Out of the Shadows, Part 17
Slowly, you approach the Oracle. She tenses at the sound of your footsteps, cringing as much as she can in the limited confines of her chains. But otherwise, she is silent. Finally, you speak. "What is your name?"
"Wh- what...?" she says weakly, after a few tries. "M-my... name?"
The blinded girl struggles with the question. How long has she been locked up in this place? Not even seeing what they do to her? A living vessel for pain? You wait, and eventually she manages a reply. "My... my name... is... Ioni."
You move closer, until you're within arm's reach. Ioni shies away, not knowing what to make of your actions. "Ioni. I have an offer to make you. If you're willing to help me... I can take you away from here."
She sucks in a breath, her mouth working. "A-a-away...?" she finally says, like the word is some incomprehensible thing. Her chest begins to heave, as she hyperventilates. "I... I... I'm not..." she says, sobbing, shaking her head. "This... this is a trick? I'm not... You won't... No... No! I... I..."
Distressed, she starts to thrash in her chains. It's clear that she's afraid you're trying to entrap her with this offer... which presents the morbid implication that there's actually a worse punishment than this for an Oracle who is disobedient.
You step in close, gently holding her face in your hands. You also use a carefully controlled application of your aphrodisiac touch, just enough to induce a heady feeling that should hopefully reduce some of her pain as well. "Shhh..." you whisper. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm not lying to you. I can help you... but you have to trust me."
It takes several minutes before the girl is even coherent, as you patiently hold her, rubbing your thumb along her cheek as you whisper soothing words. Eventually her weak struggles slow to a stop, and she just hangs there in aching silence.
You wonder if any lash of her tormentor's whip was as painful as the prospect of asking her to hope again, after who knows how long in the sightless darkness and torture.
When she finally does speak, it's in such a small voice, barely audible. "R-really?"
"Really."
"You... you promise?"
"I promise."
She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "W-what do you want me to do?"
"I need to know what questions Lady Eshosi has been asking in her recent consultations with Melca," you say. "What is she planning to do?"
Ioni stiffens in fear. "I... I can't!" she pleads. "Those consultations... they're... s-supposed to be a secret between the supplicant and Melca! If... if the High Priestess found out I t-told someone, she'd... she'd..."
"She won't find out," you assure her the blinded girl. You continue to tenderly stroke her cheek, using your voice to convey utter sincerity. "And even if she did, you'll be gone. Away from here. Safe."
You feel her shudder in your hands. In the end... the result was never in question. You're a supernaturally talented manipulator, a being of inhuman charisma. And you're plying his skills on a scared, vulnerable young girl, who is just desperate to make the pain stop. You expertly kindle that tiny flame of hope, until she's clutching at your every word, clinging to your every soothing reassurance.
Faced with such an unfair contest, it takes barely any time at all before her resistance crumbles, and she's timidly telling you everything she knows. "There's... one plan that Lady Eshosi been inquiring about over and over again," she explains. "A really, really big plan. One that she's really nervous about. I... I only know what I could figure out from the questions she asked, but..."
She takes a deep breath, then continues. "It... sounded like she has someone in the Slave Quarter. A dwarf named Albain. He's stirring up unrest, trying to get them ready for a big riot. I think the plan is to have them attack the palace grounds, on the Festival of Melca's Thorn."
So... Lady Eshosi is hoping the horde of slaves will do her dirty work. Attack the festival, overwhelm the guards, kill her enemies. And—succeed or fail—there's nothing to tie it back to her. "I assume that Lady Eshosi has an escape for herself prepared?" you ask.
The Oracle nods. "And... and she has a lot of temple guards ready, so she can come to the rescue after. If it's anything like it was in the last slave uprising... the streets will run with blood."
Yes, that sounds about right for the drow. Idly you consider if there might be a way to give the rioters a chance to outright win, solving your entire problem for you, overthrowing the drow entirely.
But—as convenient as that would be—there's just no way. This is an uprising designed from the ground up to fail, with no support or infrastructure, against a much more entrenched and militarized nation. If the riot takes place, they will be slaughtered sooner or later.
And—of even more personal import—you doubt the stampeding rioters will have much concern for you either, nor for the elves you're here to rescue.
"Also..." the Oracle hesitates, but then continues to spill her secrets, trusting everything to the one she is hoping against hope will be her savior. "There's... one other thing. Something even Lady Eshosi doesn't know. I... I told you that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone what I heard in a consultation. But... I... I have been already. The High Priestess has been forcing me to tell her everything I hear."
Oh... now that is interesting. The High Priestess, betraying her sacred trust to mine the secrets of the petitioners? No doubt for information she could use in her schemes? Including from her own backers among the nobility? You wonder how a fanatic like Lady Eshosi would react to that, a betrayal both of the religious office and of her, personally. It might well kick of a civil war in her own power base.
What you've learned already is a gold mine. But there still remains the other idea you had. If you can impersonate the Oracle for Lady Eshosi's upcoming visit you can feed her false information to interfere with her plans. And after hearing what Ioni had to say, you have a wealth of possibilities. But in order to fool your target... you'll need to see for yourself what this ceremony looks like.
"Thank you, Ioni," you say gratefully. "That's exactly what I needed. And I am going to get you out of here, like I promised. But first... there's something else we could do. Something that will help give us a much better chance of making it out of the Underworld in one piece. I won't force you, but... if you're willing... it would be a great help if you could perform the ceremony for me. One last time."
Ioni's hands clench, and she's silent for a moment. But then she nods. You'd like to think it was solely your eloquent skills of persuasion that made her see how important this is... but really, you're pretty sure it was just simple fear that you would abandon her here if she didn't agree.
With a faltering voice, she talks you through the rites, detailing the steps of her own abuse. The formula is simple, most of the intricate spiritual work already done in the fashioning of each Oracle as Melca's mouthpiece. The most important part is the same thing you saw the worshipers outside do. Three strikes of the whip. No more, no less.
When she's done describing it all, you have only one question. "How hard do I have to strike? I won't use more force than I need."
The girl swallows. "Blood," she whispers. "The important part is to draw blood."
Of course it is. Exhaling, you reach over to touch her shoulder, the power of your Corruptive Boon glowing in your hand. "Accept this," you say, offering it without conditions. "It will help with the pain. Turn it into pleasure, to an extent." It's the best you can do—and your boon isn't omnipotent—but it should make it far more bearable that what she's accustomed to.
And then you begin.
You recite the initial prayers as Ioni described, prostrating yourself on the ground in the appropriate position. The Oracle gives the response, her voice shaky yet determined. You quote the passage from Melca's scripture that she taught you, a poem about how the goddesses' eyes roam far and wide, ever-watching for the weaknesses of her enemies.
Then you rise to your feet and take up the hooked whip from its pedestal. Raising it high, you measure your swing carefully. Then you strike, a light, glancing blow that nevertheless shreds enough to scatter small drops of blood to the floor. Ioni arcs her back, but the cry is a strange mixture of pain and pleasure, as your boon works to transform as much as it can into masochistic bliss. "Nnnnhh!"
Focusing only on the task at hand, you pull back and make the second swing. The result is much like the first. It's revolting. Disgusting. And yet... you feel you heart beat faster and faster as you see the blood fly. Your grip on the whip tightens as you watch the weak little bitch Oracle twist under the cruel weapon.
You only barely keep control of the third strike, your teeth grinding, your hand gripping the whip so hard you feel its handle crack. The blood from the third strike falls to the floor... and you draw your hand back for a fourth strike, aiming right for her juggular.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Screaming at yourself, you arrest your hand in midair, held frozen and trembling with a desperate effort of will. The blind seer hangs there in her chains, completely oblivious to the danger she is in. You clench your eyes shut, fighting to retain control over your arm... then turn and hurl the whip away, sending it crashing against the far wall of the small stone room as you gasp for breath.
And now that your hand is empty, you can see that the third rune of the brand on your palm—while not completely lit yet—is starting to flicker with hints of the same hellish light.
Clenching the hand into a fist, you walk back around to stand in front of the Oracle. You have to keep going. Or this will all have been for nothing.
"Oh Dread Melca the Twin-Aspected, Goddess of Suffering and Thorns," you say, kneeling once again. "May your whim bestow on us unworthy insects the knowledge to strike at our enemies. And may you find some small entertainment in our killing and our dying, as we work to bring forth the full measure of your bounty for this world."
And then you watch. Your eyes scrutinize every detail as Ioni's body tenses, her muscles twisting and straining in an unnatural, painful-looking way. Then she slumps, hanging limp in the chains for several seconds... before slowly raising her head again. "Speak, supplicant," the Oracle says, in an echoing, sonorous voice that is not her own. And yet, despite the grandeur it presents, there is a note of base, sneering mockery to it as well. "What answers do you beg from your goddess?"
It's indirect... but you are now confronting the very entity who has shaped the cursed fate of your mistress. The divine creature whose actions created the deadly trap that you find yourselves in. But before you can speak up, Melca cocks the Oracle's head in a gesture of puzzlement. "Wait. There is the taste of... brimstone about you. You are no drow, for all that you wear the face of one of mine."
Then a low, throaty chuckle emerges from the Oracle's throat. Her bloodied body shakes with amusement, causing the chains she's hanging from to rattle. "No..." Melca says. "No, you are one of those degenerate milksops from the Second Circle! Could you even be, perhaps, the very same incubus who was summoned by the cringing little child who sits on the throne of my Kovora?"
"I do have the honor of serving the Witch Queen," you reply, as you shift back into your true form. You're not sure exactly what method the goddess is using to perceive you given that the eyes of her vessel are gone, but either way there's little point left in the guise.
Melca snorts. "The most pathetic Witch Queen to ever bear that mantle," she says contemptuously. "But... you. You actually seem... competent. For one of your kind, at least. Your methods may lack in ruthlessness, but success can be its own justification. And succeed you seem to have done."
Even as she talks, you're analyzing her voice, her mannerisms. You commit them to memory, preparing for your next move even as you face the goddess. She continues to speak, giving you plenty of material. "However... that still leaves the question of what you are doing here, of all places. I presume it has to do with the gambit the Matriarch has set into motion to kill her little sister? Which must mean that your current target must be the young Ravahorn herself. That is... interesting."
Then she shows you a calculating smile. "Ah... but I rush ahead of myself. You did perform the ritual to ask for my guidance, did you not? So tell me, first... what guidance do you seek?"
Even though the Ioni has no eyes herself, you can feel the attention of the entity possessing her focused on you, evaluating you closely as she waits for your answer.
