To Twist Both Metal And Flesh...

[*Selebius]

The Lilitu answers the last of the questions as she takes Maurics hand from his rapier to place it onto that odd leg, its surfaces cold, the bits of flesh always twitching and moving a bit.

" I was able to find Dustman, Fraternity, Signer, Sinker and Godsmen symbols and methods on those parts, perhaps even the Bleakers and Takers left their marks.

Relax now, doomlord, my magic will show you the way."

She starts to chant even as the tiefling is still answering the other questions, looking between demon, Mauric and Azor.

"Two of them, the dwarf and sensate are assisting some adventurers with some task, the bleaker has returned to the gatehouse."

Those words sound more and more distant as Maurics mind and soul are drawn to whatever soul that creature had- and the following sensations are most disturbing.

Something strong, powerful, of unknown nature and heritage, shattered and scattered all over the place, its many shards bound to devices and bodies not its own.... dying many deaths only to start anew again. Despite of its power it is not old.... indeed Mauric has the odd sensation thst it has not yet been born...

[*Selebius]

The tiefling withdraws together with the other Doomlord and Mauric slips deeper into the visions the spell conjures.

He feels himself torn apart, dying many deaths, coming home only to be ripped into pieces again to be spread over the multiverse once more.

There are no names given, but he sees a multitude of scenes, perhaps pieces and bits of what whatever soul once inhabited this body saw. Not much is left inside the limb, just a faint memory- a memory that is still painful.

He realizes that this soul hate to be bound into those constructs, that it feels this existance is an anathema to what it should be- to what it was made for.

[*Krayt]

[*Selebius]

Part of the soul shirks back from the violence and pain it is shown, part of it drinks in the experiences and Mauric realizes that it is a contradiction in itself, slowly torn apart by conflicting needs, aims and motivations.

Perhaps it was always like this, perhaps it happens because of the varying experiences the soul shards have while being bound to this constructs. Or perhaps it is designed like this, a temporary tool, made to fulfill its purpose before falling to the forces of entropy.

The warlock feels its struggle and for a moment he sees its Cage...somewhere...somewhen..a prison of crystal, metal and wood, bathed in a reddish glowing fluid- and part of this soul wants to pull Mauric inside, tear him apart, consume him. Yet this part is immediately opposed, Mauric's presence adding to the internal struggle and turmoil.

[*Krayt]

((Sorry for the late reply!))

Instinctivly he lashes out at the reatreating soul. It was not a force he could controll it was like water pouring down and never up. His spirit would ruin the harmony toppling the delicate balance his way.

Eyes open wide behind the mask of obscurance, mouth agape. The one flaw was no flaw it was perfect for the ultimate goal a weapon that dies by itself. This was the feature needed. He envisioned Entropes and various monstrosities of every shape and form surging forward.

Focusing through his own dreaming. He tried to discry any small detail that might lead to a actuall location. Something that could be found in the vastness of all the planes.

[*Selebius]

((No worries. This is and next week is very, very busy for me as well. ))


The soul is reeling by this assault, its balance disturbed and Mauric feels that the damage he caused might be a lasting one, influencing the whole process.

He feels himself pushed away now however- the entity hostile now but as he is expelled he still can catch a glimpse of a location- several towers of blue-white crystal, floating in the Astral Plane, hazy somehow as if not completely part of this plane.

The design and place is very unique however- so finding out more about it should not be too hard.

[*Mander]

Throughout the ritual Azor stands next to the Doomlord, eyes locked into Mauric's face and watching for any negative reaction. The last time the warlock had made contact with an artifact like this he'd had to cut an arm off; the Athasian resolved to hack off the prosthetic's hand if his leader's life was in danger.

[*Krayt]

Removing his hand he his posture drooped his head hanging as nearly as lifelless as a a corps. Gritting his teeth he cursed himself for the distubance he had wrought putting the project in danger. Then rebuked himself for the thought one cannot be destruction and not wreak it. As he was forced away and ousted he still raked at the essence until he was completly out of its reach.

"Enough." He spoke in a feeble fatigued voice sound halfly like a exhale with weak words pushed into it.

[*Selebius]

The demon's grip around his true arm is hard but she steadies him.

Having watched him through the ritual she gives him time to get his bearings again, gesturing to Azor to help her getting Mauric to a chair nearby.

[*Krayt]

Plummeting into the chair with a with a rustling as the armour parts stucked agaisnt each other. His vison grew stable as the vortex of swirling shadows formed into writhing silhuettes gaining hue and shape as he was lead. Two missing he was quick to discry through the dreary haze of dissected bodies, strips of humanoid skin, muscle fiber and detached limbs .

"Two are no longer with us?" He spoke as newly roused from sleep. They are up to something and clearly wish to hide it from us. He thought. Getting the Lilitu to switch sides would be hard but feasible if they seem to get the upper hand. He thought.