- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Eh, you've seen the grail levels needed for us to handle Damsel. Lady Mylissa is a grail-adept name, and can likely call on a grail influence whenever she wants.
Earth Bet: House of the Sun (Cultist Simulator/Worm)
- Thread starter Witherbrine26
- Start date
-
- Tags
- cultist simulator worm horror
Vote Closed
New
Winning Vote:
[X] Move Damsel in with Lady Mylissa
[X] Move Damsel in with Lady Mylissa
Turn 8 - Results, Part 3
New
[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] 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] 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] 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.
[Convincing Damsel DC: 40/80/120]
[Roll: 71+14(Diplomacy)+10(Grail)+40(An Incarnadescence) = 135]
"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.
[Understanding the White Door DC: 70]
[Roll: 18+9(Learning)+20(Lantern)+10(Winter) = 57]
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.
[Understanding the White Door DC: 70]
[Roll: 96+9(Learning)+20(Lantern)+10(Winter) = 135]
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.
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.
Nice. In the end, exactly that final attempt worked out, and extra Winter lesson wouldn't have saved us on the first two. it seems people like me, who wanted to know more of Winter before passing through the White Door were wrong. We got both what we came for and understood more about the White Door with that one extra try.
More pricey recovery options would also require us to spend more time recovering. Which may be a good thing with how wounded we are.
Witherbrine26 Is it normal that we saw and heard the Hour in the flesh with our own eyes, and moreover, he even paid attention to us and nothing happened?
I don't mean that we should have received the Scraps, but it could also have been the influence of winter or even horror, along with some negative effect on our soul.
It just seems strange to me that, faced with the fundamental force of reality, we left the same way we were.
I don't mean that we should have received the Scraps, but it could also have been the influence of winter or even horror, along with some negative effect on our soul.
It just seems strange to me that, faced with the fundamental force of reality, we left the same way we were.
Oh, good! We will skip all that fighting nonsense.
The Influence coming in clutch once again!
Aww. I really hope nothing bad happens to you there.
Oof. We're starting off badly.
A Mansus Expedition get! This is a good roll if we want to find some weak spirit.
Almost! Well, we have 6 health exactly for these situations.
Another good roll. Another Expedition in our cap. We should do one in the Woods soon.
The third time's the charm! The knowledge really was beautiful.
We got exactly what we wanted. Now we only need to summon one, though try for two just be sure, and we can spend the rest on something else.
We should do a Heart Influence, research a Heart ritual, and explore the Wax Melted Trail. That would be a nice conclusion to the last turn before the meeting.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
We'll be at four health next turn, assuming nothing gives us any more wounds this turn somehow. I agree with the influence option for boosting our healing. We should also avoid too many dangerous things next turn.
I imagine a combination of the effect of the plains and the Hour heavily suppressing it's own existence were sufficient that we didn't pick up anything. If it wanted us to, though, we would have.
Good roll. And also very high, but it is understandable considering who she is.
Okay, I guess the luck finally kicked in for this Quest.
WTF! Are you kidding me? A 3?!?! Why is Emir so bad at Winter!!!!
Again?! Come on give us a good roll.
Too good... Why did this have to be the last roll
I think the dice are laughing at us now.
Guess we will spend a lot of Funds next turn for healing.
Good idea. Do you think we could try to get the Incision of the Heart ritual and do it with Heart 3(2 Scraps from the Influence and 1 from Lady Mylissa)? I remember we had good chances with all our bonuses.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Okay, the sun spark is actually quite a powerful spirit. Has anyone done the math on the summoning itself? Unfortunately no boosts for it by the manor.
- Location
- florida
Shiny things!
It's not an Hour, it was a Sun Spark and is a spirit
I'm not sure if we should invest in this right now. We can afford to spend two actions on abstract things, but 3 would be a waste considering that we still need to invent a ritual and summon the spirit.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Okay so the math: +20 for the cadre bonus, assuming nothing changes there to increase it, which is a reasonable assumption. +5 for intuitive. +10 for piety.
So we roll at +35 universally.
An additional +20 for lantern.
+20 knock
+10 winter
So we have +55 lantern, +55 knock, +45 winter.
So we need a 25, 25, 15
This is only about a 47.8% chance for one attempt.
We either need something to sacrifice or to otherwise boost our rolls, because ow.
So we roll at +35 universally.
An additional +20 for lantern.
+20 knock
+10 winter
So we have +55 lantern, +55 knock, +45 winter.
So we need a 25, 25, 15
This is only about a 47.8% chance for one attempt.
We either need something to sacrifice or to otherwise boost our rolls, because ow.
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Here is the success chance of the rolls. I assume we have Winter 2.
[Winter:+10(Piety)+5(Intuitive)+20(Winter)+20(Cadre) = 55] = 96%
[Knock:+10(Piety)+5(Intuitive)+20(Knock)+20(Cadre) = 55] = 76%
[Lantern:+10(Piety)+5(Intuitive)+20(Lantern)+20(Cadre) = 55] = 76%
Success rate: 55.45%
Two rituals and at least one succeeds: 80.15%
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Matches mine, with the +1 scrap to winter. Definitely locking in that lesson action, for the roughly 6.5% chance boost.
Really what this is all telling me is we could seriously use something to assist with Knock, because it's the universal summoning requirement and will be the issue with high and mid tier summons.
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Oh, right. I guess we should spend two actions to that as well, then.
If I'm remembering correctly, I believe sacrificing a human gives a +10 boost to everything, but with Damsel in the manor, there's now the complication of her possibly stumbling onto that kind of ritual.
I still think we should call Teresa. In fact, her summoning is only 20 DC more difficult than Sun Sparks, and that's only in one check. We can change this by sacrificing a prisoner, raising the probability of success of all three checks.
On the positive side, Teresa raises the level of knowledge of the cult so that all subsequent rituals will be easier and she will also be our teacher.
On the positive side, Teresa raises the level of knowledge of the cult so that all subsequent rituals will be easier and she will also be our teacher.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Yeah, next turn feels pretty locked in.
Winter lesson
Heart influence
(2) summoning
(2) ritual research