I am not a fan of making numerous babies because I see little benefit of having that many heirs. I prefer to delay that converting village after village and focus on Fellshore for some time. That converting of pesky villagers is just boring and I WANT TO DO DEMONIC STUFF
Now when Fellshore training is almost ready it is time for one final lesson of using gained skills in actual combat. Lead your small loyal army to the closest village and slaughter everyone resisting. Use your Brutewolves, Smokewraiths and Spectres to ensure that no one will run away to tell the story...
Captured villagers should be brought to Fellshore. Then throw a large hedonistic feast were surviving inhabitants of the village will be tortured and\or used for physical pleasures of the cultist and then sacrificed one by one while their children will be consumed by Nokluvgn
At the end of the party use generated evil to:
Impregnate Kate with a strong half-demonic child. Be sure to do that while the whole local cult watches and chants
Send a mental call to the creature in the lake trying to communicate with it
Summon a bunch of black imps that know how to mine, construct proper walls and set up traps. This version of imps should prefer booze to human flesh.
And last but not least: raise various undead from the Fellshore cemetery
We are simply strong enough to do stuff like this. Next turn, with cult being merged, we can start doing province wide plans and converting , but now lets give some love to our first cultists and BE A DEMON
The inhabitants of Lesp are awoken one night by the sound of singing. They stumble out of their homes, listening to the song that seems to be coming from all around the village. They can barely make out the words, but what little they hear sends shivers down their spine. The haunting melody speaks of a being named Nokluvgn, praising his name and extolling his virtues- or rather, his vices. Concerned, the villagers gather together in front of the village hall, peering out into the darkness. Then torches appear in the gloom, revealing the village to be surrounded by dozens of people, who advance steadily towards the villagers, still singing the praises of Nokluvgn.
Concerned, half the villagers grab what they can to arm themselves and encircle the rest, who cower in fear before the approaching lurkers. Then a torch is thrown onto the roof of the village hall, which quickly catches fire. As the villagers attention is divided between them and the burning building, the oncomers charge. The defenders put up a desperate struggle, but the attackers are armed and trained, and they stand no chance of beating them. The best they can hope for is to hold them off for long enough for the rest of the village to escape.
Even before the first blows fall, nine villagers decide they prefer being in a burning building to facing an unknown threat, and barricade themselves inside the town hall. The majority make a break for it, dodging between the combatants and running for the woods. Here they are met by a possibly worse fate, as monstrous wolves hurl themselves at the fleeing villagers, ripping them apart with unnatural strength, running them down as they try to flee. Many fall, but eleven survive, escaping the jaws of the wolves, who are after all few in number. Of these survivors, two find themselves assaulted by clouds of smoke that manifest claws and flay the skin from their living bodies, and one accosted by dark spirits who drive him back into the waiting jaws of the wolf-beasts, but eight survive. These lucky, if traumatised few manage to reach the road, and run through the night until they reach a neighbouring village, where they are given shelter.
Meanwhile, the battle goes poorly for the defenders. In rapid succession they fall, pushed back towards the towering inferno that was the heart of the village, managing only superficial blows against their armoured attackers. Blood soaks the soil, the stench of death fills the air, and the cackling cultists wade through it with glee, swinging their swords and axes, lopping off limbs and smashing skulls. Soon the defenders are reduced to but a handful, dozens dead, in exchange for only four of the attackers. Their attackers swap swords for whips, beating the last vestiges of resistance out of them before tying them up, laying their helpless forms on the ground between the corpses of their comrades. They can only watch as the cultists round up their unarmed friends, the crack of whips and screams of pain echoing through the night.
As dawn breaks, you survey the wreckage. Twenty-four villagers have been captured. Of the nine who hid in the village hall, all but one perished in the flames, and that one survivor is a complete wreck, their skin blackened and burnt. She puts up no resistance at all as your cultists drag her out of the ruins and put her with the others, staring blankly at the devastation of her home. Four of your cultists were injured; one of which succumbed to their injuries. Unfortunately, eight villagers managed to slip through the net and escape; word of your actions will spread.
The twenty-five captives are taken back to Fellshore, where preparations for the feast are already under way. Food and drink has been delivered from Nuulyd, the musically talented villagers are practising a delightful little ditty praising your name, and four pyres have been constructed, awaiting victims.
At midday, you officially begin the feast by biting the heads off of two of the captives and letting their decapitated corpses spray blood over the assembled crowd, who delightedly take said blood and paint their faces with it, before starting festivities. Captives are whipped until their skin falls off, their cries of pain harmonising wonderfully with the music. Others are paraded around naked before cheering cultists, attempting fruitlessly to cover themselves with their hands, before their captors leap all over them. Yet further captives are piled up as a throne for you to recline upon, whilst you feast upon the children, the wailing of their parents the perfect garnish to a most delicious meal. Meanwhile, the cultists gorge themselves over food the likes of which they have never seen before. Exotic spices, mountains of meat, cakes and sweets of a dozen varieties, each item is something these simple villagers would not have had the chance to eat frequently, if at all- and now there are tables upon tables of them, more than they could possibly eat. They take delight in throwing food on the ground and 'letting' the captives eat it, whilst they pour sweet wine down their throats and over their bodies, before licking it off of each other's skin.
Within an hour the air is ripe with suffering and pleasure in equal measure, and the party is only just getting started. The music picks up pace, the cultists redouble their efforts to extract screams from their exhausted victims, and all pretences of restraint are abandoned as the feasters satisfy their carnal desires on top of the food-laden tables, others reaching around their writhing forms to grab yet another morsel to stuff down their bloated gullet. Fights break out over access to this piece of food, that jug of wine, or those women's bosoms.
As the sun grows low in the sky, a smokewraith approaches with the unfortunate news that a traveller is approaching the village. There is clearly no way of disguising this as normal, so you order the smokewraith to just kill them.
As night falls, those few captives who are still conscious and of sound mind are tied to the stakes, and whilst they beg most beautifully for their lives, the cultists light the pyres beneath them. The distinct smell of human flesh cooking fills the air as the victims scream, still begging for mercy, or at least a quick death. But the pyres are well made; green wood burns slow and cold, ensuring that their suffering is extended for as long as possible. Lit by these lights of agony, you bring the feast to its conclusion. You summon your Wordbearer Kate, who comes before you wearing a dress tailored for this specific occasion; a piece of midnight-black fabric that accentuates her every curve, covering just enough to make what is not revealed seem all the more enticing, it makes most of the male cultists (and a few female ones) quite uncomfortable in the groinal region. As the runes on her skin begin to glow in the presence of the Evil-saturated air, you descend from your throne of broken captives and take her by the hand. As the band begins to play, you lead her through a dance that traces out an eldritch pattern on the ground, whilst the cultists stand around you in a circle chanting. The music reaches its crescendo, and you pull her in to your embrace, ripping her undoubtedly priceless dress into tatters, and kiss her. She writhes in ecstasy, begging for you to make her your vessel. You graciously oblige, causing her to cry out in indescribable pleasure, as you lay her on the ground and bring her to twisted paradise. The cultists lean in, chanting ever faster, matching your rhythm, their heretical words mingling with her cries of delight. The victims on the pyres scream one last time before breathing their last, and with that you finish the obscene ritual, Kate giving one final cry before falling into a deep, blissful sleep.
As Kate is taken away by a trio of women, you command your cultists clean up the village, whilst you stride forth to the edge of the lake. A crescent moon is reflected off of the still waters, revealing nothing of the depths below, but you can sense them- and feel the faintest traces of that which you are looking for. Gathering the Evil that saturates the air over the village, you direct it into a pulse that pierces through the frigid water, echoing off the unseen lake floor. For almost ten minutes you stand there, waiting, before you finally feel a faint response, a similar pulse of evil, emanating from the black deeps. A spectre appears, and before you can stop it-
Ancient, forgotten beasts of old
Still slumber in that frigid deep
Their days no more, their tales untold
No longer make they mortals weep
But now their time is here again
They yearn to rise above the waves
For Demon's call now summons them
To drag the living to their graves
The spectre dodges your attempted reprisal.
Using the remaining Evil energy, you summon a trio of Black Imps. The creatures regard you solemnly, before concluding that you are, quote, "Hidden Fun Stuff". They subsequently set off to find a misplaced sock, get adopted by a cat, and try to figure out a use for soap. It must have some use, for why else are there so many soapmakers?
Finally, you raise the dead from the cemetery. A dozen skeletons and spectres arise at your call, ready to serve.
Well. That was quite a busy week. Your power has also increased to the point that you cannot stop the Evil from leaking out, tainting the land around you. The leakage is not significant at the moment, but the stronger you get, the more leakage there will be. This will also make it nearly impossible to disguise yourself from those with the talent to detect evil.
You also had some plans for a forest, but that will have to wait until next week. Next week for sure, though. Definitely. Yes. Next week you shall
-Do the forest thing
-Do the forest thing
-
Not do the forest thing-Do the forest thing but differently
...yes. Aaaanyway, your cults have been merged. Hooray! Now give them some new orders.
Also, I forgot last update to move Malkus Rom to your champions list; this has now been done.
Also also, "Trained cultist" is a bit generic, maybe come up with a better name for them?
Also also also, describe what kind of creature your offspring will be. As in the original Demonhood, the levels of human/demon in the child are unknown, but you can describe what sort of things you want to see, and the result will be some variation of that. For example, in the original Demonhood, players opted for a fire-affinity/motherly sort, which could have resulted in anything from a fire-elemental brood mother to an almost ordinary girl with red hair and a slight fever. It landed somewhere in the middle in that case, but it need not necessarily do the same this time.
Name: Nokluvgn
Age: 6.5 months
Physical might: 58 (+3: province-wide suffering (continuous))(+10: Death & Destruction)(+4: Omnomnomnomnom)(-3: raising the dead) (-1: Leakage)
Mental might: 56 (+3: province-wide suffering (continuous))(+10: Death & Destruction)(+2: Omnomnomnomnom)(+4: Torture)(-3: raising the dead) (-1: Leakage)
Followers:136 (100 cultists, 29 trained cultists (armed), 3 Wordbearers, 3 knights (heavily armed), 1 Duke)
Slaves: 12 (4 priests, 1 high priest, 7 guards (armed))
Servants: 39 (4 Brutewolves, two Smokewraiths, 15 spectres, 3 giant-rat-packs, 3 black imps, 12 skeletons)
Cults: The New Way: Low organization. 136 members (100 cultists, 29 trained cultists (armed), 3 Wordbearers, 3 knights (heavily armed), 1 Duke)
Slaves: 12 (4 priests, 1 high priest, 7 guards (armed))
Power level: 24 (16 used)
Of which: 5 spent building wall at Fellshore, 3 spent training, 2 spent recruiting new cultists, 6 spent arming cultists (discount rate)
Secrecy estimate: Good.
Resources: 1028 (+40 p/week: Duke's income)(-62: arming cultists (increased cost))(-2: building wall in Fellshore)(-10: Fellshore feast)
Locations: Fellshore: 76 members
Nuulyd: 44 members. Merchant connections.
Castle Brylib: 14 members. Court connections.
Other: By using their courier network, all three branches of the cult are able to communicate and work together. The cult can now operate throughout the province of Fözdoch.
Training of 30 cultists into trained cultists is completed at Fellshore. By paying an exorbitant amount they are able to get a rushed order of weaponry to Fellshore to arm them.
Champions: Mischa Alwiz: The Duke's 'loyal' companion, now corrupted by the allure of evil.
Physical Might: 1
Mental Might: 7 (+1: increased Necromancy skill)
Knowledge: Magic, adequate Necromancy.
Possessions: Grey imp (knowledge of human & demonic magic, disguised as a crow)
Other: Her weeks of study finally pay off, and she finally masters the art of raising the recently deceased. Though her method is somewhat cobbled together, she is capable of creating zombies at will now.
Malkus Rom: The captain of the mercenaries in the Duke's employ, he proved an especially eager convert, requiring only the most minor of rewards before pledging his loyalty to you.
Physical Might: 9 (+2: Devil-horse)
Mental Might: 2
Knowledge: Competent Tactics.
Possessions: Devil-horse (A huge black horse with demonic strength and intellect; +2 physical strength, greatly increased mobility)
Other: Begins to select suitable cultists to be 'recruited' into the army.
"Kate": A female Wordbearer, trained in combat and provided with arms and armour, now the vessel for your demonic offspring.
Physical Might: 6
Mental Might: 3
Knowledge: Basic Mesmerism.
Other: 0/9(?) months pregnant.
Fortresses: Fellshore: A small fishing village nestled between a small lake and a forest (with mountains not so far in the distance), now undermined with many tunnels and chambers forming a twisted maze, lit with smoky torches, where the shadows form strange shapes in the corner of your eyes.
Smallish labyrinth (10, increases secrecy)(10 denotes the defensive strength of the structure), Crude wall (under construction 20/100)
Small (hidden) altar: A suitable place to sacrifice to you and praise your dark name.
Author
Topic: Demonhood 2 -Number of giant minions lost: between 0 and 3- (Read 143927 times)