Bitter Tea - Sirica Obellis

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The Vandals of Rome
Posts: 23
Joined: Mon Mar 22, 2021 9:55 am

Bitter Tea - Sirica Obellis

Post by The Vandals of Rome » Sat Feb 19, 2022 9:48 am

"Hate is a poison."


She remembered the moment she'd decided to run for Sheriff.

As was her way, it was on impulse.

Sarek had done his vile work and in the hour after they were picking a replacement.

They'd chosen Gwen. Kind Gwen. A fine choice. Then, Jahran spoke. He wished to run too.

"You cannot run Jahran. You'll split the vote."

Thud.

"Ormag will win if you do that."

Thud.

"You can't let that happen."

Thud.

"I will run too" Sirica said.

No one should suffer as Jahran had in those moments.

Not alone.


--


It had been bitter, since her victory. She knew it would be.

There was a way of doing things. There were norms.

She did not care for them.

They had been extreme, in reaction. More so than she expected.

Still, she persisted. Optimistic. Faithful. Doing what felt right, for its own sake.

This day had been different.

This day the venom didn't drain, as before.


This day it hurt.


She slept, and dreamt of nothing.


The Vandals of Rome
Posts: 23
Joined: Mon Mar 22, 2021 9:55 am

Re: Bitter Tea - Sirica Obellis

Post by The Vandals of Rome » Fri Mar 11, 2022 7:56 am

"Dehumanised."


There was a word humans used. Dehumanising.

She liked it, even if the implications were horrifying.

Reducing a person, to a thing.

A role. A place.

The halfling, she had never met, spoke with cruelty:

"Not such a High Sheriff now."

Take a drink.

The human, she had never met, had sneered.

Take a drink.

"Remove this Warlock."

Take a drink.

Sirica looked up at the statue of Selune, setting the bottle down.


"My name is Sirica."


Selune didn't answer.

The gnome slouched forward, and wept.


The Vandals of Rome
Posts: 23
Joined: Mon Mar 22, 2021 9:55 am

Re: Bitter Tea - Sirica Obellis

Post by The Vandals of Rome » Sat Mar 19, 2022 4:46 am

"Lost."


Deep in a wild place, under the new moon, the Witch knelt before a pool.

She cut her palm, painting the familiar marks in the water with her vitae. Practiced. Precise. With just a hint of the nightmare.

Then she waited, head bowed, like a beaten hound.

Ice crept across the pool, a biting cold cut through the air.

Even after all this time, the Witch felt a primal sense of excitement, and terror, as her patron took form.

Cold, beautiful and terrible; the fey appeared as if nothing else existed in the world.

"You thought to betray me."

The statement was laced with amusement, and malice.

"I did."

"Why?"

"I thought I had found a place. A home."

The entity laughed. The sound echoed with shattered dreams and unchecked delight.

"You had been doing so well, little thing.

Killing the idle, seizing the throne. You'd have fit right into the Court.

All you had to do was live the lie. But you confessed! Why?"


"It was the right thing to do."

Again, the entity laughed.

"How did that serve you?"

The Witch had no answer. She stared at the ground in silence for some time, before speaking again.

"I want to make a trade."

"You have so little left to offer. But! You've made such amusing misery for yourself. I'll hear it."

"I offer my heart."

She felt the entity lean closer.

"And in return?"

"I want a Name. In the world beyond."

There was a pause, the Witch took a breath, then the entity seized her.

Lifting the Witch up by her throat, the entity smiled at her.

It wasn't comforting.

"I accept."

Stabbing, icy cold filled the Witch's chest. An incomparable pain, but in its wake, nothing.

The guilt. The regret. The compassion. Burned away in moments.

"Welcome to the fold."

She did not sleep. She did not dream.

There was only the Joyous Revel.

Of the witch that was, nothing else remained.



The End.

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