My players will hurt me if I don't post regularly...
[I've got more than this written, but this is the last PC to draw into the plot for the moment. Two more will join later after the first adventure/plot. However the next bit is going to take some more review by my players to make sure I've got all the dialogue and impressions of their characters as precise (and nitpicky) as they'd like for them to be protrayed.
Expect another update thursday or next week. If not by then, it'll wait till that next monday since I'll be visiting my family for Easter.]
“Blessings of the Festhall Maiden upon you,” the young woman smiled and made a gesture of good tidings in the air before the kneeling worshipper who smiled back, kissed her hand and rose to leave.
Aren turned around and snuffed a small candle before the shrine to the Mother of Cats and whispered a prayer. As soon as the supplicant had left and the door closed with a soft knock of wood upon wood, she smiled and placed a new candle upon the wax-spattered altar. Without so much as a word she rubbed her thumb and index finger over the wick which sparked and ignited with a sudden rush of flame from between her finger, those two fingers which she withdraw without so much as a scorch or blackened mark upon their alabaster surface.
Standing there in the dim light of the shrine, Aren’s eyes glowed softly red in the gaze of the idol before her. Any who saw her would have seen just a young woman with raven black hair and strikingly smooth, creamy white skin that stood in distinct contrast to it. She was dressed in close fitting and revealing garments of the clergy of Bast, and except for the holy symbol that hung from a thin golden chain and dangled between her cleavage, she would not have seemed out of place at one of the many brothels that filled the Hive.
It was a rough area of Sigil, but the land here was cheap and it was the only place upon which she had been able to lease property to build the shrine she ministered to. It was a terrible, beautiful contrast to her former existence, one that as much as she wished to put it behind her, forced her daily to hide herself, watch her words, and look for the signs that she might have been discovered. But the price of absolution was worthy of the struggle against that which ran in her veins, pumped through her blood, composed her very being. The Tanar’ri within howled in rage at the betrayal of her birth. Sometimes it brought depression, other times it brought agonizing pain, but the realization that she was something ascended over the mindless destruction and corruption that was her birthright, that was a worthy trade. Her patron deity spoke within her heart daily, reassuring her and bringing comfort within these uncertain times.
A rapping of wood on stone brought Aren out of her thoughts. She looked out at the pews of the sanctuary to see a tiefling standing in the center aisle with a long, black cane tapping upon the flagstone under his feet. She hadn’t heard the sanctuary door open, nor had she heard his footsteps leading up the aisle where he now stood, halfway between herself and the entrance. She hadn’t heard a sound at all. Her thoughts had put her at a loss it seemed, she would atone for the lapse in her duties later.
She blinked as he smiled and approached. “May I help you sir?” she asked, bowing with a flourish and slipping back into her place as priestess and guide to the impoverished of this place.
The man smiled back, “Indeed I think you can. Might we speak somewhere in private for a few minutes? I come on business, not as a parishioner. If I’ve disturbed some ceremony I apologize and can wait, or return later if you wish?...” His purple eyes reflected violet in the candlelight and his long shadow stretched down the aisle behind him. But despite the harsh light he seemed polite, genuine and courteous, especially as he was dressed in the clothing of an advocate.
Aren nodded and motioned him off towards a door that led to one of the small rooms used for private ‘counseling’, or her own personal devotions. She held open the door and ushered him within, then took a seat opposite him upon one of the small pillows scattered around the periphery of the rug in the center of the room.
“So, what exactly may I do for you, Mr…?”, she offered him a small bowl of almonds and reclined across the floor. He smiled but ignored the bowl as he reached into his jacket pocket to produce a slim scroll case that glittered with magic under her vision.
“You’ve done a fine job here in the Hive, providing a bit of hope and a bit of comfort to those who come to see you. Contrast I should say with the face of things, no?” he placed the scroll next to the almonds but kept his hand upon it. She looked up at him curiously but said nothing. The Tanar’ri inside was wary all of a sudden.
“That said, you and I both may drop our pretenses. I’m fully aware of your nature, as is my employer. It would be a pity were your former Balor liege to become aware of your continued existence, especially within a place that eluded his own personal grasp. Am I wrong? I can only postulate upon the tortures reserved from a traitor in the Abyss…” he smirked triumphantly as Aren’s face grew ashen.
“What do you mean, I kn…” she sat upright and glared at him, trying to appear angry despite a rush of fear spreading through her veins like ice upon the Styx.
“Please, you needn’t try. Bluster is lost on me, because frankly my dear I don’t care if you wish to admit anything to me or not. My employer only wishes for me to deliver his knowledge, his threat, and his demands. Ignore them at your own peril. Your usefulness in my employer’s current situation might become rapidly out valued by the price upon your head to the right buyers in the court of Ashrathul Soultwister.” He smirked, placed the scroll before her, tossed an almond into his mouth and bit down onto it with an emphatic crunch.
At an utter loss for words, her heart pounding within her breast she snarled at the tiefling, a pair of fangs suddenly showing over painted lips. He stood, kicked the scroll towards her and walked confidently towards the door without any seeming concern. However he paused at the door while she still snarled at his back, “Admission noted. However my dear I would keep a lid upon your nature, after all, the brimstone will frighten away the congregation…”
With that, he slipped from the chamber and his footfalls receded into the distance. She never did hear the sanctuary door open and shut this time either. But now gradually the pounding in her chest slowed and her rage ebbed to uncertainty. She reached out to open the scroll case that bore a red, glittering wax seal with a mage’s symbol upon it shaped like a flickering flame.
The scroll read:
“Dear Aren, my wayward corrupter of mortals”
“I first of all urge discretion in the reading and showing of this scroll. Any attempt to involve any others besides yourself will sadly force me to reveal your current location and identity to those in the Abyss that would see you stripped down to a dretch and skewered upon a spit for eternity for your crime of transcending the evils of your race. I could care less, I simply require you for a task.”
“That said, I desire to meet with you. Secondly, I have a task that requires completion, and one that I will admit to not wishing to undertake myself. Blackmail is not my ideal method of action, but in this case it suits me nicely. I wish for completion of a certain task by yourself, and others procured into my service in similar fashion. Once completed, you will be sent upon your way. Your identity will be kept secret and you will have no more contact with myself or my agents. If you do not trust me after we amicably part ways, you are always free to retreat to the upper planes or even the domain of your fostering, redeeming patron.”
“Again, I urge your discretion. I will meet you, and your soon to be companions at the third room on the left at the top of the stairs at the former location of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer. You will be there, for I doubt that you wish to be handed over to your former Abyssal master. His power has waxed since you last knelt before him in supplication to his will, and other things…The door to the building shall be unlocked. Meet me there at Antipeak, come alone.
B. Trenevain”
“Sodding hells…why does it all have to haunt me?” The risen Tanar’ri placed the scroll off to one side and slumped on the floor, letting her wings spring out behind her, not bothering to hide her form as she felt a wave of depression wash over her. Kneeling there in the dark, she whispered a soft prayer to her patron deity and wept for the burden of her blood rising once again to tread upon her back. Maybe though this time it would end well and she wouldn’t be forced to kill, that was what her kind did. They killed and they ravaged.
“I don’t want to bring myself to that again. I left that behind. What do they want me to do anyways? Well, I’ll find out tonight then won’t I, Bast forgive me if I have to bring harm to any…”
And thus the group of wayward PCs was brought together, along with one other to join them shortly. The hours passed and the clock grew near to Antipeak. The shadows grew long and separately they said their goodbyes to those who knew them and set out to darken the doorway of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer, known for a short time as Portal Schmortal.
The first to arrive there was Clueless…
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
