Turn 2 - Results, Part 1
[X] Plan: Do As the Ring Yew Would Do
-[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, default)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] Who? (Charlotte)
---[X] Who? (Delilah)
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] What lore? (Secret Histories)
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals and summoned creatures
--[X] Search for that winged thing that led you in a chase
-[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, default)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] Who? (Charlotte)
---[X] Who? (Delilah)
-[X] On learning the Lores.
--[X] Lady Mylissa is willing to teach, request a lesson
---[X] What lore? (Secret Histories)
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals and summoned creatures
--[X] Search for that winged thing that led you in a chase
The morning air was crisp, carrying the early signs of winter as you drove down the winding road toward Lady Mylissa's manor. The wind cut through the chill, but instead of discomfort, it brought you a strange kind of comfort. You had always enjoyed the colder seasons, your body more resilient to the drop in temperature. Even in the depths of winter, you favored lighter garments, preferring the ease of movement and the coolness that came with them. Your wardrobe reflected that—despite the somber priestly robes you often donned, what you wore beneath was lighter, made of fabric that breathed easier against your skin. A small luxury, but one you had indulged in, nonetheless.
As you drove, the road stretched out before you in the pale light of morning, and your mind wandered, replaying the tasks you'd completed earlier in the day. It had been productive, but now, with the work behind you, you let yourself sink into the simple pleasure of the drive. The manor loomed ahead, its silhouette grand against the pale sky. Turning into the long, gravel driveway, your gaze caught something unexpected—a car parked near the entrance, an old beat-up blue Beetle.
You frowned slightly, curiosity stirring. It wasn't unusual to find visitors here, but this car didn't belong to any of the usual staff or residents. The only people who ever came by were Ava and Delilah, Lady Mylissa's trusted servants and perhaps a few members of the inner circle, but they were rarely seen. The idea that someone else might be here, someone outside the staff or cult, was intriguing.
Stepping out of your car, you approached the door and gave it a firm rap, the sound echoing in the stillness. After a moment, the door creaked open, and Ava greeted you with her usual formal demeanor. She bowed a subtle gesture of respect that you acknowledged with a polite incline of your head.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Laurence," she said smoothly. "Lady Mylissa is currently in the parlor with a guest, Mr. Simic. Would you like me to see if they are amiable to you joining them?"
You blinked, searching your memory for the name. Mr. Simic… it rang a bell, but it took a moment for the pieces to click into place. Charles Simic—a poet, once moderately famous in local circles, especially in the nineties. He hadn't achieved widespread renown, but his works had a loyal following. You were curious now, wondering what had brought him to Lady Mylissa's estate.
"That would be lovely," you replied, and Ava nodded before disappearing down the hall to check on the situation. You stepped inside, the door closing softly behind you, and you stood there for a few minutes, hands clasped behind your back as you waited in the grand entryway. The manor had an old-world charm, a stately elegance that felt out of step with the modern world, and as always, it exuded a faintly unnerving atmosphere.
Soon, Ava returned, gesturing for you to follow her. You made your way through the long corridors of the manor, the silence punctuated only by the soft tread of your shoes on the floor. Eventually, you reached the parlor, where you saw Lady Mylissa sitting gracefully in an armchair, a delicate cup of tea in hand. Across from her sat an elderly man, his white hair thin and balding in places, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. A well-worn notebook rested in his lap, the pages dog-eared and stained from years of use.
"—a much dwindled. My Secret Identity Is," the man, Mr. Simic, finished, lowering the notebook to polite applause from Lady Mylissa. She smiled warmly at him before her gaze shifted to you. Her eyes brightened, and with a fluid motion, she gestured for you to join them.
"Please, have a seat," she said in her smooth, melodic voice. Mr. Simic turned to look at you, blinking behind his glasses with a hint of confusion before recognition dawned on his face. He gave you a small, courteous nod as you settled into a chair opposite him. Ava appeared once more, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of you, the fragrant steam curling into the air.
"I'm not sure we've met formally," you began, offering your hand across the small table. "Emir Laurence, a pleasure to meet you."
"Charles Simic," the elderly man replied, his grip surprisingly firm for someone his age. His eyes, though sharp, carried the faint dullness that came with the passage of time. "You're the pastor, aren't you?"
You nodded, slightly taken aback by the compliment that followed. "I remember your sermons. Beautiful work," he said with a smile that revealed a few missing and yellowed teeth.
The unexpected praise made you flush slightly with embarrassment, and you smiled back. "Thank you, that means a lot," you said, gathering your thoughts. "What were you reading when I came in?"
"My poetry," Charles confessed with a sly smile. "Lady Mylissa here heard about me and invited me to share my work. And, well, I can hardly refuse when someone asks me to read my poetry," he added with a helpless shrug, though you could tell by the glimmer in his eyes that he enjoyed it, even if there was a hint of nervousness beneath his bravado. Perhaps it was because Lady Mylissa's reputation preceded her—many whispered that she was no ordinary woman, and Charles, like others, may have suspected she was something more, something dangerous.
Despite whatever fears or uncertainties he harbored, Charles seemed to relax as he pulled out another poem, his voice filling the room with measured rhythm. You sipped your tea, savoring its warmth, as you listened to him read. His words wove through the quiet parlor, intricate and thoughtful, his talent undeniable. Though he wasn't the most famous poet in the world, there was a sincerity in his work that captivated you. You found yourself leaning back, content to simply listen and enjoy the moment.
You've met Charles Simic, poet, soldier and well known community figure.
You are now Acquaintances.
"So, why is it that you've come here today?" Lady Mylissa's voice was calm, as always, but there was a certain weight behind it, an expectation. Charles had left only moments before, with Ava assisting the aging poet out of the manor and toward his car. The room now felt quieter, more intimate, the fading echoes of his voice leaving behind a stillness that begged to be filled.
You stirred your tea slowly, watching the liquid swirl as you considered her question. After a brief pause, you finally spoke, your voice measured.
"I seek more lessons," you said, your words deliberate, "This time, in Secret Histories."
Lady Mylissa regarded you for a long moment, her gaze piercing yet unreadable, before she stirred her own tea, contemplating your request.
Eventually, she set her cup down with a soft clink, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. "Very well," she said, rising gracefully to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate. "What is history?" she asked, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.
You felt the instinct to respond immediately, to offer a neatly packaged definition, the sort of answer one would expect in a classroom setting. But you held back, knowing that with Lady Mylissa, nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. You hesitated, pondering the deeper implications of her question. Your mind flickered briefly to the common adage—'history is written by the victors'—but even that felt too trite, too surface-level for this moment.
Instead, you took a breath, allowing the silence to stretch before speaking again. "History is... what has happened," you said, your voice thoughtful, though you weren't entirely satisfied with the answer. It felt incomplete, simplistic, and as soon as you spoke, you knew it wasn't what she was looking for.
Lady Mylissa hummed softly, taking a measured sip of her tea before shaking her head slightly. "No," she said, her voice steady but carrying a hint of something more—something just out of reach. "History is what has been decided to have happened."
Her words hung in the air, and you found yourself frowning slightly, tilting your head as you processed them. Decided? The notion unsettled you, tugging at something deeper within your thoughts.
"Tell me," she continued, her gaze never leaving yours, "What happens when two people disagree about what has happened?"
You blinked, instinctively reaching for logic. "Well, one of them has to be correct," you replied, feeling the certainty in your words. After all, that was how things worked—facts were facts, and there was only one truth to any event. History, while sometimes convoluted, was ultimately rooted in reality. Two conflicting accounts couldn't both be true, could they?
Lady Mylissa smiled, though the expression held a certain patience, as though she had anticipated your answer. "What if both of them are correct?" she asked, her voice gentle, yet carrying the power to shake the foundations of your understanding.
You blinked again, confusion rippling through your mind as you struggled to grasp her meaning. "How… how is that possible?" you asked, your voice quieter now, uncertain. The simplicity of her statement had caused a fracture in your thinking, something that you were trying desperately to bridge, but the pieces didn't seem to fit together.
"When something happens," Lady Mylissa began, her tone soft yet firm, "history is seen from many perspectives. Every individual, every witness, interprets events differently. And so, to reconcile these perspectives, different histories are formed."
Her words seemed to seep into your mind, but instead of clarity, they left behind a sense of disorientation. The idea felt foreign, yet familiar, like something you had always known but never fully realized. You could feel a faint pressure building behind your eyes, the beginnings of a headache as your thoughts raced to keep up. Your hand slipped slightly, and the teacup fell from your grasp, landing on the table with a soft thud but miraculously remaining intact. You rubbed your brow, trying to clear the fog in your mind.
"Different histories…" you muttered, more to yourself than to her, your voice distant. It felt as though you were watching the conversation from outside your own body, struggling to make sense of the thoughts now churning inside you. "So, if there isn't just one history, then how many are there?"
Lady Mylissa smiled again, the kind of smile that felt like it held secrets you weren't yet ready to understand. "There were once many," she said, her voice steady, "But now, only five remain. Though there may be more in the future."
Her words sent a shiver down your spine, though whether it was from excitement or dread, you couldn't tell. Five histories. The thought was dizzying, almost overwhelming. You opened your mouth to ask more, but she held up a hand, stopping you.
"That," she said with a finality that brooked no argument, "is a lesson for another time. For now, you should rest. You have much to think about."
You nodded slowly, rising to your feet, though your body felt heavier than it had when you first arrived. The conversation had left your mind buzzing, a thousand thoughts colliding behind your eyes, none of them fully formed yet. The idea of multiple histories, of truth being a malleable, shifting concept—it was almost too much to process at once. And yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was a deeper truth here, something essential that you had only begun to scratch the surface of.
"Thank you," you managed to say, your voice quieter than before, as if the weight of the conversation had pressed down on you physically as well as mentally. Lady Mylissa gave you a small, knowing nod as you made your way to the door, your mind still spinning.
As you stepped out into the cold, the brisk air hit you like a splash of water, but even that couldn't shake the thoughts that swirled in your head. You made your way to your car, your movements automatic, while your mind replayed the conversation.
Your head hurt, yet you knew that you knew more than you knew just a day ago.
You have learned that time is split into five histories, it may not have always been that way and it may be unraveling further now but that is what you know. Gain 1 scrap of Secret Histories lore.
Secret Histories lore is level 1
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