More “pawns” related fluff for you, inspired by Obsidian Portal’s birthday contest.
The contest’s goal is to incorporate a holiday into your game. While we aren’t currently running, I figured I could at least give some fluff.
April 30, 2073
Cerra didn’t like this at all but she had no choice. The sun had set and she was wandering through the woods with only a couple (rather large) “dogs” for company. She could faintly smell the scent of fire in the distance, and she undoubtedly would see the signs if she chose to engage her astral sight. The thought of viewing the astral on this night sent shivers down her spine, they would be out in force.
Not only that, but she was going to see one of her least favorite “associates”. Daemon was even worse than that blue haired decker who was trying to steal what was hers. Daemon was always surrounded by monsters, hell, he was one himself. Touching her dagger for reassurance Cerra briefly relished the thought of banishing him from this plane before sighing and admitting to herself they he had his uses. Plus He would be displeased if anything happened to the Devil.
Walking on Cobolt let out a slight whine to let Cerra know they were getting closer. The scent of the fires grew stronger and in the distance the first hints of light could be seen. The sound of chanting could also be heard and the voices made her skin crawl. The two dogs both tensed, the fur on their backs bristling, but they continued on. The inhuman voices and their harsh guttural language was like glass in a blender. It had a vaguely German sound but felt far older.
They approached the clearing and both dogs abruptly stopped. Cobolt simply sat down and looked at Cerra expectantly. Fenrir, still a young dog, sniffed and paced as if following a wall before marking and returning to Cerra. She then gave the stay command, took a deep breath, and walked through the ward around the ritual circle in the clearing. There was enough power here that it felt like an electric shock and sparks visibly danced over her foci even though they were inactive. On crossing the boundary Cerra was assailed by the heat inside the clearing, sweat almost immediately beginning to form despite the chill of the night.
Swarms of imp-like creatures tended fires at each compass point of the clearing and in the center a bonfire blazed inside three circles of stone. Each individual stone was carefully placed and intricately carved. The runes glowed with an unearthly green light that added a sickening tinge to the fire. In front of the bonfire was an ancient looking stone stand with an evil looking black leather book on top. Dancing around the fire, tail whipping, was the one Cerra had come to see, the demon known as Daemon. Naked, except for a knife at his hip, his deep voice contrasted with that of the chanting spirits at each compass point. The language was the same, but rather than the sound of glass, it was a deep vibration felt in the bones.
Cerra waited patiently as the ceremony went on until finally the fires flared up, blindingly bright. Before her eyes could recover Daemon was in front of her, his inhuman eyes staring into her own. She almost jerked back, it was all she could do to resist breaking out of the circle. She managed to find her voice and spoke the script “On this most powerful of nights, I come seeking thine aid.”
He replied in the dark language of his ritual, the words themselves meaningless to her ears but the meaning echoing in her mind. “Slayer of Souls, seeking help from Me and Mine, what lies speak Thee this Walpurgisnacht?” His gaze intensified as he spoke as if he were reading her soul.
“The need is True. Only Mine Enemy can charge thee spell.” With that she reverently presented a small mechanical gear. “The Magick grows weak for what must be done.”
“Thou shall pay the price.” Speaking in the same mystical language, the words were spoken as if an undeniable truth.
Cerra nodded as he motioned towards the fire. She carefully removed her clothing, leaving only her foci, before approaching the blaze. She held out the gear from earlier as if it were an offering to the flame and waited. Daemon’s voice soon the resumed chanting. The spirits joined in and the sound grew in power and force. The energy gathered around her like a storm and compelled her into fire.
As the first tendrils of flame touched her skin her world filled with pain, intensifying until she fell into nothingness.
The next morning the sound of birds brought wakefulness. Opening her eyes the sun was just creeping into the sky. Fenrir slept near her, keeping her warm, while Cobolt sat listening to the world. Struggling to her feet her left arm burned with pain as the motion caused her bracelet to shift and touch her wrist. Her armband was surrounded with a low throb of pain and there was a wicked looking burn on her hip by her dagger. She gingerly walked over to her clothes and put them back on before weakly followed the dogs as they led her home.
- Magick 101 by Creaks
- As I am sure you are all aware, many “Magick” (with a K) rituals felt that clothing hindered the flow of energy. It wasn’t until modern times with the study of Magic (no K) that the opinion largely changed.