Rain Harlow
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Chapter 35: To Entertain a Masquerade
🕑 Added 2023-07-19 06:34:16 +0000 UTCImmediately, Samantha felt it.
Felt an intrinsic change within her, from the domain access, from an aspect and concept of reality opening up, from the link through the class surging up, drawing her into it like an irresistible suggestion. A thousand different faces cast slightly in another light, a million reflections draped in new shadows stared back at her, tempting and teasing every conception of what she could be. And what they could be.
Anything. Anywhere. She was all of them, she was each, she was the mask of masquerade every soul put on to control the easily altered delusions of the mortal mind. Puppet strings of potentiality curling through their domains, centralizing to her, the queen of the concept. The wielder of their perception.
It was something like a dream though — or maybe half a nightmare — as like a mirage on the horizon, like a dancing phantom harlequin, it fled as quickly as it came. Mostly, that is.
She blinked up at the multitude of stars beyond the mirrors because there was something different about them. Winking, pulsing at her. When she focused, she heard whispers, thoughts out of the blue. If she focused on them, sought them out, she could hear them.
Strangers. The prayers of strangers for facades — not to any gods, but could mortal minds help wishing to the heavens for aid? How many tasted the likelihood of failure and wished for an edge? Begged the cosmos for a goddamned break?
A man facing his superior for an accusation he was guilty of, hoping to lie his way out, hoping to be an actor for one spell of time in his miserable life. He knew he would choke, but he hoped that mask would fit just once.
A woman applying a disguise just as Azure did, making herself up as a man to fool herself into their midst, wishing she was better at it, wishing she had the nerve. But Samantha could know no more… she abandoned the ‘silly’ dream. She gave up, and her star dimmed back behind the mass.
More sparse fragments of things, hints of whispered wishes and desires against the cruelty of fate. Things she might grant.
Sammy found that she was standing, turning from star to star, somewhat bewildered. “This is how it would be, wouldn’t it? If we could just answer without fear, execute our role as desired…”
But when she shifted her ‘ear’ regionally — focused on the Southlands and heard the sparser but present slivers of wishes — she wondered if she were so restricted. The Dominion had no sway… but surely they had spies. Which could inform on a new goddess linked to mirrors.
“What if I made a mask? Could I be another goddess, with another face and name and gain the benefits without exposing Samantha? System, can I have aliases like this?”
Yes. While normally a higher-level function, the Illusion domain allows you to present multiple aspects if desired, such as different deities to different peoples, and collect it all to a central persona. You still have a true form and essence detectable by various high-level means.
After creating your true form avatar, you may also fashion different physical appearances or ‘faces’ for a reduced FE cost. This is more durable as a disguise than a simple illusion.
Sammy grinned. “Righteous. Though weird.” And she still felt an answering sense of caution.
The Dominion might realize the connection if they found a goddess of mirrors and illusion, after one of illusion was found in the Southlands. And a sudden public deity would still put their backs up. But two separate secret cults… that was worth considering. She could handle the two aspects differently, and hedge her bets as a whole.
Alright, let's take a look at this power…
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Create Illusion
You may cloak yourself in a realistic illusion at-will, functioning as an adaptable disguise. For this disguise, you must retain the same basic shape, limbs, layout, etcetera, of your avatar, i.e. a human must remain humanoid. Size and apparent mass must vary no more than 30% from Avatar. Reasonable equipment may be added. Nothing is actually real.
Once per day for free, or for 1 FE (Illusion) or 2 FE, you may create illusory constructs within (5 meters x level) all around you, as visually and auditorily desired, for up to (10 minutes x level), changeable at will during this period. These illusions have no physical effects, and their believability is determined by highest class comparison, creativity, and various circumstantial modifiers as logical (i.e. unreasonable illusions won’t be believed except by the gullible).
Class comparison gives 1 extra level to total deity levels. Base classes to channel for creation can be [Goddess], [Bard], [Rogue], [Wizard], or some special classes. One additional class may add as normal, providing (level/3, rounded up) to the base class.
Illusions ‘disbelieved’ do not disappear without special abilities on the part of the victim, and therefore are not ‘unseen’ or ‘unheard,’ merely realized to not be real or tangible. Otherwise, it seems real to the victim until evidence presents otherwise. It does not, however, ‘make it real.’
This ability grants additional upgrades to capabilities with higher [Goddess] levels.
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Well, well, won’t that be fun for Avatar use? Or through a Holy Relic, maybe. The world won’t even know what hit it! Looney Tunes, memes, ah… well, I guess I should take it a little more seriously most of the time for the sake of believability. Anyway, let’s see this other thing…
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Grant Prayer (Illusion)
3 times per day, or for 1 FE (to a total maximum of 10+level times per day), you may grant aid to any mortal conducting in matters connected to your [Illusion] domain. This adds 1 Effective Class Level for the purposes of the request and can remove circumstantial negative modifiers to the success of a task (i.e. from lacking proper tools).
The mortal will sense a divine presence granting the boon, and a nascent two-way communication will persist for 24 hours (at the same level as an initial Follower).
Only one such Prayer Boon buff may persist on a target and this is not compatible with a Religious Experience buff. Either will cancel the other.
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“Why don’t I have this for Mirrors, Sys?”
[Mirrors] is not given Grant Prayer as a trade-off for enhanced communicative and informational access for a Fledgling Deity. It would also be awkward in direct conceptual meaning.
“So this is the mechanism most deities would have to begin getting Followers. Hearing the relevant mortal prayer and answering. Am I worldwide with this?”
There is a regional focus aspect and there is a cultural familiarity aspect. You won’t hear prayers strange to you within the framework of your identity. If you want to expand elsewhere, you have to gain contact with that region and familiarity with the culture. Mortals will also sense alienness from a deity.
“Ah. Hence the separate aspects of deities. If I wanted to be the minotaur Goddess of Illusion, I’d need to do as the minotaurs do, learn all their shit, and then craft a minotaur version of myself based on that knowledge, to fool them. Right?”
Hypothetically, yes. A Pantheon of deities means you must also understand the Pantheon to emulate them, or else it will be obvious you are an outsider, while if you intrude in pretension to be a part of it, it will be difficult not to be outed.
Sammy snickered. “Right, not a good idea to muscle in on a Pantheon’s territory without going through them, or bring the whole thing down on you.”
Her mind began to wander a bit, and the titillation of the whispers while on the throne began to get too much, so Sammy went back to her house.
This is a lot to take in and process…
Her Followers were mostly gearing for rest and she wanted to put off the Precepts stuff a little longer, so she opted to go for binging on runebooks. The wizard level was going to be useful for her illusions on top of everything else.
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Outside the castle at Dakenstor in the grasslands under the dominion of Baron Gerehart, Osten waited atop his horse as one and the same baron approached with his two lackeys, the sun having just set behind their approach. Further back were more men, eying events carefully.
The Baron was a pinch-faced, immaculately bearded, slightly pudgy man who oozed sleaziness somehow, which reminded Osten far too much of his mother for his liking. Wanting to stab the guy you needed payment from was not favorable, unless of course one could get away with stabbing afterward, but sadly that was not in the cards.
Lackey Number 1 was just a typical shithead captain type frowning at everything like it could sprout problem daggers in the instant he missed a motion. Irrelevant.
Lackey Number 2 in his brown robes was definitely not. Bald and slightly pudgy in exactly the same way as Gerehart, the wizard Yamboro was new to the parts and rumored to be formidable, though he didn’t look it. He seemed bored with the world, looking off towards a turning windmill like it might somehow entertain him further.
And he was sweating. He’d been sweating the last two times Osten had seen the man. Did he ever not sweat? Who knew.
The baron drew rein nearby along with the lackeys, eyeing Osten with a pompous grin, then cleared his throat and said, “Is this really all necessary, Captain? Do you think I’d ruin my fine reputation with such upstanding citizens as yourselves by dirty double crossings in my own castle? Please. I’m always good for the gold I promise. To the very copper.”
“Don’t take it as an insult,” Osten replied simply. “Just being cautious ‘bout a deal made with a dead boss. That also had snags.” But we need this fucking gold… it’s just too much to pass on. Even if he deducts a bit like I sent was fair.
Gerehart’s smile faded and he sighed. “Yes. A tragedy to hear the very King of Murder was murdered. But so it goes. How did that fool Orswyth manage it?”
Osten shifted uncomfortably on his saddle. “Magic, obviously. Some insane buffs. Something with a little square. Turned him into a demon. And stopped a wound at the right time. And… he had some magic mirror. Or haunted. Not sure what it had to do with it, but it was doing some illusion shit. Annoying more than anything.”
“A magic mirror?” Gerehart laughed incredulously as he spoke. “That sounds ridiculous.” After a pause of consideration, he shrugged. “Well, he got away, regardless. Not that it matters much. His squandered land will still be mine. And a nasty surprise will find him in his sleep eventually.”
Yamboro had almost gotten interested in the subject, eyes on the ground at the horse’s hooves. But not quite. He seems like a damned imbecile sometimes. Fuck.
“I’d love to be the one to do it,” Osten said, “but I think I want to have seen the last of him for a lifetime.”
“And so you will have!” Gerehart snapped his fingers over at the captain type, who angled his horse over and pulled out a sturdy-looking pack decorated with stones, handing it to Osten like it was the last thing he wanted to do.
It was heavy and chinked inside. Yes!
“What did you deduct? Thirty percent?”
“Nothing!” Baron Gerehart declared with a resplendent grin. Well, maybe he wasn’t so sleazy after all. “It’s a small price to pay for land and satisfaction, you know. And we have to honor a king’s death correctly, I say.”
“Mmn, well, I can’t argue.” Osten smiled a roguish, black-toothed smile. His sore teeth barely even hurt right then.
“We’ll be off now. Don’t spill all your ill-gotten gains in one place, mercenary.”
“Oh, no promises there, m’lord.”
Osten returned to his waiting merc guardsmen and bowmen delivering the good news, then they all delivered more back at their camp. Celebrations commenced well into the night.
But after they were all asleep but for the sentries, the ground under all of them — under feet and bodies and tents and gear — fell out from under them. The earth rose up and buried them, swallowed them, section by section… Some managed to wake in time to hear the roiling and rumbling, to see the land rise as though alive up over them… Some managed to scream — briefly.
Some even had enough time to run, but to little avail, as the earth was a claw dragging them down. It seemed to feel them moving and did not let them get away.
Whether buried alive or crushed quickly and mercifully, soon all were dead to the man.
The pack of gold, on the other hand, merely spilled a mite. It was right as rain.
In the night some distance away, lying spread-eagled and sweating in the dirt, a robeless and shirtless ‘wizard’ in just his breeches was smiling with his eyes closed. Glowing tattoos of runes coated almost every part of his skin. He felt it all happening, felt the struggles and the crushed bodies, and he enjoyed it, savored it, as the prey had no protections or counters.
He was happy and he was entertained — finally.
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