Overdue Meetings
5/4 noon
I got back with a smile on my face and a moderately cleared up inventory. We went down to lunch and had some Spider Bisque. I had Tessa instruct Lividia on proper eating etiquette; she initially was more than happy to try to drink it all in one go. Drusilla and I silently discussed the books I’d stolen from the library. It was rude to text at the table, but openly chatting about the teachings of the Cult of the Damned is not something one does in mixed company.
Watcher Ladimore arrived for her lunch when we were starting to finish up, and someone pointed us out to her. She sighed and came over to our table. I waved away the rest of the team. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Miss Ladimore. I understand you just finished your patrol.” The woman had shoulder length reddish brown hair and bags under her eyes. She was in bad shape, given that the mug shot supplied by my mission log looked dramatically more attractive. Probably because she’d just done a double shift and a weird old guy was studying her appearance.
https://imgur.com/a/RKiD77s
“My name is Abercrombie. I live in the shadow of Raven Hill. I do what I can to heal the area a bit, but I’m afraid I found something that may require your assistance. A specific entity that may be related to you. The spirit of Morgan Ladimore.”
She deflated from her professional stance, looking down at the table. “Father? So what happened wasn’t the end for him? He’s still hurting?” Ah. So that’s how they were related. Neat.“Yes. Your father seems to have awoken and wanders the region around Raven Hill, consumed with despair. He calls himself Mor’Ladim now.”
“That’s who Mor’Ladim is?” She recoiled at the thought, “This is all my fault. If I’d just been able to talk to him before he found out about mother, maybe I could have helped. Maybe then Emmet and Davis would still be alive.”
“I don’t think it’s too late for you to speak with him. To forgive him, perhaps, and pull him out of his despair just a bit. He lived a good life,” barring that last bit, “so he is almost certain to have a better life waiting for him if we help him let go.”
She looked down at her ring; it looked like a wedding ring, but was on the wrong finger. Maybe her mother’s? “I’ll do it. It’s my duty as a daughter to help my father, and it’s my duty as a watcher to bring his rampage to an end.” Well that was easy.
“Good woman. Obviously, you need food and sleep first. But I can get us there quickly tomorrow. If we are lucky, we can handle this whole thing in a few days. Is that okay? Do you need time to prepare? It’s likely to be dangerous.”
She seemed dazed. In her defense, it was a lot to take in right before bed when you’re still hungry. “I need to think. Yes. I’ll put in a request for leave. Will you be here tomorrow?”
“I intend to be. Thank you for this, you’ll help a lot of people, starting with your father.” In the bag. I’d need to be careful, of course. I didn’t know exactly where his grave was, but I figured having Ladimore along couldn’t hurt. If Abercrombie put him in the same category as Stitches, I really didn’t want to fight Mor’Ladim.
If I was very lucky, there would be a heartfelt father-daughter discussion about their feelings, ending with a hug and the evil revenant man fading into a beam of light. Don’t laugh, the tone of the writing in Azeroth is all over the place. That is totally a plausible outcome. The thing that made me worried? The Company thought it was worth 10 credits plus extras. Chances are good that I was missing something.
••••••••••
I quietly cursed the fact that I didn’t have anyone standing by in Stormwind. I could have popped over and tried to talk an alcoholic out of his addiction, or taken a child out for ice cream. Instead, I let Drusilla know I was ready to take my first steps on the road of the warlock. I sent Tessa to Madame Eva with the ghost hair to see it made into thread, and brought Lividia along with us to act as a lookout.
We headed east, towards Deadwind Pass, and left the road behind. We wanted some privacy. Summoning demons wasn’t completely illegal in the kingdom, but it was certainly frowned upon.
When we arrived at a seemingly arbitrary clearing, Drusilla built a circle of stones as a fire pit and burnt the ground in a small area black. “We need a clear space. Help me stamp the ashes into the dirt.” I did so until we had a large flat space to work. “Now. You’ll need to draw the circle. Precision is important, but I can trace it as long as you finish it.”
She used a dagger to start a circle. It seemed like a surprisingly simplistic design, but imps were the easiest demons to summon by far, according to Drusilla. I copied her actions as closely as I could, and she checked and approved my work.
Up next, she pulled a stein out of her bag that contained a live rat. I was surprised too. “Imps require a relatively token sacrifice. Those who will answer typically want to be called, so very little life force is needed to pull them through. Do you remember the words?”
Probably because of soul talent, I absolutely did. Drusilla handed me the struggling rat, and I held it down one handed. In a single stroke I killed it, spilling the blood on a single line protruding from the circle. Starting from where the blood touched, the whole circle began to glow and pulsate a bright red. Striking while the metal was hot, I started chanting the words. I didn’t know how to speak demonic, but I’d been over the translation with Drusilla. In effect I was laying out standard terms for a contract. I get access to the Twisting Nether and his assistance in my endeavors, he gets the stabilizing influence of the natural world strengthening him and the ability to spend time on this side of the veil.
Of course, the far more important part of the spell came from the circle, which ensured that my words would only reach imps relatively willing to be bound. Imps were small and weak individually, but surprisingly stubborn. Trying to bind an unwilling imp into a contract would be at least as difficult, and almost as dangerous, as binding any other small to midsize demon.
A small sphere of fire formed in the center of the circle and I repeated the incantation. They wanted to be summoned; that didn’t mean they were trustworthy. It was the standard deal or no deal at all. He attempted to chatter out alternative terms.
“Come on. Let me bring along a few friends. I’m sure you can support dozens of imps with your soul. It’ll be fine, we will all work for you. Alright, no? But I will need a bit more juice if I’m supposed to protect you. I mean look at me. I'm going to need some serious firepower. Just pump me up and you won’t regret it. Are you listening? I'm offering you gold here.”
He kept yammering, and I kept reiterating the standard contract. Eventually, he relented. “Fine, killjoy. I’ll do the thing. I become you, you become I, we shall burn this world together, whatever. Let me out of the circle, will ya?”
“First your name, with which to bind you. I name you Mezzo, accept this name and forevermore you will be bound to me by blood and spirit so long as I may call out to you. Do you accept it?”
“Yes. Yeesh. So formal.” As he spoke, the floating flame had a small humanoid figure form at its center. Mezzo was very similar to Noktog in appearance. Around a foot tall, with tiny cloven hooves, horns, dark purplish skin, and big yellow eyes. When he fully formed, he flopped onto the ground, taking a moment to figure out how legs worked when you’re not mostly a spirit.
“Excellent,” Drusilla seemed pleased, “now we can move on to the actual channeling of fel magic, if you would like.”
“In a minute. So, Mezzo, how’s it feel?”
He was shakily getting onto his hands and knees. “Buzz off. I’ve been in your world for a few seconds. Let me touch some grass before twenty questions.”
I smirked and checked the time. It was around 3. I had a popup under Retinue; Mezzo officially qualified as a familiar. Which meant he could wear and make full use of Jewelry. THAT was interesting. Noktog wasn’t in my retinue formally, but that might be because he was controlled with a degree of separation. Kind of like how I don’t think I’d capture anyone by setting Tony up on romantic dates to get love confessions. That was a Me thing.
Mezzo didn’t seem terribly submissive, but from what I’d seen of Noktog, imps were just kind of like that. He was stamped, he’d be loyal. He’d be useful. End of story.
“Drusilla. Is it possible to bind multiple imps?” I was warily interested in the possibilities.
“Theoretically, but each additional demon of the same variety requires a substantially greater sacrifice to open the way. A particularly impressive animal, or a sentient being, for the second imp. The council generally recommends against it due to the difficulty controlling them, but I suppose you have ways around that. By the third you’d need to sacrifice a powerful individual. I don’t know about four. I sincerely doubt that you in particular would have any reason to sacrifice a truly powerful creature in your power for a chance to control a fourth imp.”
I snorted at the idea of laying some demigod, probably already subdued by a necklace themselves, on an altar to get another 1 foot tall pyrokinetic. “Yeah, that isn’t happening. But two? I’ll see if I get an opportunity. Do you know how to summon any others?”
She blushed. “Only the voidwalker, and that only from a book. I’m not really very advanced, you know. There is much I need to learn, and only a bit that I can teach you.”
“Well, I’m ready to learn.”
So I began to learn yet another way to abuse my own body for power. Channeling the light would simulate a brutal hangover, shadow magic explicitly consisted of hurting myself in order to hurt someone else more, and fel magic? Fel magic consisted of setting my own veins on fire.
I don’t know what the Blood Elves were thinking, getting addicted to this stuff, it most certainly did not hurt in a pleasant way. A basic shadow bolt or summoning fel fire felt like a random part of my body was smacked by a hot poker. It didn’t do too much harm, objectively, but it hurt like hell. I could push it, just like with smite, but the pain was incredible.
Drusilla insisted that I keep casting until my body started to adapt to channeling fel magic. She referred to it as “demon skin,” where my body would slowly toughen up and even gain a minor healing factor. Nowhere near troll regeneration, but enough that bleeding out would become incredibly unlikely.
Curses were basically shadow words, but with fel magic channeled to remove the drawback at the cost of, well, fel magic’s normal drawbacks. She only knew curses for weakness and pain, but assured me there were more.
We spent several hours going over every spell Drusilla knew. I was absolutely run ragged from alternating between channeling as much Fel as I could and healing the damage that came from that. I was extremely ready to go back. Mezzo, on the other hand, had just enjoyed the surroundings. He climbed the trees we didn’t destroy with target practice, jumped from branches, and in general acted a bit like a kid with nothing better to do. Me using him as a conduit apparently required absolutely zero attention on his part.
We were lucky nothing stumbled upon us, because a few hours in I realized that Lividia was watching me practice with great interest. When I looked at her, she preempted a mild scolding with a proposal. “Let me be a warlock too, my king. I’ll be good at it, my body is great at channeling lots of magic, it’s how we catalyze growth. Plus then I’ll be able to fight without transforming.” She seemed so enthusiastic about the idea.
“Growth?”
“Oh yes. Most dragons don’t grow past a certain point unless they have magic to draw upon; it makes them bigger and stronger.” Good to know, that.
Drusilla shrugged. “I’ve taught people before. No dragons, but I could teach her if you’d like.”
“Alright, when you both have a bit of free time, if you follow Drusilla’s instructions to the letter, she will teach you how to be a warlock. But if she has any complaints, she will tell me and I will be the one to determine your punishment.”
“Oh yes my king. I will not disappoint you!”