- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Summoning: The Blacktongue commands respect. Those not powerful enough to breach into the world themselves are very willing to swear loyalty, letting you summon them for short bursts to attack and defend.
It Will Have Been Worth It (Urban Fantasy)
- Thread starter Elpis
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
Vote closed
Update 2: Hellbound - An Introduction to Spirits
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
Thomas' lessons were pretty simple to start with, though your grateful tenant was more than willing to make it easier for you. In the end, your unique biology makes for a rather specific field of study. Which of these did you focus on?
[X] Transforming: Yourself and the World. Your body is, obviously, no longer quite human. This gives you the ability to transform your limbs to your advantage. Projecting this outward is harder, but not impossible.
###
You are restless.
The ceiling is unfamiliar to you, and the bed under you is too soft. The pillow smells too new. The outside world is too quiet.
You try to remember the little things that used to annoy you, something, anything to make that gnawing nostalgia let go of your mindless complaints.
How that girl in your dorms the first year had a guy over every night for the first three weeks, keeping you awake for that short time when you had all the motivation to get to class early.
How loud the cars were in the morning when you stayed at your parents' place during the summer.
That one time you've managed to fall asleep in a bar, waking up hours later to the police ready to escort you out.
You laugh, but it comes out wrong. It takes a moment for you to notice the stinging in your eyes. Whatever reasons you gave, you know that your mother would believe them all. And even though you could call her whenever you want, it would be to pile onto these lies.
You already know. She would ask 'How are you?' and you would tell a lie so beautiful, it would undermine every truth you've ever spoken.
One room over, you can hear Sophia snoring. The noise starts low and turns into a louder rumbling.
Closing your eyes, you finally manage to drift off. The world can wait until tomorrow.
###
"Do you take this thing with you everywhere you go?"
Sophia turns around from the meal she is preparing. Considering the collection of sauces and spices next to the stove, you make plans to cook for yourself from now on. "What do you mean?"
"That," you say, pointing at the metal bat. It took a bit after waking up to get your bearings, but now, less sleep deprived and dehydrated, the full picture comes into view. You have a roomie, and she's technically your bodyguard. "You don't strike me as someone who plays."
"Well then you strike out," she says. "I used to play softball, but you're right that this isn't for sports. It's my exorcism weapon."
"To… drive out evil?"
"All kinds of magical things," she says. The image just doesn't fit but you can't really voice it. But you've found appearances can be deceiving all the same. After all, arcanists come in all shapes and sizes.
The things you've seen Thomas do with that cane of his— you imagine it's more a matter of comfort.
"Obviously you can't swing around a knife or a sword whenever you want," she says. "In public, carrying a weapon makes you suspicious. It makes people pay attention to you."
"Swinging around a weird paper-plastered bat won't?"
"Not as long as you don't swing it at people. It's mundane enough."
You've known this woman for less than twenty four hours now, but the way she approaches things tells you a lot.
"But most spirits don't try to attack when normal people are around, that's what Thomas said."
"You can't ever rely on the rule, you should always be prepared for the exception."
"And if I have to defend myself in public?"
"You learn enough memory magic to take care of it," Sophia says, shrugging. "Or you threaten people into silence, that's become much harder now that everyone carries a camera in their pockets. There's also just letting people say what they want."
"Because nobody would believe such a crazy story."
Sophia tilts her head, humming. You've been there, the slow insanity that kept spreading through you as everyone in the hospital told you nobody else was found in that abandoned church.
Until they came and told you the truth.
"Apropos that," you say, watching as she puts whatever attempt at french toast she had butchered on a plate. "That thing that chased me yesterday, can you tell me what it was?"
"Some kind of magical thing," she says, bringing the plates to the table. The scars visible under her tattoos tell stories not unlike your own. You try and fail in your attempt not to roll your eyes. "Look, you ask me about some random evil thing in the rain and I can suggest twenty things off the top of my head. You gotta be more specific, Anna."
She says your name like something unfamiliar. As if something so common has become something completely foreign.
As if she stumbles for a moment and stops herself from using the wrong name.
It is not safe in her mouth.
You frown. "Yeah, okay. Spindly thing, more bones than skin, only a mouth with some very sharp icy teeth. It made everything around us feel freezing and stopped the taxi I was in."
Her face betrays no emotion.
Sophia seems to think, taking a bite of the toast in front of her. She grimaces, very obviously disgusted by her own skill before pushing the plate aside. You're already three bites into the thing before she finally answers.
"If it was after you specifically, then it must be old. Powerful enough to manifest itself in the right conditions without invitation or sacrifice—"
"How'd you know?"
"If it had aid, by some summoner or otherwise, it would probably not have run away. No offence, but—"
"I don't look like much, yeah," you say, almost growling the words. "I've heard that. But I'm not completely helpless."
"If you're in the habit of interrupting people trying to explain things to you, I'll be sure to find a gag the next time we have breakfast together."
You blink, not expecting the sudden call-out. You nod, not sure what to say in response.
She shrugs, wiping a strand of hair from her face. "Nevermind that, that barely narrows it down. A water spirit, or demon. Winter association. Anything else?"
"It kept taking the middle of the road, and dodged rather than letting cars hit it."
"Associates with boundaries, quick on its feet. It's… maybe not water, then. Wind?"
Sophia reaches into her way too small pocket and pulls out a way too big book. She flips around for a few pages, and ends up frowning again. She does that a lot.
"Wind of Winter," she decides, turning the book around to show a rough sketch of a strange symbol. Sort of like a snowflake, but a lot spikier as it grows towards the outside. "Specifically, the first wind of winter. It's a very seasonal demon, appearing only towards the end of autumn for a few weeks. Outside of that its form becomes nothing but a threat of hypothermia."
"So it won't be back?"
"No chance to say." Sophia crosses her arms, glaring at the plate in front of her. You emptied yours already. She sets her book down next to it, then shuffles the plates around. "It's motivated, and it knows you're here now. You're going to learn some ways to defend yourself from me though."
Her body is a canvas painted with experience. Thomas taught magic, but somehow you can tell that Sophia can teach you how to fight.
"Thomas gave me the basics, but the magic is… not good for the public," you say. The second plate does look appetising. If nothing else, the ability to handle this girl's cooking seems like a blessing.
"No magic is good for the public, it's kept a secret for a reason," she says. "I feel you, though. Unlike spirits we don't have the advantage of being invisible to the average person."
If only it were that easy. Then you wouldn't have to wear a mask outside. Or a scarf.
Sophia points at you, standing up. "Show me what you're made of, girl."
You raise your hand, closing your eyes and focusing. It takes a moment for you to find the proper thread. The connection between you and it.
Lines of ink run out of your mouth, travelling towards your shoulder. Within a second, the darkness took your arm apart and shaped it anew. Claws, rigid and sharp. Tendrils that form muscles, carefully formed around your sleeves to avoid ripping the clothes.
And in the reflection of the window, a monster.
Sophia leans forward, her hands reaching out almost in reflex. You pull back, the magic dissipating and the ink travelling back into your mouth. For once, Sophia isn't frowning. She looks— interested? Excited?
You can't tell, but whichever it is, you don't like it.
"That's so incredible, I can't even imagine how difficult that'd be for anyone else—" Sophia says, her book is turned to a new page, writing something without her touching any pen. "How does it feel?"
"Like giving something of myself up," you say. Stepping into something familiar and cold. "Losing a limb, and then growing another one. It's hard to explain."
"But you immediately regain control over it. You're… not just a normal demon host, are you?"
"Three debts to repay," you say, your body rigid. Your fingers tighten into a fist. You stand as well, following her as she takes your plate to the kitchen. "I owe it three debts, and Thomas said I might be rid of it when I repay them."
"Why three?" Sophia asks, leaning over the dishwasher. You glance back towards the table. The book continues to sit on the table, letters appearing wordlessly. "You made a pact, didn't you? On blood, on soul, and on your name?"
"On blood, and blood, and blood again." You reach up to your neck. Your fingers feel like cold metal. Like sharp teeth and broken promises. "We didn't start on equal terms, and I couldn't speak at the time. In exchange for saving me, and killing the men who did this, a debt for each of them."
Sophia's eyebrows furrow. She hasn't heard this before. Though she was made your caretaker, Thomas has not told her the full story. Why? If she isn't trustworthy, she wouldn't have been assigned to this task.
"That explains why there is an out," Sophia says. "But it opens more questions."
"Yeah," you say. "Your grandpa didn't tell you."
"I think it's more likely he doesn't quite know himself what you managed to get into," Sophia says, the bat next to her singing with some sort of energy as she closes her eyes, deep in thought. "But he's a busybody who'd talk theories with you, even if you have no idea what he's talking about. So try me."
The instinct to shy away from her intense stare is snuffed out. You take a deep breath, remembering the crash course you've received after you managed to calm down.
You nod, gathering your thoughts. "I know there's two main ways to summon… these things. Demons, angels, spirits, everyone I talked to since had a different name for them."
Then, you raise one finger. "You summon them, giving them something in return for answering. Blood, your name, souls are usually the three things that interest them the most. Some want one or two, some of them want everything you can offer. That's why— that's why you sacrifice others to summon those kinds."
Sophia tilts her head. "The Blacktongue was summoned and sealed. So—"
"The ritual wasn't meant to summon it," you say, swallowing a lump in your throat. She didn't stay true to her earlier threat, ignoring your interruption now that she has gotten interested. "I was meant to be its host, which is the second way."
Without missing a beat, you continue. "You can channel them, mostly into inanimate objects, sometimes into living beings. That's only possible if they're very weak, very abstract, or very much present. That's a way to gain control over spirits who usually don't play nicely."
"So where does that leave you?"
"A host, but not in the traditional sense," you say. "Blacktongue didn't enter me through a pact, it came willingly. We made a pact after."
"And that's the sitch," Sophia offers, raising her arms and putting her arms out, as if holding a giant ball. "If you're not being possessed, what are you?"
What she asks.
As if you know the answer to that, in a world that your eyes have barely been opened to. A world she grew up in, and you are thrown into due to the incompetence of your betters.
"Well, that leaves you with two choices, really," Sophia says. "You become stronger than anything trying to grab you or get rid of you, as we established. Or you can ask for help on those three debts, let me and the others help you do whatever you need to do."
That's the truth of the matter. It all comes down to this one choice.
You—
[X] Reject her offer.
[ ] Accept her offer.
"No," you say, in quiet defiance. You raise your shaking hand in front of your face, grabbing onto your right arm to keep it steady. "I've had people make choices for me too many times to let them decide my fate."
Sophia nods, and for the first time you can see something akin to joy on her face. A smile, so wide and innocent it takes away from her intense personality.
"Sister," she says, and if you kept count it'd be the third or fourth different name she called you by now. "I think we'll have a lot of fun tearing this city up."
What are you?
"I am me," you say. Your teeth clench. "Despite everything, I am still me."
And you wouldn't have it any other way.
###
[ ] Your father taught you to approach the unknown with Kindness.
Not naivete but the assumption that whoever you are facing is not acting out of a desire to make you miserable. People are creatures of habit, and you find that even among the arcane these things are often defence mechanisms. If something as powerful and ancient as Blacktongue can be argued with, who's to say that the others are incapable?
[ ] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
A woman who could not even tell a white lie if her life depended on it. Sometimes, talking things out can work. Find a middleground and see for yourself just how much you are willing to give and take. If people were more honest about their wants and feelings, perhaps a compromise could be struck.
[ ] Your experience taught you to approach the unknown with Suspicion.
Not everything is out to hurt you, and statistics will tell you that crossing the street is more likely to cause your death than walking down a dark alley on the way to your dorms. Statistics don't prepare you for the time when it's your turn to become part of them. A bit of healthy paranoia never hurt anyone, right?
###
Furthermore, if you stay at home the entire time while slowly learning how to defend yourself, you'll go insane. You have a job at one of Thomas' friends' shops, but this will expose you to whatever is out there.
So you have to set a goal:
[ ] Become the Apex.
Every place has a powerful spirit. Something that is so strong it can manifest itself without the help or invitation of an arcanist. This spirit can change depending on many factors. Population size, season, temperature, how much money is spent in a year— whichever the case, defeating something like this will send a clear message:
You are here, and you will not be cowed by the likes of them.
[ ] Shatter the Throne.
Old families often carry forward their magic. Thomas' family is much, much older than most of your history books, you're certain. Though he lacks the neat ancestral mansion and the overly inbred traits, he did warn that there are many families that have established themselves around and in Aurora. Much like the spirits, they will come after you, make offers, some that you can't refuse. Tell them:
Lay a hand on me, and it will be the last thing you do.
[ ] Winnow the Garden.
Quantity is a quality all on its own. The main way for arcanists to establish themselves is to work their way up the ladder in an almost sanctioned activity. Exorcism is, in essence, the return of the status quo. Things that change the world must be corrected, and wherever larger than life spirits make an appearance, minor ones follow and overstay their welcome. Make it clear:
You will not tolerate the presence of even the smallest of aberrations.
Lahar, the Burdened Young. A record-keeper of long histories. She uses a golden dagger as weapon of choice.
[X] Transforming: Yourself and the World. Your body is, obviously, no longer quite human. This gives you the ability to transform your limbs to your advantage. Projecting this outward is harder, but not impossible.
###
You are restless.
The ceiling is unfamiliar to you, and the bed under you is too soft. The pillow smells too new. The outside world is too quiet.
You try to remember the little things that used to annoy you, something, anything to make that gnawing nostalgia let go of your mindless complaints.
How that girl in your dorms the first year had a guy over every night for the first three weeks, keeping you awake for that short time when you had all the motivation to get to class early.
How loud the cars were in the morning when you stayed at your parents' place during the summer.
That one time you've managed to fall asleep in a bar, waking up hours later to the police ready to escort you out.
You laugh, but it comes out wrong. It takes a moment for you to notice the stinging in your eyes. Whatever reasons you gave, you know that your mother would believe them all. And even though you could call her whenever you want, it would be to pile onto these lies.
You already know. She would ask 'How are you?' and you would tell a lie so beautiful, it would undermine every truth you've ever spoken.
One room over, you can hear Sophia snoring. The noise starts low and turns into a louder rumbling.
Closing your eyes, you finally manage to drift off. The world can wait until tomorrow.
###
"Do you take this thing with you everywhere you go?"
Sophia turns around from the meal she is preparing. Considering the collection of sauces and spices next to the stove, you make plans to cook for yourself from now on. "What do you mean?"
"That," you say, pointing at the metal bat. It took a bit after waking up to get your bearings, but now, less sleep deprived and dehydrated, the full picture comes into view. You have a roomie, and she's technically your bodyguard. "You don't strike me as someone who plays."
"Well then you strike out," she says. "I used to play softball, but you're right that this isn't for sports. It's my exorcism weapon."
"To… drive out evil?"
"All kinds of magical things," she says. The image just doesn't fit but you can't really voice it. But you've found appearances can be deceiving all the same. After all, arcanists come in all shapes and sizes.
The things you've seen Thomas do with that cane of his— you imagine it's more a matter of comfort.
"Obviously you can't swing around a knife or a sword whenever you want," she says. "In public, carrying a weapon makes you suspicious. It makes people pay attention to you."
"Swinging around a weird paper-plastered bat won't?"
"Not as long as you don't swing it at people. It's mundane enough."
You've known this woman for less than twenty four hours now, but the way she approaches things tells you a lot.
"But most spirits don't try to attack when normal people are around, that's what Thomas said."
"You can't ever rely on the rule, you should always be prepared for the exception."
"And if I have to defend myself in public?"
"You learn enough memory magic to take care of it," Sophia says, shrugging. "Or you threaten people into silence, that's become much harder now that everyone carries a camera in their pockets. There's also just letting people say what they want."
"Because nobody would believe such a crazy story."
Sophia tilts her head, humming. You've been there, the slow insanity that kept spreading through you as everyone in the hospital told you nobody else was found in that abandoned church.
Until they came and told you the truth.
"Apropos that," you say, watching as she puts whatever attempt at french toast she had butchered on a plate. "That thing that chased me yesterday, can you tell me what it was?"
"Some kind of magical thing," she says, bringing the plates to the table. The scars visible under her tattoos tell stories not unlike your own. You try and fail in your attempt not to roll your eyes. "Look, you ask me about some random evil thing in the rain and I can suggest twenty things off the top of my head. You gotta be more specific, Anna."
She says your name like something unfamiliar. As if something so common has become something completely foreign.
As if she stumbles for a moment and stops herself from using the wrong name.
It is not safe in her mouth.
You frown. "Yeah, okay. Spindly thing, more bones than skin, only a mouth with some very sharp icy teeth. It made everything around us feel freezing and stopped the taxi I was in."
Her face betrays no emotion.
Sophia seems to think, taking a bite of the toast in front of her. She grimaces, very obviously disgusted by her own skill before pushing the plate aside. You're already three bites into the thing before she finally answers.
"If it was after you specifically, then it must be old. Powerful enough to manifest itself in the right conditions without invitation or sacrifice—"
"How'd you know?"
"If it had aid, by some summoner or otherwise, it would probably not have run away. No offence, but—"
"I don't look like much, yeah," you say, almost growling the words. "I've heard that. But I'm not completely helpless."
"If you're in the habit of interrupting people trying to explain things to you, I'll be sure to find a gag the next time we have breakfast together."
You blink, not expecting the sudden call-out. You nod, not sure what to say in response.
She shrugs, wiping a strand of hair from her face. "Nevermind that, that barely narrows it down. A water spirit, or demon. Winter association. Anything else?"
"It kept taking the middle of the road, and dodged rather than letting cars hit it."
"Associates with boundaries, quick on its feet. It's… maybe not water, then. Wind?"
Sophia reaches into her way too small pocket and pulls out a way too big book. She flips around for a few pages, and ends up frowning again. She does that a lot.
"Wind of Winter," she decides, turning the book around to show a rough sketch of a strange symbol. Sort of like a snowflake, but a lot spikier as it grows towards the outside. "Specifically, the first wind of winter. It's a very seasonal demon, appearing only towards the end of autumn for a few weeks. Outside of that its form becomes nothing but a threat of hypothermia."
"So it won't be back?"
"No chance to say." Sophia crosses her arms, glaring at the plate in front of her. You emptied yours already. She sets her book down next to it, then shuffles the plates around. "It's motivated, and it knows you're here now. You're going to learn some ways to defend yourself from me though."
Her body is a canvas painted with experience. Thomas taught magic, but somehow you can tell that Sophia can teach you how to fight.
"Thomas gave me the basics, but the magic is… not good for the public," you say. The second plate does look appetising. If nothing else, the ability to handle this girl's cooking seems like a blessing.
"No magic is good for the public, it's kept a secret for a reason," she says. "I feel you, though. Unlike spirits we don't have the advantage of being invisible to the average person."
If only it were that easy. Then you wouldn't have to wear a mask outside. Or a scarf.
Sophia points at you, standing up. "Show me what you're made of, girl."
You raise your hand, closing your eyes and focusing. It takes a moment for you to find the proper thread. The connection between you and it.
Lines of ink run out of your mouth, travelling towards your shoulder. Within a second, the darkness took your arm apart and shaped it anew. Claws, rigid and sharp. Tendrils that form muscles, carefully formed around your sleeves to avoid ripping the clothes.
And in the reflection of the window, a monster.
Sophia leans forward, her hands reaching out almost in reflex. You pull back, the magic dissipating and the ink travelling back into your mouth. For once, Sophia isn't frowning. She looks— interested? Excited?
You can't tell, but whichever it is, you don't like it.
"That's so incredible, I can't even imagine how difficult that'd be for anyone else—" Sophia says, her book is turned to a new page, writing something without her touching any pen. "How does it feel?"
"Like giving something of myself up," you say. Stepping into something familiar and cold. "Losing a limb, and then growing another one. It's hard to explain."
"But you immediately regain control over it. You're… not just a normal demon host, are you?"
"Three debts to repay," you say, your body rigid. Your fingers tighten into a fist. You stand as well, following her as she takes your plate to the kitchen. "I owe it three debts, and Thomas said I might be rid of it when I repay them."
"Why three?" Sophia asks, leaning over the dishwasher. You glance back towards the table. The book continues to sit on the table, letters appearing wordlessly. "You made a pact, didn't you? On blood, on soul, and on your name?"
"On blood, and blood, and blood again." You reach up to your neck. Your fingers feel like cold metal. Like sharp teeth and broken promises. "We didn't start on equal terms, and I couldn't speak at the time. In exchange for saving me, and killing the men who did this, a debt for each of them."
Sophia's eyebrows furrow. She hasn't heard this before. Though she was made your caretaker, Thomas has not told her the full story. Why? If she isn't trustworthy, she wouldn't have been assigned to this task.
"That explains why there is an out," Sophia says. "But it opens more questions."
"Yeah," you say. "Your grandpa didn't tell you."
"I think it's more likely he doesn't quite know himself what you managed to get into," Sophia says, the bat next to her singing with some sort of energy as she closes her eyes, deep in thought. "But he's a busybody who'd talk theories with you, even if you have no idea what he's talking about. So try me."
The instinct to shy away from her intense stare is snuffed out. You take a deep breath, remembering the crash course you've received after you managed to calm down.
You nod, gathering your thoughts. "I know there's two main ways to summon… these things. Demons, angels, spirits, everyone I talked to since had a different name for them."
Then, you raise one finger. "You summon them, giving them something in return for answering. Blood, your name, souls are usually the three things that interest them the most. Some want one or two, some of them want everything you can offer. That's why— that's why you sacrifice others to summon those kinds."
Sophia tilts her head. "The Blacktongue was summoned and sealed. So—"
"The ritual wasn't meant to summon it," you say, swallowing a lump in your throat. She didn't stay true to her earlier threat, ignoring your interruption now that she has gotten interested. "I was meant to be its host, which is the second way."
Without missing a beat, you continue. "You can channel them, mostly into inanimate objects, sometimes into living beings. That's only possible if they're very weak, very abstract, or very much present. That's a way to gain control over spirits who usually don't play nicely."
"So where does that leave you?"
"A host, but not in the traditional sense," you say. "Blacktongue didn't enter me through a pact, it came willingly. We made a pact after."
"And that's the sitch," Sophia offers, raising her arms and putting her arms out, as if holding a giant ball. "If you're not being possessed, what are you?"
What she asks.
As if you know the answer to that, in a world that your eyes have barely been opened to. A world she grew up in, and you are thrown into due to the incompetence of your betters.
"Well, that leaves you with two choices, really," Sophia says. "You become stronger than anything trying to grab you or get rid of you, as we established. Or you can ask for help on those three debts, let me and the others help you do whatever you need to do."
That's the truth of the matter. It all comes down to this one choice.
You—
[X] Reject her offer.
"No," you say, in quiet defiance. You raise your shaking hand in front of your face, grabbing onto your right arm to keep it steady. "I've had people make choices for me too many times to let them decide my fate."
Sophia nods, and for the first time you can see something akin to joy on her face. A smile, so wide and innocent it takes away from her intense personality.
"Sister," she says, and if you kept count it'd be the third or fourth different name she called you by now. "I think we'll have a lot of fun tearing this city up."
What are you?
"I am me," you say. Your teeth clench. "Despite everything, I am still me."
And you wouldn't have it any other way.
###
[ ] Your father taught you to approach the unknown with Kindness.
Not naivete but the assumption that whoever you are facing is not acting out of a desire to make you miserable. People are creatures of habit, and you find that even among the arcane these things are often defence mechanisms. If something as powerful and ancient as Blacktongue can be argued with, who's to say that the others are incapable?
[ ] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
A woman who could not even tell a white lie if her life depended on it. Sometimes, talking things out can work. Find a middleground and see for yourself just how much you are willing to give and take. If people were more honest about their wants and feelings, perhaps a compromise could be struck.
[ ] Your experience taught you to approach the unknown with Suspicion.
Not everything is out to hurt you, and statistics will tell you that crossing the street is more likely to cause your death than walking down a dark alley on the way to your dorms. Statistics don't prepare you for the time when it's your turn to become part of them. A bit of healthy paranoia never hurt anyone, right?
###
Furthermore, if you stay at home the entire time while slowly learning how to defend yourself, you'll go insane. You have a job at one of Thomas' friends' shops, but this will expose you to whatever is out there.
So you have to set a goal:
[ ] Become the Apex.
Every place has a powerful spirit. Something that is so strong it can manifest itself without the help or invitation of an arcanist. This spirit can change depending on many factors. Population size, season, temperature, how much money is spent in a year— whichever the case, defeating something like this will send a clear message:
You are here, and you will not be cowed by the likes of them.
[ ] Shatter the Throne.
Old families often carry forward their magic. Thomas' family is much, much older than most of your history books, you're certain. Though he lacks the neat ancestral mansion and the overly inbred traits, he did warn that there are many families that have established themselves around and in Aurora. Much like the spirits, they will come after you, make offers, some that you can't refuse. Tell them:
Lay a hand on me, and it will be the last thing you do.
[ ] Winnow the Garden.
Quantity is a quality all on its own. The main way for arcanists to establish themselves is to work their way up the ladder in an almost sanctioned activity. Exorcism is, in essence, the return of the status quo. Things that change the world must be corrected, and wherever larger than life spirits make an appearance, minor ones follow and overstay their welcome. Make it clear:
You will not tolerate the presence of even the smallest of aberrations.
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Interesting symmetry. 3 debts to the Blacktongue, and 3 people who owe us for this happening in the first place.
[X] Your father taught you to approach the unknown with Kindness.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
I like this set. Don't start fights, but we'll finish them, and thoroughly enough to set an example for everyone else in the future.
[X] Your father taught you to approach the unknown with Kindness.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
I like this set. Don't start fights, but we'll finish them, and thoroughly enough to set an example for everyone else in the future.
- Location
- SV's Only Complete Persona Quest
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Your father taught you to approach the unknown with Kindness.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
Was thinking about Winnow the Garden, but it did seem the most conformist in-universe and the most typical out of it
[X] Shatter the Throne.
Was thinking about Winnow the Garden, but it did seem the most conformist in-universe and the most typical out of it
[X] Your experience taught you to approach the unknown with Suspicion.
[X] Winnow the Garden.
[X] Winnow the Garden.
- Location
- Somewhere!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
[X] Become the Apex.
Reject politics, reject normalcy, embrace being the strongest scariest demon tongued girl around.
[X] Become the Apex.
Reject politics, reject normalcy, embrace being the strongest scariest demon tongued girl around.
- Location
- SV's Only Complete Persona Quest
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I was a little hesitant to pick Honesty at first as I felt this is a setting where some secrets ought to be kept. But the original vote does specify 'find a middleground', so I assume it wouldn't end up being the 'reveal everything' option
- Location
- Britain
[X] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
[X] Become the Apex.
[X] Become the Apex.
- Location
- Somewhere else
[X] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
[X] Become the Apex.
[X] Become the Apex.
Euclaid Galieane
Addicted to Words
- Location
- Inside a Book
[X] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
A Bunch Of Atoms
...
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- Any
[X] Your father taught you to approach the unknown with Kindness.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
[X] Become the Apex.
I'm the strongest mother fucker in the world bitch!
I'm the strongest mother fucker in the world bitch!
- Location
- Germany
[X] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
[X] Become the Apex.
There's something to this combo. Become strong enough that you don't have to rely on the protection of secrecy—at least not entirely—and then use that strength to make yourself seen in the world.
[X] Become the Apex.
There's something to this combo. Become strong enough that you don't have to rely on the protection of secrecy—at least not entirely—and then use that strength to make yourself seen in the world.
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
Solarstream
It's all in the cards
- Location
- Zombie World
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
[X] Shatter the Throne.
Vote closed
- Pronouns
- Reader
Lol. I catch up just a smidge to late, not that it would have changed anything.
Hi Elpis! It's me, from Pandora's box. This looks super fun. looking forward to seeing what comes next.
I'm gonna go see if there is any more of your work catch up on. Have a nice day. Ciao.
@Elpis, heads up. I'm nominating this for best new work.
Hi Elpis! It's me, from Pandora's box. This looks super fun. looking forward to seeing what comes next.
I'm gonna go see if there is any more of your work catch up on. Have a nice day. Ciao.
@Elpis, heads up. I'm nominating this for best new work.
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Update 3: Hellbound - Knowing the Players
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
[X] Your mother taught you to approach the unknown with Honesty.
A woman who could not even tell a white lie if her life depended on it. Sometimes, talking things out can work. Find a middleground and see for yourself just how much you are willing to give and take. If people were more honest about their wants and feelings, perhaps a compromise could be struck.
Furthermore, if you stay at home the entire time while slowly learning how to defend yourself, you'll go insane. You have a job at one of Thomas' friends' shops, but this will expose you to whatever is out there.
So you have to set a goal:
[X] Shatter the Throne.
Old families often carry forward their magic. Thomas' family is much, much older than most of your history books, you're certain. Though he lacks the neat ancestral mansion and the overly inbred traits, he did warn that there are many families that have established themselves around and in Aurora. Much like the spirits, they will come after you, make offers, some that you can't refuse. Tell them:
Lay a hand on me, and it will be the last thing you do.
###
"I thought I left this behind me," you say, your lips drawn into a thin line as you hold up the notebook Sophia pressed into your hand a few minutes ago. "What's the point of dropping out of college if I have to continue studying?"
"You just changed majors," Sophia says. "Welcome to Magic History 101, at a bare minimum you need to know about your rivals."
"Rivals?" you ask. "What rivals?"
"Well, technically they're our rivals, though nobody actually has a problem with grandpa." She takes the notebook and flips to the fifty-sixth page. HAWTHORNE.
"Two big families in Aurora," Sophia says. "Both too strong to stay quiet, but not strong enough to get rid of the other."
She flips the page. BRAMBLE.
"They're very alike in some ways, but their approaches could not be more different," Sophia says. "Hawthorne is led by what they describe as a 'council'. Family members take on different positions. It's mostly nepotism with extra steps, the promise that even outsiders of the family could one day become members."
"Outsiders?" you ask.
"People who marry into the family, or who swear loyalty for protection," Sophia says. "It's not that bad of a deal if you want to keep your neck. But to make it clear, you're not exactly the kind of person they want in their family, rather than under them."
Trust is hard to come by nowadays. You find yourself thinking back to the leaps of faith you've had to make after the incident. How even the trust you can now give Sophia is only possible through that leash of debt that you hold over Thomas.
There is no way to trust someone you have no leverage over, is there? You see yourself on the ground, drowning in your own blood, begging to live. When you look up, do you want to see them stand above you?
"What about Bramble?"
"Younger than the Hawthornes, but no less trouble." Sophia turns the page again. You find yourself in front of a network of names. "They're a bit more traditional. Two family heads, and a lot of branch families. Their expertise is demonology. And before the breakout happened, they were attempting to force the burdened young to hand over the Blacktongue."
Your jaw sets. An itch behind your eyes makes you blink away the bubbling anger.
"The three that freed it," you say. "Could they be from that family?"
"It's not impossible," she says. "But I mean it when I say they're experts in the matter. They'd never make a mistake like that. If they were responsible, chances are you'd not be here to have this conversation with me."
"Not impossible," you repeat. Somehow that's more worrying. "Your grandpa's a weirdo but he wouldn't send me to the city where these assholes are for no reason, right?"
"Never for no reason, but don't ask me what reasons he has."
"Right." You try not to sound too exhausted. "I don't think I can keep this in my brain if I'm stuck here the entire day."
"That's fine, we'll have enough time to catch up on this," Sophia says. She stands up, and you're once again staring up at her. She's too tall. "And you may as well learn about them by meeting some of them around town. Come, we'll take a walk. I'm not going to attempt to cook any lunch."
"That'd be for the best." Your voice is low, but she still hears it. Her laugh echoes through the hallway on the way to the door.
###
Aurora is a lot less threatening at day time. The rain has left puddles here and there, though the low sun is already taking care of that. It's cold enough to wear a scarf, though, leaving you without the worry that everyone can see your mouth.
Sophia walks the streets differently. You still find your eyes drawn to every nook and cranny, every side road as you walk towards a place to find some food. The people around you don't notice you at all, their eyes often drawn to Sophia instead. Fortunately, the bat had a fitting bag, alleviating the worry that she just carries the thing around for everyone to see.
You end up at some American-style diner, fifteen minutes on foot from the apartment. Sophia opens the door for you, watching with an amused expression as you walk into a wall of grease so thick in the air you might as well fry your food on the plate.
"Find us some seats, I'll be right back," she says, beelining for the bathroom. You nod, taking a look around. It's quite empty at this hour, though a few regulars seem to have made themselves comfortable. You end up picking a seat in the corner, away from the window. As you sit down, you can see the entrance door without much trouble and have your back to the wall.
Excellent.
Sophia returns just a minute later. The waitress brings a menu. The smell and feeling of grease become less bothersome as your hunger grows.
"The burgers here are awful," Sophia says, her voice low. The waitress doesn't seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn't care. "The fries are good though."
You don't trust this girl's taste after her cooking. You still order a burger, and fries.
"Okay." The food is going to take a while, so the notebook is back on the table. "You told me about the two families I should be careful of, what about the less human residents?"
"Spirits and demons, I'd usually say you don't have to worry about anything holy but considering the Blacktongue is a high-ranking enemy of theirs you might find them annoying too."
"We'll burn that bridge when we get there," you say, remembering Grace's own comments about the matter. "Who's there to pay attention to? The Wind of Winter?"
"That one is currently quite strong, yes," she says, nodding. "In general, nature spirits wax and wane. The truly powerful ones are either older or fast approaching the tip of the bell curve."
She flips backwards through the notebook. Note-taking doesn't seem like something Sophia is adept in, but her attempts are cute enough. Most of the pages are full of crude drawings, names written in all capital letters, and generally just very messy. Nevertheless, the results are what matter.
"The oldest spirits are so strong, families usually don't mess with them unless they have to," Sophia explains, pointing at the list of names. Blacktongue among them. "And they usually don't like to mess with each other, because there's no clear distinction of who's stronger. They're intelligent and ruthless. They're adaptable. Worse than that, they're very, very human."
The list was split between the three usual terms. Spirits, Demons, Angels. There's some subdivisions, some 'others' that don't quite fit the trinity.
"You've met the hag, right?"
You frown. "Who?"
"The church deaconess," Sophia says, making an inappropriate motion with her hands. "You know, Grace."
"Ah," you say, blinking. "Yes, she was there after the attack. She helped me some, with my family."
She is the least chatty of the three that helped you, but somehow you felt comforted by her presence the most.
"So their kind of magic is something that creates spirits. Gods made from their faith, angels born from their mythology. Angels are almost always those kinds of spirits, and the rogue ones are those who stuck around after their churches fell."
"If there's genuine Biblical Archangels running around, I need to know now," you say. "My grandmother will never let me hear the end of it for not being much of a believer."
Sophia grins so wide you can see her teeth. "Too mainstream."
You raise an eyebrow, watching as the waitress picks up two plates and brings them to another table. The hunger grows. "Are you serious?"
"No, not quite," Sophia says, leaning back into the seat and sliding down slightly. "Faith that you spread too far causes too many interpretations. You end up with either a manifestation that is weaker, or many manifestations that represent many faiths."
You nod. It makes sense, in a way. The reason the monster from last night was so strong follows the same kind of logic. There are many winds of winter, but there's only one 'first' wind.
"While they're all technically the same kinds of aberrations, the distinction comes from their origin," Sophia says, the words coming out so flat she must be quoting someone. Probably her grandfather. "So spirits are born from nature, angels are born from faith, and demons are born from negativity. Powerful emotions and concepts."
"What kind of negativity was the Blacktongue born from?"
Sophia crosses her arms. The next set of plates. You can see your burger. "When it comes to beings that old, nobody knows. I can go down the theories, but we'd be here all day and there's still sunlight to burn."
"Theories can wait," you say. Somehow you feel like knowing it won't make anything better. The pit in your stomach announces it'll make things just worse. "Powerful spirits?"
"The three you need to pay most attention to, the ones that make Aurora a very fun city to live in, are right here."
She taps three names on the notebook. The food arrives, set on the table without any other word. You don't even manage to say a quick thanks, too distracted by the ink on the paper.
ARABAS
KING-MAKER
SOLUS
"Demon, Spirit, Angel," Sophia points at them again. "Youngest, Middle Child, Oldest in that order. Solus was a patron of some coven, tied to the city when the last of the witches died on these grounds. The King-Maker was born from spilled blood. It started with actual kings, nowadays it feeds on conflict between criminal groups."
"Arabas is the youngest?" you ask. "How young?"
"Maybe a few hundred years," Sophia says. "It's also the most active of the three. Arabas was born from a mass execution. Bramble has actively tried to seal it away and failed to do so."
"Is it that strong?"
"It's smart, and like I said, very human."
You bite into the burger. It tastes half-burnt and you're fairly certain this is the first time you've ever eaten expired pickles. Regardless, it fulfils your needs.
"It can disguise itself," Sophia clarifies. "And it does so better than most. Not to add to your jumpiness, but it's very likely it'll approach you."
"Great," you say, wiping your greasy fingers. "Just what I needed, more friendly faces."
Just what you needed, yes. More demons who want to carve open your throat.
But now, you have teeth. You can bite back.
###
Sophia is a very direct person. This much is clear. She doesn't hesitate to say what she is thinking, she is open with strangers, and it's very easy to know what she's thinking even when half of the time it's 'annoyance'.
Nevertheless, when she said she was going to teach you how to defend yourself, it comes to a surprise that she meant 'right now'. The second your lunch ended and you started to pray that food poisoning is one of the things you're immune to now that you share your body with a beast from beyond the pale—
This woman drags you across the street and toward a park in the middle of the city. Large trees frame the picture around you, the clearing mostly abandoned and muddy. You can't even stand properly, and you're fairly certain you need new shoes after this.
And new socks.
Maybe new feet.
"I can't teach you magic," Sophia says. "And I can't teach you to fight like me."
She grabs the bag on her back and pulls out the bat. It glows again, strange energy filling the area.
"Now obviously, there's no need to fight fair," Sophia says, spinning the bat in one hand as if it weighed nothing. "This is all about intent."
She points the bat at you, and something appears. Creatures, winged and sharp. Imps of some sort, and on the bottom of the bottom ladder in Thomas' quick lessons on the arcane.
You go into a meaningless stance. You know it's wide open, there's no need to pretend you know anything about fighting. But this isn't about fighting or defending yourself. This is about showing off.
"Your transformation magic is versatile. You are already properly paranoid, like any good arcanist. We'll start slow."
The imps move toward you. Their wings flap so quickly, they sound more like insects. One of them is confident, breaking from the group to bring its tiny canines near your skin.
Your arm shatters on contact as it tries to grab you, reforming into a giant fist around that imp. It's a reflex, and not one that comes from your own nervous system. The fist tightens, and the small scream that comes out of it is drowned between ink and death.
The other imps hesitate on the next move, circling you. You lash out, going on the offensive. The hand stretches until it reaches them, barely missing one of the imps as it flies up. The weight of the arm moves you as you swipe at it, sending you off balance.
"Here's one thing I can tell you just by seeing it," Sophia says. Her voice sounds distant. The world around you feels much, much smaller. "You can't just transform one limb. Keep a balance, right arm, left foot."
You nod, focusing on your left foot. It travels all over your leg instead, shattering it and reforming it into a heavy mimicry of an elephant leg. It keeps you grounded, it lets you do more.
It lets you turn the arm into a whip and swipe again, knocking one of the imps out of the air. The others attack all at once, ready to take the opening.
"This is a terrible lesson," you shout, watching as one of the imps gnaws on the black ink. It doesn't feel painful, but uncomfortable. A spike forms under its teeth and pierces it, sending it back where it came from.
As quickly as Sophia started the 'training', as quickly did it end. The imps all vanish at once and the earth under your feet begins to rumble. The way Sophia turns away from you, her eyes narrow, her bat held so tight that her nails dig into her palm—
Something is here.
Something is here, that voice inside of you announces. Something that wants to hurt you.
Your eyes widen, the whip and elephant foot returning back to normal before you reach over your shoulder and into your bag, drawing the knife you always keep inside.
It's not the First Wind of Winter. It's something else, and it makes your entire body shiver. The already tiny forest did become smaller. The space between the trees is full of shadows, the streets that are behind them separated from where you are now.
"You remember what I told you about seasonal spirits?"
You swallow, nodding. You don't trust the next words from your mouth to be anything kind. Your tongue burns, the pit in your stomach becomes infinitely deeper.
"Here's a not so seasonal one," Sophia says. She relaxes. Her shoulders slump and the bat is lowered. "And you're going to fight it."
"If this is still part of your training, I'll call your grandpa and tell him you're the worst," you threaten with all the bravado of a tattletale child. "What is it?"
"Star-Eaters," Sophia introduces, sitting down next to a tree. You stare at her, urging her to continue as the beast travels between the trees. "Spirits that were born from light pollution. Urbanisation. They're stronger in brighter cities."
The park you're in has tall trees, but it's still in the middle of Aurora. There is not a star in the sky.
"No need to worry," Sophia says, taking out her book. "It's not that strong around here. This is the time to prove what you're made of."
She lies. Every fibre of your being knows she lies. But nevertheless, you know enough of her and the debt that she won't let you die. Which means she's either confident in your ability to fend this thing off, or very in over her head.
You crouch, your legs bending in preparation for any sudden move. The spirit ends its game by landing in the middle of the clearing, revealing its body in full.
Tall, silver limbs. Luminous arms that stretch from its back into the tree line. A fat, round body.
And instead of a face, stars. Twinkling lights drawn in ways that mimic an expression. Eyebrows of red dwarfs and lips of gas giants.
"Blacktongue," it speaks, and though it uses a language that you've never heard before, its words are perfectly understandable. "First Hunger."
Unlike the winter wind, this one seems almost pleasant to listen to. Like the static electricity of a malfunctioning lamp. Like the soft buzz of an old TV. Like the distant echo of a voice over a radio.
"I don't know what you are on about," you say, still ready for a sudden attack. "Ravenous spirits aren't exactly something I'd like to fight, Spirit."
It tilts its head. "Slumbering Tyrant. Host of Nightmare. Reveal the Liar."
Sleeping demon, it seems to announce, wake him.
"No," you say. "I think Blacktongue can keep sleeping and we can talk this out. How about a deal?"
"A Word of Black Tongue." Its body tenses up. The limbs turn, lights shining at you. "Oathbreaker. Lightstealer. Worth Not the Words."
No deal. The limbs lash out, and you dodge to the side, rolling over the muddy ground as a light whips past your head. The impact in the ground announces the weight the spirit put behind the attack.
Your eyes search for Sophia once you right yourself up again. She's still near her tree, watching and making notes. Her one hand is still hovering over the bat. Confident, but not that confident.
Now you really feel like you have to perform.
Your attention returns to Star-Eater. Your arms become sharp, claws like knives on each of the fingers, and spikes up to your shoulder.
You brace for impact, turning the spikes toward the whipping arm—
It's not enough. The whip crashes into you with such a force it immediately launches you off your feet. It's not been five minutes since Sophia told you to be careful about this. A pity, because no amount of self transformation saves you from the pain of slamming into a tree.
And that's when you realise, when you remember, that you're not quite human anymore.
This kind of impact should've caused serious injury. But the pain subsides quickly, and the ribs you definitely felt break are back to normal in a flash.
Despite this, you taste blood on your lips. Iron and misery.
You don't know how. The feeling that accompanies your tongue grows inward, through your limbs instead of around them. When the luminous limb attacks you again, you raise your hand.
And you catch it. Your fingers, soft and fleshy, wrap around the silver and stop it in its tracks.
"Okay," you say, your voice so tight it could be a noose around the spirit's neck. "Let's play by your rules."
You roll your shoulder, cocking back your free hand and tightening a fist that turns your knuckles white.
For a moment, you find yourself staring in a face of fear. Where stars fall into black holes and the other limbs dig into the ground to run away.
You refuse. And then, you pull.
The limb is rigid. It doesn't want to move in the way you want it to. Nevertheless, you drag the stars in front of your face and punch the night sky until your fist begins to burn.
The night sky expands. It wraps around your arm and bites back, sending another piercing pain through the limb.
You snap back, both in violence and to reality. "You fucking—"
Pain translates into anger much easier than it should. Letting go of the limb, you turn your arms back into big fists. Your legs become roots, slithering through the ground and keeping you steady.
It drags itself away, and your fist only grazes the body. Star-Eater stops on the opposite side of the clearing.
"Anna Everett." It says your name with clarity. For the first time in a long while, you can feel the acknowledgement.
"That's right." You wipe your lip, red staining your wrist. "And I told you we should've talked it out."
"Talk." It offers. "Peace?"
"Now that I'm not an easy target, you're going to talk?" you ask. And somehow, that kind of acknowledgement makes you happy. It makes this moment more meaningful. "I'm sorry."
"Apologies?" It asks.
"No," you say, spitting the test blood in your mouth out. "I told myself I'd never be the victim again. I'm sorry I can't let you go."
The roots under your feet have dug deep from your feet. They appear under the Star-Eater, wrapping it up.
Your arms, now tendrils, seal the finality. It can't move. It can't even turn back into an abstract spirit. It's yours now, made manifest not through its own power but through yours.
The Blacktongue burns. You open your mouth, letting the hunger wash over you. Within a second, you find your jaw replaced by something much sharper and much, much meaner.
Star-Eater whines. It begs in tongues and it curses in noises. The tendrils pull, sending you towards the spirit with a single motion. For a moment, it feels as if you are wrapping your teeth around the world.
And maybe you are.
Its head is bitten clean off, and while your stomach does not fill, you finally feel the hunger dissipate. Then, above you, the world fills with stars.
The limbs shatter, then turn into ashes.
And you are, this once, not afraid.
"Actually," Sophia says, the high of victory immediately crashing and revealing the extent of your injuries. You collapse onto your knees. "I lied. It's a pretty powerful spirit. I don't think you need my help at all."
"Fuck you," you manage to get out, the sound more like a gurgle as your teeth recede and your jaw returns to normal.
You try to keep steady, but soon your face touches the muddy ground below you.
Sophia laughs as she drags you from the dirt.
###
The Star-Eater spirits are aptly named, not simply born from light pollution but aiming to swallow the night sky for themselves once they grow powerful enough. This makes them a lot of enemies who are very thankful whenever one is slain.
You have acquired:
POWER
The Blacktongue absorbed the Star-Eater. It swallows light and spits it out at will. You can spend this power to copy its abilities once.
Or, you can give that power back to the stars, acquiring DEBT.
[ ] Power
Use the power of the Star-Eater for yourself. The burning lights beneath your skin. The endless hunger that dares to swallow the stars from the sky until nothing but darkness remains. It fits you, in a way. The teeth that you've grown. The pit in your stomach.
[ ] Debt
Return that power to the stars. Star spirits are numerous, but as distant as their namesakes. Nevertheless, this is not something they would forget. They will repay you in any way they can. Lending you their strength, guiding your way.
###
Sophia lays down your possible targets. It feels strange to actively plan a conflict. But in the end, to reach your goal, to become someone, you have to be ready to go on the offensive.
Hesitation is defeat, and thus, you write down the name of your first target:
[ ] Hawthorne
The Council. To topple a king, one does not need to defeat the kingdom. All you must do is find the weakness in its structures. The Hawthrone family has a lot of structures, but many of them are filled with contempt and envy. You are something their rivals want above all else, so why should they not want you, too?
[ ] Bramble
The Demonologists. They're closed off, and certainly have more expertise in dealing with the likes of you. This does not make them invincible. The kind of greed that makes one beget the power of the Blacktongue makes them the obvious target. Because they will not leave you alone.
A woman who could not even tell a white lie if her life depended on it. Sometimes, talking things out can work. Find a middleground and see for yourself just how much you are willing to give and take. If people were more honest about their wants and feelings, perhaps a compromise could be struck.
Furthermore, if you stay at home the entire time while slowly learning how to defend yourself, you'll go insane. You have a job at one of Thomas' friends' shops, but this will expose you to whatever is out there.
So you have to set a goal:
[X] Shatter the Throne.
Old families often carry forward their magic. Thomas' family is much, much older than most of your history books, you're certain. Though he lacks the neat ancestral mansion and the overly inbred traits, he did warn that there are many families that have established themselves around and in Aurora. Much like the spirits, they will come after you, make offers, some that you can't refuse. Tell them:
Lay a hand on me, and it will be the last thing you do.
###
"I thought I left this behind me," you say, your lips drawn into a thin line as you hold up the notebook Sophia pressed into your hand a few minutes ago. "What's the point of dropping out of college if I have to continue studying?"
"You just changed majors," Sophia says. "Welcome to Magic History 101, at a bare minimum you need to know about your rivals."
"Rivals?" you ask. "What rivals?"
"Well, technically they're our rivals, though nobody actually has a problem with grandpa." She takes the notebook and flips to the fifty-sixth page. HAWTHORNE.
"Two big families in Aurora," Sophia says. "Both too strong to stay quiet, but not strong enough to get rid of the other."
She flips the page. BRAMBLE.
"They're very alike in some ways, but their approaches could not be more different," Sophia says. "Hawthorne is led by what they describe as a 'council'. Family members take on different positions. It's mostly nepotism with extra steps, the promise that even outsiders of the family could one day become members."
"Outsiders?" you ask.
"People who marry into the family, or who swear loyalty for protection," Sophia says. "It's not that bad of a deal if you want to keep your neck. But to make it clear, you're not exactly the kind of person they want in their family, rather than under them."
Trust is hard to come by nowadays. You find yourself thinking back to the leaps of faith you've had to make after the incident. How even the trust you can now give Sophia is only possible through that leash of debt that you hold over Thomas.
There is no way to trust someone you have no leverage over, is there? You see yourself on the ground, drowning in your own blood, begging to live. When you look up, do you want to see them stand above you?
"What about Bramble?"
"Younger than the Hawthornes, but no less trouble." Sophia turns the page again. You find yourself in front of a network of names. "They're a bit more traditional. Two family heads, and a lot of branch families. Their expertise is demonology. And before the breakout happened, they were attempting to force the burdened young to hand over the Blacktongue."
Your jaw sets. An itch behind your eyes makes you blink away the bubbling anger.
"The three that freed it," you say. "Could they be from that family?"
"It's not impossible," she says. "But I mean it when I say they're experts in the matter. They'd never make a mistake like that. If they were responsible, chances are you'd not be here to have this conversation with me."
"Not impossible," you repeat. Somehow that's more worrying. "Your grandpa's a weirdo but he wouldn't send me to the city where these assholes are for no reason, right?"
"Never for no reason, but don't ask me what reasons he has."
"Right." You try not to sound too exhausted. "I don't think I can keep this in my brain if I'm stuck here the entire day."
"That's fine, we'll have enough time to catch up on this," Sophia says. She stands up, and you're once again staring up at her. She's too tall. "And you may as well learn about them by meeting some of them around town. Come, we'll take a walk. I'm not going to attempt to cook any lunch."
"That'd be for the best." Your voice is low, but she still hears it. Her laugh echoes through the hallway on the way to the door.
###
Aurora is a lot less threatening at day time. The rain has left puddles here and there, though the low sun is already taking care of that. It's cold enough to wear a scarf, though, leaving you without the worry that everyone can see your mouth.
Sophia walks the streets differently. You still find your eyes drawn to every nook and cranny, every side road as you walk towards a place to find some food. The people around you don't notice you at all, their eyes often drawn to Sophia instead. Fortunately, the bat had a fitting bag, alleviating the worry that she just carries the thing around for everyone to see.
You end up at some American-style diner, fifteen minutes on foot from the apartment. Sophia opens the door for you, watching with an amused expression as you walk into a wall of grease so thick in the air you might as well fry your food on the plate.
"Find us some seats, I'll be right back," she says, beelining for the bathroom. You nod, taking a look around. It's quite empty at this hour, though a few regulars seem to have made themselves comfortable. You end up picking a seat in the corner, away from the window. As you sit down, you can see the entrance door without much trouble and have your back to the wall.
Excellent.
Sophia returns just a minute later. The waitress brings a menu. The smell and feeling of grease become less bothersome as your hunger grows.
"The burgers here are awful," Sophia says, her voice low. The waitress doesn't seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn't care. "The fries are good though."
You don't trust this girl's taste after her cooking. You still order a burger, and fries.
"Okay." The food is going to take a while, so the notebook is back on the table. "You told me about the two families I should be careful of, what about the less human residents?"
"Spirits and demons, I'd usually say you don't have to worry about anything holy but considering the Blacktongue is a high-ranking enemy of theirs you might find them annoying too."
"We'll burn that bridge when we get there," you say, remembering Grace's own comments about the matter. "Who's there to pay attention to? The Wind of Winter?"
"That one is currently quite strong, yes," she says, nodding. "In general, nature spirits wax and wane. The truly powerful ones are either older or fast approaching the tip of the bell curve."
She flips backwards through the notebook. Note-taking doesn't seem like something Sophia is adept in, but her attempts are cute enough. Most of the pages are full of crude drawings, names written in all capital letters, and generally just very messy. Nevertheless, the results are what matter.
"The oldest spirits are so strong, families usually don't mess with them unless they have to," Sophia explains, pointing at the list of names. Blacktongue among them. "And they usually don't like to mess with each other, because there's no clear distinction of who's stronger. They're intelligent and ruthless. They're adaptable. Worse than that, they're very, very human."
The list was split between the three usual terms. Spirits, Demons, Angels. There's some subdivisions, some 'others' that don't quite fit the trinity.
"You've met the hag, right?"
You frown. "Who?"
"The church deaconess," Sophia says, making an inappropriate motion with her hands. "You know, Grace."
"Ah," you say, blinking. "Yes, she was there after the attack. She helped me some, with my family."
She is the least chatty of the three that helped you, but somehow you felt comforted by her presence the most.
"So their kind of magic is something that creates spirits. Gods made from their faith, angels born from their mythology. Angels are almost always those kinds of spirits, and the rogue ones are those who stuck around after their churches fell."
"If there's genuine Biblical Archangels running around, I need to know now," you say. "My grandmother will never let me hear the end of it for not being much of a believer."
Sophia grins so wide you can see her teeth. "Too mainstream."
You raise an eyebrow, watching as the waitress picks up two plates and brings them to another table. The hunger grows. "Are you serious?"
"No, not quite," Sophia says, leaning back into the seat and sliding down slightly. "Faith that you spread too far causes too many interpretations. You end up with either a manifestation that is weaker, or many manifestations that represent many faiths."
You nod. It makes sense, in a way. The reason the monster from last night was so strong follows the same kind of logic. There are many winds of winter, but there's only one 'first' wind.
"While they're all technically the same kinds of aberrations, the distinction comes from their origin," Sophia says, the words coming out so flat she must be quoting someone. Probably her grandfather. "So spirits are born from nature, angels are born from faith, and demons are born from negativity. Powerful emotions and concepts."
"What kind of negativity was the Blacktongue born from?"
Sophia crosses her arms. The next set of plates. You can see your burger. "When it comes to beings that old, nobody knows. I can go down the theories, but we'd be here all day and there's still sunlight to burn."
"Theories can wait," you say. Somehow you feel like knowing it won't make anything better. The pit in your stomach announces it'll make things just worse. "Powerful spirits?"
"The three you need to pay most attention to, the ones that make Aurora a very fun city to live in, are right here."
She taps three names on the notebook. The food arrives, set on the table without any other word. You don't even manage to say a quick thanks, too distracted by the ink on the paper.
ARABAS
KING-MAKER
SOLUS
"Demon, Spirit, Angel," Sophia points at them again. "Youngest, Middle Child, Oldest in that order. Solus was a patron of some coven, tied to the city when the last of the witches died on these grounds. The King-Maker was born from spilled blood. It started with actual kings, nowadays it feeds on conflict between criminal groups."
"Arabas is the youngest?" you ask. "How young?"
"Maybe a few hundred years," Sophia says. "It's also the most active of the three. Arabas was born from a mass execution. Bramble has actively tried to seal it away and failed to do so."
"Is it that strong?"
"It's smart, and like I said, very human."
You bite into the burger. It tastes half-burnt and you're fairly certain this is the first time you've ever eaten expired pickles. Regardless, it fulfils your needs.
"It can disguise itself," Sophia clarifies. "And it does so better than most. Not to add to your jumpiness, but it's very likely it'll approach you."
"Great," you say, wiping your greasy fingers. "Just what I needed, more friendly faces."
Just what you needed, yes. More demons who want to carve open your throat.
But now, you have teeth. You can bite back.
###
Sophia is a very direct person. This much is clear. She doesn't hesitate to say what she is thinking, she is open with strangers, and it's very easy to know what she's thinking even when half of the time it's 'annoyance'.
Nevertheless, when she said she was going to teach you how to defend yourself, it comes to a surprise that she meant 'right now'. The second your lunch ended and you started to pray that food poisoning is one of the things you're immune to now that you share your body with a beast from beyond the pale—
This woman drags you across the street and toward a park in the middle of the city. Large trees frame the picture around you, the clearing mostly abandoned and muddy. You can't even stand properly, and you're fairly certain you need new shoes after this.
And new socks.
Maybe new feet.
"I can't teach you magic," Sophia says. "And I can't teach you to fight like me."
She grabs the bag on her back and pulls out the bat. It glows again, strange energy filling the area.
"Now obviously, there's no need to fight fair," Sophia says, spinning the bat in one hand as if it weighed nothing. "This is all about intent."
She points the bat at you, and something appears. Creatures, winged and sharp. Imps of some sort, and on the bottom of the bottom ladder in Thomas' quick lessons on the arcane.
You go into a meaningless stance. You know it's wide open, there's no need to pretend you know anything about fighting. But this isn't about fighting or defending yourself. This is about showing off.
"Your transformation magic is versatile. You are already properly paranoid, like any good arcanist. We'll start slow."
The imps move toward you. Their wings flap so quickly, they sound more like insects. One of them is confident, breaking from the group to bring its tiny canines near your skin.
Your arm shatters on contact as it tries to grab you, reforming into a giant fist around that imp. It's a reflex, and not one that comes from your own nervous system. The fist tightens, and the small scream that comes out of it is drowned between ink and death.
The other imps hesitate on the next move, circling you. You lash out, going on the offensive. The hand stretches until it reaches them, barely missing one of the imps as it flies up. The weight of the arm moves you as you swipe at it, sending you off balance.
"Here's one thing I can tell you just by seeing it," Sophia says. Her voice sounds distant. The world around you feels much, much smaller. "You can't just transform one limb. Keep a balance, right arm, left foot."
You nod, focusing on your left foot. It travels all over your leg instead, shattering it and reforming it into a heavy mimicry of an elephant leg. It keeps you grounded, it lets you do more.
It lets you turn the arm into a whip and swipe again, knocking one of the imps out of the air. The others attack all at once, ready to take the opening.
"This is a terrible lesson," you shout, watching as one of the imps gnaws on the black ink. It doesn't feel painful, but uncomfortable. A spike forms under its teeth and pierces it, sending it back where it came from.
As quickly as Sophia started the 'training', as quickly did it end. The imps all vanish at once and the earth under your feet begins to rumble. The way Sophia turns away from you, her eyes narrow, her bat held so tight that her nails dig into her palm—
Something is here.
Something is here, that voice inside of you announces. Something that wants to hurt you.
Your eyes widen, the whip and elephant foot returning back to normal before you reach over your shoulder and into your bag, drawing the knife you always keep inside.
It's not the First Wind of Winter. It's something else, and it makes your entire body shiver. The already tiny forest did become smaller. The space between the trees is full of shadows, the streets that are behind them separated from where you are now.
"You remember what I told you about seasonal spirits?"
You swallow, nodding. You don't trust the next words from your mouth to be anything kind. Your tongue burns, the pit in your stomach becomes infinitely deeper.
"Here's a not so seasonal one," Sophia says. She relaxes. Her shoulders slump and the bat is lowered. "And you're going to fight it."
"If this is still part of your training, I'll call your grandpa and tell him you're the worst," you threaten with all the bravado of a tattletale child. "What is it?"
"Star-Eaters," Sophia introduces, sitting down next to a tree. You stare at her, urging her to continue as the beast travels between the trees. "Spirits that were born from light pollution. Urbanisation. They're stronger in brighter cities."
The park you're in has tall trees, but it's still in the middle of Aurora. There is not a star in the sky.
"No need to worry," Sophia says, taking out her book. "It's not that strong around here. This is the time to prove what you're made of."
She lies. Every fibre of your being knows she lies. But nevertheless, you know enough of her and the debt that she won't let you die. Which means she's either confident in your ability to fend this thing off, or very in over her head.
You crouch, your legs bending in preparation for any sudden move. The spirit ends its game by landing in the middle of the clearing, revealing its body in full.
Tall, silver limbs. Luminous arms that stretch from its back into the tree line. A fat, round body.
And instead of a face, stars. Twinkling lights drawn in ways that mimic an expression. Eyebrows of red dwarfs and lips of gas giants.
"Blacktongue," it speaks, and though it uses a language that you've never heard before, its words are perfectly understandable. "First Hunger."
Unlike the winter wind, this one seems almost pleasant to listen to. Like the static electricity of a malfunctioning lamp. Like the soft buzz of an old TV. Like the distant echo of a voice over a radio.
"I don't know what you are on about," you say, still ready for a sudden attack. "Ravenous spirits aren't exactly something I'd like to fight, Spirit."
It tilts its head. "Slumbering Tyrant. Host of Nightmare. Reveal the Liar."
Sleeping demon, it seems to announce, wake him.
"No," you say. "I think Blacktongue can keep sleeping and we can talk this out. How about a deal?"
"A Word of Black Tongue." Its body tenses up. The limbs turn, lights shining at you. "Oathbreaker. Lightstealer. Worth Not the Words."
No deal. The limbs lash out, and you dodge to the side, rolling over the muddy ground as a light whips past your head. The impact in the ground announces the weight the spirit put behind the attack.
Your eyes search for Sophia once you right yourself up again. She's still near her tree, watching and making notes. Her one hand is still hovering over the bat. Confident, but not that confident.
Now you really feel like you have to perform.
Your attention returns to Star-Eater. Your arms become sharp, claws like knives on each of the fingers, and spikes up to your shoulder.
You brace for impact, turning the spikes toward the whipping arm—
It's not enough. The whip crashes into you with such a force it immediately launches you off your feet. It's not been five minutes since Sophia told you to be careful about this. A pity, because no amount of self transformation saves you from the pain of slamming into a tree.
And that's when you realise, when you remember, that you're not quite human anymore.
This kind of impact should've caused serious injury. But the pain subsides quickly, and the ribs you definitely felt break are back to normal in a flash.
Despite this, you taste blood on your lips. Iron and misery.
You don't know how. The feeling that accompanies your tongue grows inward, through your limbs instead of around them. When the luminous limb attacks you again, you raise your hand.
And you catch it. Your fingers, soft and fleshy, wrap around the silver and stop it in its tracks.
"Okay," you say, your voice so tight it could be a noose around the spirit's neck. "Let's play by your rules."
You roll your shoulder, cocking back your free hand and tightening a fist that turns your knuckles white.
For a moment, you find yourself staring in a face of fear. Where stars fall into black holes and the other limbs dig into the ground to run away.
You refuse. And then, you pull.
The limb is rigid. It doesn't want to move in the way you want it to. Nevertheless, you drag the stars in front of your face and punch the night sky until your fist begins to burn.
The night sky expands. It wraps around your arm and bites back, sending another piercing pain through the limb.
You snap back, both in violence and to reality. "You fucking—"
Pain translates into anger much easier than it should. Letting go of the limb, you turn your arms back into big fists. Your legs become roots, slithering through the ground and keeping you steady.
It drags itself away, and your fist only grazes the body. Star-Eater stops on the opposite side of the clearing.
"Anna Everett." It says your name with clarity. For the first time in a long while, you can feel the acknowledgement.
"That's right." You wipe your lip, red staining your wrist. "And I told you we should've talked it out."
"Talk." It offers. "Peace?"
"Now that I'm not an easy target, you're going to talk?" you ask. And somehow, that kind of acknowledgement makes you happy. It makes this moment more meaningful. "I'm sorry."
"Apologies?" It asks.
"No," you say, spitting the test blood in your mouth out. "I told myself I'd never be the victim again. I'm sorry I can't let you go."
The roots under your feet have dug deep from your feet. They appear under the Star-Eater, wrapping it up.
Your arms, now tendrils, seal the finality. It can't move. It can't even turn back into an abstract spirit. It's yours now, made manifest not through its own power but through yours.
The Blacktongue burns. You open your mouth, letting the hunger wash over you. Within a second, you find your jaw replaced by something much sharper and much, much meaner.
Star-Eater whines. It begs in tongues and it curses in noises. The tendrils pull, sending you towards the spirit with a single motion. For a moment, it feels as if you are wrapping your teeth around the world.
And maybe you are.
Its head is bitten clean off, and while your stomach does not fill, you finally feel the hunger dissipate. Then, above you, the world fills with stars.
The limbs shatter, then turn into ashes.
And you are, this once, not afraid.
"Actually," Sophia says, the high of victory immediately crashing and revealing the extent of your injuries. You collapse onto your knees. "I lied. It's a pretty powerful spirit. I don't think you need my help at all."
"Fuck you," you manage to get out, the sound more like a gurgle as your teeth recede and your jaw returns to normal.
You try to keep steady, but soon your face touches the muddy ground below you.
Sophia laughs as she drags you from the dirt.
###
The Star-Eater spirits are aptly named, not simply born from light pollution but aiming to swallow the night sky for themselves once they grow powerful enough. This makes them a lot of enemies who are very thankful whenever one is slain.
You have acquired:
POWER
The Blacktongue absorbed the Star-Eater. It swallows light and spits it out at will. You can spend this power to copy its abilities once.
Or, you can give that power back to the stars, acquiring DEBT.
[ ] Power
Use the power of the Star-Eater for yourself. The burning lights beneath your skin. The endless hunger that dares to swallow the stars from the sky until nothing but darkness remains. It fits you, in a way. The teeth that you've grown. The pit in your stomach.
[ ] Debt
Return that power to the stars. Star spirits are numerous, but as distant as their namesakes. Nevertheless, this is not something they would forget. They will repay you in any way they can. Lending you their strength, guiding your way.
###
Sophia lays down your possible targets. It feels strange to actively plan a conflict. But in the end, to reach your goal, to become someone, you have to be ready to go on the offensive.
Hesitation is defeat, and thus, you write down the name of your first target:
[ ] Hawthorne
The Council. To topple a king, one does not need to defeat the kingdom. All you must do is find the weakness in its structures. The Hawthrone family has a lot of structures, but many of them are filled with contempt and envy. You are something their rivals want above all else, so why should they not want you, too?
[ ] Bramble
The Demonologists. They're closed off, and certainly have more expertise in dealing with the likes of you. This does not make them invincible. The kind of greed that makes one beget the power of the Blacktongue makes them the obvious target. Because they will not leave you alone.
###
Grace, Host of Man-Made Gods. Faith makes power, and power makes for a terrifying incentive to avoid crossing her. She is much older than she looks, though mentioning that might not be good for you.
Grace, Host of Man-Made Gods. Faith makes power, and power makes for a terrifying incentive to avoid crossing her. She is much older than she looks, though mentioning that might not be good for you.
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- Pronouns
- Reader
[X] Debt
[X] Bramble
This was a fascinating update. Lots of little emotional touches in how Anna reacts to her surroundings and situation. The transition from literally flexing on little imps to facing a real threat was sudden which added a bit of tension to the scene. I really like Sophia's attitude.
I'm leaning towards star spirit guidance being more useful than the thing we crushed power. No sense going after a family with seemingly little interest in Anna right now when it would just be kicking the can of problems that is the Bramble family down the road.
The big three spirits are interesting, and I'm wondering if we can't harness one of them against Bramble down the line.
Thanks for another wonderful update Elpis. Keep up the good work, and have a nice day.
[X] Bramble
This was a fascinating update. Lots of little emotional touches in how Anna reacts to her surroundings and situation. The transition from literally flexing on little imps to facing a real threat was sudden which added a bit of tension to the scene. I really like Sophia's attitude.
I'm leaning towards star spirit guidance being more useful than the thing we crushed power. No sense going after a family with seemingly little interest in Anna right now when it would just be kicking the can of problems that is the Bramble family down the road.
The big three spirits are interesting, and I'm wondering if we can't harness one of them against Bramble down the line.
Thanks for another wonderful update Elpis. Keep up the good work, and have a nice day.
- Location
- SV's Only Complete Persona Quest
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[x] Debt
[x] Bramble
Already knew I was going for Debt, while Randino sold me on Bramble
[x] Bramble
Already knew I was going for Debt, while Randino sold me on Bramble