.
Would not stop.
DANCING!
You are now under the effect of An Imminence, it will last until the end of the next month.
You have gained 2 scraps of Heart lore for being under the greatest influences Heart can sing.
Your entire body thrummed with an almost unbearable energy as you ascended the stairs, each step light, nearly bounding, as if the rhythm within you propelled you forward.
It wasn't just your legs—the tremble of your fingers, the pounding in your chest—it all felt connected, synchronized to a song only you seemed to hear. The world itself seemed to sway to that hidden melody, though you couldn't tell if it was real or simply the remnants of Heart's influence lingering in your mind.
Still, none of that would distract you from your purpose. You had come here to learn from Lady Mylissa, and despite the pulsing energy coursing through your body, you weren't about to turn back now.
You pushed open the door to her chambers, the creak of the wood surprisingly loud against the quiet of the room. Stepping inside, your gaze immediately found Lady Mylissa, seated regally in a plush chair, her posture poised, as always.
Across from her, another chair sat, but your attention quickly shifted to the coffee table before it, which lay in ruins—splintered wood, shattered glass, the remnants of something that had gone awry.
"Is everything alright?" you asked, your voice hesitant, feet pausing just shy of the fractured table. You took a careful step around the debris, noting the oddly calm air that seemed to hang over the room despite the obvious signs of destruction.
Lady Mylissa smiled at you, a smile that held more than a hint of amusement as she gestured for you to sit. "Ashley is simply experiencing a few… difficulties," she said with a casual wave of her hand, though the pleased glint in her eyes suggested she wasn't particularly displeased with the situation. "We've been working through them."
"Right," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you took the seat opposite her. You had hoped that Ashley would acclimate well to Lady Mylissa's guidance, but it seemed there were hurdles—ones that, from the look of things, hadn't been easy to overcome. Still, it was a relief to see that Ashley's struggles hadn't turned into something far worse. Not yet, at least.
Lady Mylissa's gaze shifted then, her sharp eyes drawn downward. You followed her stare and realized, with a start, that your fingers were drumming relentlessly on your lap, your feet pounding a steady rhythm on the floor.
The energy of the Heart ritual was still coursing through you, refusing to settle, and no matter how hard you tried to still your movements, it was as if you were possessed by that same relentless beat.
"I want to know more about Winter," you said, managing to still your fingers for a moment as you met her gaze. Lady Mylissa's smile widened, but she didn't speak. The silence stretched between you, and after a moment of awkward waiting, you leaned forward, ready to ask again.
But she raised a finger, a single, deliberate gesture that froze you in place. The sternness in her eyes was immediate, the lightness gone, replaced by an icy authority that sent a shiver through your body. It was a sharp, cold glance, one that made you pause, heart skipping a beat as the energy within you faltered.
You stilled completely, the weight of her unspoken command pressing down on you. Even as your limbs trembled from the residual force of the Heart ritual, you forced yourself into silence, unwilling to defy her in that moment. There was something in her gaze—an unspoken warning, a test perhaps—that kept you rigid, waiting.
And yet, she didn't lower her finger.
The silence stretched longer, growing heavy between you, but you didn't dare break it. The room was filled with the weight of unspoken words, of a lesson you couldn't yet grasp but knew was being taught regardless.
It was hard, excruciatingly so, to remain so still when every part of you screamed to move, to act, to break the silence with a question or a comment, but you resisted. You knew—instinctively, perhaps—that to speak now would be a mistake. Lady Mylissa's mood was inscrutable, but one thing was certain: upsetting her was not an option.
As the minutes passed, your thoughts began to drift. The stillness became easier, the weight of her presence less oppressive as your mind slowly relaxed. Ideas flitted in and out, distractions you allowed yourself to indulge in, just to pass the time.
Eventually, you leaned back in the chair, your body loosening, the tension ebbing away as the energy from Heart finally began to settle within you. In that quiet, you began to understand the lesson—one not spoken, but conveyed in the silence, the cold patience of Winter.
You met her gaze again and offered a small, silent smile, your way of acknowledging that you understood, even if only a little, what she had been trying to impart.
You have learned about speech, about silence and the stillness that follows. Gain 1 scrap of Winter lore.
Winter Lore is now Level 2
You had returned to Lady Mylissa's manor, the relentless energy of Heart under control. Learning Winter like that had been tortrues, but now you were ready to learn about Grail.
As you made your way toward the parlor, the familiar hallway seemed quieter than usual, though the soft murmur of voices drifted from the slightly ajar door ahead.
You hesitated, pausing just before you reached the threshold, considering whether to eavesdrop. But no—Lady Mylissa and Ashley deserved privacy. Whatever they discussed was not for your ears, and you were certain they wouldn't appreciate your intrusion.
Rapping gently on the door, the murmurs inside ceased immediately. You heard a faint rustling, followed by the soft thud of approaching footsteps. The door swung open, revealing Ashley standing before you, her gaze meeting yours with a confidence you hadn't seen in her before.
She wore a simple black dress, elegant yet understated—far removed from the tattered clothes she had when you first encountered her. Her posture had changed too, back straight as if she had been molded into someone altogether different. You could see the subtle influence of Lady Mylissa in her newfound poise.
"Hello," you greeted her warmly, offering a small smile. "How are you doing?"
Ashley blinked, her fingers twitching briefly before she stilled them. Her mouth opened as though to answer, then closed again. She hesitated, choosing her words with uncharacteristic care, a sharp contrast to her previous anxiousness.
"I am doing well," she finally said, her voice slow and deliberate. Each word was measured, and though the restraint was obvious, it was also impressive. Lady Mylissa had clearly been teaching her, shaping her mind and manners in ways you hadn't fully anticipated. Whatever fears you had harbored about them not getting along seemed to be fading.
"That's good to hear," you responded. Before you could say more, Lady Mylissa's voice floated over from inside the parlor, warm yet commanding, as she rose from her chair and approached the doorway.
"I believe this will conclude our lesson for today. You have been doing well," Lady Mylissa said, her tone approving. Ashley's face lit up at the praise, and she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before walking past you.
Despite the energy you could sense thrumming beneath her skin—the restless urge to break, to fleck her wrists, and to bend the world asunder—she held herself back, maintaining a measured, regal pace as she exited the room. It was an incredible improvement from just a week ago.
"Here to learn again?" Lady Mylissa asked, a slight arch to her brow as she observed you.
You nodded, settling into the chair across from her. She passed you a cup of tea, the porcelain warm against your fingers, as you prepared yourself for the lesson ahead.
"What do you wish to learn?" she inquired, her eyes keen, always probing.
"Grail," you answered simply, setting your cup down. The moment the word left your lips, Lady Mylissa's expression shifted, and her smile deepened.
"Very well," she said, leaning back in her chair. "You already know desire—what it can create, how it manifests. But you only understand the bold and obvious desires, the ones that scream for attention. Today, I will teach you about the subtle ones—the quiet, aching desires that whisper rather than shout."
Her words gave you pause. You weren't entirely sure what she meant, but before you could ask, something stirred within you. A strange heat welled up, low and insistent, spreading through your body like wildfire.
Your fingers twitched against your lap, your breath catching in your throat. The room felt suddenly warmer, the air thicker. You set the teacup down, your hands trembling as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.
Lady Mylissa was beautiful. That had always been a fact, something you accepted as plainly as the sky being blue. But now, in this moment, her beauty felt overwhelming.
Every detail, from the curve of her lips to the softness of her gaze, was magnified, and you found it impossible to look directly at her without your body reacting in ways you couldn't control. Your cheeks flushed, your breath quickened, and every nerve in your body seemed to hum with an aching, quiet intensity.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" Lady Mylissa's voice, low and smooth, slid into your ears, sending a shiver down your spine. You tore your gaze from her and stared up at the ceiling, doing everything in your power to ignore the unbearable pull that threatened to consume you.
"They ache, these desires," she continued, her voice like velvet. "They don't throb—they don't scream. But they linger, don't they? Quietly. Patiently. Waiting."
Her words danced through your mind, teasing the edges of your thoughts, and in that moment, you understood the depth of the lesson. This wasn't just about physical sensation or fleeting lust—this was about the faint desires of a person, about learning to recognize and understand the quiet forces that pulled at a person, the subtle cravings that could sway your actions if left unchecked.
You sat there, still as stone, breathing deeply in and out. Each breath was a battle, a conscious effort to maintain control as your mind fought to stay centered, to keep your thoughts clear in the midst of the growing haze. Lady Mylissa's words wrapped around you like a net, and it took everything you had not to succumb.
The lesson stretched on, a silent, internal war between desire and discipline. It felt like this lesson stretched on for hours yet by the end of it, you felt as though something within you had shifted, a fundamental understanding clicking into place.
You have learned about the desires that can simply ache and the ones that are painful to deny. Gain 1 scrap of Grail Lore.
Grail Lore is now Level 3.
You feel something stirring. An interlude is to follow.
You are Charles Simic, and you are having a good time.
You are seated comfortably in your dimly lit living room, a familiar room filled with the warm glow of lamplight and scattered pages of your poems, each one an unfinished thought, a half-formed reflection.
Across from you sits Emir, the local pastor. You've known him for some time now, ever since you first saw him visiting Lady Mylissa's estate. There was something unspoken between the two of them, something close and private, though it wasn't your place to speculate. Your intuition told you that much.
But those thoughts didn't occupy your mind now. Instead, you were focused on the lines sprawled across the paper in front of you. Poetry, your constant companion, was giving you a bit of trouble today. The words were there, waiting to be shaped, but you found yourself wrestling with them, unsure of what came next.
"And the one that's got it in for you,
"Mister, that keeps taunting you," you read aloud, your voice trailing off as you hesitated, glancing up at Emir. He was sitting quietly, legs crossed, his fingers rhythmically tapping on the armrest of his chair. His presence was calming, though he often radiated an energy of contemplation, always thinking, always seeking the right words to offer.
"I'm not sure what should follow," you admitted, setting the paper down with a slight sigh. "I want to explore mirrors, the way reflections seem to obscure more than they reveal. It's difficult to capture that feeling—the way we see ourselves, but never quite fully."
Emir nodded thoughtfully, his foot still tapping softly against the floor as he considered your words. There was always something about him, a depth in his pauses, as if he was rummaging through an unseen library of thoughts.
"Perhaps you could add something like, 'In the morning's old wheeze?'" he suggested after a few moments. "It gives a sense of age, of fogginess, as if the reflection in the mirror is like an old breath—there but blurred, hard to see clearly."
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the idea. It wasn't quite what you had imagined, but it sparked something in you. It was a starting point, at the very least. Picking up your pen again, you jotted it down with a quiet hum of approval, letting the idea settle into the rest of the poem.
"Thank you for that," you said, offering him a warm smile. "And thank you for coming by today. It's been helpful to have someone here to bounce ideas off of." It wasn't often you found yourself struggling with a piece, but when you did, having another mind to listen always seemed to lift some of the weight from your shoulders.
Emir chuckled softly, shifting in his chair as he spoke. "Of course. I had been planning to stop by anyway," he admitted, a playful tone coloring his words. "Lucky coincidence, I suppose, that you needed my help at the same time."
You shared in his chuckle, the moment feeling serendipitous. You had been wrestling with this poem for days, and Emir's timing couldn't have been better.
"Though, if you don't mind my asking," you began, leaning forward and setting your pen aside for the moment. "What brought you here today? Was there something specific?"
"Lady Mylissa, actually," Emir replied, his expression softening at the mention of her name. "She mentioned wanting to get together again soon. Something about sharing your poetry with others. She thinks it would do well to have more people hear it."
You tilted your head slightly, a faint smile forming on your lips. It wasn't surprising that Lady Mylissa would suggest something like that; she had always been good at bringing people together. But the thought of your poems reaching a wider audience, of hearing them in the air, breathed by others, stirred something within you. The idea was tempting, and you found yourself eager at the prospect.
"That would be wonderful," you mused, your smile deepening as you leaned forward in your chair. "Tell me more about what she has in mind."
Emir's connections were not to be underestimated, and you knew that his involvement, along with Lady Mylissa's influence, could open doors you hadn't even thought of before. As you listened to him speak, you felt a flicker of excitement—a gentle anticipation of what might come next for your work. Your poetry, your words, had always been private musings, but now the idea of sharing them more widely felt not just possible, but necessary. It was time, and with friends like Emir and Lady Mylissa by your side, it seemed the stars were aligning in your favor.
You are Sol, and you are absolutely brimming with joy!
The past couple of months had been a whirlwind for you, full of reading and deep dives into the Lores. It felt like your world had expanded, and you couldn't help but feel a little giddy about it all. You had begun with Secret Histories—a natural starting point—but now you were branching out, eagerly exploring the endless rabbit holes that followed.
Your mind was buzzing with excitement. Christopher had helped you get started, though, admittedly, he was a bit... peculiar. Then again, someone who had been fully immersed in the depths of what you had only just begun to uncover would understandably be a bit odd, right?
Today, though, wasn't just about books. Today was a special day. You were finally getting the chance to meet Emir! The moment you spotted him, your heart lifted even further.
"Good to see you, Emir!" you chirped, waving enthusiastically at the priest. It felt a little strange that he was delving into the Lores too, especially considering his religious background. Weren't there strict rules about worshiping false gods in his faith? You couldn't quite remember the details, but it struck you as odd. Still, Emir was someone you trusted deeply. If he had found a way to balance the two, you were sure it was for good reason.
Besides, Emir was incredibly smart. Maybe not on Christopher's level—that was a high bar to reach—but Emir had a different kind of wisdom, a calmness and clarity that made his insights particularly valuable. You were eager to chat with him, and judging by the leisurely stroll he had been on before you called him over, he seemed happy to see you too.
"Good to see you as well, Sol," he greeted with that soft, polite smile as he extended a hand for a handshake. His presence was always so steady, so grounding, "I take it you've got a few questions for me today?" he continued, the smile on his face curling into a knowing smirk. He could always tell when you had something on your mind, and today was no exception.
You nodded, unable to hide your excitement. "I've noticed a few similarities in some of what I've been reading and wanted to check them with you." With that, you eagerly handed him a small stack of papers—notes you had scribbled down from your readings.
It probably wasn't the most practical idea to meet in a public park to discuss obscure theological and occult connections, but hey, when life handed you lemons, you seized them with both hands
.
"Of course," Emir said, taking the papers from you and glancing over them. He was quiet for a moment as he started reading, and you could tell he was thinking deeply.
For a moment, you stood there, waiting for his response, but after a while, you decided to sit next to him on the bench. The seconds stretched on, but you didn't mind. The longer he took, the more it meant he was really considering your ideas.
Finally, he broke the silence. "The connection you've made here is actually the subject of some theological debate," he said, handing the papers back to you. His words sent a ripple of intrigue through you. "The Madrugad and the Mensicate are both Solar Gods, yes, but the question is... from where?"
You blinked, startled by his response, your mind racing to catch up. "Well, my theory is that they were both part of something larger—something greater—beforehand. I mean, I know—" You paused mid-sentence, your eyes snapping back to him as the full weight of what he said sank in.
"Wait, what do you mean by 'theological debate'?" you asked, your eyes widening with curiosity as you scrambled to pull out your notebook, already ready to jot down whatever new insights he had to offer.
Emir chuckled softly, waving a hand to calm you. "Yes, the debate centers around the idea that they were part of the sun itself. The Mensicate, some say, represents the night face of the sun, while the Madrugad is the cold dawn. But the real question is—what were they before that? Some believe they were simply portions of the greater whole, fragments cast up by the sun. Others argue they were full-fledged beings, Solar gods in their own right, who served the sun but were separate from it. It's a contentious point, and it looks like you've stumbled onto a few of these conflicting ideas."
Your hand flew across the pages of your notebook, furiously taking down every word he said. This was exactly the kind of thing you lived for—the intersections of different schools of thought, the places where things didn't quite line up, where mysteries still lingered.
You couldn't help but nod along, fascinated, though you briefly chastised yourself for not thinking to ask Emir sooner. He always had a wealth of knowledge tucked away for moments like this.
"Can you tell me more?" you asked, your voice filled with an almost childlike eagerness as you looked up at him.
Emir smiled warmly at your enthusiasm. "I had a feeling you might need a little help with your work, which is why I was on my way to visit you," he said, leaning back slightly as he prepared to dive deeper into the conversation.
And so, the lesson began.
You are Ashley, and something feels off.
A strange sensation stirs in your chest whenever you see Emir. It isn't something tangible like illness, hunger, or fatigue—nothing physical at all. You haven't thrown up, your body hasn't shown any signs of deterioration, and yet... there's this unfamiliar feeling. One you can't quite name.
The truth is, he's done a lot for you. This place, this grand manor, with its vast corridors and rooms filled with servants attending to your every whim—that was his doing. He had arranged it, made it possible for you to live in such luxury. It wasn't just about the comforts, though.
There was someone else here too, someone who truly held the reins of power, the real ruler of this estate. She was teaching you, showing you how to harness control in ways you had never thought possible. There was something about her guidance that felt so right, so natural, like she had unlocked a part of you that had always been there but just waiting to be shaped.
But the fact remained: none of that would have come to pass without Emir. He had been the catalyst, the one who pulled you out of the mess you had made for yourself. You had expected him to be just another servant—someone you could command, someone over whom you could exert your power, reminding him of your superiority.
Yet, the situation had flipped entirely. Emir had saved you. He had seen through your failures, through the ruin your own poor planning had caused, and lifted you out of that pit. And now here he was, sitting in front of you, and you didn't know what to say.
The sensation gnawed at you. Normally, you were never at a loss for words. You were always sharp, always ready with a cutting remark or a confident response, except now.
Now you felt this odd warmth spreading through your chest, this uncomfortable squirming in your stomach. You hated it—the uncertainty, the silence. Why couldn't you find your voice?
"I'd like to apologize," Emir began, his face softening into an expression that surprised you. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, his usual calm demeanor disturbed.
Your heart skipped a beat, a quickened rhythm surging through you. You stiffened as a wave of nerves prickled at your skin. What on earth did he have to apologize for?
"I'm going to be very busy this month," he explained, his tone sincere, "and I won't be able to help you as much as I have been. I know that moving here is a big adjustment for you, and I wanted to be around to ease that transition, but…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck as though searching for the right words.
For a fleeting moment, your first instinct was to scoff. Old habits die hard, and the urge to belittle him—dismiss his concerns—rose within you. But then, faint memories from your conversations with Mylissa surfaced. She had been instrumental in helping you realize things about yourself that you hadn't wanted to face.
Her wisdom, her discussions on subtlety and influence, had pierced through your usual bravado. There was truth to what she had said about soft power, about the strength that didn't require force or dominance. And as much as part of you still wanted to assert your own greatness, there was another part of you that had started to grasp the value in listening, in choosing your words more carefully.
So, instead of a sharp retort, you took a moment to mull over your response. "It's alright," you said, trying to keep your tone light, "although I want help next month!" The words burst out of you before you could stop them, and you flinched internally. Why had you said that? Why had you asked for his help like that so suddenly? You knew why, he was nice to be around.
"Of course," Emir replied, his smile easy and reassuring, instantly dissolving the tension that had built up within you. His warmth was contagious, and without meaning to, you found yourself relaxing a bit. "I'll stop by to help, no problem."
He stood up, and you watched him, that strange warmth still lingering in your chest, though it felt a little less overwhelming now. "In fact, why don't we practice a bit now?" he suggested, gesturing for you to join him.
You couldn't help but smile, just a little—a faint grin flickering across your face as you rose to your feet. It was almost reflexive at this point, the way his presence put you at ease.
You still weren't sure how to feel about Emir, this man who had upended your expectations and left you feeling so very strange. You just knew that he was useful and kind, and that was enough.
You are Emir, and there's an unsettling strangeness creeping over you. You stand before the mirror, eyes fixed on your reflection, fingers tracing the lines of your face as if searching for something you can't quite define.
There's a softness there, subtle but unmistakable, as though time itself had reversed by a few years, smoothing over the rougher edges, leaving behind a younger version of yourself. It isn't just in the smoothness of your skin either; it's the way your features seem gentler, less worn by the weight of experience.
And yet, your hair tells a different story. More strands of white thread through it now, as if the age that has retreated from your face has found refuge there instead. The contrast is stark, a faint change that made sense but still was strange. The sight of it alone would be enough to cause concern, but the changes aren't limited to the mirror. You've been noticing things. Subtle things. Small nudges in the corners of your awareness whenever you interact with people.
Nothing overt, nothing dramatic, just... a sense. A quiet intuition, whispering the right way to speak to someone, the perfect tone to use, the precise words to say. It's as if the world around you has slowed down for a moment, just long enough for you to catch the invisible threads that guide human interaction.
At first, it was easy to dismiss—just a product of experience, of familiarity with people and their behaviors. But the frequency with which these nudges came, and their accuracy, was undeniable. You found yourself adjusting naturally, seamlessly falling into conversations with a fluidity you hadn't possessed before. A well-placed greeting, a perfectly timed smile, the exact right moment to listen or speak. It felt effortless, almost automatic.
It was weird. Unsettling in its ease. And what troubled you most was the fact that it felt eerily similar to the influence you called upon months ago. Like it was creeping back, yet you were firmly under the influence of Heart and not Grail.
You run a hand over your face again, this time more slowly, more deliberately, as if trying to feel beneath the skin. And there it is, that faint crawling sensation just under the surface.
You're changing. Not just in appearance but in ways deeper and more profound. Your thoughts feel different too, sharper in some places, more fluid in others. There's a strange clarity, a quiet understanding of things that used to elude you.
It doesn't feel wrong, though. That's the strangest part. There's no sense of alarm, no internal warning screaming that something is amiss. On the contrary, it feels... right. Like you're settling into a version of yourself that has always been there, just waiting for the moment to emerge.
It's as if the pieces of a puzzle are falling into place, a design you didn't know existed, but that makes perfect sense now that it's here.
And that's what concerns you most of all. Not the change itself, but how comfortable it feels. How natural this unsettling transformation seems.
You should be disturbed, should be worried about what this means, about where it will lead. And yet, standing in front of the mirror, tracing your features once more, you find no fear. Only the quiet, undeniable certainty that this—whatever it is—was meant to happen once you opened your eyes and understood.
And that was the most concerning part.
You have reached the third intensity of Grail and had a realization.
You know how to bring about desire and personal loyalty, the kind a supplicant might give. You know the best way to raise somebody to a Confidente and beyond that into a Minion. These will be marked in contacts under each character.
Your body has shifted slightly to better align with how you think of yourself.
[X] Plan: Finishing Up and Staying Low -[X] You are injured (You currently have two wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] 30 Funds, for summoning Sun Sparks
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] (Dappled Wing) Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid -[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Winter
---[X] Grail
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] Summon a Sun Spark (x2) --[X] The Attention of the Laws (Heart)
--[X] (Charlotte) The Calling of Influence (Heart), on us
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
---[X] Travel down the Wax Melted Trail (Mansus Expedition)
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] (Dappled Wing) Search out a Ritual
You found yourself once again in Lady Mylissa's cellar, a space filled with the familiar chill and the distant echo of whispered invocations. The markings on the stone floor were intricate and complex, filled with sprawling circles and interconnected lines, each designed to invite the Sun Sparks from the Mansus and into the Wake
You moved through the room, pacing deliberately between the assembled members of your cadre, eyes darting from one glyph to the next, inspecting every stroke with a scrutinizing gaze.
"One inch to the right," you directed sharply, gesturing to a particularly delicate Knock line that one of your assistants had marked. "If you leave it as is, you'll rip open the Mansus without setting up the protections to keep us from getting dragged in." There was no room for error. These rituals were potent, but also perilous, especially in the hands of the unpracticed. The young man nodded hastily, adjusting the chalk mark with trembling hands, while you continued your rounds.
Every detail had to be flawless. The chances of summoning the Sun Sparks weren't ideal to begin with, but a single flaw could turn this entire operation into a catastrophic misstep.
As you made your final pass around the ritual site, each symbol seemed to resonate in silent harmony. Satisfied, you flicked your wrist, signaling your cadre to take their positions. The air in the room shifted as they began to chant in unison, the words flowing with a quiet intensity.
You remembered how you once thought rituals required dead languages like Latin to invoke the ancient powers. How naive that was. In truth, tradition had no bearing on power. English worked just as well, and the chant held the same resonance as any language of the past.
You focused as the Knock lines began to shimmer, feeling the ripple in the air.
The first layer was secure. A faint hum filled the air, and you could sense the gates of the Mansus brushing against your awareness. The door had opened, but not yet fully.
[Success]
Now it was your turn.
Taking a breath, you stepped into the center of the circle, allowing the silence to envelop you like a cold embrace. You closed your eyes, imagining the Sun Sparks in vivid detail, their radiant forms blazing against the void in your mind's eye. You cleared away every other thought, each distraction banished until only the Sparks remained.
The cold deepened, as if the warmth had been sucked out of the room, and your breath seemed to catch in the icy air. The chanting around you faded into the distance, the silence now absolute.
The silence responded to your will, bending as you commanded it. You knew the Spirits of Winter were listening. The cold wasn't physical; it was the absence of life, of noise, of warmth—a perfect stillness that you wielded with a steady hand.
[Success]
Finally, you withdrew a candle from your robe pocket, feeling its cold wax press against your fingers. This was the final step, the one that would seal the ritual's fate. As you lit it, the flame flickered wildly before stabilizing, casting long shadows across the cellar walls. The rest of your cadre followed suit, lighting their own candles in synchrony.
You held the candle high, letting the fire illuminate the tree etched into the center of the ritual circle. The wax melted rapidly, burning too hot, as these were designed to do. You had only minutes—mere flickers in the grand scale of time—to finish the process before the chance would pass you by entirely.
As the candle burned lower, your cadre grew tense, their eyes fixed on the dwindling flames. You let yours burn for nine minutes before pinching it out between your fingers. The sharp sting of pain flared briefly, but you remained composed. Some of your assistants hissed as they snuffed their own candles, but they knew well enough that pain was a small price to pay for power.
You felt a ripple through your soul as the final bindings clicked into place.
[Success]
When you opened your eyes, the room was no longer empty. Two figures stood before you, their forms shimmering faintly, as if they were made of light wrapped in the thinnest of robes. They wore garments as white as freshly fallen snow, though you could see blood trickling from where their faces should have been.
"You have called upon our services," one of them said, stepping forward with a smooth, eerie grace. Its voice was soft, yet sharp, like a whisper carried on the wind. "You will have it for three months, and nary a day more."
"Indeed," you replied, your tone adopting a formal edge. These spirits demanded respect. There was an undeniable sense of regality about them, a sense of purpose that seemed so defined, so absolute. Yet beneath that noble bearing, you could sense something jagged, something raw.
You did not mention it. Instead, you began laying out the tasks that awaited the Sun Sparks over the coming months. There was much to be done, and their services would be invaluable.
You have summoned two Sun Sparks, 100 Funds have been deducted for the cost of these rituals.
As you sat in your study, the room dimly lit by the fading light of the day, the quiet murmurs of the church echoed through the walls. The silence was soon interrupted by the unmistakable sound of chittering.
One of your Dappled Wings slithered out of the shadows, its form almost blending with the dark corners of the room, the insectoid clicking of its mandibles announcing its arrival before it fully emerged.
"Should we be worrying about replacements?" it crooned in that unsettling voice, the sound like dry leaves rustling over a bone. You didn't flinch this time. Its unexpected appearances once startled you, but you had called for it, so the eerie creature's sudden presence no longer unnerved you.
You exhaled quietly, leaning back in your chair, the wooden frame creaking beneath you as you glanced over your shoulder to regard the creature.
"No," you replied with a sigh, your voice as calm as the still air. "Besides, you'll be gone soon enough, won't you?" you added, eyes locking onto the Dappled Wing's glistening mandibles. It hovered close, its wings beating softly, waiting for your next command.
You watched it for a moment, considering how to phrase your request. The creature had always been obedient to you, though its penchant for playing with humans like a cat toying with a mouse made you wary.
After a pause, you leaned forward again, resting your elbows on the desk. "I need you to go and assist Delilah. Do you know who she is?" you asked, your voice sharpening with curiosity. You hadn't been entirely sure if the Dappled Wing had ever encountered her directly.
The creature's mandibles twitched in what you could almost interpret as a smile—or perhaps something more sinister. "Yes..." it hissed, its voice a dry whisper that sent a faint chill down your spine. "Such an interesting mortal," it added, almost reverent in its tone, though you suspected it saw more entertainment than admiration in Delilah.
Your brows furrowed slightly. You couldn't recall a moment when it had observed Delilah, but then again, your Dappled Wings were adept at slipping in and out of places unnoticed, even by you. It was likely it had been lurking in the background, silently studying her without your knowledge.
"Go to her," you commanded, your voice firm as you fixed the Dappled Wing with a steady gaze. "Listen to her as you would listen to me. She is to be trusted, and her orders are as binding as mine."
The Dappled Wing gave a curt nod, its wings buzzing louder as it lifted itself into the air. With a sharp turn, it shot through the open window, vanishing into the twilight, its departure marked only by the fading hum of its wings.
You sat there for a moment longer, the cool evening air brushing against your skin as you stared at the window, watching the sun dip lower on the horizon.
When the room fell quiet once again, you leaned back, running a hand through your hair. The shadows lengthened in the room as you turned your attention back to the pile of papers scattered across your desk. Tax season loomed on the horizon, and despite the supernatural forces you routinely dealt with, mundane tasks like these still demanded attention, and you had no plan to test the might of the IRS.
You have sent a Dappled Wing to assist Delilah in her work. Hopefully it will be helpful in aiding her.
[X] Plan: Finishing Up and Staying Low -[X] You are injured (You currently have two wounds. You'll make a roll at +15 against a DC of 70. You must select one of the below)
--[X] Rest and recover (Cost zero actions, roll one recovery dice.)
---[X] Your body will heal on its own terms (Costs nothing)
-[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, subtly of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Request Funds (This does not cost an Action)
---[X] 30 Funds, for summoning Sun Sparks
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] (Dappled Wing) Delilah is working over Agent Coulson, ensuring he suffers from problems and setbacks so why not lend your aid
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] Winter
---[X] Grail
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] Summon a Sun Spark (x2)
--[X] The Attention of the Laws (Heart)
--[X] (Charlotte) The Calling of Influence (Heart), on us
-[X] The Mansus, a place of contradictions. It calls to you, reach out.
--[X] The Woods
---[X] Travel down the Wax Melted Trail (Mansus Expedition)
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] (Dappled Wing) Search out a Ritual
[Dappled Wing - Search for a Ritual DC: 80/100]
[Roll: 15+15(General Bonus) = 30]
"There was nothing to find," came the familiar hissing voice, slithering out from just beyond the doorway. You didn't need to look up to know who it was; the sound was unmistakable, a dry, raspy whisper that sent shivers down most people's spines, but not yours. Not anymore.
Your fingers twitched, pausing over the papers on your desk, and your eyes drifted up to the dim corner outside your study. The Dappled Wing lingered there, hiding itself in the thickening shadows, playing the same unsettling game it always did—lurking on the edges of sight, trying to unnerve you with its silent, predatory presence.
You had long since grown used to it. Where once it may have startled you, now it was little more than a weary sigh escaping your lips.
"Got it," you replied, your voice low, steady. You waved a hand dismissively toward the shadow, the simple gesture a signal to keep its distance. "Keep a lookout, just in case," you added, your tone carrying an edge of authority though laced with weariness.
You could hear the faint rustle of its wings as the Dappled Wing shifted, a soft, slithering sound like leaves blown across the ground. Then, just as silently as it had appeared, it was gone, retreating from the threshold to return to its silent watch.
For a moment, you sat there, your gaze lingering on the now-empty doorway. There was a twinge of frustration settling in your chest, but it was dulled, blunted by the routine of disappointment of it returning multiple times without finding anything.
You drummed your fingers lightly on the surface of the desk, the sound barely audible over the stillness of the room. "It is what it is," you thought, pushing down the flicker of dissatisfaction. There wasn't much you could do if the resources you sought weren't there to be found.
Turning your attention back to the mundane, you let your fingers resume their motion, picking up where they left off. The papers scattered across your desk, the dull weight of everyday tasks, awaited you. Tax forms, financial returns, letters—they felt worlds apart from the rituals you sought to uncover, but they were necessary nonetheless. Your hands moved mechanically now, each stroke of the pen familiar, practiced. There was still much to do, and you couldn't afford to dwell on the failure.
The Dappled Wing didn't manage to find anything, it seems that local sources of rituals are running dry.
The Woods were vast and shadowed, a place where the canopy hung heavy, blotting out the sun in most places. Yet, today, you were drawn toward one of the few light sources within its depths. Somewhere along that infamous ivory path, trophies hung like grotesque ornaments draped over the branches. There was something about those trophies, something you needed to see for yourself, a curiosity that wouldn't let you turn back.
You found yourself standing at the entrance of the path, staring into its winding depths. The road was narrow, straight in places but almost serpentine in its flow, luring you forward. Your resolve hardened, and without hesitation, you stepped onto the path, determined to walk its full length.
As your feet moved, you felt the heat rising beneath you. The air grew thick, oppressive, the kind of heat that seemed to crawl into your bones. It didn't just burn; it consumed, an inferno that would flay flesh from bone if you allowed it.
The wax coating the trail melted under your steps, molten rivers that threatened to engulf you. Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered that perhaps this was where the wax had come from—the remnants of those who had walked before, now reduced to the searing sludge.
The heat scorched your skin, blistering and unbearable, yet your heart pounded in rhythm with your steps. You did not falter. The pain was real, sharp and vivid, but you welcomed it as proof of your resolve. You kept walking, guided by that relentless beat within your chest, each step a victory over the path's cruel design. You couldn't see beyond the next turn, and for all you knew, this trail might wind endlessly into the void. And still, you pressed forward.
It was then that you noticed something odd. The light of the fire burned, smothering your senses. You couldn't see. You blinked, trying to adjust, but the light blinded you. Panic gnawed at the edges of your mind. If you slipped off this path, you doubted you'd ever find it without having to travel down the bone-melting heat once again.
[Embrace the Light or Channel it? DC: 65]
[Roll: 98+12(Intrigue)+20(Moth) = 138]
Instead of resisting, you made the decision to surrender. Closing your eyes entirely, you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the brilliant light. You followed the light, a presence you could feel rather than see, chasing it as it beckoned.
The oppressive heat began to ease. Slowly, you felt your feet sink into something cool, a sensation of slick mud beneath you. Opening your eyes, you realized you had come to the end of the path.
Around you was a clearing, silent and still, the ground beneath your feet a mixture of hardened wax and disturbed earth. It had the feel of a place once cared for but long since abandoned.
Pelts, draped from the trees, swayed lazily in the stagnant air. Old, ragged things, filled with holes, rotting from years of exposure. They weren't the grand trophies you might have expected. No, these were relics of a time long passed, devoid of glory, little more than decayed memories of the hunt.
Then you saw it—a hole, a simple hollow within the base of one of the trees. But something about it seized your mind, causing you to freeze in place. Your thoughts stuttered, fragmented as you tried to comprehend what you were seeing.
[Steel Yourself DC: 70]
[Roll: 22+8(Martial)+20(Winter) = 50]
You turned your gaze away, focusing on something else, anything else. The mare at the base of the tree, for instance, its body impaled on red shards, twisted and spiraled in ways that made your skin crawl. They were wrong—impossibly wrong—but they were a distraction, something to avert your eyes from the hole. Yet even that grotesque scene could only hold your attention for so long.
Inevitably, your gaze was drawn back to the hole. To that writhing, shifting thing inside. It was alive, moving with a rhythm that mirrored the worms you had seen in the dark places of the world. They crawled and slithered, their bodies coiling over one another, feeding on something deep inside the tree. The sight of it made your skin prickle, and instinctively, you took a step back.
But then, something deeper within the hole caught your eye. A spark, small but unmistakable, flickered at the core of the writhing mass. Candlelight, dim and weak, but present nonetheless. And with a shuddering realization, you understood. These weren't just worms. They were something else, something related to the terrible creatures, yet somehow different. Their chittering and gnashing filled your ears, but it wasn't them that truly terrified you. It was that spark.
A memory stirred in the depths of your mind, something you had read in scripture long ago. "In the depths of the woods, there is a light. Follow it, and you shall know the truth."
Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped closer to the tree, closer to the light. You didn't want to believe it, but the heat of that flame was unmistakable.
It was the same burning sensation you had felt when you were first anointed, the same sacred fire that had marked you as a servant of the divine. Was this truly a fragment of one of your gods? Trapped here, in this festering hollow, consumed by the writhing creatures that gnawed at its edges?
The thought sent a chill down your spine, a dread so deep it gnawed at the edges of your soul.
[Emir has gained a level of Dread]
You stood there, torn between the desire to flee and the faint hope that you could help. Perhaps you could reach into the festering maw and pull the spark free, rescue it from the consuming dark. Yet as you stared into that writhing mass, doubt crept in. Could you save something like this? Could you even face the truth of what was before you—one of your gods, reduced to a flickering light, devoured bite by bite by these ravenous things?
Your spirit grew cold, and you found yourself hesitating. Unsure. Unsure if you could continue. Unsure if you should or if that would merely leave you consumed by those strange writhing worms.
[] Continue
-You will continue the Expedition as normal and retry the last failed test.
[] Turn Back
-You will leave with all the knowledge you have gained. However you will have to retry all the prior tests if you attempt this expedition again.
