SPAMDEMONIUM : A villain Quest

[10ebbor10]

You are a demon, a concept given thought and agency by the whims of magic and the idle desires of mortal souls. Common wisdom says that all demons are evil and treacherous entities, but evil comes in many shapes and many forms, most of them mortal. You're merely one actor among many, offering power and aid in the exchange for the mortal souls upon which you subside. That the commoners reject your gifts as infestation, and decry your sacrifices as evil, is their own problem. You certainly see no more evil in devouring a dozen peasants souls, than in spending hundreds of their lives to slay the beast you so summon.

Your demonic status guarantees your near immortality. If you are to be slain by upstart heroes barging into your tower of evil, it is unlikely to be your final. Even banished from the mortal realm, you can return once more, more careful and more powerfull.

Now, who are you :

[X][Name] Write-in
[X][Title] Write-in

Background: In what shape do you seek to conquer the mortal realms?

[X][Background]Artifact : A mere glimmer of your power has been bound into an artifact, desired by unknowing mortal men. Through it you can whisper into the minds of it's wielder, but little more. On the other hand, it's destruction would be little more than an inconvenience.

[X][Background] Beast : A shard of your power has been bound into a mighty beast, turning the already powerful beast into a monstrous being with enormous strength. Your control of the beast is limited by it's own primitive brain. Destruction of the beast would be a minor setback.

[X][Background] Creature : With some effort, you can possess an intelligent creature, channeling your power through it fully. These smaller creatures do not have the awesome power of giant beasts, but their weaker minds and bodies allow you to mold their bodies to your presence, manifesting your power through them without much trouble. The direct link does mean that there will be considerable lash back if you fail.

[X][Background] Direct Presence : You can manifest your own form directly on the world of mortals, allowing you to deploy your powers without restraint. This is not without risk however, as your power is directly exposed in this form. In fact, this is the only way in which you can be truly killed, though it's unlikely that anyone in the mortal realm would be strong enough to kill you before you can flee.

Skills : Though you are still weak, you are not without some power. What powers do you hold now, that allowed you to escape the demonic realms?

[X][Skill] Twister of Fate
[X][Skill] Keeper of Secrets
[X][Skill] Charmer of Hearts
[X][Skill] Master of Flesh
[X][Skill] Fury Incarnate
[X][Skill] Write in?

 

[10ebbor10]

Spoiler: Votes

[X][Skill] Charmer of Hearts
[x][Background]Artifact : A mere glimmer of your power has been bound into an artifact, desired by unknowing mortal men. Through it you can whisper into the minds of it's wielder, but little more. On the other hand, it's destruction would be little more than an inconvenience.
[X][Name] Ch'llus(Pronounced; Key-Lust)
[X][Title] Ensnarer of Hearts

Bit of a weird vote combination. Should have used plan voting.

You are Ch'llus, Ensnarer of Hearts, a demon of the void. You claim your title with pride, for it was by that name that mortals feared you on your last invasion of Dolusil, and by that name that they banished you from it, etching into the fabric of existence forevermore. Fools may believe that the mortal heart governs only the matters of lust and love, but you know how easily the feelings of the heart cloud the brain. You roused the anger of a spurned prince, and in rage made him slay his fellow siblings. You stoked fear among the Lords and ladies, uniting them against a kin slayer. You spurned jealousy between allied Lords, and fostered friendship between those whose desires where incompatible. You roused the men of the guard, giving them the bravery to stand fast against fear and common sense, and made terror grip the populace.

By the time a hero blew in from some distant farmstead, the capital had been reduced to a smoking ruin, the realm ruined by a brutal civil war. You had some brief fun distracting him with some cute boys and girls, some daring rescues and people in need, but in the end the story demanded it's victor. You were slain, your form thrown back into the void, and your nature was sealed into reality.

The world of Dolusil nows spins below you, it's flat disk nearing the apex of it's 50 year journey towards the sun. It's mountain glaciers, though much diminished, feed the rivers that irrigate the fields and cities. Plants flourish under the sun's baking heat, leading to an explosion of animal life in turn. The summer is a time of growth and expansion, as the mortal species reach out to claim as much land as possible, building monuments in reckless excess or gathering supplies for the dark times that are coming.

A decade or two after the plentiful summer when the disk has receded some distance from the sun, but it's heat still warms the land, the last of the glaciers will melt. The land will fall fallow, the forests will start their hibernation. Civilizations recede into fortified cities, for this an era of war. Those nations who see their supplies inadequate or who spent the summer on glorious conquest instead of preservation march to war in a bid to gather what little resources remain. It is a time of death and decay, a collapse that heralds the purification to come.

As the disk nears it's furthest point from the sun, it dips towards the eternal ocean. Endless rain, frost and storms batter the world. In some cycles, it dips deep enough that parts of the Disk will flood. Water, ice and wind wipe away nature and civilizations alike, reducing impressive monuments to broken ruins. Even in fortified strongholds survival is harsh, with food scarce and the cold all penetrating. But where the winter destroys, it also gives life. As it rages across the disc, it regenerates the glaciers, seas and lakes of the continent.

Finally then, the world is ready to enter the era of spring. The first sun starts to melt the ice, and plant and animal live emerges from hibernation to conquer a new geography. The people that have survived the cycle emerge from their shelters and found new cities, villages and nations. The world rebuilds, and though the face of Dolusil might have changed, the tales that play out on it stay the same.

Now however, Summer is in full ascent, and it's time to make a mark upon the world once more. You take a small sliver of your power, and drop it down towards the world. As it falls, your power solidifies, taking the shape of :

Shape
[X][Shape] Write-in?

As the artefact crosses the boundary between the irreality of the void and the reality of the world, the magic inherent in Dolusil's nature grabs the foreign anomaly, and enforces upon it its physical reality. Bound by the rules of the world, the artefact emerges in a natural place for an artefact to be :

Where
[X][WHERE] Among piles of treasure in a dragon's hoard. A small group of adventurer's ambles around the entrance, apparently stunned by the wealth on display.
[X][WHERE] In the Attic of a farmer's household, an empty wooden box suddenly acquires some tastefull engravings, and contains an ancient family heirloom.
[X][WHERE] An offer asked, a sacrifice made to a different deamon. As the ashes are cleared, the artefact emerges undamaged.
[X][WHERE] Deep in the mountain, in Winter stores that have not yet been filled, a crate suddenly contains a more precious content.
[X][Where] Write-in?

 

[10ebbor10]

Spoiler: Votes

[X] [WHERE] In the Attic of a farmer's household, an empty wooden box suddenly acquires some tasteful engravings, and contains an ancient family heirloom.
[X][SHAPE] A silver chain long enough to be worn as a necklace. The engravings on the chains themselves tell of stories long past, and things that might yet be. Things fantastical and mundane each link separate, but related. As each one tells the story of power in some form or another.

An empty box sits in a forgotten corner of a farmer's attic. In the earliest days of Spring, it held the tools that build the house, but in the years since it had done nothing but gather dust and provide a home to a small family of spiders, who build their webs through the cramped attic space and so shielded their wooden home from an early end in the fireplace. Now, with the rains of Spring replaced by the heat of summer, and the forests in full bloom, the threat of fire is gone. The box would be left safely on the attic, to be rediscovered in fall and used by the farmers son's and daughters to hold their belongings as they headed back to the city survive the winter. The spiders would travel with, and in the fortress city they too would live for another cycle.

So, it has gone many times. So it goes elsewhere. It doesn't go so this time.

In a fraction of a second, an entire history ceases and comes to be. The spiders and their webs vanish, never to have been, but perhaps to be yet elsewhere. The rugged utalitarian box is removed from the past, replaced with an engraved jewelry case made from Perennial Oak. Inside, dust is replaced with velvet, and a silver chain lies upon, engraved with a miniature history of the world and things that have, are, and might yet be. In the house below, an old man tells his grandchildren stories about his youth, when he lived in the Winter city, sheltering from the dread of winter. He tells them about the gilded Temples and their penitent priests, about the magisters who would brave the storms to study the cycle, and the knights that maintained order at the Queen's request. Later in the evening, when the youngest have gone to sleep, he tells them about love, the passion he shared with a mysterious elf, and the parting gift that he was granted. A silver necklace, made with the finest elven artifice.

The rumor spreads quickly through the village of Sanlow, which like all of the unicyclical villages, is a home to a great many of impoverished farmers. The harvests are bountiful, but taxes are high, and if a farmer wishes to secure a future for their children and grandchildren , they'll need all the wealth they can get to merely buy admission to one of the Winter city. A chain like this however, combined with a bountiful harvest and a fair son or daughter, might be sufficient to secure oneself a marriage to an impoverished citizen, and so secure the future of the family line.

As word of your existence spreads through the streets of Sanlow, your awareness follows suit. The marketplace of Sanlow is barely worth the name, but today is Contribution day, so the hardened mud is packed with carts and people. Farmers gather under the watchful eye of soldiers to contribute their harvests to the Winter City. A scribe metes out a few stamped iron coins to each farmer, as proof of their contribution. A number of merchants observe the proceedings, hoping to buy the goods that the Contribution rejected at a cheap price, or perhaps convince the scribes to part with some of the gatherings. Other merchants seek to free the farmers from their hard earned coin, offering a variety of tools, foods and clothes that they picked up on along the Contribution caravan's.

The Contribution is not just a day of tax and trade though. It is also a day of civil and religious celebration. In a small village like Sanlow no priest are present, and while itinerant priests are rare even among the Contribution caravans, there's always a scribe who knows the rites, and is willing to perform them for a good meal and drink, and even draft a formal document (for a price). This contribution is a relatively quiet affair. On the stairs of the village shrine, two young people are promised to one another, uniting two of the villages families. As they glare at one another, the scribes mumbling is drowned out by soldiers cheering in a nearby pub. The land of Dolusil is not without dangers, and the Broodwolf is many a farmer's fear. Killing a matriarch, even a juvenile, is an achievement rewarded by a toast at the nearest pub, and a handy bounty back in the city.

Away from the festivities, a lone scribe stands awkwardly by a fresh grave, unsure of what to with the sobbing person who sits besides it. The old woman has joined the caravan a few towns prior, but had collapsed two days before. The caravan had taken her body to the town to be buried, for it is a bad omen to leave a witch unburied, but no one had known what to do with her inconsolable apprentice .
In the end, he just decides to finish the burial rites, and heads back to rejoin the caravan.

With so many people gathered in the town, it is an excellent time, to bring your piece into play. Someone will take the necklace, and the wheels of history will start to turn.

How is the Necklace taken :

[][Necklace] The thief's family promised their hand in betrothal, but they could not stand the choice that had been made . With the families hopes, and plausible the survival of the family line in the balance, the thief did not hope their family would understand. So they took the necklace, the symbol of their grandfathers love, and left.

[][Necklace] They fired the arrow that went through the Wolf's eye. A shot, one in a million, and unlikely to be repeated, but a mortal wound nonetheless. Before it could expire however, the captain stabbed the beast with his sword and claimed your bounty. As you sit to drown away your sorrow, you hear about a farmer's treasure, a price that perhaps could pay for your commission, and one which you're legally entitled to take.

[][Necklace] As one witch falls, another must rise to take their place. Though crippled with dread, and far from ready, the apprentice knows that the artefact is important, and must be secured.

Votes : Who takes the Necklace?
[][Name]
[][Gender]
[][Description]

 

[10ebbor10]

Spoiler: Votes

[X][Necklace] As one witch falls, another must rise to take their place. Though crippled with dread, and far from ready, the apprentice knows that the artefact is important, and must be secured.
[X][Name] Lira
[X][Gender] Female
[X][Description] Short, lean and with a haunted look in her eyes. Her dark hair is crudely tied back in a ponytail, revealing bright green eyes, and she bears the tanned skin of someone who spends a lot of time traveling without benefit of shade and shelter, buried within the elder witch's oversized and inexpertly modified hand me downs.

The necklace vanishes in the middle of the night, with nary a trace of the thief. Distrust and suspicion run rampant through the village of Sanlow, but even with the enthusiastic aid of the Contribution's caravan guards, nothing is found. A few drunks are interrogated for their troubles, but the medallion fails to materialize. In the end, many doubt whether the chain even existed, or if it had been an invention, some pointless bragging by a drunken farmer, or a rumor of wealth spread to drive up the price of a betrothal.

You release your focus from the village, confident that your newest owner is not about to be arrested, and shift your attention towards the woman in question. A quick brush along her thoughts gives you a name, Lira , and a sense of the overwhelming sadness that dominates her thoughts. You'd been here before, when you slipped the idea that her late mentor would have wanted her to acquire the artifact into her mind, but you hadn't taken the risk of staying then.

An unnecessary risk it seems. The young woman ( a late spring child, no doubt) who hides within her oversized clothes in the corner of the barn has very little similarity with the fearsome witches you remember. Her thoughts are filled with doubt and turmoil, with no control over the knowledge that rages within her. She shivers, pulling her clothes tighter, even though the summer heat is overwhelming.
As you look on, strands of white appear in her dark hair, the color draining from her tanned skin.

In her mind, a bound spirit despite the pleas of a scared little girl, trashing about from pain and grief. This must have been the old witch's guardian spirit, and from the molten wounds in it's form you can see that the transfer had been less than gentle. Lira's pleas fall on deaf ears as the maddened spirit continues it's rampage. With each hole it punches in her mindscape, more of Summer leaks in, and more of the winter spirit leaks out. In just a short while, her short lean form has become gaunt and skeleton like.

You will need to intervene, lest you lose your new owner.

Vote :
[][Spirit] The spirit is greatly weakened, wounded by the energy of Summer and the violent transition. Kill it, and maybe try to take some power for yourself. !Risky
[][Spirit] Lira is trying to convince the spirit to calm down. Lend her your strength and authority.
[][Spirit] Lira is trying to contain the spirit and reinforce her mindscape. Lend her your aid.
[][Spirit] The spirit is bound to Lira's soul, but the bounds are lose. Shackle the spirit.
[][Spirit] Write-in?

There's also a question of just how much of your presence you're willing to reveal. The Witches of old knew of daemons in great detail, for some had consorted with them, while others banished then. How much this apprentice knows you don't know, and that poses the question of how much of your presence you're willing to reveal.

Vote :
[Daemon] Reveal your presence completely. This allows you to use your full power to aid.
[Daemon] Strike a middle ground. The Witch may detect a presence, but hopefully the rampaging spirit distracts her.
[Daemon] Hide your presence. This restricts how much you can do to help.

Spoiler: Author's note

All witches derive their powers from compacts with spirits, which are entities similar, but not quite like daemons. Whereas daemons tend to represent abstract concepts and are capable of intelligent action, spirits are usually much less intelligent, and represent concrete elements of nature. Spirits are tied to their domain, and can not usually leave it. A pact with a witch allows the spirit a safe shelter outside it's domain (in the witches's mind) in the exchange for part of it's power. These pacts are usually transmitted from witch to apprentice upon the former's death. (Witches will also train apprentices to make their own pacts, though this is usually a far less succesfull and more lethal endavour).

Most witches make pacts with spirits of animals, or places. A pact with a seasonal spirit (like the winter spirit here) is dangerous. The seasonal spirits may be more powerful, but they're capricious within their season, and the fearful outside it. Being a winter spirit in summer is not a great time, especially not if your host does not know how to properly isolate her mind.