CW:

Drinking a wretched brew that hurts. Death. Soul drinking. tossing a captured soul back into slavery. conversations with blighted godthings.

Ten Years since the Dreadsong Sung:

The shopkeeper pales as I enter, Amwella quivering in terror. Before I can even lay the coin on the counter he’s shoving the bottle forward. Pleading that I just… take it.

Stupid. Why would I bother eating such a useless soul? Even the Reaver’s stopped giving me what I need back in the Burning Rifts.

“G– Gift for the Desolate Maw!” He stammers.

I spit and hiss at the title, toss my coin on the counter and take the wretched brew. Then I’m gone, growling my Reaver’s Riftwalk and enjoying the wonderful sting of the curse that prickles at the edge of my ravenous wellspring of Amwella.

I think Thendra spread that title as a sort of joke. Used it to sell my services to the highest bidder while taunting me to just… embrace the role. So… I bear it. Since it makes her tool more valuable.

I plop down on the top of the temple’s roof, and survey the city about me as I pull out the blindfold.

My current target is a weird… like… a centipede person? A former slave who refused to walk the Old Road and has tried to slip back into the city for a brief… something?

I don’t know.

I don’t care.

It won’t matter when I rip their soul out and–

A gurgling growl rumbles from my tongueless mouth as I wrap the blindfold around my eyes and consider my instructions.

“You are not to kill this escaped slave, my Lyra.” Thendra had purred, taking my chin between two fingers as she felt my mind drifting away from the details of the soul I needed to hunt. “You will bring them to the temple. Drop them at the god’s steps, accept the trinket they offer, then return it to me.”

I sigh, but… can’t help but lean into the touch. Thrumming with the things I expect her to reward me with after I return.

She rumbles an affirmation. Then sets me loose.

Blindfold set, I reach over and unstopper the bottle. Shift it to sit between my legs and I… I steady myself.

This is not going to be a good pain.

Deep breath.

Consider Thendra’s promises and… and the soulfire that sits around my target.

Then I down the entire horrid bottle.

Not having a tongue helps but…. Ugh… Dreamer’s Tits!!! This is always so bad.

But… I need it.

Mind throbs, tummy turns over, and like always I have to fight hard not to just… vomit.

Amwella sight drowns me without my willing it into focus, blending into my Naranggas senses as they stretch and weave and…. And wash out over the city. Walls and flesh just… don’t matter as the brew burns through me. Souls and their texture alight and pulse as my tails stretch and snap out… hungry for the a feast they know will end this horrid pain as we search for the flavor of our prey’s soul.

Tempted to just… have a little snack and go from there! It won’t dull my senses now or… or cause problems. No one will cross me or Thendra or… or probably even fight or… But…

I can’t just feast.

Plenty here don’t deserve that. And… and I might not stop. Might just… fall into a madness of hunger that would ruin my dark goddess’ tool forever.

So I focus on the ocean of souls in my city of spice and sand.

Searching… Searching… Searching…

Riftwalk to a roof near the northern edge.

Searching…

Now I’m down in the lower levels, hidden with song and midnight toned leather that covers everything now.

There! In the tunnels. A rare soul of odd twisting patterns unique to their kind.

It’s too easy.

It almost always is.

Riftwalk in. Eat the two guards while wrapping the stupid big bug in my Naranggas as I hiss sounds of threats and warnings.

My tendril probably feels like a tendril around the throat.

A warbling whimpering cry from my captive as I growl my Reaver's Riftwalk, then we’re in the temple of the god of Theradas and I’m enjoying the wash of feeding euphoria that chases off most of the brew’s effects.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A pause amidst the horrid market. Still overpacked with the events of last year’s festival. An influx of almost 3000 fresh slaves into the city.

“OH! That was so much faster than expected!” Coos a rippling seductive voice from above.

Dreamer’s Tits the soul of the Furthonois is just… always such a horrid wondrous thing to behold though. Especially when I’m like this!

It’s like… a big pretty ocean that falls into the ceiling above and ripples with so many vibrant hues. Not like my blighted ocean but… still so pretty.

I hold the weird bug thing still, hiss another warning as it wriggles and squirms. The vertigo of my snapping Riftwalk still making them unsteady.

“One poor soul, for a little trinket.” The god purrs, their flesh twisting down toward me as a tendril of soulfire reaches out to solidify into a solid thing as they take hold of the captive.

Then they just… toss them into the market of submission and torment behind me.

“A gift to any who would claim him!” They call. “And a warning to any who would seek freedom they did not earn!”

I ignore the mess that causes amidst the souls behind me as I notice a few of the god’s tendrils sort of… wobble down and around me.

Feel a wash of fear and fury and… and almost the burning of the brand of the reforged this very god gifted me as they seem to surround me.

“Apologies, Desolate Maw.” They murmur playfully, “But your quickness has left me unprepared. The boon Thendra asked for is stored within my trove!”

I don’t move, don’t hiss, just… let my Naranggas wriggle my annoyance.

“Come with me to my private chambers and I’ll see your payment is… well provided.”

That makes me pause. I’m about to shake my head but… Would refusing them be a slight? Cause them to… to not want to hire Thendra? Or… or be mad at her or…

The god’s flesh is suddenly just a whisper away, almost… almost close enough to touch.

“While you dwell within my chambers, No harm will come to your body or soul.” They whisper. “I will not bar you from leaving, or touch you without you explicitly... let's say pleading for it. At least for tonight.”

That… makes me tremble. Only a little.

As dark images I can sort of make out along their soul in this hypersensitive state gain some clarity. Things they would love to inflict on me should I ask for it.

But… I sigh, and hold out a hand and tendril. A brush of flesh and soul on mine, then…

Then I'm elsewhere.

Barely a hint of vertigo as they perform one the most subtle Riftwalks I’ve ever felt. Just… One moment I am surrounded by the soulfire of Theradas, next I am alone in a room I cannot know the size of. With no souls but ours for as far as I can sense.

This… practice. This art of… of soul hunting without sight was my idea. Late one night after intense and her perfectly painful feeding I mused about the wretched thing she had me imbibe as those years ago. The memories of an old dead lover plagued me for a bit. But then I remembered how the brew Thendra made me drink had heightened my senses, and how after eating a soul all that pain faded.

She purred a laugh, and made plans.

Normally the streets and tunnels of Theradas give me very little trouble to navigate. Just… simple math and memory of the layout in comparison to the souls within. I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing which people are which and parsing out my targets. Sure… I've broken bones a few times, but now I can generally navigate the city without issue with my eyes covered. Even without the brew.

But here? There is only myself and this pooling mass of rippling Amwella, and from the smell of twisting sweet nonsense I know it’s nowhere I’ve ever been.

Furthonois purrs, seems to… to settle atop something in front of me. “Do relaaaax! Consider all the things we could do while we wait for Thendra's prize to arrive!”

I huff and… and… Dreamer’s Tits. I normally like to sleep this all off in the dark of Thendra’s bed. Buried beneath heavy quilts and even sometimes her big warm arms.

I reach up and remove the heavy cloth around my eyes. Find myself temporarily blinded and just… overwhelmed as eye senses return in full force. At least the room is dimly lit. I sigh as I let my mind adjust to the sudden flood of sensory things.

It’s… well it would feel huge if not for the snake god lounging on the big cushion just a few feet in front of me. There’s tables and shelves of… well not books. Nonsense bottles and little whispering items and stuff.

But I barely notice it all as the four scarlet eyes of the god drink me in. Send such… such brumbles along my spine. I look down and around but… find no other place to sit. None beside the big cushion the monster rests on.

They pat a spot beside them. “I’d offer you a drink but… you’re drowning already. Aren't you?”

I carefully walk forward and plop down, sitting as far away as possible.

After a few moments the god floats to curl to my side a bit. “Lyra… may I call you that? I don’t get the sense you overly prefer the ghastly title Thendra parades you under?”

I… I sort of… nod. Try to answer a yes to both?

They sigh. “This conversation is going to quite boring if I’m the only one sharing their thoughts. Sooo… You can either regrow that pretty little tongue or…”

I pale as three little tendrils from their huge soul reach out to hover around my Amwella. Naranggas wiggle close and work to shield me from the god’s advances.

They quirk their head, waiting patiently as… as… I just kind of quietly panic. How they might… might use this as a guise to… to pull things from me or twist me or… or think that I’m giving them permission to…

“Lyra…” They whisper so softly I can’t help but forget for a moment that they are the god of literal slavery and torments. “I’m not going to trick you. I’m not going to hurt you. And I’m certainly not going to take errant thoughts and impulses as permission to touch you.”

That helps… so I very intentionally, very precisely, push away all but one of their tendrils. Then take up the last and pull it close. Only let it just barely touch my soul.

Furthonois smiles as they begin to sense my panic and confusion and worry and… and everything else. “You really are such a… a wonderful symphony of contradictions.”

I let my confusion just… roll out plainly in my soul at that.

“A soul full of love and life amidst a sea of agony and pain.” They murmur.

I just… stare. Try to… to apply those words to…

Memories flash. And… and I push their tendril away as my mind falls into the muck. Look down and away. They don’t fight that, just… sit. Wait as I finish bleeding from the wound their words so easily caused me.

“It’s always nice to find a kindred spirit.” They sigh in such a soft tone, and when I glance back up they have such a… look of honest melancholy on their face.

And they read my disbelief plain that rolls across me with a smirk.

“You think of me as a simple thing of torments and wroth?” Their voice goes… odd. Painful and sad. “You think I planned to end up atop a throne of slaves and slavers when I drank the soul of the last god of these Rifts?”

I… I feel my brow furrow. They giggle at my sudden obvious confusion and confliction. “Did you think to become what you are when you left the Fae Wood?”

I look away. Ashamed at… at the truth of their words. Naranggas curl close. Shield my soul as their Amwella seems to… to move to shroud us.

“I never did get the full story of how you came to be, Lyra.” They purr, “I’d be willing to offer it in trade for my own sad tale?”

I shake my head.

They sigh, but… nod. “Another time then.”

A long pause passes, and I find myself just… sort of focusing on the ocean of Amwella that seems to pour out like an ocean from this godthing. Watching all the… the colors and shifting of emotions and thoughts and… just how many there are!

It's almost… almost seems like…

I jerk my head down to meet their gaze. Wondering…

“Yes?” They smirk.

I let some of my core show, reach out and offer a place for them to touch and sense my question. They politely, but eagerly, reach out to accept the offer.

Are… are there more of you? Inside your Amwella? Most people just… have a single flow of thoughts or emotions or… whatever. But… you have like… dozens of disparate things going on!

They grin so widely. Not in hunger or… or anything horrid. Just… like…

“It’s so nice to meet another who sees us so quickly...” They reply in what seems to be real joy. “Have you met others who are similar?”

I shake my head. But… us? You weren’t saying ‘us’ before? Are… Do you prefer to be…

They shrug. “Either is fine. We are one and we are many. And the ignorant chaff gets confused so easily… Took us near half a century to educate these bumbling masses on the nature of gender.”

That… brings up an old memory. Of rutting with others like me and the words and complaints they had when sharing their annoyances with each other about unaccepting people.

The god catches it, furrows their brow. I push them away but… they’re already puzzling and my fairly obvious thoughts.

“Thendra was spending time in… Predion. Correct? And… Oh! Did you manage to meet the Everflame Raska?”

I look down, fight off a hiss.

“Such an interesting girl, wonderful taste in companions. I’d love to just… gobble them all up from the stories and descriptions I’ve ga–”

I’m rising, pushing past them. Fighting down a shaking anger.

I’m making the same mistakes!!! Letting anyone but Thendra see my soul. And to the literal god of slaves! How stupid can I be!!!

“Had a falling out did you?” They murmur, but… not unkindly. Or so it seems.

I glare back at them, as the godthing raises an eyebrow. “It’s a normal thing. Give it a few decades and you’ll probably fall back into each other's arms for a time. The Everflames are prone to outbursts of fury and passion.”

I turn away. Done with their prying.

Within a few moments there is a pop, and when I turn back the god holds a small box in one hand.

“Thank you for your time and quick work Lyra, I look forward to all our future... conversations.”

I snatch the prize from their hands, and focus on the growling song I’ll need to escape. For a moment there is a… a resistance. A muffling to my Reaver's Riftwalk rolling out from the beings that brought me here.

But then the will of this god softens, and I’m allowed to leave. End up landing on some rooftop I like. For a while I just stand there. Quietly growling and… and hissing at my own stupidity. At how easily the blighted god picked at things that… that still hurt SO much!

Need to work harder to… to cut out all those weak parts. Smother whatever nonsense makes me want such soft venomous affections.

Such are my thoughts and musing as I slide down the edge of the roof and… and just decide to walk home. Let the spice of Theradas and the mulling of souls calm my mind and rot my heart.

Feel all their hate and fear and despair. Both in general and… and especially as they see me.

Drink it in… just… just like I did before when I drifted in my sea of blight. Let the Rot and Ruin seep into my soul, wash away all those stupid things!!!

But... With each step those old burns rub against my heavy leathers, and the pain of it pulls me down into the muck of memories. Soon such Dreamer Blighted tears fill my eyes as I make my way back to the monster who promises to distract me from all this pain.