>>797557
The heretic.

Heretic, heresy magic sounds fun! Failing that, the Dishonoured.

Heresy! Defying holy doctrine is always great fun.

When someone asks you if you're a Dwarf. you say yes.

Ironfist.

Ironfist. Because dorf.

>>797557
The Heretic. Failing that, The Baroness.

Witchcraft, heresy and mutation!

The heretic or the ironfist

The awakening of your magic was not a silent affair.

They came suddenly, descending upon the caravan without warning in the dead of night. Screams filled the air, of pain and fear, as they butchered those you spent your entire life with. Mother and father, sister and brother, friends and fellow demons, all were put to the sword. None were shown mercy, not even the children. Heretics all, in the frenzied and zealous minds of the enraged humans. None were worthy of living, despite, at least in your view, not a one committing any act of great evil.

They had come for you last, whether by some miracle or curse, and it was then your magic awoke. It poured from you, untamed and wild as all awakenings were, though with far greater power then any you'd seen. It ripped men apart, sent others into gibbering madness. And all the while, the scream of that damning word.

Heretic.

Within minutes, you are alone, the last crackles of magical power dying down as it settles within your soul. The wind is already sweeping the desert sands over the bodies of friends and foes alike. You feel numb to it all, blankly staring at the shifting sands around you.

Then you are elsewhere, the land before your eyes melting away to reveal a world covered in shadows and filled with the stench of death. Fear is palpable all around you, screams endlessly pervading the air every direction. You feel terror start to grip your heart, and you almost scream, only to feel something press against your back, soft and warm and comforting, hands descending over your eyes to shield your gaze from the sight before you. A soft voice, husky and filled with pleasurable promises, fills your ears, drowning out the horrible sounds around you.

"This world is in danger. Your people, MY children, are in danger. Something comes, to strip the light from this world and drown it in rivers of death. This cannot come be allowed. Child, Daughter of my blood, you must gather your kin. You must prepare them for what comes. Otherwise, all is lost. I know your magic has only just awoken, that you are weak and afraid, that all would seem lost. But you are a succubi, you are one of my daughters. Follow your passions, and all will be well.

"A small caravan of your kin comes to you now, seeking to honor the dead, if nothing else. They will know you. They will follow you. For you shall bear my mark."

At these words, a searing pain burns across your left palm, branding your flesh. It passes as quickly as it comes, and as the pain vanishes so to do the hands that shield your eyes. Before you stretches the sands once again, and the remnants of the caravan that was your family. You feel unconciousness swiftly approaching, your body unsteady and failing to keep itself upright. As you slip from the waking world, you catch a glimpse of your palm, and your eyes widen in shock even as you pass out.

The bat-winged Eye of Helsica, Mother of the Incubi and Succubi, stares back at you.

You awake later, hands clenched so tightly they bit into your skin. Your eyes behold the sight of a tents roof, and for a moment you manage to convince yourself that maybe it was all some horrible dream. This illusion is quickly banished, however, when you inspect your palm and the Eye of Helsica stares back at you once more. Grief threatens to overtake you, but you force it down. A tent means someone has found you, and if someone has found you, that means you are either safe or in danger. Hopefully the vision was right and you are safe.

You pull yourself from the bedroll that acts as your bed and find some loose fitting clothing waiting by your feet. You take the time to pull them on, inspecting the area around you as you do. By your estimation, and if this caravan is anything like your own, you are currently sleeping in the nicest tent this group has. It is well made and sturdy, and a few woven patterns in the cloth shows that whoever owns it is high in the caravan hierarchy indeed.

You emerge a few short minutes later, blinking against the sun that sits high in the sky. You find yourself greeted by dozens of curious eyes, belonging to the small group of demons that make up this caravan. You awkwardly stare back at them, uncertain as to what exactly you are expected to do. The decision is soon made for you, as an incubus emerges from a nearby tent and, seeing the situation, barks a quick series of commands which sends the assembled scrambling to their tasks. The man nods in satisfaction, then makes his way to you, a small smile finding its way to his lips.

"Ah, Marked One. You are awake. This is good. Come, come, we need to get you a proper meal, I think."

You are quickly swept up and led to the remnants of a fire, likely one from the night before. You are sat down and quickly find a
small number of fruits and a flask of water deposited into your hands. You eat quickly and quietly, slightly distracted from the task by the incubus, who begins to speak as he sits beside you.

"It is an honor, you know, to be able to meet one such as you, Marked One. Legends speak of only a few that have had such a mark in our history. We know not what you're purpose is, but know that we shall aid you as best we can. Especially after..."

His eyes grows sad, his voice dropping in volume and growing more somber. Your own action slow to a halt as well, painful memories surfacing as you realize what he is talking about. He notices your mood quickly, and he reaches over to pat you on the shoulder comfortingly.

"I am sorry for your loss, Marked One. We came upon the aftermath following the magical awakening... Your caravan members were given proper rights, the mourning songs sung as needed to guide their spirits to rest.

You offer a weak smile in response to this before rousing yourself and resuming your small meal. He watches you a moment before nodding to himself, then perks up a bit, clearly intent on moving passed the mention of somber affairs.

"Ah! Before I forget, I am Motreb, the caravan leader. I am sure you have many questions, Marked One, and I shall do all I can to answer them, just as surely as I and my caravan will do all we can to aid you in your task."

>Questions may now be asked

(Additional Information: You are now in control, and may speak and decide your own fate. You are also now effectively in control of the fate of this caravan, as they will follow you wherever you go, providing some small measure of protection and acting as the first step towards unifying your people. Magic is also now at your command, and you may attempt to use it at any time. Doing so untrained, however, can have unpredictable and dangerous consequences. It may be advisable to find a tutor, to teach you in the demonic magic that comes naturally to your kind.)

You want to visit the graves first. You need time to process this.

>Questions may now be asked
How old is the Heretic Watched One?

Size / distribution of the caravan that found you?

Are we headed anywhere in particular? (Carrying something on a leg of a trade route, perhaps?)

How long has it been since they found you? (And/or where are we, if regional states matter in the desert).

>It may be advisable to find a tutor, to teach you in the demonic magic that comes naturally to your kind.)
Do they have anyone versed in the art? (or do they know of anyone?) You'll need a teacher. You have power, but neither skill nor experience.

What's the geography of the immediate area?
Nearest human settlements?
Any more of our people nearby?

Where do you keep your horses, valuables and flammables?

What do I look like?

Can I borrow your wallet for a minute?

Use your magic to summon an elder god to visit its wrath upon the humans.

>Use your magic to summon an elder god to visit its wrath upon the humans.
I'd like to vote against dangerous magical experiments, especially on that kind of scale.

A simpler test of your magic: Cast a spell to enhance knockers.

>>797701
the direct approach to revenge is much more satisfying anyways.

>Appearance/Age
The Marked One is currently in currently twenty years old. Though she has long since been considered physically mature(in that she is capable of bearing children), culturally she is still considered a child, as her awakening has only recently occurred and she displays no signs of her demonic heritage. Therefore, it is entirely acceptable by others to refer to her as a child, until her body displays its demonic nature. Once she receives the first sign of her status as a demon, she will be accepted as an adult, albeit a young one, and she will be expected to choose a name for herself, which will remain with her for the rest of her life.

The Marked One's current body is slim and androgynous, displaying no strong womanly traits beyond being slimmer and slightly shorter than her male kin. Long black hair, straight and smooth, frames her face, which could vaguely be called pretty. This appearance, however, will soon change, influenced by her awoken magic. Depending on the path her magic is lead down, her form could take traits more common of succubi(Larger breasts,slimmer frame, shorter and less imposing, facial features that could be described as beautiful or alluring) or she could stray away and take on traits reminiscent of her male kin(smaller breasts, more muscle, taller and more intimidating, still pretty, but more of a regal or boyish charm). Using magic that is inherent to neither gender will strike a balance somewhere in between.

-----

You glance about as you eat, trying not to seem too nosy despite being exactly that. You perform a quick count of those you can see moving about the camp site, packing tents and readying the camels used to travel the deserts. There are some twenty you can see, and factoring in old and those very young there should be closer to twenty-five. That's about average for a demon caravan, keeping the numbers small to avoid notice by zealous "crusaders" and desert predators. As you perform your count, you pause in your eating long enough to speak, your words sounding, to you, far more silky than you remember your voice being. The first subtle signs of your demonic heritage awakening, or maybe your imagination only hoping so.

"How long has it been since you found me? And were you going somewhere in particular before?"

"We found you two nights ago, a few miles from here. We made you comfortable, and tended to the spirits of the fallen. Wrapped and burned, as is proper, and we sung the mourning songs, as I mentioned before. I'm afraid I'm not aware of your caravans personal songs, so perhaps it would be best to take the time when you can to sing for them as well. It is said that no spirit can ever be mourned too much. Every passing of our kin is a tragedy."

Motreb pauses, allowing a moment of silence in respect to the fallen, before continuing, his voice serious and somewhat grave, though there is a hint of sympathy in his tone.

"As callous as it may seem, we gathered the supplies and bounty your caravan had gathered. The skins of the desert drakes, the fruits of the incompi, water, and food. We've secured it separately from our own, as they are your possessions by right. If nothing else, they should more than suffice in bartering for goods you may try to secure for yourself. Fortunate as well, as our destination is the closest of the human outposts in the region, Fort Hevre, only a few days travel northward."

You nod, even as you consider the goods at your disposal. The skins of the desert drakes were valued highly. Prepared properly, it could be fashioned into leather armor of surprising durability, while remaining flexible and light-weight. Perhaps more importantly to the rich and privileged, the desert drakes could often be found in a multitude of colors. While browns were most common, more vibrant colors could also be found, such as deep reds and bright blues. Perhaps most prized were those drakes who bore rich purple hues, and it was such a prize that your own caravan held, among other colors.

The incompi would be just as valuable, the fruits of the desert plant could be produced into a fruity yet highly alcoholic beverage. Desert drakes often gathered around the plants, happy to gorge themselves on the sweet fruits, so many caravans sought both out, gathering an ample supply before returning to forts to trade them for goods necessary to survive. It was what your own caravan was doing, on its return to Fort Havre. If you'd only moved a short distance, that would place you on the edges of the region known as the Shifting Dunes. A relatively well mapped region, such as any featureless desert could be mapped.

You finish eating quickly as you ponder, licking the last of the juices of your meal from your fingertips before focusing on Motreb once again.

"Are there any other caravans nearby?"

"Unlikely, Marked One. If there were, they would doubtless have come to investigate already, as we did. Still, you will almost always find at least a few caravans around a Fort."

"I see... Motreb, do you know anything of magic?"

The man looks surprised, blinking in confusion before rallying his senses and pushing on with the conversation.

"Magic? I do not, nor do any of us here. Why do you ask, Marked One?"

"I... I need instruction. Someone to teach me to use magic properly."

"Ah... a tutor. I'm afraid magic has grown rarer among our kind, and those who do wield it are not ones to openly display it, lest they be hunted for... witchcraft." Motreb spits the word, as many demons do. The magic that marked all was not evil, and never had been. "Still... there are possibilities. A moment if you will."

Motreb stands and head off to speak to a few of the other incubi, collecting from them a cylindrical tube you recognize as a map container. He brings it over, extracting the map from within and opening it. It's a map of the southern desert, or as much of it as has been mapped, which is the northernmost third of it. Marked is the Shifting Dunes, just south of Fort Havre, which stands in a line of about twelve small forts, lying in a semi-circle around the main human city in the region, Qual-Toresh. To the west and north, the Cloudspire Mountains, to the north and east, the Poisonmire swamps. And farther south, the uncharted lands of the Sea of Sand.

It is sad to say, but this is the most you've ever seen of the world. Motreb gives you little time to consider it however, his finger stabbing at Qual-Toresh.

"The main human city it may be, but our kind do exist there. I have been only once, when I was younger, and I would never wish to return. However, I can say that our kin have found a place for themselves, as thieves and rouges and bandits. Rumors, passed to me from fort dwellers, say that there is a thief that moves like shadows, unseen and unheard. Perhaps they have some trick of magic that might be of interest, or at least know who might."

His fingers traces a line west and slightly south, to a fort marked as Westrun.

"Here, and this I know for fact, resides the largest caravan of our kind, though I hesitate to call it a caravan. It is known to all as the traveling House of Pleasures, and as the name suggests, there are a number of... services... that can be partaken of. Word says their leader, a Mistress Sayla, is beautiful beyond words and capable of manipulating a man with but a glance. If there is even a hint of truth to that, then I'd say there's magic involved somehow."

Finally, the caravan master's hand slides eastward, passing a number of forts and into a region of the east with little marking beyond those of known trails.

"There are rumors that somewhere in the east, non-demon caravans and military patrols have been ambushed by demons. Most of note, a number of those who have escaped have claimed that these attacks were lead by an incubi who spat fire and whose skin could not be pierced by steel. I know not the truth of the reports, but surely spitting fire is worthy of investigation."

Motreb lets his hands fall to his side, eyes turning to meet yours. He offers a kind smile, mixed, you think, with a little bit of pride.

"Though we are scattered, Marked One, we are never truly cut off from our kind, or the world around us. If you so desire, we have ample supplies to skip the trip to Fort Havre, and redirect ourselves to a new destination. Trading our goods at one fort is no different from trading it at another. All we await is your command."

Perhaps sensing the mood, the camp stills, people pausing in their work with baited breath. It's expected in such a community as a caravan, however. Particularly when a decision made by the caravan master affect everyone within it. Now, it seems, the decision falls to you instead. You open your mouth to respond after a few minutes of consideration, but before you can speak, Motreb, for whatever reason, seems to break from his own reverie and notice the lollygagging of those in his charge. Almost immediately, he jumps to his feet, barking orders once again and sending caravan members scrambling about in hurried attempts to look like they hadn't just been eavesdropping.

"There's no rush, Marked One. I am sure this is overwhelming. If you have anymore questions, please ask. I would not expect you to make a decision ill informed. Or that you are used to having a caravan at your beck and call."

Motreb chuckles at this, clearly meaning it as a joke, but the words aren't something you can bring yourself to laugh at. He's right, you never expected to be leading a caravan, even if its by simply pointing in a direction and leaving the particulars to someone else.

>_

>either tall or busty
Why the dichotomy? Whyyyyy?
Well let's not interrupt the caravan's route too much. We wish to head to the Traveling House of Pleasures, but after your caravan's business in the human fort is concluded.

>Not an adult till you get your horns / tail / wings / crazy skin/hair/eye color
Hmm. Interesting. Plumage, almost.

>magic style influence appearance
>ninja magic, manipulation magic, combat magic
Just looking at the way they were presented thematically, the mental/social influence route is probably the female bias, combat the male bias, and thief route androgynous. (Or possibly all three schools have applications / spells with individual biases?).

Honestly, if we're supposed to be a protector, the combat applications seem most relevant. As a leader, the social applications. The shadow skills... I don't think you can afford to be a lone operator or infiltrator.

Ignoring the magics themselves, the caravan of pleasure is probably the safest, while the human settlement and the raiders are more dangerous locations.

>what do
First concern is the trade goods. Finish where we were going with those, get what advantage we can.

Then, longer term, I think we want a mixed education. Head to the caravan queen to learn leadership, diplomacy and manipulation. Soft power and leadership. Then go to the raiders to learn war when subtler meathods fail, or will not serve your purposes.

You need to be prepared to lead and to fight.

>>797871
>Why the dichotomy? Whyyyyy?
(Maybe our deity has a thing for shortstacks)?

I'm guessing we can to cultivate a mix of influences, tho. Genetics via spell list.

Well it's pretty clear which way a spell to enhance knockers is aligned.

>>797871
I believe there is a small misunderstanding. It is meant to mean shorter than an incubi. Succubi stand between 5'6" and 6 feet in height, while incubi are generally closer to 6'6". Exceptions, of course, exist in both cases.

----

You decide, eventually, to finish the journey to Fort Havre, to trade the goods you have at your disposal and hopefully obtain some resources better suited to the tasks ahead. You spend the remainder of the time at camp helping to tear down tents and pack away goods. The familiar tasks are comforting, something you've done countless times, and soon enough the caravan is moving northward across the desert sands.

The first night, to the gentle rhythm of a camel's gait, you sing the songs of mourning, your quiet voice disappearing into the desert winds and, just maybe, soothing the spirits of the departed. The rest of your journey is uneventful, perhaps abnormally so. Motreb speaks with you easily, the incubi eventually revealing his gift as being a simple elongation of his canines(a rather weak gift, but it allows him to blend among humans much more easily), as well as babbling on about a multitude of other subjects you find difficult to follow. The rest of the caravan members, however, seem to avoid you. You sense it is not out of distaste or mistrust, rather it's a matter of respect and barely concealed awe. On the few occasions you do interact directly with them, they do their best to use respectful tones, and almost always bow or avert their eyes when engaging in conversation with you. You find this mildly uncomfortable, but can think of no easy way to remedy this in such a short time, and Motreb dismisses it as being necessary and appropriate behavior.

Your first sight of Fort Havre is one you are very familiar with. The outpost is a small one, little more than a watch post, with the occasional armed patrol to keep the established routes clear of bandits and the odd drake. Still, even at such a small outpost, the bustle of activity and low hum of merchants haggling fills the air. Motreb directs the caravan to skirt around the main hub, sending them to join a few other caravans that have set up temporary camps outside the fort walls, unwelcome as demons are sleep within. He, however, steps away, guiding the camel you ride, laden with the trade goods you own, as well as another carrying the goods of his own caravan. As he leads the way towards the marketplace, he speaks softly, just enough for you to hear.

"Wrap your hand, Marked One, it would not due to have unwelcome eyes know you."

"We're going to see the trade master, right?" You ask your question as you wrap a scrap of cloth around your left hand, hiding the Eye from view. You are fairly sure that the trade master is the one demon's are required to trade through, if only because they can't turn a caravan away.

"Indeed we are. Fort Havre's trade master is fair, if grumpy. He'll likely have one of his aides handle me, I am a regular here, and he knows me well enough to know what I bring. You are a new face, however. He'll want to test you, see if he can haggle you down. Do not allow it so. Be confident, but not forceful. Polite, but do not grovel."

"You can't help me?"

"No. It is your goods, from your caravan. It is bad luck barter for another. But as I said, he is fair. He won't cheat you... too much."

Soon enough, Motreb guides the camels into a small courtyard. Almost at once, a grim-faced human, followed quickly by a number of perhaps over worked men, steps out from a nearby building, eyeing the pair of you. You slide from your camel onto the ground, and as you do so you notice Motreb already engaged with one of the workers, talking quickly between themselves. Before you can observe for long, however, the trade master himself steps up to you, eyeing your goods with naked greed, in particular the vibrant skins of the desert drakes you have with you.

"A new face, is it? What do you have, and what do you want in exchange?"

>_

>At ideal prices, and not including the purple drake skin, you have the equivalent goods to replace all the caravans tents with new ones, add a few new camels, and purchase enough food to last the caravan a month of travel. The purple drake skin alone is equivalent to the above.

Well, if this caravan's going to stick with you... might as well invest back into them. Purchase food, camels and replace failing tents. Can you purchase magical supplies on the DL?

Yeah they've carried you out of the wilderness and seen to the funerals of your dead family. It's a way to pay them back a little and invedting in them is only prudent.

I'm not sure whether to sell the purple drake skin or keep it as a memento. It's valuable and distinctive.

>what get
The things that jump to mind are practical, pragmatic necessities, or condensing goods in high value fungibles that can be transported easier (the purple drake skin already counts as the later).

I'd say trading most the mundane hides for supplies to aid your new caravan would be a good idea. They took care of you, and they put their trust in you. Your god put her trust in you to look after them.

I'd save the purple drake skin. We might need it as a bargaining chip in a future deal (say, paying for our education if the mages we seek out are unwilling to help freely). Or we might use it to make something sentimental or ceremonial for ourself. A piece of a lost home, and a mark of status.

>Can you purchase magical supplies on the DL?
Probably not, considering we're brand new to magic. Even if he sells magic supplies, we're too green to know if we're getting good stuff or being swindled.

You do your best to not be swindled with only the general knowledge you have. Having never participated in bartering before, however, you end up feeling hopelessly out of your depth. Still, overall you get everything you feel you need, which is to say you acquire tents, food and a few extra camels to gift to the caravan. They'd protected and aided you, it was only right to pay back their kindness and understanding. The only slight snag in the negotiations was the brief sighting of the purple drake skin. The trade master's naked greed told you more than enough about its worth, but in the end you tucked it away. The scowl on his face spoke of his dislike for the loss, but it was quickly wiped away, and you found yourself leading a small team of camels away from the trading post, Motreb meeting you just outside.

The look of surprise he gives you is faintly amusing, even doubly so when you hand him his newest camels, keeping only one for yourself. He fumbles with his words for a moment before gathering himself, looking pleased and a bit embarrassed.

"I can't tell whether to be grateful or indignant that you would spend your trade goods on us. Still, this will go a long way. Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, Motreb. You helped me, and I think it was fair to help you in return."

Motreb accepts your decision with a nod of understanding, leading the way out of the packed marketplace and towards the gathering of caravans. Halfway there, and well away from the bustle of the crowd, an incubus you recognize from the caravan meets you, speaking in hushed tones to Motreb. There conversation is fast paced, and too low for you to make out anything, but soon the incubus is sent rushing off back the way he came. Motreb looks slightly upset, but shakes it away when he notices your concerned gaze.

"It is... I was hoping to delay this, put it off till nightfall and less prying eyes, but it would seem looser tongues have prevailed. The caravan masters would like to meet you. Those that are here, anyway. Of course, that also means the other demons will want to see you... there's little we can do to prevent it, unfortunately... I swear, I'll strangle that girl one of these days..."

Motreb continues grumbling for a few more minutes, your pace slowing to practically a crawl. You think he's trying to give you time to get yourself ready, but admittedly you aren't sure what to expect. Caravan meetings are generally the only times caravans are loud and boisterous, with story telling and dancing and singing being a nightly occurrence till the caravans parted ways.

You get your answer almost as soon as you enter the circle of tents. Almost at once a hush falls over the area, and you feel the gazes of almost a hundred demons staring at you. Awe and curiosity are the most prevalent, with the occasional doubting expression mixed in. Motreb halts your procession, himself looking displeased with the general goings on, but he too looks to you with a hint of curiosity hidden in his glance. You feel yourself hesitating, unsure of what exactly to do, though all the ancient legends would have you make some grand speech or proclamation. Almost in mockery of your own indecision, a succubus child slips from her mother's grasp and scrambles up to you, tugging lightly on the loose cloth that makes up your clothing. Her voice is soft, filled with awe and a child's innocence, perhaps not fully understanding what she asks.

"Are you the Marked One?"

>_

We're in a human settlement, and we're not established in our power or influence yet. I think that means we have to be cautious. Don't straight up deny or confirm it. Leave a rumor to be believed by the faithful, or to give hope to those who need it.

Focus on the child. Crouch down to her level and speak with her.

"And who are you, little one?"

Wait for her response, then ask her if she knows what it means to be the marked one. What are they supposed to be?

Then, instead of answering her first question, speak to her explanation. Acknowledge those of the traits she ascribes to the Marked One that you see in yourself (ie "The marked one is x y z.." "Well, I'm x..."), an speak to what you think the Marked One should be.

The believers and hopeful will see you saying yes without saying yes. The doubters will dismiss you. We leave the door open and start to spread your legend, but don't lend it any credibility. Yet.

You crouch down, dropping to one knee to bring yourself more or less eye level with the child. You offer a smile, which seems to brighten the child's already awe struck look, before you speak.

"And who are you, little one?"

The girl flushes visibly, fidgeting in place. Still she answers shyly, and at a volume you almost don't catch.

"Siiya."

"A good name. What do you think of when you hear of the Marked One?"

Her fidgeting ceases, and a grin explodes across her features. Shyness is replaced with enthusiasm in moments, and she speaks with hardly a breath in between words.

"The Marked One is beautiful and kind and strong and wise and is going to lead us all and keep us safe and have everyone be friends with everyone else!"

A ripple of subdued laughter from the crowd around you, but you ignore it in favor of the eyes before you. Her knowledge is childlike, likely explained in such terms by those older than her, but the childlike belief she carries is perhaps stronger than any other form. Your smile involuntarily grows larger, her cheer infectious. You raise your voice to reach all of those assembled.

"Well, they certainly sound like a very nice person, don't they? As for myself, I think I'm a nice person, and I would prefer everyone to be safe and happy. And I will do what I can to make sure those around me are both."

Siiya accepts this happily, before she rushes back to her mother and begins babbling in the way that children do. You rise to your feet, Motreb joining you quickly as the murmur of conversation springs up. His hand rests on your shoulder comfortingly, his smile showing his thoughts on the small performance.

"Excellent work. Come, this way. The other caravans leaders are waiting."

You're lead swiftly to the largest tent, one you recognize as a Gathering tent. Used mainly when caravans come together as a sort of neutral meeting ground, though you admit to never seeing one quite so large before. Upon entering, you're met by three other demons, two male and another female. They are all seated, speaking conversationally with each other while drinking from large communal bowl of incompi wine, judging from the strong smell of fruit and alcohol. The conversation dies once they notice your presence, and you feel like their judging you before Motreb slips from beside you and breaks the silence.

"Gunmar, Reila, Kirash! Stop putting the girl on trial. She's already under enough stress as it is."

The largest of the incubi bursts into laughter, slapping at his knee before calming enough to speak. A tail snakes from behind him, whipping back and forth with his laughter.

"Too true, Motreb, too true! Heard her little interaction with Siiya. Snuck around the back. The girl will be following her around like a puppy, I think."

"She should be seeing to her chores, not trailing behind a myth, Gunmar." The other male. A horn grows from the side of his head, wrapping around the back of his skull and poking out the side. He seems stiff and sour faced, eyeing you with skepticism. "Besides, she is here to be judged, is she not? If the girl is what you say she is, all the more reason to be judged for her worth."

You don't get the chance to react, as suddenly you are swept into the arms of the only succubi in the tent. She's a bit shorter than you, but shows no visible gifts. She looks you over, poking and prodding with the familiar firm hand of all mothers, eyes washing over you before she whirls on Motreb.

"You utter fool! If what I've heard is true, she's gone through her awakening, but obviously shows no signs of her gift. What were you thinking taking her to the trade master?! She should be resting and preparing, not forced to deal with goods and-"

The woman continues to tear into Motreb, who's trying his best to fend off the verbal assault. You watch for a minute or so before being pulled into a seat by Gunmar, his eyes still containing a hint of mirth, though there is the steel of a caravan master behind it.

"Come girl. You have been much anticipated these few hours since we've heard. Don't mind Kirash, he's always been one to observe and question all he sees." The other incubi snorts, but makes no comment. "As for Reila and Motreb, well, what can we do? Those two have history, and though it ended on a sour note, many do not think they truly wish to be apart. Such, however, is life."

You feel a small bowl of incompi wine get pushed into your hands, and you settle a bit more comfortably as Gunmar speaks. Eventually Reila calms, seating herself on your other side as Motreb takes a seat across from her. Reila continues to prod at you, muttering curses at Motreb and whispering comments about your appearance and health to herself. It is Kirash who speaks next, grabbing your attention.

"Well, those of us gathered here are going to be passing judgement on the girl soon. So let us see her Mark and hear her words."

You extent your hand, palm up, and Reila removes the cloth from around it. Her gaze falls on the Mark, and she examines it thoroughly. Gunmar follows suit, followed by Kirash. When all are satisfied, at least at that, Motreb speaks.

"Her awakening was strong. Very strong. It is how we found her at all. Could feel it for miles."

"A strong awakening and a Mark doesn't a Marked One make. At least, not one we should all follow."

"True, Kirash. Still, she's the first in many generations to bear the Mark. That must speak at least a little for her worth."

"It is the only reason I am here listening. So then girl. Speak. What reason did Helsica choose you? What purpose do you have? Perhaps more importantly, what do you plan to do?"

>_

>What reason did Helsica choose you? What purpose do you have? Perhaps more importantly, what do you plan to do?
The goddess spoke of a great danger on a horizon. Of a loss of light, of rivers of death. I am sorry to bear such tidings... but something terrible comes.

I do not blame you if you doubt me. A vision is not proof, and to hope is to believe that better days will come. But... the goddess provides. My awakening was... what need is there for a weapon in a time of peace?

I have been given power, but I lack skill and knowledge. My mark, it may give me authority to lead, but I lack wisdom and experience. For now? I plan to learn. And to prepare. I need to understand my gift, and how to lead, and in this moment, I know neither. I... only pray that I have time.

I would ask the same of you. Prepare. Gather strength. Save whatever you can afford to. Draw scattered kin into the fold. Do not be caught unprepared.

>>801009

The reaction to your words is silence. The four gathered around you have mixed expressions. Motreb is stunned into silence, his mouth open but no words coming. Gunmar looks like he's just swallowed a bitter medicine. Reila looks worried and uncertain glancing between you and the others. Kirash seems to take it best, mouth set into a hard line as he takes your words in. He's also the first to break the silence.

"It seems we have our answer then. As much as I wish it wasn't so, the girl is correct. We must prepare."

"Wha- Kirash, you think she's telling the truth?"

"You don't? She is not wrong. Despite our legends and beliefs, Marked Ones never appeared when they were not needed. The Great Mother is never so fickle, not like the humans and their chosen. Her mark is not so easily given, and only when she deems it necessary. If she has come, bearing news from Her that we must prepare, that we must be united and ready for whatever comes, then we must be so. Dark days may be approaching, but Our Mother has seen fit to provide."

"Then it is decided." Motreb finally snaps from his shock, looking perhaps a bit still uncertain, but with a will to push through. "We must send out a call. Gather the caravans."

"Yes. The humans will no doubt be wary, and certainly there will be attacks by the overzealous."

"Well worth the risk. We can't hope to accomplish whatever task we have if we are scattered and alone."

"Where do we gather?"

"Matters to be worked out when we have more leaders among us. For now, the Marked One spoke of magic, and learning its ways. I know to the west there is the House of Pleasures, and rumors of other magical wielders about-"

"The House of Pleasures is no place for a girl just awakening!" Reila cuts in harshly, fierce defiance on her features. "Magic or not, that whore of a woman will only try to use her for her own ends!"

"Still..." Gunmar scratches his chin as he considers, eyes narrowing in thought. "I've seen her myself, and I can say for certain she had the taste of magic about her. She'd be the one to see about the succubi arts, no doubt about that."

Reila practically hisses in displeasure, though the three males steadfastly ignore it. When it's clear she won't be getting any support from them, she instead tries a different tact.

"I say she should head east. I've come from that way, and there are rumors enough of the fire-spitting demon that we can be assured of magic involvement. Besides, she should learn magic to defend herself."

"Perhaps." Kirash seems less than enamored of the idea. "But if she is to lead us, she will need to know more than just killing. Besides, we can find her a guard. Someone to remain at her side always. If I were to suggest somewhere, I would say Qual-Toresh. Human city it may be, but often it is better to hide in the open. The thieves and bandits have their rumors of a magic wielder, and perhaps more importantly, if we can acquire the support of a human, even only temporarily, it is possible we could see to gaining some influence over our fate."

The three quickly fall to debating among themselves, something you feel only slightly annoyed with. They are your elders, and it's not uncommon for elders to decide the fate of the younger. Still, it is Motreb that slips by them and sits before you, ignoring the bickering of his fellows.

"It is your decision Marked One. And, I think, the first time of many you shall have to show dominance over your elders. Where then, shall my caravan take you?"

>A)West, to Fort Westrun and the House of Pleasures
>B)East, to hunt the rumors of this fire-spitting demon
>C)North, to Qual-Toresh and these thieves and bandits
>D)_

>Kirash seems to take it best, mouth set into a hard line as he takes your words in
Ha. Hit the mark, then. The skeptic was the one I was shooting to win over.

>where go.
West.

If she tries to use you, it will not be the worst trial you face, and she has an Art you will need. Propriety notwithstanding.

I still favor a compromise- heading west for social / manipulation skills then doubling back east to pick up some firepower. Gotta start somewhere, though.

what is to the south? they have spoke of things they know, but perhaps the UNknown would be the most interesting.

if it's actually nothing down there then i suppose east is good for now, you have allies who you are at least reasonably sure of their loyalty to protect you and social powers would help you be absolutely sure.

To the south lies the Sea of Sand, a vast uncharted desert. Small caravans have entered before, but have either had to turn back for lack of supplies or been lost entirely. Rumors and legends, however, speak of something beyond the desert sands, usually untold treasures or a lost civilization. Most take such stories with a healthy dose of doubt.

You decide, however, that perhaps the safest option is to head west. The caravan leaders try to argue their points, either in support of or against your decision, but you remain steadfast, and soon all retire for a nights rest. The day will be a long one, as the caravans prepare themselves for travel, and all that entails.

The next day is as eventful as you anticipated. Tents, only just put up, are quickly torn down all across the communal campsite. Only one caravan, lead by Kirash, is staying, to spread word to any others that arrive about the coming of a Marked One. Gunmar is headed back out into the sands, to seek other caravans and collect goods, while Reila heads east, to see about paving the way for your arrival there, when it comes. Motreb's caravan, and you, will be headed west, to the House of Pleasures, to seek out the mistress and learn what you can of succubi magic. A first step towards an uncertain goal.

The weeks that follow are the same as many in your life. Days of endless traveling by camel, pausing only to rest or, when an oasis is found, restock the supplies of water. A few caravans are encountered, and word quickly passes among them of your presence, and more importantly, of the need to spread the word and gather. Then, once again, the desert sands are all you see. Occasionally the caravan stops, to hunt a desert drake or harvest incompi, and halfway through the journey another fort is visited and goods traded.

It is midway through the third week of travel, just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, that Motreb falls into step with you and nods towards the sand dune your group is traveling over.

"Once we reach the top, we should see Fort Westrun, and the House of Pleasures along with it."

Minutes later, and you do indeed get your first look at both. Fort Westrun itself is nothing special, almost an exact copy of any other fort you've seen in your life. What is a sight, however, is the House of Pleasures. Tents extend from the walls of the fort, made of materials that are bright and vibrant. You can see dots of light springing into being all throughout the veritable city of tents, torches being lit to stave off the darkness of night and invite yet ever more people into its embrace. The sound of activity isn't quite as loud as the markets you're more familiar with, but the hum of motion and conversation is still present. It seems even when night falls Fort Westrun doesn't sleep.

The caravan soon makes a small home among other, less gaudy tents, other caravans that separate themselves from the House of Pleasures. Closer, you can hear more specifics, what sounds like music and singing. As if the place was in celebration of something, though you'd imagine it's always celebration here. Motreb leaves you for a time, interacting with the other caravans, passing along messages and receiving information himself. Soon enough he returns however, and sits with you as the caravan eats a small meal before bedding down for the night.

"It seems the House of Pleasures is well known in these parts. People travel from Qual-Toresh to partake, and it is no secret where the succubus who leads resides. The largest tent, at the very center. She goes by the name Lyari, the Mistress of Pleasures. More than that I could not find out from the others. If we want more, we must ask around ourselves. Or perhaps seek her out directly. All agree that there is something magical about her though, so at least we were not steered wrong."

>Seek this Mistress of Pleasures out immediately
>Gather information now
>Wait till morning
>Other:_

>Gather information now
Might as well learn what we can before walking right into her tent unprepared.

Seconding gathering information.