In Which Drocilla Steals Tremula's Song

Tremula · November 2015

@Drocilla finally did it, and she fucked me right up. Below the break are some of the vision's she has sent me so far, showing different memories as she taunts me. Holy heck, I couldn't have prepared for this at all. After Tremula was chased around the Basin by Celest, and she was just alternating between fits of hysteria and insanity, she finally got to the pool, where they discovered her voice got stolen, and now she's a doll. How will this end??

A chilling black mist roils through your surroundings, carrying the coppery scent of blood and spices that promises terrors and despair as Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress returns to mortal perception.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

The ground beneath your feet trembles and groans as a subtle vibration pervades the city, ringing in your ears.

You have emoted: Tremula drapes one arm across the other casually and narrows her eyes at something unseen, her sevenfold eye spinning wildly.

Your surroundings darken as a churning black fog roils through the streets of New Celest, heralding the arrival of the Dread Enchantress.

You clutch at your head as a near-blinding pain arcs across your brain and a throaty voice erupts your ear, "The traitor hides no more from My punishment, perhaps there will be something left of the gnome's mind after all."

The temperature drops rapidly as a whirlwind of ululating shadows manifests, marking the tempestuous arrival of Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress, who steps out of their midst.

Telperion creates a sparkling cloud and then molds it until it appears exactly like you.

You curtsey gracefully before Drocilla.

Her voice dripping with honeyed sweetness, you say, "Allow me to extend the Kingdom's warmest welcomes, Lady Enchantress."

Drocilla gazes about the Pool of Stars with lavender eyes smouldering from beneath an aureate mask, Her distaste made clear by the arrogant curl of red lips.

Lorah bows respectfully to Drocilla.

Tracing helixes, the shadows that churn about Drocilla drop low to the ground, dissipating into a black mist that spreads hungrily across the area, flooding every crevice.

Drocilla's eyes find you and She turns that way.

The black mists roil across the ground, enveloping everything and everyone in sight into their cold embrace. A woman's pitiful scream echoes somewhere, someone's begging reaches you as if in a dream, an oddly familiar voice moans - your own. Phantom teeth sink into your skin as the mists feast upon your essence, tearing you apart from within.

Rising from her curtsey elegantly, drawing her hand casually down her wyvern's serpentine neck as she glances at the dark mist, you say, "And it is good to see You looking so well. I trust you've been keeping busy?"

Drocilla extends a hand and you hurtle towards Her against your will, half-dragged across the ground till you are deposited at Drocilla's feet, throat clutched in Her steel-taloned hand.

The churning black mists reach out and envelop Telperion hungrily, sinking into his skin with phantom teeth. As darkness descends upon him, Telperion utters a pitiful, primal wail of despair and sinks to the ground while the mists feast upon his body.

A seductive voice murmurs dark and terrifying promises in your ear as Drocilla dissipates into a whirlwind of shadows, leaving in Her wake a sense of unrestrained longing but also relief.

Black mist descends upon you hungrily, tearing at your clothes as it consumes you and obscures the world from sight.

The Crossways of Redemption.

The air is filled with motes of light emanating from a healing shrine of Terentia nearby. This location is flooded with shallow, crystal clear water. One or two light fluffy clouds drift lazily through the sky. A serene gaze upon his face, Tytone Farain reflexively smooths his robes. Drocilla,

the Dread Enchantress dominates Her surroundings with regal poise, swathed in undulating shadows that whisper dark promises.

You see exits leading north, east, southeast, and south.

You are transported by the power of the Divine.

Chilled to the bone, the mists spit you out onto snow-covered pebbles on your hands and knees. You shiver as your silken robes cling to your body, drenched in your blood seeping from a myriad small cuts.

You have emoted: Tremula's violet gaze is hard as she stares back at Drocilla, her lips pursed into a straight line.

(Celest): You say, "Stay back. I will deal with this."

Drocilla looms over you, wreathed in ululating shadows that drain all vibrancy and colour from the garden. Her effulgent eyes stand out even against the glitz and glamour of the mask, and golden hair crowns Her head like an unearthly halo. Everything else around you has no colour beyond light and shadow like a dramatic black and white painting.

Coldly, familiar lilt gone from Her voice, Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress says, "None betray Me and live to speak of it, traitor."

Quietly, her hands shaking slightly as she stands and glances at the blood on her hands, you ask, "And how have I betrayed You, exactly?"

No recognition in Her eyes, Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress says, "You should know, false

nightingale."

Her voice curt, you say to Drocilla, "I do not, for I have fulfilled every vow I have ever sworn to You."

Unimpressed in the least, Drocilla raises a steel-taloned hand and snaps Her fingers with a metallic click. The churning mists that cling to Her every move utter a terrifying wail and stream away in twirling helixes towards Telperion.

Telperion has been slain by Drocilla.

The cold lavender of Drocilla's eyes softens as She beholds you and a change in the curve of Her red lips betrays momentary indecision.

Wiping a bloody hand across the front of Her robes, you say to Drocilla, "I swore to teach of You, to uphold Your teachings, and create in Your image and palette. Never have I left that path. Even in this Kingdom of Light they learn of Passion, Subtlety, and Refinement."

Drocilla raises a hand to Her mask idly, adjusting it lightly. The steel upon Her fingertips coats with frost, forming a crack upon one of the talons, and in that instant all warmth is gone from Her eyes again and the shadows about Her writhe in excitement.

Narrowing her eyes slightly, you say, "While Your Evanescent lie about in sloth, I prepare the world for the Everdusk without their knowledge. I do what none of the others can, for they are hated."

Steel to Her voice, Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress says, "False. If you will not sing for Me as I will it, you will not sing at all, Oath-breaker."

Drocilla extends a hand towards you, parts Her lips, and inhales slowly through Her mouth.

Something catches in your throat as Drocilla continues to draw in a breath. A sharp pain erupts in your throat, like a razor blade slashing across your vocal cords, and you cannot help but scream louder and more helplessly than you have ever screamed before.

You have emoted: Tremula clutches at her throat, eyes bulging as her screams pierce the quiet tranquility of the gardens.

Word become hard to form, then painful, then neigh impossible as your breath escapes you, pulled in by Her magic.

An angelic voice breaks the silence with a bloodcurdling scream that echoes for what seems an eternity before being abruptly snuffed out.

You feel suddenly as if your throat is thickly blocked, and attempt to clear it with a cough, only to discover you can barely rasp and have lost the power of speech altogether. An abrupt insight tells you that this must be a punishment from Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress.

Drocilla draws in the last of the breath, shimmering white threads racing towards Her lips to be swallowed whole, and exhales onto Her hand where your voice forms into a graceful wisp of light.

Drocilla proudly shows off the captured voice of Tremula:

No larger than a hand, a whirlwind of black smoke traces helixes in the air, keeping a struggling angelic voice trapped inside. Seeking to break free, the incandescent voice trashes within, violently rejected back to the middle each time it reaches the black bars of its divine prison.

Drocilla's luscious lips stretch into a thin, cruel smile that never reaches Her cold eyes.

You have emoted: A look of faint horror crosses Tremula's face before she looks at Drocilla in shock, her eyes narrowed in something akin to terror for a moment.

Tracing helixes, the shadows that churn about Drocilla drop low to the ground, dissipating into a black mist that spreads hungrily across the garden, flooding every crevice and sapping all life from the manicured lawns and greenery draping over the trellises.

Your Divinely-cursed voice makes it impossible to speak and all that escapes your lips is a dry rasping.

Drocilla regards you for a long spell in complete silence, all sounds of the world beyond muffled by those effulgent lavender eyes that hold no compassion for you anymore.

Icily, Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress says, "Labour, haunted by your own words, false nightingale. None betray Me, not again."

A seductive voice murmurs dark and terrifying promises in your ear as Drocilla dissipates into a whirlwind of shadows, leaving in Her wake a sense of unrestrained longing but also relief.

Your throat aches, blackened and defiled by the dark magic of the Dread Enchantress.

A soft, mellifluous voice - your voice, so young and eager - whispers in your ear, echoing your beginnings, "I have been told that You seek strong women, and while I may not be the strongest the Engine has to offer in brute strength, I have my areas of expertise. I have friends in high places, and my family is one of renown and respect. We have served the Engine faithfully, and I wish to serve You just as faithfully. Please, my Lady, I wish this more than anything."

"I wish this more than anything."

"... more than anything."

"...than anything."

Your fingers move unwittingly as a memory strikes you, as vivid as if it were happening this very moment. You sit, swaying to the gentle notes of a beauteous lament as you weave together thread by thread of a breathtaking tapestry. The shimmering golden strands at your fingertips flow into a cascade of silken hair of a gorgeous divine standing victorious amidst a storm of indigo that makes up the backdrop.

Your fingers are weary but you do not cease - there is no enough, no rest till you are done. Caught in the moment, you forget about the ache and the blisters and continue to weave, the spark of inspiration sustaining you through the hardships.

But there is naught in your hands, no golden thread, and the spark is gone. Will it ever return?

Sudden gust of wind whips about you, reminding you of that time atop Hallifax when the wind threatened to blind you with the torrent of your tears. A heart-breaking voice, your own, echoes in your mind over the storm, "I chose this place because they would let me continue serving You! Everywhere else, they call you Traitor and would have me renounce You for a home. I could not betray You in such a manner!"

With conviction, the voice continues, "The Lady of Thorns and the Navigator both instructed others to seek me out and take me from You, but I could not leave! They offered status, riches, power, and I refused them all for You!"

I have done both... I have betrayed Her for both of Them now...

Something tickles at the side of your neck, barely perceptible at first but irritably insistent after a while. The pressure mounts slowly like an instrument's strings being stately bowed by expert hands.

Drawing in each breath becomes a nuisance, then a struggle as the pressure slices deeper into your neck like the flawless string of a viola.

Each breath a struggle now, your hands react instinctively - you reach towards the neck but find no purchase, no miraculous string to pull upon to relieve yourself of the phantom coil that cuts into your skin... but then fades, leaving a trickle of blood pooling against your collarbone and naught more.

You catch your reflection upon a nearby surface but it looks nothing like you do now. Head buried in the hands, your double whispers, "I am too ashamed to show my face on the streets of the Engine, and hole myself in my vanity room. I pray for Your guidance, my Lady, in this time when I am unsure what to do..."

You can almost see the blood that welled up in your hand then, as you angrily smashed your mirror, refusing to accept defeat. You marched right out, empowered by Her guidance, and got things done.

Golden shafts of light coalesce in your palms sparking a memory. A soft, mellifluous voice - your own - whispers in your ear, "With the Lady Sovereign at our backs, victory is always within our grasp, guided by Her hand!" Sibylline whispers follow, dust on your face, the fires of Nil as you raise the shrine...

A soft, mellifluous voice whispers in the recesses of your mind, "It is ambition that drives us ever forward, my dear, turning the hints of a suggestion into full-fledged epics. It is through this that we gain strength, power, and even...control."

What is my ambition? Was it not to return beneath Her benevolent gaze? When did it transform into paying lipservice to the Light? Have I lost myself?

You feel invigorated as you inhale an intoxicating, musky fragrance that wafts past. Another breath and another of the enticing aroma, except... a coppery scent of blood lingers beneath the perfume now. Rotten fruit, decaying flowers, a decomposing carcass... the smell that gave you comfort and inspiration is a mockery now.

Your husband's image forms in your mind, the one thing you have maintained a loyalty to of late. "Sit with me and meditate on what your senses will find here in Her fulcrux. The taste of the mist in the air, the smell of Her perfume, the sound of Her melody, and the feeling of the glass against your skin..." a soft voice whispers in your mind, your voice from so long ago.

Aeldra · November 2015

@Tremula That is quite a lot.

I've been quite stunned by all that's going on, kind of curious how it continues. :-)

thanks for sharing!

Shonjir · November 2015

Awesome

Salome · November 2015

I absolutely love this. Well done @Drocilla for going all Ursala on her tush.

Vivet · November 2015

This is actually really slick - a careful blend of thought and care with malice and vengeance.

Portius · November 2015

I'm just going to shove a meeting with Crys about fixing Trem in here, because it's cool and Crys is my favorite god. Extraneous chatter that is not my favorite god has been excised with extreme prejudice.

The faint presence of a woman manifests amongst the wispy presence of the Voice, her face bare of
any emotion. She speaks, though her voice is filled with a masculine flatness, the Voice of Crys
says, "You seek Insight and appeal to Me? For what reason."

You say to the Voice of Crys, "My wife has been wronged by an elder god. Her voice and her creative
energies have been stripped from her. Given the particular nature of Your own voice, and Your
fundamentally praiseworthy character, I thought it best to seek your advice as to a cure."

You say to the Voice of Crys, "I have heard that You love excellence. Know that my wife excelled in
the arts until her voice was stolen."

The manifested-Jilai offers a brief glance in Tremula's direction: lips pursed before speaking again.
With a biting sharpness,, the Voice of Crys says, "And she is excellent no longer. Cut her loose."

You say, "Tell me, Voice, is it not true that every student begins in a state of mediocrity, and
that it is potential, rather than extant skill, that justified all efforts towards improvement?"

Voice firm and full of steel, the Voice of Crys says, "This, We concede. However, you of all should
know that there are those whose place precedes them. That all have reason and purpose in the grand
design. The pursuit of excellence is noble, broken strings must return to the lower wards."

A flicker of light passes through the presence of the Voice, as the envisioned Jilai turns away. The
sounds of murmuring follows soon after, as the Voice of Crys speaks with Itself and Jilai: no longer
are they in concert, but in conversation.

You say, "I suspect that it would be inefficient to cast away that which can be mended. Is it not
better to repair one who is known to have potential than to invest time in training an unknown
factor?"

Flicking her head toward Portius, Jilai and Crys cease their conversation. They are one again, and
with a crystalline voice, the Voice of Crys says, "Was it not I that cast down the swans for their
failure to sing My song? I will answer you, Paragon. It was. They failed, they proved insufficient.
Thus, they were cast out." Jilai's blank eyes travel to Tremula, and for a brief moment, it is
possible that She herself is speaking, and not the Voice. With the gentle cadence of a singer,
"Though, I imagine that all can be healed in time."

You say, "A failure is not a wound. I praise you for having the courage to dispose of a failure, but
I am inclined to tend to those that can be mended."

The Manifested-Jilai's eyes fixate upon Portius, as ripples of azure swirl between the floating
crystals of Its presence: the dead Elder regaining control. Responding firmly,, the Voice of Crys
says, "Then that is for you to attend, not Us. We have given you counsel."

You say, "But not as to a method of treatment. You know how to join a mortal and a Voice. Her voice
is a shard of a divine voice. The principles should be similar."

You say, "Nonetheless, Crys, You have my thanks. I would have thought that You would take pleasure
in proving Your supremacy over Drocilla by mending my wife, but if You wish to leave the glory to me
then I shall accept it."

You say, "I thank you not only for your advice, but your generosity in doing so."

Maligorn Shevat says, "Attempting to manipulate even a dead God's voice is foolish, Portius. You
have your counsel."

You say, "I do not manipulate, Shevat. A man of science can speak only the truth, if he is not to
ruin himself."

The Voice of Crys responds to the remark with only a blank stare at Portius that moves to Tremula,
as the manifested-Jilai turns around and a conversation begins again.

Maligorn Shevat says, "It seems Lord Crys has more to deliberate on before dismissing you, so I will
allow you to stay for a while longer."

---Like one second later---

Cold crystal chimes fade into silence as the Voice of Crys turns His attention away.

Siam · November 2015

Does anyone else think @Drocilla(Droculla? Dro-chan? Dro-sama? Dro-neesama?) keeps logs of ALL player interactions for future use?!

(So awesome, btw.)

Sylandra · November 2015

I super buy that Crys and @Jadice are crechemates, hahahaha. Same icy no-nonsense attitude.

Qistrel · November 2015

The shadows stir suddenly, their wailing voices pitched high with excitement.
You peer about yourself unscrupulously.
"Oaaaath..." the shadows croon with vengeance, "Breakerrrrr".
You say, "Who?"
The shadows sway in a hypnotic dance, excited for the prospect of the hunt. "Oath breaker!" they croon over and over again.
(The Evanescent): You say, "The shadows are talking."
(The Evanescent): You say, "They're saying 'Oath...breaker' over and over."
(The Evanescent): Tanin says, "At Her fulcrux?"
You peer about yourself unscrupulously.
You feel a slight tug within your chest and the air around you sparkles with motes of bright light.
(The Evanescent): You say, "Yes."
A bank of blue fog rolls in from the ether, upon which gallops a bone white nightmare.
You have emoted: Nikkakorra points at the windows.
Archmage Tanin De'Unnero, the Earthen Equalizer says, "I wonder if they speak of Tremula, or someone from times past."
Tanin ponders the situation.
"Oaaaath breakerrrr" the shadows croon with vengeance, "TREMULA."
Tanin nods his head emphatically.
You say, "Oh, well, that explains it."
You have emoted: Nikkakorra hovers over to the window, and places her hand on the glass again.
Archmage Tanin De'Unnero, the Earthen Equalizer says, "The oath breaker needs to pay."
A chilling black mist roils through your surroundings, carrying the coppery scent of blood and
spices that promises terrors and despair as Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress returns to mortal
perception.

Later...

The temperature drops rapidly as a whirlwind of ululating shadows manifests, marking the tempestuous arrival of Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress, who steps out of their midst.
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 sheet of star jasmine vespertine stationery is here exuding an indulgent scent. Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress dominates Her surroundings with regal poise, swathed in undulating shadows that whisper dark promises. Lord Enginseer Ventidius De'Unnero, Iron Songbird is here.
You see a single exit leading through a mysterious portal.
Ventidius kneels before Drocilla, swearing his allegiance to Her.
Drocilla gazes about the antechamber with lavender eyes smouldering from beneath an aureate mask, Her distaste made clear by the arrogant curl of red lips.
You curtsey gracefully.
6950h, 6475m, 7425e, 10p, 25100en, 25100w esSilrx<>-
Coldly, Drocilla, the Dread Enchantress says, "The Oath Breaker bears My punishment. If she will not sing for Me as I will it, she will not sing at all."
Drocilla proudly shows off the captured voice of Tremula:
No larger than a hand, a whirlwind of black smoke traces helixes in the air, keeping a struggling angelic voice trapped inside. Seeking to break free, the incandescent voice trashes within, violently rejected back to the middle each time it reaches the black bars of its divine prison.
Drocilla lets go of the black whirlwind, letting it float into the antechamber and twirl about the
room, struggling against the angelic voice it holds captured.
An angelic voice whispers fervently from the prison, "I wish to serve You faithfully. Please, my
Lady, I wish this more than anything."
An angelic voice whispers fervently from the prison, "I wish this more than anything."
An angelic voice whispers fervently from the prison, "More than anything."
An angelic voice whispers fervently from the prison, "Than anything."
An angelic voice whispers fervently from the prison, "Anything."

Moi · November 2015

Later, after Iytha hears that Drocilla came to Celest and attacked people (but without knowing it was Tremula)...

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 sheet of star jasmine vespertine stationery is here exuding an indulgent scent. A whirlwind of black smoke holds an angelic voice captured in a floating box of a prison.

You see a single exit leading through a mysterious portal.

You say, "Drocilla!"

You say, "You shame the race of Elder Gods with your recent behavior in my home."

You say, "You trashed our gardens, so I bring the city's refuse to you. I spit on your shrine, I spit on your worshippers, I spit on you. Wallow in it as you do your foul perfumes."

Filled with disgust, you spit directly in the master shrine of Drocilla's face.

You drop a clump of trash.

You cease wielding a crwth-style bowed lyre in your left hand.

You begin to wield a clump of trash in your left hand.

You throw a clump of trash at the master shrine of Drocilla.

You drop a clump of trash.

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 sheet of star jasmine vespertine stationery is here exuding an indulgent scent. A whirlwind of black smoke holds an angelic voice captured in a floating box of a prison. There are 5 clumps of trash here.

You see a single exit leading through a mysterious portal.

You glare about you, upset with the world.

Shaddus · November 2015

That..wow. Well done, Iytha.

Moi · November 2015

I eagerly await my maggoting/zapping/insert punishment here.

Shaddus · November 2015

Not quite as salty as the time I urinated on Terentia's shrine while she was talking to me, but not bad either.

Tremula · November 2015

And here I thought me and Iytha were friends. /heartbreak

Drocilla · November 2015

/plots revenge with rabid zeal

Tremula · November 2015

(rabid zeal = scary nighthawk that does incredible damage. you've been warned)

Aeldra · November 2015

That nighthawk was like 'uhh, what's happening?'. then dead tremula.

Drocilla · November 2015

/was hoping everyone would rally and kill the nighthawk so she can guilt Tremula about it, but that works too!

Aeldra · November 2015

Me at least was a little too overwhelmed on what was going on at the time. Also, big scary nighthawk thing appearing out of nowhere? Kind of not the first thing to jump onto.

Tremula · November 2015

The entire time @Taevyn was begging for me to let him kill it and I was like 'BRUH'.

Moi · November 2015

Meanwhile on the "Iytha performs symbolic acts of revenge in Drocilla's Fulcrux Happy Funtime Hour":

A haunting melody tugs at the edges of your mind, beckoning you to the pool. As you step forward, an immaculate being of gold emerges, smiling warmly at you. Taking you into its arms, you both sink into the depths of the pool and a beatific nocturne bombards your hearing. Sight, smell, taste, touch... all your senses are heightened as you swim within the warm liquid, pleasure dominating your consciousness. As you succumb to the thrill of the song, a beautiful, but discordant melody pierces through the opus and you open your eyes, finding yourself within the Fulcrux of Drocilla.
---------- v36553 -----------



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---------- -2:0:-2 ----------
The Fulcrux of Drocilla.
A comforting feeling of privacy pervades the area. 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 sheet of star jasmine vespertine stationery is here exuding an indulgent scent. A whirlwind of black smoke holds an angelic voice captured in a floating box of a prison.
You see a single exit leading through a mysterious portal.

The ethereal notes of a quiet, lyrical nocturne summoned from the strings of a viola drift upon the air, evocative of eventide marvels.

(que me waiting to see if Drocilla was about to say anything before concluding it was probably just an ambient)

You say, "Drocilla! I have only just now learned of the extent of your vile deeds against my fellow Cantors. You overstep yourself, even as a Divine!"

You glare angrily at the master shrine of Drocilla.

You move about quickly and lose a cow.
You move about quickly and lose a cow.
You move about quickly and lose a cow.
You move about quickly and lose a cow.
You move about quickly and lose a cow.
You move about quickly and lose a cow.
You move about quickly and lose a cow.
A cow is not following or leading you.
A cow is not following or leading you.

You say, "May the leavings of this herd of over-fed bulls befoul your fulcrux as your ancient treachery befouls your heart!"

You begin to wield a fish oil tank in your left hand.

You have emoted: Iytha smashes a tank of fish oil onto the shrine of the Enchantress.

You say, "May the burning of this rancid fish oil make this shrine of yours reek as does your very form any room in which you dare linger!"

You have emoted: Iytha points her cwrth at the shrine and lights the oil aflame with the notes of the Star chord.

You say, "I know not when and I know not how, but this I vow: You shall restore Tremula's voice, or else answer for your deeds!"

Filled with disgust, you spit directly in the master shrine of Drocilla's face.
As you reach out to touch the surface of the portal, a figure emerges from within its depths, grinning menacingly and taking you into its aqueous embrace. You find yourself submerged in the golden depths of the portal as panic grips your mind. The fear of drowning overwhelms you as your lungs burn for that sweet taste of air while dulcet laughter rings around you. Consciousness begins to fade and you hear a single, mellifluous voice murmur "Breathe." As you succumb to your fate, you breathe in deeply of the liquid gold and suddenly find yourself violently thrust out of the portal to the other side, hacking and gasping for air.
You bump into a cow as it wanders aimlessly in a circle.
You bump into a cow as it wanders aimlessly in a circle.
---------- v36535 -----------



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---------- -1:0:-2 ----------
A pale, silvery pool within the rocky caverns.
The corrosiveness of the taint sickens the land. An elegantly garnished pool of liquefied silver protrudes from the cavern floor.
You see exits leading north, east, south, and through an opulent pool of silver ichor.

You close your eyes and let your etheric senses reach out to touch the spirit of the ground. You find the environment here rebels against being tainted natural underground, and so you let its true nature reveal itself as that of natural underground.

Gabriella · November 2015

We're going to find Iytha's voice/every other part of her nailed up on a wall somewhere sometime soon I feel...

Kagato · November 2015

Iytha said:

The ethereal notes of a quiet, lyrical nocturne summoned from the strings of a viola drift upon the air, evocative of eventide marvels.

(que me waiting to see if Drocilla was about to say anything before concluding it was probably just an ambient)

Definitely an ambient, just FYI.

Siam · December 2015

Iytha said:

You begin to wield a clump of trash in your left hand.

But,

Gurashi · December 2019

Tridemon: *tells story of Tremula n Droci to Gurashi*
Me: Oh that's an awful thing to do to an NPC
Me: *sees has honors*
Lief: *shares this link*
Me: *sees this LOG*

....Most excellent story telling.

Tridemon · December 2019

Not sure why you thought Tremula was an NPC in the first place!

Gurashi · December 2019

Tridemon said:

Not sure why you thought Tremula was an NPC in the first place!

It sounded too horrible to be a thing that happened to a PC ... *starry eyed*

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In Which Drocilla Steals Tremula's Song

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