Post by Radiodragon on Dec 9, 2011 21:17:23 GMT -6
Space...
Matter...
Mind...
Chaos...
Death...
You understand them all. You, above all others have gained entrance to their very presence, the inner most sanctums of the cosmos. You alone have gazed upon the Arcanum Infinium and you have shaped it to your will. You dwell in the furthest ring; here you walk amongst the almighty and converse with the incomprehensible. In this place where time and space cease to hold meaning, one may lose themselves. If not at once, then over time becoming interwoven into the fabric of the furthest ring, forgetting who they were and by what power they were brought here. Not you however. You remember who you were, what you were. You were an innocent, and you were a monster. You were loyal, and you were a traitor. You were a cherished by your gods, and a dagger made for their hands. You were, YOU ARE, Iscariot the Apostate.
Your early life was not worthy of notice save for one burning detail. You were favored beyond all others by the Noble Circle of Horror Terrors. You were graced with gifts of power that trolls will not dare to dream exists. From Ulyaoth, you were given the power over dimensions, to fold space to your will. From Chattur'gha, you received power over all matter, oceans were drained in seconds and mountains turned to dust with a wave of your hand. From Xel'lotath, the power over mind and perception, trolls both high and low were sent weeping with madness at a glance. From Mantorok the greatest of the Horror Terrors, the power of freedom, longer bound to the mortal realm you could slip in and out of reality with no resistance.
Oddly, even with all this power at your command, you remained in isolation from the world. This was the first lesson taught to you by the NCoHT. . It was at the e%ecution of a mutant blooded rebel leader. You had entered the event inconspicuously. As you looked at the troll chained in hot irons you felt them speaking to you.
See how the weakling dies, thinking he defeat a force of billions with words and platitudes.
He could not understand the complexities of the true forces at work, which is why he dies.
Watch his mind rend itself now that it understands absolute helplessness, and pray to us that the same never happens to you.
(Pray to us anyway)
As the mutant breathed his last, you felt a presence of energy within the coliseum. You alone saw the figure disappear into the glowing green field.
Behold, this is the reason he suffers, and destroying this is your true purpose.
You took their words to heart.
From then on you were dedicated to your task: killing the Demonness. You shut yourself away in your tower, and began to delve into the arcane with wild abandon. Decades passed. You became a feared eccentric of a town that had sprung up in the last 30 or so years. Sometimes you came into the village for supplies and the occasional book. It was amusing to see the young trolls scramble for their lusi when they saw your cart rolling down the hill. It was on one of these trips that you made a very special “purchase.” In your urgency to gain power and understanding you had allowed your tower to fall into neglect. You had heard the benefits of owning slaves but had not had any need to buy one, or for that matter, any desire to until then. The only place where slaves could be bought for miles was at the mining camp, in town. You approached the foreman with your offer, and were shown out to the mine.
When you were out in the yard the foreman inquired about what kind of slave you were looking for. You told him that you wanted someone of mid-blood so that you would not have to replace them so soon. The foreman nodded and descended into the mine. After a considerable amount of time the foreman returned with a female in tow. You made a quick ethereal inspection and devised quickly that she was an orangeblood.
“I th(..)ught that I requested a servant of higher bl(..)(..)d.” you said to him. You saw the foretroll tense up, and he shoved the female forward.
“7ir, thi7 girl ha7 7ome of the highe7t blood in the mine-“
“She is an (..)rangebl(..)(..)d. This is unacceptable.”
“Well, you 7ee, 7he’7 the highe7t we could get on 7uch 7hort not-“
“I require durable servants wh(..) will last f(..)r a l(..)ng time bef(..)re needing t(..) be replaced. An (..)rangebl(..)(..)d will n(..)t serve.”
You knew this troll was lying to you. As you peered into his mind you could see very clearly he was hiding a handful of greens and a pair teals. You were about to demand to see the other slaves when their voices returned.
Choose this one, she will serve you well.
(Or she might plant a knife in your back)
She wields considerable strength and a potent will, choose her.
Her mind is not quite degenerate, yes choose her.
She is important to you, choose her.
You had never heard the HorrorTerrors this unanimous before. You reach forward and grab the female by her chin to examine her closely. You see nothing special, but the NCoHT’s advice had always been helpful. You retracted your hand, wiping it clean in the process. She was filthy.
“She will d(..).”
You told the foretroll. You paid only what the girl was worth and nothing more. Upon leaving the masses of the village parted, but none would look at you.
When you returned to the tower you showed the girl to her rooms, gave her the list of chores that needed to be fulfilled, and left for your library (which she was not allowed to enter). The girl served well for the first month. Tasks were finished on time and the tower was a great deal cleaner than it had been. However, when you allowed yourself a few moments of sleep (a rare occasion), she escaped. The magical wards around the tower alerted you to her escape, and you used your understanding of dimensions to find, and return her to the tower. The next week she escaped again, but you had reset the wards closer to the tower so she barely made it into the forest before you found her and retuned her to the tower. The next week she escaped again, and the next week, and the next week after that. The final time she didn’t even make it out of the tower gates before you caught her. When you teleported her back to her quarters, you asked her why she desired to leave? After all, wasn’t her life now better than the one she had been living? Did she not eat well? Did she not have warm place to sleep? Were not the tasks you set before her easier than the back-breaking labor she used to perform? All of this you charged her with.
When it was her turn to speak, the girl told you point blank that she would never be a slave to you, spat at you, and then proceeded to call every derogatory term for highblood in the book (and even a few that weren’t). You made a mental note to remember some of the more colorful names in case another sea-dweller or warring blue-blood tried to make a name for their self out of you hide. With a nod you left. You simply did not have time to keep chasing this girl every time she left the tower, but you also needed someone to look after the tower. You had to find a way to pacify her, but how? You decided that the best way to handle this was to treat the girl not as a slave but more of an “employee”. A blasphemous concept for a noble, but you were never a stranger to blasphemy. When you first gave the terms of agreement to the girl, you regretted it immediately. All she did was smile and say “Aw you do have a heart!”
From that point on she became much more helpful and much more bothersome at the same time. She was less reclusive about speaking to you, and you talked back. You eventually began taking meals together, and you even moved her quarters closer to your own. Before long you lifted the ban on the library, and she you helped with your research (while grieving you about how dusty it was in the there). You granted her the title of Retainer. Wherever she went she spoke with your voice and authority. A bond was formed between the two of you, pale and everlasting.
A few sweeps later another rebellion was started. An orange-blood with wings was stirring up trouble for the empire. You had to admit, this “Summoner” was much more sensible than the mutant-blood whose e%ecution you witnessed. Using the monsters that roamed Aternia to weaken the Condece’s forces while your real forces swept up what was left was a sound tactic. However you knew that the rebellion was doomed to failure so there was no reason to be involved in it. You and your Retainer were safe in the tower and that was all that mattered. It was when a group of rebels came to your tower seeking refuge that your life began to sour. You were simply going to turn them away unmolested, but your Retainer begged you to aid them. The rebels were allowed to stay and lick their wounds. Confident that your wards would alert you of any invading force, you did not worry that the rebels may have been followed. This proved to be a grave error.
In the night, the tower smoke bombed. Your wards had failed. You ran for the window to see a score of trolls dressed in black surrounding the tower. You spoke the incantation and called upon the power of Chattur'gha to crush them… but nothing happened. You called out to the HorrorTerrors in your mind but they were silent. For the first time in your life you felt fear. You were forced to take your Retainer and flee with the rebels. Unfortunately the attackers were waiting for you. You recognized their leader as the legendary general, the Catalyst. Though many believed her to be dead the NCoHT had informed you that she was still active though the conniving of the Condece. The Catalyst’s unit of Reagents moved like tidal wave, unstoppable. You spoke every incantation that you knew. You called for Ulyaoth to fold dimensions to facilitate your escape. You shouted for Xel'lotath to destroy the Reagent’s minds and make them turn on each other. You cried for Chattur’gha to make the earth rise up and swallow them. You screamed for Mantorok to devour their souls and let them rot in one of its many stomachs. But they did not hear you, and you fell by a precise blow from the Catalyst.
When the dust settled you were hauled off with the rebels. As a blue-blood you were allowed a trial, and a chance to present a counter offence. This however it was weeks before they finished torturing you so you could stand trial. You were informed at some point during this process that your Retainer had been executed. You do not wish to dwell on that subject, though you will always feel that particular wound, even now. At last you were brought before His Honorable Tyranny. You stood there, a broken and bloodied troll, and heard the prosecution list all of the vile things that you were accused of. You didn’t care. Why would you? The only thing that occupied your mind at that time was the loss of your Retainer… your Moirail. It was then that their voices returned to you.
It is time.
Fulfill your purpose
(Or die trying)
We have tempered your soul in hatred, anger, and loss.
Only through this process would you be adept enough to accommodate our unlimited powers.
Your wounds run deep.
We are the ones who drove the knife into your heart.
We severed the arteries
(And feasted on the blood)
So that now we may replace it with our own essence.
The prosecutor droned on, as you listened in awe. You glanced around the court room to see dozens of eyes fixed upon you.
Mantorok, should we enlighten him, as to the true nature of these creatures?
Yes, Mantorok tell him the truth
(Let his mind collapse from the revelation)
It is comical to see these powerful creatures when you know their origin.
So it shall be.
And you were given the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Actually, despite the paranoid half of Xel'lotath’s warnings it was actually kind of… funny. To think that the entire race of warmongering, bloodthirsty, hierarchical, trolls was once the kindest and least violent in the universe is absolutely hilarious! In fact, the race was so peaceful that they failed in some kind of universal creation game. A game, which you were surprised to learn, you are a product of, and not just you but other trolls as well! The Condece, the Summoner, the Mutant blood, and a handful more were all spawned because of that game. When it was time for your counter offence you took the stands and could barely contain yourself. As you stood there looking at all of the angry, hateful, and cruel trolls, all you could see was the lives that each one of them had lived before the change, and you laughed. Eh he he he he he he he he HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA HO HO HO HO HO *snort* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!
You laughed because you had no tears left to cry. You laughed because you had no anger left to shout. You laughed because you had no hate left to fight with. But mostly you laughed because it was so GOD-DAMNED FUNNY!
The world went black. You awoke to find yourself surrounded by rubble and corpses. You couldn’t recollect who you were or why you were there. A guard troll who was on the verge of death tried to attack you. With a wave of your hand you atomized him into a teal colored mist. As you were standing there in the rubble and the blood, you perceived a young orange troll calling out to you. A large gash in her side bled like a river. Who was this? Why was she reaching toward you? Suddenly you were racked with a feeling of over whelming purpose. As if some great magnetic force was pulling you toward a singular destination. You turned your back on the orange troll, whoever she was. Once more you viewed the bodies. These would become the components for the ultimate spell, a spell that could tear the ever present barrier of time and dimension. You spoke the hated words and the blood of the trolls before you began to rise into the air. Purple, violate, blue, light blue, teal, jade green, green, yellow, orange, and rust red all coalesced to form the pigment of creation and destruction, the hue of the alpha and omega black.
The cloud of infinite darkness bubbled and churned with sinister force. The sky began to spilt open as the seams of the universe were ripped apart to reveal the resting place of your final purpose. You stood at the precipice of hell as it beckoned with an alien, neon green glow. You rose to meet it.
Stepping through the abyss you finally confronted the figure that had been the driving force of your studies, the focal point of your struggle, and cause of all the pain and strife that has been, and shall be in Alternia: the Demoness, handmaiden to Death himself. She smiled warmly at you. If you had had the capacity to smile you would have returned the courtesy. You did not hate her, you could not, and she did not hate you. The both of you were simply two sides of the same coin. Each of you had been manipulated since birth to be weapons for your respective masters, and were now being made to fight life rabid woofbeasts. You and the Demoness had been both gifted with the power to know another’s mind, and so you traded histories. It was then that you learned that it would not be you who would release the Demoness from her torturous existence, but the Condence. You were merely a spinoff from one of the many possible tangent universes. The alpha universe would remain dominate and nothing you did or accomplished would be able to affect it. So, with a bow of her head the Demoness conveyed that your fleeting but pleasant meeting had come to an end. You died without ceremony or pomp. She was kind enough to make it painless.
Now you float in the outer ring, among the dream bubbles that the lesser HorrorTerrors glub up. You rarely speak to the NCoHT anymore, but you are still on good terms. They even allowed you to send a journal to your descendent explaining things to him in greater detail. You magically coded the pages to insure that he would only be able to read it when he had matured enough in the arcane arts. You spend your time floating amongst the dream bubbles that the lesser HorrorTerrors glub up. Because of the bubbles you were able to reunite with your Retainer. The details the reunion shall remain private, thank you very much. You have spoken with the mutant-blood a number of times, pleasant, if sad, conversations. The Condence has been plagued with numerous dreams of being chained in hot irons and flogged for days on end, along with a vast selection of other terrible fates that you have devised. But by far your favorite dream bubble to cause havoc in is that of the purple-blood whose power hungry nature led to your ultimate demise. The things that you have done to the “Marquess” inside that innocent little bubble are horrifying beyond the comprehension of all mortal creatures. Each time the dream reaches its conclusion you ask the Marquess if she is sorry for what she did, and each time she spits at you, unrepentant. You then erase her memory of the dream and begin another. Because you have unlimited power over the dream bubbles, centuries of her misdeeds, and nothing but time.
Matter...
Mind...
Chaos...
Death...
You understand them all. You, above all others have gained entrance to their very presence, the inner most sanctums of the cosmos. You alone have gazed upon the Arcanum Infinium and you have shaped it to your will. You dwell in the furthest ring; here you walk amongst the almighty and converse with the incomprehensible. In this place where time and space cease to hold meaning, one may lose themselves. If not at once, then over time becoming interwoven into the fabric of the furthest ring, forgetting who they were and by what power they were brought here. Not you however. You remember who you were, what you were. You were an innocent, and you were a monster. You were loyal, and you were a traitor. You were a cherished by your gods, and a dagger made for their hands. You were, YOU ARE, Iscariot the Apostate.
Your early life was not worthy of notice save for one burning detail. You were favored beyond all others by the Noble Circle of Horror Terrors. You were graced with gifts of power that trolls will not dare to dream exists. From Ulyaoth, you were given the power over dimensions, to fold space to your will. From Chattur'gha, you received power over all matter, oceans were drained in seconds and mountains turned to dust with a wave of your hand. From Xel'lotath, the power over mind and perception, trolls both high and low were sent weeping with madness at a glance. From Mantorok the greatest of the Horror Terrors, the power of freedom, longer bound to the mortal realm you could slip in and out of reality with no resistance.
Oddly, even with all this power at your command, you remained in isolation from the world. This was the first lesson taught to you by the NCoHT. . It was at the e%ecution of a mutant blooded rebel leader. You had entered the event inconspicuously. As you looked at the troll chained in hot irons you felt them speaking to you.
See how the weakling dies, thinking he defeat a force of billions with words and platitudes.
He could not understand the complexities of the true forces at work, which is why he dies.
Watch his mind rend itself now that it understands absolute helplessness, and pray to us that the same never happens to you.
(Pray to us anyway)
As the mutant breathed his last, you felt a presence of energy within the coliseum. You alone saw the figure disappear into the glowing green field.
Behold, this is the reason he suffers, and destroying this is your true purpose.
You took their words to heart.
From then on you were dedicated to your task: killing the Demonness. You shut yourself away in your tower, and began to delve into the arcane with wild abandon. Decades passed. You became a feared eccentric of a town that had sprung up in the last 30 or so years. Sometimes you came into the village for supplies and the occasional book. It was amusing to see the young trolls scramble for their lusi when they saw your cart rolling down the hill. It was on one of these trips that you made a very special “purchase.” In your urgency to gain power and understanding you had allowed your tower to fall into neglect. You had heard the benefits of owning slaves but had not had any need to buy one, or for that matter, any desire to until then. The only place where slaves could be bought for miles was at the mining camp, in town. You approached the foreman with your offer, and were shown out to the mine.
When you were out in the yard the foreman inquired about what kind of slave you were looking for. You told him that you wanted someone of mid-blood so that you would not have to replace them so soon. The foreman nodded and descended into the mine. After a considerable amount of time the foreman returned with a female in tow. You made a quick ethereal inspection and devised quickly that she was an orangeblood.
“I th(..)ught that I requested a servant of higher bl(..)(..)d.” you said to him. You saw the foretroll tense up, and he shoved the female forward.
“7ir, thi7 girl ha7 7ome of the highe7t blood in the mine-“
“She is an (..)rangebl(..)(..)d. This is unacceptable.”
“Well, you 7ee, 7he’7 the highe7t we could get on 7uch 7hort not-“
“I require durable servants wh(..) will last f(..)r a l(..)ng time bef(..)re needing t(..) be replaced. An (..)rangebl(..)(..)d will n(..)t serve.”
You knew this troll was lying to you. As you peered into his mind you could see very clearly he was hiding a handful of greens and a pair teals. You were about to demand to see the other slaves when their voices returned.
Choose this one, she will serve you well.
(Or she might plant a knife in your back)
She wields considerable strength and a potent will, choose her.
Her mind is not quite degenerate, yes choose her.
She is important to you, choose her.
You had never heard the HorrorTerrors this unanimous before. You reach forward and grab the female by her chin to examine her closely. You see nothing special, but the NCoHT’s advice had always been helpful. You retracted your hand, wiping it clean in the process. She was filthy.
“She will d(..).”
You told the foretroll. You paid only what the girl was worth and nothing more. Upon leaving the masses of the village parted, but none would look at you.
When you returned to the tower you showed the girl to her rooms, gave her the list of chores that needed to be fulfilled, and left for your library (which she was not allowed to enter). The girl served well for the first month. Tasks were finished on time and the tower was a great deal cleaner than it had been. However, when you allowed yourself a few moments of sleep (a rare occasion), she escaped. The magical wards around the tower alerted you to her escape, and you used your understanding of dimensions to find, and return her to the tower. The next week she escaped again, but you had reset the wards closer to the tower so she barely made it into the forest before you found her and retuned her to the tower. The next week she escaped again, and the next week, and the next week after that. The final time she didn’t even make it out of the tower gates before you caught her. When you teleported her back to her quarters, you asked her why she desired to leave? After all, wasn’t her life now better than the one she had been living? Did she not eat well? Did she not have warm place to sleep? Were not the tasks you set before her easier than the back-breaking labor she used to perform? All of this you charged her with.
When it was her turn to speak, the girl told you point blank that she would never be a slave to you, spat at you, and then proceeded to call every derogatory term for highblood in the book (and even a few that weren’t). You made a mental note to remember some of the more colorful names in case another sea-dweller or warring blue-blood tried to make a name for their self out of you hide. With a nod you left. You simply did not have time to keep chasing this girl every time she left the tower, but you also needed someone to look after the tower. You had to find a way to pacify her, but how? You decided that the best way to handle this was to treat the girl not as a slave but more of an “employee”. A blasphemous concept for a noble, but you were never a stranger to blasphemy. When you first gave the terms of agreement to the girl, you regretted it immediately. All she did was smile and say “Aw you do have a heart!”
From that point on she became much more helpful and much more bothersome at the same time. She was less reclusive about speaking to you, and you talked back. You eventually began taking meals together, and you even moved her quarters closer to your own. Before long you lifted the ban on the library, and she you helped with your research (while grieving you about how dusty it was in the there). You granted her the title of Retainer. Wherever she went she spoke with your voice and authority. A bond was formed between the two of you, pale and everlasting.
A few sweeps later another rebellion was started. An orange-blood with wings was stirring up trouble for the empire. You had to admit, this “Summoner” was much more sensible than the mutant-blood whose e%ecution you witnessed. Using the monsters that roamed Aternia to weaken the Condece’s forces while your real forces swept up what was left was a sound tactic. However you knew that the rebellion was doomed to failure so there was no reason to be involved in it. You and your Retainer were safe in the tower and that was all that mattered. It was when a group of rebels came to your tower seeking refuge that your life began to sour. You were simply going to turn them away unmolested, but your Retainer begged you to aid them. The rebels were allowed to stay and lick their wounds. Confident that your wards would alert you of any invading force, you did not worry that the rebels may have been followed. This proved to be a grave error.
In the night, the tower smoke bombed. Your wards had failed. You ran for the window to see a score of trolls dressed in black surrounding the tower. You spoke the incantation and called upon the power of Chattur'gha to crush them… but nothing happened. You called out to the HorrorTerrors in your mind but they were silent. For the first time in your life you felt fear. You were forced to take your Retainer and flee with the rebels. Unfortunately the attackers were waiting for you. You recognized their leader as the legendary general, the Catalyst. Though many believed her to be dead the NCoHT had informed you that she was still active though the conniving of the Condece. The Catalyst’s unit of Reagents moved like tidal wave, unstoppable. You spoke every incantation that you knew. You called for Ulyaoth to fold dimensions to facilitate your escape. You shouted for Xel'lotath to destroy the Reagent’s minds and make them turn on each other. You cried for Chattur’gha to make the earth rise up and swallow them. You screamed for Mantorok to devour their souls and let them rot in one of its many stomachs. But they did not hear you, and you fell by a precise blow from the Catalyst.
When the dust settled you were hauled off with the rebels. As a blue-blood you were allowed a trial, and a chance to present a counter offence. This however it was weeks before they finished torturing you so you could stand trial. You were informed at some point during this process that your Retainer had been executed. You do not wish to dwell on that subject, though you will always feel that particular wound, even now. At last you were brought before His Honorable Tyranny. You stood there, a broken and bloodied troll, and heard the prosecution list all of the vile things that you were accused of. You didn’t care. Why would you? The only thing that occupied your mind at that time was the loss of your Retainer… your Moirail. It was then that their voices returned to you.
It is time.
Fulfill your purpose
(Or die trying)
We have tempered your soul in hatred, anger, and loss.
Only through this process would you be adept enough to accommodate our unlimited powers.
Your wounds run deep.
We are the ones who drove the knife into your heart.
We severed the arteries
(And feasted on the blood)
So that now we may replace it with our own essence.
The prosecutor droned on, as you listened in awe. You glanced around the court room to see dozens of eyes fixed upon you.
Mantorok, should we enlighten him, as to the true nature of these creatures?
Yes, Mantorok tell him the truth
(Let his mind collapse from the revelation)
It is comical to see these powerful creatures when you know their origin.
So it shall be.
And you were given the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Actually, despite the paranoid half of Xel'lotath’s warnings it was actually kind of… funny. To think that the entire race of warmongering, bloodthirsty, hierarchical, trolls was once the kindest and least violent in the universe is absolutely hilarious! In fact, the race was so peaceful that they failed in some kind of universal creation game. A game, which you were surprised to learn, you are a product of, and not just you but other trolls as well! The Condece, the Summoner, the Mutant blood, and a handful more were all spawned because of that game. When it was time for your counter offence you took the stands and could barely contain yourself. As you stood there looking at all of the angry, hateful, and cruel trolls, all you could see was the lives that each one of them had lived before the change, and you laughed. Eh he he he he he he he he HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA HO HO HO HO HO *snort* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!
You laughed because you had no tears left to cry. You laughed because you had no anger left to shout. You laughed because you had no hate left to fight with. But mostly you laughed because it was so GOD-DAMNED FUNNY!
The world went black. You awoke to find yourself surrounded by rubble and corpses. You couldn’t recollect who you were or why you were there. A guard troll who was on the verge of death tried to attack you. With a wave of your hand you atomized him into a teal colored mist. As you were standing there in the rubble and the blood, you perceived a young orange troll calling out to you. A large gash in her side bled like a river. Who was this? Why was she reaching toward you? Suddenly you were racked with a feeling of over whelming purpose. As if some great magnetic force was pulling you toward a singular destination. You turned your back on the orange troll, whoever she was. Once more you viewed the bodies. These would become the components for the ultimate spell, a spell that could tear the ever present barrier of time and dimension. You spoke the hated words and the blood of the trolls before you began to rise into the air. Purple, violate, blue, light blue, teal, jade green, green, yellow, orange, and rust red all coalesced to form the pigment of creation and destruction, the hue of the alpha and omega black.
The cloud of infinite darkness bubbled and churned with sinister force. The sky began to spilt open as the seams of the universe were ripped apart to reveal the resting place of your final purpose. You stood at the precipice of hell as it beckoned with an alien, neon green glow. You rose to meet it.
Stepping through the abyss you finally confronted the figure that had been the driving force of your studies, the focal point of your struggle, and cause of all the pain and strife that has been, and shall be in Alternia: the Demoness, handmaiden to Death himself. She smiled warmly at you. If you had had the capacity to smile you would have returned the courtesy. You did not hate her, you could not, and she did not hate you. The both of you were simply two sides of the same coin. Each of you had been manipulated since birth to be weapons for your respective masters, and were now being made to fight life rabid woofbeasts. You and the Demoness had been both gifted with the power to know another’s mind, and so you traded histories. It was then that you learned that it would not be you who would release the Demoness from her torturous existence, but the Condence. You were merely a spinoff from one of the many possible tangent universes. The alpha universe would remain dominate and nothing you did or accomplished would be able to affect it. So, with a bow of her head the Demoness conveyed that your fleeting but pleasant meeting had come to an end. You died without ceremony or pomp. She was kind enough to make it painless.
Now you float in the outer ring, among the dream bubbles that the lesser HorrorTerrors glub up. You rarely speak to the NCoHT anymore, but you are still on good terms. They even allowed you to send a journal to your descendent explaining things to him in greater detail. You magically coded the pages to insure that he would only be able to read it when he had matured enough in the arcane arts. You spend your time floating amongst the dream bubbles that the lesser HorrorTerrors glub up. Because of the bubbles you were able to reunite with your Retainer. The details the reunion shall remain private, thank you very much. You have spoken with the mutant-blood a number of times, pleasant, if sad, conversations. The Condence has been plagued with numerous dreams of being chained in hot irons and flogged for days on end, along with a vast selection of other terrible fates that you have devised. But by far your favorite dream bubble to cause havoc in is that of the purple-blood whose power hungry nature led to your ultimate demise. The things that you have done to the “Marquess” inside that innocent little bubble are horrifying beyond the comprehension of all mortal creatures. Each time the dream reaches its conclusion you ask the Marquess if she is sorry for what she did, and each time she spits at you, unrepentant. You then erase her memory of the dream and begin another. Because you have unlimited power over the dream bubbles, centuries of her misdeeds, and nothing but time.
