Morthif says to you, "Good luck."
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 3669w cexkdb-0
Xenophage raises a jewel-laden hand and claws once at the air. A tear in reality
abruptly opens before you and Hecate, sucking the both of you through its depths
and to a pre-determined destination.
A cramped boudoir (indoors).
Hanging upon an adjacent wall, a faded picture of Tanris Rozzan stares across at
the bed.
There are no obvious exits.
4600h, 6198m, 23400e, 3681w cexkdb-0
Hecate, Mother of Crones flutters her eyebrows at you, taking on the role of a
coquettish, newly-wedded bride as she sweeps one wrinkled hand at her
surroundings.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 3753w cexkdb-0
A glittering nimbus of viridescence surrounds Hecate, reflected from the
multitudinous, visibly decaying emeralds sewn to a tight-fitting bodice that
strains to contain the Crone Queen's massive bulk. In gruesome approximation of
a wedding bouquet, she clasps the heads of Proficy, Aegoth, and Cooper to her
monstrous, pustulent decolletage, their mouths agape and features frozen in
horror. Golden ribbons strain under the pressure of keeping the form-fitting
dress fastened around her corpulent body, vast folds of celadon- and malachite-
hued satin cascading down the back of her skirts to form a lengthy train. A fine
veil of jade-dyed lace partly obscures the pockmarked ruin of her face, the
exposed bone glistening with a paper-thin, translucent layer of disease-riven
new skin. From under her skirts, long-clawed toes poke out from glittering green
glass slippers, a nine-pointed crown of black iron on her bowed head completing
the hideous approximation of a blushing bride.
Hecate, Mother of Crones does not even register your presence as a threat.
She has 100% health remaining.
She weighs about 150 pounds.
She is loyal to The Chaos Court.
You see nothing in it.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 3777w cexkdb-0
You grin mischievously at Hecate, Mother of Crones.
4600h, 6198m, 23400e, 3789w cexkdb-0
You say to Hecate, Mother of Crones in a deep, hollow voice, "I made it through
without becoming ashes, my wife."
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 3837w cexkdb-0
None.
Plus another 12 whose presence you cannot fully sense (172 total).
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 3933w cexkdb-0
A cramped boudoir (indoors).
Fissures pepper the rocky surfaces of four basalt walls forming the boundaries
of this stifling boudoir, which do little to keep out the pulsating waves of
heat from its surroundings. Numerous portraits of Hecate hang haphazardly upon
the northern face, emphasising the voluminous curves, or lack thereof, of the
Crone Queen in a poor attempt at seduction. Thick and unbridled, the stench of
rot and decay hangs heavily in the air, blanketing in particular a tiny bed
pushed against the western partition. Dried streaks of reddish-brown blood and
patches of yellowish discolourations stain the once-white sheets, the crumpled
fabric dangling onto the floor after one too many rough nights. Lacking in any
visible windows or sources of light beyond the dull heat of magma, this chamber
is one created to offer the utmost privacy to its occupants, shielding them
beneath a shroud of darkness. Hanging upon an adjacent wall, a faded picture of
Tanris Rozzan stares across at the bed. Her modesty barely contained, the Crone
Queen Hecate stands here in a virescent wedding dress.
There are no obvious exits.
4600h, 6198m, 23400e, 4005w cexkdb-0
Hecate, Mother of Crones says, "So you did, my dearest husband."
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4017w cexkdb-0
Hecate, Mother of Crones says, "I've picked only the best place for our
lovemaking. Do you like it?"
4600h, 6168m, 23400e, 4053w cexkdb-0
You stare implacably at a painting of Tanris Rozzan.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4077w cexkdb-0
You say in a deep, hollow voice, "Er... yes."
4600h, 6198m, 23400e, 4101w cexkdb-0
Hecate, Mother of Crones' grotesquely obese folds struggle for release against
the constraints of her wedding gown as she makes her way towards the unkempt bed.
Ignoring the stains on the mattress, the Chaos Lady leans over to perfunctorily
straighten the stained sheets in preparation for the consummation; distressed
cloth crackles and snaps, the threads giving way at the back of her dress to
expose a generous eyeful of flabby, wrinkled flesh.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4317w cexkdb-0
Feeling no shame, Hecate, Mother of Crones swivels her head back and favours you
with an exaggerated wink and a wriggle of her hips.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4461w cexkdb-0
Hecate, Mother of Crones says, "Oh my. Husband dear, I seem to have a fashion
malfunction. Would you come over and help me?"
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4557w cexkdb-0
You have emoted: Dunn coughs quietly and shakes his head before addressing the
issue of the clothing on his upper half.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4557w cexkdb-0
You say in a deep, hollow voice, "Oh, no. Malfunctions are no good, my wife."
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4617w cexkdb-0
Coyly, Hecate, Mother of Crones reaches out to wind the fingers of her hand
around one of your arms, before pulling you closer to the bed with a surprising
strength. Taking advantage of the situation, the ancient crone tosses you onto
the bed and hurriedly climbs atop you.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4821w cexkdb-0
You have emoted: Dunn exhales loudly as the wind is knocked out of him, staring
at the ceiling before returning his gaze to the moment.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 4905w cexkdb-0
A loud tearing sound echoes within the boudoir as Hecate's gown rips apart even
further, rendered completely unsalvageable.
4600h, 6168m, 23400e, 4929w cexkdb-0
(Order): Mordanyconus says, "Nonetheless--ah, goodness. The consummation, of
course. The Warlord will be indisposed for a while."
4600h, 6168m, 23400e, 4965w cexkdb-0
Slaver runs down from a corner of Hecate, Mother of Crones' mouth as she stares
down at you, moaning softly in excitement. As the slips of cloth begin to fall
past her shoulder, an unimaginable stench of rotting meat emanates from her body.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 5097w cexkdb-0
Your vision goes black, a foul, swamp-thickened miasma washing over you. Your
gorge rises as you frantically attempt to contain the sickening bile churning in
your stomach and lungs before a peculiar lassitude envelops your senses.
4600h, 6168m, 23400e, 5133w cexkdb-0
AFF| INSOMNIA
AFF| SLEEPING
AFF| PRONE
AFF| DEEPSLEEP
A feeling of deep relaxation seeps into your very bones, and you find yourself
sinking into an unnaturally deep sleep.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 5157w cexdb-0
(Order): Mizik says, "Not long, surely. Not in the Crone's masterful...hands?
What have yous."
4600h, 6168m, 23400e, 5193w cexdb-0
(Order): Mordanyconus says, "I am unsure if they qualify as hands. The waters
are not clear, and for that, I am slightly thankful."
4600h, 6168m, 23400e, 5265w cexdb-0
You feel the heavy weight of the Crone Mother moving atop of you, her sweaty
hands running down your chest. The sensation lingers for a second, before
dissipating.
4600h, 6168m, 23400e, 5325w cexdb-0
Time blurs and your mind frays, helpless before the inviolate lassitude. Dimly
aware that a rushing sensation of movement is encompassing you, you begin the
painful trek back to the harsh reality of awakening while an unmistakable sense
of violation and degradation echoes in your gut. You are before the Eschaton,
once more within Ashtan, yet faint screams of horror still echo within the
depths of your mind, in a voice that you realise is your own.
Hall of the Archons (indoors).
A comforting feeling of privacy pervades the area.
You see a single exit leading south (closed door).
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 5613w cexdb-0
AFF| SLEEPING
AFF| DEEPSLEEP
AFF| PRONE
You stand up.
4600h, 6183m, 23400e, 5793w cexdb-0
(Ashtan): You say, "Ashtan... I am in need of a slaughter."
4600h, 6173m, 23400e, 5853w cexkdb-0
Though try as you might, you have little recollection of the past day, the nails
continue to pulse within your arm, each movement a fresh surge of pain for your
consciousness.
4600h, 6198m, 23400e, 5877w cexkdb-0
A sickening, fluorescent emerald miasma rises around you as the voice of Hecate,
Mother of Crones croons, "You were marvelous, dearie. Our next consummation
shall have to be one of even more exertion, with such vigour and stamina as you
showed me. The many litters this will produce leave me slavering for more."
5439h, 6183m, 23400e, 5913w cexkdb-0
A sickening, fluorescent emerald miasma rises around you as the voice of Hecate,
Mother of Crones croons, "You shall attend me when I next require it, dearly
dutiful groom."
5439h, 6243m, 23480e, 5937w cexkdb-0 (+75m)
(Ashtan): Mizik says, "Nonsense. Relish in your undoubted paternity."