Also, why did you do that? did we just get a REALLY bad roll? You seemed to have though out a lot of personality for here that was just negated.
Hell yes. I love this Pretty Princess. So why did I do it?
Autoschadenfreude. ...And some really bad rolls.-Fix her up. It'll take a while. Probably require a fairly large dose of power. Fortunately, given her pre-existing mutations, she shouldn't have an all too extreme reaction to the treatment.
Apologies to those requesting she be remade 'exactly' the way she was; that is impossible. However, she will not receive any deliberate attempts by Krlnkir to corrupt her, and mutation 'energy' will be devoted solely to upgrading existing mutations and anti-mutation mutations. But, yeah. Infusing someone with evil
will change their personality. This is unavoidable.
Krlnkir Yrlvnt (man that name is so much easier to pronounce now) lifts you up before his face again.
Oh dear, princess, he speaks. Looks like you need fixing. Now your beloved people of Dolnar will have to wait to be tortured to death in the streets. How inconsiderate of you.
You giggle.
Then you feel dark energy (hee hee) flowing into your body. Flowing into your mind. You should probably do something about that... but you can't really be bothered. You-
You cut off her train of thought for the moment.
Raspberry tea. Raspberry tea. Raspberry tea. Raspberry fruitcake.
Forests forests forests forests forests forests forests lumberjack logs sawmill planks carpenter furniture
♫La mia bambina cara...perché non passi lontana? Sì, lontana da Scienza! Cara, cara mia bambina...
"Why, sir. How bold of you to ask. No, no! Not too bold, not at all. I would be happy to walk with you."..."And my eyes, like emeralds, he said. Oh, mama, he was the most charming- oh, yes, mama. The hyboreum solution. And the chopped frog liver.... Careful!"..."Yes, mother has been teaching me how to play... oh, no, I couldn't. I am just learning.... You are very kind, sir. Perhaps I could sing, instead? The Aria of Heaven?"
If two peasants owe the king four coins, how many coins does each peasant owe? Four. Six. Seven. Shortbread. Two.
Nerves deliver sensations to the brain for processing. The following nerves must be reactivated.
"I am falling towards it, and I hope with every fiber of my being that the darkness kills me before I reach it because even the thought of witnessing the true nature of this beast makes my mind shake and scramble. I can feel my memories and feelings becoming muddled as my brain desperately tries to reconfigure itself into something that can even comprehend the oncoming-" DELETED.
Hello, how are you. I am well, thank you for asking. Yourself?Awaken in your bed. You just had the most frightful nightmare. Thankfully, you can't remember any of it.
Now, where were you? Oh, 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... again?
The demon says a few things and a select group of memories come rushing back. Right up until... riding on his shoulders, when a... a... oh, wait. A dragon. Doesn't actually sound that scary anymore. Anyway, a dragon flew by and you...woke up in bed.
The demon pats you on the head. Don't worry about it, he says. Now, about murdering everyone in town, and then getting married.
...WHAT
...Then again, it is pretty much inevitable. Not much point in protesting it, is there. Heck... of the four options you were considering, you have to admit, the demon tops them all: wealth, power, and a demon's wife is probably allowed to have a little fun on the side with whoever she feels like (unlike a princess). And come on, the townsfolk had it coming. Lazy bastards. They never liked you anyway. I mean, it sucks, sure. But is it really worth getting worked up over?
You take the demon's hand and walk down the stairs of the tower. He off-handedly mentions that you may have gained a modicum of demonic strength and intelligence... on top of your other mutations being, shall we say, upgraded from purely alchemical to a base of alchemical with a boost of demonic.
You narrow your eyes. You tell the demon to look away. He complies, and you feel your breasts. ....yup. Bigger. You flex your arms. ...it's harder to tell, but you think that you've become stronger as well. You try casting a spell you had difficulty with before. ...yup. Goes off without a hitch, and sets fire to a rather expensive tapestry in the process. This causes the demon to look round.
He asks if you are planning to attack him again. He reminds you that you tried that, but it didn't work. In case you had forgotten.
You had not forgotten, you respond. Just testing to see if what you said was true.
Was it?, he asks.
You hesitate. Eventually you nod your head.
Oh good, he says, then you probably haven't acquired any sort of deadly mutations that only activate under moonlight or some such.
Was there a risk of that, you ask.
Just a very small one, he responds. Oh, and you should also be even more resistant to further mutation. Though there is no easy way to test that.
You arrive at the bottom of the stairs, and step through the door into the royal dining room. There are corpses strewn about. Guards, but also a few... ghouls, you think. The guards seem to have
mysteriously acquired a blue pallor and thick leathery skin. Gosh, you
wonder who could be behind that.
It is your mother, right?, the demon asks.
You freeze. How- what-
Thought so, he says. You'll be happy to know that she has locked herself in the basement and has over a dozen of these orc-guards and several ogre-servants protecting her, along with a host of interesting magical traps.
Oh, the foolish woman, you think to yourself. Why didn't she just flee?
A host of skeletal warriors marches into the room. A spectre clad in stylish (if spectral) robes bids them halt and salute their Lord. They do so. The demon waves them on, basement-wards.
He assures you that they will merely capture your mother. As that she may attend the wedding.
You privately muse that all those skeletons probably wouldn't be enough.
Always more where they came from, the demon assures you. In demonstration, he waves a hand at a group of fallen warriors, who spasm wildly, then arise with a moan. He speaks a command, and they lurch off to join the skeletons.
The demon leads you through the corridors of the palace to the throne room, where a similar scene of slaughter greets you. An ogre- one of the servants mutated to be significantly larger and stronger, capable of dual wielding pikes, lies dead upon your father's throne, the remnants of a skeletal warrior still clenched in one fist. The sight reminds you of your fathers fate, and you cry a few tears- though not, perhaps, as many as you once would have.
Out of the double doors of the throne room, standing under the bright sun, atop the wide paved road that leads out of the palace complex and into the city proper. You can see from here fires burning throughout the city- though not so many as you might expect. Indeed, whilst the gates have all been opened wide, much of the demonic army lingers outside, or on the walls. In the distance, you see catapults ready to fire, but not doing so.
Don't tell me you were waiting for me, you say.
Oh but of course, princess. It took several days to fix you. If we'd started earlier, there would be no one left to attend the wedding.
You keep mentioning a wedding. Why should I participate in this wedding?
Good question, the demon responds. Given that you have already decided to, why don't you tell me?
You have no response to that.
Anyway, the demon continues, now that you're awake, I think we can start, yes? You may want to cover your ears.
The demon takes a big, theatrical breath. You cover your ears. He then shouts a single syllable very loudly. It is not, however, a syllable usually produced by human vocal chords. It sends a shiver down your spine- and at the same time, something inside of you is rearing to go, insisting that you start doing it. What 'it'
is is not specified.
'It' had evidently been specified for the demonic legions surrounding the city, however. The catapults all let loose their fiery payloads. The warriors milling around by the gates all stream in, pulling the gates shut behind them, then barring them. They then methodically proceed to the nearest houses, where they break down the doors, march in, march out carrying a struggling citizen, and then execute them on the street.
Soon cries of terror fill the city, and citzens begin to flee from their houses. The soldiers do little to chase those who run- unless they try to run outwards. Then they are captured, impaled upon spears, and left lying in the streets screaming in agony, to warn others who might think to go that way. Whilst most flee, some stay behind- armed and determined. They may not be able to stop the soldiers, but they will at least be able to hold them back, maybe kill a few. But the soldiers do not engage. They pull back, drawing the confused resistance forwards- whereupon one monstrosity or the other will emerge, and take on the soldiers single handed: a baneghoul sweeping men aside, to be finished off by ghouls; a pair of dragons diving from the sky, breathing fire, snatching men in their claws and carrying them away screaming; a trio of living-polybolos wielders, who in a single volley wipe out entire squads; a group of knights, who still bearing the city's livery coldly ride down the people they once swore to protect; a horde of imps who with their various magics and tricks send the confused citizens into a rout in no time at all.
Soon the resistance joins those fleeing towards the center of the city. The demonic legions continue their house-by-house sweep, moving inwards, whilst cavalry patrol the outer streets, wary for those who might have managed to sneak past the lines. As the legions advance ever further, those who have not fled becomes less. They still search every house, but rarely find anyone. All the citzens cower in the center of the city; hiding in the wizard's tower, in the university, the town hall- those most try to find room in the temple of Dorael, which is already a heaving mass of humanity. Some even climb up onto the roof of the temple, begging as they do that the gods help them.
The Gods, announces the demon in a bitter voice, will not help them. They would do well to realize this. Come, princess. We must be away- you have a dress to put on, I a human form to assume.
You nod glumly. The demon lifts you in his arms, and leaps into the sky on wings of fire. As he does so, you spot fires starting all around the edges of the city; small now, but soon they will grow, and head inwards, no doubt.
You alight on a balcony of the mysteriously empty Grand Forge, opposite the temple of Dorael. For all the masses crowded in the square outside, none enter the Forge.
The reason for this swiftly becomes clear as you enter; the air is thick with spectres, who gang up on anyone who tries to enter via the doors downstairs. The demon shows you to a side room, free of spectres, where two women bow their heads to you and bid you enter. The demon leaves you.
You ask the women what their purpose is. To prepare you for the wedding, they say. Now, out of those tattered rags, dear. Hilda will put up a ward on the door to keep out peeking spectres. The other woman- Hilda, you suppose- nods, and casts a spell of considerable power, which sets a series of glowing runes upon the woodwork of the door which you are, perhaps thankfully, incapable of reading. You
can tell that it is a ward of some sort, so you suppose it must be what was promised, and with a resigned shrug you start to remove your dress (which, given the events of the past days, is indeed tattered
*). Once you are naked the women (jealousy in their eyes), take out measuring strings and start scribbling things into notepads. They hold up swathes of cloth against your skin, muse over the best way to accentuate your... eyes, and then start mumbling between themselves.
You shiver. If they intend to make you a dress from scratch starting now, they are going to be at it a long, long-
Try this on, dear, Hilda says, proffering you a bundle of clothing. Have Lizzie help you with the lacy bits.
You accept the clothing. It does not appear to be made of any cloth you have ever felt. It tingles when you touch it. Ah. Magic. Well, so long as no one tries to cast an antispell at you, it'll be fine.
You shrug again, and start putting on the clothes. There is an abundance of black, although on closer inspection the black is tinted ever so slightly red. There is a corset, which doesn't actually have much to do on you, but Lizzie takes a perverse pleasure in tightening it as much as possible anyway. It still doesn't do much.
Once the various undergarments have been successfully manoeuvred into place, Hilda and Lizzie have you stand completely straight in a very small circle painted on the floor, and then after a few minor adjustments, magic a dress onto you. Which is ridiculous- the amount of power required to do so, and the concentration required to do so without eg magicing a piece of dress into the wearers head, is far greater than anything one could possibly muster using conventional magic. ...which makes these women necromancers. Or druids. But probably necromancers.
Well, necromancer or not, they did a good job. The dress fits like a glove. (The gloves do not fit like dresses, however). And, you suppose, it looks quite good. If you're into that sort of thing. It is a very... evil dress. It is very dark. It suggests spikes; some of the frills and details look like they really ought to be made of sharpened steel. There is more bare skin than is legal in some nations. It certainly complements your two most prominent features; yes, the green detail draws attention to your eyes magnificently.
Hilda (or Lizzie, you lost track) enchants the mirror so that you can view yourself from all angles. You can't help but give a satisfied nod and smile- okay, so the dress looks good on you. And you look good in it. And this dress would not look good on someone who wasn't at least a teensy-weensy bit evil.
Ahem. You remind yourself that you are just doing this because you have no choice. You try to believe that.
Dress-making duties complete, the women fill you in on how this wedding will go down. You, they explain, will walk out of the forge, and up the aisle, up the steps of the temple of Dorael, and into its central chamber. Then a greater spectre, who in his former life was technically a priest, albeit a very corrupt one, will perform a very abridged version of the required marriage rites thing, wherein the only thing you have to say is 'I do' or some other indicator of consent. If you do not, there will be loved ones brought before you and tortured until you do.
Sounds simple enough.
Hilda removes the ward from the door.
And then you hear the screaming. The terrified screaming of thousands of people dying. Hilda and Lizzie push you along, down the stairs, to the big doors. Hilda (or Lizzie) pops a cowl over your head, then grabs the tails of your dress together with Lizzie (or Hilda). A mass of spectres working together heave the doors open, letting in not the light of the sun- darkened by the clouds of ash that billow over the city-, but the light of roaring fires reflected off those clouds.
The screams suddenly change. Certain groups of people scream in different pitches, others are silenced. As you walk forwards along the blood-soaked ground, flanked on both sides by motionless skeletons, who keep the mass of tortured citizens from stumbling onto the 'aisle', you realise that the screams are being used as an instrument. Playing a wedding march song.
...keep it together. No point in freaking out. You can't help those people. Just... keep walking.
You keep walking. After what seems like an age, you reach the steps of Dorael's temple. The marble steps are slick with blood, but the shoes with this dress, though very pretty, are also incredibly sturdy, and have a grip that could probably let you walk on the ceiling. You ascend to the temple itself, whose doors swing open... revealing a scene of such horror that you can barely suppress an urge to throw up, and stumble even in your magical shoes. The women behind you seem entirely unaffected by the spectacle, and calmly use their magic to stop you from stumbling further. They then release the end of your dress, and make to close the doors. You walk forwards, your dress dragging through the blood and gore.
Crucified citizens, mouths sown shut, stare down at you with hateful eyes. Blood drips upon your dress from the dismembered corpses hung overhead like festive banners. The heat from the four pyres lit throughout the chamber makes your face flush, neatly disguising the cringe it makes when live sacrifices are thrown screaming into the sapphire flames. The rows of citizens- friends of yours, family- tied up and sat upon benches made of piled corpses shout insults at you as you pass; their screams of 'Traitor!' only silenced when the guards behind them replace their gags. Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the aisle, the 'friends' of Krlnkir Yrlvnt cheer and applaud, with the occasional wolf whistle mixed in.
You maintain your calm, wading in as refined a manner as possible through the now ankle-deep remnants of human flesh. Eventually, your foot hits rock beneath the gore, and you step up, through the flesh, onto the dais upon which the altar sits- though now buried amidst the remnants of... thousands of slain citizens. Hanging just above and behind the altar, still alive- but gagged and chained- are the head priests of this temple, glowing with righteous anger, yet unable to do anything but watch the unholy ceremony unfold. A spectre, who indeed wears robes resembling those of the priests behind him, hovers just about where the altar must be. He smiles at you, makes a holy sign with his hands, and indicates a spot on his right. You wade through the entrails and assume your position.
Krlnkir smiles at you. You force a smile in return. He asks you how you like the body. He designed it based on your memories- they were vivid enough to give him pretty much a complete picture. You reply that you didn't quite get his eyes right; Jonathan was more of a turquoise blue, not so much a burning fire blue. A personal touch, he says, brushing a fleck of gore from his suit.
The spectre bids all be silent. A guard slits the throat of one of the 'guests' who remains noisy. The others quiet down after that.
The spectre starts talking. In the beginning, he says, there was nothing. Then there arose the Titans. To cut a long story short, they died, the gods arose, man arose, and here we are today, marrying a daughter of man to a spawn of evil.
This marriage, performed in a temple to the almighty gods, will bind these two together till death... or divorce... do them part. Her lands will be his; his lands will be hers. Her titles will be his; his titles will be hers. All men of all nations will recognise this, or invoke the fury of the gods.
Now then. Do you, Krlnkir Yrlvnt (the pyres flare and the captives groan), Lord of Evil, Master of All, Scourge of Righteousness, take this woman to be your wife?
I do, speaks the demon.
And do you, Elizabeth Waymoon Catherinesdaughter Draakslachter Goldsworth the Second, Princess of Barrtal, Claimant of Drakenval -the spectre looks through his notes-, and a whole bunch of other titles, take this demon to be your husband?
Everyone looks at you expectantly.
A guard in the back cracks his knuckles and checks how hot his spiky implements are getting. They are getting very hot indeed.
You look around one more time, taking in the decorations. A lot of work must of gone into this. I mean, they had, what, twenty minutes to do it in? And in that time they covered pretty much every single available surface in blood, disembowelled at least a thousand people, and slaughtered hundreds more for various purposes... that sort of effort... is laudable. Sure, the results are horrific, but you can't help but admire the dedication.
You turn back to the spectre (guts squelching underfoot). You reply
-"Sure, I guess."
-"Fine."
-"Yeah, alright"
The spectre nods, and prepares to say the last few words- when all of a sudden, the entire temple shudders. You can hear tiles falling off the roof.
THEN, speaks a thundering voice that comes from everywhere and nowhere,
I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU... DEMON AND WIFE. The voice laughs, a huge, booming laugh, like boulders rolling down a hillside.
YOU MAY KISS THE BRIDE, DEMON. The voice laughs again, though it fades away, and soon cannot be heard.
The shuddering stops, and a presence that you had not noticed arriving, departs. Almost everyone- Krlnkir included- looks bewildered. The only ones who do not are the priests hanging behind the altar, who look horrified- the look of horror of a man who's entire worldview, a worldview to which he dedicated his entire life- has just been shattered.
Order of a sort is restored by Krlnkir clearing his throat. Loudly. Well, speaks he, how could he say no to such an offer? And with that, he reaches for your hand, draws you in, and kisses you upon your sealed lips. Humour flares in his eyes. Cold indifference flares in yours.
And then you feel something happening. To your hand. Krlnkir feels it too; he releases you and holds up his hand, puzzled. A glow surrounds it. Yours also. And then the glow coalesces, into a shining ring upon your finger- even as it does on his. And then nothing. A pretty golden ring. Krlnkir shrugs, tries to take it off, but swiftly gives up when he realises that it is impossible.
He turns to you once again.
Well then, Eliza, speaketh he, we are now wed, I suppose it appropriate to ask you; What should I do now?
You consider the question seriously. After a minute has passed- during which everyone in the chamber is still, and leans forwards to hear what you might say- you reply:
-"Go fuck yourself"
-"Go fuck a pig"
-"Well, if you are seriously planning on claiming the throne for yourself, I'd start by heading south to find my father, because you'll need him to appoint you his successor, abdicate, and give you the crown. Then you'll need to get the rest of the confederacy to agree that you are a suitable successor, which I guess would mean enslaving every single king in the confederacy, given that even a single veto would deny you the crown for another year, and a majority vote against would allow them to pick a new successor on their own."
-"How in the name of the gods should I know? Why don't you ask the imaginary 'forumgoers' that 'hover around your shoulders'?"
Go-
lly, Princess. Is Princess even the right title now? Should I be calling you Demonbride Eliza?
Mind you, your husband will probably also be wondering about a lot of other things. Like what to do with all the evil energy from razing Dolnar. He spent a lot of it turning the cowardly volunteers into Ghouls and Baneghouls, but there's still a bunch left. And there's a lot of loot to be had in Dolnar- what should be done with that? And should he immediately send off parts of his army to quell the rebellions throughout the land, or should he oversee these things personally? He hasn't been to Barrspring in a while- perhaps he should go check up on his daughter?
Of course, as his wife, you have full access to reports on cr- krl- krln--- on Crinkle Yearvent's status. Where 'full access' means 'nicking it off one of his commanders again'.
Name: Krlnkir Yrlvnt
Physical might: 180 (+15: Sacrifice)(-2: Granted to Eliza)(-9: Leakage)(+40: Death and Destruction)
Mental might: 190 (+15: Worship)(-4: Granted to Eliza)(-10: Leakage)(+40: Death and Destruction)
Other: Corrupter. Barrsdoom: Whoops, you should probably give this to someone.
Demonic Realm: 21000 Peons (+1000: Volunteers), 200 Resources per week. +15 Physical Might/week +15 Mental Might/week
Resources: 125 -75: 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.
Dolnar is still in the process of being destroyed.
Demonic Armies:
Light Infantry: 240 Armed Cultists, 25 Sergeants, 150 Armed Zombies, 350 Skeletal Warriors, 1300 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: 70 Baneghouls, 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: 17 -17: Helping at Dolnar
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: The CFM spends all their energy helping you slaughter Dolnar.
Followers of the Tall Man. Very high organisation. 72 cultists in six locations; Dragonsnest, Greywinde, Port Hope, Goldhall, Easthall and Narsis.
Power Level: 14 -12: Espionage
Resources: 5 (+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: Your Infiltrators do some poking around in the laws of the confederacy. Turns out there is no law against demons being king- there is even precedent in which a quarter-angel was made king of Eirshore, though he quickly abdicated in favour of a mortal ruler.
Missionaries of the Alternate Faith. High organisation. 72 members in six locations.
Power Level: 20 -6: Recruitment -12: Espionage
Resources: 5 (+2/week: Wealthy members)
Locations: Noragan (12 cultists), Sal'Sarrin (12 Cultists), Barrsmouth (12 Cultists), Cleomenople (12 Cultists), [Major City] (12 Cultists), [Major City2], (12 Cultists)
Other: Your cultists recruit more wealthy members, increasing their income. Their attempts to use their power to manoeuvre politically are less successful; though they manage to perform some small actions- getting the guards not to patrol near their meeting place, acquiring liquors and other party supplies at discounted tax rates- they don't have the influence to really do anything important yet.
Champions:
Alyshtr Yrlvnt: Half-demon. 6.75 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: Spoke a few words of Human recently, to her mother's great excitement.
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: Has dinner most nights with Nameless and Alyshtr. No complaints from Nameless regarding the meat. Together, starting to make some sort of progress in almost-Demontongue.
Nameless: Former Akataki Guard. Fairly corrupt. He will fight for you... but only in defence of his brothel/your consort.
Physical Might: 2
Mental Might: 1
Knowledge: Smattering of almost-Demontongue.
Other: Enjoys performing cruel sex acts upon new captives, but feels guilty afterwards. Picking up bits and pieces of Demontongue together with Consort.
Eliza: Wife of Krlnkir.
Physical Might: 3 (+1: Beneficial Mutation)
Mental Might: 5 (+1: Beneficial Mutation)
Knowledge: Swordplay, Sharpshooting, Riding, Dance and Song, Grace and Poise, Statecraft, Diplomacy, Tactics, Leadership, Alchemy
Mutations: Increased Strength. Significantly Increased Beauty. Increased Intelligence. Resistance to Mutation?
Other: Recently married Krlnkir Yrlvnt. Seems willing to go along with things, though not eager to- and still disturbed by certain things.
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 237152 times)