DM POST: The Cullers

His news would be received well and certainly with a matter of urgency so there was little time for formalities. He pushed his way through the large double doors his eyes glowing as two points of light in the gloomy hall. He pushed past the guards, ignoring their commands to halt as he made his way straight to the High Culler’s chair. Dipping a brief bow he delivered his message: “We have located another, sir. A proper and prompt response is necessary”

Azachinus sat back on his dais, the news evoking little or no response. Many had claimed that they had found another; few have ever proven substantiated claims.  Giving the declaration the proper amount of time he responded with an even tone. “You are certain of this”?

“Without any trace of doubt”

“What proof do you offer”?

“We have always kept tabs for the signs. Besides the usual presences detected on this plane, the Flayers, as well as those of less than exemplary power; we have found one that is strong—“.

“That alone is not proof. You know this. What else is there?” Azachinus interrupted him.

“Apologies, I should have begun with the proof first. He is human, we know this for certain. He is the only one with the gift in that region. He currently resides within the remote city, Zarcharis-Taoul.”

“A wretched place by all accounts”, huffed Azachinus, disdain clearly evident in his voice,  “Yet, this is still not verification; even if he be the only being manifesting the capabilities that does not prove anything. What of his lineage? Do we know his Sire, his Grandsire or any of his heritages beyond that? I have little confidence that one could be born in that city and possess the discipline necessary to achieve even a spark of psionic capability, regardless of their family, but let us hear it nonetheless.”

“In all honesty it is this information that should have precluded the rest and stands as the greatest example of our need for intercession”

Growing impatient with the informant, Azachinus heaved a great sigh before consenting, “Go on then”.

“Sir, he has no lineage”

“You mean to say that he has no parents, that he is simply an orphan?” His glowing eyes narrowed as he directed the next sentence directly at the informant, “Things of this nature can still be researched and determined with enough time and dedication”.

He hadn’t missed the insult directed at him. He knew well that he was beginning to annoy the High Culler, an act that was both incredibly difficult and somewhat dangerous to do. Still, he stood resolute and the informant shook his head profoundly, a motion that further intrigued the High Culler. “No. I mean to say he has no relatives here on this plane, or anywhere else that we can tell. We have inquired from sources in this plane and beyond, even summoning other entities to gather information for us. Nothing substantial could be found except a scroll that was addressed to the Council. We found it in a goblin warren, spoils of a long ago raid. Even this scroll seems to indicate that he appears to have just… manifested… for lack of a better word”

Further intrigued, Azachinus held out his hand for the scroll.

“The scroll also came with this, we believe, as we found the two attached within the goblin horde”. The informant held aloft a blue silk bag, sagging with what appeared to be a heavy object within. Azachinus sat in long thought, pondering over the scroll and the information presented to him. This news was indeed particularly interesting. Reports of this kind were not unheard of but nevertheless, rather rare. He leaned forward, his glowing eyes locking those of the informant as he waved his hand to indicate that he should continue.

Growing more eager with every passing second, the informant, no longer able to contain himself, pressed the point further, “He must be gathered. There can be no doubt of what he can be, even if there is doubt of what he is. He is strong; already he demonstrates great power, even without the rituals.”

Azachinus stood up from the chair upon the dais and descended. He placed his hand upon the informant’s shoulder before issuing his response, “Dispatch The Cullers to Zarcharis-Taoul. You, Teferil, shall lead them, since you seem so eager to see this come to pass.  Bring him back here to us and we shall see if this….”

“Ricin”

“An appropriate name, very well, we shall how long this “Ricin” will cling to his mortal coil”

DM POST: THE SOUL RING

The Three Sisters

Zorah entered her tiny dwelling and closed the door, weariness pervading every cell of her body. She flopped onto the bed and stared up at the cracked ceiling, wondering what the morrow would bring. For once, she wasn't frightened that her husband would find her. She was simply too tired.

After taking a few slow breaths to relax, Zorah sat up and stared out the window. One of her fingers found a hole in the thin, dusty comforter and worried it absently. She needed to decompress.

In the wooden trunk at the foot of the bed, Zorah had managed to collect a small supply of artist's materials. She leaned over and opened the lid, inhaling the scents of oil pigment and turpentine. A piece of stiff parchment served as her canvas, and soon Zorah was engrossed in producing a portrait of her youngest sister, Autumn.

Zorah, Autumn, and their eldest sister, Celia, had grown up in a country estate, away from all the pomp and circumstance of the city. Their mother had insisted, even though their father, Lord Kaspar, had his offices in town. Their mother knew what dangers lay in the city and wanted to keep her daughters as far away as possible.

Unfortunately, after her death, the three girls had no choice but to move into their father's townhouse and make do with the noise, filth, and questionable practices of the politicians and merchants who ran the city.

Autumn shocked everyone by being the first to leave - she caught a ship bound for the other side of the world, and while Lord Kaspar went white with fury at the mere mention of his rebellious daughter's name, Zorah knew it had been his fault that Autumn had left.

Celia married into a religious family who kept above the moral filth in the city by leaving it for the countryside. Zorah envied Celia her luck, but of course could not hope for the same.

Zorah was the last to leave. She had determined to skip town just like Autumn and make her own fortune as an artist (which was expressly against Lord Kaspar's wishes) when her fate made itself clear. Her father became entangled with a secretive group of officials and when he could not extricate himself cleanly, he offered up his last daughter as payment.

Count Orreq must have been part Boneclaw...Zorah never remembered him without shuddering at his grotesque, claw-like hands and skeletal frame. He showered her with pretty flowers, compliments, and jewelry, but underneath there was a revolting slug with an unquenchable thirst.

Zorah had never told anyone the reason she'd left. She supposed her friends had thought he'd beaten her or treated her harshly. She never revealed that she'd left because he had appetites she refused to satisfy.

She shook herself out of the unpleasant memories and gazed sadly down at the portrait of her darling sister. Where was she now? Was she safe? Did she have companions she could rely on? As for herself, she wasn't sure how safe she was here, and as for reliable companions...well, she'd just have to wait and see.