Style, Shadows, and Swagger: A Dark Lady Quest

[Lisafication]

​

---

Once upon a time, in a world far, far away, there was a land.

It was a land of heroes, of princesses, of endless war of good versus evil. Where a country may find itself beset by terror on all ends, until the land and its people cry out for a saviour. Perhaps one who will draw a sword from a stone, or one born the child of a god, newly come into their birthright, and stories will be told of their adventures for centuries to come.

This is not one of those stories.

Our heroine walks a rather... different path.

---

Your stomach grumbles as you hurriedly toss your personal belongings into your—black, of course—suitcase.

Look, it wasn't your fault that it took you so long to pack, there were just so many other things to do in the day and it kept getting put off. You had your chores, your studying—and Mother wouldn't let you skip out of any of it, despite it being your last week here!

There was the farewell party last night, too. All the minions were invited!

...which, in retrospect, might have been a mistake. You're just glad they were delegated to cleaning up—normally Mother has you fix your own messes, but she said it was a special occasion. Still, you could do without this dang headache, thrumming in time with your heartbeat.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

"Dear, are you all packed? The carriage will be leaving soon!"

Your eyes widen at the sound of your mother's voice and you glance around the room, scanning it for anything that you'll miss too badly. Bookshelves—you've already grabbed everything you want from there, you don't need spellbooks for amateurs any more—there's that headless gnome that Mother had stuffed for your last birthday… no, there's no room for that... there!

"Just a second, Mother!" you call in response, your voice echoing from the stone walls, bare but for a few tapestries and hangings as you clamber onto your bed.

Scrambling, you grab the smooth velvet of your long-term companion, Princess Ebony Dementia, and stuff her on top of the pile of clothing and other doodads that have swallowed your suitcase, her plush limbs swaddled in socks.

A few fruitless shoves makes it clear that mundane force will be useless to you here, as it always is. Grumbling, you stand back and lift your hand up, palm outstretched.

"Gofod!" you utter, your voice resonant with your birthright, the air crackling as the pyre of your soul rings incandescent, power surging through your limbs, channeled by your own will and the word of power that spills from your mouth. You can feel the urge to cackle madly welling up, but you suppress it ruthlessly—if Mother has taught you anything, it's that maddened laughter and monologuing are best saved for when you have an audience.

Your spell enters the world, and the world in turn seeks to reject it, its mechanisms straining against the unnatural influence of your magic. Please, this is your domain—or well, Mother's—and it cannot gainsay you here, even were it a far greater working. With a minor exertion, you contemptuously force your way past reality's resistance, not bothering with any intricacies. You're in a rush, after all.

With your desire enforced, a near-soundless whumpf comes from your baggage, and you turn to admire your work, a smug smile on your face at your triumph over the trivialities known as 'physics' and 'laws of nature' once again.

...it seems your belongings have collapsed into the yawning abyss that your suitcase interior has become. Wincing slightly—some of that stuff was delicate—you peer into the endless darkness, trying to see the bottom.

It winks at you.

Not quite what you intended, but it'll do. Glancing up at the clock, you realise you've got to leave nownownow! Slamming your newly bottomless suitcase closed, you clip it shut and lift it, noting that your spell did at least make the interior weightless.

You don't really want to have to get your Mother's minions to carry it out for you. She'd lecture you for sure.

Ratatattat!

You hurtle across your room, leaping over a chair that had been sent to the floor in your frantic last-minute packing, and yank the door open.

Mother stands on the other side, hand outstretched, mid-knock. An elegantly arched eyebrow examines you, and you do your level best to look like someone who definitely wasn't doing some frantic last-minute packing. A careful step to the side puts you between her and the chair.

You're not quite sure what that looks like, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Right.

"Well, darling," she begins, clearly failing to see through your deception. Chalk one up for the daughter, definitely. "I can see you're all packed. My, my, I remember the day I left to claim my dominion like it was yesterday. I only had a small castle and no minions, but I've come so far..." A misty look drifts over her eyes, and you shift uncomfortably. You've never been particularly sure what to do when she gets like this. Fortunately, she snaps herself out of it quickly enough.

"And now my little girl is all ready to go out there and terrorise the mortals by herself! Oh I'm so proud of you—now, remember that you need to get a chief minion as soon as possible, and don't skimp on them! Just because you've only just come of age doesn't mean you should be letting just any old gremlin or lich be your right hand..."

She rambles on, telling you all sorts of things that you already know Mother let it go already. Nonetheless, you listen for a minute or so, humming affirmatively at appropriate points, before you get bored.

"Mother, we're running out of time," you say, interrupting her monologue about the importance of appropriately looming crags to make your lair in—she blinks, a crack in the facade of her impeccably controlled expression, as if realising just how long she's been talking.

"Oh, of course dear, you need to get going!" She claps her hands together with a crack, light flashing green—

—and you're both suddenly outside, being rained on. You're not quite sure how she manages short-range teleports that don't leave you with awful vertigo, but you'd dearly like to learn. The rain trickles down your face, and a stray droplet gets blown up your nose by a gust of wind.

You sneeze.

Mother mutters something, a glimmer of starlight sparks before your nose—your eyes cross to look at it—and the rain is suddenly no longer touching you.

Damnit Mother, you can do that yourself. It's not a particularly difficult working, even if it might take you a bit more effort.

"Let a mother do these things for her daughter," she says in response, and now you just want her to not read your mind.

Looking around, you take in the familiar surroundings, one last time. It's a dark, stormy night, and Mother's Ominous Dark Lair of Death, Doom and Despair looms in the background, lightning flashes illuminating it for brief moments.

It's a really nice look, honestly; you've not seen pictures of the lair Mother arranged for you, something about it being a surprise, but you're sure you'll have to do some major redecorating to get it to look this menacing. Tearing your eyes away from the fanged maw that makes up the front door, you turn towards the narrow road.

The carriage isn't particularly spectacular by your standards, although you suppose mortals would be impressed.

They're impressed by basically anything, after all.

It's a typical fire-blackened wood affair, skeletal, winged horses nickering and pulling at their reins. There is no apparent driver, but that's just good business on Mother's part. It saves you from having to kill them when you get there—traditions, you know how it is—and they always bill heavily for that.

You pass your suitcase to a slick-skinned gremlin, one of Mother's… dumber minions, to place in the trunk of the carriage. Your less personal belongings—furniture, some sorcerous equipment, a few decorations—have already been loaded. Or at least they should have been.

A hand grasps your arm as you go to check on that, and you are turned to face Mother. She crouches slightly to look you in the eyes, transfixing you with her gaze. The Dark Lady of the Weeping Wastes has devoted her full attention to you and it's a struggle for you to so much as blink beneath its weight—you feel as if you may vanish if she looks away.

"Now dear, do remember to write. I want to hear all about how you're asserting your dominion over the unworthy!"

Yes yes, Mother, you get it. You'll be sure to send letters at appropriate intervals.

After some more farewells and assurances that yes Mother I know how to bind a demon, you clamber into the carriage, slump onto the long, padded seat, and lie there for a moment, collecting yourself.

The carriage begins to move, clattering over crag and ruin with equal ease. It steadily speeds up, and the steeds' heavy wingbeats thrum through you as they take it to the sky, soaring towards your destination.

It's a surprisingly smooth ride, really. But you didn't wake up that long ago, and you don't think you could sleep just yet, excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You're a full-fledged Dark Lady in your own right now, what's not to be excited by!

Free of Mother's tutelage, you have full rein to make the world stand up and take notice of you. You've got so many plots and schemes running through your mind—you can't wait to try them out!

Of course, there's not much you can really do on that front. While Mother arranged for you to move in to a lair that one of her old friends had left… unoccupied, you don't know where it is or what the surroundings are like. Because she refused to tell you.

Damn it, Mother.

She spent long enough pounding the basics of terrorising the mortals and acquiring minions into you for you to know that making plans without acquiring information on the surrounding area is a fool's errand, at best.

With naught else to do, you look around the carriage interior curiously. There's very little of note other than a floor-length mirror on the inside wall, and you peer at it, trying to fix this moment in your memory.

What kind of Dark Lady are you, again?

[ ] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

[ ] You are a blackened valkyrie, possessed of consummate skill and supernatural power. Your personal might is such that armies cannot stand against you, and only a bare few heroes might last more than a single exchange of blows. Your themes are Death and Glory.

[ ] You are a dark elf, a huntress who tracks her prey under moonlit shadows. You are the beast that stalks humanity's darkest moments, their most primal nightmares made manifest. Your themes are Fear and Savagery.

 

[Lisafication]

Introduction
​

Welcome, one and all, to my original quest, Style, Shadows, and Swagger. In this Quest, you'll be controlling a young and up-coming Dark Lady, who you've just met above. You'll be helping her make her name and carve out her territory. More importantly, you'll be doing so with style and panache.

While the protagonist is well, a full-blown Dark Lady and possesses power worthy of the name, she has very different priorities to what one might think. See, the hard part of being a Dark Lady isn't terrorising mortals, or bringing nations to heel.

That's easy.

The difficult part—and the one she'll be judged on by her peers (and her mother)—is doing it with style. While she could almost certainly conquer a small nation with her own personal power alone, that would be gauche.

(You don't want to be gauche, when you're a Dark Lady).

As a result, while our protagonist, along with any allies that may appear, will indeed have a character sheet, the major mechanic is one called Style. Your goal is to accumulate as many points of Style as you can while still successfully achieving your goals. It's a strange thing to note, but one could say that the more Style one has, the greater their reputation (some might call it your narrative weight), and the more that the universe will conform to their will—allowing, perhaps, a million-to-one chance of avoiding death to happen nine times out of ten.

Of course, that's just a rumour.

But then again, those few who do defy the 'traditional' ways tend to meet messy, and worst of all, boring ends.

A Dark Lady must never be boring.​

 

[Lisafication]

Mechanics​

This is a purely narrative quest, meaning that there are no dice rolls. There might be one for events completely outside your control at times, but ultimately, there are no hard-and-fast mechanics involved.

On the other hand, there are still stats, because otherwise it's just no fun. These stats provide a loose guideline for me to work with to get an idea of a character's abilities and areas of relative strength and weakness.

Unfortunately, the protagonist is already starting the quest as well, a Dark Lady. They're already incredibly powerful, and they only really gain marginal benefits from training. While they have a character sheet, they are not able to get XP. Instead, if narratively appropriate moments occur—for example, outwitting or defeating a demigod—there will simply be a vote on what skills rank up.

That's not to say there's no XP at all, however. XP will be offered to spend here, but it is a representation of the time investment that the protagonist spends personally attending to such in her downtime. Major Allies and your Lair are the two main receptacles of this. Should any fanworks appear, that is what they will be rewarded with.

Now with no further ado, let me reveal the list of skill ranks, which are definitely invented entirely by me and certainly not stolen from Maugan Ra. Note that, unlike Maugan Ra's Of Noble Purpose, there is by no means a standardised list of skills. Different beings have skills unique to them or their kind, and there are hundreds of disciplines scattered across the land that someone might have a grasp of.
​

• Novice (N/A) - You have begun to practice this skill and have some basic theoretical knowledge of how it functions, but cannot yet reliably employ it under pressure.
• Student (100xp) - You have received some training in this skill, and as a result can call upon it in times of need.
• Competent (200xp) - Your training is complete, and you can now reliably employ this skill under pressure to solid effect; absent external pressure, you no longer make mistakes when wielding your abilities.
• Adept (400xp) - The basic understanding imparted by training has been reinforced by practical experience and personal specialisation, allowing you to use the skill absent error even under pressure or outright attack.
• Distinguished (800xp) - Your technique has been refined to a point beyond simple training, including the personalised moves and individual techniques that are the markings of a true veteran. No two people at this rank will practice a skill in quite the same way, and people will begin to specialise as such.
• Expert (1600xp) - Your ability in this skill is noteworthy and even heroes and other powerful beings will respect the talent you have in this arena.
• Elite (2400xp) - You are beginning to hit the upper levels of what is physically possible for a practitioner of your chosen skill, reaching the limits of what mere training and inherent talent can hope to achieve.
• Master (3600xp) - If it can be done, you have done it; if you cannot do it, it cannot be done. You are the very definition of this skill, and the meeting of two masters in battle is something more akin to a natural disaster in motion than anything resembling an actual fight.
• Champion (5400xp) - The things you can do defy belief and shatter any kind of expectation. You are the unattainable ideal against which the prodigies of tomorrow will measure themselves.
• Legendary (N/A) - You are, quite simply, the best. There is by definition only one being of this level of achievement for any given skill; attaining the rank for yourself requires, at a minimum, tracking that person down and besting them in fair contest.

There are also Techniques. These are a one-time expenditure of 300 XP that adds a neat trick to a character's arsenal. They are associated with a particular skill or previous Technique, and represent a signature talent or ability, honed beyond normal means. While I'll be writing some up for appropriate Major Allies, you are also free to come up with your own should you wish to, subject to my approval.

 

[Lisafication]

Gabriel, the Fallen Angel

(Wannabe) Dark Lady of Southern Albion​

Primary Skills

• Bladework: Expert
  • While you rarely deign to engage in melee combat, and it is not, admittedly, one of your strengths... that does not mean you are incapable. Even were you to restrict yourself to fighting with naught more than a sword and human strength, you would still be recognised as a great warrior by mortals. Unfortunately for them, you desire far more than that.
• Sorcery: Master
  • Your skills at manipulating and commanding the world to do your bidding are superlative. You defy any manner of common sense and when in the heart of your domain can accomplish what mortal mages would consider the work of a lifetime with a snap of your fingers.
• The Sight: Elite
  • The world is an open book to you, a land of interconnected threads. With an exertion of will, you can pierce the majority of illusions, render disguises worthless and even perceive the bonds that tie people together.
• Majesty: Master
  • Were you to walk down a public street with your presence unsuppressed, mortals would fall to their knees and worship you. When you speak, even kings take careful note, and your words have uncommon sway. With but the barest slip of your control, the world around you begins to change from the weight of your presence.

Traits

• Fragment of Divinity
  • You are a fallen angel, a being far beyond those born of this base plane. Your physical form is immensely powerful, and the light that dwells within your soul amplifies your sorcerous capabilities beyond reason. Even were a mortal to match you in skill, facing you directly is a losing proposition for the weight of your existence drowns out any such paltry protest. Not all the effects of such are so beneficial, however.
• Anathema
  • ???

Techniques

(Note: Not all of Gabriel's tricks are listed here, as there are far too many. They will be added as they become relevant.)

The World Wails

You are a Fallen Angel, a fragment of reality itself made manifest on this mortal plane. With but the barest word, the lie known as 'truth' recoils from your presence. What, then, if you sang a profane chorus?

You sing to the world, a wicked mimicry of a 'true' angel's hymn, and it shudders and heaves in horror. For as long as your song is maintained, reality around you is broken. What is true can become false, what exists can become otherwise and even time itself can by wrought asunder by the cataclysmic cacophony of your chorus.

But beware, child. If you treat reality as a toy...

It might just fail you when you need it the most.

---

Doctrine of Nachash

You are a liar, a deceiver, a temptress. With a serpentine tongue, you whisper into an ear and sow doubts. By any reasonable measure, they should not believe you. But they can't help but wonder...

What if you are right?

Your words have far more effect than they should, and people will seriously consider things that they would otherwise dismiss, allowing you to sway them far more easily than any mortal demagogue.

However, take heed, fallen one, for every lie must come to light one day.

---

Current Style: 0 (Unknown)

 

[Lisafication]

Reserved for Other Character Sheets.

 

[Lisafication]

You may now post.

 

[Magery]

[X] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

As if I could pick literally anything else.

Bandwagon with me, friends!

 

[notanautomaton]

[x] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

 

[Jiven]

[X] You are a blackened valkyrie, possessed of consummate skill and supernatural power. Your personal might is such that armies cannot stand against you, and only a bare few heroes might last more than a single exchange of blows. Your themes are Death and Glory.

 

[RedV]

[X] You are a blackened valkyrie, possessed of consummate skill and supernatural power. Your personal might is such that armies cannot stand against you, and only a bare few heroes might last more than a single exchange of blows. Your themes are Death and Glory.

I've seen a lot of Lucifer-esque stuff, but little Valkyrie stuff.

 

[UrsaTempest]

Already play social, and don't feel like playing sneaky, so...

[X] You are a blackened valkyrie, possessed of consummate skill and supernatural power. Your personal might is such that armies cannot stand against you, and only a bare few heroes might last more than a single exchange of blows. Your themes are Death and Glory.

It'll be straightforward! Insert kill stick, get corpse!

 

[veekie]

[X] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

 

[Psychonix]

[x] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

 

[Olive]

[X] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

something something Bayonetta something something

 

[Terran Imperium]

[X] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

Seems interesting.

 

[Arcus]

[X] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

 

[indra]

[X] You are a blackened valkyrie, possessed of consummate skill and supernatural power. Your personal might is such that armies cannot stand against you, and only a bare few heroes might last more than a single exchange of blows. Your themes are Death and Glory.

 

[Spear]

[X] You are a dark elf, a huntress who tracks her prey under moonlit shadows. You are the beast that stalks humanity's darkest moments, their most primal nightmares made manifest. Your themes are Fear and Savagery.

 

[Maugan Ra]

[X] You are a blackened valkyrie, possessed of consummate skill and supernatural power. Your personal might is such that armies cannot stand against you, and only a bare few heroes might last more than a single exchange of blows. Your themes are Death and Glory.

Sweet. Time to strike some fear and duel plucky heroines among the burning ruins of their ancestral homes.

 

[Mother Nyx]

[X] You are a fallen angel, a twisted fragment of shining potential. When you speak, the world holds its breath. When you hold your breath, the world dares not speak. The tainted light within you can grant many miracles, which even monsters have cause to fear. Your themes are Awe and Corruption.

 

[Spear]

God, it's like an echo chamber in here.

I mourn for those of us who vote for Dark Elf, rip.

 

[Teiwaz]

[X] You are a blackened valkyrie, possessed of consummate skill and supernatural power. Your personal might is such that armies cannot stand against you, and only a bare few heroes might last more than a single exchange of blows. Your themes are Death and Glory.

ᚼᛂᚱᚱᛚᚮᚠ

 

[Kinruush]

[X] You are a blackened valkyrie, possessed of consummate skill and supernatural power. Your personal might is such that armies cannot stand against you, and only a bare few heroes might last more than a single exchange of blows. Your themes are Death and Glory.

 

[UrsaTempest]

God, it's like an echo chamber in her.

I mourn for those of us who vote for Dark Elf, rip.

Click to shrink...

I did consider voting dark elf, but I figured persuading SVer to stab stuff is easier than making complicated stealth plan.

 

[Mother Nyx]

I love how close the vote is. Oh, and Dark Elf is... there.