It was a dark, cold, and rainy night in the city of Passage, in the Continent of Khorvaire. A young boy, barely the age of 11, scavenges for a make-shift blanket in an alleyway, trying to stay warm. A small fire, lit inside of a metal barrel his only warmth. His clothes tattered, his stomach growling like a raging demon, young Rith sits in the cold contemplating his situation, and how he had gotten here.
Rith was orphaned at the age of 8. His mother, Ravennekah, was a soldier. A casualty in the war with the Lord of Blades. He had never known his father. After his mother's death, Rith was placed in a boy's home. But sufficed to say, such places are rarely the ideal place for a boy to grow up. Rith was tormented by the other boys relentlessly, he was always small and frail compared to the others around him. It wasn't the fights, or the name-calling that drove him from the orphanage, however.
It was his mischevious nature. Rith loved to cause chaos. He couldn't explain it? Perhaps some latent compulsion? Perhaps some instinctual drive to cause as much havok as he possibly could. His actions were never malicious, however, they were "all in good fun." But no family would take him. And after spending three years in the Orphanage, he was thrown out onto the streets to fend for himself.
As Rith shivered in the bitter cold, he happened to gaze outside of the alley. He was hiding behind the house of a wealthy old man, a Merchant, trying to scavenge scrapes of food from the dumpster. That's when he saw the boy, young, handsome, in clothes of Regal Finery step out of a carriage that had pulled up to the front gate.
This boy was the epitome of arrogance. He spoke down to his servants as a breeder would talk down to a mutt dog. "Whelp", "Knave", "Peasant". These were the words he threw about to his "lessers."
It was at that moment, with sadness in his heart, that Rith closed his eyes.
"Sometimes, just sometimes...I wish I could be him."
In that moment, Rith felt it for the first time. The Change. Coming as suddenly and as quickly as a punch to the stomach, Rith felt his body starting to twist, and contort, he could feel his bones shifting and cracking, repositioning themselves. He saw his skin change color, his height increasing. What had caused this? Perhaps his hunger? Perhaps his desperation to escape the cold?
In pain, or perhaps in shock, he stumbled towards the wall, bracing himself to stand. It was in that moment that he saw it. It was a simple puddle of rainwater. He had drank from it to sustain himself, but now it gave him an additional gift. As he gazed into his reflection in the water he saw not the face he had come to know all these years. He saw another face. A familiar face. The face of the noble boy that he had just laid eyes upon.
Rith was a Changeling.
As a baby, Changelings oftentimes, subconsciously, assume the form of whatever humanoid creature they grow up around. In Rith's case, his mother had spent the majority of her life in a single form: A human. As such, Rith had subconsciously transformed himself into a Human, his mother deciding to keep the secret from him in order to allow him to better fit in among his peers. She died before she could tell him the truth.
In this single moment of clarity so many questions were answered for the young boy. His urge to cause trouble, his instinctual desire to blend in, to mimic those around him, his insatiable curiosity. The shock for him was too great, he cried out in shock, and then he fainted.
Some time later, Rith was awakened by a voice.
"Master Yuri? Master Yuri? Are you alright sir? You apparently were sleepwalking again, Sir, the maid found you passed out in the alley.."
Rith awoke, but not in the cold alley that he remembered. He was in a bed. A very large bed. Far more comfortable than anything he had ever slept in before. As he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by maids and servants, the smell of fresh bacon and eggs filling his nose as one of them brought him breakfast in bed.
"We were worried, so we thought we would.."
They barely had time to speak before Rith started digging into his breakfast. The first meal he had eaten in nearly 3 days. The servants looked on, with a bemused look as the boy stuffed himself. They all turned around to leave, to continue upon their daily tasks.
"Thank you.." Rith uttered to them. At that moment, they all stopped, gazing back to him. A more confused look on their faces Rith had never seen. It was at this moment that Rith realized the truth:
The boy he was impersonating had never thanked them before. They looked upon him with a look of confusion. Suspicion. Rith realized that they still thought he was the noble boy. He had maintained his disguise, even unconscious.
Rith knew that if they suspected him, he would not be able to finish his meal, and so he did something that would become a main-stay of his persona for the rest of his life: He bluffed.
"Now get back to work you useless sods!" he exclaimed. "My father doesn't pay you to gawk!"
It worked, apparently. They quickly turned around, returning to their duties, and Rith proceeded to eat the best meal he'd had since his mother died. However, Rith knew that he couldn't stay. It would only be a matter of time before they spotted the deception, and he certainly wasn't going to convince anybody for more than a while.
Helping himself to a set of the boy's clothing, a sack of coins from his piggy bank, and some loaves of bread from the kitchen, Rith disembarked from that place. He knew now what he was. So many questions left unanswered.
And so his adventures begin..
Rith Fiddir: A man of many masks.
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*kitteninablender
- Posts: 47
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Seven years had passed since the boy had left the city of Passage. At the ripe age of 18 the young Rith had become quite the thief, traveling from city to city, assuming a different guise with every crossing of the border. He had a list of fake persona that would make a Shadow Thief of Amn jealous. In some cities he was Bim, the Shoemaker. In others he was Tobias, the Chimney Sweeper. But no matter where he went, which mask he wore, he was always one thing consistently: Trouble.
After a particularly clever heist, assuming the form of a wealthy family's butler and making off with the majority of their jewels, Rith came across a broken wagon just outside of the city gate. The letters, C.C., were written upon the side. Not usually one to stop and help those in need, something about this wagon was...different. A young woman was trying to repair the wagon wheel. As he knelt over to assist her, a young Tiefling named Samara, the two began to talk.
Samara was a juggler, and a contortionist for the Cerulean Carnival. A travelling group of performers who traveled the countryside of Korvaire putting on performances wherever they went. As Rith was working on the wheel, he happened to peek inside of the covered wagon. Inside of the musty old wagon he saw a holy symbol. It was the Holy Symbol of the Traveler. Recognizing the symbol, Rith turned to "Samara", and quietly proclaimed "So, are you...ya know...one too?"
"Samara" merely snickered. "Why, my dear boy, whatever do you mean?" as she winked to him. Rith had never met another changeling before. At least, not that he had known of. The two spent the night together, during which time they talked about the Carnival life, Changeling philosophy...among other things.
Samara explained that the Cerulean Carnival was more than a carnival. It was a Thieves' Guild, masquerading as a simple Carnival. Free to use their natural "gifts," they would roam from city to city, disguising themselves as whatever they needed to in order to fit in, and feel welcome. Naturally, wherever they went would suddenly experience a completely unexplained rise in crime rate.
Rith was eager to learn the ways of his own people, as well as to get better at the trade he had so unscrupulously taken up. He joined the Cerulean Carnival, where a plethora of Changelings taught him to hone his skills. They introduced him to "The Game."
"The Game" as it was known by Changelings was a social activity by changelings used to perfect their skills. As much a game of subtlety as it was manipulation, each Changeling would meet together around the campfire disguised as a different, random person. It was the job of each other changeling to try and determine WHICH changeling each person was.
The purpose of this game was three-fold: It aided the Changeling in learning to assume guises from each and every race and culture. Everything from Elves, to Dwarves, to Tieflings would sit around this campfire, telling "stories" about their lives. Blatant lies of course.
The other purpose of the game was to teach each individual changeling how to cover a "tell". Like a Gambler learning to control an involuntary twitch, or a guilty man learning how to cover up a guilty tremble.
Lastly, the game was used to teach Changelings a very inherent truth about the world: Trust nobody. Believe nothing of what you hear, and only half of what you see. Learning this deception through years of Practice, as well as with the aid of the other Changelings, Rith became a stage magician: The Cerulean Conjurer.
After a particularly clever heist, assuming the form of a wealthy family's butler and making off with the majority of their jewels, Rith came across a broken wagon just outside of the city gate. The letters, C.C., were written upon the side. Not usually one to stop and help those in need, something about this wagon was...different. A young woman was trying to repair the wagon wheel. As he knelt over to assist her, a young Tiefling named Samara, the two began to talk.
Samara was a juggler, and a contortionist for the Cerulean Carnival. A travelling group of performers who traveled the countryside of Korvaire putting on performances wherever they went. As Rith was working on the wheel, he happened to peek inside of the covered wagon. Inside of the musty old wagon he saw a holy symbol. It was the Holy Symbol of the Traveler. Recognizing the symbol, Rith turned to "Samara", and quietly proclaimed "So, are you...ya know...one too?"
"Samara" merely snickered. "Why, my dear boy, whatever do you mean?" as she winked to him. Rith had never met another changeling before. At least, not that he had known of. The two spent the night together, during which time they talked about the Carnival life, Changeling philosophy...among other things.
Samara explained that the Cerulean Carnival was more than a carnival. It was a Thieves' Guild, masquerading as a simple Carnival. Free to use their natural "gifts," they would roam from city to city, disguising themselves as whatever they needed to in order to fit in, and feel welcome. Naturally, wherever they went would suddenly experience a completely unexplained rise in crime rate.
Rith was eager to learn the ways of his own people, as well as to get better at the trade he had so unscrupulously taken up. He joined the Cerulean Carnival, where a plethora of Changelings taught him to hone his skills. They introduced him to "The Game."
"The Game" as it was known by Changelings was a social activity by changelings used to perfect their skills. As much a game of subtlety as it was manipulation, each Changeling would meet together around the campfire disguised as a different, random person. It was the job of each other changeling to try and determine WHICH changeling each person was.
The purpose of this game was three-fold: It aided the Changeling in learning to assume guises from each and every race and culture. Everything from Elves, to Dwarves, to Tieflings would sit around this campfire, telling "stories" about their lives. Blatant lies of course.
The other purpose of the game was to teach each individual changeling how to cover a "tell". Like a Gambler learning to control an involuntary twitch, or a guilty man learning how to cover up a guilty tremble.
Lastly, the game was used to teach Changelings a very inherent truth about the world: Trust nobody. Believe nothing of what you hear, and only half of what you see. Learning this deception through years of Practice, as well as with the aid of the other Changelings, Rith became a stage magician: The Cerulean Conjurer.
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*kitteninablender
- Posts: 47
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Three more years passed, and the Cerulean Carnival was a smash hit. Rith had travelled all over each and every corner of Khorvaire mastering his craft. Escapes, Illusions, Rith had done it all..and made a rather sizeable fortune for himself in the process doing "odd jobs" here and there of a more unsavory sort.
During one particularly daring Escape, a variation of the Water Torture escape, Rith saw a very odd man in the audience. Cloaked in a red cape, with hair and beard of flaming crimson. This man was no more spectacular than any other of the countless spectators he had performed his illusions for...but something about him was just "off." Different. As he gazed upon the young Rith, it was as though the man seemed to gaze into his very soul.
It was an eery feeling, like the standing of hairs upon the neck when someone supposedly walks on your grave. For the entire performance, Rith was eerily distracted. Unable to catch his bearings. He accomplished the escape, he had done it countless times before, but tonight he was simply not at the top of his game.
After the performance, as was customary with the Cerulean Carnival, the performers would shake hands with the spectators. This was, of course, an opportunity for the petty thieves to pick the spectators free of their possessions. As Rith came around to shake a hand he came face to face with this odd person that had been watching him so closely.
"So....you are the one? Fascinating, very fascinating" The cloaked man said with an eerily cheery smile. "I would like to talk to you...my young Rith."
Rith was scared. Nobody had known his name before. He hadn't gone by that name in years. He had preferred to leave it behind, as it reminded him of the weak, poor little boy. The saddest moments of his life.
Pulling the man aside, Rith confronted him. "Who are you, Old man!? And how do you know my name!?"
This drew the attention of the other Changelings, who gazed upon Rith as though he were mad.
"Conjurer?" Samara said to him. "Conjurer....who are you talking to?"
Rith's eyebrows quirked, he looked at the man...who was still very much visible to him.
"You...don't see him?" He said, pointing to the bearded man.
"See...who?" replied Samara, a hint of concern in her voice.
Rith put his hand over his eyes. "I'm..I'm sorry. It's nothing. I need to lay down, I am not well.." as he headed back to his Tent. As he sat down at his Vanity mirror, pondering perhaps if his sanity had finally cracked, he gazed into the mirror. But it was not his face staring back. The crimson-haired man stared back at him in place of Rith's own reflection.
"We need to speak, you and I.." said the man, in an eerily charming voice.
"Who!? Who are you!?" exclaimed Rith, falling out of his chair and crawling back, his eyes never leaving the vanity.
"Me? I'm nobody." Claimed the man. "I am dead. Forgotten. The world itself has rejected my presence...I no longer exist. Except through you."
The Changeling's eyes went wide, a stammer in his voice calmly asked again. "Who are you...?" It was then the Ghostly visage stepped forth from the mirror, and gazed down upon him.
"My name is Davoren Hellsheart, young Rith." said the apparition.
"...and I am your father."
During one particularly daring Escape, a variation of the Water Torture escape, Rith saw a very odd man in the audience. Cloaked in a red cape, with hair and beard of flaming crimson. This man was no more spectacular than any other of the countless spectators he had performed his illusions for...but something about him was just "off." Different. As he gazed upon the young Rith, it was as though the man seemed to gaze into his very soul.
It was an eery feeling, like the standing of hairs upon the neck when someone supposedly walks on your grave. For the entire performance, Rith was eerily distracted. Unable to catch his bearings. He accomplished the escape, he had done it countless times before, but tonight he was simply not at the top of his game.
After the performance, as was customary with the Cerulean Carnival, the performers would shake hands with the spectators. This was, of course, an opportunity for the petty thieves to pick the spectators free of their possessions. As Rith came around to shake a hand he came face to face with this odd person that had been watching him so closely.
"So....you are the one? Fascinating, very fascinating" The cloaked man said with an eerily cheery smile. "I would like to talk to you...my young Rith."
Rith was scared. Nobody had known his name before. He hadn't gone by that name in years. He had preferred to leave it behind, as it reminded him of the weak, poor little boy. The saddest moments of his life.
Pulling the man aside, Rith confronted him. "Who are you, Old man!? And how do you know my name!?"
This drew the attention of the other Changelings, who gazed upon Rith as though he were mad.
"Conjurer?" Samara said to him. "Conjurer....who are you talking to?"
Rith's eyebrows quirked, he looked at the man...who was still very much visible to him.
"You...don't see him?" He said, pointing to the bearded man.
"See...who?" replied Samara, a hint of concern in her voice.
Rith put his hand over his eyes. "I'm..I'm sorry. It's nothing. I need to lay down, I am not well.." as he headed back to his Tent. As he sat down at his Vanity mirror, pondering perhaps if his sanity had finally cracked, he gazed into the mirror. But it was not his face staring back. The crimson-haired man stared back at him in place of Rith's own reflection.
"We need to speak, you and I.." said the man, in an eerily charming voice.
"Who!? Who are you!?" exclaimed Rith, falling out of his chair and crawling back, his eyes never leaving the vanity.
"Me? I'm nobody." Claimed the man. "I am dead. Forgotten. The world itself has rejected my presence...I no longer exist. Except through you."
The Changeling's eyes went wide, a stammer in his voice calmly asked again. "Who are you...?" It was then the Ghostly visage stepped forth from the mirror, and gazed down upon him.
"My name is Davoren Hellsheart, young Rith." said the apparition.
"...and I am your father."
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*kitteninablender
- Posts: 47
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
"What do you mean 'you only exist through me!?' What are you!?" Said the terrified Rith, as he threw a shoe at the apparition. It passed through the spectre, striking the mirror and causing it to shatter. Samara ran forth and opened the tent, seeing the horrified Rith lying upon the ground, seemingly talking to nobody.
"Conjurer!? Are you alright!?" said the concerned Samara.
"I'm...I'm fine Samara.." Rith replied, blatantly lying. "I'm...I'm just rehearsing a play!"
Samara backed away from his tent, hiding, watching him as he talk to this unseen force.
"I need you to listen to me." said Davoren. "You are my son. One of many. And I don't have much time, so you need to know something: You are in danger!"
"D--danger?" quipped Rith, as he trembled in fear.
"Long ago" said Davoren "I was known as Davoren Hellsheart. I was a simple planar scholar..and I was coming to the end of my life. I was approached in a dream by the King of Devils, Asmodeus, who promised to provide me with 'infinite knowledge and experiences." He wanted to make a deal for my soul. An offer I foolishly accepted." the apparition sighed.
"The deal was: For every soul that I would bring Asmodeus, he would extend my natural life span by one year. In addition, he would grant me the most profane of Infernal powers. I served him for over 500 years, I single-handedly delivered him a legion of souls."
"But, but where do I fit in?" Rith exclaimed.
"Some years ago I traveled to many different planes. Many different worlds. One known as "Toril." One known as "Oerth". And, of course, Eberron. Over 500 years I was married several times...and sired multiple children. You, Rith Fiddir, son of Ravennekah, are the last of those children. Children that I sired for a very special purpose.."
Rith turned pale. "What...what purpose?"
Davoren grinned an evil, diabolic grin. "My resurrection..."
"Conjurer!? Are you alright!?" said the concerned Samara.
"I'm...I'm fine Samara.." Rith replied, blatantly lying. "I'm...I'm just rehearsing a play!"
Samara backed away from his tent, hiding, watching him as he talk to this unseen force.
"I need you to listen to me." said Davoren. "You are my son. One of many. And I don't have much time, so you need to know something: You are in danger!"
"D--danger?" quipped Rith, as he trembled in fear.
"Long ago" said Davoren "I was known as Davoren Hellsheart. I was a simple planar scholar..and I was coming to the end of my life. I was approached in a dream by the King of Devils, Asmodeus, who promised to provide me with 'infinite knowledge and experiences." He wanted to make a deal for my soul. An offer I foolishly accepted." the apparition sighed.
"The deal was: For every soul that I would bring Asmodeus, he would extend my natural life span by one year. In addition, he would grant me the most profane of Infernal powers. I served him for over 500 years, I single-handedly delivered him a legion of souls."
"But, but where do I fit in?" Rith exclaimed.
"Some years ago I traveled to many different planes. Many different worlds. One known as "Toril." One known as "Oerth". And, of course, Eberron. Over 500 years I was married several times...and sired multiple children. You, Rith Fiddir, son of Ravennekah, are the last of those children. Children that I sired for a very special purpose.."
Rith turned pale. "What...what purpose?"
Davoren grinned an evil, diabolic grin. "My resurrection..."
-
*kitteninablender
- Posts: 47
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Rith screamed at this revelation. "You!! You're here to kill me!"
"Oh, don't be so bloody Droll." sighed Davoren. "I couldn't kill you if I wanted to." Davoren took his hand and passes it through the glass. "I don't exist, remember? Well, except in the confines of your mind."
Rith stammered "I...I don't understand."
"I'm a Vestige, Moron! I swear, if I would have known that any of my bloody progeny were this thick.."
"A..Vestige?" said the perplexed Changeling.
"Oh dear Gods, do I have to explain everything? Alright, it's like this." Davoren cleared his throat.
"A Vestige is what happens when a God, demigod, archdevil, or other likewise unique being actually becomes absorbed into the very cosmos of creation itself. They cease to 'exist' in the traditional sense. Rather, their essence can be summoned via Binders, Totemists, Soul Weavers, Pact magicians...et cetera et cetera who can call upon this essence and make pacts with them. The Binder making the pact receives a portion of the called being's power...and the called being gets the lovely little advantage of knowing that it can once again experience existence and affect the world around them."
"So, h-how did you, um, become a "Vestige" stammered the magician.
"Well you see, son, some time ago I saved one of the Factols of the Sign of One.."
Rith blinked.
"uhh...a bunch of crazies who believe thought defines the universe. Long bloody story" Davoren waved a dismissive hand. "Anyways, I saved the life of Factol Darius the Veyl from an assassin who tried to kill her. I used the powers granted to me by her Sensory stone, and un-made Sharlotte. Long bloody story. But anyway, Darius owed me a favor. I was dying, son. Coming to the end of my natural life. My sacrifice had ended the agreement that I had made with Asmodeus. A sort of legal loophole, as it were. Thing is: My soul was still damned to the Nine Hells because of the things I had done and the deal I had made."
"And...this means what?" Rith puzzled.
"Oh, you really are an idiot. Look, the only way that I could avoid having my soul going to the Nine Hells is if my soul no longer existed. So that's why I need you. You see, Rith, back on Faerun there was this deity called "Bhaal." Before he died, he foresaw his own death and transferred little bits and pieces of his own essence into his children, the Bhaalspawn, to serve as vessels for his ressurection. Well, I pretty much did the same thing...with my own children. After all, I knew I'd probably piss off somebody at some point who would try and knock me off. So I had a contingency. And got laid in the process..how nice." Davoren chuckled.
"So..what now?" said the Changeling.
"Well, now that I'm a Vestige, I don't actually technically exist. However, Factol Darius allowed me one final favor before she "unmade" me. She allowed me to send you a message. And to teach you the Binding Ritual...that you can use to bind me. So here's the bargain, little Rith. I teach you how to use the binding ritual, and as such you have access to any of the powers that I had while i was still alive. Vis' a Vis'...my Warlock powers. And in exchange, well, I get to "live" again by sharing your experiences. What do you say, kiddo? Help out your old man?" Davoren smiled.
Rith slowly got to his feet. "Why the hell should I!? You abandoned me and my mother! Left me all alone! You hurt me, hurt her! Why should I help you at all!?"
Davoren sighed "We'll have time to talk about this later. But right now..you are in danger. Let's just say that Asmodeus doesn't like the idea of somebody being able to use his power without their souls being tied to him..."
Rith screamed "But I haven't agreed to anything!"
Davoren chuckled "Do you think that really matters to him? Asmodeus and I are...were..tied. He knows everything I know. Which means he knows about you. And he's coming for you. Rest assured, if he gets you, he will not kill you. He will make you beg a thousand times for a death that shall not come."
"Bastard! You brought this upon me!" said Rith "If I could kill you, I bloody well would!"
"Yes, I did. And for that, I am eternally sorry. But right now, I am trying to do the best that I can, and keep you alive.." Davoren exclaimed.
"For your own sake!" screamed Rith
"FOR BOTH OUR SAKES, DAMMIT BOY!" Davoren screamed back. "Now we don't have bloody TIME to argue, they have likely sensed my presence and are on their way any bloody second! Now you can listen to me, and we can both live, or you can defy me and we BOTH die!"
Rith, his face red with pure rage, glared the Vestige in the eye. "What do I have to do? What EXACTLY do I have to do!?"
"I'm taking you to the one place that Asmodeus cannot directly touch you. You're taking a trip boy...to the Cage." Davoren smiled.
"I'm not going to some damn rat cage for you to keep me safe!" said Rith.
"Oh, my boy, this is a Cage unlike any other. A world of limitless possibilities. Infinite choices...and infinite treasure.." said the Vestige, as he chuckled heartilly. "And old friends....and enemies. But I'm afraid it's the only place you'll be outside his reach. Now get moving. Oh! And grab a hand mirror."
"A hand mirror?" said Rith, puzzled.
"Oh, would you bloody trust me already?" said Davoren.
Rith opened the drawer to his vanity desk, grabbing a hand-held mirror as Davoren had requested. Whatever adventure this spectral being had promised Rith was about to take a wild turn.
"Oh, don't be so bloody Droll." sighed Davoren. "I couldn't kill you if I wanted to." Davoren took his hand and passes it through the glass. "I don't exist, remember? Well, except in the confines of your mind."
Rith stammered "I...I don't understand."
"I'm a Vestige, Moron! I swear, if I would have known that any of my bloody progeny were this thick.."
"A..Vestige?" said the perplexed Changeling.
"Oh dear Gods, do I have to explain everything? Alright, it's like this." Davoren cleared his throat.
"A Vestige is what happens when a God, demigod, archdevil, or other likewise unique being actually becomes absorbed into the very cosmos of creation itself. They cease to 'exist' in the traditional sense. Rather, their essence can be summoned via Binders, Totemists, Soul Weavers, Pact magicians...et cetera et cetera who can call upon this essence and make pacts with them. The Binder making the pact receives a portion of the called being's power...and the called being gets the lovely little advantage of knowing that it can once again experience existence and affect the world around them."
"So, h-how did you, um, become a "Vestige" stammered the magician.
"Well you see, son, some time ago I saved one of the Factols of the Sign of One.."
Rith blinked.
"uhh...a bunch of crazies who believe thought defines the universe. Long bloody story" Davoren waved a dismissive hand. "Anyways, I saved the life of Factol Darius the Veyl from an assassin who tried to kill her. I used the powers granted to me by her Sensory stone, and un-made Sharlotte. Long bloody story. But anyway, Darius owed me a favor. I was dying, son. Coming to the end of my natural life. My sacrifice had ended the agreement that I had made with Asmodeus. A sort of legal loophole, as it were. Thing is: My soul was still damned to the Nine Hells because of the things I had done and the deal I had made."
"And...this means what?" Rith puzzled.
"Oh, you really are an idiot. Look, the only way that I could avoid having my soul going to the Nine Hells is if my soul no longer existed. So that's why I need you. You see, Rith, back on Faerun there was this deity called "Bhaal." Before he died, he foresaw his own death and transferred little bits and pieces of his own essence into his children, the Bhaalspawn, to serve as vessels for his ressurection. Well, I pretty much did the same thing...with my own children. After all, I knew I'd probably piss off somebody at some point who would try and knock me off. So I had a contingency. And got laid in the process..how nice." Davoren chuckled.
"So..what now?" said the Changeling.
"Well, now that I'm a Vestige, I don't actually technically exist. However, Factol Darius allowed me one final favor before she "unmade" me. She allowed me to send you a message. And to teach you the Binding Ritual...that you can use to bind me. So here's the bargain, little Rith. I teach you how to use the binding ritual, and as such you have access to any of the powers that I had while i was still alive. Vis' a Vis'...my Warlock powers. And in exchange, well, I get to "live" again by sharing your experiences. What do you say, kiddo? Help out your old man?" Davoren smiled.
Rith slowly got to his feet. "Why the hell should I!? You abandoned me and my mother! Left me all alone! You hurt me, hurt her! Why should I help you at all!?"
Davoren sighed "We'll have time to talk about this later. But right now..you are in danger. Let's just say that Asmodeus doesn't like the idea of somebody being able to use his power without their souls being tied to him..."
Rith screamed "But I haven't agreed to anything!"
Davoren chuckled "Do you think that really matters to him? Asmodeus and I are...were..tied. He knows everything I know. Which means he knows about you. And he's coming for you. Rest assured, if he gets you, he will not kill you. He will make you beg a thousand times for a death that shall not come."
"Bastard! You brought this upon me!" said Rith "If I could kill you, I bloody well would!"
"Yes, I did. And for that, I am eternally sorry. But right now, I am trying to do the best that I can, and keep you alive.." Davoren exclaimed.
"For your own sake!" screamed Rith
"FOR BOTH OUR SAKES, DAMMIT BOY!" Davoren screamed back. "Now we don't have bloody TIME to argue, they have likely sensed my presence and are on their way any bloody second! Now you can listen to me, and we can both live, or you can defy me and we BOTH die!"
Rith, his face red with pure rage, glared the Vestige in the eye. "What do I have to do? What EXACTLY do I have to do!?"
"I'm taking you to the one place that Asmodeus cannot directly touch you. You're taking a trip boy...to the Cage." Davoren smiled.
"I'm not going to some damn rat cage for you to keep me safe!" said Rith.
"Oh, my boy, this is a Cage unlike any other. A world of limitless possibilities. Infinite choices...and infinite treasure.." said the Vestige, as he chuckled heartilly. "And old friends....and enemies. But I'm afraid it's the only place you'll be outside his reach. Now get moving. Oh! And grab a hand mirror."
"A hand mirror?" said Rith, puzzled.
"Oh, would you bloody trust me already?" said Davoren.
Rith opened the drawer to his vanity desk, grabbing a hand-held mirror as Davoren had requested. Whatever adventure this spectral being had promised Rith was about to take a wild turn.
-
*kitteninablender
- Posts: 47
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Rith had grabbed the mirror as the mysterious man had requested of him. For what reason he had requested something so minor, so odd, as a simple mirror was a mystery. Davoren had begun to lead Rith into the woods, away from the people, until finally they entered a moonlit Glade. Davoren pointed to the soil in the glade, and beckoned him.
"Set the Mirror down there." Said the Spectre. "Set it so that it reflects the full moon.."
Rith did so.
"You will need a few things. Nine drops of your own blood. Nine strands of your own hair. put them in a bowl and mix them."
Relucantly, Rith pulled six hairs from his head, and pricked his finger with his pocket knife, doing as the Spectre asked.
"Now, allow me to further explain." Davoren uttered. "This ritual will bind us together. My thoughts shall become your thoughts. You will absorb what little remains of my essence. I shall be as much a part of you as your own skin, your own hair...we shall become more than bound my the blood in our veins. Well, your veins, I don't exactly bleed anymore.." he snickered.
Rith let out an uneasy, scared laugh.
"Now, take the mixture of your blood and hair, and follow my fingers." he said, as Davoren began to trace his finger in the air upon the ground. The Language was High-Infernal, an ancient language of the Baatezu used to pen the Pact Primeval. It's knowledge was lost to all but the most ancient of Devils. Over time, Davoren and Rith had completed a set of Nine sigils. Nine Drops of Blood, Nine locks of hair, Nine Sigils....an ominous ritual indeed.
Rith wasn't sure. He was scared, horrified even. But he knew, deep within his heart, that this was real. That this being, this mysterious "vestige" that had come to him didn't mean him harm. At least, not intentionally. With a knot in his throat, and a heavy heart, Rith finished the profane ritual and completed the last of the Sigils. As the last sigil fell into place, Davoren's visage gazed into Rith's eyes.
"And now the final component of the ritual....break the mirror."
Rith was shocked. He had heard old wives' tales about breaking mirrors, that they were supposed to represent misfortune. Hesitantly, he picked up a rock.
"No!" said Davoren. "Breaking the mirror MUST draw blood.."
Gritting his teeth, and closing his eyes, Rith punched the mirror with his hand. The glass shattered, exploding into hundreds of shards. As the shards flew off, they seemed to collect, magically, within each of the Nine Sigils that Rith had drawn. The ancient words began to glow a pale red as the summoning circle was complete. As Rith looked upon his hand, the wound on his hand healed as instantly as it had occured, the shards from his hand leaving to join the others.
"Now, stand within the Circle." Davoren urged and pointed. Rith, hesitantly, stepped inside.
As he stepped inside of the warm, glowing sphere of magic, the glowing words seemed to leap off of the ground, and seemed to brand the Hellish writing upon his skin. He screamed, but there was no pain. Each sigil one by one branding itself into his flesh, each of them containing a different aspect of Davoren's Infernal powers. When the last of the sigils seared itself upon his skin, the runes all simultaneously glowed a bright flash of red..before disappearing entirely.
"It is done." Davoren proudly exclaimed. "You now contain within yourself the essence of my powers. Do with them what you will, they are yours to command. But remember: There are those who will not be happy that you invoke power that once belonged to Asmodeus. Now, as for me...I must be gone."
"But...aren't you going to guide me?" said the puzzled Rith.
"I live on now, within you, my son." Davoren responded with a smile. "Every experience, every sensation, every conquest of yours I shall feel it as though it were my own. Even if you cannot see me, even if you cannot feel me there...every time you invoke my powers, every time you experience a new sensation..know I am there with you."
Rith nods, a faint tear forming in his eye.
"I am sorry, my son. I wanted to come to you. To tell you the truth. But I'll tell you a secret, my boy. Your mother was the only good thing that ever happened to me. The only woman I ever truly loved. You are all that I have left of her, after she was taken from us. I love you, Rith. You are, perhaps, the only being in all of existence I have ever truly loved, with the exception of your mother. You are all that I have left in the entire cosmos. And this, my power, is all that you have left of me. Treasure it. Use it. Do with it what you choose...but never forget from where it came." Davoren nodded.
"I will....father" replied Rith, a tear streaming down his face.
"My time is short. I can only project myself for a few moments longer. And so I give you one last, final gift. The only thing I have left to give. The one thing that anyone ever truly wants: A chance to start over."
Davoren took his ethereal hands, placing them upon the boy's shoulders. Despite being only a figment, a psychic projection, Rith could feel them upon him as though they were as real as Rith himself. A blackness enveloped the young boy as the world quite literally seemed to dissolve around him.
In that moment, falling through the Planar breach that Davoren had opened with his last remaining willpower, Rith found himself inside of an inn. The sign above the door referred to it as the "Foul Olde Spirit."
"Good bye, my son. Welcome...to your new life." said the phantasmal voice, as the echo finally faded completely away. Stepping forth from the Spirit, Rith gazed upon the sights of Sigil for the very first time. His life as a Carnie was behind him. Eberron was now only a memory to him. He stepped forward, his eyes full of curiosity and wonder.
Rith had stepped into the cage. His true adventures were about to begin.
--End.
"Set the Mirror down there." Said the Spectre. "Set it so that it reflects the full moon.."
Rith did so.
"You will need a few things. Nine drops of your own blood. Nine strands of your own hair. put them in a bowl and mix them."
Relucantly, Rith pulled six hairs from his head, and pricked his finger with his pocket knife, doing as the Spectre asked.
"Now, allow me to further explain." Davoren uttered. "This ritual will bind us together. My thoughts shall become your thoughts. You will absorb what little remains of my essence. I shall be as much a part of you as your own skin, your own hair...we shall become more than bound my the blood in our veins. Well, your veins, I don't exactly bleed anymore.." he snickered.
Rith let out an uneasy, scared laugh.
"Now, take the mixture of your blood and hair, and follow my fingers." he said, as Davoren began to trace his finger in the air upon the ground. The Language was High-Infernal, an ancient language of the Baatezu used to pen the Pact Primeval. It's knowledge was lost to all but the most ancient of Devils. Over time, Davoren and Rith had completed a set of Nine sigils. Nine Drops of Blood, Nine locks of hair, Nine Sigils....an ominous ritual indeed.
Rith wasn't sure. He was scared, horrified even. But he knew, deep within his heart, that this was real. That this being, this mysterious "vestige" that had come to him didn't mean him harm. At least, not intentionally. With a knot in his throat, and a heavy heart, Rith finished the profane ritual and completed the last of the Sigils. As the last sigil fell into place, Davoren's visage gazed into Rith's eyes.
"And now the final component of the ritual....break the mirror."
Rith was shocked. He had heard old wives' tales about breaking mirrors, that they were supposed to represent misfortune. Hesitantly, he picked up a rock.
"No!" said Davoren. "Breaking the mirror MUST draw blood.."
Gritting his teeth, and closing his eyes, Rith punched the mirror with his hand. The glass shattered, exploding into hundreds of shards. As the shards flew off, they seemed to collect, magically, within each of the Nine Sigils that Rith had drawn. The ancient words began to glow a pale red as the summoning circle was complete. As Rith looked upon his hand, the wound on his hand healed as instantly as it had occured, the shards from his hand leaving to join the others.
"Now, stand within the Circle." Davoren urged and pointed. Rith, hesitantly, stepped inside.
As he stepped inside of the warm, glowing sphere of magic, the glowing words seemed to leap off of the ground, and seemed to brand the Hellish writing upon his skin. He screamed, but there was no pain. Each sigil one by one branding itself into his flesh, each of them containing a different aspect of Davoren's Infernal powers. When the last of the sigils seared itself upon his skin, the runes all simultaneously glowed a bright flash of red..before disappearing entirely.
"It is done." Davoren proudly exclaimed. "You now contain within yourself the essence of my powers. Do with them what you will, they are yours to command. But remember: There are those who will not be happy that you invoke power that once belonged to Asmodeus. Now, as for me...I must be gone."
"But...aren't you going to guide me?" said the puzzled Rith.
"I live on now, within you, my son." Davoren responded with a smile. "Every experience, every sensation, every conquest of yours I shall feel it as though it were my own. Even if you cannot see me, even if you cannot feel me there...every time you invoke my powers, every time you experience a new sensation..know I am there with you."
Rith nods, a faint tear forming in his eye.
"I am sorry, my son. I wanted to come to you. To tell you the truth. But I'll tell you a secret, my boy. Your mother was the only good thing that ever happened to me. The only woman I ever truly loved. You are all that I have left of her, after she was taken from us. I love you, Rith. You are, perhaps, the only being in all of existence I have ever truly loved, with the exception of your mother. You are all that I have left in the entire cosmos. And this, my power, is all that you have left of me. Treasure it. Use it. Do with it what you choose...but never forget from where it came." Davoren nodded.
"I will....father" replied Rith, a tear streaming down his face.
"My time is short. I can only project myself for a few moments longer. And so I give you one last, final gift. The only thing I have left to give. The one thing that anyone ever truly wants: A chance to start over."
Davoren took his ethereal hands, placing them upon the boy's shoulders. Despite being only a figment, a psychic projection, Rith could feel them upon him as though they were as real as Rith himself. A blackness enveloped the young boy as the world quite literally seemed to dissolve around him.
In that moment, falling through the Planar breach that Davoren had opened with his last remaining willpower, Rith found himself inside of an inn. The sign above the door referred to it as the "Foul Olde Spirit."
"Good bye, my son. Welcome...to your new life." said the phantasmal voice, as the echo finally faded completely away. Stepping forth from the Spirit, Rith gazed upon the sights of Sigil for the very first time. His life as a Carnie was behind him. Eberron was now only a memory to him. He stepped forward, his eyes full of curiosity and wonder.
Rith had stepped into the cage. His true adventures were about to begin.
--End.