The snow now crept upon the sill, now slowly spread across the sullen wall as some insidious cobweb, now filled cracks and shadowy spaces in painting room wholly over with its empty color. Neither natural nor bringing the cold associated with snow, it was a snowfall of a strange age, and only the dampening silence fell in its wake recalled Cordelia of the true thing which it resembled. For in coming it had eaten away all the sounds down the streets, had quenched the incessant nagging of the innmaster’s wife down the kitchen. It crept upon the bed and swallowed Esme’s wooden knight and froze the soft pillows. It was the color of the feather in Cordelia’s hand in its true form, stretching across minds and worlds and contagious thoughts to reach for her and in this standstill moment in time. And the soft strands stirred naught more to the sourceless breeze that was the only thing still moved.
She turned around. The ripples in the washing basin hung still in the middle of yielding waves, and now all motions were temporarily at rest. Next to it in a subtle kind of glory: a throne that had not been there before now stood with no shadow cast. Upon which an androgynous figure sat frozen and languid like a perfect picture.
“Cordelia von Jormungandr,” the lips moved, “I come at your behest.”
She turned to face the fey, and studied him mildly. “And alone so.”
“Even as you.” He inclined his head.
“I sent Esme away. I did not think you would come... in this manner.”
“I mislike conducting business in such space and time prone to interference--‘tis a nature of mine trade. Yet a shame all the same. I was fain to meet the Maiden in person - if only in suspension.”
Cordelia smiled mirthlessly. Introducing a demon to the Maiden of God - what a farce that would be. She did not regret the decision to force Esme out on a walk. Even as she had not forgot the nature of her business partner.
He went on: “But let me commend you, Cordelia - if you would take one from the devil,” he lingered at the word with humor, as though reading her mind. “You made the wise choice to employ at last your granted power, and, of course, my offer. ‘Tis a good step in the right direction. How like you it?”
“As wearing a corpse’s filthy garbs. I have need of your counsel.”
“Speak away.”
“Well then.” She whispered the words, and the dark tablet materialized. How such things written and engraved there had changed since that day outside the shack in the forest. Hard to believe it had only been scarce a fortnight since.
image [https://i.ibb.co/nMwP98X/CS-4a.png]
CORDELIA VON JORMUNGANDR
PATRON: Lord of Serpents and Deception
Orb Progression: 15%
Blessing: Shed Skin
Patron Quest: Gain the trust of the Maiden of God
RACE: Snakeling
Orb Progression: 0%
Alignment: Neutral Good (T1)
Racial Ability: Household Protector
Power Capacity: 8/12
Attributes:
Might - F
Masteries - F
Endurance - C
Spirit - F
Perception - D
Charisma - D
Leadership - F
CLASS: Temptress
Orb Progression: 18%
Title: -
Power: Silver Tongue, Forked Tongue, Ethereal Beauty, Detect Holy, The Favored (Privilege), Sedative Miasma, Camouflage
“I studied this thing in earnest since that day... things there were, things there shall be. Things I suspect. The foul things, cheated things, and lies.”
“The Dark Master’s system is nigh flawless,” said Huginn. “It is fair and just, if betimes varied to the patron lord’s preferences.”
“Is it now?” she raised her brow. “I am no child. And this is no game made of goodwill. Do you vouchsafe for it for no reason but that its creator being your master?”
“I offer my unbiased opinion. You think otherwise, speak away.”
“Well, mayhap it was not the Dark Master of yours. Not so much as Jormungandr’s specific system. That only I am cursed with this thing.”
“What thing?”
“I’m coming to that.” She frowned and made a point to expand the section beneath the class orb. At least a dozen previously grayed-out abilities had become available for selection since the two hearts had entered her stomach. And she knew upon making her choices more would become available from a list of hundred others below. “I have gained a greater capacity for powers since consuming those hearts. This was caused by filling the racial orb. And upon the filling of this orb, my race was altered by this blessing called Shed Skin. I had some dark inkling as to the nature of this orb and this blessing in the beginning. Yet there was no innate knowledge built in my soul as with other functions. And so this part confused me at first. But now I suspect it is obscured a-purpose. Well, what say you?”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Only that I have dealt with einherjar with this blessing before. What of it?”
“The way it activates when the orb is filled! You may already know this from dealing with the other feys. But I took the life of a base man and knight, that I devoured their hearts like some comically evil villainess!” There was nothing funny about it. Yet the calmness in the raven galled her greatly.
“You speak of the qualities of their souls,” he said evenly.
“Is that how you call it? And here I was assigning it such lofty meanings: nobility, strength of character, dignity, wisdom, courage, and so forth.”
Huginn sighed, then straightened himself. His gaze sharpened. And she told herself, here at last.
“Can’t you guess why this knowledge was omitted from your making, Cordelia? Why, if Jormungandr had so deliberately installed it for your usage, an ability that should serve you to fare against other einherjar and fulfill her plot?”
“Oh damn you, don’t you dare use the excuse-”
“What you think,” he cut her off, “hardly matters. ‘Tis the truth, and pride alone may do little to gainsay truths. I told you once knowledge could be the undoing of those better off without it. And I tell you now this thing you have unfortunately learned by instinct or keen eyes is one such thing. ‘Tis better to never be known. Down at the essence, you einherjar are playthings of the fey lords, I do not deny. This being one of many ways for them to mold you to their liking, I do not contradict. But have you ever expected otherwise? You do not believe the Serpent when she proclaim perfect freedom for you in this world, so why surprised now?”
“Well,” she sighed, “It is bitter. Seeing from this, only I and a rare few are cursed with this thing--I played into her hand without knowing.”
She looked upon the dark tablet ruefully. And she looked at the racial orb, the thing which denoted her progress in gaining new powers since this world. On her first days in the woods it had been empty. It was much the same now. But the moment before its change, that night at the morgue she had beheld, much disturbing content had whirled within it. A massive portion of glowing light, which could only be assigned to Sir Derrick’s. But also something else, newly gained, which had indicated much accursed treachery in the inner working of this orb, was what she had gained from the guard’s heart: a black, inky billow roughly a fifth in size of the bright glow.
And the worst of her fears the raven had confirmed. That this marked difference in the souls’ influences was more than representational. That this racial orb which represented her growth towards the next stage was being constructed by the natures of the hearts she had consumed. All the virtues, the vices, the strengths, the weaknesses -- all would be inherited. So that even the less desirable sides of a knight, the little goodness in a brute, all should contribute to this orb. And all this had accumulated in a single, unflattering phrase, barren of subtleties and nuances: Neutral Good Alignment, weighed no doubt towards Derrick’s nature in life. Such was how her soul had been described, not by her own values but the things consumed.
Huginn was right. What had she even expected? That she could just be an ‘anti-hero’ - that phrase the World Serpent had so openly mocked - and grow stronger only by vanquishing the evil things coming after her? Here was a safeguard to those who had foolishly dared think this way. For you are what you eat. To get stronger she must eat more hearts, but the more hearts of vile creatures she would consume, the closer she would grow to be like them with each new stage of her racial orb.
“What I do not get,” she said, “is this, suppose I go on from this point to murder only the innocent and eat their hearts in the process, would I then slowly evolve into something good?”
“What do you think? Is the heart something to be purified that way? Do you think one who had killed and relished the act would become good only because they are of a nicer and more sensible race? ‘Tis not so simple.”
“Then...!” a glimmer of hope flashed in her eyes.
“No, Cordelia,” the raven shook his head ruefully, “It is not as you think. Mayhap even as a creature by the alignment of Chaotic Evil or whatever else, you would still be able to preserve yourself as it is now; but how can you be sure? There would always be influences from either side: the heart, the mind, the instinct. And until the day you die, you shall keep wondering: Is this my true desire or something baser not of mine? Is this love, or is it mere craving of the flesh? How much of me is still myself, how much is the corruption of those I assimilated into my heart? You doom yourself the day you become aware of these questions. This shall be your great undoing, your eternal torment! And for this, I pity you. Jormungandr perhaps designed your soul so you would most like not be aware of this. You should have looked upon that orb and thought nothing of its mixed content, at the alignment there as nothing more than an emblematic title, even as humans avert their eyes to do a deed protested by their conscience.”
“Well,” she said defiantly, “You are quick to pronounce doom. I still have the choice to never consume another heart!”
“Then it would be folly again,” he said quietly.
She clicked her tongue, “And my problem. I shall face the dilemma of my future as I see fit. It was your counsel regarding this system’s nature which I asked, not mine!”
But then she had her answer, the nature of her species confirmed. And it was not a gladdening thing.
The raven shrugged. It irked her greatly.
“Very well, I have other business with you, a more pressing need,” she said, “I desire to know the lord of this town, the Knight-marquess Kamaric’s weaknesses.”