View source for Parwyn (prime)/Becoming What You Fear

An errant breeze carried her voice across the frozen streets of Icemule Trace.

<blockquote>“I need help…”</blockquote>

Abionet’s answer came back thin as frost.

<blockquote>“Where are you?”</blockquote>

The music box started then. Discordant. Wrong-keyed. Parwyn flinched and turned a full circle among ice and shuttered windows. Nothing. She let the breath out slowly and sent the next words on the wind.

<blockquote>“Can you meet me at White Haven?”</blockquote>

----

The crystalline tower rose above its white-stone wall, gold veins catching what little light the night allowed. Ice sculptures flanked the modwir gate. '''White Haven''' gleamed in gold leaf. She slipped through after him, as silent as she could manage.

The courtyard opened around the tower: frozen vines laid a mosaic across the inner wall, the pond sealed under ice, a granite monument, the dark arch, the doorman pretending not to watch. Abionet was already inside. He waved. The quartz sphere at his side flickered—brilliant, then settling into a pulse that swelled and shrank like a second heart.

Parwyn kept her voice low.

<blockquote>“Do not be startled.”</blockquote>

He nodded greeting. She did not believe anyone had seen her leave hiding. She cleared her throat and asked it pleadingly.

<blockquote>“Can you remove a curse from me?”</blockquote>

Abionet answered as if the work were already done.

<blockquote>“Of course.”</blockquote>

He raised a hand, murmured an orison, gestured.

Nothing happened.

The sphere dimmed, then brightened again, drinking something unseen. His certainty thinned.

<blockquote>“Maybe.”</blockquote>

She burst into tears, eyes glazed with fear, and paced. He asked what had happened. She glanced down at her empty hands, then spoke almost through her teeth.

<blockquote>“Look. At. Me.”</blockquote>

He squinted.

She took the tart-tin mirror from her pack and looked.

Twisting vines writhed around her, an ever-shifting cage of thorns. Reality buckled. The courtyard became a fractured hellscape. Her own face flickered like dying embers and, beneath it, charred demonic skin.

She wailed.

Abionet shrugged.

She cursed the day she was born. Blinked at him. A heartbeat that was not hers thudded close; she flinched, found nothing, kept breathing. Paced again. He offered the smallest explanation he had.

<blockquote>“Magic illusion?”</blockquote>

Parwyn’s head came up.

<blockquote>“From what!?”</blockquote>

He wiggled his fingers, then let them fall.

<blockquote>“Um, eh.”</blockquote>

She gazed at the heavens, groaned, and spat the name that had been waiting.

<blockquote>“That damned lich!”</blockquote>

She fell to her knees, then her side, and jammed her palms against her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. He frowned, knelt, rubbed her shoulder. When she sat up, he kept the question gentle.

<blockquote>“Where did you encounter a lich?”</blockquote>

She glanced at him, still folded in on herself.

<blockquote>“Solhaven.”</blockquote>

She clasped her arms around her knees and rocked. Abionet made a considering noise, almost to himself.

<blockquote>“Hmm. I know they are quite the fanatics when it comes to their Arkati. This coming from a cleric.”</blockquote>

Parwyn named it quietly, as if pinning the thing might keep it still.

<blockquote>“This lich is a follower of the Lord of Lies.”</blockquote>

He nodded. The sphere rippled; dust caught the light and danced.

She stood. A woman wept somewhere. No source. She turned a circle, then spoke to herself as if the words could make it so.

<blockquote>“It was nothing. Nothing at all.”</blockquote>

A brittle nod. Abionet watched her a moment longer before he asked.

<blockquote>“How does this curse impact you?”</blockquote>

She observed the courtyard very slowly, missing nothing on purpose, then snapped.

<blockquote>“Can you you not SEE?!”</blockquote>

She looked again. Same vines. Same hellscape. Same flicker of burned flesh under her own.

He blinked, hunting for the smallest version of the problem.

<blockquote>“So, just, the … look?”</blockquote>

Parwyn’s voice cracked on it.

<blockquote>“Just the look!? I appear as some kind of demon!”</blockquote>

She wailed again. He hurried the comfort out, too bright, too fast.

<blockquote>“Oh, no no, it’s not that bad at all. Barely noticeable.”</blockquote>

She stared. She rolled her eyes, tossed her head back, and tittered too loud—then snapped it off and went still, composed by force. He added the last stitch as if it might help.

<blockquote>“You basically had to point it out to me.”</blockquote>

She paced. Eyes on the ground, hands clenching and unclenching. She put the mirror away. He muttered something that sounded like ''shouldhavesaidi'' and frowned.

Parwyn knelt. The plea came smaller this time.

<blockquote>“Try again?”</blockquote>

He tucked the runic walking stick into his vestment. The sigils faded as it left his hands.

<blockquote>“Ok.”</blockquote>

He rubbed the ruby heart until it glowed gold, then recited, squeaky and earnest and slightly off:

<blockquote>“Lady Oleani, we humbly request you reach forth and remove this curse. That’s not really so bad, in the right light.”</blockquote>

The vestment billowed. He chanted for love to bloom, raised a hand, gestured.

Nothing.

The frown returned.

<blockquote>“No help from the Lady today I fear.”</blockquote>

She lay down and burst into a fit of crying, tears flying. Chains clattered somewhere. She chortled through it, ugly and brief. Abionet kept turning the problem over, talking while he thought.

<blockquote>“Hmm. Have you consulted any experts on curses?</blockquote>

Parwyn dragged her palms from her ears.

<blockquote>“Like who?”</blockquote>

Leathery wings flapped in the dark. She groaned it into the ice. He continued his thoughts aloud.

<blockquote>Is this Lich still about? Perhaps by force… or pursuasion, or … bargains. Hmm, I knew a few creepy people.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>“… by Imaeara, not a bargain with ''him''.”</blockquote>

Inky wings pulsed at her back. The air around her went foul and oppressive. She stood and set about making herself presentable. Abionet offered the next name like a stone he was not sure she should pick up.

<blockquote>“That Lord Ordim fellow tends to lean towards the darker arts.”</blockquote>

She answered without looking at him.

<blockquote>“I don’t know that person.”</blockquote>

A nod from the cleric.

<blockquote>“He is an odd fellow. Reads the dachre, and collects teeth. No real idea if he’d be much true help, but …”</blockquote>

He shrugged, then tried another angle.

<blockquote>“Has anyone else tried anything?”</blockquote>

Parwyn sighed the thanks first, because manners were something she could still do.

<blockquote>“Well… I thank you for trying, Abionet. Most I know are asleep.”</blockquote>

He studied her face.

<blockquote>“Does this Lich have a name I would know?”</blockquote>

She glanced at him, then seethed it.

<blockquote>“Bakarus.”</blockquote>

The frown deepened.

<blockquote>“I’ve heard the name in passing.”</blockquote>

Parwyn’s warning came flat.

<blockquote>“Pray you don’t cross his path.”</blockquote>

He nodded, smaller now.

<blockquote>“I wish there was something more I could do.”</blockquote>

Her answer was barely voice.

<blockquote>“Me too…”</blockquote>

She tried hope next, because hope was cheaper than looking again.

<blockquote>“Perhaps in the morning it will be gone.”</blockquote>

Abionet matched the softness.

<blockquote>“One should hope. How long have you been plagued?”</blockquote>

A shrug from Parwyn.

<blockquote>“I hadn’t looked in a mirror in a while until tonight…”</blockquote>

He lifted a hand, as if to measure the air between them.

<blockquote>“Emphasizing it’s not really that bad.”</blockquote>

She squinted at him. Rested a hand on the faewood arrows in the quiver at her thigh, sea-green eyes alert.

Wings again. She glanced up.

<blockquote>“Did you hear that?”</blockquote>

He shook his head, produced a mirrorbark shard, and gazed into his own reflection as if the answer might live there instead.

<blockquote>“Maybe it’s, um, the mirror. Cursed mirror?”</blockquote>

Bones snapped somewhere. Parwyn held her ground by talking through it.

<blockquote>“I’ve had this mirror for quite some time… and you see the nightmare of it all? Right!?”</blockquote>

He coughed. Showed her the shard. Nothing unusual on his side.

<blockquote>“Nope, not seeing it in there, I think you’ll be fine.”</blockquote>

She reached, hesitant.

<blockquote>“May I?”</blockquote>

He frowned. Grumbled. Offered it.

She looked.

Same vines. Same buckling world. Same ember-flicker of the thing wearing her face.

She dropped the shard and shrieked. He picked it up, put it away, and let the verdict fall flat.

<blockquote>“Guess not.”</blockquote>

Parwyn’s hands were empty again.

<blockquote>“What do you see when you look upon me??”</blockquote>

The foreign heartbeat again. She closed her eyes, exhaled, counted to three. Abionet answered as if listing inventory that ought to comfort her.

<blockquote>“Very well kempt hair, lovely. Well worn leathers that have been through the woods, ornate accoutrements, and a caring soul. You’re tall?”</blockquote>

She blinked.

<blockquote>“That is all?”</blockquote>

A maniacal little titter escaped her. He pressed on, trying to talk the distress down to size.

<blockquote>“Yes yes, I wouldn’t be in such distress. I’m sure there is something we can do to help alleviate your concerns.”</blockquote>

Parwyn spoke to herself, sarcastic and thin.

<blockquote>“He cannot see you are a demon…”</blockquote>

She chortled. Paced. Abionet shook his head, firmer now.

<blockquote>“I’ve seen demons. You’re just a sylvan.”</blockquote>

She knelt before him.

<blockquote>“I beg you, you speak the truth? That is ''all'' you see?”</blockquote>

He cleared his throat.

<blockquote>“Um, there’s some magic about you, yes, that also.”</blockquote>

Her voice went tentative.

<blockquote>“…. what kind of magic?”</blockquote>

An animal shrieked in the dark. He chose the word carefully.

<blockquote>“That typically specialized by the sorcerers.”</blockquote>

Parwyn stared.

<blockquote>“Sorcerers??”</blockquote>

A nod. She pondered it while he filled in the rest.

<blockquote>“The runes, and drawings.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>“Very well, I will… runes? Drawings?”</blockquote>

A sleek elf-owl passed high overhead. She looked in the tart-tin mirror one last time. Same hell. She shivered and put it away. Abionet kept talking into the space she had left.

<blockquote>“Yes, they do some conjuring outside of town. Bringing forth beings from another … plane?”</blockquote>

Parwyn nodded once, deciding.

<blockquote>“I will speak to one.”</blockquote>

He brightened at a name.

<blockquote>“Hmm, yes, Missoni, that name rings a bell, quite an expert in that field.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>“I know of this person… they reside in Solhaven. Of course.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>“Oh, then maybe they’d know of this Bakrits as well.”</blockquote>

She shifted her weight. Glanced nervously around. The quiet came back.

<blockquote>“I should go… I shouldn’t be around… people.”</blockquote>

Her own voice called her name from nowhere. She inclined an ear to the wind and listened until it died. Abionet offered what he could, still squeaking, still unconcerned in the way of someone who had not seen the hellscape.

<blockquote>“All right, I’m here if you need anything else. I’m not concerned.”</blockquote>

He shook his head.

She cocked hers.

<blockquote>“Maybe you should be.”</blockquote>

She blinked. He gasped. She shook her head wondering how those words escaped her lips.

----

Then Parwyn Galanodel ran—inky wings beating once against the foul air—out through the white gate and into the frozen plains, leaving the cleric and his pulsing sphere in a courtyard that had never, for him, become hell.