When you request surrender from the kings direct subordinates, there is much less complaint. They fall down before you and beg mercy- as do most of the survivors. The wanderers and elder wizards mount a token resistance; you
-Send them to the CFM to be tortured.
You then turn to the surrendering forces. Of the nobility, you
-Accept their fealty; allow them to 'rule' their former lands as your puppets.
Of the common soldiers, you
-Accept their fealty; add them to your armies
You learn that whilst most of the army marched here, a small garrison was sent to every town in the kingdom to bolster the local militia. If their 'rightful' lords return to the towns, they would probably surrender easily; otherwise, you will have to send forces to conquer/convince them to join. You will deal with the remaining towns by
-Leaving them in the hands of their 'lords' (requires not killing all the nobles).
Dolnar specifically will not surrender easily at all. Though much of the garrison joined with the army, those that remained had permission to arm the peasantry if things went poorly, and the city is well prepared for a siege. Even if you capture the town, you would be dealing with resistances and uprisings for months, if not years. So
-Kill them all. Let the Barr run red with blood, and none but the dead stalk the streets of Dolnar-on-Barr.
As an aside, you need to do something about the Titaneghoul again. You should
-Leave it in the keep. Reinforce the walls with a little magic, and it'll provide an excellent Titaneghoul playhouse.
Whilst you're at it, maybe you should do some work on the kingdom, now that it is all but yours. For example, you could
-Work on corrupting the land in general; continue corrupting the Barr, but also spread Akatrees and fill the soil with evil.
Also: we should develop some kind of totem monoliths to be placed across the land, with these, we can use them as conduits to increase the flow of power from prayers, gathering magic and etc. it also means we can move evil around at our leisure from their natural sources and we can deposit some of our own power into the system if we need to store it somewere temporarily -ie if we need to take human form without killing everything in our presence from the magic pouring from everywere-
we should reward our champion with more mental strength say +3 and more physical +3.
You have every noble come before you personally, and bask in your presence as they swear fealty to you- corrupting their minds and bodies, ensuring their everlasting loyalty.
The rest of the soldiers, once extracted from the keep by way of a series of makeshift wooden stairs (whilst the Titaneghoul is distracted by a few soldiers that fell through a hole in the floor), all stand in neat rows and swear fealty before you. It isn't quite the personal treatment the nobles got- the strong-willed amongst them might yet turn against you... but you don't care. At all. What are a few mortals rebelling, when you have all these willing to serve?
The nobles, with a small contingent of soldiers each, head for their various holdings, to rededicate them in your name. Meanwhile, you take the remaining soldiers, and your own army, and march for Dolnar.
Boat-of-Garten capitulates once they see royal forces marching under demonic banner, their own lord now 'proudly' bearing your insignia. Some flee downriver for Dolnar; hangers-on of the army and royalists, who for ethical reasons refuse to bow down to a demon. These are killed or captured by your warriors.
The people of Aviemore stage a rebellion against their homecoming lord; they shut the gates on him and man the walls with makeshift weapons. Nagaronian smugglers supply the town with supplies and weaponry in secret, hoping to bribe them into joining their kingdom- but the citizens of Aviemore are not interested. Eventually the smugglers stop supplying the rebels- but still the siege continues. The Lord of Aviemore humbly requests a small contingent of demonic warriors with which to restore order amongst the self-righteous peasantry.
Aonogake and Rothes do their lords bidding, and join your kingdom without complaint.
In the winding, hilly road that leads to the town of Nairn, several soldiers who 'swore fealty' to you turn on their master, together with bands of locals. The Lord of Nairn is slain in a treacherous ambush, and the hills ring out with guerilla cries, as the people of Nairn break out the war-paints and battlescythes of yore, and lurk in hills and forests, ready to strike down any man or beast who would claim their lands for a demon.
Culloden, of course, is not particularly receptive to news of surrender. Their Lord tries to reason with them- but they are adamant; they will not join a demonic cause. They beat him once, they say, they will do so again.
Their lord returns to you, and offers to personally lead a force against Culloden to kill all who would defy you. Including his own family.
During your march to Dolnar, your army marches along the riverbanks- whilst you yourself stride through the river, tainting the waters around you black, scaring the fish, and cursing the stones. At places of power you have your followers erect totems in your honour; your form crudely carved and painted onto burnt wood, set amidst a pile of dead bodies; channelling Evil and pouring it into the ground, slowly corrupting the area around it, and all who dwell there.
...Wait, what am I doing?
Writing a forum game about demons?
Man, fuck this noise.
You know what I have always wanted to do?
Write a forum game about being a pretty princess.
You know what?
That's what I'm gonna do. Forget all that Crinkle Yearvent stuff.
This is no longer DEMONHOOD. This is now YOU ARE A PRETTY PRINCESS.
You are a pretty princess. Your name is Elizabeth- Eliza to your friends.
...
So, just Elizabeth then.
As your father's only child, you have been as well trained in the arts of sword and horse as you have those of beauty and grace; though your training in statecraft and diplomacy surpasses both.
You stand at a turning point in your life. In a few short weeks, your father will return from campaign, and then you will celebrate your birthday; be given land and title, and in short order married off to one of your many suitors.
You are of thick royal blood. Your father, King Malcolm, comes from an unbroken line of kings who have ruled Barrtal for centuries. Your mother, Queen Catherine, is the sister of the King of Drakenval- an equally prestigious bloodline. And, crucially, the King of Drakenval has no sons or daughters, though he has had three wives; and as he ages, many wonder to whom the crown will pass if he dies. The rules of succession are complex- but certainly, any husband of yours would have a claim to the throne- whether he received it or not.
Your mother is quite adamant that you should marry William- a nobleman from Drakenval who also has an, admittedly tenuous, claim to the throne. But together, you would have by far the strongest claim- and the king would have almost no choice but to appoint you his successors. And then you- and you alone, for William, for all his virtues, prefers the jousting field to the court- would wield the political and economic might of two of the flagship nations of the Eastern Confederacy. The things you could do with that power...
Your father, on the other hand, would rather you marry Reynold, the third son of the current king of Nagaron. Nagaron and Barrtal have had a tumultuous relationship in the past- even now, rumours of war are brewing, and Nagaronian spies have been spotted lurking around the border town of Aviemore. By marrying a prince of Nagaron- albeit not the crown prince- your father hopes to once and for all end the hostilities, and bring about a new age of peace and prosperity. Certainly the age would be prosperous- Nagaron is rich, and would pay a mighty dowry if you were to wed Reynold- you would live in the lap of luxury, wearing clothes made of fine silks, eating food garnished with the finest spices- all imported at generous tax rates from the port of Barrsmouth.
However, neither of those suitors- though charming, well bred, and accompanied by political and economic bonuses- truly make your heart flutter. Only Jonathan -a minor nobleman from Eirshore, whose voice is like honeyed wine and whose hands so gently hold yours- can make you feel like a person, with feelings and...
desires, rather than an pawn of politics and money. You suppose he would make a competent king, and a kind husband- but you have not put too much thought into this, for merely thinking of him sends shivers down your spine and makes it very hard to concentrate on proper matters. Though few would approve of your union, you are all but certain that you could employ your skills of diplomacy to win your parents around- you are not spoiled, but when you truly want something, you know how to get it.
So, Eliza, who's it going to be? You should probably make up your mind now, so you have time to think of how to convince your mother and father to support your choice.
It is a hard decisions, but eventually you choose
-William, the personal political power.
-Reynold, for peace and prosperity.
-Jonathan, for pleasing perverted princesses.
-That hideous thing by the window oh my gods what on earth is that oh help its knocking on the window where's my crossbow shit shit GUARDS GUARDS where did I leave that fucking crossbow Slask's Breath I should keep my things more organised oh here it is now where are my oh no oh no it's broken the glass where are those god-damned guards GUARDS HELP
The thing -a nigh-skeletal man with blotched skin, adorned with the wings of a bat (the bat in question must have been similarly emaciated, and presumably half-decayed), wearing tattered black robes and surrounded by a
glowing darkness- shatters your windows (priceless stained glass imported all the way from the Grey Mountains) and hops into your room, making a strange noise which must be either what passes for laughter from its twisted maw, or an attempt to dislodge a hairball. Either way, it disgusts you.
It stalks towards you, bony feet crunching through the shards of glass, smearing the fine woollen carpet with dark blue ichor.
You level your crossbow- loaded with a silver-tipped bolt- at the monster, and warn it in no uncertain terms that you have killed before and you will kill again.
The beast looks startled- startled at your hostility. It stops laughing (or gives up on the hairball), and starts a sort of pathetic panting which makes the laughter seem pleasant in comparison. Only when you notice a slight shimmer upon its hideous eyes- bloodshot orbs that protrude hideously from its dried-out face- do you realise that the sound must be its attempts to cry. Despite the nature of the beast before you, you cannot help yourself from feeling some measure of empathy- as if you recognise this creature.
Who are you?, you ask, slightly lowering the crossbow (though keeping your finger on the trigger).
The creature looks at you -not with tear filled eyes, for it has not enough moisture in its body to do so, but at least with tear-containing eyes, and streaks down its face- not of moisture, but of an absence of dryness-- and sadly taps the object upon its head with a bony claw.
You had not paid much attention to it before, assuming it some part of the creature's horrid costume- but now you recognise it. Tarnished and scratched, it still sparks memories- of riding through the forest, laughing; of swinging wooden swords, and being allowed to win; of sitting upon his lap as he pores over tax documentation, young eyes loving if not comprehending the rows of names and numbers; of sitting together on the roof, legs dangling over empty space, as worried guards run about below, begging you be careful, whilst you cheerfully eat ripe pears, throwing cores at the frantic guards below, laughing and cheering whenever one strikes a guard's face.
None but your father may wear that crown. It is enchanted such that only the rightful heir of the throne may wield it. A thousand dark sorcerers could not break the enchantments that hold it from gracing a pretender's brow.
You lower your crossbow. You reach out a hand and touch your father's face. Like old parchment. Where your hand touches, dark smoke begins to rise, and the beast cringes in pain; backs away. Cursed to never feel a loving touch again; cursed to forever darken the night and strike down the innocent with a malicious joy. Your father has returned from campaign; he returns defeated.
Guards burst into your room- several minutes late. The beast spins round, and, laughing once more, strikes them down with dark lightning which causes them to spasm wildly, then disintegrate, till naught is left but bones and armour. The cackling harpy leaps back out the broken window, and plummets down the side of the tower to the streets below, where the citizens flee before his malignant aura; many are struck down by bolts of shadow before they reach safety.
For three days thereafter, your father haunts the town; people are confined to their homes, helpless as their former king swoops through the streets; killing any foolish enough to venture forth; breaking into stores and stealing the merchandise; desecrating statues and throwing rotten vegetables at the temples of the gods. None stand against him, for he is their king. Eventually, he tires, and flies away- south, some reckon.
It does not take a tactical genius to realize what this means. The army failed to stop the demon. Crinkle Yearvent will soon be upon us, no doubt seeking to take the town for his own. Defenses must be organized; people outside the walls must be brought in; the remaining priests and wizards must redouble effort on the wards.
Unfortunately, it seems the town is not only bereft of soldiers, mages, and priests, it is also bereft of anyone with an ounce of bloody leadership. You don your armour (Barrspring scales on imported leather- effective, whilst remaining stylish), take your sword (light steel, silver inlay, elegant ebony handle), your crossbow (custom made by Rythian smiths), and march out of the palace, sweeping worried guards aside with a firm voice, and confront the garrison commander, who is cowering in the barracks looking sorry for himself.
You firmly but politely shout him into action. You contact the remaining wizards and priests and set them to work as well, pointing out several mistakes in the incantations before you leave -with a sharp glare for anyone who asks how you knew that, which shuts them up. You confiscate food from merchants and stores, move them to the communal granaries, set up a rationing system, order the gates closed, a dusk-till-dawn curfew imposed, and any suspicious activity reported to you personally.
Now that that's taken care of, where were you? Oh, right, yes. Who to marry. You think you'll go for
-William; he's a good fighter, might be useful in this situation. Also the forts in Drakenval are a sight to behold... maybe even enough to stop demons?
-Reynold; Nagaron has a large army, and goodness knows they have enough practice invading Barrtal. Enough to stop a demon? Maybe not. Enough to stop a demon long enough for you to flee to the Tokzoku Empire? Possibly.
-Jonathan; okay, so, there is pretty much no way you aren't going to die. Might as well have some fun before you do, right?
-The demon standing in the window oh for fucks sake not again.
Hello, Eliza, speaks the demon, in a raspy yet refined voice; like if your etiquette tutor died in a fire and arose from the grave to lecture you on 'ow to pronounce your 'haich'.
Hello, Demon, you reply, as you reach for your crossbow.
Your father was very adamant that I should not harm you, he speaks.
You nod thoughtfully, fingers searching for feel of wood beneath your bed.
Ah, says he, I see that you have met him. Well, you can understand, then, that I have no interest in fulfilling that request.
You nod again. Aha! Found it. Already loaded; bad for the bow, but good for your peaceful sleep- and in this case, very good for your health.
So, he continues. Shall we be off? I have a city to slaughter, and I want to get star-
You cut him off with a silver bolt to the chest. It sinks in deep, and grey blood streaked with bright blue fire drips from the wound. He looks shocked; horrified, even. You start loading another bolt; this one for the head.
Oh, sorry, did you actually think that would work?
You look up. The bolt is gone; the wound is gone, the look of shock replaced by one of vague amusement. Now it is your turn to look horrified.
Kudos for trying, though, says he, as he sweeps you off of the bed and holds you in one of his left arms. You struggle helplessly against his demonic might, as he very carefully knocks a hole in the wall, sprouts wings of blue fire, and leaps out into the night.
As he flies, he explains to you what is going to happen. Everyone in Dolnar will die, he says. The streets will run red with blood; from here to Aviemore the Barr will be as pink as your pretty little dress.
You sarcastically thank him for complimenting your dress.
Not at all, he says. Incidentally, do you have a horse?
You have several, you reply.
Excellent. He has a recipe he wants to try.
Eating horses?, you ask, Is that really the worst you can do?
No, no, he explains; he needs to feed the horse this recipe. There is human flesh in it. Don't worry about it. He can do plenty worse- and you shall get to experience many of them first hand.
You soon approach your destination; an army, marching home. For a brief moment, you are confused- surely those are royal troops there marching? Has the demon not won, but kidnapped you in order to bargain for his safety? But then you espy the banners those troops hold, and the dead warriors who walk amongst them, and the commanders in black armour who give the orders to those traitors of the realm.
What realm have they to betray?, the demon asks, reading your thoughts. Where is its king? Where is its army? And in a few short days, where will be its capital?
The demon lands behind his army, where he is joined by his senior commanders.
Where is Dal'Kahh, the demon asks.
One of the other commanders reminds him that he died, several days ago, when you tried to infuse him with ridiculous amounts of demonic energy. He literally exploded, he reminds you.
The demon thinks for a while, then shrugs and kneels down by a small table with a map of the area on it. He places you on the ground by his side.
You run off.
With a sigh, the demon waves a hand at you, and you feel a dark presence tighten around your waist, which proceeds to reel you back to the table.
The demon addresses his commanders. He asks what the situation is. They inform him that by this morning, they will have surrounded the city, cut off all ways in or out, and should have troops ready to enter the city by noon. They also mention that whilst he was away, a group of... refugees came towards the army. Men of Dolnar who wished to volunteer to join the cause of evil, and risked the ire of their fellow citizens to flee the city to join him.
How dare they? After all the king did for them, this is how they repay him? By joining with a demon as soon as the opportunity presents itself?
The commanders ask the demon if he will accept the volunteers, or have them killed? From the look on the demon's face, you know what his response will be-
-His satisfied smirk betrays his answer: "Let them live. I have use of evil men such as them."
-His evil smile betrays his answer: "Kill them. I said all in Dolnar would die; none shall escape my wrath."
The commanders accept his answer, and start talking about logistics. Then one of them, as an afterthought, mentions that the volunteers said something- that there were others like them, who were either too cowardly to or incapable of leaving the city to join you- but once siege begins, they would surely find their way out to join you at once. The commander asks if they should receive the same treatment as the other volunteers. Again, you can tell what his answer will be-
-His eyes flare up, and his lips twitch: "An evil coward is worth the same to me as any other evil man."
-His eyes die down a little, his mouth forms a sort of satisfied sneer: "A coward is the lowest of the low... how could I treat them the same?"
The commanders nod again. Then the same commander speaks again. Once we start killing, there might be men who very quickly decide that morality is fine so long as you don't have to die for it- I assume we should kill them, but, perhaps you need more men for the mines? Again, you predict his answer-
-He scratches his nose: "Kill them."
-He scratches his chin: "Hmm... well, I could use more slaves"
You congratulate yourself on being able to apply your body-reading techniques on a Demon; dang girl, those are some mad skills.
The demon shatters your dreams by quietly informing you that he actually plucked the answers to the questions from your mind.
Your face falls when you realise what you have done.
He congratulates you; your answers were surprisingly close to what he would have chosen. You have a demonic mind, he says. Perhaps you would join his legions willingly?
You hesitate. Is that a serious question? Would you join his legions willingly, if only to avoid the pain of torture, or the agony of long months of corruption, only to join his side anyway? You reply
-"Of course not, you foul beast!"
-"Not on my life, dark fiend!"
-"Sure, I guess." The demon seems surprised. He asks if you are sure. You facepalm. Note to self: Demons do not get sarcasm.
Golly, looks like you are in a spot of bother, pretty princess!
Maybe you'd also like to hazard a guess as to what this fearsome demon does about his other problems.
And perhaps in what way he will go about methodically slaughtering your hometown's inhabitants? I mean, I'm sure he could come up with something on his own, but if you feel like making something up, he could go with that too.
And- what's this? Why, it looks like one of the commanders
accidentally left a report on his Dark Lord's status behind, and that report
accidentally became lodged in your bodice, and now you are
accidentally going to read it all.
Why, princess! How
naughty of you.
Name: Krlnkir Yrlvnt
Physical might: 135 (-20: Leakage)(+60: Sacrifice)(-40: Corrupting the lands)(-3: Granted to Dal'Kahh)(-2: Injuries (Nice job, princess!))
Mental might: 147 (-20: Leakage)(+60: Worship)(-40: Corrupting the lands)(-3: Granted to Dal'Kahh)
Other: Corrupter.
Demonic Realm: 20000 Peons, 200 Resources per week. +15 Physical Might/week +15 Mental Might/week
Resources: 100 -400: Infrastructure
Notable features:
The Forge-Temple at Barrspring provides weaponry of darkbarr steel- high quality corrupted metal.
Glades of Akatrees provide emergency food sources for cannibals, trap unwary travellers with illusions, and generally look freaky.
The farms of your realm, alongside conventional livestock, breed and raise Giant Rats, as a food source for slaves, and as distractions in your army.
The mines of Aonogake provide small amounts of rare gemstones suitable for use in magic.
The over-hunted forests of the east are home to evil spirits and packs of wild wolves, who attack travellers and unprotected hamlets.
Demonic Totems channel Evil, which they use to corrupt the land.
Demonic Armies:
Light Infantry: 240 Armed Cultists, 25 Sergeants, 250 Armed Zombies, 400 Skeletal Warriors, 100 Ghouls, 200 Barrtal Light Swordsmen, 200 Barrtal Archers
Heavy Infantry: 20 Living-Polybolos-Wielders, 20 Haunted Armours, 100 Beastmen, 6 Water Elementals, 400 Barrtal Swordsmen, 100 Barrtal Longbowmen
Cavalry: 25 Skeletal Knights, 30 Armoured Sintaurs, 10 Living-Polybolos-Wielding-Sintaurs, 25 Barrtal Knights, 100 Barrtal Light Horse, 100 Mercenary Horsemen
Mentals: 100 Spectres, 5 Greater Spectres, 5 Green Imps, 10 Novice Wizards
Fliers: 10 Black Dragons, 50 Red Imps,
Swarms: 15 Amberärsh Packs, 30 Giant Rat Packs
Others: 4 Armoured Baneghouls, 25 Yellow Imps, 25 Blue Imps, 5 Catapults
Cults:
The Mad Flames: Low organisation. 47 Cultists in the Church of the Flames of Madness. Led by Balthanor the Necromancer
Power Level: 15 -6 Torture -6 Research -3 Recruitment
Resources: 168 (+3/week: Workshops)(+9/week: Received from Barrspring)
Cultists: 24 Cultists, 20 Acolytes, 3 Invocators
Slaves: 5 Captive Monster-Hunters. 5 Captive Wizards.
Servants: 14 Amberärsh Packs
Other: With news of defeat at Boat, people of an evil nature are suddenly very eager to join your cause. Balthanor takes advantage of this by sending out cultists to find these people and bring them to the Asylum. There they are offered the chance to participate in the torture of those brave men who dared stand against Krlnkir Yrlvnt. Some decline. These are used as test subjects in research. With information gained from torturing the wizards, and the plentiful supply of test subjects, research advances rapidly; both combat and support spells are developed, making Acolytes and Invocators a (somewhat) useful presence on a battlefield.
Followers of the Tall Man. Very high organisation. 72 cultists in six locations; Dragonsnest, Greywinde, Port Hope, Goldhall, Easthall and Narsis.
Power Level: 14 -6: Espionage
Resources: 4 (+1/week: Criminal connections)
Cultists: 60 Cultists, 6 Infiltrators, 6 Acolytes
Locations: Dragonsnest, Greywinde, Port Hope, Goldhall, Easthall and Narsis: 11 Cultists, 1 Infiltrator, 1 Acolyte each.
Other: Several cultists manage- through various means- to acquire promotions, placing them higher in their various courts, where their voices can be heard -and respected- by those in power. Others make lucrative connections with the underworld, gaining the favour of criminals. In exchange for a few pieces of information- acquired by those in the courts- the criminals provide a smattering of resources for the cult to use. Several other schemes fail, but, partly thanks to the extreme level of secrecy with which the cult goes about its business, no harm is done, and no one suspects a thing.
Missionaries of the Alternate Faith. High organisation. 66 members in six locations.
Power Level: 20 -9: Recruitment
Resources: 4 (+1/week: Wealthy members)
Locations: Noragan (11 cultists), Sal'Sarrin (11 Cultists), Barrsmouth (11 Cultists), Cleomenople (11 Cultists), [Major City] (11 Cultists), [Major City2], (11 Cultists)
Other: Guests who frequent their parties often are invited to join the 'afterparty', in which they are inducted into the cult. Their new members- often very wealthy- gladly donate some of their earnings to the cult's coffers.
Champions:
Alyshtr Yrlvnt: Half-demon. 6.5 months old.
Physical Might: 2 (+1: Imp bodyguard Squad)
Mental Might: 3 (+1: Imp bodyguard Squad)
Equipment: Red Imp pet (fire magic and demonic tales), pet slave, Black Imp pet (metal working and demonic ales), Green Imp pet (illusion magic and demonic wails), Yellow Imp pet (shapeshifting and demonic grails)
Knowledge: Demontongue, mind-corruption, basic fire magic, basic illusion magic, granting demonic power to mortals.
Personality: Chaotic. Cruel, with a twisted sense of humour. Cares about her mother.
Other: Recently learnt the basics of illusion magic from the mopey green imp.
Consort: Mother of Alyshtr.
Physical Might: 3
Mental Might: 2
Knowledge: Faint ken of Demontongue, sort-of-half-forgotten basics of Necromancy.
Mutations: Refined Cannibal. Increased Strength. Slight Resistance to disease/poison. Were-Necromancer (excessive moonlight causes her to gain and employ extreme necromancy powers with no regard for her targets)
Other: Enjoys talking with Nameless, often over dinner. Nameless's objections to the contents of the meals are less frequent these days. Together with Nameless, she is trying to remember bits of Demontongue in such a way as that they do not cause her to go crazy.
Nameless: Former Akataki Guard. Fairly corrupt. He will fight for you... but only in defence of your consort.
Physical Might: 2
Mental Might: 1
Other: Makes sure to look over any new slaves/sacrifices brought to Barrspring, so that he can take the most beautiful for his brothel.
Eliza: Princess of Barrtal. (Wait, why are you in this report? And why are you listed under champions? And why do they know so much about you?)
Physical Might: 2 (Well, yeah. You can throw your weight around. You know a bit of martial arts as well; that helps. Give you a sword, though, and you'll see some real action)
Mental Might: 4 (What-how do they- Yeah, so, you know a little about exercising mental power. Maybe you know some basic magic. So what?)
Knowledge: Swordplay (duh), Sharpshooting (Xbows for life), Riding (on a warhorse, at that), Dance and Song (Yeah, you can move your feet. A little. Maybe a lot. Okay, yeah, you can out-dance a Tokzukan courtesan), Grace and Poise (Once again, you can't help but wonder why this information is relevant to a demon), Statecraft (You practically run the kingdom when your parents are busy), Diplomacy (You could make a swamp-pirate and a Mughae fanatic shake hands, true), Tactics (Well, you picked up a thing or two from old soldiers and older books), Leadership (You love the plebs- as long as they do what you say. And they do, so all's peachy!), Alchemy (What? No! Lies! How- what? NO. You do not know any alchemy whatsoever. How would a princess even learn such forbidden arts?)
Mutations: Slightly increased strength, moderately increased beauty, slightly increased intelligence. (Okay this they are just making up I mean seriously)
Other: Recently kidnapped by Krlnkir Yrlvnt. Mysterious nature. Strong-willed, but shows signs of Evil. (How do- why? Who even wrote this report?)
Balthanor the Necromancer: Travelled to Akataki to join your cause. Has considerable knowledge of magic and necromancy.
Physical Might: 4 (+2: Living Polybolos)
Mental Might: 13 (+5: Dark Crystal)
Equipment: Dark Crystal which emanates evil energy (+5 Mental might. Requires basic knowledge of necromancy to use). Living Polybolos (+2 Physical Might, Ranged)
Knowledge: Magic, Necromancy.
The Titaneghoul: A massive monster made of steel and flesh.
Physical Might: 49 (-5: Recovering Injuries)
Mental Might: 5
Location: Hugh's Shade (A ruined keep; now the lair of the Titaneghoul. The air stinks of rotting flesh, unstable masonry threatens to fall at the slightest notice, and lesser ghouls occasionally risk their necks to scurry in and grab some scraps the Titaneghoul missed)
Other: Indescribably tormented minds: Requires considerable effort to control; almost entirely immune to hypnosis and illusions. Omnivore: Will eat anything. Friend, foe, or scenery. Unstable Biology: Physical might will rise and fall at random. Terror-inducing-shriek: May randomly shriek, causing terror in all around it. Only entities which are entirely incapable of feeling fear (greater demons, greater angels, elementals, entirely mindless undead) are immune.
Fortresses:
The Church of the Flames of Madness. Formerly Dolnar Asylum, HQ of Barrtal monster hunters.
Mighty Walls (50). Moat (5, slows attackers). Dark Wards (30). Evil Stones (cause illusions and madness to attackers, also act as a second set of Weak Wards(10)). Rampant Spectres (cause madness to attackers. May randomly attack enemies)
Sacrificial Chamber: An excellent location for worship and sacrifice.
Workshops: A large forge and a series of workshops allow cultists to refine resources much more efficiently. With the resources sent from Barrspring, the Cultists can use the workshops far more effectively than before.
Library: A library and series of studies allow cultists to learn the arts of magic. Contains a host of information on both Magic and Necromancy, enabling Acolytes to be upgraded to Invocators, and for a wide variety of spells and rituals to be learnt.
Sending Circles: A pair of raised daises, linked to a similar pair in Barrspring, which can send and receive objects given a source of power. Balthanor's Dark Crystal powers the circles.
Amberärsh Furnace: A horrific device which industrializes the summoning of Amberärshs. Animals go in, Amberärshs come out.
Author
Topic: Demonhood. -Slumbering for an indeterminate number of Strange Aeons- (Read 237201 times)