Desirea - Malted Memories

 Game date:  3/25/2012

There were exactly three places on Algoron that Desirea could order a drink without being asked to repeat herself.  The pirate's cove brought too many unpleasant memories to mind, and she hated being surrounded by dwarves.  That left Nordmaar.  The whiskey was sometimes palatable, but more often tasted like lamp oil filtered through a syphilitic sailor's spleen.  Either way, it was potent.  More importantly, it was far away from any politics she cared about.  So she bought another cup of the bitter highland malt.

Her thoughts kept returning to the day the Inquisitor was attacked.

-=+=-

A scream echoed through the streets of Abaddon, barely recognizable as human. It carried volumes of outage and anger, perhaps a little shock, but no trace of pain or fear.

"Do you think I have no experience with such tricks?" The shouted words were surprisingly clear.  "I'll take this vision and make it a reality on you!"

Scant moments later, Epistatia staggered into the church, her face ashen and her body shaking.

It had been a vision sent. An invasion of the Inquisitor's mind, and it wasn't supposed to be done. There were laws that forbade any sort of attack from one citizen upon another. Unfortunately, some didn't think the laws applied to them.

Desi watched Epistatia shudder as wave after wave of the vision hit.  The same thing, over and over, she said - her mouth sewn shut by an unidentified man.  Twenty times or more.  None of them could help - not Neziji, not Desirea, not even Epistatia herself - and the one who set the nightmare upon her wasn't likely to assuage it.  But as time passed, the afflicted woman pulled herself together, muttering threats through gritted teeth.

The Wizardess pulled a wooden stake from one of her many purses and pouches.  "May foinest one yet," she told the Inquisitor.  "Boosted eleven toimes."  She handed it over.  "Ay 'opes, iffen that ever 'appens ta may, ay kin bay 'arf so brave abaout it."

-=+=-

Desi pulled a long drink from the cup.  The next part, she knew, would not be so much remembered as...relived.  The thought both terrified and comforted her.

-=+=-

The room was suddenly freezing.  At least the elf thought it was.  Considering recent events, and her oh-so-foolishly words just now spoken, she thought she'd better check.

"Nezi? Is it colder in 'ere, ayr izzit just may?" she whispered.  Both the other women verified that the temperature had indeed dropped, and continued to do so.  All pulled their clothing tighter in a vain attempt to hold their bodies' heat in place.

A dark fog entered the chamber.  "Ay fink...summat's 'appenin'," she said.  So this was it, she thought. So soon after its attack on Epistatia, the rogue vampire was coming for her.  I hope I can handle it.  Let my mind not break.  Let it not know of my time on that damned ship...

The shadowy mist seemed to grow eyes - two bright, tiny spots of light, and moved straight toward the Wizardess.  Just as it reached her, it vanished, although from the cold Desirea felt, she'd swear that it went right through her.  Desirea's companions stared at her.  No, not at her...at some point above and behind her.

Neziji asked, "Desi?  Alright?" but the words were lost among a thousand other voices, entering the elf's mind directly, without so much as a by-your-leave to her ears.  "Servant," they said in unison.  Thousands of throats commanded by a single will. "You. Use. Mistress' gifts. SHE grants. You. Strength."

Desirea knew that Nezi had spoken, but the knowledge was abstract, somehow not real when compared to the universe that seemed to be pushing the boundaries of her mind to the breaking point.  Helplessly, she shook her head, trying to focus on her friend's face, and the voices continued.  Some screamed.  Some whispered.  Some howled.  Some hissed.  The words formed from different parts of the universe, as if she were drowning and the sea itself were speaking to her.  "Mistress. Is. Pleased. With her... Servants."

This couldn't be a vampire's nightmare sending.  Everyone who had endured that attack said that it was always the same vision, repeating.  This was...something else.  Something that Desirea felt she had to answer.  Her voice a trembling whisper, she said to the void, "The gifties ayr moin in this loif. Ay'm 'ers in th' afters."

Even as she said it, she knew that she was a beat behind. The voices filling her mind had moved away from that point, but she couldn't help herself.  It was the ancient pact.  The servant of Drakkara is granted power, to do with as she will.  And when life fled, the power is returned - along with the servant herself, and whatever she had built from the gift.  Desirea's teacher had drilled it into her.  Use the power. Return it with interest. It became a mantra, to be repeated in times of doubt.  Let no one question your right do do what you will.  To take what you will.  And at this moment, Desirea was filled with such doubt as she'd never felt before.

But the legion of voices didn't seem to be questioning her at all.  A word at a time, they continued to speak.  "yesss. In. Time. You will become. One. With. Us. THE Dark Servant."

Still, she had to complete the mantra, if only to reassure herself.  "Thass the dayl. Nobody tykes me from 'er." 

The current and former Inquisitor continued to hover, concerned, but they might as well have been ghosts for all that Desirea noticed.  "She's...  I think she's alright, for now," Neziji was saying.  Her voice, which Desirea normally found so warm, rich, and full of undertones, now seemed flat in comparison with the host.

"Now. You. Will. Exhalt. Her. She deserves. Praise. In Abbadon"

There it was. A command. A holy quest.  Some people hoped, prayed for exactly this opportunity their entire lives and never got one.  Desi had never considered herself destined for anything - never sought such favor.  Hells, even when she swore, she was as likely to profane one god's name as another.  Yet, here she was, with a holy quest, and it was...impossible.  Exhalt Drakkara in Fatale's own kingdom?  She might as well waltz into the Vallenwood and claim the Crown of Stars.  Desi's fingertips began to ache from the cold.  She put her hands under her arms.

The noiseless cacophany continuted.  "Many Gifts... she Bestows. To. Her. Childs. Servants."

Still a step behind, the woman asked - nay, pled, "'ow can ay do tha? Th'ovver owns this plyce. 'is faythful run it."

The Wizardess began to feel warmer...much warmer, despite the freeze in the air. No, this heat originated from within.  Deep within her being, that special place outside space and time from whence flowed the source of her magic - that was burning with the fire of the sun.  Of a thousand suns.  Desirea burned inside her own skin.  As she loosened her clothing, a million miles away two finite, flat voices conferred.

"What is she saying?" someone said through chattering teeth.

"You really don't understand her?" a familiar voice replied.

"I'll be honest," said the other.  "I've only ever understood about a tenth of what she says... I tend to piece it together based on others reactions."

The air suddenly thickened...or was it maybe the darkness?  All the thousands of voices united ... the power of the thousand suns united... into a single command: "SILENCE!"  The force of the word drove Desirea to her knees.  Stunned, she dropped her bright pink jacket.  The flat voices fell away.

"Continue. Serve. This. Place," the Legion continued, once again in the halting, wavelike pattern.  "Make. Tribute. To. Our. Mistress. Make others KNOW. Where... Your. Gifts... Originate."

Desirea wanted to heartily agree, but all she could do was laugh with hysterical relief as the dark mists receded, taking with it the shouting, whispering, howling Legion.

-=+=-

As the experience faded once again to memory, Desi wiped her brow and shivered, then drained her cup.

The first thing she'd done was take a last name.  She'd only ever had the one name, and no memory of a family before the ship.  But now she knew exactly who she was.  Desirea Legion. 

Then she signed that name to a public proclamation of Drakkara's approval. Of Desirea, of Abaddon, of all that had been accomplished by the people of this kingdom.

Baby steps, really.  But a start.

And now?

Now that might be as far as it went.  Because, holy quest or not, Desi could not bring herself to blindly follow just any fool who thought he could lead a rebellion.  The priests were going to set back nearly everything that had been accomplished, by both Vaedryn and Sereb.  And she was getting the strong impression that, if they ran things, she would not be welcome here once Fatale's tenets became the law of the land.

She blinked back a tear and ordered another cup of whiskey.  She didn't really feel ready to die, but if that was the penance for failing her goddess, then that was just how it would have to be.