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Samantha had been following the bigger kids. They seemed so confident in their choices.
Samantha shivers and jumps at the sound of rat-men skulls being smashed and cracked. All of this was very, very scary. But, being scared wasn't going to make them magically not be in this situation. She grabs ahold of Oak's hand and follows the older kids.
Samantha drops the crystal in revulsion. "It holds energy or essence. It's what they use to hold what they steal."
Though Samantha is still deep in shock over their murder of the maybe not evil rat person, she focuses enough to try to help.
Speaking of Libraries, we have the key and permission to make full use of the Tower of Necromancy. We might not be able to get back into the Tower of Conjuration at this time, but if that library has non-Conjuration in it, then perhaps the Tower of Necromancy has non-Necromancy spells as well.
Niyut's Current Essence Plan: Life Essence (Prisca): Improved Familiar to awaken Oseja as a Dreamland Cat Sorcerer. (If approved.) (Imbued into Self) Ethereal Essence (Prisca): Stone Discus is now a Ranged Touch Spell, but SR applies. (Imbued into Fíkeh’semghédôm) Requested Secondary Effect: +1 DC bonus to [Curse] Spells? Something witchy? Ethereal Essence (Prisca) (Second): Improve Lesser Tenebrous Spell to Tenebrous Spell. (Imbued into Fíkeh’semghédôm) Requested Secondary Effect: Access to Prisca's Patron's Spells. Similar to the Spontaneous Combustion ability but with presumably the Nightmares (?) Patron instead of the Fire Domain. Since, this Essence is upgrading an existing ability, I'm okay with this requested ability subsuming Ventriloquism secondary ability currently granted by Lesser Tenebrous Spell. Ethereal Essence (Xuh's Breastplate): The Guardian ability imbued into Fíkeh’semghédôm. Ethereal Essence (Rogue's Axe): Currently, being held depending on if my Improved Familiar is approved.
Gruskorb will imbue his new Essence into himself to get +1 to all saves. Just to gather it here, he also self imbued the Water Essence, and increased the enhancement bonus on his whip to a +3.
Alezara was a Nightblood? Yes, I imagine that if she had the Solar Bloodline that would be super awkward for her given their leaders are all a special type of vampire. :-p :-p
I know that you have been interested in bloodline abilities in the past. We also know that her ability to use [Light] sorcery comes from her mother. "The ioun torch can cast a single spell with the ‘light’ descriptor from the sorcerer’s spell list (as this ability comes from Ruza’s mother, Alezra Sharpwit)." We also have examples of Essences and Curios adding to spell lists. (My wand, Truk's holy symbol, etc) I think it would be possible to awaken the Solar bloodline within Ruza since if her mother's magic was light based that's the closest bloodline. An Evocation Essence might add the Solar Bloodline spells to the list she can cast and give those spells for her the [Light] descriptor. A Fire Essence could imbue her with the Bloodline Arcana. With Life Essences you could give her Bloodline abilities of that bloodline. (Which she could then share with you.) Now you might not be interested in such a development. (Fair enough!) But, I believe it would be mechanically and thematically possible.
Ysildaë hands the other woman her waterskin. Now that she is certain that their immediate vicinity is secure and that Maria is recovering, she pulls a necklace from her painted silk. The necklace has three charms, the faces of three goddesses. She kisses the first charm, "Glory to Valthyra who forges us together." She kisses the second charm, "Glory to Miravynn whose ichor flows within." She kisses the third charm, "Glory to Dasyra who guides us from above." With these prayers she dedicates the victory to the three goddesses, as she does whenever she feels their hands guiding her in battle.
We are competence impaired. :-p
Niyut examines the stone rings and tries to determine their significance. If there is no magic here which would disrupt or twist a ritual, she chooses a ring far from Verthag. She takes her boline and carves a figure-eight into the earth. Then she carves a second larger figure-eight around it. Scoring the earth between the two figure-eights, she divides each lobe into four sections. In each of the sections, she inscribes a single different rune. Then she repeats this process, creating two new figure-eights set at a 180 degree angle to the first set. These lobes too are divided into four sections, but the order of the runes is the inverse of the previous sequence. The adamantine blade cuts through the earth life soft butter. She then reaches into her sleeve and pulls out the Enchantment essence she claimed from the giant her brother slew in the city. It shines with a golden light. She places it in the mithril bowl. Returning to her sleeve she pulls out a small pot filled with small amber balls. She takes one of these balls and heats it with her hand, rolling it with her palms. This is gum arabic -- made from the sap of the acacia tree. The same kind of tree from which her mother's staff is carved. She had acquired this pot from Garidan when he split the reagents with her.* Once it becomes more maleable she plucks an eyelash and presses it into the substance. She balls the gum arabic around her eyelash and drops it in the bowl with the essence. These preparations take around ten minutes. Then she begins to chant in her soft voice. She makes motions of opening and beckoning. "Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Et facti speciem augurium. Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Et facti speciem augurium. Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Et facti speciem augurium. .."
Like a great eye slowly blinking open, the runes and lines of each pair of figure-eights slowly begin to flicker and flare. The set aligned north to south blazes with a golden radiance while its rune sequence thrums a pearly light. The set aligned east to west is the mirror image of the other set. She kneels before the bowls frozen rigid and straight. Opalescent and golden fires dance about her form. "Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Essentia et essentia sunt mala fascinare fit praestigiae. Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Essentia et essentia sunt mala fascinare fit praestigiae. Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Essentia et essentia sunt mala fascinare fit praestigiae. . ." While she chants she begins to make an arcane series of movements and gestures with her arms and fingers. This series begins rigidly with almost mathematical precision. As they continue they blur and flow together leaving after images blazing opalescent and gold. It appears that she has thousands of arms weaving a complicated spell. The runes blaze in sympathetic response and begin to move. One rune in the sequence begins to move and shift. When it reaches a new rune in the sequence that rune shifts until it mirrors the original moving rune. Eventually all runes are its copy and no rune blazes with golden light. ** She is in confident control of this portion of the ritual. The reagents in the mithril bowl begin to de-cohere into pearly radiance. "Haec est enim leporum meam. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Haec est enim leporum meam. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Haec est enim leporum meam. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. . . ." Where everything before was movement and power, this section of the ritual is characterized by stillness. The light and fire that had limned Niyut bleed away just as the after images of her gestures do. This power is gathered in the bowl. The essence that once blazed golden is now a vibrant pearl.
Niyut gives a wide smile when she doesn't flub the incantation like she did previously. But she is not one to rest on her laurels or to take unnecessary risks. "Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. . ." She doesn't want any power to escape or any malice to linger.
At this point she is feeling quite confident in her skills and begins the penultimate incantation. "Omnes semitae finem. Omnes portas aperuerunt occlusae. Nec animus neque vires neque ambulant transverso limite portae. Omnes semitae finem. Omnes portas aperuerunt occlusae. Nec animus neque vires neque ambulant transverso limite portae. Omnes semitae finem. Omnes portas aperuerunt occlusae. Nec animus neque vires neque ambulant transverso limite portae. Omnes semitae finem. Omnes portas aperuerunt occlusae. Nec animus neque vires neque ambulant transverso limite portae. . ." The pearly lines of both sets of figure-eights now throb with pearly rather than golden radiance.
Images of strange spirits fade into view around the yurt. None have transgressed the yurt's aperture. Each is inexorably drawn back to the figure-eights and blink out of existence. "Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per vim phantasiae nunc est augurium aetheris. Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per vim phantasiae nunc est augurium aetheris. Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per vim phantasiae nunc est augurium aetheris. . ." ***
Her confidence comes too soon. Try as she might, Niyut cannot close the path of power or the gate of change. It is like the great eye that blinked open can see her. Many eyes of many shades wink open around her. Though they are of different colors something about them shares a similarity. In desperation, she grabs and absorbs the new illusion essence. Come what may she would not lose the work of her craft. Niyut feels something calling to her, and then she knows no more. Her body goes rigid. She convulses as if struck by lightning and then she is still. Oseja mews softly and licks her mistress' face. She is unresponsive for many long minutes and then she awakes with a shuddering gasp. She buries her face in the cat's soft fur. Her memory of her spiritual journey is incomplete. She knows she was somewhere else. She sees flashes of images. A crimson sky. A great storm. A river so clear and so wide it dwarfs her comprehension. A osseous, rune-graven tor. She concentrates and tries to remember. She sees a man, a most beautiful man. Not even Sir Lüendolf’s smile so easily quickened her breath. The man’s dark, shaggy curls wreath his head like a halo and accentuate his amber eyes. The planes of his face are most pleasing, strong and noble. His broad shoulders taper down to a tight and muscular torso. His only provision to modesty is a linen wrap around his waist. Something about this man is both familiar and wrong. A flash of a dark ape with ruby eyes and smile. She remembers his voice: “You resent me, little sister. In this, you are like a leper who refuses to a see that she is falling apart, resenting the physician who heals her. You were becoming even before I found you. . .” Niyut knows he said something more, but she cannot remember. After that all she remembers is pain. Pierced hands. Blood splashing against runes engraved in bones. A talon thrust into her forehead. She feels knowledge, dark and secret knowledge, fill her thoughts. But not all her disjointed memories are dark. She remembers a tree. A tree deeply rooted tree whose boughs pierce the heavens and is crown by the sun. Or is that tree a woman, heavy with child? All she knows is that the light within her has also grown along with the dark. She also sees two round scars on the palm of her hands that she did not have before.
It should be neutralize poison. Truly, I am a visionary.
I wonder if the missing 4th level spell from the Unicorn Bloodline is Neutralize Poison since unicorns are kinda famous for that?
Cool. Speaking of your divine fighting style, I think you might not be using it properly. "If you use Combat Expertise while wielding a greatsword, you must apply the AC benefits to all allies, if any, within your reach instead of yourself. When at least one ally is within your reach and you are using the Combat Expertise feat, you do not suffer the penalty to melee attacks rolls on the first attack you make each turn. You still suffer the penalty on any additional attacks, including attacks of opportunity. Valthyra will grant Combat Expertise for the purposes of this feat to any disciple if the disciple does not meet the prerequisites for Combat Expertise (Int 13)." You have been applying this penalty on your first and only attack. This might have changed the outcome of some of these rounds.
Niyut gives Malthazir a small smile, almost shy. "Luckily, it won't all be chanting. The diagram will take sometime to paint as well." Niyut sweeps clear the hard-packed floor of the yurt. She then covers the cleared area in buckskin mats sewn together to create a tarp. She imagines how the space must be for the ritual to succeed. Three of us must be able to stand in the center diamond holding mother’s staff. There must be space for my grimoire, the reagents, and the offering bowl. Having envisioned the center of the magic circle, she takes a fistful of bone-white sand from a pouch and carefully traces a diamond big enough for her needs. She looks up at Malthazir, who stands to the side but close enough that he may see all that she does, and murmurs, “This diamond represents Primal Bone, the last Primal Plane to take shape. When it comes time for you to begin the invocation, you must hold the idea of Bone in your mind. ‘Aperta virtus in porta! Aperta! Ne per vim fluxus et in omne tempus. Hic oritur una potentia. Hic tenetur a virtute tunc intrabunt! Quid quod isto excitaret atque iterum.’” Niyut pauses and repeats the invocation until Malthazir has it. The diagram she had shown him didn’t include all the necessary incantations. It seems like the book intentionally obfuscates information. “Do not begin the invocation until all three of us have paid the blood offering to the book and spilled mingled blood into the mithril bowl. Only then, when all three of us holding the staff with bloody hands should you begin the chant. Truk and I will be supporting you with the chant ‘Os! Audi oboedientes!’” The spirit guide pauses again to make sure her brother is paying attention. “Of the three of us, you have the least to remember, but it is of vital importance. When each layer of the magic circle flickers to light you must slightly change your chant. ‘Os! Audi oboedientes!’ becomes ‘Sol! Audi oboedientes!’. Os, Sol, Carne, Oceanus, Caelum, Mors, Vita, Aetas – eight invocations in that order. Don’t worry too much. I will be chanting with you.” She drills her brother in the sequence. His memory is not as precise as Malthazir’s, and his tusks slightly interfere with his pronunciation. Nevertheless, in time, he masters the sequence. Niyut takes yellow sand from a different pouch and paints a square that intersects with the first diamond to make a rough star. She returns her attention to Malthazir, “This layer represents the power of the sun. You must visualize its majesty as you begin the invocation again. Each layer will flare when you are successful, but for you, the tricky part is that you must continue to be thinking of Bone while you chant for the sun. Each segment of the invocation will take several minutes. By the end you must be clearly visualizing seven different things while speaking an eighth. This will be difficult. The magic circle may help this process for you.” Reaching into a third pouch of sand, she paints a deep green diamond that bounds the square of the sun. Niyut had chosen this color to honor her brother. Flesh comes in many colors. With skill, she paints five more squares and diamonds: dark blue (ocean), light blue (sky), black (death), a vibrant green (life), and a royal purple (time). She explains to Malthazir the significance of each in their turn. “Once the magic circle is completely activated, I will begin a series of five different chants. During which, you and Truk must chant: ‘Hostis Tempus! Audi oboedientes!’ After I have finished the fifth incantation, you must use the following words to begin to dismiss the magic circle: ‘Portam iuxta potentum Proxima! Quod virtute manet, evocantes te hic. Necesse est quod ad aethera carpit.’ As before you must start with dismissing bone and end with dismissing time.” The ever-competent wizard memorizes this invocation as well. He notices that in each of the triangles created by the interlocking squares and diamonds Niyut is painting a curious rune of sharp lines, ending in open circles. The ground-quartz particles of this sigil catch the light. It takes the better part of an hour for Niyut to sand-paint the magical circle and teach the Truk and Malthazir their parts in the ritual. Finally, she is ready. “Raektov, when I nod to you after the blood-letting, please hand my mother’s staff to me or to Malthazir. Remember to take care not to scuff the circle.” From her robe, she pulls out her bone-handled boline. She also produce’s the tongue of a goblin snake and places it on her opened grimoire. With her left hand she grasps the blade of her boline, gasping as the adamantine blade slices into her flesh. Careful not to waste this precious fluid, she lets her blood spill into the mithril bowl. The blade of her boline kindles with fire, purifying the blade of her blood. She hands the boline to her brother before, gesturing to him to spill his blood into the bowl as well.
Malthazir lets his blood flow into the bowl with a slight frown of distaste. Like Truk before him, the wizard also offers blood to the book. Only after the bowl and the book are fed does Niyut gesture to Reaktov to hand her the staff of Asulad, the Dreamer. With a bleeding left palm, she grasps the dark grey wood. Her blood smears across the red-streaked staff. Malthazir grasps the staff as well. So too does Truk’tosh. Is there a shadow of reluctance on his bluff features? Perhaps, some part of the mighty druid mistrusts such magic hard-worn from the spirit world. Perhaps, it is only his hand that pains him. Perhaps, it is nothing at all. In a clear and commanding voice, Malthazir begins the invocation. “Aperta virtus in porta! Aperta! Ne per vim fluxus et in omne tempus. Hic oritur una potentia. Hic tenetur a virtute tunc intrabunt! Quid quod isto excitaret atque iterum. Aperta virtus in porta! Aperta! Ne per vim fluxus et in omne tempus. Hic oritur una potentia. Hic tenetur a virtute tunc intrabunt! Quid quod isto excitaret atque iterum. Aperta virtus in porta! Aperta! Ne per vim fluxus et in omne tempus. Hic oritur una potentia. Hic tenetur a virtute tunc intrabunt! Quid quod isto excitaret atque iterum. . .” The voices of the twins intertwine, “Os! Audi oboedientes! Os! Audi oboedientes! Os! Audi oboedientes! Os! Audi oboedientes! . . .” As each layer of the magic circle flares to life, the counter-chant of the twins changes to evoke the desired power.
Niyut doesn't know what Malthazir is thinking as he awakens the circle to power, but the opening set of invocations is a success. It now falls to her. "Ecce omnes dis spirituum, ecce! Virgam hoc est sine ulla specie vires. Ejus memoriae est. Memoriam mortis est. Indicate nobis quomodo est et amisit restituatur. Ecce omnes dis spirituum, ecce! Virgam hoc est sine ulla specie vires. Ejus memoriae est. Memoriam mortis est. Indicate nobis quomodo est et amisit restituatur. Ecce omnes dis spirituum, ecce! Virgam hoc est sine ulla specie vires. Ejus memoriae est. Memoriam mortis est. Indicate nobis quomodo est et amisit restituatur . . .." The counter chant takes on a more robust tone as Malthazir weaves his tenor with Truk's growling bass: "Audi oboedientes! Audi oboedientes! Audi oboedientes . . ."
Though it takes some time, the magic circle is filled with watchful presence. Her soft voice grows firm as she chants, "Omnis deos qui servat invoco hostis est. Tempus adest hostis ille veniat. Adiuro vos, et peto hostis ad tempus restituere quod accepit. Hoc virgam benedicere. Indicate nobis quomodo memoria educi de morte. Omnis deos qui servat invoco hostis est. Tempus adest hostis ille veniat. Adiuro vos, et peto hostis ad tempus restituere quod accepit. Hoc virgam benedicere. Indicate nobis quomodo memoria educi de morte. Omnis deos qui servat invoco hostis est. Tempus adest hostis ille veniat. Adiuro vos, et peto hostis ad tempus restituere quod accepit. Hoc virgam benedicere. Indicate nobis quomodo memoria educi de morte. Omnis deos qui servat invoco hostis est. Tempus adest hostis ille veniat. Adiuro vos, et peto hostis ad tempus restituere quod accepit. Hoc virgam benedicere. Indicate nobis quomodo memoria educi de morte. . ." As her invocation changes, so to does the druid and the conjurer's: Hostis Tempus! Audi oboedientes! Hostis Tempus! Audi oboedientes! Hostis Tempus! Audi oboedientes . . .."
Whatever Niyut is saying in archaic draconic, is clearly having an effect. The white quartz runes flare with power before settling into a rhythmic throbbing of light. Malthazir thinks he can almost detect a pattern in the way the light plays through the white runes, throwing subtle rainbows over the ceiling of the yurt. A proud smile plays on the oracle's lips as she turns to the most difficult part of the ritual. "Hoc tunc docent hostis trifidamque linguam exertat et haec loquor in virgam. Demanda ut dicas nobis virgam autem, ubi ea quae amisit et perdidit hoc est mendacium. Demanda est in virgam docere trifidamque linguam exertat et consumebant quae est ex tempore illo. Hoc tunc docent hostis trifidamque linguam exertat et haec loquor in virgam. Demanda ut dicas nobis virgam autem, ubi ea quae amisit et perdidit hoc est mendacium. Demanda est in virgam docere trifidamque linguam exertat et consumebant quae est ex tempore illo. Hoc tunc docent hostis trifidamque linguam exertat et haec loquor in virgam. Demanda ut dicas nobis virgam autem, ubi ea quae amisit et perdidit hoc est mendacium. Demanda est in virgam docere trifidamque linguam exertat et consumebant quae est ex tempore illo. . ." The others do not pause or vary their chant.
Despite the difficulty, Niyut is clearly in absolute control of the ritual. With her right hand she reaches for the forked tongue lain across her grimoire. It leaps to her hand and starts to shine with the same rainbow opalescence as the strange rune. Energy floods through the three. To Truk, it feels like the charge of lightning in a storm. To Malthazir, he has felt this before but never so strongly. For a moment, he resounds with the harmonies of the cosmos. Niyut is paying less attention to the energy flowing into the staff, but to the tongue in her hand that is dissolving into light and merging with the staff. It takes some time for the feelings and the lights to subside but not disappear. Niyut begins to take up the chant again. This time her voice is almost cajoling. "Tempus hostis, etsi tenetur ad voluntatem quam ego non sine liberalitate. Ecce hic sanguis? Hoc est tuum. Id est solucionis. Mulgeatis et deliciis sanguine huius. Devoret. Hic est enim sanguis, et aliud mercedem. Tempus hostis, etsi tenetur ad voluntatem quam ego non sine liberalitate. Ecce hic sanguis? Hoc est tuum. Id est solucionis. Mulgeatis et deliciis sanguine huius. Devoret. Hic est enim sanguis, et aliud mercedem. Tempus hostis, etsi tenetur ad voluntatem quam ego non sine liberalitate. Ecce hic sanguis? Hoc est tuum. Id est solucionis. Mulgeatis et deliciis sanguine huius. Devoret. Hic est enim sanguis, et aliud mercedem. . ." Truk and Malthazir's chant buoys and supports her. "Hostis Tempus! Audi oboedientes! Hostis Tempus! Audi oboedientes! Hostis Tempus! Audi oboedientes . . .."
The blood in the bowl begins to froth and gurgle as it evaporates into the same white sparkling light. Eventually, there is no blood left in the bowl. As if it has been licked clean. After so long, and with everything going so well, Niyut wants to sag in relief, but that would be foolish. " Ecce tu dis congregentur spirituum, frater tuus est honos. Discedite loco isto. Nulla sit relicta testans malitiae. Nulla memoria vindicaret. Tu mihi diis parere necesse est pretium pretium sanguinis est. Et fuit sanguis ebrius est. Ecce tu dis congregentur spirituum, frater tuus est honos. Discedite loco isto. Nulla sit relicta testans malitiae. Nulla memoria vindicaret. Tu mihi diis parere necesse est pretium pretium sanguinis est. Et fuit sanguis ebrius est. Ecce tu dis congregentur spirituum, frater tuus est honos. Discedite loco isto. Nulla sit relicta testans malitiae. Nulla memoria vindicaret. Tu mihi diis parere necesse est pretium pretium sanguinis est. Et fuit sanguis ebrius est. . ." Malthazir leads Truk in changing their chant slightly: "Audi oboedientes! Audi oboedientes! Audi oboedientes . . ."
Then the unthinkable happens. Niyut stutters. The empty bowl is flung across the room and each of the diamonds and squares begin to throw sparks into the air. Niyut sags. Barely keeping a grip on the staff. She looks to Malthazir and mouths: finish it "Portam iuxta potentum Proxima! Quod virtute manet, evocantes te hic. Necesse est quod ad aethera carpit. Portam iuxta potentum Proxima! Quod virtute manet, evocantes te hic. Necesse est quod ad aethera carpit. Portam iuxta potentum Proxima! Quod virtute manet, evocantes te hic. Necesse est quod ad aethera carpit. . ..
The elven wizard thrusts out his right hand while carefully continuing to hold the staff. Laboriously, but confidently, he gathers the bone white sparks and they return to the bone white diamond. He closes his fist and the first diamond goes dark. With each subsequent square and diamond, He asserts control over the wild energies and banishes them back to the ether with the help of the twins. By the time, Malthazir gathers the energies of flesh, Niyut has rejoined chanting with her brother. When all wild energies have been banished and all the diagrams and sigils have grown dark, Niyut collapses to the mats.
Niyut kneels in the earth of the yurt. She take her boline and carves a figure-eight into the dirt. Then she carves a second larger figure-eight around it. Scoring the earth between the two figure-eights, she divides each lobe into four sections. In each of the sections, she inscribes a single different rune. Then she repeats this process, creating two new figure-eights set at a 180 degree angle to the first set. These lobes too are divided into four sections, but the order of the runes is the inverse of the previous sequence. At the center of these figure-eights, Niyut places her mithril bowl. Next she places the Liber Sanguinum to the side of her graven figures and opens it to a certain page. She looks up at Malthazir. "When I make this gesture . .." Niyut pauses to make two gestures with her arms that seem to flow into one another and give the wizard a sense of beckoning or invitation. "You must begin this chant: 'Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem.' You must repeat this chant for about ten minutes. You will know when it is done because each line and rune here will be a glow with power. Repeat the chant back to me until I know you have it." The elven wizard repeats the chant flawlessly after a few repetitions and a few corrections by the oracle on the precise intonation of the ancient draconic. To her minor annoyance, the speed and precision of his memory impress her. "Now when I make this gesture . . ." Niyut pantomimes a series of gestures that Malthazir takes to be closing or abjuring before she continues, "You must begin this chant: "Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis.' You will know when it is done because none of the lines nor the runes here will be alight with power. Repeat the chant back to me until I know you have it." Again, Malthazir masters the chant with impressive alacrity. When he has it, Niyut then brings forth a silvery essence and places it into the bowl with the blood ruby containing the image of a bone, throbbing with crimson power. Niyut is finally ready for the ritual to begin. I am the path of power. I am the gate of change. In this moment, my mind, my body, my spirit are the axis upon which the cosmos pivots. With ancient rite and gesture Niyut begins the ritual. In a commanding, demanding voice, Malthazir chants: "Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem. Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem. Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem. Aperi modo. Ut patet per viam de potentia. Sit motus aeris scientiam mortem..."
Like a great eye slowly blinking open, the runes and lines of each pair of figure-eights slowly begin to flicker and flare. The set aligned north to south blazes with silver radiance while its rune sequence thrums an angry purple. The set aligned east to west is the mirror image of the other set. The change in Niyut is even more dramatic. She kneels before the bowl frozen in an unnaturally rigid and straight position limned with silver and purple fires. She begins to chant: "Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Hic erit scientia essentia de essentia mortis. Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Hic erit scientia essentia de essentia mortis. Et viam Dei virtus est aperta. Hic locus mutare potest omnia. Hic erit scientia essentia de essentia mortis. . ." While she chants she begins to make an arcane series of movements and gestures with her arms and fingers. This series begins rigidly with almost mathematical precision. As they continue they blur and flow together leaving after images blazing silver and purple. It appears that she has thousands of arms weaving a complicated spell. The runes blaze in sympathetic response and begin to move. One rune in the sequence begins to move and shift. When it reaches a new rune in the sequence that rune shifts until it mirrors the original moving rune. Eventually all runes are its copy and no rune blazes with silver light.
The blood ruby cracks and spills its gathered power onto the silvery essence. Her chant changes: "Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. Hoc ipsum animae mortis. Ecce quod est et quo est. Semita ab percurri diximus virtutem. . ." Where everything before was movement and power, this section of the ritual is characterized by stillness. The light and fire that had limned Niyut bleed away just as the after images of her gestures do. This power is gathered in the bowl. The essence that once blazed silver is now a deep, violent purple.
Yet, suddenly silver light pulses through the purple radiance and it looks as if silver fireflies are darting through the yurt. While there is something that might be described as concern, even fear, in Niyut's eyes her voice remains steady: "Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. Quae hic sit transgressor huius sacri. Ut fiat id continebat. Sit modo id quod molestum est et nobis nihil ultra. . ."
With painful, almost excruciating, slowness the silver fireflies wink out of existence and the silver flashes in the purple essence subside to nothing. Relief flashes through Niyut's eyes, signalling a change in her chant:
The silver lines of both sets of figure-eights now throb with purple rather than silver radiance.
Images of strange spirits fade into view around the yurt. None have transgressed the yurt's aperture. Each is inexorably drawn back to the figure-eights and blink out of existence. At long last, Niyut begins the gestures of sealing and abjuring. Malthazir's strong, resonant voice blends with her far softer one as he takes over the chant: "Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis. Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis. Clauderent viam. Porta clausa est. Per quae facti sunt quae aethere scientia mortis. . ."
With each passing minute, the light of power dims in the figure-eights as if a great eye that had once been open closes. When the last of the radiance is gone, Niyut collapses before the bowl. I am no longer the path of power. I am no longer the gate of change. The moment has passed.
Niyut takes the violent purple essence and the two remaining hag essences and feed them to the book. The sense of weight and energy that filled the air when Niyut first bonded to the grimoire return. Dark veins appear in the pages and pulse as the book seems to . . . grow. The oracle is barely paying attention because she is gasping out an invocation calling on her grandmother. Niyut stands and places her hands on Malthazir, sharing with him the same gift from the spirit world.
I've studied religion on the graduate level and I knew more about the theory, history, and philosophy of some religions than the pastors and priests who I interviewed. They knew more about community organizing and counseling. The day to day stuff. So, honestly, I would be surprised that wizards know more than clerics about certain religious stuff. :-)
Pyrae was a shady place. A place where slavery was legal (gross) and if something could be purchased it could purchased here (likely gross). This shadiness extended into politics and also into the general history. Basalt Rising was created when Calledrym, King of the Gods, slew his brother, Kiravor, the god of death. This likely drew the Hazards of Necromancy to the area. For the first ten such Hazards, they all claimed to be the first Hazard of Necromancy. (Not a body switching scheme. I asked.) They got progressively naughtier until the tenth such Hazard got really naughty. When he "disappeared"/"died"/"failed to become a lich"/"some other nightmare scenario" Basalt Rising stopped spitting fire and started spitting up undead. I would eat my shawl if the two are unrelated. Just some background on your hometown.
@ChloePech: I would check in with the GM about naming conventions of the various strains of humanity. Pyrae was a free city whose leadership was disgraced lesser nobles back in the day. However, geographically it is smack-dab in the cultural area of the Braonins. They have names like Críodan, Aíbell, Áillís Uí Lonagáin, etc. Names like Reinhardt would suggest to me an Aerten background. So it could be that while you are from Pyrae your ancestors immigrated from Haemil a generation or more ago.
A man among the Firebird might acquire personal property and wealth in the form of luxury items as courting gifts, if he is seen as an attractive mate. While it is seen as poor form to accept many courting gifts without being a proverbial stud, there are no laws about it. Some noted warriors are welcome at many fires in many villages and are rich in precious things.
Property and descent are determined matrilineally. You are your mother's child, you eat at her fire, or your mother's mother's fire. In the home, authority and "communal" property belong to the oldest female relative who provides for all children of the extended family who contribute. Marriages really aren't a thing among the Firebird. You might know your father and he might be important in your life, but he really isn't part of your home. If a family runs out of women to hold the property and bear children in the next generation, then you might be adopted into your father's family, as the child of the property owning matron. (This usually entails an exchange of gifts that benefit the family you are being adopted out of.) Weapons, arms, hunting trophies, etc -- these things are seen as personal and not part of communal property. Nobody care who you love, how many you love, or who you have sex with. In rare cases, you might be adopted into your lover's family (if you are an outsider or have no relatives in the village). (Or let's say your family is poor but you are super skilled artisan or warrior, a richer family might adopt you and give gifts to your old family, but this is seen as predatory to a degree. The more honorable thing to do is for all the families in a tribe to help get your family back on its feet. But sometimes people don't behave honorably.) Men are more commonly war-leaders, hunters, and chieftains. While this is subtext, and not really talked about, most women chose not to take the Trial of Ash. Despite being a mostly egalitarian society matrilineal inheritance and the ever presence of danger encourage prudence among women and glory-seeking among men. Though of course it is not a uniform thing. Other notes on sexuality: Women and glory-laden men who have same sex attraction are subtly encouraged to occasionally practice bisexuality for reproductive purposes, but not doing that wouldn't be a huge problem. You might get some snide comments about being selfish, but it isn't so taboo to cause rifts in families for the most part. Trans people are accepted. They are imagined to have eaten their twin in the womb, but they dead twin's spirit was so strong that they are took over the remaining fetus. (This is a myth and an explanation, take it with a grain of salt.) Gender roles are much stricter across the mountains in Haemil, but even there, for the most part, outside of the nobility it is less of a thing than in modern America. There it is a minor scandal for a nobleman to be a priest of Teysura, when "everybody" knows that the Sacred Mother is best served by women. Until relatively recently, a woman couldn't become King. Whether that has to with theology (Calledyrm is male) or their rather arcane inheritance laws is an open question.
Yeah, super orcs aren't for everyone. They are scary. Half-elves are common among the Firebird. The Firebird have few sexual mores and welcome intermixing. In terms of raw numbers, the Firebird are human, half-orcs, half-elves, and changlings in descending order. Before the Storm, they were the most populous clan spread out over an area roughly the size of Washington state. Most villages were concentrated on the coasts where they were buffeted by tremendous storms. There were few villages in the interior of the badlands which radiate out from around a massive crater (where it is said that Simur was captured before they were bound in the moons.) The last string of villages were in the foothills of the Iron Mountains in a long line to the north. The closest to the Forest of Night is where Niyut and Truk'tosh are from if you want to be part of their tribe. I can detail tribal politics if you need me to, but the general gist is that in the Firebird there are two main loci of authority: the elders (old druids, shamans, and witches claiming that they are shamans) and the chieftain of the Firebird. The chieftain is chosen by those who have passed the Trial of Ash from among those who have passed the Trial of Ash. (More info on the Trial of Ash can be provided if needed.) Innate magic is viewed with suspicion (either one is too close to the Primogenitors genetically (sorcerers) or they are potential vessels for spirit possession (Oracles). Magic drawing on Earth, Fire, Water, or Air is seen as wholesome while Bone, Death, Shadow, and Blood magic are seen negatively. (Though that doesn't stop some people.) Twins are seen as sacred and powerful in the culture of the Firebird. Fertility rates were high and complications were rare. While twin births are not a predisposition, there were so many births that they are seen as more common than elsewhere. The sad truth is that twins were more likely to survive childhood because they were given more resources and attention. That doesn't mean that you need a twin, just that your childhood would be slightly more difficult without one.
Where, if anywhere, can I find the racial stats for the anadi? They seem neat from the references in this book, and I would like to learn more.
There are worse fates than that, Niyut reflects grimly. Eternal pain sounds constant and could be endured as one becomes inured. Worse yet would be false hopes dashed and your strength turned against those you love. The spirit guide does not let her thoughts reflect on her countenance. In her experience, it was always better for people to only see what one wants them to see, to know only what one wants them to know. She puts this in action moments later, when Rhykal offers her the crust of a loaf. Sivantanpisil was more generous with his library. Better had he given me the Ruby Key than Malthazir, who understands little of the magic of blood and bone. Still better a crust than no bread at all. She smiles graciously at the Hazard. "Thank you. I look forwards to our conversation." As the group follows Áirdin into the Tower of Conjuration, Niyut finds some small amusement in bringing Tacal and a nameless goat into the Tower of Conjuration. Once they are shown to guest rooms, Niyut does what she always does when presented the opportunity: she takes a hot bath. The stone Ruza kept the party clean after a fashion, but few things are as rewarding or cleansing as a bath near scalding. Relaxing in the steamy warmth, she briefly thinks of Sir Kümmel's lingering looks before she turns her thoughts to more arcane matters. Some Darker Arts: Rather than wait idly after her bath, scribes the scrolls she found beneath the Tower of Necromancy into the Liber Sanguinem with her own blood as ink. She watches new pale pages grown from the spine of the book as she adds to its arcane lore. What powerful magic it contains, and what powerful magic it will further reveal. Once those spells are added, she feeds the tome with one of the vials of the Cliff Giant's blood. What new insights will his blood reveal? Finally, she gifts the thirsty book with her own blood in the hopes of unlocking a Ritual to unbind spirit blessed objects of power.
Thank you. This is excellent to hear. I'm just sad I have to wait two weeks now to buy it. :-)
I'm sold.
"Critical Hits, Strikes & Misses
From the wiki -- if this last sentence is accurate then those with weapon focus should pay attention to it.
Yeth-Kolsot cocks his head curiously at Samir. A stillness begins to grow. The stillness of a predator blinking and taking notice of some small, furry morsel. The stillness right before the crack and plunge into an icy lake. The stillness before a tempest. "A mad dog? Mad, I maybe. I have peered into the abyss between the stars. I have beheld the god that slumbers beneath the sands. Though it claimed my eyes, still the world reveals itself to me. Oracles I bear that slip through the cracks in the world. If madness you fear, do not ask mad questions. Do not take council with sorcerers or dwell in their houses. But, I am no dog, dog. You yap at the darkness and imagine yourself tall. Beneath your anger there is fear. Its stench almost overpowers the witch's mark." The sorcerer pauses and considers the man's sword. At the edge of hearing, there is a low hiss of wind. Is there a voice on that wind? Surely, not. But, if there is what does it sing? "I am the Yeth-Kolsot, Vessel of the Black Wind. Perhaps in my weakened state, your sword could dash me to pieces. But if you break the vessel, what it contains would spill out. You would be lost in the Black Wind, yapping dog. You would be blown out. Best not to beckon to the gods. Best not to ask of dreams and oracles if you fear their answers."
@Gruskorb: You have an unassigned Life Essence. Remember that you can either improve a stat or gain a feat with one. The good Lord knows you could benefit from actually threatening some AoO. You might want to pick up Improved Whip Mastery. Preliminary Essence Summary and Sweepstakes We have acquired the following this battle: 2 Life Essences. (1 from a Gnoll Ranger Honor Guard. 1 from the half caster who died as the fight began whose name might be Kastner) Malthazir and Truk'tosh are both owed a Life Essence. I can roll or they can decide between them who gets what. 2 Arcane Essences. Illusion (Kastner). Conjuration (Tikbalang). Illusion will go to Niyut, while Conjuration will go to Malthazir. This takes them out of the running for the first round of Ethereal Essences. 11 Ethereal Essences: 1 (Kastner), 5 (Tikbalang), 5 (broken staff) Truk'tosh is owed 1 Ethereal Essence from the last time everybody got 2 besides for him. (10 Ethereal Essences Remaining). Then Garidan, Gruskorb, and Truk'tosh each claim 1 from the first round; Niyut and Malthazir are excluded from this round since they claimed an arcane essence above. (7 Ethereal Essences Remaining). Then each of the party claims 1 Ethereal Essence. (2 Ethereal Essences Remaining)
1: Garidan
Congratulations, Malthazir!
1: Garidan
Congratulations, Garidan! Summary: Garidan: 3 Ethereal Essences
I'm very impressed by what the witches are getting here from your guy's descriptions.
"I have wrapped my tree friend in silken garlands to protect him from the violence of men."
I think it's safe to read he or she as the default gender without presuming it genders anyone in particular.
Ah. So there are a couple of new patrons in the book. Rot, for example, would not be appropriate for a Winter Witch. There are also new specific patrons, like Fey Gifts, which represent potent fey creatures that bargain with people for witchcraft. These specific patrons modify the spell lists of a sub-set of Patrons like "ancestors, deception, enchantment, endurance, moon, occult, portents, stars, transformation, trickery, water, winter, or wisdom" to better represent the nature of magical bargains with powerful fey. They also grant a particular hex and a corresponding bane. In my example of Fey Gifts, Winter is one of the Patrons you can choose. So if you chose it you get the spells granted by Winter modified by its fey origins. You also sign up for the fey f+$*ing with you for its own amusement because that is how they roll. So while you could be a Winter Witch and use the new specific patron system as long as the base Patron was appropriate, the new Patrons, like Rot, are not added to the list of acceptable Winter Witch options. Does that clarify things?
That is not correct. You can have specific winter patrons. Maybe Jack Frost (or whomever) gave you some of his magic.
It's been mentioned a few times that the writers and developers find the use of "fluff" to describe the lore they create to be diminutive and insulting. So let's avoid doing that. Also, I don't entirely understand why some people would think that this content is Golarion specific. Much of the information in this book is not about how the fiendish demigods relate to one planet, but their respective histories in the planes which could apply to any world that uses the Core cosmology.
She has cool plans, but are they feasible? As far as I understood (and I could be wrong), but who gets to be one of the archdevils depends on Asmodeus' blessing. So, some of the Infernal Dukes might have a higher CR than say Barbatos, but Barbatos is Lord of Avernus because Asmodeus backs him in the hierarchy of Hell. Even worse for Eiseth, Asmodeus is a misogynist (because he is a jerk.) So if she succeeds and overthrows Moloch, then isn't she still doomed because Asmodeus would kill her for upending his order in Hell?
It does seem that evil is more effective at being evil in the Pathfinder cosmology than good is at being good. Falls from grace are shockingly common compared to rises to glory. Rescuing souls from the daemons seems like a bad call. In general, good seems to be fighting a loosing battle with fewer resources and worse personal (from a power stand point not a moral one). But, hey evil is a growth industry (TM).
The horse lords have a violent reputation on the storm-ward side of the mountain. They have likely have dark stories of the clans. "Go in safety, Foramdar." Once the companions can no longer hear the thunder of hooves, Niyut speaks. “I sense wrathful spirits. I need to appease them. According to the lore of my people, I must do this alone and without observation. Only my brother can stand guard over me. We will journey a short distance from camp to perform this ritual. Do not be alarmed if you hear anything strange. We will be back in a few hours.”
Sense Motive:
Niyut really doesn’t want anybody else to see what she is about to do. Nothing to see here, certainly not any blood magic . . .: Once she and Truk’tosh go a sufficient distance from camp that no strange sights or sounds could waft back, Niyut begins to set a fire and begins to boil a pot of water. Turning to her brother she murmurs, “I do want to appease the spirits, but mostly I did not want our companions, and especially Foramdar, to see what I am about to do. The horse lords of Haemil have fought the Night Blood Clan for time out of mind. If the horse lord were to see me performing blood magic, then he may get the wrong idea about me. And who knows how he would react or what stories he might spread. It is good that he has ridden ahead.” With that she shakes her sleeve and the body of the gnoll priest tumbles forth. “Please, brother, can you take his head and hands? I feel that his bones might be useful in the future.” After Truk’tosh cuts off the priest’s head and hands, Niyut will drop them into the roiling water so they might boil until the flesh and sinew slough off. As she waits, Niyut opens the Liber Sanguinem. Taking the lion bone dagger, she slices the palm of her left hand. Blood wells up and splatters down hissing on to the pages. There is a dull thump in the air and what look like veins in the ivory pages glow and pulse with a lurid red light. New pages grow from the spine of the book covered in rust-red, Draconic runes. Once these new pages settle, she takes the bloody knife and plunges it into the belly of the gnoll priest. Black blood sluggishly pools where the dagger pierces the corpse. She then feeds this dead blood to the thirsty book. Again the veins in the ivory pages pulse and the book generates new pages of ochre runes. Niyut gives her twin a rueful look. “Our people use all parts of the antelope. It would be wasteful if I did not treat the priest in the same fashion. However, I admit it is dirty work.” No sooner had she spoken, Niyut feels the attention of something vast in the world of the spirits. “Brother, something comes.” The young spirit-talker feels the beginning of one of her catatonic fits that occur when her soul is drug forcibly into the spirit world to converse with a powerful spirit who wants her attention. ”No,” she mutters ”I am no spirit’s play thing.” For one long moment, it seems as if she will resist the call of the great spirit. Then, suddenly, Truk’tosh sees a great shadowy claw burst through her chest before it rips back out as if seizing something. Niyut collapses to the ground. When Truk’tosh examines her, he can hear breathing and her pulse is slow but steady. His twin sister appears unharmed, but she is also completely non-responsive. The oracle’s shadow is carried high and far in the endless night before being set down somewhere on the plains before Haemil. She sees the same ruby teeth that she has come to fear flash in the night and she can also make up the same sloping but powerfully muscled form that hurt her in the spirit world. “Little sister, why do you resist me? I am only helping you. Did I not promise to birth you into the world as something new?” The great spirits thoughts ring chidingly and mockingly through her ethereal form. “What have you done to me? Niyut’s quiet voice cracks with fear and desperation. “I have done many things to and for you, little sister. I hope that I have finally taught you that resisting my midwifery will only cause you pain and distress. I have also shown you that you can walk the world as a spirit unclothed by flesh, a rudimentary skill possessed by my kindred. It is but the next stage in your metamorphosis, little sister. Though you were born squalling of a woman, your destiny is to become as me and my kin. Lesser in stature, but of the same kind. I wonder what thought you will become, little sister?” “That is not possible. We are of two different kindred,” Niyut objects. The ruby teeth disappear and reappear behind ebony gums and she hears a queer chuffing noise. Niyut realizes that the man-beast is laughing at her. “If you truly believed that, then you would be denying the lore of your people. Your origins matter little. I have long reimagined the flawed works of my kin into things far greater. Is it the promise of your blood? I smell the blood of the one you call Simur, though it is far removed. I also smell the blood of one my brood much more recently.” It pauses and sniffs the air again. “Your father is one of mine, little sister. Or, perhaps, it was something Amus did when she plucked you amongst all the dying from the Storm? Some combination of the two? It matters not, little sister. What you were is irrelevant; embrace what you are becoming.” Finally, Niyut asks the question she has been dreading. “Are you Gaeruhn?” Again, the great spirit chuffs at her. “Gaeruhn despises all things that do not obey him, little sister. You are disobedient. You thought I am he? “ Its next sniff is long and considering, “I smell his stink on you -- his stink and the stink one of my sisters. They seek to influence you, but you are mine and not theirs.” The great spirit’s coal like eyes consider her in silence for a long moment, “I imagine you felt growing hungers that mortals do not know and feared he was corrupting you. You saw an effect and looked for a single cause. Put such mortal foolishness behind you, little sister. You hunger because mortal fare cannot sate what you are becoming. I speed your becoming. Your hungers pain you because, my brother seeks to influence one whom he would devour. His stink also twists the pathetic mortal soul bound to you. Better that you let him fade away. Being burdened by such a helpless, clinging soul will only encumber you. Instead, rejoice in your metamorphosis into one of my lesser kindred.” Now it’s Niyut’s turn to laugh. “He is not welcome in my palace of bone. He is an up-jumped essence, arrogant and rude. Since I cannot expel him, and would not wish to lose my sorcery if I could, I have been trying to harmonize his weaker soul into my own as one single more powerful soul. The lore of the Firebird says that such things are possible for possessing spirits that cannot be expelled. So far, I have not yet succeeded. You want to teach me something? Teach me how this can be accomplished. Teach me how to take what was his power and his knowledge and finish making it my own, so that he may continue his journey beyond the Veil.” With a dismissive snort, it replies “Burn him. Consume him as my brother would.” Niyut fights a smirk in the dark. For a moment, her wit dominates her terror. “I will keep that in mind. So, if you are not Gaeruhn, then who are you?” Without warning, the fear returns, like the tides. Almost faster than the eye can follow the great spirit changes forms from an ape-man into a confusion of other shapes often mixed in strange combinations. Finally, the great spirit becomes a sky-consuming, formless shadow of implicit shapes and unwholesome textures.
The great spirit settles down, but its form continues to molt new shapes. “Enough of such questions, little sister. You do not know enough to ask the correct ones. Attend what I will teach you. So far you have used the shadows to physically bind your foes or fool their physical senses. Shadows are anything the ether can be. The more substance they take on in the material world the more real they become. Shadows can reshape minds and flesh. First, I will teach you how it they can alter a mortal’s mind. . ..” Its tutelage continues for some time, revealing dark secrets that become the basis of her most potent incantations. When it finishes, it leaves her to fly back to her own body over the plains of Haemil. As she flies she considers the implications of what it said and what it left unsaid. When Niyut’s shadow rejoins her body, she awakens.
Omo moves to flail at Jarreck.
Sitting back from the fire, Niyut begins to weave a story. She hasn't told a story since the night the gnolls attacked their camp. "At this fire I will not speak of the deeds of the primogenitors. You have already heard of the crimes of Simur and Vash. At this fire, I would speak of their children." Her hand graceful traces a tower in the air and in the wake of her finger an image of the Bright Tower can be seen. "In the west, you have wizards and their Hazards. We know of this magic on the storm-ward side of the Iron Mountains, but the clans do not practice this wizardry. The sons and daughters of Chana sing their mighty songs of power. Their songs and lore stretch back to the earliest of days. The other clans have elders of druids and shamans, each according to their blood. But neither their songs nor our shamanic rituals are like unto wizardry. Instead, there are witches in the west. Rather than divide into schools like the Hazards, witches commune with their patrons and claim their hexes. Where there was once a tower, hunched and twisted feminine figures teach goblins, orcs, and hobgoblins. "Who are these patrons? Well, not all the children of the primogenitors yielded to the fate of their mortality. They had watched as Vash of the Blood slew Zamaz the Unraveler. They saw one of the immortals die. They thought if one of the immortals can die is it possible that mortals can live forever? Zamaz's death fractured the Compact. What once were laws of iron were now suggestions carven in bronze. The Unraveler's blood seeped into the land. It pooled into witch's blood. Those who drink it are transformed." Images of goblins, hobgoblins, and orcs kneeling and drinking a dark liquid as they drank this viscous liquid they are transformed into hags. "I tell you this to warn you. If we cross the mountains we might stumble across scars in the land caused by the warring of the primogenitors. While there is power to be found in these scars, it always comes at a cost. While they found life everlasting, their bodies were twisted into terrible crones. Life, but life bent and broken. The greatest of these crones subdued through the echo of Zamaz's might some of the lesser spirits bound to the flesh of the world. They crowned themselves queens of wisdom, moon, and thorn. Where the Hazards teach things like divination, conjuration, and the other schools, these patrons taught the clans the magic of plague, summer, deception, and all the other secrets of witchcraft. Where shamans bargain, witches take. Some of these crones were bound to standing stones or beneath dolmen by the shamans of the clans aided by the spirits those self-same crones would rule. Others of these ancient queens linger on both sides of the mountains. That is why it is both wise and gracious to share one's bread with strange crones who you might meet in your travels for even a silver of a primogenitor is still worthy of respect and fear." After finishing her tale, Niyut opens up the tome bound in flesh and continues to read of the rituals of change.
"Avoiding the great spirits is truly the path of wisdom. I have many things to do before you your incantations whisk us away to the Kragenwood. First, above all else, I would like a bath. Can you please point me to your baths?" After the Hazard, directs her to the bath. Niyut luxuriates in the hot water lapping at her olive skin. It has been days since she has been able to wash her hair. Though Eastgate was less than a week's march from this tower, it feels like the dwarves and their wondrous plumbing were months in the past. She slips down further into the tub, plunging below the water's surface. Green hair so dark it looks black drifts around her like seaweed. Gaeruhn, the Flesheater, is the great spirit behind the fire goblins. No wonder that Katadante was keeping secrets. The history of the dwarves seems tied up to that hungry spirit. It is also likely that the great spirit who haunts me is the Flesheater himself. Will feeding the Liber Sanguinem the Blood of Fire give me greater insight into exposing his tricks or would it further expose me to his influence? These thoughts and others like them swirl in the oracle's mind as the stress and exhaustion of this brutally long day are leeched from her limbs by the water's heat. Once she is both physically clean and ritually purified, Niyut sprinkles red sand in a circle before lighting some ghost weed. "Sacred Mother, though you are not honored by my kin, I give thanks for your aid and succor. Thank you for your blessings and protection this night and in the long night to come . . ." Her next task before sleep claims her is to bond the dark essence she bartered from the Hazard to the book of old and bloody magic that has been filling her thoughts since she first cracked its cover. Her finger traces a word idly as she brings the precious black orb to the pale skin of the book's pages. Its dusty red lettering becomes lurid as the book . . . swallows . . . the energy of death. For a moment, she sees black veins pumping before the pages return to their bleached tan and the words written in blood return to a dusty ochre. If she listens closely, she can almost hear its pages whispering secrets of forgotten lore and eldritch ritual to her. My magic is dark, but I will master it. I did not choose this power, but I will not be its plaything. Picking up her mother's wand, Niyut joins her final essence to its dark wood. I wonder who mother killed to kindle its magic. What did she know of this long night? How much did she foresee? Does she yet live? "One thing I do know, is that I cannot rely on Gaeruhn's fire. What I need is knowledge and insight. I will seek it from the spirit world," she whispers to herself. At long last, she lies down to sleep, to dream, to eat foods that no longer exist after the world's end. Niyut's Dream: In the world of the spirits, silver eyes open to a crackling fire and the savory smells of Firebird cooking. Niyut notices that her dark hair is completely silver now in this world. She can no longer sense a difference between herself and the sorcery of the elf. "We are one now," the woman/cloaker murmurs. Beside her, she hears a feminine snort. "Far have you strayed from the teachings of the Firebird, daughter of my daughter. But, perhaps our teachings are less wise after the world's end." The woman/cloaker gasps in surprise. Recently, when she had dreamed of a feast, she had been alone in her dreams. She shifts and beholds a tiny woman wizened with age. "Grandmother, how is it that you are here in my dreams?" "Foolish girl, who do you think heals the wounds that you call on us to mend? Who do you think weaves wards to shield your twin from harm. Who do you think cooked this feast for you to eat? Yes, the greater portion of your power comes from sources we abjure. But do not underestimate your ancestors, daughter of my daughter. We stretch back in an unbroken chain to Simur in the first of days. Our spirits, our blood, holds power that even the great spirits cannot break in this world of dreams." Slightly petulantly Niyut responds to her grandmother, "The lowlanders do not know of the primogenitors. They say that the great spirits created the world of flesh." Again, her grandmother snorts, "Lowlanders say many things, daughter of my daughter. Truth is usually unspoken by the living. But, I did not come to dispute the lore of the lowlanders. I sensed your need, and so to my fire I have I drawn your dreaming spirit." Niyut casts her eyes down in remorse, "I am sorry, Grandmother. I'm stalked by a great spirit. He offers me fire. But I do not need flame. I need wisdom. I need lore." The old woman nods. "Your ancestors have much wisdom to offer, but the secrets one treasures most are not found at one's own hearth, daughter of my daughter. Go out from the light of my hearth to find the wisdom that you seek." "Thank you, Grandmother." The two women eat in silence bound by blood, affection, and secrets until the younger woman, who is also a cloaker, stands up and glides into the darkness seeking after wisdom on silver wings.
Once all the essences have been wrung from ramshackle palaces of bone, Niyut watches as they streak out to find there new homes. This time none seem to resonate with her. This absence leaves her strangely . . . hungry? It is an unpleasant feeling and one on which she does not wish to dwell. To distract herself, she goes to her brother to check on his recovery and wash the blood off of him. There is no warning before she topples over on the the bloodsoaked earth. In the Spirit World: The spirits have a long reach, this Niyut knows all too well. One moment she is fussing over her brother, the next she collapses onto the ground.
Though insensate in the world of the flesh, her eyes open in the world of spirit. Gone are the chains that once bound her to Viosil. This is not the only change. Where once she appeared in the spirit world as a woman, now she knows that in this world she is both woman and cloaker – distinct and yet simultaneous. What remains of Viosil’s consciousness swirls in her mouth/maw like spawn hiding in the mouth of a frog. He tastes of silver and the silence of snow. Poor little spawn, the world is a dangerous place, but what if their parent gets hungry? Gulp. Gulp, and the spawn would be gone. Viosil’s voice no longer resounds in her mind with fury. Too weak he is to speak; too thin he is to fight. But while Viosil’s thoughts have grown weak, his substance now suffuses woman/cloaker. How she knows this, she does not know. The spirit world possesses its own logic. I am like Chana Eye-of-Stars, but where she is a peacock and an elf-woman, I am something far less natural. Her musings are interrupted by a sibilant voice with which she is all too familiar. ”How rude, little sister, that you did not save any morsels for me. Your elven spirit was quite delectable, little sister.” Niyut, as woman, whirls at the sound. Her eyes flash with wrath. Her tail, as cloaker, lashes in menace. This time, she is not paralyzed. This time she will not feel his sirocco breath on her neck. Wordlessly, Niyut, as cloaker, engulfs the coal-eyed figure. Unfortunately, neither her beating wings nor her lashing tail overcome the terrible strength of the coal-eyed figure. Ruby teeth flash as the shadow-thing pins her to the ground. ”You have grown, little sister, as I knew you would. You are becoming more like me and less like the mortal chaff. Where once you were a small stream, you are now becoming a river as tributaries flow into you. Each life you end, each soul you eat, adds to your waters. But you should not forget that where you are becoming a river, I have always been an ocean. Mightier rivers than you have fed me. Be still and receive my gifts, little sister.” Once the great spirit has left her, Niyut, as woman, curls up in a ball and lies there for a long while. After a time, she notices the spirit world getting brighter around her. She looks up at a woman robed in sunlight. The woman wears the face of Niyut’s mother. No, it is her grandmother; now her aunt; now her neighbor in their village. The features of the woman’s face seem to hold something of every woman Niyut has ever know who has given birth to a child. The woman robed in sun sits down next to Niyut, places her head in her lap, and begins to stroke her long, dark hair. ”I have seen you before,” Niyut murmurs. ”You looked different then.” The woman robed in sun smiles as she responds. ”You see me as I am, daughter, but part of my seeming is in the seeing. Few things are solely one thing or another. In shadow there is darkness, but there is also light. If there is woe, there is also weal.” At these words, Niyut breaks down in hopeless sobs as Teysura rocks her back and forth, clucking at her comfortingly. ”My daughter there is nothing that has ever been broken that cannot be put right. You are defined more by what you do with what has been given to you than by what has been done to you. It is in your nature to receive our gifts. We cannot but help to give them to you. But, remember, my daughter, it is you who determines what you do with them. Go now. Your brother worries for you, and know that some of my light goes with you.”
Thanks! I will admit to giggling a little bit about supernatural midwifing. However, I've long thought that for a setting that has multiple fertility goddesses ranging from Folgrit to Lamashtu it was odd that nobody seemed to have specific fertility (or even natal) based powers. I know things like Regeneration get a bad rap for not having a robust mechanical benefit, but I like spells that have flavor. I would imagine that in world with curative magic, spells that help promote fertility or increase prenatal health would be in high demand from people who could afford such things.
I'm sure Mr. Sutter has better marketing data than I, but I would agree with the poster above that the previews on here have spurred all my purchases of the non-Core line except the stuff about gods which I was already going to buy. Other posters talking about cool new mysteries, bloodlines, archetypes, and lore have gotten me to purchase more than a few of the smaller books. Again, Mr. Sutter probably knows more about how Pathfinder should be marketed than I do. Perhaps, my purchasing habits are an outlier.
Mr. Hellion moves forward to strike at the clockwork mage.
Omo pulls on his heroic reserves to resist the terrible damage the spell had wrought.
He then throws a electrical bomb at the clockwork mage.
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