The Mother of Monsters

The aspects provided many powers and near-infinite possibilities. Yet few powers were quite as versatile, powerful, and potentially cruel as what the Archlich considered the greatest ability of the [Aspect of Knowledge], [Psychometry]. An ability that dwarfed even the strange gift of the Journal that Lady Teyva and her companions possessed. Physical contact was its only limitation and requirement. With that hurdle cleared, whether it be an object or a living thing, its history would be laid bare. Past thoughts, hopes, dreams, memories held dear or repressed, every detail that belonged to the object of his curiosity was open to him to sip from.

As he held Sari in his grasp, he drank deeply. As a lich, Paraklytus’ conscious mind and soul were one and the same. That allowed him to experience memory in a more vivid way than others might. The images came slowly at first, flashes of places he had never been and stray, panicked thoughts. He saw a girl, barely old enough to stand on her own, with leaves and herbs in her hands. He saw an elderly orc standing over her, slightly older, pride swelling in her chest as he showered her in praise. She had crafted a potion on her own at such a young age. The images darted about until she was kneeling before an orc that seemed to her to be the size of a mountain. She would be the youngest wise-woman in the history of their people, he would make her a paragon. Then there was pain, the knowledge of ages tearing through her young mind.

Sari managed to wrench herself from his grip as the last of those fleeting images of her childhood came and went. She was on her knees, tears burning in her eyes. She bore her teeth at him, struggling to get to her feet, her strength failing her.

“So young, to be given a Racial Aspect, to see the history of your people laid bare and their knowledge burned into your mind, it is the peak of cruelty,” The lich observed, tilting his head.

“That wasn’t yours to see!” Sari bit out, struggling to pull her knife from the strap on her leg. Her fingers fumbled around the handle and she made an exasperated sound. “Stay out of my head!”

“I’m afraid that is not possible,” The Lich said, already extending his hand to grasp her face a second time, “My Queen has expressed the desire to have you as one of her companions.”

“So what? You’re going to tell her about it?” Sari hissed, finally managing to get a grip on her weapon. “Blackmail me into service? You’ll have to try harder than that,” She grinned wickedly, “I’d sooner-”

“Of course not,” The lich said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand, “You seem to misunderstand what my aim is here,” He continued, drifting a bit closer and letting her see into the pin-point glow of his eyes. “My Queen trusts her companions with her life, for good or ill, she adores them with all of her heart. They chose her as much as she chose them. They have the power and wisdom to support her as she reaches for the peak. She has expressed an interest in you and I have chosen of my own volition to see if you are worth her time and love. Who is this person that she has chosen, I ask myself. If they are unworthy, should I drive them away?”

Sari pushed herself to her knees and then to her feet, “You have a lot of balls coming out here and just deciding a person’s worth by a single glimpse of their past,” She spat, “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” Paraklytus said, standing up straight and looking down at her, “I know that you are nothing but a wandering predator lost to her hunger and stuck in her past. How in the world you could possibly be of any use to Lady Teyva is beyond me,” The lich said, waving his hand dismissively, “The [Aspect of the Lord of Plagues] would be wasted on you, as would my mistress’ attention,” He sighed, “Forgive me for interrupting your meal. I will be excusing myself.”

Sari stared at him, dumbfounded, “You can’t just say shit like that and leave!”

“Make me stay,” Paraklytus said as he turned away, drifting along the bridge.

Sari pointed her knife at him, “One of these days there will be no plague I cannot spread or cure, no wound I cannot repair, I will hold life itself in the palm of my hands, you can take that back to your Queen. I don’t give a damn about joining her little circle of sycophants but don’t you dare look down on my ambitions!”

The Lich huffed, his back to her as he moved away. He raised a hand in farewell, “Prove it.” He growled, “Perhaps if you become undead like myself you’ll live long enough to become a footnote in history,” He glanced over his shoulder, “As you are now, you are nothing more than a waste of my evening.”

Sari lowered her weapon to her side and stared at the ground. She rolled her jaw and looked up at the lich’s back as it grew even more distant. Her free hand fell to her hip where she thumbed a small leather pouch. She slipped her hand in and ran her fingers over the surface of the stone she had hidden away there. She looked back up at the Lich before averting her gaze, focusing on the vast canyon beyond the village. The way he spoke, it sounded like he knew a way to activate a stone without having to petition an Aspect Being. She pressed her lips together tightly, her legs tensing along with her shoulders.

“Wait,” She called out.

He paused but said nothing to her as he floated in the air at the edge of the bridge.

“Do you really have such a library?” She asked.

Unknown to Sari, his eyes flashed bright with the taste of victory. They dimmed and he turned to look at her, “You will have to travel with my mistress to see it for yourself.”

Sari slid her weapon into the strap on her thigh, “I’ll see you at camp, then, monster,” She said, holding her head high.

“My name is Paraklytus,” He corrected her, “And bravado is just bravado.”

With that, he drifted away and out of sight. She stood in the middle of the bridge and hung her head, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists until blood began to drip from her knuckles. She would show him. There would be no finer master of medicine in the world than Sari Troud. Nobody called her out like that and got away with it. No one. She looked over her shoulder and watched a pair of villagers step by and felt her urges die like a wilting flower. She wasn’t in the mood anymore. She needed to get the rest of her supplies and notes before she made her way back to the Caravan Campsite if she was going to get some sleep. After all, she needed to put that damned lich in his place.

***

Back at the Caravan, Teyva sat across from the fire with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. She rested her chin on her knuckles and snorted out a small laugh before recalling her Darkeye. Nephral rested his chin on her knee and looked up at her thoughtfully, “Mother?”

“It’s nothing,” Teyva said with a wave of her hand, “Just had an interesting little dream. I think it’s about time I got some sleep, yeah?”

The feline yawned and rose, shrinking down to his smaller form and hopping up onto her shoulders. She pulled herself to her feet and brushed off her knees. She turned to Marble who was still in the shape of a carriage and the doors opened of their own volition. Inside, little Stella was curled up in a tiny impromptu crib that the stoic mimic had created within its body for her to rest. Teyva found herself a seat and leaned back, stretching her legs out while Nephral hopped down into her lap and curled up for the night. Out of the corner of her eye, Paraklytus drifted towards the remains of the campfire. His glowing eyes fixed on her through the still-open doors of the carriage.

“Off to bed, Majesty?” He asked.

“It’s been a long day,” Teyva yawned, “How was your walk?”

“It was certainly not boring,” The lich said, “Rather productive actually.”

Teyva nodded, “Good to hear, keep up the excellent work, Perry dear.”

The lich bowed low and drifted off to find a place to settle for the night. Teyva willed the doors to the carriage to close and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Her lip curled into a small smile, “Productive indeed.”