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The Five Gifts, The Spiral, The Adherent of Corruption
A low, sultry voice resounds within the depths of your mind, "My Cultivator. I require
your presence at My audience chamber. Come to Me, Kadiliti."
Audience chamber - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Gleaming brilliantly in the flickering light, a wide, shallow brazier rests in the middle
of the chamber upon four clawed feet. Malice and fear are a palpable aura that radiates
from the statuesque form of Chakrasul, Goddess of Corruption. A massive sandstorm
threatens to choke out the life in this area. Hazy tendrils of jade mist stretch up from
the ground, reaching for any unwary passers-by.
You see exits leading north (open door), northeast, and south.
You catch Chakrasul's eye and lock gaze before dazzling Her with your regalities in a
long, low curtsey that demonstrates your schooled elegancy.
Beckoning to you with a languid flick of Her wrist, Chakrasul purrs in a sonorous and
melodic as She inquires ever so gently of you, "What would you do to truly find the very
depths My Spiral, Kadiliti? To earn My love everlasting?"
Jasmine and nightshade twine in heavy swathes of perfumed air to cling around the form of
the Goddess as She stands imperious, awaiting a response.
Tina keeps her customary pose of deference before you, speaking without
pause or hesitation, "Anything and everything of course, as always. I exist solely to
descend the spiral and find what is at its deepest depths."
A solemn countenance gracing Her features, Chakrasul listens attentively as you speaks,
folding Her hands together calmly at Her waist. She nods slowly, idly, the image of a
content and serene Goddess cherishing the adoration of Her devotee.
The air about you manifests an oppressive weight, a palpable aura of fear raising
gooseflesh as the sweetly floral decay that clings to the Goddess invades your personal
space.
Tina shivers as the gifts drift over her, embracing each one as it comes
with willful greed, absorbing every lingering feeling into her mind as she lives for the
experiences of the moment, saving the memories to saver in the future.
My Gifts, Chakrasul muses aloud, Her expression fleetingly distant before She refocuses on
you. You speak of existing to descend, and I sense the truth to your words. Will you show
Me how you embrace them, accept a Harrowing by My very own hand? She croons the words in a
rhythmic murmur as She lifts one palm to press it to your face, exquisitely sharpened
nails etching thin trails of blood across you cheek at the lightest caress. Will you face
each in turn, descend My Spiral, and find Me once more at its core?
Tina gazes up as you caress and pierce the skin of her face, the greedy
look filling her eyes as she smiles. "A harrowing, another torture by your hands. How
would any refuse such bliss. And the grace that awaits at the other side."
As Her words fade away, so too does the Goddess, leaving you alone to face your Descent. A
single funereal duskywing butterfly flits up from where She had stood, vanishing long
before it reaches the distant ceiling of the chamber.
As you approach a wide, shallow basin of gleaming gold, the surface of the languid liquid
within shifts and swirls, sliding up to meet and grasp your flesh. As it leaves the
brazier, it climbs up your arm, slithering ribbons of corruption that twist and cling in
an unctuous embrace.
Leaving a moist, oleaginous chill in its wake, the essence of the Goddess snakes up across
arm and shoulder, then redirects to cup your chin from both sides.
The slithering Corruption embraces your neck like a jealous lover, spilling up onto your
cheeks where - with startling precipitance - they invade your mouth, leaving no room for
air to pass through.
It invades you forcefully, and you feel its chill embrace as it seeks your unbeating
heart. And as it strikes its target, a blinding spray of coruscating jade light erupts
from your body. Nothing can be seen for long moments, until your vision finally clears,
and you are somewhere else.
You are moved by a wide, shallow basin of gleaming gold.
The beating heart of Fear - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Fleshy. Viscous. Blood seeps from the grotesquely flesh-hued walls that enclose you:
above, below, behind, ahead. There is barely enough room to stretch arms out to either
side, and the glutinous fluid is ever-present, a danger that somehow seems predatory. And
yet it is the ever-present staccato rhythm that overwhelms the senses, a loud "thuh-thump"
that permeates the enclosure insistently.
There are no obvious exits.
Thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump.
You tilt your head and listen intently.
Thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump. Thuh-thump thuh-thump thuh-thump.
Tina glances about as the heartbeat grows louder and quicker, reading her
weapon in a sweaty palm as she waits to see what arises.
The beating that started so steady steps up in pace, a rhythm that echoes with something
dead and only mostly forgotten inside your body.
Racing, racing, beating. The ever-present sound echoes around you - or is it inside you?
Thuh-thump, thuh-thump, thuh-thump. The smallest tendril of some visceral memory emerges
in your mind.
Despite the overwhelming insistence of the rhythm, you adjust. It hammers at your mind,
and yet already it is normal, it is life. It simply is.
And in the new normal of life, you see something in front of you. A seed. A tendril of
something erupts from the fleshy cage that holds you.
The beating heart of Fear - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Fleshy. Viscous. Blood seeps from the grotesquely flesh-hued walls that enclose you:
above, below, behind, ahead. There is barely enough room to stretch arms out to either
side, and the glutinous fluid is ever-present, a danger that somehow seems predatory. And
yet it is the ever-present staccato rhythm that overwhelms the senses, a loud "thuh-thump"
that permeates the enclosure insistently. A tiny seed lies here, its vibrant jade hue a stark
contrast to the fleshy surrounds.
There are no obvious exits.
Despite the unnatural calm of your own dead heart, you feel something quiver within you at
the sight of the seed. Skin crawls, goosebumps rising sharply in between the sections of
bone that pierce your flesh.
A throaty whisper drifts in, somehow audible despite the incessant volume of the heart.
How do you embrace Fear?
The tiny seed calls to you, beckoning you to pick it up once you have answered Her.
You say, "You feel it with every fiber of your being, as the gift it is. You let it tell
you what it is there to say. Cherish it, as the helping hand it is warning you. Then, if
it gets in your way, of what you are after, you crush it, like anything else in the way of
your desires. However you must enjoy the moment you are in its throws, the delights it can
bring, the torments it can bring upon you as it MAKES you descend."
Tina reaches out for the seed to pick it up, feeling it in her palm,
letting the sensations pass through her, shivering in delight. If nothing else further
happens she holds the seed up and opens her mouth, preparing to drop it in, as all seeds
need fertile ground for growth.
Her throaty whisper drifts to your ears again, still audible despite the incessant volume
of the heart. "How do you embrace Fear, Tina?" The tiny seed pulses in your palm,
quiescent for the moment.
You say, "By welcoming it, keeping it in you always, where it grows and motivates you to
greater heights. Never shying away from it, a gift from mother is always embraced without
hesitation, with open arms, and open heart. By not being afraid of being afraid."
Tina drops the seed with that into her mouth, attempting to swallow it
whole and let it take root in her depths.
The tiny seed pulses even within the confines of your mouth, though it refuses to be
swallowed. Perhaps it is simply a gift... for now.
"Accepted."
Her voice is calm and eerie, and yet you know in your heart that you have claimed Fear as
your own. One step upon your truest Descent.
The fleshy folds part, viscera and all, to reveal an exit to the southeast.
Tina looks around with a last look of apprehension, fear eating at her if
she could have done more, been more, before embracing what has happened and the fresh
fear, and marching on towards the new opening with confident steps.
Everything evaporates into jade as you move, a hazy film that sweeps over your vision and
eradicates the visceral imagery that just released you.
A tiny blanket of ruffled peach and cream gingham rests peeks out from beneath your folded
legs, and with a start you realise you are seated.
The gleaming facade of Despair - AREA: the Isle of Despair
The silence that hangs in the air is palpable, a welcome change from the din of Fear. Lush
grass of vibrant, healthy green sprawls the length of a vast lake-front meadow, the
picture of a perfect day. Somehow you are certain that the weight of the atmosphere will
prevent any true movements. A gingham blanket of ruffled peach and cream sits beneath you,
spread carefully along the grass. A quaint picnic basket rests atop the gingham blanket.
There are no obvious exits.
Ruffles adorn the edges of this old-fashioned blanket, its peach and cream hues forming a
typical gingham pattern. It rests atop the vibrant grass, ready for adventure.
It can be worn in the following locations:
shoulders fullbody
It has 58 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 8 pound(s).
Crafted from brightly polished, flexible strips of wood, this basket is obviously intended
to hold a wonderful picnic feast. A simple cover of gingham-lined wood conceals the
contents.
It has 123 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 2 pound(s) and 0 ounce(s).
It is closed and you can not see inside of it.
Everything is perfect for a picnic. Lovely atmosphere, a basket and blanket, and you:
sitting neatly, waiting for something.
Waiting. It shouldn't be long.
Waiting.
Surely it cannot be much longer. The basket looks inviting. Perhaps you should peek.
Yes. Yes. A peek couldn't hurt. As you approach the basket, something seems off.
Tina sits on the blanket, fingers reaching off to curl into the grass,
waiting. As nothing happens, she looks towards the closed basket, curiosity rising as she
looks around, still seeing nothing, reaches forward to lift the lid of the basket.
As your fingers brush the flexible wood that cradles its treasures deep within, a frown
comes to your face. Something is not quite right.
The gleaming wood darkens at your touch, rotting and disintegrating in tiny puffs of dust.
And yet, your mind is still elsewhere. Something not right, something not right.
You shift on the blanket, thoughts grasping for that elusive something, seeking what it is
you've forgotten. It must be important, and yet why have you forgotten?
Unconsciously, your fingers still quest for the hidden treats. Unthinking, you cling to
the first item you sense, and bring it mindlessly to your lips.
Blood. Blood, blood, and more blood. Blood flows, from your hand, from your lips, from the
basket. It dampens the blanket, dying it a vibrant, bold red. You frown. This is not the
problem. No, no, there is something. Something else.
Tina tries to think about what is bothering her about the situation as
her hand rests on the basket. As it rots and, she pays it no mind, focusing on what is
needling at her mind. Something is not right. Why is she waiting, for who. Something is
missing. She continues pondering as the first item is plucked from the basket and brought
to her lips. As the blood flows over everything, her mind continues tackling the problem.
No stranger to being covered in blood with her proclivities in life, it barely raises a
response as she struggles to clear her mind and find her focus.
As the blood pools on the blanket, trickles in rivulets to fill the space between blades
of grass, rot consumes the basket. It blackens, curls up, vanishes in fragrant puffs of
mist that carry blood and sweet decay, and suddenly you remember.
It is you. You are no more, you are lost, as lost and gone as every part of the moment of
simple perfection that crumples around you more and more by the second. Soon there is no
lake, no grass, no blanket, only blood in rivers that consume everything you are and were,
and leave in their place a weeping sore of agonised Despair.
A thick, jade mist floats into the area before a crackle of dark energy reaches for a
ruffled peach and cream gingham blanket only to slowly drag it back into the depths of the
fog, which then dissipates.
A thick, jade mist floats into the area before a crackle of dark energy reaches for a
quaint picnic basket only to slowly drag it back into the depths of the fog, which then
dissipates.
She whispers again, and this time the sound rings like an accusation, a cursed counterpart
to extend the agony of life consumed.
"How do you embrace Despair?"
Tina thinks to her herself as she is lost in the currents of blood,
consuming all of her as she floats as the blood itself through the room, the words
reaching her core and making her think, to respond, though she is unsure if it only her
thoughts or actually speaking as she floats. "Despair is us, it's what awaits us at the
core. Cutting through or illusions, our lies, are self deceptions. You embrace despair by
embracing yourself, who you really are. What you really are. Every time I claw for the
truth, I seek understanding of myself and those things I cherish and hate. Despair is
embraced, my guide, my self, the light to guide my steps down. I embrace Despair with all
I have, for it is the only way forward. The only way to see. The only way to be." She
floats in the blood, flowing throw it, being the blood, seeing where it pumps, where it
leads, what truths it has to reveal about her.
Tina holds no hope of escape or getting out, she simply exists, embracing
the moment and what is happening to her.
"Accepted."
Her voice barely overcomes the constant, intimate presence of blood and agony in your
mind, and yet you know in your heart that you have claimed Despair as your own. Another
step upon your truest Descent.
The bloody facade crumbles, melting away to nothingness as an exit is revealed to the
southwest.
Tina stumbles towards the exit, looking like she was walking on land
after getting off a ship for a long voyage for a bit, before she quickly adjusts and
regains equilbrium from her time as blood, her crimson footprints and form moving through
the room to the new step of her descent.
The wicked temptation of Avarice - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Row after row of shining silver trays adorn the ebony banquet table that stretches out far
beyond the end of sight. Upon every tray, a handful of plates each bear a singular slice
of cake, perfectly cut to provide a portion only slightly too large for its vessel. Every
single treat is decorated with precision, and every imaginable flavour is laid out in
careless disarray. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, saccharine fruits, tart aromas,
frosting and icing and fruits and candies, perfectly crafted flowers and rocks and trees,
intricate words and elaborate swirls, glazes and drizzles, an eternity of delicious aromas
that mingle and mix and never overwhelm. Every speck of the ebony banquet table stretching
out endlessly here has been etched with innumerable ornate details.
There are no obvious exits.
Before you can even register the change in your surroundings, your nose twitches
unconsciously. Twitch, twitch, twitch, sniff, sniff and then it slams into you.
Innumerable details have been etched with painstaking care into the surface of this table,
floral, bestial, whimsical and so on. Here a flower, there a tree, a bear on its hind
legs, a massive, tangled bramble thicket, thorns, blood pooling, altars, faces in smiling
rictus'... the details persist in their randomness and complete lack of theme, as far as
he eye can see.
It has 299 weeks of usefulness left.
It is strangely weightless.
Like a wall of scent, decadence flowers in your senses, an array of scents that sets your
mouth watering. Hunger roars to life within you, disregarding your lack of need, your
previous disinterest. Suddenly, a voracious appetite sweeps away all else but an
overwhelming need to sate yourself.
Parting your lips to wet them, your mouth is suddenly a parched desert, and nothing will
do but to devour the wealth of delectable desserts exhibited as an endless feast before
you.
Rushing to the nearest tray, you reach forth with no regard for flavour or appearance,
picking up a piece of cake and cramming it into your mouth. Sweet decadence dances over
your tongue, and though it is an exquisite experience, you cannot help but crave the next
slice.
Tina long since used to simply going for what she desires, embracing them
and running full tilt towards them wastes little time. She quickly hones in on her desire
for the delicious foods and cakes littering the table, taking one after the other, eating
them voraciously as she seeks the one that will fill the bottomless hunger she has inside
her. While each one fulfills her desire, it leaves her longing for the next, and the next,
and the next.
The burst of tartness that replaces the saccharine delight of the first piece is a marvel
that defies comparison. Every bite you take only makes you more desperate to sate
yourself, and you find yourself reaching for yet another and another and another slice.
And then another, and another, and another sweet, tart, savoury, bold, delicate, every
slice is a superlative sensation. Need consumes you even as you nigh inhale cake, crumbs
flying, icing smearing, and you just.
Keep.
... eating ...
And your avarice is so great, you must keep eating. Piece after piece, careless of how
little you actually consume, whole sections falling in your footsteps as you seek the
next, and the next, and the next. You must. You MUST. And even as your pursuit continues
unflagging, the cake begins to crumble, disintegrate. Soon, only ashes line the floor
where you have walked, the piles growing larger the further you progress down the table.
Tina continues eating dessert after dessert, the pillar of plates before
her growing higher and higher as she continues desperately searching for one that will
sate her desires, even as each just leaves her desiring more and more, a bottomless pit of
avarice, despite any protests of her stomach. She continues her search, never satisfied,
hunger, craving for more, For the next sensation.
Mounds of ash flourish in your wake, and though it registers somewhere in the back of your
mind, you cannot bring yourself to care. Mindless necessity compels you, even as the cakes
you hoard in your clutch begin to disintegrate too. And still, you eat.
And there it is again. Her voice. Patient even as you swim in a decadent haze of
uncontrollable need and insatiability.
"How do you embrace Avarice?"
Tina continues her journey, caring not for the ashes left in her wake as
she speaks around a mouthful of cake, the voice of the Dark Mother piercing through the
other desires, with the desire to serve and please. "Corruption is in everything,
everything belongs to you, and through your grace us. I embrace it by wanting everything.
Needing everything, Claiming everything as mine. Ever hungry, never satisfied. Not content
till I have anything and everything. Letting nothing get in the way or distract me from
what I desire. The sensations, the desires, the longings, a fragrant bouquet none should
have any trouble embracing. I embrace it by never having enough, always craving more so I
can always dance in the decadence of desire." Her eyes seem go glow with her lust for
more, not just the cakes, but everything. Anything in her domain, her overwhelming urge to
claim it all.
Accepted.
Everything that remains crumbles to ash, the entire world turning to bone-white ashes even
as a small opening appears to lead you to the northwest.
Nothing around to further Tina's desires, she stalks out towards the new
direction, seeking new desires to claim.
The iniquitous bliss of Malice - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Smug satisfaction seethes in the very air around you, emanating from a free-standing
mirror that dominates the space. As your eyes are inextricably attracted to stare at the
aureate-bound mirror, the surroundings are not entirely clear; however, it seems the
reflective glass is the only feature in a hazy, blinding white void.
There are no obvious exits.
As you approach the mirror, a spike of Malice creeps along your flesh, sending shivers
that ripple across your entire body.
The jade haze that lines the inner edge of the frame draws your eyes for a fraction of a
moment, and yet is only of passing interest, as you begin to see movement within the
depths of the glass.
The pervasive feeling of malignant intensity smothers all but the smallest note of
curiousity, as the images in the mirror begin to clarify. Within, you see caverns,
streets, familiar passageways and faces that you have seen before. Your eyes scan as the
familiarity hits home, and you lean in closer, seeking something, someone in particular.
Tina looks into the mirror, the hate seething inside her as she seeks
something in the mirrors, perhaps a focal point for the feelings welling inside her, a way
to satisfy them. Her irritation growing the longer it takes to find it, the malice
reaching out to embrace her as she gazes back into the mirrors, seething energy from the
mirror and her mixing.
Twisting at the corner of your mouth, a vicious smile parts your lips, as you search for
the one you must inflict your will upon. The mirror responds to your will, seeking and
searching, twisting through the depths that remain tantalisingly just beyond reach.
Mocking laughter rings from the air, Her voice surrounding you as you seek the one you
must impart Her Malice on, as you seek the one you crave to distress.
"How do you embrace Malice?"
Tina glares at the mirror frustration building as she searches for the
one she wants to vent her feelings on, as she imagines all the tortures and various pains
and cruelties she can possibly inflict on them, a rough smile gracing her lips briefly
from the fantasies as her search continues, responding to the voice. "I embrace it by
being willing to do anything. There is nothing that is too dirty, too foul, too low, too
mean, too nasty, too cruel. These are excuses by lessers that have not embraced
corruption. Malice is a gift, a tool to break down excuses, to tear away the false
moralities the world would place on you. I embrace Malice by using it, and being willing
to do anything, hurt anyone, by any means possible, to further my descent and approach
what I need. And I embrace it by enjoying using it, hurting others, waking them up to the
gifts of corruption, furthering my own descent by pulling them down. Malice is a sister in
arms, one I embrace on every journey I embark on." As she finishes speaking, palpable
waves of hatred and lust for violence rolling off her as her contained malice threatens to
boil over.
"Accepted."
Like wax heated too far, the mirror drips away one splashing streak at a time. Molten
glass and glutinous gold melt together in a puddle that trails across the floor, revealing
an exit to the north.
Tina stalks angrily to the north, hatred seething from her pores, though
it seems to become a controlled rage again as she takes her leave of the mirror.
The inevitable descendancy of Might - AREA: the Isle of Despair
The sun beats down mercilessly, the heat jarring despite your undead flesh. In a buzzing
morass, flies swarm about the corpses of the dead, limbs askew as they lie strewn at
random, death blurring their appearances to something more uniform. Already, your might
has won this day, and yet... something more remains to be done.
Death is everywhere, and you are its mistress. Head held high and shoulders back, you
stand superior, proud, and survey the remnants of a battlefield that you have already
quelled. An absent lust for battle clings in the back of your mind, but it is mostly sated
as you inspect the carnage.
A frown creases at your face, and you cannot quite tell where it came from. This was a
clear victory, a moment of triumph. What could concern you? And yet, the frown stays
etched on your lips, and you turn your head, seeking something nebulous.
Tina frowns as the bloodlust fades and the thrill of victory is lacking,
as she searches for what more she can do, how she can establish her dominance, her might,
and showcase what she needs the world to know. She looks through the battlefield, myriad
of thoughts rising and failing as her mind races for the answer.
Lifting your face to the sky, a thought occurs to you. This scene, this moment, it isn't
Hers. The sun is too bright, the day too quiet. It needs something more, something of
Corruption to paint it with Her touch. To alter it with your own might, make it something
truly fitting of the Spiral.
You lift your arms up to the sky and beseech Her to join you, implore Her to aid you with
Her blessing upon this place and time, to bring Corruption down in a way that venerates
Her and showcases your own Might.
A reedy whisper, a thread of sound that carries on the lightest of breezes: "How do you
embrace Might, Tina?"
Tina nods her head, thinking to herself. Any proper battlefield needs a
monument to Corruption, to its might, to the victory achieved. So all may know and pay
homage, those who fight against it may wallow in their fear and despair unending. She
draws upon those familiar arts taught by the Dark Mother. Of Necromancy, of Alchemy, of
foul deeds and great might. She goes about the bodies, severing and dissecting them, the
hours wearing on until she has assembled a massive pile of parts of all shapes and sizes.
She begins stitching them together, thread and essence, though not into a careless blob,
but with almost an artist's deliberation. Constructing an ungodly large conglomeration of
parts in the most horrific configuration she can think of. Eyes and ears and noses and
hair coming out where you least expect it. Limbs and legs and feet and claws everywhere, a
monstrosity as beautiful in its horror as it is demented. Taking the broken weapons of war
around her, she forges their shattered armor and weapons into a collar and chain,
collaring the beast with the symbol of the failure of their might that led to their death.
With a prayer to corruption and the Dark Mother she funnels essence into it, willing to
animate, and stand over the field. A guardian of this now consecrated site of corruption,
as well as a warning to the folly of those who would oppose it. She makes her attempt to
venerate might, answering the question, "Might, I embrace it by following corruption.
Corruption is Might, nothing surpasses it, nothing is mightier. All gifts lead to it,
might is required to harness them all. Each of the gifts link together, and combine. Every
success I have, every step I take down the spiral, every revelation and glory had through
Corruption, they are all achieves by embracing might. My own might, and that of the
Corruption in me and the world around me. My might gets me my desires. My might enforces
my malice on others. My might keeps me on the path of despair, from varying too far above
or beneath it. Might allows me."
Tina makes her attempt to venerate might, answering the question, "Might,
I embrace it by following corruption. Corruption is Might, nothing surpasses it, nothing
is mightier. All gifts lead to it, might is required to harness them all. Each of the
gifts link together, and combine. Every success I have, every step I take down the spiral,
every revelation and glory had through Corruption, they are all achieves by embracing
might. My own might, and that of the Corruption in me and the world around me. My might
gets me my desires. My might enforces my malice on others. My might keeps me on the path
of despair, from varying too far above or beneath it. Might allows me to face my fears
without hesitation. Might is me. I embrace corruption. I embrace might. I embrace me.
Every victory made, every achievement, is a glorious statement the one true might,
corruption, and I embrace and cherish them all, fueling me to ever greater displays of
might." With that she falls silent as she focuses on the monument.
Darkness falls at your words, a balm that soothes the tedious brightness and heat that
lingered. The sweet scent of decay rises from all that remain on the battlefield, and the
monstrous guardian you created stands in testament to Corruption's Might here this day.
"Accepted."
The battlefield simply begins to fade as your heart lurches, leaving you in a heavy jade
-hued fog as one final exit appears below, precisely-cut marble stairs leading the way
into darkness.
Tina takes one final glance at the battlefield and monument, before
putting it behind her, descending down as she seeks further opportunities to spready the
glory of Corruption's Might.
Spiralling stairs of clashing marble - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Glossy marble of onyx black seeps down from above, sweeping to clash and swirl with
lustrously opalescent white marble from beneath. Spiralling stairs aid the transition,
fingers of both streaking into each other as they meet amid the staircase. The only light
on the stairs comes from two braziers that light the very top of the descent, and beneath
a jade tinge colours the pale stone.
You see a single exit leading down.
A faint glow persists from below, obviously leading somewhere further.
A jade-lit chamber of ghastly perfection AREA: the Isle of Despair
Lustrous marble of opalescent white lines the chamber throughout, gleaming perfection
unmarred by veins or blemishes. At the exact centre of the flawlessly circular space, a
thirteen-pointed star crafted from exquisitely pale jade has been embedded into the floor.
Looming above it and facing the door is a curious statue, its sweeping lines more an
impression of a person than a depiction as it dominates the room. Drifting and roiling in
an intangible breeze, the pale statue that looms here emits an adulterated glow of muted
jade upon its surrounds.
Malice and fear are a palpable aura that radiates from the statuesque form of Chakrasul,
Goddess of Corruption.
You see a single exit leading up.
Commanding attention as it leans slightly over the thirteen-pointed star below, this
statue is atypical in its fashioning. Rather than solid and clear, it bears soft, sweeping
lines, the vaguely humanoid shape drifting and roiling as if caught in an intangible,
eternal breeze. Perhaps intended as an incarnation of soul manifest, its pale form is lit
from within by an adulterated glow of muted jade.
It weighs about 187 pound(s).
Crooning in a pleased murmur, Chakrasul draws you into an embrace for the merest breath of
time as She says, "Ah, My Cultivator. You have endured your Harrowing with a steadfast
devotion seen so rarely." She steps backwards gracefully without looking, pausing next to
the star on the ground so that one of its edges nudges against the very edge of Her boot.
Tina makes her normal low curtsy upon seeing the goddess, before being
swept up in the swift embrace. As she is released she gazes about the room, gazing at the
statue and the star, before returning her gaze to the Dark Mother, saying "I am here for
corruption, and as I had been hoping a harrowing from your hands awakened such exquisite
sensations and realizations within me. Thank you for the gifts, as always."
Bestowing an eerie smile upon you, Chakrasul folds Her hands together at Her waist calmly
as She speaks. "There is one more thing I require of you, Kadiliti. I wish you to empower
this star with your own flesh and blood." She gestures to a thirteen-pointed star of
gleaming jade with a nod of Her head, and offers quietly, "If you wish to summon your
brethen, My Chosen, to assist you with this part, you may. I do not require it of you."
You say, "The more to bear witness to the glories of Corruption, the better, we do not
hide and sulk, we declare it proudly for the world to see our might. If they desire to
bask in it, even aide they can. The mightiest will dominate, as is their right."
With a cryptic smile, Chakrasul says, "Call them then. Let them witness the glory of your
Might."
(Chosen): You say, "Who will aide in a rite to show the Might of Corruption to the world.
Who will join me in offering flesh and blood to the glories of Corruption? Those who have
the will, find me."
Rijetta arrives from the up.
Ishmar arrives from the up.
Tina kneels in the center of the star. Her claws extend, digging into her
thighs as she shreds flesh and copious amounts of blood, letting it fall into the star she
kneels in as she offers her body and blood to appease the Dark Mother's wishes, empowering
the star with her blood and flesh. As the others enter the rooms she nods at them,
motioning for them to proceed. "Offer of yourselves to the star, that which you will."
Rijetta watches you quietly for a moment, single eye gleaming faintly in the eerie
lighting. Wordlessly, though, she moves to join in the self-flagellation, no stranger to
physical sacrifice: her cyclopean visage is living proof of that. She begins with blood,
and copious amounts of it - drawing forth a knife from her own Malice, she slits a wrist
and lets exalted vitae flow freely, a crimson river to feed the jade star.
Dreww arrives from the up.
Ishmar's fangs flash as she speaks, "For you, Mother." Then she pierces her vein in her
wrist and lets the blood pour out into the star. The blood flows freely to join that in
the jade star.
Arm after pointed arm of the stars begins to light up with a lustrous jade hue, three
lines of thirteen already glowing.
Dreww takes up their sacrificial dagger and slits their wrist allowing the blood to pour
out and join the star.
Legyn arrives from the up.
Tina one by one the other blood enters the star. Each time a new offering
is made, Tina moves to a new part of her body, freshly maiming it and adding new pounds of
flesh and blood to the star. For Rijetta her other leg, for Ishmar the left arm, for Dreww
the right. Blood and flesh flow freely to consecrate the thirteen pointed star.
Merely watching with avid intensity, Chakrasul stands calmly collected, making no effort
to avoid the fluid that pools on the thirteen-pointed star, slowly absorbing into its gem
form. As the bone joins the gruesome display, another four of the star's arms radiate the
same pale jade light as the statue above it.
Pulling his armor up, Legyn stabs into his body with his athame. Blind, he feels his
organs with the blade and crudely cuts out his liver, offering to the star.
Ishmar continues to watch the blood flow from her wrist, swaying slightly from the smell
which is part of her own desires by her nature.
Bloody rents to the bone covering most of Tina's limbs now, she looks up
as Legyn adds fresh offering. Moving a hand to her neck, she slices with a single clawed
finger, expertly finding the artery with experienced precision, atrial blood spraying out
over the star as she slumps down lower in the center, refusing to lay down however as the
ritual goes on, her eyes burning with jade fire as she pours herself into the star.
Dreww watches the blood flow from their wrist as the ritual continues.
Three more arms illuminate, blood seeping into their depths and colouring the centre of
the star for a time with its acrid lustre. The organs and bones stay where dropped, and
yet they seem to shrivel, losing what life remains within them to the power of the star.
Tina looks at the three points of the star still not glowing. Crawling to
each point she stops at the base of them. Holding out her right hand, she wields a
familiar spiraled athame in the left. At each unglowing point of the star, she hacks off a
finger. At the first her forefinger, the second her middle, and the last her ring. At each
point she lets the blood from the flesh wound poor freely, her body growing pale with
blood loss, before moving back to the center, awaiting further offerings and what may
come.
Two more arms alight at the offering, leaving only a single arm still dull. The star is
luminous, lighting up with the chamber with an eerie glow that reflects back from the
opalescent white marble.
In a singsong voice, Chakrasul says, "Only one arm of the star remains unaffected. Surely
one of you has some final gift to display the Might of My Chosen at this most important of
times."
Ishmar quickly rips into the flesh of her right wrist, adding more blood into the jade
star. Her eyes turn black with the scent of blood filling the chamber, but she focuses on
Tina to keep herself from going into a frenzy.
As Ishmar's flesh and blood fall in slow motion, the world seems to hang in the balance,
waiting for one more breath from you.
Ishmar unable to keep herself from not reacting to Mother's words, she pulls out her
scythe with her left hand and slices through her right wrist, letting her right hand fall
at the last arm of the star and then falls on both knees as her scythe clatters to the
floor.
Tina gazes around the room, gaging if anyone else is preparing to offer
more. When things seem settled, she shrugs her shoulders, not in any kind of signal but to
shrug the clothes free from her top, exposing her torso. She switches her blade to the
other hand, saying softly, "The heart may be gone for past needs, but flesh remains." With
that, her left hand cups her left breast, over the ragged scar between them, and her right
hand brings the athame to bear again as she removes her left breast cleanly, adding more
pounds of flesh to the the star before exhaling deeply, not much blood flowing from the
wound as much was already drained from her body at this point.
As the last arm of the star lights up with gleaming viridescence, Corruption's essence
flares within the thirteen-pointed star, condensing to a spectacular jade beam that flings
itself violently at your chest, knocking the breath that no longer sustains you from your
body.
A jade haze bathes Sapience in a pall of abject despair to mark the apotheosis of Tina
Cardinalis, Corruption's first true Adherent arising from her exquisite, perilous descent.
your presence at My audience chamber. Come to Me, Kadiliti."
Audience chamber - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Gleaming brilliantly in the flickering light, a wide, shallow brazier rests in the middle
of the chamber upon four clawed feet. Malice and fear are a palpable aura that radiates
from the statuesque form of Chakrasul, Goddess of Corruption. A massive sandstorm
threatens to choke out the life in this area. Hazy tendrils of jade mist stretch up from
the ground, reaching for any unwary passers-by.
You see exits leading north (open door), northeast, and south.
You catch Chakrasul's eye and lock gaze before dazzling Her with your regalities in a
long, low curtsey that demonstrates your schooled elegancy.
Beckoning to you with a languid flick of Her wrist, Chakrasul purrs in a sonorous and
melodic as She inquires ever so gently of you, "What would you do to truly find the very
depths My Spiral, Kadiliti? To earn My love everlasting?"
Jasmine and nightshade twine in heavy swathes of perfumed air to cling around the form of
the Goddess as She stands imperious, awaiting a response.
Tina keeps her customary pose of deference before you, speaking without
pause or hesitation, "Anything and everything of course, as always. I exist solely to
descend the spiral and find what is at its deepest depths."
A solemn countenance gracing Her features, Chakrasul listens attentively as you speaks,
folding Her hands together calmly at Her waist. She nods slowly, idly, the image of a
content and serene Goddess cherishing the adoration of Her devotee.
The air about you manifests an oppressive weight, a palpable aura of fear raising
gooseflesh as the sweetly floral decay that clings to the Goddess invades your personal
space.
Tina shivers as the gifts drift over her, embracing each one as it comes
with willful greed, absorbing every lingering feeling into her mind as she lives for the
experiences of the moment, saving the memories to saver in the future.
My Gifts, Chakrasul muses aloud, Her expression fleetingly distant before She refocuses on
you. You speak of existing to descend, and I sense the truth to your words. Will you show
Me how you embrace them, accept a Harrowing by My very own hand? She croons the words in a
rhythmic murmur as She lifts one palm to press it to your face, exquisitely sharpened
nails etching thin trails of blood across you cheek at the lightest caress. Will you face
each in turn, descend My Spiral, and find Me once more at its core?
Tina gazes up as you caress and pierce the skin of her face, the greedy
look filling her eyes as she smiles. "A harrowing, another torture by your hands. How
would any refuse such bliss. And the grace that awaits at the other side."
As Her words fade away, so too does the Goddess, leaving you alone to face your Descent. A
single funereal duskywing butterfly flits up from where She had stood, vanishing long
before it reaches the distant ceiling of the chamber.
As you approach a wide, shallow basin of gleaming gold, the surface of the languid liquid
within shifts and swirls, sliding up to meet and grasp your flesh. As it leaves the
brazier, it climbs up your arm, slithering ribbons of corruption that twist and cling in
an unctuous embrace.
Leaving a moist, oleaginous chill in its wake, the essence of the Goddess snakes up across
arm and shoulder, then redirects to cup your chin from both sides.
The slithering Corruption embraces your neck like a jealous lover, spilling up onto your
cheeks where - with startling precipitance - they invade your mouth, leaving no room for
air to pass through.
It invades you forcefully, and you feel its chill embrace as it seeks your unbeating
heart. And as it strikes its target, a blinding spray of coruscating jade light erupts
from your body. Nothing can be seen for long moments, until your vision finally clears,
and you are somewhere else.
You are moved by a wide, shallow basin of gleaming gold.
The beating heart of Fear - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Fleshy. Viscous. Blood seeps from the grotesquely flesh-hued walls that enclose you:
above, below, behind, ahead. There is barely enough room to stretch arms out to either
side, and the glutinous fluid is ever-present, a danger that somehow seems predatory. And
yet it is the ever-present staccato rhythm that overwhelms the senses, a loud "thuh-thump"
that permeates the enclosure insistently.
There are no obvious exits.
Thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump.
You tilt your head and listen intently.
Thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump. Thuh-thump thuh-thump thuh-thump.
Tina glances about as the heartbeat grows louder and quicker, reading her
weapon in a sweaty palm as she waits to see what arises.
The beating that started so steady steps up in pace, a rhythm that echoes with something
dead and only mostly forgotten inside your body.
Racing, racing, beating. The ever-present sound echoes around you - or is it inside you?
Thuh-thump, thuh-thump, thuh-thump. The smallest tendril of some visceral memory emerges
in your mind.
Despite the overwhelming insistence of the rhythm, you adjust. It hammers at your mind,
and yet already it is normal, it is life. It simply is.
And in the new normal of life, you see something in front of you. A seed. A tendril of
something erupts from the fleshy cage that holds you.
The beating heart of Fear - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Fleshy. Viscous. Blood seeps from the grotesquely flesh-hued walls that enclose you:
above, below, behind, ahead. There is barely enough room to stretch arms out to either
side, and the glutinous fluid is ever-present, a danger that somehow seems predatory. And
yet it is the ever-present staccato rhythm that overwhelms the senses, a loud "thuh-thump"
that permeates the enclosure insistently. A tiny seed lies here, its vibrant jade hue a stark
contrast to the fleshy surrounds.
There are no obvious exits.
Despite the unnatural calm of your own dead heart, you feel something quiver within you at
the sight of the seed. Skin crawls, goosebumps rising sharply in between the sections of
bone that pierce your flesh.
A throaty whisper drifts in, somehow audible despite the incessant volume of the heart.
How do you embrace Fear?
The tiny seed calls to you, beckoning you to pick it up once you have answered Her.
You say, "You feel it with every fiber of your being, as the gift it is. You let it tell
you what it is there to say. Cherish it, as the helping hand it is warning you. Then, if
it gets in your way, of what you are after, you crush it, like anything else in the way of
your desires. However you must enjoy the moment you are in its throws, the delights it can
bring, the torments it can bring upon you as it MAKES you descend."
Tina reaches out for the seed to pick it up, feeling it in her palm,
letting the sensations pass through her, shivering in delight. If nothing else further
happens she holds the seed up and opens her mouth, preparing to drop it in, as all seeds
need fertile ground for growth.
Her throaty whisper drifts to your ears again, still audible despite the incessant volume
of the heart. "How do you embrace Fear, Tina?" The tiny seed pulses in your palm,
quiescent for the moment.
You say, "By welcoming it, keeping it in you always, where it grows and motivates you to
greater heights. Never shying away from it, a gift from mother is always embraced without
hesitation, with open arms, and open heart. By not being afraid of being afraid."
Tina drops the seed with that into her mouth, attempting to swallow it
whole and let it take root in her depths.
The tiny seed pulses even within the confines of your mouth, though it refuses to be
swallowed. Perhaps it is simply a gift... for now.
"Accepted."
Her voice is calm and eerie, and yet you know in your heart that you have claimed Fear as
your own. One step upon your truest Descent.
The fleshy folds part, viscera and all, to reveal an exit to the southeast.
Tina looks around with a last look of apprehension, fear eating at her if
she could have done more, been more, before embracing what has happened and the fresh
fear, and marching on towards the new opening with confident steps.
Everything evaporates into jade as you move, a hazy film that sweeps over your vision and
eradicates the visceral imagery that just released you.
A tiny blanket of ruffled peach and cream gingham rests peeks out from beneath your folded
legs, and with a start you realise you are seated.
The gleaming facade of Despair - AREA: the Isle of Despair
The silence that hangs in the air is palpable, a welcome change from the din of Fear. Lush
grass of vibrant, healthy green sprawls the length of a vast lake-front meadow, the
picture of a perfect day. Somehow you are certain that the weight of the atmosphere will
prevent any true movements. A gingham blanket of ruffled peach and cream sits beneath you,
spread carefully along the grass. A quaint picnic basket rests atop the gingham blanket.
There are no obvious exits.
Ruffles adorn the edges of this old-fashioned blanket, its peach and cream hues forming a
typical gingham pattern. It rests atop the vibrant grass, ready for adventure.
It can be worn in the following locations:
shoulders fullbody
It has 58 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 8 pound(s).
Crafted from brightly polished, flexible strips of wood, this basket is obviously intended
to hold a wonderful picnic feast. A simple cover of gingham-lined wood conceals the
contents.
It has 123 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 2 pound(s) and 0 ounce(s).
It is closed and you can not see inside of it.
Everything is perfect for a picnic. Lovely atmosphere, a basket and blanket, and you:
sitting neatly, waiting for something.
Waiting. It shouldn't be long.
Waiting.
Surely it cannot be much longer. The basket looks inviting. Perhaps you should peek.
Yes. Yes. A peek couldn't hurt. As you approach the basket, something seems off.
Tina sits on the blanket, fingers reaching off to curl into the grass,
waiting. As nothing happens, she looks towards the closed basket, curiosity rising as she
looks around, still seeing nothing, reaches forward to lift the lid of the basket.
As your fingers brush the flexible wood that cradles its treasures deep within, a frown
comes to your face. Something is not quite right.
The gleaming wood darkens at your touch, rotting and disintegrating in tiny puffs of dust.
And yet, your mind is still elsewhere. Something not right, something not right.
You shift on the blanket, thoughts grasping for that elusive something, seeking what it is
you've forgotten. It must be important, and yet why have you forgotten?
Unconsciously, your fingers still quest for the hidden treats. Unthinking, you cling to
the first item you sense, and bring it mindlessly to your lips.
Blood. Blood, blood, and more blood. Blood flows, from your hand, from your lips, from the
basket. It dampens the blanket, dying it a vibrant, bold red. You frown. This is not the
problem. No, no, there is something. Something else.
Tina tries to think about what is bothering her about the situation as
her hand rests on the basket. As it rots and, she pays it no mind, focusing on what is
needling at her mind. Something is not right. Why is she waiting, for who. Something is
missing. She continues pondering as the first item is plucked from the basket and brought
to her lips. As the blood flows over everything, her mind continues tackling the problem.
No stranger to being covered in blood with her proclivities in life, it barely raises a
response as she struggles to clear her mind and find her focus.
As the blood pools on the blanket, trickles in rivulets to fill the space between blades
of grass, rot consumes the basket. It blackens, curls up, vanishes in fragrant puffs of
mist that carry blood and sweet decay, and suddenly you remember.
It is you. You are no more, you are lost, as lost and gone as every part of the moment of
simple perfection that crumples around you more and more by the second. Soon there is no
lake, no grass, no blanket, only blood in rivers that consume everything you are and were,
and leave in their place a weeping sore of agonised Despair.
A thick, jade mist floats into the area before a crackle of dark energy reaches for a
ruffled peach and cream gingham blanket only to slowly drag it back into the depths of the
fog, which then dissipates.
A thick, jade mist floats into the area before a crackle of dark energy reaches for a
quaint picnic basket only to slowly drag it back into the depths of the fog, which then
dissipates.
She whispers again, and this time the sound rings like an accusation, a cursed counterpart
to extend the agony of life consumed.
"How do you embrace Despair?"
Tina thinks to her herself as she is lost in the currents of blood,
consuming all of her as she floats as the blood itself through the room, the words
reaching her core and making her think, to respond, though she is unsure if it only her
thoughts or actually speaking as she floats. "Despair is us, it's what awaits us at the
core. Cutting through or illusions, our lies, are self deceptions. You embrace despair by
embracing yourself, who you really are. What you really are. Every time I claw for the
truth, I seek understanding of myself and those things I cherish and hate. Despair is
embraced, my guide, my self, the light to guide my steps down. I embrace Despair with all
I have, for it is the only way forward. The only way to see. The only way to be." She
floats in the blood, flowing throw it, being the blood, seeing where it pumps, where it
leads, what truths it has to reveal about her.
Tina holds no hope of escape or getting out, she simply exists, embracing
the moment and what is happening to her.
"Accepted."
Her voice barely overcomes the constant, intimate presence of blood and agony in your
mind, and yet you know in your heart that you have claimed Despair as your own. Another
step upon your truest Descent.
The bloody facade crumbles, melting away to nothingness as an exit is revealed to the
southwest.
Tina stumbles towards the exit, looking like she was walking on land
after getting off a ship for a long voyage for a bit, before she quickly adjusts and
regains equilbrium from her time as blood, her crimson footprints and form moving through
the room to the new step of her descent.
The wicked temptation of Avarice - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Row after row of shining silver trays adorn the ebony banquet table that stretches out far
beyond the end of sight. Upon every tray, a handful of plates each bear a singular slice
of cake, perfectly cut to provide a portion only slightly too large for its vessel. Every
single treat is decorated with precision, and every imaginable flavour is laid out in
careless disarray. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, saccharine fruits, tart aromas,
frosting and icing and fruits and candies, perfectly crafted flowers and rocks and trees,
intricate words and elaborate swirls, glazes and drizzles, an eternity of delicious aromas
that mingle and mix and never overwhelm. Every speck of the ebony banquet table stretching
out endlessly here has been etched with innumerable ornate details.
There are no obvious exits.
Before you can even register the change in your surroundings, your nose twitches
unconsciously. Twitch, twitch, twitch, sniff, sniff and then it slams into you.
Innumerable details have been etched with painstaking care into the surface of this table,
floral, bestial, whimsical and so on. Here a flower, there a tree, a bear on its hind
legs, a massive, tangled bramble thicket, thorns, blood pooling, altars, faces in smiling
rictus'... the details persist in their randomness and complete lack of theme, as far as
he eye can see.
It has 299 weeks of usefulness left.
It is strangely weightless.
Like a wall of scent, decadence flowers in your senses, an array of scents that sets your
mouth watering. Hunger roars to life within you, disregarding your lack of need, your
previous disinterest. Suddenly, a voracious appetite sweeps away all else but an
overwhelming need to sate yourself.
Parting your lips to wet them, your mouth is suddenly a parched desert, and nothing will
do but to devour the wealth of delectable desserts exhibited as an endless feast before
you.
Rushing to the nearest tray, you reach forth with no regard for flavour or appearance,
picking up a piece of cake and cramming it into your mouth. Sweet decadence dances over
your tongue, and though it is an exquisite experience, you cannot help but crave the next
slice.
Tina long since used to simply going for what she desires, embracing them
and running full tilt towards them wastes little time. She quickly hones in on her desire
for the delicious foods and cakes littering the table, taking one after the other, eating
them voraciously as she seeks the one that will fill the bottomless hunger she has inside
her. While each one fulfills her desire, it leaves her longing for the next, and the next,
and the next.
The burst of tartness that replaces the saccharine delight of the first piece is a marvel
that defies comparison. Every bite you take only makes you more desperate to sate
yourself, and you find yourself reaching for yet another and another and another slice.
And then another, and another, and another sweet, tart, savoury, bold, delicate, every
slice is a superlative sensation. Need consumes you even as you nigh inhale cake, crumbs
flying, icing smearing, and you just.
Keep.
... eating ...
And your avarice is so great, you must keep eating. Piece after piece, careless of how
little you actually consume, whole sections falling in your footsteps as you seek the
next, and the next, and the next. You must. You MUST. And even as your pursuit continues
unflagging, the cake begins to crumble, disintegrate. Soon, only ashes line the floor
where you have walked, the piles growing larger the further you progress down the table.
Tina continues eating dessert after dessert, the pillar of plates before
her growing higher and higher as she continues desperately searching for one that will
sate her desires, even as each just leaves her desiring more and more, a bottomless pit of
avarice, despite any protests of her stomach. She continues her search, never satisfied,
hunger, craving for more, For the next sensation.
Mounds of ash flourish in your wake, and though it registers somewhere in the back of your
mind, you cannot bring yourself to care. Mindless necessity compels you, even as the cakes
you hoard in your clutch begin to disintegrate too. And still, you eat.
And there it is again. Her voice. Patient even as you swim in a decadent haze of
uncontrollable need and insatiability.
"How do you embrace Avarice?"
Tina continues her journey, caring not for the ashes left in her wake as
she speaks around a mouthful of cake, the voice of the Dark Mother piercing through the
other desires, with the desire to serve and please. "Corruption is in everything,
everything belongs to you, and through your grace us. I embrace it by wanting everything.
Needing everything, Claiming everything as mine. Ever hungry, never satisfied. Not content
till I have anything and everything. Letting nothing get in the way or distract me from
what I desire. The sensations, the desires, the longings, a fragrant bouquet none should
have any trouble embracing. I embrace it by never having enough, always craving more so I
can always dance in the decadence of desire." Her eyes seem go glow with her lust for
more, not just the cakes, but everything. Anything in her domain, her overwhelming urge to
claim it all.
Accepted.
Everything that remains crumbles to ash, the entire world turning to bone-white ashes even
as a small opening appears to lead you to the northwest.
Nothing around to further Tina's desires, she stalks out towards the new
direction, seeking new desires to claim.
The iniquitous bliss of Malice - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Smug satisfaction seethes in the very air around you, emanating from a free-standing
mirror that dominates the space. As your eyes are inextricably attracted to stare at the
aureate-bound mirror, the surroundings are not entirely clear; however, it seems the
reflective glass is the only feature in a hazy, blinding white void.
There are no obvious exits.
As you approach the mirror, a spike of Malice creeps along your flesh, sending shivers
that ripple across your entire body.
The jade haze that lines the inner edge of the frame draws your eyes for a fraction of a
moment, and yet is only of passing interest, as you begin to see movement within the
depths of the glass.
The pervasive feeling of malignant intensity smothers all but the smallest note of
curiousity, as the images in the mirror begin to clarify. Within, you see caverns,
streets, familiar passageways and faces that you have seen before. Your eyes scan as the
familiarity hits home, and you lean in closer, seeking something, someone in particular.
Tina looks into the mirror, the hate seething inside her as she seeks
something in the mirrors, perhaps a focal point for the feelings welling inside her, a way
to satisfy them. Her irritation growing the longer it takes to find it, the malice
reaching out to embrace her as she gazes back into the mirrors, seething energy from the
mirror and her mixing.
Twisting at the corner of your mouth, a vicious smile parts your lips, as you search for
the one you must inflict your will upon. The mirror responds to your will, seeking and
searching, twisting through the depths that remain tantalisingly just beyond reach.
Mocking laughter rings from the air, Her voice surrounding you as you seek the one you
must impart Her Malice on, as you seek the one you crave to distress.
"How do you embrace Malice?"
Tina glares at the mirror frustration building as she searches for the
one she wants to vent her feelings on, as she imagines all the tortures and various pains
and cruelties she can possibly inflict on them, a rough smile gracing her lips briefly
from the fantasies as her search continues, responding to the voice. "I embrace it by
being willing to do anything. There is nothing that is too dirty, too foul, too low, too
mean, too nasty, too cruel. These are excuses by lessers that have not embraced
corruption. Malice is a gift, a tool to break down excuses, to tear away the false
moralities the world would place on you. I embrace Malice by using it, and being willing
to do anything, hurt anyone, by any means possible, to further my descent and approach
what I need. And I embrace it by enjoying using it, hurting others, waking them up to the
gifts of corruption, furthering my own descent by pulling them down. Malice is a sister in
arms, one I embrace on every journey I embark on." As she finishes speaking, palpable
waves of hatred and lust for violence rolling off her as her contained malice threatens to
boil over.
"Accepted."
Like wax heated too far, the mirror drips away one splashing streak at a time. Molten
glass and glutinous gold melt together in a puddle that trails across the floor, revealing
an exit to the north.
Tina stalks angrily to the north, hatred seething from her pores, though
it seems to become a controlled rage again as she takes her leave of the mirror.
The inevitable descendancy of Might - AREA: the Isle of Despair
The sun beats down mercilessly, the heat jarring despite your undead flesh. In a buzzing
morass, flies swarm about the corpses of the dead, limbs askew as they lie strewn at
random, death blurring their appearances to something more uniform. Already, your might
has won this day, and yet... something more remains to be done.
Death is everywhere, and you are its mistress. Head held high and shoulders back, you
stand superior, proud, and survey the remnants of a battlefield that you have already
quelled. An absent lust for battle clings in the back of your mind, but it is mostly sated
as you inspect the carnage.
A frown creases at your face, and you cannot quite tell where it came from. This was a
clear victory, a moment of triumph. What could concern you? And yet, the frown stays
etched on your lips, and you turn your head, seeking something nebulous.
Tina frowns as the bloodlust fades and the thrill of victory is lacking,
as she searches for what more she can do, how she can establish her dominance, her might,
and showcase what she needs the world to know. She looks through the battlefield, myriad
of thoughts rising and failing as her mind races for the answer.
Lifting your face to the sky, a thought occurs to you. This scene, this moment, it isn't
Hers. The sun is too bright, the day too quiet. It needs something more, something of
Corruption to paint it with Her touch. To alter it with your own might, make it something
truly fitting of the Spiral.
You lift your arms up to the sky and beseech Her to join you, implore Her to aid you with
Her blessing upon this place and time, to bring Corruption down in a way that venerates
Her and showcases your own Might.
A reedy whisper, a thread of sound that carries on the lightest of breezes: "How do you
embrace Might, Tina?"
Tina nods her head, thinking to herself. Any proper battlefield needs a
monument to Corruption, to its might, to the victory achieved. So all may know and pay
homage, those who fight against it may wallow in their fear and despair unending. She
draws upon those familiar arts taught by the Dark Mother. Of Necromancy, of Alchemy, of
foul deeds and great might. She goes about the bodies, severing and dissecting them, the
hours wearing on until she has assembled a massive pile of parts of all shapes and sizes.
She begins stitching them together, thread and essence, though not into a careless blob,
but with almost an artist's deliberation. Constructing an ungodly large conglomeration of
parts in the most horrific configuration she can think of. Eyes and ears and noses and
hair coming out where you least expect it. Limbs and legs and feet and claws everywhere, a
monstrosity as beautiful in its horror as it is demented. Taking the broken weapons of war
around her, she forges their shattered armor and weapons into a collar and chain,
collaring the beast with the symbol of the failure of their might that led to their death.
With a prayer to corruption and the Dark Mother she funnels essence into it, willing to
animate, and stand over the field. A guardian of this now consecrated site of corruption,
as well as a warning to the folly of those who would oppose it. She makes her attempt to
venerate might, answering the question, "Might, I embrace it by following corruption.
Corruption is Might, nothing surpasses it, nothing is mightier. All gifts lead to it,
might is required to harness them all. Each of the gifts link together, and combine. Every
success I have, every step I take down the spiral, every revelation and glory had through
Corruption, they are all achieves by embracing might. My own might, and that of the
Corruption in me and the world around me. My might gets me my desires. My might enforces
my malice on others. My might keeps me on the path of despair, from varying too far above
or beneath it. Might allows me."
Tina makes her attempt to venerate might, answering the question, "Might,
I embrace it by following corruption. Corruption is Might, nothing surpasses it, nothing
is mightier. All gifts lead to it, might is required to harness them all. Each of the
gifts link together, and combine. Every success I have, every step I take down the spiral,
every revelation and glory had through Corruption, they are all achieves by embracing
might. My own might, and that of the Corruption in me and the world around me. My might
gets me my desires. My might enforces my malice on others. My might keeps me on the path
of despair, from varying too far above or beneath it. Might allows me to face my fears
without hesitation. Might is me. I embrace corruption. I embrace might. I embrace me.
Every victory made, every achievement, is a glorious statement the one true might,
corruption, and I embrace and cherish them all, fueling me to ever greater displays of
might." With that she falls silent as she focuses on the monument.
Darkness falls at your words, a balm that soothes the tedious brightness and heat that
lingered. The sweet scent of decay rises from all that remain on the battlefield, and the
monstrous guardian you created stands in testament to Corruption's Might here this day.
"Accepted."
The battlefield simply begins to fade as your heart lurches, leaving you in a heavy jade
-hued fog as one final exit appears below, precisely-cut marble stairs leading the way
into darkness.
Tina takes one final glance at the battlefield and monument, before
putting it behind her, descending down as she seeks further opportunities to spready the
glory of Corruption's Might.
Spiralling stairs of clashing marble - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Glossy marble of onyx black seeps down from above, sweeping to clash and swirl with
lustrously opalescent white marble from beneath. Spiralling stairs aid the transition,
fingers of both streaking into each other as they meet amid the staircase. The only light
on the stairs comes from two braziers that light the very top of the descent, and beneath
a jade tinge colours the pale stone.
You see a single exit leading down.
A faint glow persists from below, obviously leading somewhere further.
A jade-lit chamber of ghastly perfection AREA: the Isle of Despair
Lustrous marble of opalescent white lines the chamber throughout, gleaming perfection
unmarred by veins or blemishes. At the exact centre of the flawlessly circular space, a
thirteen-pointed star crafted from exquisitely pale jade has been embedded into the floor.
Looming above it and facing the door is a curious statue, its sweeping lines more an
impression of a person than a depiction as it dominates the room. Drifting and roiling in
an intangible breeze, the pale statue that looms here emits an adulterated glow of muted
jade upon its surrounds.
Malice and fear are a palpable aura that radiates from the statuesque form of Chakrasul,
Goddess of Corruption.
You see a single exit leading up.
Commanding attention as it leans slightly over the thirteen-pointed star below, this
statue is atypical in its fashioning. Rather than solid and clear, it bears soft, sweeping
lines, the vaguely humanoid shape drifting and roiling as if caught in an intangible,
eternal breeze. Perhaps intended as an incarnation of soul manifest, its pale form is lit
from within by an adulterated glow of muted jade.
It weighs about 187 pound(s).
Crooning in a pleased murmur, Chakrasul draws you into an embrace for the merest breath of
time as She says, "Ah, My Cultivator. You have endured your Harrowing with a steadfast
devotion seen so rarely." She steps backwards gracefully without looking, pausing next to
the star on the ground so that one of its edges nudges against the very edge of Her boot.
Tina makes her normal low curtsy upon seeing the goddess, before being
swept up in the swift embrace. As she is released she gazes about the room, gazing at the
statue and the star, before returning her gaze to the Dark Mother, saying "I am here for
corruption, and as I had been hoping a harrowing from your hands awakened such exquisite
sensations and realizations within me. Thank you for the gifts, as always."
Bestowing an eerie smile upon you, Chakrasul folds Her hands together at Her waist calmly
as She speaks. "There is one more thing I require of you, Kadiliti. I wish you to empower
this star with your own flesh and blood." She gestures to a thirteen-pointed star of
gleaming jade with a nod of Her head, and offers quietly, "If you wish to summon your
brethen, My Chosen, to assist you with this part, you may. I do not require it of you."
You say, "The more to bear witness to the glories of Corruption, the better, we do not
hide and sulk, we declare it proudly for the world to see our might. If they desire to
bask in it, even aide they can. The mightiest will dominate, as is their right."
With a cryptic smile, Chakrasul says, "Call them then. Let them witness the glory of your
Might."
(Chosen): You say, "Who will aide in a rite to show the Might of Corruption to the world.
Who will join me in offering flesh and blood to the glories of Corruption? Those who have
the will, find me."
Rijetta arrives from the up.
Ishmar arrives from the up.
Tina kneels in the center of the star. Her claws extend, digging into her
thighs as she shreds flesh and copious amounts of blood, letting it fall into the star she
kneels in as she offers her body and blood to appease the Dark Mother's wishes, empowering
the star with her blood and flesh. As the others enter the rooms she nods at them,
motioning for them to proceed. "Offer of yourselves to the star, that which you will."
Rijetta watches you quietly for a moment, single eye gleaming faintly in the eerie
lighting. Wordlessly, though, she moves to join in the self-flagellation, no stranger to
physical sacrifice: her cyclopean visage is living proof of that. She begins with blood,
and copious amounts of it - drawing forth a knife from her own Malice, she slits a wrist
and lets exalted vitae flow freely, a crimson river to feed the jade star.
Dreww arrives from the up.
Ishmar's fangs flash as she speaks, "For you, Mother." Then she pierces her vein in her
wrist and lets the blood pour out into the star. The blood flows freely to join that in
the jade star.
Arm after pointed arm of the stars begins to light up with a lustrous jade hue, three
lines of thirteen already glowing.
Dreww takes up their sacrificial dagger and slits their wrist allowing the blood to pour
out and join the star.
Legyn arrives from the up.
Tina one by one the other blood enters the star. Each time a new offering
is made, Tina moves to a new part of her body, freshly maiming it and adding new pounds of
flesh and blood to the star. For Rijetta her other leg, for Ishmar the left arm, for Dreww
the right. Blood and flesh flow freely to consecrate the thirteen pointed star.
Merely watching with avid intensity, Chakrasul stands calmly collected, making no effort
to avoid the fluid that pools on the thirteen-pointed star, slowly absorbing into its gem
form. As the bone joins the gruesome display, another four of the star's arms radiate the
same pale jade light as the statue above it.
Pulling his armor up, Legyn stabs into his body with his athame. Blind, he feels his
organs with the blade and crudely cuts out his liver, offering to the star.
Ishmar continues to watch the blood flow from her wrist, swaying slightly from the smell
which is part of her own desires by her nature.
Bloody rents to the bone covering most of Tina's limbs now, she looks up
as Legyn adds fresh offering. Moving a hand to her neck, she slices with a single clawed
finger, expertly finding the artery with experienced precision, atrial blood spraying out
over the star as she slumps down lower in the center, refusing to lay down however as the
ritual goes on, her eyes burning with jade fire as she pours herself into the star.
Dreww watches the blood flow from their wrist as the ritual continues.
Three more arms illuminate, blood seeping into their depths and colouring the centre of
the star for a time with its acrid lustre. The organs and bones stay where dropped, and
yet they seem to shrivel, losing what life remains within them to the power of the star.
Tina looks at the three points of the star still not glowing. Crawling to
each point she stops at the base of them. Holding out her right hand, she wields a
familiar spiraled athame in the left. At each unglowing point of the star, she hacks off a
finger. At the first her forefinger, the second her middle, and the last her ring. At each
point she lets the blood from the flesh wound poor freely, her body growing pale with
blood loss, before moving back to the center, awaiting further offerings and what may
come.
Two more arms alight at the offering, leaving only a single arm still dull. The star is
luminous, lighting up with the chamber with an eerie glow that reflects back from the
opalescent white marble.
In a singsong voice, Chakrasul says, "Only one arm of the star remains unaffected. Surely
one of you has some final gift to display the Might of My Chosen at this most important of
times."
Ishmar quickly rips into the flesh of her right wrist, adding more blood into the jade
star. Her eyes turn black with the scent of blood filling the chamber, but she focuses on
Tina to keep herself from going into a frenzy.
As Ishmar's flesh and blood fall in slow motion, the world seems to hang in the balance,
waiting for one more breath from you.
Ishmar unable to keep herself from not reacting to Mother's words, she pulls out her
scythe with her left hand and slices through her right wrist, letting her right hand fall
at the last arm of the star and then falls on both knees as her scythe clatters to the
floor.
Tina gazes around the room, gaging if anyone else is preparing to offer
more. When things seem settled, she shrugs her shoulders, not in any kind of signal but to
shrug the clothes free from her top, exposing her torso. She switches her blade to the
other hand, saying softly, "The heart may be gone for past needs, but flesh remains." With
that, her left hand cups her left breast, over the ragged scar between them, and her right
hand brings the athame to bear again as she removes her left breast cleanly, adding more
pounds of flesh to the the star before exhaling deeply, not much blood flowing from the
wound as much was already drained from her body at this point.
As the last arm of the star lights up with gleaming viridescence, Corruption's essence
flares within the thirteen-pointed star, condensing to a spectacular jade beam that flings
itself violently at your chest, knocking the breath that no longer sustains you from your
body.
A jade haze bathes Sapience in a pall of abject despair to mark the apotheosis of Tina
Cardinalis, Corruption's first true Adherent arising from her exquisite, perilous descent.
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