Parwyn (prime)/Becoming What You Fear Chapter 2
Parwyn stands a half-step out of the lamplight. The iron boar hide of her manteau writhes as if something under it is breathing. Twisting vines crowd her silhouette. Reality around her buckles in small, ugly ways: a flicker of charred skin under honey-blonde hair, a hellscape that opens and shuts like an eye. Two orbs hover at her shoulders—turquoise veined with jade, charcoal etched in vines—and do not quite belong to this street.
Missoni watches her the way a sorcerer watches a crack in a ward.
Are you particularly close to any Marluvians?
Parwyn’s voice is quiet, already half an apology.
On rare occasion I venture to Reim with one... but I keep my distance.
Missoni nods grimly. A dog presses to her side and bares its teeth at nothing.
The first wrong sound arrives then: a heartbeat that is not hers. Parwyn flinches, searches the square, finds only faces that do not hear it. She lets the breath out slow.
None said a word to me... when I saw myself, I thought it might just be me, and a friend—the cleric friend—didn't seem to mind or notice much, so I thought it was all in my head...
She mutters to herself.
Wouldn't be the first time.
But you are quite sure you did not get mixed up in a ritual, or some such.
Parwyn shifts her weight.
Not that I recall.
One would hope you would recall...
She nods. Then, quieter:
There is one thing that might...
Perigourd cuts in, warrior-practical, already hunting a source.
Perhaps you could establish what type of extraplanar energy is affecting her. And thus backtrack the source.
Missoni agrees. Nyssia glides in from the press of the street, an empath’s calm already thinning at the edges of Parwyn’s wrongness.
What is this one thing?
Parwyn answers Missoni flatly.
The lich.
Missoni’s mouth shapes the name like a known poison.
Bakarus?
Parwyn nods once.
The square keeps living around them. A stooped woman shuffles. A coppery barn owl puffs and hunts crumbs. Missoni’s dog growls at shadows that refuse to become anything honest.
Missoni, stiff to Perigourd:
The actions of one member do not necessarily constitute approval of the Order.
Perigourd does not soften.
It does when it's the head of the Order.
Missoni grumbles.
But he does like to make my job difficult.
Parwyn winces.
He didn't seem sure of what would happen... and I was there for information, I didn't think there would be any harm.
Perigourd’s glance is skeptical.
Did you get the information you required?
Parwyn tilts a hand: so-so.
I would suspect he knew exactly what would happen.
Nyssia, to Perigourd, voice even:
The very same head murdered me, twice. And Missoni is my best friend. The two are not necessarily connected.
Missoni starts.
Twice? I thought—
Twice.
Perigourd:
This is the second curse in a month he's been the cause of.
Nyssia:
This doesn't surprise me.
Missoni, to Parwyn, already done with comfort that does not work:
Well, clearly you cannot remain so.
Parwyn recalls the murder, the reason for her meeting with the lich.
I was sure he had something to do with the death of the Koarite—Aurelkan.
Missoni does not know the name. Nyssia finds that surprising. Parwyn’s next line comes pleading, too loud for the square.
If there is anything you can think of, please!
Perigourd:
Where is this idol?
Missoni:
Knowing the nature of the idol would help.
Parwyn, quiet:
With him, I would suppose.
A discordant music box winds up behind her ear. No one else turns.
We can try a cleansing ritual, but without that, it may be tricky. It might also help to have a priest, if the idol is religious in nature.
Perigourd, dry:
Perhaps you can ask the "first pilgrim" what the nature of the idol she touched was, and maybe even understand the curse better.
Parwyn admits it like a confession she already hates.
What I saw when I touched it... well, it's exactly what I would have expected his patron would want.
Missoni:
What did you see?
Parwyn, flat:
The end of things.
Missoni furrows. A gasp sounds at Parwyn’s back. She flinches again.
That does sound bleak.
What you see around me is like a peek into it...
Nyssia:
What have we learned?
Parwyn:
That I am too foolish for this kind of work.
Nyssia will not give her that.
I wouldn't say foolish.
Missoni agrees, then soothes without quite reaching her.
You would not be the first he tricked.
Parwyn, despairing:
I just am beside myself because I *know* how he can be and yet ... here I am.
Missoni refuses the wound as a place to sit.
Well, that is no use beating yourself up over it when there is work to be done.
Perigourd announces the ugly practicality of his kind.
I'm going to get a priest to bless my water cannon with holy water.
Missoni:
A good idea.
Parwyn, concerned despite herself:
Water cannon?
Indeed. Quite useful at times. If I bless it with holy water, it may help against other forms of undead.
Missoni sets the next move.
I am going to speak to him, and see if he will allow me to see this relic.
Parwyn’s voice thins.
And... I'm hearing things, but cannot seem to actually locate them...
Hearing things? Such as?
Wails, wings, chains, heartbeats, ... my own voice.
Perigourd:
Where did he curse you?
One of his temples, not far from the south market if memory serves.
One of his.. Underground?
She nods.
I believe so.
Perigourd, almost cheerful with violence:
Ought to just flood the thing.
Missoni:
It is not the temple that is the problem.
I disagree. It's been a curse on the town for generations.
The heartbeat returns. Parwyn slams her palms over her ears and shuts her eyes.
There! there! The heartbeat.
She asks, even though she already knows.
You don't hear it... do you?
Missoni:
I do not.
Bones crunch. Parwyn flinches. Nyssia winces with her.
Bones being crushed...
Missoni:
Have you tried a tkaro tea to block out some of the intrusive noises? Tkaro is a root that has anti-psychic properties. I have found it helpful when experiencing similar...intrusions. I will... see if we can find you some tea. Then we shall speak to him.
Parwyn, tentative:
Him?
Nyssia:
You will be safe.
Missoni names it.
Bakarus.
Nyssia wrinkles her nose. Parwyn rests a hand on the arrows at her thigh as if the street might grow teeth.
As you say.
If we can find the idol, we will know the nature of it, and can perhaps enact some sort of counter-curse.
Nyssia’s light fails her for a breath; color climbs her cheeks. She stifles a yawn.
Parwyn, small:
It is so good to see you... I wish... I just wish...
She shrugs. Nyssia will not let her come apart in public.
You are the same you you've always been.
The grin Parwyn gives back is weak. Nyssia kisses her cheek. Missoni is already turning, looking for Perigourd and the root.
Where did Perigourd go? I was going to ask him if he knows where tkaro root grows.
He is there. He has been everywhere. He fetches the root as if the night were an errand. Nyssia excuses herself to rest; hugs pass like brief, failing wards. Missoni takes the tkaro from Perigourd’s hand and offers it on.
I do not expect that will cure it fully, but may provide some respite. Boil it in a bit of water. You may want to add honey. It can be quite bitter.
Parwyn, grateful and already past dignity:
I'll take it however I have to, I'll mix it with dirt if needed.
Perigourd produces dirt. Missoni stares him blank. Parwyn laughs once, badly hidden.
That will not be necessary, at least!
Bones snap again in a place that is not the square.
Missoni:
I must rest a bit, but I will try to speak on the morrow to Bakarus. Do try to... remain positive until then.
I appreciate whatever you may find. I shall try.
Perigourd:
I'm sure we'll find the right demon to stab.
Parwyn, worried, almost inaudible:
I just hope it doesn't turn out to be me.
Likely not.
Missoni, last and firm:
We will not let that happen.
Motes bloom in her path and burst. The dog follows her out. The square does not grow quieter. Somewhere behind Parwyn’s teeth, something that is not her voice is still calling her name.