Food for Thought
Log Info
- Title: Food for Thought
- Emitter: Delilah
- Characters: Delilah, Donna, Ashes, Elyanna, Merek
- Place: The Afterlife
- Time: Thursday, April 01, 2021, 5:00 PM
- Summary: The questionning of Magus Ectra and the sharing of memories continues. Elyanna calls up a memory of horror in answer to the Magus's demand. While the group are unsettled by this view of their comrade, the Illithid is both impressed by her imagination and confounded that she could turn her back on such a life. Despite their misgivings, the party try to assure her that things are ok. Delilah is next on the block, and is forced to reveal a dark feeling toward her beloved twin, but earns knowledge that their quarry shares many of her faults. Merek drives to continue gaining information, and being forced further into his most trying memories. In the aftermath, with the group dealing with the revelations they've seen about themselves and others... Ashes moves in with resolve to gain the answer to her own question: What keeps the illithid in the Grey Lady's hall....
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Donna 5'4" 106 Lb Human Female A black-haired human girl in black robes. Delilah 5'4" 106 Lb Human Female A golden haired human girl in white robes. Merek 5'10" 215 Lb Human Male A black-haired, dusky male with golden eyes. Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face Elyanna 5'11" 153 Lb Half-Orc Female A grim, Arvek-blooded woman in raven feathers. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= NPCs of Note =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Magus Ectra Na'garren Illithid Female A octopus humanoid scholar, deceased -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Delilah 5'4" 106 Lb Human Female A golden haired human girl in white robes. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
"She used her skills to break into my bedchambers, and cut my throat in my sleep. She did not 'best' me in a traditional sense. Her method is deception, misdirection, lies, and cowardice."
The Illithid envelops Elyanna's head at that moment, squeezing her almost painfully. "Now," she hisses. "Your soul is more stained than you care to admit. Show me your moment of greatest cruelty."
The Keeper bears the pressure around her skull with the barest curl of lip from the interlocked daggers of her carniverous maw, but her eyes hold, unfaltering in the wake of the illithid's exposition, of her price, "The limits of this tongue stifle my expression."
A younger hobkin, clad in sinister finery of Blod manufacture with the coils of a lash quite more mundane than Maidenhead, enters an ominous oubliette, cradling a small pouch wafting the scent of seasoned meat.
After an oruch blooded warden assures her that, "She's been kept as you commanded, Mistress." the Keeper nods without breaking stride steps to the edge of a pit. It's over a dozen feet deep, walls of smoothed stone mortared with jagged glass stained and caked with blood of various ages. Filth is gathered at one 'corner'.
In the pit is an emaciated Myrrish woman, maybe two years older than "Ohhhtillaaah...." whose name she croaks from a throat only occasionally slaked. She'd been gone over with a whip rather thoroughly, though those marks are healed to angry scars, and pustules and discolorations on her hands and soles of her feet suggest she's tried to climb out, and will soon pay the price. Her eyes are wearily defiant. It's almost done.
"Kental, darling, you've had quite the time..." 'Otilla' remarks urbanely, a particular mix of honey and venom, "I've been thinking about us, lately, so I brought you a little taste of home." And gently tosses the parcel to the stricken figure.
Ecta hisses with approval as Elyanna's memory surfaces. "Yes," she whispers. "Excellent, little morsel, excellent. Keep going. Show me your cruetly. Show it to all of us so we might see and revel in your truest nature." She grips Elyanna's shoulders with vicelike talons, and breathes rank breath across her face. "Do not stop now. Keep going."
Ashes inhales sharply, not that breath is needed here, not that any of them really live. The pain is real, the throbbing in her head, the warning from the bottom-feeder about which memory will be next.
The ashen Arvec watches as her friend? Yes, friend, they've become closer through this, reveals a memory the Mourner knows she regrets.
But cannot erase. And now all present will know.
Her hand tightens around the writhining whip she keeps to her side. Ash stares. At the cruelty, at the demeanor. At an attitude she's been on the end of.
Not Elyanna, not her friend, she wasn't the source. Cruel authoritarianism can be found everywhere. And is enjoyed, none.
The Lady von Diesel continues to hold Ecta's eyes with her indulgence, the mental pain drawing her lips further from her fangs as thing continue if shared memories about the unfortunate figure:
A figure who weakly drags herself to the bag, drawn by the smell of FOOD. She shakily fumbles with the simple knot and is almost floored by the outpouring of steam, bearing the fragrance of seared and seasoned white meat. She starts to reach inside when a hiss-CRACK! of a whip opens the skin on the back of her hand.
"What do we say, precious...?" 'Otilla' chides.
Th-thank you..." Kental reluctantly replies, reaching into the bag aga-hiss-CRACK!
"Thank you....whhhaaaat?" the hobkin prods.
...
The sputtering flame in her eyes dies, the hobkin's experience in such matters tells her everything she wants to hear before the prisoner's even drawn breath to speak the proper words:
"Th-thank you...mmm...mmmistress."
An artful smile of interlocked daggers framed in cinnibar precedes a gracious, "You're quite welcome, darling. I'll wait."
The woman in the pit, her stomach screeching in need, finally begins to indulge. Biting into the seared, but undercooked meat, the juices rolling down her face and body as her waning dexterity and fervent desperation drive her into sloppy indulgance.
Otilla watches, with chin upraised imperiously as she idly coils the leather lash again.
With some vigor, as nourishment has entered her body, the juices loosen her voice, the diner below asks, "Mistress...?" Kental always demanded the title come before the question.
"Hmmm?"
"Mistress... what..." she pauses, "...what about m-my daughter....?"
A dark eyebrow arches, and Otilla's interlocked fangs part in a tsk, "Why, Kental, darling..." she starts, her tone artfully aghast, "have you been here so long... you don't recognize her?"
There is a quick look down to the scraps of meat that remain, some still pink in the middle.
Realization brings horror to quaking bloom....
And the Keeper Otilla closes her eyes, inhaling through her nose as though enjoying the spring breeeze rolling in from a field of fine flowers as Kental's scream echoes through the tunnels.
The Illithid's shoulders roll as laughter builds; she finally releases Elyanna's head and shoulders, stepping back just to sieze the Keepers chin in her grip once more, tilting her head to one side and the other to look at you.
"And you left that life? Willingly?" she snorts, pushing her away as she releases her again. "Such a waste. A pity I didn't find you then, I could have had such *uses* for you." She shakes her head, as she hobbles back to her lecturn; she throws her large tome open once more and waves her hand over a nearby inkpot and quill; the latter dips into the ink and starts to scratch over the paper of its own accord, not so much writing as searing the wrods into the page with a brilliant, orange glow.
"And now, it is your turn," sneers Ecta, as she bears down on Delilah, beckoning to her to come out from behind her sister. "Come forward, delicious little sorceress. I have sworn not to harm you permanently. Come out and ask your question."
Delilah carefully steps to one side, keeping her hand on Donna's shoulder as she does. She bites her bottom lip, and lingers by her sister's side. "I uhh..." she stammers, and looks towards the group for a little help.
Merek watches on to the answer to Elyanna's question, then to the whole memory that she is asked of. The man stands up while he takes a moment to look to it all. He does seem to consider, his eyes moving to watch the whole of that scene. There's no emotion upon his face while he tries to mask it. The woman, eating... The man then begins to try and keep his balance while he places a hand to the hobgoblin's shoulder if she permits. "Don't ever let what this... Magus says, call that your true nature," he offers.
The man looks to the party, and nods a bit while he thinks about it, "You all. She never said we can't discuss among ourselves what we wish to ask, to make it a better question. I think we should consider what we're going to ask, and work amongst each other to make sure that we get the answers we need. It would still be your own questions, asked in a way that's best. Meaning we aren't asking for anyone else, we just ask the best way we can."
Ashlee stares. With her skeletal markings on the inside, her expressions are easier to read. It is still blank. Her face is empty, her eyes dark. Her bones are a faint glow through the form of her body. There are hints of other things, her heart, lungs, circulation system, shadows more than anything, not visible, not living.
The stare is for Elyanna, a long, lingering one. Next, it turns to Merek. If anything, there's a frown.
Ashes looks at her noble hobgoblin... friend? again. It's not a good memory. It's not forgiveabe. It's been there the entire time she's known her. It's not her role to judge; she sets those thoughts aside. Right now, she needs consoling. Right now, she needs some comforting words.
The Mourner breaks out the big guns, the best phrase she knows, that always works in times like these. She bruskly pats Elyanna on the shoulder, "There there. Everything will be all right."
It is *rough,* watching the memories of the others play out before her. Merek's time in the Hells, Ashes' humiliation, Elyanna's utter cruelty... And things begin to fall into place. Why the people around her are how they are. It's easy to say 'they have their reasons' in the abstract, but few things promote *understanding* like watching the worst times a person can survive through. Silently, she puts her arms over her sister's, squeezing for a moment in a backwards approximation of a hug.
And then it's her sister's turn. Of all the questions that tumble around in her mind, none seem precise enough to suggest to Delilah. First, she spreads her hands and shakes her head, then looks to those who willingly followed the twins into Death's realm to help them out.
Shifting slightly to Elyanna, the brawler does lean in to murmur quietly. "...I know it ain't gonna help much. An' I know we ain't got the whole story. You did things you ain't ever able to take back, an' I understand that. But whoever you were... Seems t'me like who you are now, you're tryin' to make it right. An' that says good about you, Elyanna. Don't ever forget that."
"Will-fully-." Elyanna corrects with a lingering pain in her otherwise dispassionate tone as she's forcibly released, regaining her poise in short order. She stares after the Illithid, neither seeking nor shrinking from the eyes of her fellows. She'd told them she had things to atone for.
The new touch to her shoulder somewhat surprises her, and she turns some to regard the Seer, appraising his words, silent as Delilah falters, then answers softly, "That sounds like a good idea."
Then there is the batting of Ashlee's reassurance at her other shoulder and here, the monster unveiled finds... difficulty meeting the eyes of her friend. Her demeanor and upbringings, the same spurs that drove her to her... display, now vie to keep her emotions, her weaknesses from out of public view. Mostly. She brings her hand up to gently still Ashes's. A squeeze, yet she says nothing.
Donna's remarks chip at the hastily shored stone and she gives a minute nod, punctuated with words she'd spoken before, in response to the first time the brawler spoke to her, chiding her for her methods:
"Things to unlearn."
She looks to Delilah and her hesitation, and in pursuance of the suggestion put forth, "Perhaps asking to any exploitable compulsions would help. An unrelenting yearning for the color blue, a fear of spiders..." There is a pause, and, changing trails, "Can her employer's identity be bought?"
Merek nods a bit to Elyanna, while he seems to think about it. When it looks like she's ok, he will draw back the hand while he thinks about it, scratching his chin. "I think it'd be interesting to know where else she might've studied, who else might've known more about her that might still be about."
"Who, what, when, where, why and how are the parts of a mystery." Ashlee says, squeezing Elyanna's hand, holding the squeeze. She looks down, at the desk, at what she can see of the Illithid's robes. The monster does have nice things.
"There is what we know, and what we can prove. We have a name, a when, a why, a how." The Mourner raises her head, another stare at the Seer. No real help there, her own words made his.
She looks over at Delilah, "A where, that the Magus was murdered, so we can invesitage the nobles her murderer springs from, to better trace her now. A what. More whats. Magus Ectra's staff, she brought that over from life? It is in life? Her rival would have wanted some of her things, but of her other possessions, what might Veren have taken as a trophy? Was her throat slit with her own blade?"
"Assertions and hearsay will not sway justice. We need information that will help us find incontestible proof."
Delilah looks up at the Magus, as the latter takes her chin and holds her gaze, locking octopus eyes with the golden twin's blue ones. "Ask me a question," she hisses, "Before I run out of patience. I continue to answer only so long as you continue to entertain me."
Delilah keeps her hands out to either side of her, looking like she's got her head stuck in a lion's mouth. She ulps audibly, and is very plainly fighting with the urge to dash right back behind her sister. "Okay, so... what... should I ask?" she squeaks.
"Delilah, ask Elyanna's. Magus Ectra knows more about us in a few minutes than we learned in ... years. She must know her pupil, Veren." Ashlee says, looking at the Sorceress. She has to get a little jab in. "Not enough to foresee the murder, but well enough to know. 'What was Veren's most exploitable flaw when the Magus knew her?', ask That."
Elyanna nods at the suggestion and gives her attention to the interplay 'twixt avoided meal and would be conoisuir.
"You got this, D," Donna says, encouragingly. "Ash's got the right of it, I think. Just... you got this."
"Okay," Delilah breaths, looking up into the Magus' cruel eyes. "Alright... Okay." She ulps audibly, and brushes her hands over her chest. "Okay. Tell us, what was Veren's most esploitable flaw, when you knew her?"
Ecta's eyes narrow, and she leans down closer, looming her tentacled face right into Delilah's personal space. "Very similar, my apprentice's flaw is, to yours I suspsect," she hisses. "Look at you. Since the moment you arrived, even fearful of my presence, you haven't moved to cover yourself once. So self-assured, you are." She leans closer, "Vain, one might even say. I can see it in your eyes; You're beautiful, and you know it, and you aren't ashamed to put it to use for you." She leans straightens, and snorts audibly. "Veren was precisely the same way, when I knew her. She prized her looks at ner wits very highly. Too highly. She thinks that she is better than everyone else -- and thanks to my teaching, in numerous ways, she *is* -- but she will be given to overconfidence. The fact that you," she puts one fingertip over Delilah's lips, "Are not dead the way you are supposed to be, may've given her pause. No doubt she is trying to work out how to make you dead, if for no other reason than to prove that she can make you so. Against her, you will only take victory from the pit of defeat."
"Now... what question to ask *you*, delicious little sorceress."
"...Well okay then," Donna murmurs. "Got a couple dozen terrible plans already."
Her expression turns *extremely* hesitant, as she waits for the dead mind-flayer's metaphorical sword to fall.
Merek seems to be listening, waiting.
Elyanna's training and... relinquished hobbies are already formulating distractions and avenues of attack based upon those little tidbits.
Things to unlearn.
The hobkin looks to Delilah, sweeping her for comparison's sake. A doppleganger, after all, must share some things in common. There is some silence from the Keeper as she considers things until Donna's remark, which gets a brief snerk, "Promising."
Her arms fold as she she awaits the spectacle, formulating the next build on their information.
"So..." Ashlee says carefully, "Confirming I heard correctly, not asking. She's beautiful by your standards."
She stares at Delilah, taking notes, feeling forced to accept the assertations of others that there are more than goblin measures of beauty. Even the Illithid asserts that short, fat, and warty is not the ultimate ideal. That perhaps having a chest larger than her stomach, a waist smaller than her hips, smooth skin and body hair thin enough to be invisible could be considered attractive. Ashlee might not be horrendously ugly, even with her full lips and large eyes and expressive ears. Might. "Just making sure."
She looks away. The examination, an intense cross between a clinical mortician's assessment and a Diamond patron's unrestrained interest, is over. "Sorry. I was... elsewhere."
Elyanna may have to have a talk with her friend... if her show-and-tell hasn't scuttled that particular appelation for all time.
"She is beautiful by her own standards," snaps the Illithid. "I see no beauty in cattle, not even my own apprentice." She siezes hold of Delilah's shoulders and spins the sorceress around, to face towards the group and away from the Magus; and then pulls her in, holding her biceps as she wraps her tentacles around her head, covering eyes and nose and just leaving her mouth exposed, showing a bit of a shocked expression.
"Show me," seethes the illithid, "The moment when you were the most deeply ashamed of your sister."
Rune, as a city, is certainly not lacking in amenities. Getting a reservation for a table for four at a posh outdoor cafe isn't too hard, if you know one of the waitresses (Delilah did, at the time) and you happen to have a little extra coin (Dad did, at the time, and spent the next three weeks wondering where it went). Getting there with your sister who, according to the parental rules, is not suppose to be out being... noticed, was somewhat more difficult. Still, she had managed, and gotten a pair of attractive young lads for double dates, one for her and one for Donna. All had turned up dressed to impress (Donna in one of Delilah's dresses) and, as one might expect; and three of the four people at the table knew how to play the game, of talk and posture and subtle signals, all aimed at moving closer to that moment, that leads inevitably to the nice clothes getting taken off in a bedroom, somewhere, for... other activities.
But Donna doesn't know how to play this game, clearly. The occasional nudge from her twin's foot under the table doesn't help, and the situation grows more and more awkward as the night goes on, with Delilah responding favorably to advances and Donna... less so.
Of course it can't end without a bang, and one is most certainly delivered. Just as Delilah is ignoring the awkwardness long enough to kiss her date, Donna's tries the same trick. The doctor would later say that his jaw was fractured in two places, he needed six replacement teeth, and his nose would never be quite as straight as it was before, ever again.
In the moment, all Delilah could do was look... horrified, as the table lay smashed with one young man laying bloodied and barely conscious, teeth laying in blood, with one pissed off Donna standing over him.
Of course, everyone stopped whatever they were doing to stare at the two women; one face flushed with rage, and the other's face turned beet red.
Naturally, the city guard were called.
Guess who had to explain it to Mom.
And now, with the passage of time and the opportunity to be something more than the feral, furious wildling haunting Valethor Manor, Donna is *almost* as embarrassed about the result of the scene playing out before the group, face dropping into her hands as she lets out a mortified groan. "...Y'don't bother to show someone what 'I like you' even looks like, this is what y'get. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes..."
Ash's brief moment of increasing self-worth, shattered. She's an ugly cow. A realization so painful she almost misses Delilah's memory. Almost.
She watches. A city she doesn't know. Human children she barely recognizes as her companions now. She notes how features developed, what stayed, what vanished, what grew larger or longer. An insight into human physical maturity clicks into place.
As does one regarding emotional maturity. The entire scene is fascinating to Ashes. She's been on dates. She's been Donna. She hasn't punched anyone, but from Delilah's point of view she sees her utter lack... of everything.
A little more self esteem dies.
Now, she reaches out, pets Donna on the shoulder. "There, there." Console the brawler while she mentally stares at more pieces than she knows what to do with, from a puzzle she never knew she was working on. Perhaps that's what the advanced Vardamite 'being social' pamphlet is about. This is living. This is life.
Still, eyes on the prize. "Are you going again Donna?"
Elyanna, more familiar with the growth stages of fullblooded humans, watches the escapades almost with detatchment, though there is a glimmer of curiosity there. Perhaps even an ember of something... else. She was a halfbreed, in a land where humans are barely more than vermin. She was a higborn, who nonetheless had to earn her place at table by learning her place at both ends of the lash.
Even now, she's too both too much Hob, yet cruelly not enough, and her dalliances were always matters of dominance.
On both sides of the lash.
The red woman looks between the sisters, now and after some seconds hesitation, steps forward and alights a hand to either shoulder.
Merek looks at all the memories that keep on showing up, learning a lot more about the people than he wanted. He didn't want people to feel like their memories were entertainment, the man looks to the Magus while he thinks about it, he waits.
Even as the memory fades, the magus keeps Delilah in her clutches, wrapped up tight in tentacles, until the young sorceress squirms and tries, in vain, to tear herself loose. "Let me go," she gasps. "I showed you the memory. I gave you what you wanted! Let me-- go!!"
"Pity," whispers the Illithid. "You *would* be delicious... and the most pleasing of all here to eat. You combine vanity and fear into one little ball of gray matter."
But at last, the magus lets Delilah go, and with a little push between her shoulderblades sends her back towards Donna.
"So," she crows. "Had enough? Or will there be more? Ask, if you wish; keep going until you pass out for all I care. But entertain me or get out."
Donna starts to lunge forward as Delilah begins to squirm, and the moment the Magus lets her sister go the brawler lunges to pull her sorcerous twin behind her, glaring at the Illithid. "...Yeah, no," she snarls, both in answer to priestess and Magus. "I think we learned what we need to. You okay, D?"
Merek walks forward a little bit. "I'll ask one more question. Your apprentice that you taught. Tell me, this is a request more than a question. Well, did you keep anything that used to be her own? Sentimental? That you are willing to trade for? Or something of hers that you would reveal the location of?" he asks.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Delilah whispers, wrapping her arms around her sister and sagging against her. "I'm... sorry that all got brought up again, though. I should never have arranged that."
"This is the realm of the dead," Ecta snorts. "I have nothing that did not belong to me. I *do* have wordly objects that *did* belong to me... I was close to achieving lichdom when my apprentice betrayed me. I should have seen it coming... she *was* skilled in deception." She laughs, and glares at Donna as she does it. "leaving so quickly? You could learn so much more if you stayed. Coward."
She laughs, as she siezes Merek's arm and pulls him in close. "You could likely find anything she left in my manse, if you could find it," she hisses. "But it is deep in the underground, and close to the strongholds of my own kind. Go, if you wish, it entertains us when lambs come willingly to the slaughter."
At that, she wraps her tantacles around Merek's head; and he can already feel the throbbing pain associated with them. "Show me," she whispers, "Your greatest loss."
Elyanna considers the Magus making her excuses and can't help but smile. Her ego really is out of control... and her ability to read minds is not infallible.
She watches the Seer step in for another round of give and take, "Until the lamb trips the butcher off a cliff."
Merek thinks back to his greatest loss. Well, he doesn't seem to even know himself what that is. There's the time his friend was taken from him, though while he begins to picture it to form a thought, he changes to another of many scenes. Well, he's had his life taken from him multiple times, and each time it feels like a part of his soul is being damaged within.
That's still not... Wait, each time he comes back to new scenes, friends being killed, being taken from the world and also kidnapped, in fact he seems to replay each scene over and over. What happened to a lot of people. It's a complete mess, then there is the isolation of when he went to the Iron Hells. Was that loss? Yes, that was a great loss. No longer able to even seek the goddess, to be able to feel her love. The scenes keep on replaying and eventually the man is driven to the floor of the place, madness seeming about ready to take him over trying to discern anything. Every loss was too much for him. He always cared a lot more than he should, losing anything wasn't really acceptable to him. In fact, in some way, he accepts the truth. To him, what did he really actually have in the world. He'd lost everything in his mind. No matter the truth of that, it is all that seems to come to him.
The Mourner listens, there are many details to capture. It may be worth going to the Illithid's Manse. It's still a poor trade, as Merek has to suffer each personal loss as he sorts through the memories to try and select the worst.
Which isn't always possible, or known. She stares at friends of his she's never known, and never will. At the deaths he's had, which she was aware of, but which are excruciating to view first hand. Life is messy, its end, often worse.
Still, the Seer seems to come to a personal realization, and it's one that clicks another piece into place for the Mourner's puzzle. She's got at least three going now, it's rather challenging. Still she remembers the important of reassuring words in trying times.
In flat monotone, the Mourner says, "It's ok. It will be all right."
Elyanna bears witness to the Seer's regrets, unmoving. Not unmnoved so much as unable to articulate. Sympathy more than empathy, as her count of friends has only become an actual number in more recent days.
Like the Mourner, like the Seer had, before, she steps in for an assurance. She gives him the only solace that buoys what's left of her own soul, "Only when your time is truly done, is anything beyond correction."
Merek nods a bit in thanks to those that speak to him, then he watches Delilah, Donna, and Magus, to see what their reaction to his memories would be. The man seems to relax although he seems... Withdrawn, while he finds a place to watch, and nods a bit to Ashlee.
More whats.
More whats. Take more than you share. Witch watch words, according to Nan Mochtrath. Ashlee's tutor. Ashlee's ersatz mother. Ashlee Ciaradh's victim. Ciaradh, which means: Black, dark, the time between the light and the darkness. Sunset. Twilight. A translation very few know. One of the things that drew her to Merek in the first place. He recognized the name Nan Mochtrath gave her.
But not why.
Ashlee was stillborn. Nan Mochtrath was the midwife, helped her mother, helped her conceive. Helped her in her grief. 'These things happen, only the gods know, there there dear, she's in a better place'. She knew, the witch knew, that the potions she gave the hopeful mother would kill her unborn baby. Mold it, into something the witch could cheat death with, a vessel she could put herself into. A vessel needing certain rituals, certain preparation, that all seemed to be going so well. Except Ashlee watched. Ashlee learned.
And Magus Ectra may have more in common with Nan Mochtrath than she realizes. The Stillborn Ashlee followed orders, never seemed to have many emotions, much of a personality. She listened. Listened to ghosts too. Restless spirits unhappy with Nan Mochtrath's witchery. Spirits that whispered where, and when, and how. And why. At the crucial moment, that most delicate moment when Mochtrath's spirit was moving between bodies, out of the old and into the new, then Ashlee upset the ritual. And It killed Mochtrath. Sunset follows Dawn, but not in the way Dawn imagines.
It's with these eyes that watched her mother-witch-murderer, her tutor-mentor-victim, that Ashlee has been watching here. She's noticed Merek's hidden friend. That's telling. She's noticed the Magus has a lot of things. That's also telling. So many things of life. So many trappings that shouldn't be here. So much showing off. Fiery letters when she writes. A dramatic silver staff. Her towering presence. Books.
A limp.
"I don't think you have any power here that the Feiu of the Tears doesn't allow you."
The Illithid is over by Merek. Ashlee steps up beside the desk, moves around, closer to Ectra, ready to kick her in that weak knee. Hobgoblin rules: exploit weakness. In one swift motion, she grabs the silver staff, uses it to sweep the Magus' book off the table, brings the staff down on her knee to snap it. The book doesn't move. The staff doesn't break. This is Ectra's room, her will overrides. Perhaps Ashes was mistaken.
Undeterred, she continues.
"You haven't had visitors in a long time. Your people may know of you but clearly don't care. You surround yourself with your living memories, re-eating the meaningless shit of your life. This is the most fun you've had in years. You're afraid of what comes next. I think you're stuck. I think you can hurt us if we allow it, but I think we can hurt you in return."
Even cowgirls get the blues and run over in stampedes. To say nothing of being nibbled to death by ducks.
Her voice has a power, an emptiness that resonates with this place of unlife. Full of ashes, despair, loss. Where the Fountain of all Tears has endless halls for those who need time to wait and come to terms with themselves. Until they try her patience. With unexpected force and emotion, embodying the realm, Ashes asks a question even her goddess might like to know the answer to.
"What keeps you here?"
'Coward.'
Donna's first reaction is to explain each and every way in which that word is absolutely the wrongest one, and *there are many.* But before she could utter a syllable, the brawler subsided, content to stare down the Illithid, her arms around her sister in the same sort of defiant silence she's weathered many a sneering diatribe, fuming over the sneering torture of a soul too egotistical to care that it's dead.
And then Ashlee speaks.
And despite herself, the sullen brawler snorts, quietly, over a wry smile.
Ashes without the skull
https://www.daughterofthelilies.com/uploads/1517377426-shy.jpg
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTzuxhOh80M
