HalfOrc HalfBiscuit
Adventurer
Funeris said:Hope you all enjoyed the updates tonight
Well ... they'll do for now.
Good stuff, as ever, Funeris. I'm looking forward to what all this wierdness leads up to.
The Blade of Phoee (Updated 12/08/08)
- Thread starter Funeris
- Start date
Well ... they'll do for now.
Good stuff, as ever, Funeris. I'm looking forward to what all this wierdness leads up to.
hobbit_killer
First Post
I think I am playing a paladin in whatever game I am in next...
Seriously, if you despise Rhynos, then we are doing something right. We'll see how long we can run with the Grimhand. So far the rest of the group can't afford to get rid of him just yet. Hopefully the heroes will eventually give him what he deserves. If not, then they really aren't heroes and just as bad as he is.
Good updata as usual. Mechanics-wise, Rhynos has the Endure Sunlight feat. Hence, the reason he could do what he did.
And maybe Rhynos does make Cassock look like a saint, its hard to tell when he's slapping the death priest around like a little girl.
Seriously, if you despise Rhynos, then we are doing something right. We'll see how long we can run with the Grimhand. So far the rest of the group can't afford to get rid of him just yet. Hopefully the heroes will eventually give him what he deserves. If not, then they really aren't heroes and just as bad as he is.
Good updata as usual. Mechanics-wise, Rhynos has the Endure Sunlight feat. Hence, the reason he could do what he did.
And maybe Rhynos does make Cassock look like a saint, its hard to tell when he's slapping the death priest around like a little girl.
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued
Cassock looked around at his bedraggled traveling companions. Each and every member was drowning in a thick covering of dirt and blood, even the child Ariel. One month of endless travel had solidified the mud into a hardened surface on each of them.
Still, the camouflage had not protected or hidden the travelers from the beasts, from their endless list of adversaries. They had intentionally veered away from the major road, oft guarded by the Inquisitors or at the very least the Royal Army, and into the wilds of Nordaa Saam. But the choice had not protected the group.
Foul beasts, dead and rotting but mocking life with their unnatural existence, had pounced upon the group. A handful of the creatures were dispatched within the wild. The priest had questioned his god for guidance over a course of action—Cael remained silent. The undead fell within the God’s domain, they were creatures marked with the very kiss of Cael, and yet he offered no solution for Cassock.
For that matter, the ever-present sensation of contact with Cael dwindled as well. Cassock’s path was unclear. So, he destroyed the beasts.
Cassock’s eyes lifted, like a moth to a flame, to observe a distant glow. Small pinpoints of light flickered across the plains they tread over.
“It is the manor,” whispered Zayda. The priest nodded but kept silent. Talk had become unnecessary and worse, dangerous, along the journey. Too many predators stalked the wild.
The party slowed to a near-crawl while the manor grew closer, grew larger. Cassock moved to take the lead with only a few hundred feet left to traverse. The wall—a stone perimeter stretching east and west seemingly indefinitely—climbed above the heads of the group, despite their current distance. Evenly spaced upon the ramparts, torches flickered in the brisk wind of approaching winter. No wonder it has never been conquered, thought the cleric.
Cassock pulled to a dead stop, his left leg raised to take a step but unable to force the completion of the motion. The rest of the group stopped as well, eyes glued to the priest. He shifted backward, a questioning expression wrought upon his brow.
“What is wrong, priest?” asked Aramil, Ariel still grasping his trousers.
“I don’t,” Cassock shook his head, “I don’t know.” He stepped forward and again his leg paused midair.
“Welcome, weary travelers,” stated an unknown voice. The entire group leapt, nearly out of their skins. In front of them, yet unnoticed until now, stood a white cloaked woman. She stood a few paces in front of Cassock and whatever invisible barrier prevented their travel. The woman dropped her hood, allowing her aged, white tresses to shimmer in the light of the moon and distant torches. Her face was small and old but glowed with an inner spark of light—or at least it seemed to. She moved regally toward the group and passed between the individuals. Zayda and Mialee inclined their heads slightly as she passed.
“Have you had some problems with the church?” The aged woman, the elder Llewyllyn, asked. Her eyes fixed upon the sled of gear and the armor and weaponry of the Inquisitors.
“My lady,” Cassock answered, “we have had a few disputes with the church.”
Llewyllyn turned to the cleric, staring deep into his eyes and face. “You all look like you need a good rest. Come, you are invited into my home. You will hopefully find a bit of peace, nourishment and rest within its sacred walls.
“Good men,” at the title, three unseen men separated their bodies from the darkness, “please bring these spoils of war inside.” They moved quietly and efficiently to complete the Lady’s requests. She once again turned to the group, “Please, follow me.”
Cassock opened his mouth to scream that he could not, but his feet moved forward drawing him past the barrier. The cleric grasped his head—a searing pain stretched through his skull and the connection to Cael faded entirely. “What witchery,” he hissed, turning to see if any beside he had felt anything strange.
Spinum slid up to Cassock, laying a comforting hand onto the priest’s shoulders. “Do not fear—I don’t believe we are in any danger here.”
“But…”
“I know, Cassock. I can feel it, too. I do not think I could cast the simplest of cantrips near this manor. It is as if the magic that flows within my veins and through my mind has been drained from my body.”
“Then I believe we just discovered why this manor has never been conquered.” Cassock steeled his mind to spite the nervous trembling of his stomach.
The immense gates of the outer wall swung open, swallowing the weary travelers.
Cassock looked around at his bedraggled traveling companions. Each and every member was drowning in a thick covering of dirt and blood, even the child Ariel. One month of endless travel had solidified the mud into a hardened surface on each of them.
Still, the camouflage had not protected or hidden the travelers from the beasts, from their endless list of adversaries. They had intentionally veered away from the major road, oft guarded by the Inquisitors or at the very least the Royal Army, and into the wilds of Nordaa Saam. But the choice had not protected the group.
Foul beasts, dead and rotting but mocking life with their unnatural existence, had pounced upon the group. A handful of the creatures were dispatched within the wild. The priest had questioned his god for guidance over a course of action—Cael remained silent. The undead fell within the God’s domain, they were creatures marked with the very kiss of Cael, and yet he offered no solution for Cassock.
For that matter, the ever-present sensation of contact with Cael dwindled as well. Cassock’s path was unclear. So, he destroyed the beasts.
Cassock’s eyes lifted, like a moth to a flame, to observe a distant glow. Small pinpoints of light flickered across the plains they tread over.
“It is the manor,” whispered Zayda. The priest nodded but kept silent. Talk had become unnecessary and worse, dangerous, along the journey. Too many predators stalked the wild.
The party slowed to a near-crawl while the manor grew closer, grew larger. Cassock moved to take the lead with only a few hundred feet left to traverse. The wall—a stone perimeter stretching east and west seemingly indefinitely—climbed above the heads of the group, despite their current distance. Evenly spaced upon the ramparts, torches flickered in the brisk wind of approaching winter. No wonder it has never been conquered, thought the cleric.
Cassock pulled to a dead stop, his left leg raised to take a step but unable to force the completion of the motion. The rest of the group stopped as well, eyes glued to the priest. He shifted backward, a questioning expression wrought upon his brow.
“What is wrong, priest?” asked Aramil, Ariel still grasping his trousers.
“I don’t,” Cassock shook his head, “I don’t know.” He stepped forward and again his leg paused midair.
“Welcome, weary travelers,” stated an unknown voice. The entire group leapt, nearly out of their skins. In front of them, yet unnoticed until now, stood a white cloaked woman. She stood a few paces in front of Cassock and whatever invisible barrier prevented their travel. The woman dropped her hood, allowing her aged, white tresses to shimmer in the light of the moon and distant torches. Her face was small and old but glowed with an inner spark of light—or at least it seemed to. She moved regally toward the group and passed between the individuals. Zayda and Mialee inclined their heads slightly as she passed.
“Have you had some problems with the church?” The aged woman, the elder Llewyllyn, asked. Her eyes fixed upon the sled of gear and the armor and weaponry of the Inquisitors.
“My lady,” Cassock answered, “we have had a few disputes with the church.”
Llewyllyn turned to the cleric, staring deep into his eyes and face. “You all look like you need a good rest. Come, you are invited into my home. You will hopefully find a bit of peace, nourishment and rest within its sacred walls.
“Good men,” at the title, three unseen men separated their bodies from the darkness, “please bring these spoils of war inside.” They moved quietly and efficiently to complete the Lady’s requests. She once again turned to the group, “Please, follow me.”
Cassock opened his mouth to scream that he could not, but his feet moved forward drawing him past the barrier. The cleric grasped his head—a searing pain stretched through his skull and the connection to Cael faded entirely. “What witchery,” he hissed, turning to see if any beside he had felt anything strange.
Spinum slid up to Cassock, laying a comforting hand onto the priest’s shoulders. “Do not fear—I don’t believe we are in any danger here.”
“But…”
“I know, Cassock. I can feel it, too. I do not think I could cast the simplest of cantrips near this manor. It is as if the magic that flows within my veins and through my mind has been drained from my body.”
“Then I believe we just discovered why this manor has never been conquered.” Cassock steeled his mind to spite the nervous trembling of his stomach.
The immense gates of the outer wall swung open, swallowing the weary travelers.
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued
Dancing between the silky fabrics of the curtains, the early rays of the sun fell across the priest’s face, spotlighting his peaceful but slightly uncomfortable features. He tossed and turned, raising a hand to block the rays. The bed was so soft and comfortable; Sleep sang a sweet lullaby tune to draw him back to its embrace.
The light slammed into his closed eyelids again. They fluttered open followed by a deep yawn. Slowly, Cassock shrugged the sheets and blankets from his body to sit up. Taking a moment, he admired the pink marks across his body: the wounds that should have scarred but had been healed with Cael’s aid. Instead, his body was littered by dozens of the faint discolorations, impermanent reminders that would fade in time.
He stretched, standing and reached for the worn armor. A few of the chain links, alternating black and red, had been completely obliterated in his recent journeys. His fingers slid down the cool steel, tracing the blows that would have been fatal.
Cassock shook his head; no need for the armor today. Instead, he chose a plain set of black robes and donned them quickly. He pulled his holy icon from within its folds, allowing it to rest atop the simple fabric. There, it glimmered against its black backdrop, naming the human for what he truly was: a priest.
Smiling and comfortable again despite the loss of connection to Cael, Cassock hurried down to the dining hall and hopefully to another delicious meal.
—oo—oo—
“Good morning, Cassock.”
The priest slid to a stop before a beautiful and unknown woman. She sat relaxing at one of the dining tables, her golden tresses cascading downward to disappear, camouflaged against loose robes of the same hue.
“Good morning, Lady,” Cassock sputtered, unsure of how to address the woman. He stiffened to bow.
“Do not bow to me, priest.” The title was weighted with cynicism, despite her pleased grin. “Sit. Eat.”
“Yes, Lady.” The cleric chose the seat across from the lady, a better position to observe her. He slowly heaped fresh fruit and other tasty morsels onto his plate. He stared at the food, but turned his eyes back to the woman. She stared at him and held his gaze.
“You have a question for me, priest.” The tone, at least with the word priest, was still cynical and somewhat condescending.
“Yes, Lady. I…uh, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
She smiled. Her teeth were exceedingly bright. “I am the Lady Llewyllyn.” When Cassock said nothing, she added, “I am the daughter of the woman you spoke with last night, your hostess. You do remember, do you not?”
“Yes, I remember,” he answered annoyed. “But what do I call you?”
“You may call me the Lady Llewyllyn.” She smiled; that flawless, bright smile again. Cassock shuddered, suddenly reminded of the way a cat smiles while batting about a mouse that cannot escape. He lowered his eyes, quietly munching upon his breakfast.
Minutes of silence passed, broken only by the small noise of Cassock’s feasting. He glanced up, but always Lady Llewyllyn the younger sat there smiling at him. Discomfort filled the priest.
She broke the silence. “You have another question for me.” The priest dropped the fruit he was about to place into his mouth, his mouth remained agape. “You are wondering about your god and why you cannot feel him here.”
What are you? A mind reader? Cassock thought.
Llewyllyn shook her head slightly. The hair on Cassock’s neck bristled. “When you think you are feeling the grace of your god, it is nothing more than the ability to access magics inappropriately termed divine. You see, priest, Cael died a long, long time ago.”
Cassock’s face flushed with anger as he dropped his silverware. “Cael is NOT dead.”
She ignored his comment to continue the lesson. “One of our protections here prevents magic from being cast, except within a few choice locations. Since magic is blocked, you feel cut off. It is nothing to worry about.”
“Cael is not dead,” he hissed again. Her eyes and teeth shimmered.
“He is dead. But, I’m not in the mood to argue with you theologically right now. If you’d like, I have a book you should read. It will educate you.” She stood, her robes shifting like fluid. “Follow me.”
The priest hesitated. She turned to smirk mischievously at him.
“You are not hungry anymore.”
“No, no I’m not,” he murmured.
“Then follow me to the Library, unless you are afraid of hearing the truth.”
The priest’s eye twitched as he stood slowly. Reluctantly, he followed as she led him to the staircase and further into the manor.
Dancing between the silky fabrics of the curtains, the early rays of the sun fell across the priest’s face, spotlighting his peaceful but slightly uncomfortable features. He tossed and turned, raising a hand to block the rays. The bed was so soft and comfortable; Sleep sang a sweet lullaby tune to draw him back to its embrace.
The light slammed into his closed eyelids again. They fluttered open followed by a deep yawn. Slowly, Cassock shrugged the sheets and blankets from his body to sit up. Taking a moment, he admired the pink marks across his body: the wounds that should have scarred but had been healed with Cael’s aid. Instead, his body was littered by dozens of the faint discolorations, impermanent reminders that would fade in time.
He stretched, standing and reached for the worn armor. A few of the chain links, alternating black and red, had been completely obliterated in his recent journeys. His fingers slid down the cool steel, tracing the blows that would have been fatal.
Cassock shook his head; no need for the armor today. Instead, he chose a plain set of black robes and donned them quickly. He pulled his holy icon from within its folds, allowing it to rest atop the simple fabric. There, it glimmered against its black backdrop, naming the human for what he truly was: a priest.
Smiling and comfortable again despite the loss of connection to Cael, Cassock hurried down to the dining hall and hopefully to another delicious meal.
—oo—oo—
“Good morning, Cassock.”
The priest slid to a stop before a beautiful and unknown woman. She sat relaxing at one of the dining tables, her golden tresses cascading downward to disappear, camouflaged against loose robes of the same hue.
“Good morning, Lady,” Cassock sputtered, unsure of how to address the woman. He stiffened to bow.
“Do not bow to me, priest.” The title was weighted with cynicism, despite her pleased grin. “Sit. Eat.”
“Yes, Lady.” The cleric chose the seat across from the lady, a better position to observe her. He slowly heaped fresh fruit and other tasty morsels onto his plate. He stared at the food, but turned his eyes back to the woman. She stared at him and held his gaze.
“You have a question for me, priest.” The tone, at least with the word priest, was still cynical and somewhat condescending.
“Yes, Lady. I…uh, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
She smiled. Her teeth were exceedingly bright. “I am the Lady Llewyllyn.” When Cassock said nothing, she added, “I am the daughter of the woman you spoke with last night, your hostess. You do remember, do you not?”
“Yes, I remember,” he answered annoyed. “But what do I call you?”
“You may call me the Lady Llewyllyn.” She smiled; that flawless, bright smile again. Cassock shuddered, suddenly reminded of the way a cat smiles while batting about a mouse that cannot escape. He lowered his eyes, quietly munching upon his breakfast.
Minutes of silence passed, broken only by the small noise of Cassock’s feasting. He glanced up, but always Lady Llewyllyn the younger sat there smiling at him. Discomfort filled the priest.
She broke the silence. “You have another question for me.” The priest dropped the fruit he was about to place into his mouth, his mouth remained agape. “You are wondering about your god and why you cannot feel him here.”
What are you? A mind reader? Cassock thought.
Llewyllyn shook her head slightly. The hair on Cassock’s neck bristled. “When you think you are feeling the grace of your god, it is nothing more than the ability to access magics inappropriately termed divine. You see, priest, Cael died a long, long time ago.”
Cassock’s face flushed with anger as he dropped his silverware. “Cael is NOT dead.”
She ignored his comment to continue the lesson. “One of our protections here prevents magic from being cast, except within a few choice locations. Since magic is blocked, you feel cut off. It is nothing to worry about.”
“Cael is not dead,” he hissed again. Her eyes and teeth shimmered.
“He is dead. But, I’m not in the mood to argue with you theologically right now. If you’d like, I have a book you should read. It will educate you.” She stood, her robes shifting like fluid. “Follow me.”
The priest hesitated. She turned to smirk mischievously at him.
“You are not hungry anymore.”
“No, no I’m not,” he murmured.
“Then follow me to the Library, unless you are afraid of hearing the truth.”
The priest’s eye twitched as he stood slowly. Reluctantly, he followed as she led him to the staircase and further into the manor.
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient Continued
Cassock stepped through the doorway and into an enormous library. Along each of the sides of the rectangular room ran enormous shelves filling the room for floor to cathedral ceiling. There were only a few empty spots along the shelves—books Spinum had removed for research. Each individual shelf curved down, straining under the immense weight of its contents.
The mage sat at an aged table, pouring over his pile of reading material. The entrance of Lady Llewyllyn and Cassock of Cael was entirely unnoticed as he flipped fervently through the yellowed pages.
The lady cleared her throat, forcing Spinum to look up. He smiled for a moment before turning his eyes downward to absorb more information. She grasped the cleric’s arm—a grasp as strong as steel—and tugged him along the bookshelves.
Cassock’s eyes rolled in his head, trying to absorb the titles of the immense collection. He was pulled along too fast to notice many that would hold interest. Planar Cosmology: The Gods’ Blunder leapt out at him but they had passed before he could reach out and snatch the tome.
“Here we are,” Lady Llewyllyn stated, snapping Cassock into a stopped position. She released his arm and carefully withdrew a tome nearly as thick as the priest’s arm was long. With a quick brush, she dusted ages of dust from its binding. She held the tome out, indicating Cassock should take it.
The priest cautiously held the tome, glancing over the fading gold lettering: The Gods’ War: A History and the Ramifications of Divinity upon Norum da Salaex.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of work to do.” Llewyllyn smiled brightly. “But everything you need to know can be found within those pages. And whether or not you believe me, that tome speaks the truth.” Without giving Cassock the time for a retort, she pivoted and moved toward the doorway.
Before she could exit, the rogue wandered in, nearly bumping into the lady. “Oh, um…sorry, Lady.”
“No apology is necessary, Aramil. Have you seen Ana or Zayda?”
“Yes,” the half-elf answered. “I just left them downstairs. They’re having breakfast.”
“Good. I should go make sure they are comfortable.” Aramil nodded as Llewyllyn brushed past him. Turning, the half-elf stumbled into the room, observing its details very carefully.
“Something is different in here,” Cassock murmured. He sat the book down beside Spinum’s pile. The mage glanced up and smiled.
“You haven’t figured it out, yet?”
Cassock sneered. “And you have?”
“Let me guess, you’re feeling a lot better now that you’re in here—more complete.”
“Something like that.”
“Yes, well. Unlike the rest of this castle, our magic is not repressed here.” To accent his point, a glowing orb of light formed in Spinum’s hand.
“By the Gods…”
“It’s a great defense,” the mage acknowledged. “There are only a few spots where magic actually functions. It is no wonder that the clergy and the King leave the ladies alone.”
“How?”
“My impression is that either the ladies are using some type of relic—or that they are exceedingly powerful. A relic or several relics would be the most efficient means, however. And that by no means should be interpreted as a lack of ability on their part.” Spinum’s head turned to the left, passing the long shelves to focus on Aramil. “Rogue! What are you doing?”
Aramil refused to turn around. Instead, he muttered, “This candelabra…it is slightly crooked.” The rogue twisted the metal, a popping sound echoed through the room. He stumbled back as two of the bookshelves along the short wall slid open. The shelves withdrew revealing two storage rooms overflowing with items.
Spinum’s head fell to the table, his hands massaging his aching temples. An impossible amount of magic radiated from the rooms, instantly causing a maelstrom of pain to brew within the mage’s mind.
Cassock rushed toward the rogue, leaving the tome upon the table.
Aramil bent down—a small leather wrapped item drawing his attention. He picked the object up and removed its cover. The rogue held an ornate deck of cards within his hands. With a quick flick of his wrist, the cards were shuffled and he flipped three cards out onto the wooden floor.
The three cards rested face down as Cassock grabbed Aramil by the shoulder. “What are you doing?!” he screamed, knocking the deck from the rogue’s hands.
A burst of wind appeared from nowhere, circling through the library. Books fluttered and flapped, almost clapping at the spectacle. Before their eyes, the first card levitated and spun, revealing its face…
Cassock stepped through the doorway and into an enormous library. Along each of the sides of the rectangular room ran enormous shelves filling the room for floor to cathedral ceiling. There were only a few empty spots along the shelves—books Spinum had removed for research. Each individual shelf curved down, straining under the immense weight of its contents.
The mage sat at an aged table, pouring over his pile of reading material. The entrance of Lady Llewyllyn and Cassock of Cael was entirely unnoticed as he flipped fervently through the yellowed pages.
The lady cleared her throat, forcing Spinum to look up. He smiled for a moment before turning his eyes downward to absorb more information. She grasped the cleric’s arm—a grasp as strong as steel—and tugged him along the bookshelves.
Cassock’s eyes rolled in his head, trying to absorb the titles of the immense collection. He was pulled along too fast to notice many that would hold interest. Planar Cosmology: The Gods’ Blunder leapt out at him but they had passed before he could reach out and snatch the tome.
“Here we are,” Lady Llewyllyn stated, snapping Cassock into a stopped position. She released his arm and carefully withdrew a tome nearly as thick as the priest’s arm was long. With a quick brush, she dusted ages of dust from its binding. She held the tome out, indicating Cassock should take it.
The priest cautiously held the tome, glancing over the fading gold lettering: The Gods’ War: A History and the Ramifications of Divinity upon Norum da Salaex.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of work to do.” Llewyllyn smiled brightly. “But everything you need to know can be found within those pages. And whether or not you believe me, that tome speaks the truth.” Without giving Cassock the time for a retort, she pivoted and moved toward the doorway.
Before she could exit, the rogue wandered in, nearly bumping into the lady. “Oh, um…sorry, Lady.”
“No apology is necessary, Aramil. Have you seen Ana or Zayda?”
“Yes,” the half-elf answered. “I just left them downstairs. They’re having breakfast.”
“Good. I should go make sure they are comfortable.” Aramil nodded as Llewyllyn brushed past him. Turning, the half-elf stumbled into the room, observing its details very carefully.
“Something is different in here,” Cassock murmured. He sat the book down beside Spinum’s pile. The mage glanced up and smiled.
“You haven’t figured it out, yet?”
Cassock sneered. “And you have?”
“Let me guess, you’re feeling a lot better now that you’re in here—more complete.”
“Something like that.”
“Yes, well. Unlike the rest of this castle, our magic is not repressed here.” To accent his point, a glowing orb of light formed in Spinum’s hand.
“By the Gods…”
“It’s a great defense,” the mage acknowledged. “There are only a few spots where magic actually functions. It is no wonder that the clergy and the King leave the ladies alone.”
“How?”
“My impression is that either the ladies are using some type of relic—or that they are exceedingly powerful. A relic or several relics would be the most efficient means, however. And that by no means should be interpreted as a lack of ability on their part.” Spinum’s head turned to the left, passing the long shelves to focus on Aramil. “Rogue! What are you doing?”
Aramil refused to turn around. Instead, he muttered, “This candelabra…it is slightly crooked.” The rogue twisted the metal, a popping sound echoed through the room. He stumbled back as two of the bookshelves along the short wall slid open. The shelves withdrew revealing two storage rooms overflowing with items.
Spinum’s head fell to the table, his hands massaging his aching temples. An impossible amount of magic radiated from the rooms, instantly causing a maelstrom of pain to brew within the mage’s mind.
Cassock rushed toward the rogue, leaving the tome upon the table.
Aramil bent down—a small leather wrapped item drawing his attention. He picked the object up and removed its cover. The rogue held an ornate deck of cards within his hands. With a quick flick of his wrist, the cards were shuffled and he flipped three cards out onto the wooden floor.
The three cards rested face down as Cassock grabbed Aramil by the shoulder. “What are you doing?!” he screamed, knocking the deck from the rogue’s hands.
A burst of wind appeared from nowhere, circling through the library. Books fluttered and flapped, almost clapping at the spectacle. Before their eyes, the first card levitated and spun, revealing its face…
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