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Ribbon Prancer
a76809
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[Oh, close but no cigar, even if largely accurate. While the prophetic mutterings do have meaning, as prophetic they are also multilayered. Get the second (or more?) layer to get Pristine Soul and the foreknowledge of what things bring in the future. And HUGE plot bonus. But hey.]
My mind writhes with possibilities, as my initial impetus is to tear apart the meaning of the words Jojo uttered in his soul detached state, and of gaining foresight to the future, to understanding what is to come. And as I do, a soul in my belly seems to flit about furtively, stalking my own existence, as if waiting to be mine.
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[Bound to Mordre's Soul, so while weaker than multi-bound Deep Spawn like Dorgrum and the rest of the multi-bound Deep Spawn encountered, they are fine to exist on the surface, and will follow Mordre's will, as this is the basis of their existence. More bindings CAN be placed on them, but you would have to ask Dorgrum, possible Eldghodd about how to craft them through commands to those Bound to you, or for aid in making the binding even more potent directly. The basic Must be underground or some such could easily be aided by Dorgrum, as a basic enhancement... with obvious drawbacks. These things are 'living' restriction optimizers.]
I leave the confines of the cave, seeking out Lorgk. I find him alone, inspecting his new crystal blade with idle and half-hearted attempt at interest, his whipping twists of the blade that send it careening between hands, over shoulders and spinning through the air as he gains an intimate sense of it's balance, where it's weight and drag lie, familiarizing himself with its every detail like a man set to wait out the day, to avoid thinking. At my approach his movements continue, and he speaks without turning to note my presence.
"Old, old thing, lost now. And without the lives, what made it precious, the history...."
"Lorgk, I promise you, the moment the souls are safely free,
I shall do all in my power to safely return them to you,
And to your new weapon, to create a Legacy all of your own,
To claim the place the Legacy of Draz, True Edge."
For a long time Lorgk simply twirls his new blade, faster and faster, slicing and flicking it's edge against snow and stone, his yeti-pelts for once removed as he seeks full flexibility, his muscles knotting like the visage of one thoroughly focused on a single idea, and pulling it apart. Finally he speaks.
"And that will help. And your words... they carry great wisdom. Whenever this becomes possible, let me know."
With Lorgk spoken to and apparently placated, as well as rendered expectant, I turn my focus now towards Dulu, and his newly acquired freedom. I seek about the rebuilding village and its daunting walls, ever growing higher and more formidable, the shamans heavily engrossed in the making the same as those moving ice and stone, filling it's innards with bone inscribed with etched markings... runes, filled with blood, and pastes, now some magical foci.... but no matter where I look, Dulu cannot be found. I check in the non-mine connected portion of the underground, where the yetis had hollowed an independent cave system all their own, and I likewise do not find the Golemslain, even if I find massive supplies of yeti carcass and hide, carefully being butchered, and prepared in dozens of ways. I return to the village center, peering about, finally noting him outside the village walls, perched on a lone rocky outcropping, a reverse mountain jutting out of the true mountain that even Mordreden is anchored to. As I approach his eyes swivel my way, but he says nothing as I sidle up to stand beside him, keeping a respectable thirty feet away. I think for a moment on what to say, as Dulu says nothing, but just as I am about to speak, he finally breaks the silence.
"I am free, my mind wholly my own, my will unfettered... and now that I am, I find myself looking for direction in life, all that I knew before entering Weinsho's service, it is all useless. I am a man with no flesh, no skin, no bones, naught but a metal shell, designed only for war, for slaughter. Is this all I can do now? I do not know."
His hands stray towards his weapons, as he continues with the same flat voice.
"What’s the point of being grateful, if all I am is an engine of destruction?"
"Hold, Dulu. Did you not enjoy your time with the premen?
Were you not able to labor alongside maker and warrior to restore the village?
To work towards something against which your body was made:
A pursuit of creation, the antithesis of the apparent future you see...
I know you must have been feeling some satisfaction from intrinsic work ethic."
"...............................You know what, I was. I really was. Being with premens again, now that I'm not fretting about how to survive this if Weinsho was able to reclaim me before my bindings were undone, to punish my disobedience, and my thoughts bound by the things he wove into my existence. But without it... yeah, looking back at the only thing I could think of to prevent my innate need to return to Weinsho with the Deep Spawn heads and hearts I claimed, and inform him of what transpired, I really did feel a sense of contentment. ...Alright, maybe I could try doing that, for a while. Living among Premen once more, as a... temporary member of the tribe, exploring my roots, so to speak. ..Yes, this could work."
And Dulu leaps from the rock, returning to the village, and speaking with makers and shaman alike, looking for the best way to help restore or otherwise improve the village, to use his newfound inexhaustible stamina and wakefulness towards a new pursuit. an interesting turn of events....
My next pursuit, as the day grinds on, is seeking out Oggroth. I find him with the ten Heavy warriors, drilling with some of the younger, adolescent Premen, showing them things they learned down in the Lowlands. Oggroth helps to lead at the martial instruction, but when events turn to sparring, he steps down, clearly fearing to injure the smaller Premen, his body having gained significant strength, along with durability and stamina from his infusion. Indeed, I have been feeling the sense it continues to build, his body infusing with power as he seems to reflexively use combat magic or some other amplifier to direct potency into his flesh, and... his very Soul growing larger... if lopsided. And his eyes hang heavy with lack of sleep, a haunted look lurking about his eyes. At my approach, he stands to attention, but I simply beckon for him to follow me, leading him away from the recruits. As we approach Jojo's tent he starts to speak, but stops before completing a single utterance, instead simply proceeding alongside me. I enter the abode of the aged premen, and find Jojo contemplatively munching on some dried flesh of unknown origin, yawning to reveal old, yellowed teeth, before looking at me with an expectant expression that simply screams 'what do you want?'
"Jojo, I seek a consultation, and your aide:
Oggroth has had the souls of the dead infused in him,
To survive a mortal wound. He cannot sleep,
for his dreams are filled withed dead men's memories.
Can you see what you can do, to aid this warrior?
My own talents do not dwell in dreams."
"..Aye, what can be done, shall, and an understanding of what has occurred shall be gained. Sit, Oggroth."
I leave the two to their budding conversation, clearly noting Oggroth seems unwilling to speak on the dreams in my presence. I foresee Jojo findings being most useful, as they consistently seem to be. With my absolutely immediate pursuits dealt with, I turn to contemplating the Deep Spawn orbs, the eldritch eggs, the sinister seeds that orbit my form, and experimentally, start directing my Will and focus towards defining some of these Named beings-to-be, seeking an understanding of just what I have gained.
>Nihilino embodies NOTHINGNESS, form of EXISTENCE and EMPTINESS.
Nihilino.
The void.
Abject nonexistence, the despair of nothingness, the inevitable after when all events have ended, and time winds down, that beyond the pall of energy, the great entropy of all to nothing: These ideas are forced into the somber core bearing the title Nihilino. The largely spherical lump of flesh explodes into action, skin stretching and warping, growing bone white, and wrenching about as if to shed its skin. Finally it composes itself, a completely featureless, twelve foot tall and completely featureless humanoid shape, before the center of it's head simply explodes, showering the surroundings with gorey chunks, the gaping wound slowly being desiccated into absolute uniformity, as the world vanishes when gazing through the opening, promising oblivion to those whose stare lingers overlong. A cloak writhes free from gashes that sprout on it's body, and leather as black as sin tightly bind about the form, as excess nothingness floats behind the figure, a cape and wings alike, from moment to moment. The being puts a fist to the ground, Nihilino genuflecting before me, wordlessly offering its absolute service, its everything to my will.
One down.
>Mothbern embodies the Concept of DESSICATION, its form revolves around DUST and BONES.
Mothbern.
Dust, bones, the withering of flesh, the theft of vibrancy by time.... the taking of life, in bits and pieces, with the grind of forever. The musings of those fearfully clinging to the end of their mortality find their cries falling on deaf ears, the unflinching gaze of death, old age, and rot. These thoughts fill my mind as I name this second Deep Spawn, and it's form immediately falls apart, dissolving to sand as it pours from an invisible spout, draining a miniature desert onto the ground, growing into a mountain, that iself dissolves, revealing the kneeling form of a skeleton, its bones alien, spurs, spikes and fangs naught seen on any living thing traverse it's surface, and upon its body, chitinous armor worked into depictions of wailing beings of all sorts, seeking reprieve from their own frailty, the images in question constantly shifting, displaying the quintessence of mortality, of knowing an end comes. the ten foot tall archetype of an organic deathknight's fleshless, eyeless glare falls upon me.
Mothbern exists to serve Mordre.
A sword shimmers into existence in it's hand, a blade that looks vaguely reminiscent of True Edge if swollen to immense proportions, a dark, pitted metal that seems only partly there.
>Sadronm embodies the concept of LEADERSHIP (STRATEGY) , and its form revolves around MAGNIFICENCE and INSPIRATION.
Sadronm.
The deft moving of bodies, the tide of battle being read, the consummate strategist and tactician, working their hands as if to puppeteer the whole battlefield, their foes finding ruin even when initially certain of victory, their plans seen through. These are the thoughts that fill my mind this time, as I consider the moniker Sadronm, directing my Will to the act. The egg in question begins to unfold, rolling itself outward before falling to the ground, shriveling away as a vaguely amphibious, vaguely reptilian precursor slaved to humanoid shaping stands tall, a staff of carved bone, throbbing as clumps of ochre goo slips and slides about the staff, vibrating as the air flows by, clutched in the hands of this eleven foot tall fresh existence.
"Ssssadronm will bring ruin to armiesssss of whatever mortal threat may approach itssss lord, Mordre."
This one likewise prostrates itself, joining its two comrades, its elders in my service by seconds.
One more, to finish my initial expiriment into what my gift entails.
>Phohn embodies the concept of COMMUNICATION, its form revolves around WIRES and SOUND
Phohn.
I see cables, strings, sinew stretching everywhere, vibrations, wavelengths running along them, bringing whispers, bringing words wherever they run, of communication exploding across everything. These are the thoughts that cause Phohn's egg to peel like an orange as a great, jumbled mess of wire falls to the ground, boiling with activity as it balloons in size. Shortly enough it orders what was once a chaotic jumble, a snarl to madden the eye, pulling into a humanoid upper body, it's lower extremities unraveling as they spread, eventually fading into a haze that spreads about the ground for feet around it, towering some fourteen feet high.
Phohn hears, Mordre, and obeys.
As the day is now well into night, my time spent heavily, surprisingly so, in the forging of these Deep Spawn, I decide to retire for the night to continue hiding my secret from Keddic, Bang and Dulu. I order my Deep Spawn into the tunnels for now, asking Dorgrum to watch over them, he says nothing, the mouths on his form smiling as he bows, departing with my spawn to be out of sight.
[DAY 130: DAY 10 OF WEEK 1 OF MONTH 4:]
[Randiday of the First Cycle of Praeclarum (Summer)]
[+1 Soul monthly upkeep. Total Souls Remaining: 1,571 Minimum: 12]
Once the sun crests the horizon, I once again rise, and seek out the Gorkin Representatives. I find them feasting in a tent, muttering to each other for a brief instant before they become aware of my presence. Several start violently, some widen their eyes in fear as they stumble back, only a few immediately getting hands to weapons-and only one staying almost completely silent, no vocal outbursts at the sudden appearance of a gargantuan metal warrior, an alien existence to these who have never seen me. I act swiftly. My Sable Executioner unfurls as my Immortal Genocide starts feasting on energy, and I start taking my endless inhalation, seeking the weaknesses of souls to pull them into my forge the moment such becomes possible. In the pointblank quarters, flat-footed, and armed with only iron, bone and stone weapons, the fight is a slaughter, one-sided obliteration with but a single Gorkin clan representative left alive in the span of a few seconds, the one to keep his words to himself upon my appearance, now hastily throwing his sword away as he warily watches me, clearly trying to figure out why I have not slain him yet, as the seconds tick past.
"I WISH A MESAGE BROUGHT TO GORAN: THESE MOUNTAINS ARE MINE,
HE SHALL HAVE NO SWAY HERE, HOLD NO DOMINION,
LEST HE PROVE HIMSELF MY SUPERIOR, ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE.
TELL THE PRETENDER AT TRUE STRENGTH THAT IAM MORDRE,
HE WHO COMMANDS A THOUSAND DEEPSPAWN,
WHO SEEKS AN HONOR-BOUND DUEL WITH GORAN.
IF INSTEAD OF HIMSELF HE BRINGS WAR,
THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES MOST DIRE,
AND HIS SOUL ITSELF WILL BURN FOREVER.
GO NOW, RELAY THIS TO YOUR SO-CALLED AND TEMPORARY RULER!"
The Premen does not bother trying to speak, and runs, leaving its fifty comrades now corpses behind, fleeing the tent covered in gore, not looking back once. My message is sent, a thought that pleases me as I feast on the souls I just released.
[+52 Souls. Total Souls Remaining: 1,623 Minimum: 12]
I leave the tent, to find several warriors and shaman alike trotting over suspiciously, Mingsk in their midst. I inform them of the challenge made, and the lives taken, informing them the remains can be used for whatever they wish. As Mingsk starts commanding the bones stripped for use in the walls, I pop the question that has been bothering me since I first noted them.
"What makes the bone a useful device to inscribe magic in?
This concept is one I have seen no reason for, myself."
"The bone holds the source of life, that which is everything, if given the chance. Deep inside bones is something that precedes life, a proto-soul of the body, this remnant of existence that could be is able to empower that which infuses it, or is infused with it. ...Having heard the words of Nalal and Fersh, I suspect Keddic, Bang, and those two are seeking something like this in blood, if in a different form. If a connection exists it is not known, but maybe they could say. They are in the healing tents, if sought, Bang happy to employ new vestments, within a tent of the same."
As Mingsk moves on and the other Premen set to their respective tasks, I seek out those named, once more feeling myself restricted within the confines of the tent so adorned in yeti blood. I see Bang in light beige leather, heavy stitches binding the vest into a hardy sleeve for the torso beneath the still pristinely white toga, heavy leather pants ending with feet wrapped in Leather strips leaving toes and heel bear toe the ground as hands likewise bound in leather wrappings drift through the air in accordance with Bang's vocal attempts to breach the language barrier and speak more ably with Nalal. At my approach, all four in the group immediately seek my aid in hosting another conversation on blood magic, and the hidden treasure of White Blood, which I readily agree to, but only after prompting them to start with the possibility of an interlink between White Blood and the proto-soul found in bone cores. They wrap their brains around the concept, bandying ideas, before Keddic's face lights up. He says that maybe, it the fact that both are possibilities, not out and out existences. The white blood is like the almost soul of blood itself, some fragment of quasi consciousness and reflex as part of one's body. The proto-soul of bone seems largely like that. As the discussion then progresses into analyzing Keddic's thoughts, the conversation begins to run circles, as the others seem somewhat reluctant to accept Keddic's idea, but he argues his case passionately, gaining the begrudging respect and agreement of Nalal as the day passes. Bang and Fersh, however, still seem to resist the concept, and so to avoid ill tempers I end the conversation there, realizing some several hours have passed.
In the afternoon I seek out Dorgrum and my four new personal Deep Spawn, already the subject of evaluation by shamans and warriors alike, Lorgk among their number. As I approach, Mothbern, Phohn and Sadronm all cease inspecting the mortals just as they themselves are observed, their whole focus stolen by my presence. Nihilino remains as silent as he was when I approached, as Dorgrum stops speaking with Lorgk to turn my way.
“ Administrator Mordre, Eldghodd bids me inform you the souls are ready, separated from the hold of the Item in which they were trapped. They have been sent into my existence, and I am ordered to transfer them to whatever you wish.”
“ ˙ɥsıʍ noʎ ɹǝʌǝʇɐɥʍ oʇ ɯǝɥʇ ɹǝɟsuɐɹʇ oʇ pǝɹǝpɹo ɯɐ ı puɐ 'ǝɔuǝʇsıxǝ ʎɯ oʇuı ʇuǝs uǝǝq ǝʌɐɥ ʎǝɥʇ ˙pǝddɐɹʇ ǝɹǝʍ ʎǝɥʇ ɥɔıɥʍ uı ɯǝʇı ǝɥʇ ɟo pןoɥ ǝɥʇ ɯoɹɟ pǝʇɐɹɐdǝs 'ʎpɐǝɹ ǝɹɐ sןnos ǝɥʇ noʎ ɯɹoɟuı ǝɯ spıq ppoɥbpןǝ 'ǝɹpɹoɯ ɹoʇɐɹʇsıuıɯpɐ”
At Dorgrum’s words, I immediately indicate Lorgk’s crystal sword, once the blade of Abaeloth the All Devouring, a crystal blade that severs magic-and immediately see a problem.
That a soul swimming in my soul, one of those already detected during a previous bout of mental exertion, proffers itself, imploring to facilitate this desired action, to make it more than what it could be. I ask Dorgrum, now considering the magic breaking blade, to channel the souls through me as a conduit to the blade, as I plot to attach the Pristine Soul both as protective covering and as amplifier to the souls of Lorgk’s forbearers, a plan to which the Deep Spawn readily agrees, his hand finding my back as my own hand finds the crystal Sword, as Lorgk proffers it forth.
[-1 Pristine Soul. New total: 2]
The wills of millennia, the minds that guided hundreds, sometimes thousands in the past filter through my existence, glued together and sheltered within the accommodating Pristine Soul, as I direct them all towards the Immortal Genocide, triggering the soul of the Inverter to turn the life stealer into a life giver, directly injecting the souls into the piece of translucent crystal-
And it is done, just as I register some magic from Dorgrum likewise trailing the souls through my body, another layer of magic facilitating breaching the magical annulment the potent material carries, and now they are housed beyond conventional magical interaction, a well of souls within the crystal blade, Lorgk’s eyes lidded as a content smile spreads across his face, ears twitching as if hearing the words of dozens.
“Thank you, Honored Mordre, for gifting me Legalloth, the Legacy of Lorgk.”
I exchange some more pleasantries as I check on my Deep Spawn, noting their souls to feel notably smaller than Dorgrum’s, likely less empowered without further experience and restrictions alike to boost their existence to higher levels. On the thought of souls evolving, I return to Jojo’s tent, seeking what was learned concerning Oggroth. The aged healer has some cryptic ruminations to convey his discoveries awaiting my arrival.
“The body houses multiple souls, Oggroth’s own, and a jumble of others. This jumble is merging, becoming a single mass, and as it does, it is threatening to be the superior existence within Oggroth’s body. For now, the immense sense of Ownership Oggroth has for his body keeps him ahead… but as more souls fuse, the mass will eventually win. The experience of Souldreamers only extends to interacting with a single other soul: Perhaps your own experiences with mass numbers of souls could offer some concept of a solution, some way to bring Oggroth to safety? Currently at an impasse, outside opinion needed.”
As I consider this, Ugrokk bursts into the tent, revealing the sun to have set on the horizon.
“Yetis found, some five miles north, other side of mountain. Orders?”
And I note my perceptions revealing Heol’s soul flitting into the rapidly crowding room, seeking my attention.
What should I say or do?
What opinion do I have for Jojo about Oggroth’s condition?
What should I do about Ugrokk’s discovery?
Should I do anything concerning Heol?
Or is there anything else I can think to attend to in the waning light?
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