====== Desert Ascension ====== {{:game_systems:pathfinder2e:blood_lords:characters:tm2.png?400|}} ==== Choice ==== The heavy oak doors of Berline’s estate in Graydirge swung inward, revealing an alien and altogether unexpected sight to Tsekani. The grand hall, normally bustling with an endless supply of servants and guests, was eerily silent with just a bare few attendants in the shadows. Berline’s massive dining table displayed the familiar bounty of delicacies – roasted meats, glistening fruits, fragrant savory dishes and a selection of the finest libations, inviting yet untouched. Two places were set with a lavish array of finery: jeweled cutlery, forks, spoons, crystal glassware, platters and bowls of every size all polished to a harsh gleam. Seated at one was Berlin herself, next to her an empty chair. With a practiced smile she gestured to Tsekani and as he settled in she cleared the room with a glance, those few in the wings quickly shuffled off, leaving only quiet echoes. She began with her normal sunny cadence, //“Please, indulge, this may be your last opportunity to do so for… some time” //, her manner contemplative, not threatening, as she swirled crimson wine absent-mindedly in one hand. Staving off any reaction with a slender hand, // “Please allow me to explain” //. // “My investigations, based on the information you and your companions have uncovered, has revealed a plot that goes..“ //, her gaze unconsciously darted around the room, as if checking for unseen ears before continuing, // “.. well, it might go to the very heart of Geb, if you’ll pardon the expression” // //“There is foul upheaval coming, change the like of which will be bad for everyone… not prepared, this plot to murder so many has deep roots and influential conspirators,” // she paused, gathering her thoughts,//“It has come to my attention that your friends have caught the eye of the court of Mechitar”//. //“This plot is the result of long effor and have a great deal of momentum. It’s going to require a large, abrupt and violent effort to stop. I will need allies, some I have”//, she paused, her voice dropping a bit before looking directly at Tsekani, //“and some I need to make”// //“You are to be Blood Lords.”//, she said, matter-of-factly. //“Don’t look so shocked, this has been a long time in coming, your efforts and deeds have not gone unnoticed and there have been whisperings”//, she smiles a bit to herself, //“..aided by some cooperative whisperers, of course.”// //“I’ll come right to it, we need to accelerate the whispering into action, The court of Geb has several emissaries the primary of which is Grand Marshall Dizonn Dizuul, getting noticed by her means getting noticed by the court and what has been the shadow of a suggestion will become the next step in ending this plot, the appointment of four new Blood Lords”// //“She is influential, powerful… and a mummy”//, Berline says this last with curious overtone, //“It is an open secret that she despises all living and most undead, but suffers the company of others who have.. experienced… what she has.. far more cordially”//. Berlin paused to take in Tsekani’s reaction. Taking a bit of a breath as she pressed on, //“It has been suggested to me by our local church heads that you would be an excellent candidate for ascension, actually ‘suggested’ is a gross understatement, they have been begging me to hand you over”//. //“I’m going to ask you to take this path, travel to Mechitar with a missive on my behalf and convince Dizonn Dizuul that you and your fellows are worthy of the puffery that has surrounded you, I’m quite confident you will jump to the head of the line”//, Berline sighs, //“I’m not going to force you. I’m sending you to Mechitar as my representative, you are the best choice believe it or not.”// //“To hear the church tell it, the power respect and honor this ritual will impart is quite the rare privilege”// //“you’re welcome,”// it’s almost a question. ==== Fear ==== Fear. It was all he’d known. Born in the pits, you knew what death was before you learned to even speak. Death that comes in the night from your fellows, from the masters of the pits or just blind random chance, the fear is always there. Fear keeps your wits sharp, gives you the speed to duck and run. Until you can’t run, until you can’t hide. Then fear has a new lesson: strength. The strength to steal the food first, to fight off your fellows, to fight off the predators. Fear tells you that you will die if you don’t fight back. Pain was a fast second lesson. Avoiding pain is a fool’s dream in this world, so pain must be made into a great teacher. Pain teaches you to dodge the blade you can see, hear the claws you cannot. To take the hit so that it won’t kill you, to remind you how long it’s been since you were last able to steal a bite of meat. Berline said it was a request, but the mighty always think they are just asking. The real meaning is plain; Fear opens many an eye to such understanding. Even still he could see the necessity of it, the cruel, cold calculation. He will go a dull blade, or he will go a sharp blade, but the weapon will go to Mechitar Tsekani was taken before the assembled luminaries from the Church of Urgathoa, //“A perfect specimen!”//, they cooed. //“Much work to do, much to harvest!”//, poked, prodded and measured like so much meat, Tsekani had to hold himself back from striking out. Fear and pain had taught him well, too well. The crowd parted as High Priest Hezekias approached, his lichdom obvious under his tattered finery, his voice a harsh but firm whisper, //“Stop.”// It sounded like it was finding its way out of a pile of old parchment. //“He is needed in Mechitar now, we don’t have the 70 days required to perform the ritual correctly.”// Wails of protest erupted. //“You would break the sacred rituals?!”, “blasphemy!”, “any deviation will fail!!”, “a waste!”// He Turned to Tsekani with a rueful, hungry gaze, //“No, there is another way.”//, glowing eyes scanned the heavily muscled physique, //“I know you, monk, your mental and physical control have been honed through years of training and combat, yes. I can see you are already enchanted to accept necrotic energies to restore your tissues. Yes, yes! I know another way. We bring you to the Desert! Yes! The Land itself will take you and decide!”// Murmurs of dismay, //“Blood Lord Berline will have our souls if we ruin her tool!”//. Hezekias’ glowing blue eyes burned like stars, fixing his subject in place, searching his soul, //“Well, boy? This will be your greatest fight yet, against Death itself, yes. Against this accursed Land as it tries to take from you every last scrap and leave you just another husk. Or can you snatch back your fleeing Ka and Ba and force them back together, yes? Still, there is much to prepare. Yes, much to do! Oh what honor shall be yours!”// The next few days went by in a blur.. One last night with Anatalla before the ritual purifications. Those lingering moments more painful than he thought they would be. The simple pleasure of a lingering touch, he tried to fix it in his mind. Then came the vile tinctures and foul unguents. He knew they were all poisons but each dose was relentless, each an ever greater pain of Unlife, force fed while rituals were performed, prayers chanted, spells woven. Honors indeed. For this to work the body must be saturated with necrotic energies. Hieroglyphics were painted over every inch of the body to trap the soul in a prison of flesh as the desiccation and starvation took their toll. The complex invocation that must be memorized and repeated perfectly and continuously, mind and soul. Pain. Fear. After a week Tsekani’s wasted body was taken into the Great Desert, to a place the necrotic energies had gathered. Tsekani forced his body into a meditation position, bones like dry branches, skin like scorched leather, the sun a brutal hammer. After drinking the last foul potion and a final Oil of Unlife, a mixture of vinegar, brine and far more exotic ingredients drenched him as Hezekias cast a spell, calling up a great sandstorm. Tskeani could barely hear or feel the scouring sand as he was buried, his mind perfectly focussed on saying the prayer over and over again. The pain was persistent but the fear kept the words clear in his mind as the Desert pressed in, and down, and around. Pain. Fear. //“…kan…”// Dryness more overwhelming than the Desert itself. //“can…y....hear…”// Emptiness, a yawning chasm nothing could hope to fill. //“where..”// Movement. Rushing liquid. Life. The sands burst forth. Tsekani was the Desert. Scouring, swirling, coursing sand was all his body could feel, apart from a horrible thirst. He would never know peace. //“TSEKANI!”// A woman’s scream. The dull pain of a knife. Memories. This knife again, slashing. A fight in a cottage, letting her live. Fighting bandits beside Blake. Beermaking? Zaheri taunting the hag in a lecture hall. The roar of Sebastian’s pistol as it exploded from his hand, Berline’s offer. The Mission. The girl my hands are choking. Memories of pleasure filled nights as blood and sand whipped around. //“An..Anatalla?”// A dry, hollow voice from cracked lips. Then it stops. Tsekani’s head clears slowly as his sanity returns. He drops the limp body of the woman he had been killing only a moment before, his bloody hands expanding and lightening back to bronze. //“Fascinating. You stopped yourself from killing her.”//, Hezekias was thirty paces away, too close. In his stance reflexively Tsekani was upon him without consciously covering the distance, a blizzard of sand and fury, //“You brought her here. Placed her before me knowing I would emerge maddened and hungry.”// At first Hezekias struggled to make a sound but quickly composed himself. //“A month has passed, the necrotic energies here were fading, yes. You must have succeeded in absorbing and incorporating the energies of this place into yourself but would you come back as a Lord or just another mindless foot soldier? She was the best chance to trigger your memories as you Awoke.”// The blow was as fast as it was brutal, Hezekias would live. Probably. The other priests rushed to attend him, Tsekani could now see that a substantial tent city had been erected nearby. //“She was not yours to take.”// Angry shouts arose now as weapons were drawn but a cackle cut them off. With some assistance Hezekias dragged himself back to his feet, raising an arm to calm the throng. //“A Pharaoh will kill to defend his kingdom, yes? Good, good.”//, turning painfully to one of the acolytes he continued, //“Inform Berline that the young Lord has returned to us whole and hale. The Ascension was successful, yes! Now, back to Greydirge with you. You must be dressed as one more befitting your new station, yes?”// He barely heard, focused on Anatalla his trained eye could see she was hurt but not severely. He commanded a nearby acolyte, //“Treat her wounds, she needs water.”// Anatalla scoffed a bit and smiled as she looked up at Tsekani, //“Not your fault, my love. It will be my privilege to be your companion, you are my desert sun and I will never need shade.”// //“Perhaps soon, but not yet”//, He answered. The acolyte scurried quickly to her side, //“Yes, my Lord”//. Being addressed that way felt wrong, especially because it was sincere. Tsekani looked down at his hands, they looked no different from before, but this would not last, already the pain came, trying to consume the false life. This pain and hunger will be constant companions now, as implacable and unending as the desert itself, yet familiar. For the first time Tsekani wasn’t afraid. Death is a burden of the living. Now he is the Fear.