The Four Pillars

Game Master chavamana

"Паразиты боятся света," Konstantin says, mostly to himself.

Samirah glances back towards the others once, and quickly, before chasing the demon.

The black smoke streaming from Samirah forms Ernie above the drop. As the incorporeal demon moves away from Samirah she strikes out with her blade - the flames once again a clear burning light. The cut pulls away some of the demon's black essence, but not enough.

Chancre gestures with his hands like he is conducting an orchestra. Or possibly giving Ernie a rude gesture. Or both. In response all three of the magical force-ful blades turn from menacing Samirah to violently striking at the incorporeal demon but only a single of the slashing, stabbing weapons manages to touch smoke.

Konstantin's forearm frosts over and he reveals one of his ubiquitous snowballs, which he hurls at the demon. The demon, zipping across the false floor zigs at an opportune moment to avoid the hurling ice - the smoke steaming into Chancre's mouth and nose.

A pause, a single step towards the trapped square that would send Chancre's body tumbling into the spiked pit - then a waft of blue flame and the smoke streams right back out.

Chancre makes a face. It's not a pretty face. "You taste terrible, Ern," he says.

Chancre makes that face again. "It's like you bathed in lutefisk. Are you a lutefisk demon, Ern? I need a drink. Possibly two."

"What wine goes best with demon? I'm thinking either something sweet like elderflower or something harsh like bitters. But not in between."

"What would you drink with yourself, Ern?"

Chancre taps his fingernails against his teeth as he thinks. "Probably something viscous. Am I close?"

Chancre comes to a decision. "Maple syrup and ground sapphire. Stolen if possible."

Chancre runs a hand through what's left of his hair and spits through the gap in his teeth.

"So did you always aspire to be a demon of deception and dissension, Ernie? Is it more what you are or more what you do?"

"Because I have to say that people are complicated, and I always hoped a little that demons were simpler."

"I guess maybe I have a simplistic view of cosmology. It's what comes of letting people learn it themselves. Long hours with nothing to do but think about stuff. Belief shorn of dogma, you know."

Chancre cracks his knuckles, and then his back.

"Do you have a favorite plane of existence? I've always been fond of the apocryphal ones, under the theory that they must exist somewhere, otherwise why would they be repressed?"

"I am not so cosmopolitan. This is the only plane of existence that I've ever visited. Unless altered states count. Do you think altered states count? I am really inclined toward no. I think if you're someplace else, you should have to go there. Just drinking from a bottle or eating a mushroom or smoking an angel's feather shouldn't count."

Chancre is silent for a moment, apparently pondering something.

"Although when I think about it, I'm not entirely sure that was a real angel's feather. I guess what it comes down to is does the angel's flight come from its wings and powerful breastbone or is a mystical ability and the wings are just for show? The feather in question was a large pinion feather, and it did emit cries when it was brought near the truly evil ..."

Chancre shrugs. "Wasn't my feather, I just took a hit and passed it on. I never really asked questions about its provenance. Until now, I mean. Quite a buzz, but not a wicked buzz, if you follow."

Chancre sighs. "Those were the days. The work was backbreaking, but I didn't have to think about anything. Just work until my debt was repaid. I was young and stupid. Hard to imagine now."

"What does a young demon do in his young and stupid days, Ern? What passes for wholesome in demon land? Or does that just not translate? I have a mental image of you lot all red in tooth and claw just like ocelots. And with ocelot heads and tails, in fact. Did you ever consider being an ocelot? I think you would make a handsome ocelot -- if you weren't so darned evil."

Chancre mops his brow with a dirty handkerchief. "I think it's fascinating how so many holy books leave out the commonplace. I mean, we all know that Aroden raised the Starstone and founded a great Empire -- but what was his favorite color? And why did he hate petunias? We all know what Erastil does in the woods -- but why? Stuff like that. Gods are so much like real people in that regard."

"Mine was, once."

"Sometimes I think about that. What would it be like to go from being a human to being a god? Why would a person do that to themselves on purpose? I ever meet Iomedae, I'll ask her."

Chancre snorts. "The line between pride and self-confidence runs right through that wall."

"It's funny what people do without considering the long-term consequences. If you're the sort of person who considers any consequences at all. I don't think through things real well either, but I know when I swing my fist it's going to hurt my fingers and your face."

Chancre looks at the blurry space of Ernie.

"If you weren't incorporeal, I mean. I swing my fist at you, Ernie, I'll hurt my hand on the brickwork."

"Which would be stupid. And the thing about that is, I can heal my own self now. But for a while, I ran with a cleric of Shelyn -- not literally on good days -- and she had a policy. It was"

Chancre tilts his head, pinches his nose shut, and speaks in a nasal voice.

"I don't heal stupid."

Chancre runs a hand through his hair and returns to his normal voice. It doesn't help.

"It was a good policy. Sticks with you."

"More good days than bad with her, but we sure ran a lot on the bad ones."

"We also hid a lot. We ran across some gelatinous cubes once, and while we were hiding got into an argument about whether they were a cluster or a group or a parliament or what. It's a good thing they move so slow. We got away with the boots on our feet, and not much else."

Chancre scratches his head. "I still think parliament is too fancy a word for those things."

"What do you think, Ern? Do you like fancy words or simple ones? Or are you a what-gets-the-job-done kinda demon?"

"I'm kinda more of a what-gets-the-job-done holy man, myself. Holyish man. Emphasis on the ish. Cayden Cailean's kinda that way, which is why we don't have Paladins. We have a lot of church holidays, though. And a wide variety of sacramental whatever. That would make for an interesting slogan.

Come to Cayden Cailean and enjoy our sacramental whatever."

Chancre shakes his head. "No, I take that back. It's a terrible slogan."

"Bards make better slogans than that. Hell, paladins make better slogans than that."

"And paladins aren't exactly known for their creativity. Maybe I didn't hang around the fun paladins, but somehow I doubt it."

"I kinda find most paladins to be a little too whatever-gets-the-job-done. I am also fond of smiting evil, but it's hard to find capital-E Evil in the wild. Present company excepted, of course. Most people are bad or confused or misguided or angry slash vengeful slash ...."

Chancre trails off and squints at Ernie.

"But not Evil evil. You know what I mean, I think."

"Most people think of themselves too highly be truly Evil. It's the weird case where one Sin keeps you from others. Do you agree, Ern? Or you have differing thoughts on Sin? I want to know. But am happy to tell you mine if you are shy on the subject."

"It's like with a horse. A horse is a horse, you see. Once the horse sees itself as a horse, then it can't do non-horse things. But a horse that sees itself as a person can do anything that a person can do. That's what a truly evil person is like. Most people are too tied to their concept of horsey-ness to be the evil horse that thinks it's a person."

"I am not sure how centaurs fit into this analogy. Poorly, I think."

"Although I do find the middle ground fascinating. How do you navigate being half-horse and half-human? Or half-good and half-evil. Half-smart and half-stupid. Half-Konstantin and half-Samirah? This is where the interesting people live. At the intersections. Pure evil and pure good are boring."

Chancre makes a vague gesture encompassing everyone present, the walls, and possibly also the floor.

"Present company included, of course."

Chancre kicks at a small pebble and watches it bounce off into the open space and down into the (admittedly small) chasm.

"I was wondering. How much of what you do is what you are. Or I mean, how much of what you are is what you do? Do you possess people because that's the best way to get into folks and turn them on each other -- or do you get into folks and turn them on each other because you could already possess people?"

He kicks at a second one with glee and tries to bank it through Ernie's noncorporeal form, failing.

"I would say that for myself, a lot of what I have become results from things that were done to me -- situations that I found myself in -- rather than any innate me-ness. I was kind of unformed as a kid, like most humans. What is the word? Coatl? Incoatl. But I don't know if that translates to demons or devils ... or even elves or ifrits."

Chancre scuffs his feet along the stone floor, but is unable to scare up another pebble.

"'We are all alone in our inability to truly know one another.' A guy I knew said that once, but he was a jerk. Probably still is. This is why I ask."

"It's not because I love the sound of my own voice," and here Chancre doesn't exactly look at Konstantin, but he doesn't exactly not look at Konstantin either. "It's because I am curious."

"This nose has been stuck more places it doesn't belong...." Chancre sighs.

"This where teachers have parables, and I don't. I have questions instead."

"Does the sure knowledge of the existence of God increase belief to the sa,e degree it decreases faith? Or do we lose something the closer we get to the Divine? Does that affect demons? Or do you lot just believe in something powerful, and if there is nothing else powerful to believe in, you believe in slash worship yourself?"

"Of course I know people -- humans people -- that worship themselves, but that's more of an ego thing. We are vulnerable to ego. Ego, power, and the pleasures of the flesh. Unholy trinity, right?"

"Although my God doesn't have issues with most of the basic pleasures. I find Him refreshingly practical that way. There is a certain grim laid-back attitude that I find in the paladins of Cayden Cailean. If you don't know where to find a party, just follow a pack of Cayden Cailean paladins on a warm spring night."

"Then go to a different party. You don't need that aggravation in your life."

"Or maybe you do. Sometimes aggravation keeps me in check. Keeps my ego from getting too big. I am not the most humble person you've ever met, and it's good to be reminded.

I try to be realistic about things, and I think that's the point. I keep trying, and will continue to be very trying."

Chancre releases a burst of air. It's not shaped like any normal sound. Maybe it was meant to be a laugh. Maybe he is leaking.

He puts his hands on his hips. "You ever decide to, you know, stop being so evil and all, I'm open for talking. I'm always open for talking, but I mean I'm open for talking about that. I don't think you need to stop being miasmic if you stopped being Evil -- but I'm not really an expert on either subject. Especially not miasmas."

Chancre nods sharply, once. "Right. That's out of the way. Now to business. What kind of games of chance do you play, Ern? Cards? Dice? Roll the bones? Spin the top? Spot the lady? You kinda strike me as a spot-the-lady demon. Combines avarice, pride, and maybe a touch of lust depending on the cards you use."

"I guess in theory some of those are games of skill, too. Although the skill is sometimes" Chancre holds up his hands "hand work and not" he points at his temple "head work."

"Which turns them from games of skill to games of outright losing," Chancre gives Ernie a thumbs-up. "Or at least it does the way I run Spot the Lady."

"when i run it right"

"When I don't run it right, it's still a game of outright losing, but the loser has two thumbs and is this guy."

Chancre points to himself with both of his thumbs.