LATEST UPDATES

Published at 26th of August 2022 10:06:34 AM


Chapter 53

If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again




Recipe: Rot of the Soil

 

Step 1) Acquire a dryad, living.

Step 2) Flay arms and legs. Remove the bones, but leave the flesh and sinew attached.

Step 3) Drop blackwater inside of flayed limbs.

Step 4) Take flayed, soft limbs and fold inward. Tie all four together over the heart.

Step 5) Force feed healing potions to regrow cut skin and bones. (Break teeth and use tube if required.)

 

The regrowth of the bones will occur according to the new shape of the body, causing the natural magical radiances of the NATURE entity to become tinged and misshapen, as they mingle with the permeating blackwater. Upon returning to the ambient magics that fill the world, these tainted magics will act as a poison, trickling into the stream of ambient world magic.

Given that a dryad can sustain itself from ambient magic alone, this spell needs only to be cast once and will last forever, unless broken.

 

Step 6) Bury the dryad in the forest. A box is suggested, in order to keep insects away to prevent smells, but is not required.

 

~A hand-written instruction from Witch Perchta’s grimoire, which is always permanently damp. The ink is runny and never dries fully.

 

 

~ [Witch Perchta] ~
???, Female, Witch of the Blackwater

 

Loose vapors fill the room. The witch sits on her chair, taking in a long draw of her smoking-stick, as she watches the bound entity laid out over a table across from herself. She exhales, tapping her finger to let some ash fall to the floors as the whisper of smoke leaves her nightshade-tinged mouth.

 

First the witch-hunts had caused her to lose her home.

 

- Her eyes wander towards the ceiling, which is missing.

 

Now this.

 

She won’t stand for it a second time. She isn’t going to move again. She isn’t going to run again. She was here first. This was her forest.

 

The witch watches through her broken ceiling from inside of the room as the smoke rises up towards the stars above, which twinkle with a knowing light. Perchta narrows her eyes, staring at the heavenly lights. An esoteric person of her status knows that the stars are not to be trusted. They watch too often, they see too much, they know too much and they are overly generous with their gifts of powers and secrets. Dangerously so.

 

This is a little known secret of the world, that even the church tries to hide, for the sake of the reputation of the gods who they venerate.

 

Before the new gods had existed in this world in any form, primitive people had worshiped what they saw, rather than abstract concepts such as godhood or holiness. They instead worshiped tangible things like the sky, the sun, the moon and what they most certainly worshiped, were the stars that shine so brightly, like an endless sea of campfires in the night.

 

The power of belief, coming together into one, condensed point, is what forms a god. This collection of ambient magics is what makes every deity and so, by these acts of prayer and worship, the humans had made the gods they were already worshiping.

 

They, the sun, the moon, the stars, are gods that never took on a mortal form to live on this world like other, more abstract deities did in later days.

 

The sun is a powerful icon of the daytime and of things holy and adventurous and good. The summoned heroes of this world are bound by the magic of the sun. This is why they tend to theatrics in their behavior and actions.

 

The moon is a mystical beacon of many shapes and forms that comes and goes like the tide, it radiates a calm, soothing aura. The witches, herself and the few that remain now, are bound to the magics of the moon. This is why they tend to be reclusive and odd.

 

But, the stars…

 

- Perchta stares at them with narrowed eyes. She knows that they know that she's watching them and she knows that they know that she knows.

 

The stars are different in that they are the quietly giggling demon in the background, watching from the shadows. Yes, they are beautiful and ancient too. But they do not receive the direct attention that the dramatic figures of the sun and the moon still receive and yet they remain powerful in old ways in a manner that is hard for the living to comprehend. People pray to the sun, people pray to the moon. But people do not often pray to an individual star, let alone all of them in days such as these. Those are old traditions that are no longer practiced and while the sun and the moon remain at the front of the cultural discussion of magic, the stars have faded quietly into the background. They are a collective, a swarm of a thousand eyes that fill the darkness.

 

The gods of such things as the elements or of specific animals, who had once lived in this world were strong, yes. But compared to the sun, the moon and the stars, they are nothing but whispers in the wind.

 

— A clump of ash falls off of the thing in her hand. Perchta lifts her smoking stick towards the night sky, looking not at the ember of the kindling flame, but at the fresh scar on her hand. It looks almost translucent in this light.

 

The sun is up to something and so is the moon. Things are in motion. The old gods are scheming in silence.

 

The stars twinkle mischievously, still knowing that she knows that they know that she knows.

 

She doesn’t trust them. Old, bad magic comes from the stars.

 

- The dryad stirs, waking.

 

Perchta takes another draw of her smoking stick. It’s time.

 

She gets up from her seat.

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

 

Isaiah knocks on the door.

 

— No response.

 

It tilts its head, looking around the dark forest area. The quake had torn this place apart. Trees had fallen, some onto the house. The roof and several key features have collapsed in on themselves. Perhaps it is understandable that the witch was mad?

 

It had come out here to try and make amends and to offer to have the house fixed right away. The witch had helped Rorate, or at least offered her many fair trades, so it seems unnecessary to sustain animosity like this. The tower does not need such a powerful enemy.

 

It can not forgive her for the death of Green, this much is certain. It is a fresh pain that still aches deeply. But perhaps that must be put aside, if only to prevent further death in the future?

 

It is an unsavory bargain. But perhaps that is what one must accept, when dealing with a witch? Besides, this all began because it had failed to consider the ramifications of its own actions.

 

However, it seems that she is not home.

 

Isaiah shrugs, noticing a trail dragging out towards the forest. It notices that the anqa that Rorate had traded to her isn't here anymore either.

 

Perhaps it is best not to think about it too much?

 

It will try again tomorrow.

 

 

~ [Rorate] ~
Dark-Elf, Female, Fighter

 

Rorate sits in the waters of the hot-springs, up atop the tower. She’s leaned back against the rocks and stares up towards the night sky.

 

“Stars sure are bright tonight, huh?” asks a voice next to her, getting into the water. It’s the priestess, Scion.

 

Rorate looks her way and then nods. “Mm,” she replies, before looking back up towards the sky. She lowers her gaze again, following Scion’s eyes towards the other figure there at the water. The monk.

 

The monk simply sits there on the rocks next to the water with crossed legs. Her thick, heavy bracelets of wood resting on her knees. The woman never talks much. Rorate isn’t even too sure what she does all day, exactly. She just seems to meditate or sometimes she’ll be training by fighting shadows, before returning to meditation.

 

“Can I ask you something?” asks Scion.

 

Rorate looks back her way. “Huh? What?”

 

The priestess rubs the back of her head. “This is gonna sound dumb, but…” It’s quiet for a moment. “Do you ever get afraid of heights?”

 

“Uh…”

 

“I mean…” Scion presses her fingers together. “I can’t look out of my window anymore,” she explains. “We’re so high up that I-”

 

The floor beneath them shakes, as the tower raises in height again.

 

Scion holds onto the stones, as if they would save her in the event of a collapse. “- I get wobbly when I look.”

 

Rorate blinks, thinking for a moment. “You know. I guess I never thought about it before now,” replies the dark-elf.

 

“How could you not?!”

 

Rorate shrugs. “I had bigger problems, I guess,” she says. “Sometimes in life, there’s nothing like a good problem to take your mind off of all of your other problems.” Scion groans, unsure. “Don’t worry,” says Rorate. “We’re safe here, no matter what.” A white silhouette flies by, pressing through the sky above their heads with a color of pure alabaster that contrasts the dark night. She’s confident in saying that.

 

“Watch it, scoot, I’m coming in,” says a voice from the other side. Caeli, the battle-alchemist. She slides down into the water, plunging down to wash her face and hair vigorously, before surfacing again and leaning back against a rock. “What a day. I must have made a hundred potions.”

 

“Great work,” says Rorate, looking towards her.

 

Caeli shakes her head. “I mean… do all dungeons work like this?” she asks. “I always thought they just kind of… made stuff.” The alchemist shrugs. “So has there always been some little creature somewhere, all of this time, making all of the items we looted?”

 

“I’m going to say that this is an exceptional case,” explains Rorate. Several uthra fly by, including Red. “Red!” calls Rorate. Red stops, looking her way. “You got bigger again!”

 

Red shrugs. “Somebody has to show some muscle around here, or everyone will slack off like you four!” she snaps down at Rorate.

 

The dark-elf laughs. “You have such a great sense of humor.”

 

Scion leans in. “…I think she was being serious,” she whispers, nervously. “Should we go? I think we should get back to work.”

 

Red rolls her eyes, waving both of them off. “No. It’s fine. I don’t care, honestly.”

 

Rorate waves to Red. “Then you should join us!”

 

Red tilts her head. “Why would I want to do that?” asks Red.

 

Rorate lifts a finger, closing her eyes as she explains. “The gospel of Isaiah tells us that it’s important to cherish the little moments, because they’re more precious than we realize while inside of them.”

 

Red plants her hands on her hips and stares at Rorate in quiet disbelief. After a moment, the uthra sighs, shaking her head. “You know what? Fuck it,” says Red. “Who am I to argue against the good word?” She flies down towards the water.

 

Rorate nods, content as she looks around herself, at the community that is being fostered here. As the shepherd of the people, as Isaiah has entrusted her to be, it is important that she takes a lead role in the social life of the tower and its community, so that none go astray from the good path.

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

 

“You’re sure about this?” asks Crystal. “It’s going to really shift the whole air around the tower. Our design philosophy has been based around one tower.”

 

Isaiah thinks for a moment more and then nods. “I am sure, Crystal,” it says. Crystal nods and sets to work with Orange in tow.

 

So far, the tower has been a single, solitary needle in the landscape. The contents of the tower are contained solely within the tower. But what if the dungeon expands in a somewhat more exotic way?

 

Isaiah watches as stones and dirt clump together as the uthra work with a feverish pace to create something outside of the tower. Up in the heights, past floor seventy, a doorway leads out of the side of the tower and across a long bridge. This bridge itself is floor seventy-one.

 

~ [Dungeon] ~
Floor {71}
The Spanning Bridge
A long, extremely high up bridge made out of ornate stonework that connects to segments of the tower. Falls are fatal at this height.
Monsters: {146} Traps: {07}

Room Effects:

All monsters have +25% knockback on their attacks.

 

Floor seventy two is this.

 

- Crystal and Orange finish the base of the large, floating island that hangs in the air, far, far above the ground, connected to this new bridge.

 

“We will make a new segment of the tower here on this new island,” says Isaiah. “An external tower. Then, it will later reconnect to the main tower again after a few floors.”

 

“I mean, sure,” says Crystal. “We can do that. But why?”

 

Isaiah rubs its chin in an old mannerism from its human life. “Because, Crystal, I have an idea. Use the same railing system that you use to connect the roost to the tower here, to these new external sections to come.”

 

"What? You mean like... so they can rotate around the big tower?" Crystal thinks and then nods, flying off.

 

Isaiah watches them work and then lifts its gaze, staring up towards the stars.

 

They seem oddly bright tonight, do they not?

 

The entity tilts its head, watching the night sky curiously. Something is in the air.

 

 

Razmatazz

Just a casual reminder as to what witches actually are. No funny hats, bubbling cauldrons and Jubileeeee~ in this story.





Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!