The Owl.

21st of Trescia, 1492.

Principality of Nevstan, Kurnak Land. Chor, The Galza Strip.

11:11.

[Rogue Devil, Soul Mastermind. Step 5: Networked.]

[Prestige Sorcerer, the Path of Zefroth. Step 4: The Minion.]

***

For the first time since awakening the ability, the Owl utilized the Devil's Disguise to prance about the City of Bards in the guise of an old retiree with an abundance of time, money, and ideas to spend; a traveled old man of wit and culture, of finesse and charm. For perhaps the first time since our ascendance, the Owl had no ill intentions. On the contrary, the Owl wished to spend the day in simplistic elegance. Wining and dining until night befell the City of Chor. Wherein the work would begin.

With the boons granted by being a Mastermind of souls, the task at hand would be a silent breeze, for the Owl would not have to try to find the eye's prize. The Thieves Cant was seen more in this area than even Brybs. Safe houses and caches. Black markets and fencers. Familiar places, the lot of them. Born from the ordinary structures the Other saw months ago, filled with familiar faces from head to toe.

With Devil's Mimicry and Devil's Intrigue, the Owl could truly play the part of a retiree from Bakewia out for some sleazy entertainment, even having the forged documents to prove my position in a non-existent shell company. Not that it mattered to anyone but the Owl. Entertainment had to be provided somehow, after all. No longer, could the Owl snicker at Matron Etyl's frustrations in encountering the Wicked Mind. And oh, did she try to read His thoughts. It was a shame Amun never presented the nightmarish machinations of our minds to her. The Owl waited and waited for it to happen. But… well, there was always next time.

This time, there was hardly any need for the Owl to use the Wicked Mind. And so, the day was killed by conducting a field test of the newest perks by first studying the actions of the devils, Archer and Diamante, educating their favorite souls in the Under about the glorious revolution the Owl was to bring. The Owl could see Zorrenor, withering away in his office. So too could the Owl see the former drunk from Bakewia, studying manners and etiquette amongst a cohort of robed skeletons while he ate and drank voraciously. He would be there for some time, learning to be a proper lord until he graduated by change. Thus freeing Zaraxus from his post.

Indeed, it was essentially NoxNet without the extra steps. However, it was a perk only the Owl and the Other could use; a perk unable to be replicated through divine means like the engineering marvels in the Cuttleship. Yet, the irony was that they could still be combined to revolutionize the network by leaps and bounds. This brought about the true field test. With a mind full of ideas and designs to bring into this universe, the Other used Mani's eye to identify the best candidates to be recruited by the Troupe. Using the memories of the ever-present eye above, dossiers were created for each of them, and their locations were pinged across the map for the young ones to track down, thus bringing about the Owl's duty.

Again, using the NoxNet, the Owl connected to the Cuttleship's scanners to gaze upon the barbaric camps and Mazian strongholds from afar. Using the new Masterful Tactician perk, the Owl assessed the best plan of attack for each member of the Troupe. Their numbers were identified. Their equipment was inventoried. Their patrol routes were mapped out. Their assets were tagged for destruction or acquisition. And when there was no more information to transfer, the Owl continued its prance throughout the City of Bards.

The Devil's Disguise was used to spend hours in rowdy restaurants, eating and watching festivities unfold. To pass by dilapidated slums and forgotten orphanages, assessing the pitiable quality of life. To dawdle in crowded alleys filled with lively but hardly talented musicians, silently admiring their efforts. To waltz through the front doors of private theaters filled with only a few high-class bards working in relative silence, if only to watch.

In those places, the Owl saw the Legion's first bards going about their duties with the tireless patience of a panther. In those restaurants, the Owl saw the up-and-coming gang of six girls led by Blude ease into restaurants to incite the underpaid workers into a strike, resulting in the lot of them getting booted from the establishment; wherein she masterfully recruited the now unemployed youths into Sam's kitchen. The up-and-coming mob of two dozen girls then waltzed into the slums and barged into orphanages next, enticing the friends of their recruits and all others present with promises of gold, power, and adventure. Then, the up-and-coming mafia of over 50 girls stormed into the territories of the small-time delinquents and ne'er-do-wells to beat dreams of prosperity and greatness into their minds.

Their return to the Cuttleship saw them return with 73 recruits to divide among the now-nine leaders of their organization. In addition to, of course, whatever families they had. Even while that was happening, the Owl witnessed Geri and Freki in the crowded alleys, recruiting bards in practice and bystanders alike. Although for different means. Freki, having over 50 vassal workers toiling and learning away in the Cuttleship to bring his agricultural enterprise to fruition, only recruited 4 mostly human bards to complete his business. Meanwhile, Geri, seeing no difference between traveling companions and vassal workers, convinced quite the diverse mix to join her, gaining 2 humans, a strifling, a dwarf, a halfling, and a deep gnome.

In those private theaters, the Owl gazed upon the Lore Master, Willard Rowe, lecturing the Legions' next generation on our history, values, goals, and beliefs. In the next room, the Master of the Laughing House, Ritrix Mildbluff, rigorously educated her peers in the various forms of comedy and how they applied to the Legions. In no rooms in the theater and even beyond, did the Owl see Sinestro and his quartet. Although, with but a search, the Owl could sense and hear his best recordings echoing across the night.

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When there were no more sights to see, the Owl found a perch and looked beyond. Past the walls of Chor, the Owl spotted Geri and Freki departing from the Cuttleship with their subordinates tucked away inside, permitting them a hunt. With Iris providing overwatch above, the werewolves leaped across the Mazi-Nevstan border wall to sprint due east through the forest. Within moments, they came upon the first camp of primal humans- A cluster fuck of hide-tents and crudely raised structures of mud and wood filled with barbarians and captured prisoners of conquest that somehow merited the name of Faymouth.

They stalked about while Iris hovered above, observing in abject disgust. There were humanoids of all types down there. Not to mention orcs, gnomes, and even elves. Both children and the elderly, pampered the barbarians with food and ale, mending their wounds, or performing mundane labor while the adults and sometimes the stronger children fought to the death in gladiatorial matches by the dozen.

The troupe's rage grew with each drop of spilled blood. Their eyes burned with every cry chased by a wicked laugh. Their hearts grew colder with each body that fell for the entertainment of others. The result was a slaughter that lasted mere moments.

A dizzying blur of blue and gray fell upon the camp and disappeared like a rainstorm congealed into a single, bouncing drop; disappearing groups of slaves at a time. What remained of those searching for their lost slaves or preparing for battle witnessed a flame-wreathed celestial release his rage above the central 'hall,' opening, for an instant, a gate leading to the surface of the sun before it closed just as quickly, leaving a crater of ash and molten rock in its place.

Another eye of blistering cold opened and closed soon after, calming the landscape to the same frequency as its gelid surroundings. Then, the twins were sprinting through the forest once more, distancing themselves from an alien landscape frozen in time on the primal lands of Mazi.

Their campaign was akin to an elemental arrow skimming a 2.5-kilometer stretch of land at a significant fraction of lightspeed. It was over in a relative instant. Yet the havoc wreaked would leave a crescent-shaped scar of blackened glass and amorphous rocks to mirror the Mazi-Nevstan border for generations to come, witnessed and retold ever more by the hundreds of humans seen falling towards the Cuttleship, and more stationed on Nevstan's border wall.

It was seen not just by the Owl, the troupe, or the Other, but by two young Chorian bards who immediately became enamored at the sight unfolding above their eyes. So, while Freki feasted and Geri gathered as much loot and rallied as many wild canines as she could, Iris made a final descent to Chor before they retired to the Cuttleship for a long night of debriefings, briefings, acclimatization, billeting, and all the other things began.

In the final minutes before the hour of requiem, the Owl used Soul Surveillance once more to observe Iris make us proud by offering a deal to those broken bodies and bruised souls recovered from those gladiatorial rings. Service in exchange for bodies infused with nanites like hers, albeit of the arcane variety rather than the divine. Ever thankful for the Other taking up the role of the ArcaTech, the Owl watched thirty or so refugees agree with no consultation between any of the twenty or so existing parents. Along with Iris, the children and parents alike received their grace and those who were wounded, crippled, or maimed followed the prodigal youth into her Creation Station; wherein she tinkered and toiled and created and prayed to the ArcaTech for the implants and augmentations to be fabricated and installed.

Of course, she was on track to becoming a prestigious witch, among other things. But surgery was beyond her purview for now. Let alone so many operations. And, while we had sentient, automated surgeons, observation and assistance were necessary for one of her classes. Not to mention, it was highly more efficient. That was hardly the end, however. Or rather, that was just the beginning. With the setting sun came cries of joy and songs of praise; tearful revelries and legendary feasts; convictive declarations and hopeful ambitions; pledging bites and playful discourse; worship and faith for the Owl, whether they knew so or not. Faith that made the Divine Well bloom.

At this time, and with this increased power, the Owl went into motion. Discarding the Devil's Disguise, the Owl hopped from perch to perch, perusing the memories of the Other to track our old friend's descent into despair.

Rickley Ravenbrook.

Once given more gold than she'd ever need, Rickley fell into a pit of pity and greed. But the big leagues were not reached with money alone, thus losing her gold was no fault of her own. Not all was as she so thought. Brought down, however, Rickley was not. Some more-than-decent food, a posh suite, and some dazzling suits; that was all Rickley needed to chase down her pursuits. Plenty more gold, she had stowed away; for registration fees and bribes for the night and the day.

Rickley Ravenbrook was not disheartened. No, not in the slightest. Until she lost everything; then, her fury was righteous.

Her suite was thrashed and emptied, naught a coin remained. It was then, she swore; in someone's blood, she'd be stained. But as for who, she hadn't a clue. So she pointed and accused. 'Was it you? I bet it was you!' Until night came, when she'd return to her hole and cry until day; inviting cancerous fibers to enter her lungs and stay. Those very fibers became a black cloud over her head. She later stopped giving a damn about who deserved to be dead.

"Someone's gonna fuckin' die!" She pleaded and cried. And when none caught her charm, she threatened and begged until a renowned bard of yore was forced to shield her from harm. Only, in turn, to threaten severing his arm. Not out of anger, but in refusal of Sin's offer. "Hell no! No way I'm to work in a brothel!" But as tendays turned to months; there seemed no other way. Given, at least, the way her eyes remained lifted all day. And yet, Rickley stayed from the pink place that seemed cultic. For at last, she believed, she had found her culprit. It was the one man she'd never think to suspect. And surely, he thought, she would never think to check, for no matter how much gold he acquired, the rotund man never seemed to change his attire. It was the man who received a mountain of gold at the same time. Was her having gold, Rickley wondered, so hefty a crime?

"Of course not! It's not fair!"

The Owl had to agree. So towards her heart of despair, the Owl turned with glee.

Intentions were made known. Soon after, Rickley was seen, suffering in her hole from nightmarish dreams. In the depths of the nightmare, she was given a seed. An idea in her mind. Hope, coupled with a dream. "To make that man pay, I'd do any-fucking-thing!" She would gladly die; if only for the chance to kill that fucking guy. She wanted no possibility of it being a surprise. She'd put his peen through a guillotine while staring him dead in the eyes. That, now, was her only dream. She'd do anything to fulfill it, even become an Undying Fiend.

And so, in the early morn, the Owl preened above Rickely's sobbing form. Hidden in this hole of memetic fibers; the Owl took, the Owl MacGyvered. The Owl offered Rickley, a deal oh so sickly. A contract that barred no need to examine. For intrinsically she knew, she become my Horseman of Famine.