PLAYER PLOT: Enfenim

[mythalenaste]

WHO: Pel, Sina, Cyril, Beleth, Sorrel, Myr, Saoirse, side of Anders and Alistair
WHAT: A demon has trapped Pel in the Fade.
WHEN: Forward-Dated to 25 Firstfall
WHERE: The Gallows, the Fade
NOTES: Trigger warning bonanza for insects, body horror, corpses, dismemberment/maiming, death, illness, drowning, blood + will update if any more happen.

What am I to do with all of these dolls?
They've covered the floors, they've covered the walls.
They're stacked up chin-high all over the floor,
But my greedy child is screaming for more...

Comments

[faithlikeaseed]

There's something almost pathetic about the demon when it finally appears, something that Myr'd be inclined to pity, had he not met its like before. (Save all of that academic sadness over the Maker's first children for later, when it's safe.) As it is, his expression goes flat and fixed at the demon's pleading, eyes shifting from it back to the encroaching undead. Pel needs to do this but they're running out of time...

And then the roots erupt like a sprouting miracle and put paid to the Childe's handiwork, provoking a quiet oath out of Myr. There's so much they never learn in the Circles, so much that was only hinted at in rumor and vituperation against the heathen. Actually seeing it gives a reason why and it's hard not to watch.

Yet: "Run!"

After a display like that, he's not one to argue with an order to run. Yet still he lingers a moment--faintly envious of Pel's handiwork--before turning back toward the tower as ordered. The expression on Cyril's face catches him mid-stride; he can't know what it is about any of this that's troubling the other man, but that dull look hardly needs an explanation. "You're all right?" he starts to ask--

And the dream shifts, landing them on halla-back. Myr makes a startled noise and grabs for whoever's nearest.

[mythalenaste]

Something snaps at their heels as they are carried up the stairs--something shaped like a werewolf, running on all fours after them. Pel swings the ice-sword and takes off its head. It seems to be the only follower--until they arrive at Pel's room, where the Childe stands alone, guarding the door.

"Please," it wails. "Please, Pel. You--you're my mother. You gave me form. You gave me a name. I loved you the only way I knew how, that's all I did!"

Pel dismounts from the halla and gives it a pat. Sword in hand, she approaches the demon. She is not afraid. She is angry. Deep down, there is a little pity for this trembling being, but not very much. This thing, this parasite tormented her for years, whispering in her ear. It kept her from people, it made her play her entire life safe, it hobbled her ability to make new attachments. She has lived alone, dealt with trials alone, trembled at worst-case scenarios that never came to pass alone. Because of this demon.

"You were probably a benevolent spirit once," she says quietly. "You probably did love me, if you're capable of love. I used to think you were some kind of petty god of death, but you're just a pathetic little leech. Taking away my fear is my job."

"But it's not--" The demon doesn't have the chance to finish. Pel's sword arcs out, opening its chest. Then she thrusts forward, ending it. The demon dies impaled on ice, and seconds later, its body dissipates into the Fade. Pel tosses the sword aside and pushes open the door to her room, and halts at what she sees.