Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round Two: Witch's Haunt]
10-24-2010, 09:27 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Channeling the amount of sheer magical power it took to influence the minds and emotions of the other contestants the way Muriegro had been was quite straining, but the mere presence of Laguja bolstered his endurance and abilities; however, having the spell forcibly dispelled by the end of the round and subsequent cessation of astral projection and dimensional transport, coupled with the inherent risk and power of the spell itself, was enough to cause severe backfire on the priest. Once the Prestidigitator was again silent and the contestants were again free to move and breathe, Muriegro swayed for a moment before falling to the ground. The pincushion bounced away from its servant, whose eyes had rolled up into his head and whose nose began slowly dripping twin streams of blood; after a few moments of shivering, the man gave one last pronounced shudder and vomited, yellow bile and vivid red blood leaking out of his stitched lips and mixing on the lavish cream carpet. Muriegro fell still and fully lost consciousness.
The trauma of backfire had had its effect on the pincushion too, smothering its senses and stifling its ability to use and create magic, but the inorganic and divine nature of Laguja made it brief and painless. It was fully functional again in seconds, and the livid rage from these continued ignominies at the hands of this self-titled grandmaster was congealing into a fuming bead of carefully-moderated choler. These outbursts were unbecoming and unhelpful, it was beginning to reason; the only way to get back to where it belonged was with rational planning, careful strikes, and the utter obliteration of the pretender that sought to place himself above the only true god there was. A careful tendril of thought swept over the mind of the priest, but it was clear he would not be rising soon. Rather than teleport about on its own, weakened without a host and able to accomplish little, the little fragment of divinity calmed itself and opened its mind.
Once again strands of thought and magic spread across an arena chosen for this contest; Laguja was keen to have more details about the locale and its potential minions than it had in the last round. If its goal was the eradication of the smug pretender that had it trapped in this pointless competition, it would need as much information and power as it could muster. Most of the other contestants were likely to stick around for some time, regardless of what else happened, so the pincushion reasoned that information about the new setting was more urgent than delving into the minds of others. Besides all that, any real mind-reading would be more strenuous and yield less real information without a host to channel through. Laguja's magic spread through the house, taking note of the layout and casually browsing through its history; the minds and bodies of the other contestants were all easy enough to find; there was one missing, which was to be expected, and it became quickly clear that it was the fragmented one of Thatix. It was no real loss as far as the pincushion was concerned; the firefly sorceress would have been near impossible to influence, and the strain of directly controlling such a confusing and broken mind would doubtless have been more trouble than it was worth.
More interesting than the meandering presence of the other sapients that the Prestidigitator had brought here or the almost-labyrinthine architecture of the sprawling manor was an almost-presence that seemed to permeate the entire building. It wasn't quite alive, and it wasn't quite sentient, but there was some sort of awareness here. It permeated every wall and ceiling, every piece of furniture and every appliance, and even every ornament and potted plant. Without Muriegro to direct the spell through, Laguja couldn't get much of a read on whatever it was; it made a mental note to investigate further when circumstances permitted and continued mapping the manor from attic to basement.
Once it had absorbed the layout thoroughly, memorizing every hallway and broom closet and projecting where it expected the others to go in the near future, it withdrew back to the plush bedroom it had landed in to inspect its servant. The priest was still sprawled on the floor; Laguja was glad to see he was at least in a position in which he was unlikely to choke on his vomit, but frustrated that the fragile mortal shell had reacted so badly to the magical backlash. With nothing to do but wait, the pincushion once again expanded its awareness, this time intent on exploring the grounds.
As soon as the first tendril of awareness extended past the boundaries of the house proper, Laguja felt a powerful psychic suction; it was drawn inexorably through a large and inexplicably-pristine garden, over a small bridge across a clear brook, and towards an idyllic lake surrounded by waving reeds and covered in blooming lotuses. After a moment panning across the still water, the mind of the godlet was tugged under the surface; it slowly drifted towards the bottom of the surprisingly-deep pond, passing idly-swimming fish and delving deeper into duckweed and darkness. Eventually, Laguja's awareness reached the bottom of the lake, a rocky little alcove replete with weeds fishbones. In the center, bare of obstructions almost as though carefully placed there, there was a small human skeleton, clutching a bizarre object the pincushion vaguely recognized as belonging to one of the other contestants.
As the gentle motion of the lake's water made the nearby plants sway and sent the few remaining scraps of flesh and hair lingering on the skull waving languidly, Laguja put two and two together. This was the witch, and that thing was the Core. It tried to pull away, but was held fast. A voice sounded; rather, the idea of a voice made itself known to the pincushion's consciousness. If it had been physical, it would have been high-pitched, young, and both scared and excited at the same time.
"It's been so long since anyone's been able to hear me! Not since... Not since before the accident even. I'm Lily! What's your name?"
Laguja rumbled a noncommittal response, simply referring to itself as Needle and volunteering nothing more. A mental tittering filled its world, a rather jarring contrast with the image of the skeleton it was coming from, especially as a pleco emerged from an eye socket and began sucking on the dome of the skull. "That's a funny name! My nanna used to be called Battleaxe though, so I guess there's funnier."
The little voice was apparently content to continue rambling about inconsequentialities, but every time "Needle" tried to pull away, it found it was still locked in place. After one such attempt, the witch responded with a petulant "Come on, I never get to talk to anybody. It's even been years since anyone tried to come find me. I was so sure they would last time, but then that nasty storm happened... I hate it down here! It's so lonely!"
Laguja gave a mental sigh, but stopped trying to escape; it was clear that it would not be able to in its current condition, so the only hope of getting back to its vessel and vassal required humoring this childish ghost. After a few more meandering sentences, the girl gave a small gasp. "Oh, wait! I've got an idea. I think it'll be a lot of fun and good for both of us. I just need you to come to the lake physically, okay?"
The frustrated scrap of weakened divinity gave reluctant agreement, having no real intention of following up on it. "You proooomise?"
"Of course."
There was a sensation of distorted space, and Laguja found itself back in its body, as much as the cloth housing could be called such. Muriegro was just rousing himself, a dirty sleeve wiping the vile humors from his lips. He crawled across the floor to pick up his only remaining connection to his god and unsteadily raised himself to his feet. Dizzy, the priest moved to collapse in a beige-and-gold armchair nearby; he set Laguja in his lap, clutched in both hands, and let his head loll backwards, resting on the cushioned chair. Pincushion and amazon had intended to spend some minutes like this, each recovering and the former planning, but Muriegro suddenly bolted upright. Laguja, for its part, found its thoughts suffused with "I promised", and was extremely hard-pressed to think of anything except how to get to the lake quickest.
It was half-aware that this was not the result of its own machinations, but decided that for the moment there was little to be gained by any other course of action; the witch clearly had considerable power in her own realm, dead or not, and it wasn't as though the pincushion had decided on any other course of action yet. Best to go along with whatever her idea was; she might prove a valuable ally and at the very least might release the compulsion it had unwittingly allowed to be placed on it. It mulled over how best to make it onto the back acres of the grounds; there was an exit just a few rooms away, but that would likely end in an unwanted encounter with the foolish pirate. They were on the first floor, though...
Moments later, Muriegro, with the pincushion safely stowed in its pouch, was crashing through the large, sunny window and rolling across the manicured lawn. The latch on the window had refused to budge, so simply barreling through it had proven to be the fastest and easiest option. As he picked himself up and dusted the splinters of glass off his robe, however, the priest noticed that the glass that littered the ground was vibrating gently. After a few moments, a humming noise permeated the air, and after a few more, the shards leapt towards the window and reassembled themselves. The sight of the glittering glass shooting through the air was impressive, and the act itself odd, but Laguja deemed it largely inconsequential and moved on.
The tattered grey shape of Muriegro drifted through the perfect gardens, looking faded and thoroughly out of place. The odd silence began to weigh heavily on the pair, especially as they passed a row of still and quiet beehives. There was little to occupy one's attention save for dire thoughts about what was to come; even the brook made less noise than it should have as the priest walked over the small bridge, and as the lake came into view, Laguja was filled with uncharacteristic apprehension.
Channeling the amount of sheer magical power it took to influence the minds and emotions of the other contestants the way Muriegro had been was quite straining, but the mere presence of Laguja bolstered his endurance and abilities; however, having the spell forcibly dispelled by the end of the round and subsequent cessation of astral projection and dimensional transport, coupled with the inherent risk and power of the spell itself, was enough to cause severe backfire on the priest. Once the Prestidigitator was again silent and the contestants were again free to move and breathe, Muriegro swayed for a moment before falling to the ground. The pincushion bounced away from its servant, whose eyes had rolled up into his head and whose nose began slowly dripping twin streams of blood; after a few moments of shivering, the man gave one last pronounced shudder and vomited, yellow bile and vivid red blood leaking out of his stitched lips and mixing on the lavish cream carpet. Muriegro fell still and fully lost consciousness.
The trauma of backfire had had its effect on the pincushion too, smothering its senses and stifling its ability to use and create magic, but the inorganic and divine nature of Laguja made it brief and painless. It was fully functional again in seconds, and the livid rage from these continued ignominies at the hands of this self-titled grandmaster was congealing into a fuming bead of carefully-moderated choler. These outbursts were unbecoming and unhelpful, it was beginning to reason; the only way to get back to where it belonged was with rational planning, careful strikes, and the utter obliteration of the pretender that sought to place himself above the only true god there was. A careful tendril of thought swept over the mind of the priest, but it was clear he would not be rising soon. Rather than teleport about on its own, weakened without a host and able to accomplish little, the little fragment of divinity calmed itself and opened its mind.
Once again strands of thought and magic spread across an arena chosen for this contest; Laguja was keen to have more details about the locale and its potential minions than it had in the last round. If its goal was the eradication of the smug pretender that had it trapped in this pointless competition, it would need as much information and power as it could muster. Most of the other contestants were likely to stick around for some time, regardless of what else happened, so the pincushion reasoned that information about the new setting was more urgent than delving into the minds of others. Besides all that, any real mind-reading would be more strenuous and yield less real information without a host to channel through. Laguja's magic spread through the house, taking note of the layout and casually browsing through its history; the minds and bodies of the other contestants were all easy enough to find; there was one missing, which was to be expected, and it became quickly clear that it was the fragmented one of Thatix. It was no real loss as far as the pincushion was concerned; the firefly sorceress would have been near impossible to influence, and the strain of directly controlling such a confusing and broken mind would doubtless have been more trouble than it was worth.
More interesting than the meandering presence of the other sapients that the Prestidigitator had brought here or the almost-labyrinthine architecture of the sprawling manor was an almost-presence that seemed to permeate the entire building. It wasn't quite alive, and it wasn't quite sentient, but there was some sort of awareness here. It permeated every wall and ceiling, every piece of furniture and every appliance, and even every ornament and potted plant. Without Muriegro to direct the spell through, Laguja couldn't get much of a read on whatever it was; it made a mental note to investigate further when circumstances permitted and continued mapping the manor from attic to basement.
Once it had absorbed the layout thoroughly, memorizing every hallway and broom closet and projecting where it expected the others to go in the near future, it withdrew back to the plush bedroom it had landed in to inspect its servant. The priest was still sprawled on the floor; Laguja was glad to see he was at least in a position in which he was unlikely to choke on his vomit, but frustrated that the fragile mortal shell had reacted so badly to the magical backlash. With nothing to do but wait, the pincushion once again expanded its awareness, this time intent on exploring the grounds.
As soon as the first tendril of awareness extended past the boundaries of the house proper, Laguja felt a powerful psychic suction; it was drawn inexorably through a large and inexplicably-pristine garden, over a small bridge across a clear brook, and towards an idyllic lake surrounded by waving reeds and covered in blooming lotuses. After a moment panning across the still water, the mind of the godlet was tugged under the surface; it slowly drifted towards the bottom of the surprisingly-deep pond, passing idly-swimming fish and delving deeper into duckweed and darkness. Eventually, Laguja's awareness reached the bottom of the lake, a rocky little alcove replete with weeds fishbones. In the center, bare of obstructions almost as though carefully placed there, there was a small human skeleton, clutching a bizarre object the pincushion vaguely recognized as belonging to one of the other contestants.
As the gentle motion of the lake's water made the nearby plants sway and sent the few remaining scraps of flesh and hair lingering on the skull waving languidly, Laguja put two and two together. This was the witch, and that thing was the Core. It tried to pull away, but was held fast. A voice sounded; rather, the idea of a voice made itself known to the pincushion's consciousness. If it had been physical, it would have been high-pitched, young, and both scared and excited at the same time.
"It's been so long since anyone's been able to hear me! Not since... Not since before the accident even. I'm Lily! What's your name?"
Laguja rumbled a noncommittal response, simply referring to itself as Needle and volunteering nothing more. A mental tittering filled its world, a rather jarring contrast with the image of the skeleton it was coming from, especially as a pleco emerged from an eye socket and began sucking on the dome of the skull. "That's a funny name! My nanna used to be called Battleaxe though, so I guess there's funnier."
The little voice was apparently content to continue rambling about inconsequentialities, but every time "Needle" tried to pull away, it found it was still locked in place. After one such attempt, the witch responded with a petulant "Come on, I never get to talk to anybody. It's even been years since anyone tried to come find me. I was so sure they would last time, but then that nasty storm happened... I hate it down here! It's so lonely!"
Laguja gave a mental sigh, but stopped trying to escape; it was clear that it would not be able to in its current condition, so the only hope of getting back to its vessel and vassal required humoring this childish ghost. After a few more meandering sentences, the girl gave a small gasp. "Oh, wait! I've got an idea. I think it'll be a lot of fun and good for both of us. I just need you to come to the lake physically, okay?"
The frustrated scrap of weakened divinity gave reluctant agreement, having no real intention of following up on it. "You proooomise?"
"Of course."
There was a sensation of distorted space, and Laguja found itself back in its body, as much as the cloth housing could be called such. Muriegro was just rousing himself, a dirty sleeve wiping the vile humors from his lips. He crawled across the floor to pick up his only remaining connection to his god and unsteadily raised himself to his feet. Dizzy, the priest moved to collapse in a beige-and-gold armchair nearby; he set Laguja in his lap, clutched in both hands, and let his head loll backwards, resting on the cushioned chair. Pincushion and amazon had intended to spend some minutes like this, each recovering and the former planning, but Muriegro suddenly bolted upright. Laguja, for its part, found its thoughts suffused with "I promised", and was extremely hard-pressed to think of anything except how to get to the lake quickest.
It was half-aware that this was not the result of its own machinations, but decided that for the moment there was little to be gained by any other course of action; the witch clearly had considerable power in her own realm, dead or not, and it wasn't as though the pincushion had decided on any other course of action yet. Best to go along with whatever her idea was; she might prove a valuable ally and at the very least might release the compulsion it had unwittingly allowed to be placed on it. It mulled over how best to make it onto the back acres of the grounds; there was an exit just a few rooms away, but that would likely end in an unwanted encounter with the foolish pirate. They were on the first floor, though...
Moments later, Muriegro, with the pincushion safely stowed in its pouch, was crashing through the large, sunny window and rolling across the manicured lawn. The latch on the window had refused to budge, so simply barreling through it had proven to be the fastest and easiest option. As he picked himself up and dusted the splinters of glass off his robe, however, the priest noticed that the glass that littered the ground was vibrating gently. After a few moments, a humming noise permeated the air, and after a few more, the shards leapt towards the window and reassembled themselves. The sight of the glittering glass shooting through the air was impressive, and the act itself odd, but Laguja deemed it largely inconsequential and moved on.
The tattered grey shape of Muriegro drifted through the perfect gardens, looking faded and thoroughly out of place. The odd silence began to weigh heavily on the pair, especially as they passed a row of still and quiet beehives. There was little to occupy one's attention save for dire thoughts about what was to come; even the brook made less noise than it should have as the priest walked over the small bridge, and as the lake came into view, Laguja was filled with uncharacteristic apprehension.