mechamal

[mechamal]

Weight

Temp

[mechamal]

1.  Lapsus Memoriae

???

The past is a blur to us now. How many years have passed, since our ascension? 

We paid a terrible price for these gifts. The pain was terrible, but fleeting. But none of us anticipated this. Mortal minds were not meant to span centuries. Not one of us remembers why we started this journey. What purpose drove us. Sometimes I feel like I can almost reach it. Faded memories just out of reach. But I can never touch it. I read old journal entries as though a stranger penned them. 

And yet, the conviction to see it through remains. We trust that, whatever our reasons, they were good. We’ve been through too much to abandon it all now. 

We’re so close now. We have the Red. The Green. The Black. The White. Only the Blue remains. 

And we will have it. We will free Her, and end Her suffering. 

[mechamal]

Ante nivis

It was a quiet life at Candlekeep. But Nix liked quiet. The Archmage, Lady Savikas, had been kind to her so far. Giving her work and a roof over her head. Her quarters were modest. But they were hers. And she could keep busy. And in her downtime...well there were perks to living in in a library fortress. No shortage of reading material.

Her duties were generally simple. Mostly cleaning and whatever odd jobs around the Keep needed to be done. Organizing book, sweeping the floors, delivering messages here and there. Presently Nix was carrying a stack of papers from the Archmage to deliver to one of her colleagues on the other end of the Keep.

There was a hint of magic in the air. Nix passed a window and a breeze suddenly blew in, scattering the documents! She heard a bit of mischievous laughter from a dark corner. "Jezebel I will THROTTLE you!" She shouted at the quasit familiar as she rushed after the papers, clutching them one by one and trying her best to sort them back into their original order.

Once they were all collected she took a moment to catch her breath. Her eyes caught the glint of silver on her arm, where the scramble had caused the sleeve to draw back. She quickly covered it. Her heart pounding as she held her wrist. Fingers clawing at them. Struggling to hold back tears.

She focused on a spell. Twisting the rules of magic around, she willed her body to change. The scales retreated. She felt the hard pattern fade. Leaving only soft skin beneath. She started to calm down.

She completed her delivery, and in return was given a stack of books to deliver back to the Archmage back in the library. "Yeah, okay sure." She said. Grunting a bit from the load. Thankfully the familiar seemed to have either had his fill of mischief, or had found another target, as her return journey was less eventful.

She didn't know how the monks managed to carry stacks like this, and had to take a couple of breaks on the way to catch her breath. It was hard to even see around the stack, but after three years she'd come to know Candlekeep like the back of her hand.

When she returned. "Pardon me Lady Savikas, O'Brian said you'd be expecting these." Peeking around the towering pile of books, she saw something curious. A rather strange looking group had shown up to talk to the Archmage? What was this all about she wondered? Curious, but hey, whatever they were here for wasn't her problem.

[mechamal]

Nix de Caelo Decidentes

Nix lived in a tower with her mother and sisters. She was the youngest of the three, though to most it was difficult to tell the girls apart. Each of them had the same violet hair and emerald green eyes. The same voice and the same form. If not for their varying hair pins, most would be hard pressed to tell the trio apart. Ignis with her red flame. Ventus with green for wind. And blue for Nix, with a snowflake emblem. 

On the rare occasion the tower had visitors, sometimes the three would trade pins when nobody was looking to play tricks, but Mother always seemed to see through the deceptions. Mother was smart aftercall. And powerful, wielding great magicks with practiced ease. Now and again, one or more of them would try to sneak out to explore outside the tower. But mother always caught on, and they’d be shepherded back inside. Mother knows best after all. 

The tower could be lonely at times, but they always had each other. Coming up with little games and stories to amuse themselves. Until one day, Ignis was called away alone to Mother’s private study. 

And she didn’t come back. When asked, Mother only told Ventus and Nix not to fret, and that their turns would come soon. They were worried, and they missed their sister. But they trusted their Mother. And hoped Ignis would come back soon. 

Ventus was next. And Nix for the first time in her life, was alone. Just like Ignis, Ventus didn’t come back. The tower felt cold and empty without her sisters. She didn’t like being alone. Didn’t like the strange sounds in the tower at night. What once was home to her, now felt like a cage. 

But finally, her turn came. And though nervous, Nix hoped she would finally be reunited with Ignis and Ventus. She stepped into Mother’s study. Though Nix had been educated in a variety of subjects, arcana especially, there was much here that even she couldn’t place. Arcane symbols, instruments with purposes she couldn’t begin to guess. The chamber was alien and foreboding. But Mother was there, calling to her. 

She asked about Ventus and Ignis. But Mother told her to be silent. That this was delicate work. They had to be careful. There were no more spares to waste on mistakes. Mother held a strange device in her hand. A syringe with a long needle. Inside was some silvery fluid Nix had never seen. 

Mother directed Nix to lay down on a strange table. When Nix hesitated, Mother reassured her. Told her that once this was done, she could see her sisters again. So Nix did as she was told. 

Enchanted leather straps moved into place on their own. Binding her arms, legs, neck and belly to the table. Mother placed her hand on Nix’s chest, feeling her heart. Her old, tired eyes examining Nix’s body with a cold, calculating gaze. And then she took the syringe. The needle pierced into her body. Between Nix’s ribs. Into her heart. And with a slow, careful pace, the fluid was injected. 

The needle hurt, but it was nothing compared to what came after. Nix had felt cold before. But this was something more. A dreadful chill filled her core. Her body shaking and shivering. And it hurt. Like her body was being frozen alive from the inside out. She screamed. She begged her Mother to make it stop. Her tears freezing on her face. But those eyes showed no hint of empathy or mercy, only careful analysis. As if Nix were just another project for her. 

The pain spread from her heart through her limbs. To her skin. Her body ached all over, as fine, silver scales emerged from her body. Growing over parts of her in a patchwork of silver. Across her arms and legs body. She wanted it to stop, but it kept going. 

Nix couldn’t tell if it took hours or mere minutes, but eventually the effects started to fade. The deathly chill receded to an uncomfortable, but tolerable coolness. Like the air around her was always just a couple degrees low to be comfortable. The scales didn’t recede, but they stopped spreading. Bits of her hair had turned from violet to silver. 

Mother spoke to her, hollow words of praise and encouragement. That she was doing so well, so much better than the others. That once she was rested they could proceed to the next tests.  But Nix wasn’t listening. She blacked out before long, only to wake in her bed. 

The sun was shining through the window by her, but it felt different. It was bright and sunny day but the warmth of the sun was...faded for her. She looked to her scales. Sobbing, she clutched at them, trying to pry them from her flesh, but they were too smooth to find purchase. When that failed she covered herself, hiding them from view. 

Her sisters were gone. She realized only too late that she was nothing but a test subject to her Mother. And now her body had been twisted. She tore at her pillow, tearing through the fabric and making a mess of the feathers within. Covering her and the bed as she wept. 

Mother would be back soon. And she couldn’t go through that again. Whatever was being done to her was too much already. She rose from her bed, smashing the glass from the window, and flung herself from her room on the upper reaches of the tower.  

She saw the ground rapidly approaching. But...despite what she’d been through, she didn’t want this to be the end. She wanted to live. She wanted to be free. 

Instinctively, she reached out to grab one of the feathers falling around her from the pillow. And some new instinct within her intuited exactly what to do. She held the feather in her hand. Speaking arcane words both alien and familiar. Tracing a symbol in the ar. 

And then she slowed. Her first spell, Feather Fall took hold. And she landed harmlessly, gracefully, on the ground. 

She looked out at the wide world around her. Full of terror and hope and freedom. And she ran. She didn’t know where to, but she ran. There was something better waiting for her out there, she could feel it. 

There had to be. 

[mechamal]

Strings

I take a moment to catch my breath as the corrupted angel is finally slain. I look down at the corrupted bow in my hands. I hated using it. but it was  close fight. Its power might just have tipped the scales from defeat to victory. A near thing.

But for now, it worked out. We can rest. We can recover. Lucy is tending to the wounded.

Kill them all.

I obey. A puppet on strings. My will is gone. Cold and emotionless, I draw my bow and march toward Gheralin. I nock an arrow and I lit it fly. One down. Lucy sees what I'm doing and comes for me.

I unfurl my umbrella and deflect his attack. Unthinking, unfeeling. I carry out my purpose. I take neither joy nor remorse in the bloodshed.

Something within me wells up. My mind, fortified by Alice's psychic training, pushes back. For a moment, I reclaim my sense of self. Horrified at what I've done. I rush to Vixen, taking my last healing potion. The one Bekah gave me. She meant it to save my life, but now it might just save my soul.

I pour it down Vixen's throat. She starts to heal the others, and I back away in horror of what I’ve done. 

In a flash, my fear is gone. I obey. I draw another arrow and fire. I take Vixen down. Ismark attacks, but I deflect once again. I'm so close to fulfilling my mission.

But Gheralin is up now. He strikes me with his gravity spell, and everything goes black.

I wake up a bit later. Everything's dark. I'm bound by rope. Blindfolded. The weight of what I did comes crashing down. Fear. Guilt. I thought I could resist the curse at least for a while. I thought it was a slow trap that would take days to make me do something this heinous.

I don't want to die. But I'm a danger to my team. My friends. My family. My Sirens. I almost killed them all. If not for that brief moment of clarity, helping Vixen, that may have been the end.

I tell them that it will be too hard to hold me. That I'll slow them down. Ismark seems to be remembering, growing in confidence and purpose. I can be glad that at least I got them this far. They can finish the job without me from here.

But then... I feel something. I can't see, but I can feel it. Ismark works his magic. And I'm free. The sickening curse loses its grip over me. Gheralin unties me and I can't hold it in. I grab him and hug him and cry. We cam so terribly close to the abyss, but we pulled through.

We search the place. Find the Abbot's journal and some items. But I'm just glad to be free. To have another chance. Anger burns inside me. Strahd is going to pay for this.

Gheralin starts moving the cursed bow with his staff. "I don't think so. I get to do that." I say. I need to be the one to dispose of it. After the hell that bow’s curse has put me through in the last twenty four hours, I need this. 

As we leave I grab the bow with my mage hand. Storming out onto the bridge.

"I am Florena Emberlin. And I am no one's fucking puppet!"

I shove as much telekinetic force into it as I can.

Part of me considers keeping it locked away. Maybe one day we can remove the curse on it. It is a fine bow. But I'm not carrying the fucking thing around that long. And it just feels cathartic to see it fly over the edge and fall into the mist below.

This is the turning point. No more placating. No more appeasement. My gambit almost cost us everything. But it paid off, by the skin of our teeth it actually fucking worked. You’ve been played, Strahd. You sick son of a bitch. And now your sick little game is going to bite you in the ass. 

I feel the familiar rage inside me. The anger that kept me warm on many a desperate winter night. That kept me from giving up when all seemed hopeless. When we first came to Barovia, it wasn’t personal. An alliance of convenience with the Shademother. But now...now it’s personal. Now, I’m going to take great satisfaction in ending him for good. 

It’s time to bring the storm. Unite Barovia under the siren song.  

It's time to go to war.

[mechamal]

Cursed

I storm out of the Lavender Rose feeling ill. I really shouldn't be alone right now, but I need some space.

The effects of the curse so far have been fleeting, but potent. And I fear they'll grow worse over time. Especially if I use the damned bow any more.

He's molding me. Trying to change me, influence me little by little. The effects are manageable for now, but for how long? How long until I become a danger to my friends and everyone around me? How long until it's not the curse, but moments of lucidity that are fleeting?  Until I look at him with longing instead of disgust, until I'm happily carrying out dark deeds for his approval? Until I have the time to act one of these feelings, until my friends see me as a monster?

How long can I stay strong? Does it even matter if I do? The feelings come so suddenly, there's no warning or time to prepare. It reminds me in a way of Gardenia's episodes. No discernible pattern or way to predict them. At least not that I can see so far. They come, they hold me in their grip, and then they fade.

And as vile as this curse is I can see the tactical use of it. He only cares about my body. Not about who I am as a person. So the curse will overwrite all that over time. Turn me into what he wants me to be. It deprives the Sirens of their leader, compromising me and calling my ability to make decisions for the group into question. It plays on my paranoia, leaving me unable to even trust myself.[9:39 AM]My fears of having my mind tampered with. And it does it all slowly, to make me suffer for reading his diary. Even the bow itself would have been a treasured gift if it'd come from almost anyone else, without the curse itself. It's beautifully and expertly crafted. The enchantments synergize with my abilities. It even matches my armor. It's all such a master stroke I wonder if Strahd came up with this all himself or if the Brides helped to get me out of the picture. Are they pleased with this turn of events or is this still interfering with them? I have no way to know.

I underestimated Strahd and now I'm going to pay the price for it. I thought I could manipulate him, buy the group time. In a way perhaps I did, if he does take a back seat and simply watch as I fall to corruption and darkness. Maybe my damnation will buy the others time. Maybe I'll have enough time to help set his downfall into motion, even if I'm standing at his side when it comes for him. Or maybe the curse will be too slow, and I'll still be myself enough to stand against him. The uncertainty is the worst part. If I knew how long I had I could plan, I could prepare, I could.....

Mother. Gardenia. Remilda. I want to call out for help. But there's nobody out there that can hear me. Help me. We're on our own.  I fight back the tears for now. I need to make my way to the Archive. Just for a little while, to be somewhere I know he can't see me. I'll lock myself in my room, leave all my weapons and ammo except for this damned bow outside my room. There I can let it all out. Where I'll be as close to safe as i can be, where the others can't see me breaking down.

[mechamal]

Reflections

Nyr made her way back through the Sharlyan ruins. She knew the way now. The last time she'd come here hadn't ended so great. Her hand burned, her hair and eyes stained by aether again. It had taken weeks for the effects to fully wear off. And careful treatment with Clover to ensure her hand healed right.

And now she was back. Stepping into the chamber, Nyr looked over the magical mirror on the other side. The one a vision of her had emerged from last time. Nyr tossed a piece of debris from outside up and down in her hand, chucking it across the room at the mirror. It bounced off the enchanted glass. "Hey. Mirror bitch. time for another chat."

The surface of mirror started to shimmer, and she emerged. Nyr, as she had been once. Hair and eyes bleached from excess aether. Clad in that violet and gold armor she'd once worn. Now it looked so tacky Nyr wanted to vomit looking at it. "Are you really still wearing that thing? Yikes." She said, inhaling through her teeth.

"You realize that I'm you right." The reflection said dryly.  "What you were. What you long to be again."

Nyr coughed into her hand, feigning an attempt to stifle her laughter. "Yeah, see, that's the thing. You're not me. You're a reflection. But you didn't come from me. Alice made you." She said, stepping closer.

"Alice made you for whatever little game she's trying to play here. I don't know what she's playing at. Her little speech about redemption requiring sacrifice. Or whatever other nonsense she was spouting at the time. But you know what? She was there through so much of it. She could have helped me or stopped me, she had so many chances. But she stood on the sidelines and watched. Tell me. Why should I give a fling hog’s fart whether she thinks I’ve ‘earned’ redemption?”  The reflection waved her hand. “This isn’t about Alice. This is about us.”  “There you go again. See there is no ‘us.’ here.” She said, circling around the room and the living reflection. “This is jut about me. And as much as I loathe being the center of attention, I suppose it can’t be helped.” She said with a smirk. “What you are....is one part of my past. One drop in the bucket that is my life. You’re a child’s desperation twisted by addiction.”  “But I’m more than that. I’m an alchemist. A librarian. A fighter. A healer. An irreverent ass. I have friends. Despite everything I have people I care about, who care about me. I have a life. 

The reflection narrowed her eyes. “A murderer, is what we are. Do you think you can just-”  “No, I can’t forget.” Nyr said, cutting her off. “No I’ll never forget. But I’ve been letting that memory hold me back for too long. I’ve been afraid of having a life, afraid of letting people see who I am, because I hated what I saw in the mirror. For so long you’ve been all I could see in my own reflection. But I’m so much more than that. And you.” She said, pausing and turning toward her reflection. “You’re. Not. My. Fault.” 

The reflection paused for a moment, unsure. Then it spoke. “Do you really think you can just pin everything we did on-”  “Yes. And why not? I was a child. A CHILD. Plucked from an orphanage, my body altered and experimented on. My head filled with lies and her delusions. And when I was no more use to her she threw me out, to suffer the consequences of her failure alone. You’re damned right, it was all her fault. And I’m lucky other people were able to see that.

So whatever Alice’s game is here, it doesn’t matter. I’m playing by my own rules. She wants me to ‘earn’ my redemption? I already have. She wants to sit on the sidelines and and prod me along like some character in her little stories? No. I don’t need her to fix my aether, my eye, or my life.”  The reflection eyed Nyr. “You need the tome to undo what was done to you. You don’t have a choice.”  “But I do. And I’m choosing to walk away from this.” She turned around, placing her hands behind her head as she walked to the exit. “You know once I finally put everything together I was tempted to not even come back here. But I thought maybe it’d be fitting to say goodbye. And hey it’s an excuse to not be in Ishgard today.”  “Get back here!” The reflection shouted. Materializing a blade of aether. Charging after Nyr. But then she stopped, as if an invisible leash was pulled taut. 

“Not sure what happens to you now. Maybe Alice will come back or maybe you’ll just be stuck here until the aether powering your mirror fades over the years. But this is goodbye. The next time I look in the mirror, you won’t be the person i see.” 

Nyr ascended the stairs two at a time, The voice of the reflection slowly fading as she rose up to the surface. 

[mechamal]

Dread

After Strahd's visit I make my way to my room to try and get some sleep. It doesn't come easy though. Despite my casual, maybe even blithe front, I'm afraid. 

 Death doesn't really scare me that much. I certainly don't want to die. I don't want to leave Bekah behind, and Remilda, I don't want Musica or the Sirens to have to mourn me. I don't want to leave my business with Fauxrena and Victoria unfinished. But death...I could accept death.

But if we fail here, death isn't what awaits me. I don't want to end up as his 'bride.' I don't want to end up like this facsimile of my mother, stripped of my intellect and passion and drive, valued only for my looks, to feed his sadistic urges.  I'm afraid and I hate that I'm afraid. He's  pathetic in so many ways, but he has power. There's nobody to stop him. I feel sick. Vulnerable in ways I haven't felt in years.

I know that the only thing keeping him from just dragging me off to his castle is his boredom, wanting the challenge of us marching on his castle. But knowing that he can just show up like this, whenever he wants... it doesn't do my paranoia any favors. 

 For a moment I even regretted declining the offer to get out of Barovia. If she'd come to me right after the talk with Strahd I might have taken it. I might have fled, abandoning Xeta. The others could have carried on without me here even, if they didn't all want to come with me and abandon the mission. The Sirens could carry on just fine without me. I've always needed them more than they need me.

I wonder how Remilda's able to stay so strong, hiding right under Niklaus' nose despite all the things she must see and deal with every day. I wonder how Gardenia was always able to be so confident. I can't even talk about it without risking Strahd overhearing, except for perhaps in the mansion. Normally it's a relief to hear people say my real name after being 'Sarah' for so long, but hearing it from him makes my skin crawl. Compliments that from her might have made me blush, from him make me want to vomit. 

 But there's nothing to do but keep moving forward. I won't give up hope. We'll pull through. Kill this sick bastard. I'll smile and be polite and play along as much as I need to, to see him buried. Find ways to use his sick obsession against him. I won't cower in fear of him. I won't run and hide. Even if I'm not he one to deliver the coup de grace, I'll be the one to set the stage. I'll do what my mother couldn't and put a stop to him for good. 

[mechamal]

Dream Diary: Entry #0

(This is mostly a repost, the character was retired but I’ve brought her back with a few tweaks. A new name mostly.)

Kaylynn Ashwood’s dream diary.

Entry #0

I’m not sure if this journal will bear any fruit. But being freed from the imperial army, my life has felt hazy. Like those ephemeral moments first waking from a dream, but the feeling never passes. My memories feel like dreams. And my dreams feel more real than the fragments I can piece together.

Before I begin, I’ll record what I know so far.

My name is Kaylynn Ashwood.

I am twenty five years old.

I was born in Ala Mhigo.

I joined a resistance cell at a young age. I fought against the Empire alongside others.

I struggle to recall names, but I remember visuals better. Faces. Places. Emotions. But also a creeping dread that I am no longer welcome there. When I think of going back, my chest feels tight and a sense of anxiety washes over me. I don’t know why, but I feel I can never go back.

In my latter teen years, I was captured by the Empire and selected for an experiment. Their procedures wore down my resolve and weakened my will. I was made into a puppet, carrying out their orders without question. During this time, I could still think, but the scope was limited to the parameters of my missions. I could feel physical sensations but my emotions were suppressed. In this state I underwent extensive training, including combat training as well as the operation and field repair of magitek devices.

Two months ago, one of their scientists working for the project wanted to defect. She freed me from their control, and together we escaped. The overseer of the project was away at the Imperial Capital and she was left in charge, seizing the opportunity to free me, and with my help, stealing an airship to escape. She believes that my state of mind and the clouded nature of my memories is a result of the project used to control me. She does not know if my mind will heal in time or not. She has found work with the Garlond Ironworks after arriving in Eorzea.

V-2-02 is tattooed onto my right wrist. This is my designation in their experiments.

The one overseeing the experiment was Galae mal Volus. A high ranking imperial scientist, seeking ways to pacify and control rebellious populations within the empire.

I remember happy times in Gyr Abania, grouped around a campfire with friendly faces.

I remember the terror before my first battle. The way my hands shook. The chaos of just trying to survive. The thrill of victory when I came out of it alive.

I remember the pain of losing friends who weren’t so lucky.

I remember my fear when I was captured. I didn’t want to be a coward. I also didn’t want to die. I remember the way their torture ate away at my will. Targeting not my body but my sanity.

I remember the way their equipment made the fear and pain go away. How I felt so empty.

I remember having friends. Family. Enemies. But it’s disjointed. The names are out of reach, the specific contexts of faces and feelings lost.

I remember the looks of horror, of betrayal, on the faces of those I killed as an imperial soldier. I remember feeling nothing as I cut them down.

I don’t know how much of my dreams I can trust. Memory can be corrupted, and dreams based on memory more so. And when waking, the memory of these dreams are fleeting. but I hope, if I’m quick to write down the details after I wake, that I can piece some of my life back together. I don’t know if I can be fixed. But I have to try.

[mechamal]

The First Taste

Florena lead the party through the portal from the mirror realm. The Sirens had been though a tough fight, a little worse for wear. Stepping back to the material plane, the desert lay before them.

But they weren't in the clear just yet. Florena catches a glint nearby. A glowing canary landing nearby. Then another. And a third, larger than the others. Peter Fayelle. Florena watched as he shifted back to his half elven form.

She felt anger boiling inside, but Flo kept it under control. Focusing her rage into a calm fury. She didn't respond to his taunts when he spoke to the party. Didn't pay his words any mind. This son of a bitch had hurt her daughter. Killed her, with only the grace of the Shademother and a phoenix feather bringing Bekah back to the living.

How many chidden had he murdered now? How many had died, because they had simply handed Peter over to the authorities last time instead of killing him themselves? That was a mistake Florena wouldn't make again.

Wordlessly, she hefted her crossbow. Reaching for a special black arrow. One infused with wild magic. Wordlessly, Florena took aim, and fired.

With his monk training, Peter tried to catch it. But it was too little too late, the arrow piercing into his hand, striking true. A strange magnetic effect taking hold over his body. A puzzling effect, but one that soon proved useful. That magnetic pull drawing any metal tipped ammunition or metal weapons toward him. Giving the party a boon against this otherwise formidable enemy.

The battle went on. Seeing Peter's ability to lessen the damage of her arrows, Florena drew her short sword and dagger instead. Darting in close. Dipping in close to strike whiel he was distracted with Dawnda and Lucy's attacks, opportunistically finding weak spots in his defenses. The magnetic pull drawing her blades to their mark.

Eventually his spells wore Florena down. Painful whispers in her head, tearing at her mind. Crying out in pain, she collapsed into the sand. Everything going dark.

Until a sudden warmth washed over her. Xeta's healing snapping her back to reality. Both sides were wearing down now. Peter on his last legs, but so were many of her companions. Florena rose to her feet, blades in hand.

While Peter was busy contending with Dawnda's strikes, Sarah struck. Thrusting her sword into his back. Taking him by surprise.

He fell to the ground. Wounded. Still alive. But not for long. In the heat of battle, Florena felt a swell of power. Her magic, tied to the Dark World. A little burst of energy beyond her normal limits with spell crafting.

Florena held one hand open palmed. Speaking words of power and tracing a rune in the air with her other hand. Drawing a shadow blade from her open palm. A black dagger, made to sunder the mind rather than body.

She threw the blade down at Peter. Watched it sink into his flesh. Watched him cry out in pain. It left no physical wound, but it the pain was oh so real. She called it back to her hand. And threw it down. Again. and again. And again.

"Kill him!" Florena heard Penelope's voice. She watched as small, ghostly figures emerged from the sand. The vengeful spirits of the children he' d murdered, tearing into him. Again and again and again she threw the blade. Letting her anger, her hate, her rage boil to the surface. It felt good to watch him squirm. It was good to hear his cries. To hurt him. And he deserved to be hurt. This sadistic murderer of children. Why shouldn’t it feel good to see him in pain? After what he’d done, what he’d continue to do if left unchecked? Not a day ago Florena had seen the bones of a child picked clean by this monster. No more. Never again. 

The body went still. Sarah called the blade back to her hand one last time, the blade fading away. One name off the list. But there were still so many more. She was ecstatic, joyful even, to see that stain of humanity wiped from the earth.

How much better would it feel when she did this to Fauxrena? To the ones who had ruined her life, taken everything from her? She'd just need to wait a little longer. The doll...and Victoria most of all...oh their deaths would be just as sweet.

[mechamal]

Oath of the Ancients

The following is a character building exercise I did for a new D&D character. A half wood elf Oath of the Ancients paladin. I wrote a short scene for each of the four tenants of this Oath for her. 

Kindle the Light. Through your acts of mercy, kindness, and forgiveness, kindle the light of hope in the world, beating back despair.

Thunder roared overhead. Breaking up the sound of the pouring rain. Soaked in the rain, a teenage half elf made her way into a small cave. A struggling fire just barely burning, next to an Eladrin man, resting on a makeshift bed of scavenged materials. “I’m back. I should have everything I need…” Faelyn said. Shivering as she knelt by the fire, seeking its warmth, and its light for what she had to do now. 

Carefully, she laid out her herbalism kit, and a set of herbs she’d collected, damp from rain. Placing a hand on the man’s forehead, she frowned. The fever was getting worse. He was delirious, mumbling in his sleep. Venom from a snakebite coursing through his veins. Faelyn replaced the damp cloth on his forehead with a fresh cool one. Thankfully with the rain, there was no shortage of cool water to use. 

Carefully, she held the herbs up by the fire to dry them, careful not to let the fire consume them. And then she set to work with mortar and pestle.Carefully mixing the herbs into an antitoxin.

“Drink this. It should help bring your fever down.” She said, bringing the mixing bowl to his lips. Gently helping him to swallow.

 She stayed with him, watching over him. And after a while, his fever began to break. Still weak from the poison, but the worst was over. He looked up to her, becoming lucid once more. “Who…are you? Why are you…”

 As his vision cleared, he saw the young half elf. Long, dark ginger hair. Ears pointed, though not much longer than human. Her face fair and lightly freckled. Gentle green eyes looking down at him with concern. “You needed help. What other reason should I need to help someone? Take it easy. You should be fine come morning, but you’ll need your rest.”

 Exhausted, the Eladrin closed his eyes. While the Eladrin didn’t sleep the same way humans did, or half elves like Faelyn, he was still weak and would need to rest to recover his strength. When dawn came, he awoke from his trance, to find no sign of the girl, save for the now dying remains of the fire and the makeshift bed he was laying in.

Shelter the Light. Where there is good, beauty, love, and laughter in the world, stand against the wickedness that would swallow it. Where life flourishes, stand against the forces that would render it barren.

The sound of splintering wood filled the air as the Kurshisei’s battle hammer struck Faelyn’s shield. Three glowing red eyes staring down at Faelyn. Four imposing, curved horns growing from its head. Dark, bark like skin covered in tribal clothing. 

Behind Faelyn lay her scouting partner. An Agorasar Wood Elf. The fiend had taken them by surprise, and now Faelyn’s partner lay bloodied and unconscious, but alive. For now. Not the best start to their first outing on their own. Faelyn panted for breath, staggering back from the blow. “Run little half blood.” The fiend said, lips curled into a cruel grin. 

Glaring, Faelyn gripped her mace and lashed out, striking at the field. The weapon crashed into the Kurshisei’s bark like skin.The fiend snarled, and quickly retaliated. Striking first with its hand, its rough skin slapping against Faelyn’s face and drawing blood, before bringing the hammer against Faelyn’s gut.

 The half elf fell to the ground beside her partner. The fiend raised its hammer, aiming to bring it down on the unconscious wood elf. With a cry, Faelyn lunged herself between the two. What was left of her shield ramming into the hammer mid strike, throwing the blow off course, but smashing through the shield to wound Faelyn’s arm instead.

 Faelyn lashed out with her mace again, but this time the Kurshisei deflected her blow, knocking the weapon from Faelyn’s grasp. Another blow striking her ribs, along with the sound of cracking bone. The fiend raised its weapon again. Faelyn threw herself over the fallen wood elf to shelter her, bracing herself for the crushing blow to come.

 It never did. Instead, she heard the fiend cry out in pain as arrow after arrow pierced its skin. More of the Agorasar emerging from the forest, coming to their aid. Tears of joy and relief filling her eyes as she lost consciousness.

Preserve Your Own Light. Delight in song and laughter, in beauty and art. If you allow the light to die in your own heart, you can't preserve it in the world.

Faelyn sat alone atop a tree stump. Resting in a small clearing not far from home. A cloudy spring day, though no rain. Her heart heavy with grief. In her hands she held a lyre. Her mother’s lyre. Now hers. 

She’d known this day was coming. Every passing year, her mother had grown older. Slower. Weaker. Succumbing to age, while Faelyn and her father seemed almost frozen in time. Faelyn knew of course, that she wouldn’t live as long as a full blooded elf. How many years until this happened to her? Would her father have to watch the same thing happen, as he went on to live centuries more?

 Faelyn plucked at the strings gently. The instrument clumsy in her hands. The last few years had been hard. But even knowing this would happen, she still felt a gaping hole in her heart. A pain that wouldn’t cease.

 Looking down at the lyre, Faelyn remembered the songs her mother would play. How full of life she’d once been.That energy, the plucky spirit her father had fallen for. She began to play. One of her mother’s old songs. She couldn’t seem to get it just right. Her fingers a little too slow. Not always hitting quite the right note. But she kept on playing. Like the old rituals of the Elders, names long forgotten to the passing of time, it didn’t matter if her memory was perfect. Only that she remembered.

 And she did remember. She remembered all the times her mother had helped her pick herself up after falling. Words of encouragement when things seemed too difficult. How fierce she’d been in battle. How gentle she’d been tending to Faelyn when she was ill. How she’d never doubted her. Faelyn remembered the music, song and dance. The times the three of them had been together. That however fleeting that time had been, they’d been happy.

 She remembered that joy as she played. Singing softly in elvish. She would always miss her mother. And it was no sin to grieve. But she’d been left with so much more than sorrow. She had been so much more than a sickly old woman, unable to rise out of bed on her own. And Faelyn would remember her strength. Her courage. Her joy. And they would always be a part of her too.

Be the Light. Be a glorious beacon for all who live in despair. Let the light of your joy and courage shine forth in all your deeds.

There is a strength in joy. In hope. In refusing to yield to evil. To many, we Agorasar are nothing more than thieves and terrorists. To the Recalli, we are fools, fighting for a lost cause. But we are all, each of us, a part of this world. To hide away from the world, to isolate one’s selves and close off your hearts to others, that is folly.

 We will resist. We will not yield. Not to the will of Titania, and not to the cynical cowardice of the Recalli. Though at times the road ahead seems long and hopeless, we will not give in to despair. We will not surrender our freedom, nor the simple joys of life that give us strength.

 We will fight, resist, and hold onto our ways. And one day, be it tomorrow or generations from now, we will be victorious. Theor and the Feywild will be free once again. In our perseverance, we will be a beacon to light the way.

 Far too many have forgotten what Titania has taken from her people. But we will not forget. However long it may take, we will not let go of our light.

[mechamal]

Weight

I cast an illusion to make a chess board on the ground. Not a normal set, but mimicking the pieces after others. Allies. Enemies. Wild cards. The world would be so much simpler if it were like chess. Chess if air. Your wits against another, on an even playing field. But real life is seldom so generous. In reality the board isn't so nearly organized. Nobody waiting to take turns. Real life is unpredictable and full of surprises. You have to try and think ahead of your enemies, wile also reacting to unexpected developments. And sometimes, you have to do so with less resources.

I feel tired. I wonder how I ended up in charge here. When I set out from Ableton, I planned to quietly gather information on my enemies and start putting plans into motion. Moving quietly, unseen. Now I've adopted a daughter from another world. Become the leader of a band of adventurers with an actual reputation now. We've attracted the attention of more than one powerful entity that wants to use os for their own ends. One of which intends to eventually brainwash and enslave us, like the Diamonds and the Hopebringers before us.

Every action I take has consequences. How do I tell when my concerns are justified and when I'm simply being paranoid? Do I trust this potential ally and risk them having ulterior motives, or do I turn them away and potentially waste an asset? How do I avoid becoming a pawn without pissing off powerful beings who want to make use of me? How do I know when my Sirens can handle something, or when I'm leading us into another Muted scenario? I move this piece here, and five different things could happen. Everything becomes a tangled web of stress and doubt.

And every good thing in my life comes with strings attached. I love Bekah, but I worry about her. She deserves a better life than this, but the only way I can keep her safe from my enemies is to have her near. Despite knowing better than to get attached, I'm falling for Remilda. But even knowing she isn't Written, she is in a very dangerous position, and one where we can't simply be together. It's a little annoying seeing Dawnda and Simon being so saccharinely awkward around eachother, Lucy and Vixen obviously feeling something for eachother but not seeming to take that step. They waste so much time being cute and awkward, when I wish I could just have fifteen minutes to sit down and have an open conversation with Remilda. I know it's petty to be angry about that. But I feel it all the same.

And how long can I even hold the Sirens together? The first thread is starting to fray with Vixen, who wants to reach the City of Glass as soon as possible. Will I be able to convince her that taking the time to deal with Peter is the right move before we do that? How long until something else comes up? Until Xeta decides she wants to return to Duskiva. Will Lucy return to the Order after we deal with Peter? Will Dawnda be called back to Gipherus? How long until conflicts of interest arise and start to pry us apart? How long until I'm left alone again, forced to start over and build anew? I'm supposed to be the Captain, but I don't feel in control.

I find myself yearning for the old days, when it was just me and Gardenia. Her infectious confidence served as a counter weight to my paranoia. Just the two of us, no children to fret over, no team to manage. But I know in some ways that was always a lie. Things weren't simple. Gardenia struggling with the Schism. Struggling to keep up payments to the Jade Boa. Always working to cover our tracks. It just seemed like a good life at the time because of how bad things were for me before Gardenia. It's easy for me to think of those as halcyon days, but they were hard. I struggled so much to keep up with her. My paranoia was always there. Gardenia was distant. And for her, things were bad enough she was willing to leave me behind and join the Black Sun to claim a better life.

I wonder if this will be the rest of my life. Fighting. I don't really have the option to retire. I have too many enemies, persistent enemies, and even if I somehow wage a bloody war, defeat the Fleran invaders, kill the Author and free haven, take down the Jade Boa, the stronger we become the more powerful people want to take us down or have us work for them. Does it ever end? Or does it all just keep spiraling until the end?

[mechamal]

Confrontation

There she was. Nyr wasn't sure how someone so ostentatious could be so hard to find. Clad in a bright red coat and hat, with a glittering Ruby Carbuncle at her heels. Wrapped up jotting down notes in her tome. Alice the Red. Sitting on a tree stump in the Black Shroud near a river.

"Storyteller. Time for us to have a little chat." Nyr said, drawing close. Clad in one of her usual violet gowns, chakrams at her sides.

"Oh, hello Nyr!" She said, flashing a grin. Teagan reminded her of Alice in some ways. Blonde hair, bright personality. And both were often smarter than people gave them credit for. But where as Teagan simply lacked certain world experiences because of her upbringing, Alice hid a shrewd cunning and calculating mind behind a mask of madness. Nyr wasn't sure if even Alice knew how much of it was feigned to throw people off balance and how much was genuine. Where Teagan's warmth was genuine, with Alice it was all theatrics.

When Nyr had been...unhinged and dangerous, it was Alice who masterminded her downfall. Providing the 'heroes' who fought her with the tools to strip away her aether use. Sparing Nyr from the need to be put down. And from the slow death her own power had been putting her through. To what ends, if it was because Alice had taken a liking to her, some hidden scheme, or simply because she thought it would be a better story than Nyr dying, she couldn't be sure.

"So, the humbled antagonist has come seeking my counsel?" Alice asked. Not even looking up from her book. The carbuncle however had positioned itself between Nyr and Alice like a guard dog. Blank, beady eyes staring up at her. Nyr knew better than to underestimate that thing. "Or perhaps, she's come to seek retribution for her downfall?"

"I want my aether back." Nyr said bluntly, getting to the point. "It was the lalafel that cast the ritual, but you're the one that conveniently left the tome around for him to use. So you're going to tell me where I can find a way to undo it."

"Am I?" Alice glanced at Nyr in the corner of her eye, but didn't turn her head. "You know from over here, that almost sounded like a threat. If you want to ask someone a favor, you really ought to be more polite. A little more...humble. Oh, perhaps if you got on your knees and begged that would be a suitably dramatic show of contrition?"

Nyr grabbed her chakrams, stepping closer. "Listen here you little shit, you're going to-"

Alice raised a hand and snapped her finger. Runes along her glove and tone glowing briefly as a series of small bursts of aether exploded around Nyr in a ring, throwing her off balance. The Carbuncle leaped, striking her chest with surprising force, shoving Nyr onto the ground, its soulless eyes up close and in her face now. "Get this thing off of me or I'm going to get mad."

Alice didn't look up from her book. "And so the fallen villain has failed to learn her lesson! But the story's not over yet." Alice said, leaping up to her feet. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet! But what is penance without sacrifice? Redemption without growth? You'll find what you're after within the ruins of the Sharlyan Colony in the Hinterlands. I've already prepared the stage for you. If you want your happily ever after...well you're going to need to earn it! Oh this is going to be grand, do be sure to bring along a troupe of your own when you go. Every starring lady needs a few supporting characters, hmm?"

Alice began to walk away. Only when Alice was a good ways away did it leap from Nyr's prone body and trot to catch up with its master.

Nyr slowly picked herself up, not sure what to make of all of this. What kind of game was Alice playing here? Had she already known Nyr was looking for her? Nyr wished she'd brought some backup with her, to pin the annoying little arcanist down and force some straight answers from her.

At least she had something to go on now. But what the hell was waiting for her in the Hinterlands?

[mechamal]

Eyes

Nyr had expected Teagan to be angry with her. Anger she could have handled better. But something about her almost resigned disappointment cut deeper than angry words or a well deserved punch to the face would have.  

It was almost familiar. And yet, unlike her mother, unlike her sister, even though she'd screwed up, she wasn't being pushed away. People were still trying to help her. Nyr hadn't been able to open up with Clover the same way she'd talked to Teagan, but even with how much of a little shit she'd been, they still wanted to help her.

She'd put Teagan on the spot, lied to her. She should probably do something about that. What did Teagan like? Animals? Deserts? She could try and cook something maybe. Nyr's own cooking didn't really dabble into deserts or pastries, but how hard could it be? Cooking and alchemy were basically the same thing with different goals, she could probably even just bake something in her alchemy furnace...

Nyr pulled away her mask. There was an annoying....build up of condensation on the inside of the lenses. She started to wipe away the moisture from her eyes.

Nyr paused.

Eyes. Both of her eyes?

What?

For a moment, she could almost swear she felt a sense of warmth in her bad eye. Excusing herself from the Covenant house, she made her way down to the Goblet pool, leaning down close to the water.

[mechamal]

Rift

After arriving in Gyr Abania, Nyr set out on her little quest. Rin wasn't ultimately hard to find.

Years ago, she'd taken to studying garlean magitek. And eventually, using a combination of repurposed scrap and custom made parts, had made her own vehicle that stood out amidst the chocobos and more traditional transportation most people used in the mountains.

It was ultimately pretty easy to track her down to her little workshop in the Peaks. Nyr adjusted her mask, covering the upper half of her face, with a pair of lenses that hid her eyes from the outside. Wearing a black outfit with a bit of a cape, chakrams at her side. She strode into the workshop. And there she was. Rin.

About the same age as Nyr, with fiery red hair tied back in a ponytail as she worked. Hearing someone approach, she turned to see Nyr. Her face instantly hardening.

For a long moment, they stared at one another. Neither speaking. Neither moving.

Nyr eventually broke the silence. "Well. I'm here."

"Get lost." Rin said, turning back to her work. "Whatever you're here for, you're wasting your time. I'm done. Go."

"Oh don't play dumb." Nyr said. "You've been stalking me on and off for months. I've seen you following me around. The Lavender Beds, the Mist. Catching you in the corner of my eye. You wanted me dead. When you and all those assholes showed up to confront me, you were one of the ones that wanted to put me down. So don't act like you haven't been looking for a chance to try it. So let's just settle this." Nyr gripped her chakrams tightly.

"You're delusional. You were always delusional. I guess getting your ass kicked and your power stripped didn't change anything." Rin said. "I haven't been following you. I don't know what you're going on about. I've been here. Are you still so self obsessed you think I couldn't move past you? Yeah, I was one of the ones voting to just kill you. We had no idea if t hat little ritual was going to work, all to what? Spare a murderer's life?"

"No." Nyr said, pointing at Rin, stepping closer. "You have been following me. You want me gone. You haven't forgotten, what I've done, how I killed mother, you of all people, couldn't have just-"

Rin whipped around, stepping up into Nyr's face. "Shut the hell up. What did you even come here for? What, to fight me? Or were you hoping I'd strike you down? Punish you for all that you've done and free you from your guilt? No. I don't care anymore. I just want you out of my life. If you're too torn up over what you've done to keep going, then do the deed yourself. There's plenty of cliffs around here, go find one and jump. I'm not going to be your easy way out. I'm done with your buillshit. I'm done with you. Get. Out. And don't come back."

Nyr was silent for a long moment. Those black lenses staring back at Rin. "Okay. Yeah. fine." She said at last. Turning around and walking out of the shop. As she reached the door, Nyr turned back one last time. Rin didn't. Focusing on her work. As if nothing had happened.

Nyr left.

[mechamal]

Lies

Nyr sat in the Covenant hall, half listening to the conversations of the others. face hidden behind the dark lenses of her mask.

Was she going to do this? Already Nyr felt herself growing indecisive. But if she hesitated now, when would she do it? Nyr had been putting this offf for months. Finding excuses. No, she couldn't do it now, she had to make progress in her dancer training first. No, she had to help the Covenant or Owls with this upcoming mission first. No, she had to fill these orders first. No, she had to take care of Fang, and Twelve know Danica isn't reliable enough for the job.

She was just putting it off. Being a coward. It was time. Nyr knew all she had to do was ask Teagan to watch Fang and feed the fish. And then she could be off. She knew that every moment she hesitated to get started, the more likely she'd lose her nerve and not go at all.

So she asked Teagan to watch Fang. Feeling a bit guilty about how abrupt this all was. Teagan was kind and trusting, but not stupid. She'd know something was off. But she'd do it. She liked animals. She was generally happy to help out. A little too happy sometimes, and Nyr felt guilty taking advantage of that and thrusting this on her. But Nyr didn't trust many people, and the others Nyr did trust might ask too many questions.

She didn't like lying to Teagan either. Giving her assurances that she'd have her pearls on her, knowing she'd left them in her room and wouldn't be going back for them. That she didn't know if she'd be coming back from this in one piece or not.If she didn’t...well Danica could do whatever she wanted with the shop, and Teagan would take care of the animals. 

She might be back in a couple days. Or a couple weeks. Or not at all. That wasn't really up to her. Nyr was done running, done hiding, done waiting for the hammer to come crashing down. Done with the uncertainty. If it was going to come down, let it come down on her terms.

Nyr made her way through the Goblet into Ul'dah proper. Toward the airship landing. She was on the next airship to Gyr Abania, looking out at the night sky.

"I'm coming Rin. Let's get this over with."

[mechamal]

Worth

Life is so unfair.

Every day in this city, I see people wasting away. People have lived years, decades in this hellhole of  a city. Scraping by.

How can they do so little with what they have? How can they just...waste all these years? Does nobody else feel time ticking away? Why don't they go anywhere, do something worthwhile?

Or do I only care, because I have so little left? A year. Maybe two, before the Soul Rot gets worse?

I know I have to go back eventually. I have to become one with her again. The other me. I can't stand her. She's arrogant, condescending, self righteous. Everything handed to her on a silver platter. Born with unrivaled potential, unearned power and so entitled.

A little magical experiment gone wrong. She wanted to purge the parts of herself she didn't like. But she cast out more than she intended. A part of her soul. Me. And now, overtime, our incomplete souls will start to degrade.

I know I have to go back. I'll damn us both if I don't. but I'm not ready. I'm not her. I'm me. I don't like her, any more than she likes me. Eventually, both of us will start to degrade without each other. Pain. Madness. And ultimately, unraveling entirely.

But it doesn't have to be now. However brief my life is, I want to see the world. Experience things on my own. I want to have friends. I want to help people. I want...when it's over...I want to have mattered. To someone. I want my life to have meant something, to not just be an accident swept under the rug.

Is that too much to ask? To have someone miss me when I'm gone? To have them say 'yeah, you mattered to me. You made a difference.' Is that worth being hunted down? Having to run from town to town? Would it be better to just turn myself in, and admit that in the end, I don't matter? That I never did, never could? Just a splinter of a greater whole, desperately trying to justify its own life?

All I can do is try my best with what time I have. I wonder sometimes if it's even worth trying. But what the hell. I can keep going a little longer. Whatever happens in the end, whatever people remember about me, i won't let them say Nyr was a coward.