Manteekan: "Let us watch as the Enchantress pouts."
Phulbelishi: "How delightful."
Manteekan: "Perhaps, child, we could offer other keys that the Enchantress could attempt to use in Her lock? I am sure She would be most amused!"
Phulbelishi: "I could think of quite a few places to gather mortal-made keys. Shall I risk Her wrath by dropping the lot at Her Fulcrux?"
Phulbelishi: "Maybe a few hairpins, if all else fails."
Manteekan: "Indeed, child. Perhaps She shall find assistance in one of those things."
Manteekan: "She may even find the hairpins more useful. I simply cannot wait to see how joyous She is at the gift, My child."
The Fulcrux of Drocilla.
The corrosiveness of the taint sickens the land. In the far wall of the alcove rests an immense dais of pure black marble, upon which rests a roiling, undulating portal into effulgent emptiness. A large, circular portal of molten gold swells in smooth waves that ripple out from its centre. A spectral pegasus presides here, clockwork wings flaring as she gazes about herself imperiously. Heresiarch Esca n'Lochli, Nighthawk Imperial is here, shrouded. He wields a blighted symbol of pestilence in his left hand and a glowing powerstone in his right. Nocturness Solange d'Murani, Adherent of the Amaranth floats here with a dream-like quality, her form shrouded in a perfumed, lavender mist. Ur'Marshal Marcella n'Lochli, The Queen's Own Torturer looms here powerfully, emanating a palpable aura of intimidating dread. She wields a menacing double-edged klangaxe with both hands. Drocilla, the Enchantress dominates Her surroundings with a fury of the storm swirling about Her form. Apodictic Mistress Zarialle d'Murani, Director of Discord is here. She wields a baroque violin of wine red rosewood in her left hand.
You see a single exit leading through a mysterious portal.
(The Haze): Manteekan says, "Give Her My best as well, child."
You bow respectfully to Drocilla.
Esca exhales slowly, allowing a long fluid breath to creep from his lungs.
His eyes blinking independently, you say, "Pardon my intrusion, Lady Enchantress."
Solange d'Murani's eyes narrow as she turns to look at you.
You say, "...and company, yes. Hello, yes."
Ur'Marshal Marcella n'Lochli, The Queen's Own Torturer says, "He sends emissary to apologize for failure and does not come Himself?"
Drocilla vanishes momentarily and reappears before you so fast She may already have been standing there.
Locking Drocilla in an uncomfortable stare, you slowly blink one eye and then the other.
Esca n'Lochli looks at you for a long moment, before he shakes his head.
You say, "Apologise? Oh no, no no. Yes. No. I am here with a bounty!"
Solange raises an eyebrow at you.
Zarialle peers about herself unscrupulously.
Heresiarch Esca n'Lochli, Nighthawk Imperial says, "I would advise some haste in explaining yourself, then."
You say to Drocilla, "As ever, He wishes You the best, dearest Lady. And at His urging, I have brought these small offerings that You might employ in Your predicament!"
You dismiss Esca with a wave of your hand.
You say to Drocilla, "Here they are!"
Drocilla grips you by the throat, steel-taloned fingertips rending the skin about your throat.
Shrieking, Drocilla, the Enchantress says to you, "Be silent, wretch!"
Solange d'Murani straightens as best she can, still favouring her side, and steps closer to you.
You have emoted: Phulbelishi flails his arms meekly, though his grip remains firm on whatever objects he has collected for the occasion.
Looming over you, Drocilla lowers the hand slowly, forcing you to your knees before Her.
Solange cannot help the smirk that forms.
Through gritted teeth, Drocilla, the Enchantress says, "Your Master is a fool, an incompetent fool!"
Marcella crosses her arms, somber and dour in her plate as she watches the situation.
Acerbically, Nocturness Solange d'Murani, Adherent of the Amaranth says, "He should have come Himself."
Apodictic Mistress Zarialle d'Murani, Director of Discord says, "Perhaps He knew what welcome He might have."
Voice laced with poison and sarcasm, Drocilla, the Enchantress says, "And He sends you with your gifts? This is supposed to improve the situation? IDIOT!"
Apodictic Mistress Zarialle d'Murani, Director of Discord says, "Better to send a servant than risk a Lady's wrath unto Himself."
Nocturness Solange d'Murani, Adherent of the Amaranth says to Zarialle, "Cowardly."
Marcella rolls her eyes, glancing at Phulbelishi's flailing arms as if trying to appraise the contents of his grasp.
Apodictic Mistress Zarialle d'Murani, Director of Discord says to Solange, "He enjoys employing such, so it seems."
Sneering, Ur'Marshal Marcella n'Lochli, The Queen's Own Torturer says, "I hope it isn't hairpins. Are those hairpins?"
Drocilla loosens the grip and lets you go, still keeping you on your knees. She raises a hand to the face and traces a line along the cheek with a steel-taloned fingertip that quickly fills with blood.
Her voice suddenly dangerously sweet, Drocilla, the Enchantress says, "Does your Master wish for your death? Is that it? Have you served Him well as His plots served Me poorly?"
Zarialle watches with interest, lending an arm to her mother as needed as well.
Drocilla, the Enchantress says to you, "There is a gift I do desire and one which you do have, sweetest. Will you give it willingly?"
Crooning, Drocilla, the Enchantress says, "For your Master."
Esca n'Lochli gives a wide berth to the new cracks and dips in the floor as he approaches the portal, narrowed eyes focused on you.
Solange strokes a hand along the hollow of her throat, dark gaze fixated on the kowtowed mugwumpi.
You have emoted: Phulbelishi shies not from the slicing talon, his black-glossed eyes assessing Drocilla with neither fear nor any other emotion laid bare. "I am the epitome of service, Lady Drocilla," he remarks, now raising that clenched fist to drop his offerings upon the floor. "Do with me what You will, but these...these are just in case You cannot find the key You so seek."
You drop a white rose hairpin.
You drop a starflare hairpin.
You drop a gilded quill hairpin.
Solange wrinkles her nose and sniffs.
Zarialle d'Murani quirks her lips in a grin at Solange, eyes alight with a dangerous kind of mischief.
Nocturness Solange d'Murani, Adherent of the Amaranth says, "Paltry trinkets? How insulting."
Drocilla's smile widens as She leans back.
Eyes closed, bracing - yet oddly at peace, you say, "With His warmest regards, as always."
The ethereal notes of a quiet, lyrical nocturne summoned from the strings of a viola drift upon the air, evocative of eventide marvels.
Commanding, Drocilla, the Enchantress says to Marcella, "Off with his head."
Zarialle ponders a white rose hairpin thoughtfully, looking it up and down.
Ur'Marshal Marcella n'Lochli, The Queen's Own Torturer says, "Very well."
(The Haze): You say, "She loves them!"
Drocilla turns Her eyes back to you, the ice-cold warms to a sultry lavender as She stares at you, transfixing you with Her stare.
With a heavy overhand stroke, Marcella slams a menacing double-edged klangaxe down upon you. Marcella hacks through your neck like it's butter, and your view of the world suddenly spins wildly as your head flies through the air.
As your severed head hits the ground, you thankfully succumb to death.
You have been slain by Marcella.
Marcella picks up the decapitated head of Phulbelishi.
(The Haze): Manteekan says, "I am glad She has enjoyed Her gift. You have done well, My child."
By the divine might of Drocilla, you are restored to life.
Drocilla, the Enchantress says to Marcella, "Give him his head."
Ur'Marshal Marcella n'Lochli, The Queen's Own Torturer says to Drocilla, "I gave it to You."
With an indifferent stare, you slowly blink one eye and then the other.
Drocilla gives the decapitated head of Phulbelishi to you.
Drocilla, the Enchantress says to you, "Thank your Lord."
With the smallest flick of Her finger, Drocilla sends you flying headlong into the depths of the Astral Plane.
You reach out to Mother Night and feel her cold breath surround you.
- and back to Glomdoring -
(The Haze): You say, "And She says to thank You, as well!"
Maniacal whispers come in bursts as a hazy mist chills the air with its cool embrace. Amidst the frigid fog, two pale eyes glow as the incorporeal form of Manteekan, the Nightmare slowly coalesces within.
The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips as you glance at Manteekan.
Manteekan leans down an places an approving, if icy, kiss upon your head.
Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Excellent as always, My child."
The incorporeal form of Manteekan, the Nightmare, dissolves into a cool mist which creeps hauntingly away into the distance, leaving behind naught but an eerie silence and an unsettling chill.NAILED IT.
(ilu all so much)
A far away voice whispers, the sound barely reaching your ears, yet the words remain perfectly clear, "Then so be it."