#alas the desperation of trollkind

[cloudbattrolls]

Take the Hook

Jastes Verdan | Safehive, Outskirts of Civitrecce | Present Night

They’d all had to flee the city that night with little more than their clothes and the contents of their sylladexes. Disguises in place, the resistance had all walked, drove, or took public transport to get to their safehive just outside Civitrecce’s suburbs. They’d all taken pains to not be followed there, or to eliminate anything or anyone that tried. 

They could only assume by the lack of imperial response upon their arrivals that they’d succeeded. 

The safehive wasn’t much; it couldn’t be, to avoid attracting attention. In theory - and in most ways - it was a run-down warehouse for a courier business that had seen better nights. Various species of bugs and rodents nested in its roof and under the floorboards of the worn-down porch, and there were few streetlights that remained unbroken in the edges of what could barely be called a neighborhood. 

The place usually reeked from garbage that stewed in the hot sun during the day; droid services only visited once a week. Otherwise it might smell faintly of whatever the food processing plant a mile or so off was handling that night.

Not many trolls lived around here anymore; most had moved closer in, taking advantage of Civitrecce’s public transport lines and droid services at the cost of its endless surveillance and data harvesting.

When Jastes had met them there, after he’d stopped Process and stabilized the city’s power after the outage he’d caused, the missing faces among the resistance had been expected.

But it hadn’t hurt any less.

Now he lay on a bed with frayed and stained sopor-infused sheets, taped over in several places to stop the green substance from leaking out. He stared at the ceiling, dotted with a few spiderwebs here and there.

None of them blamed him. He almost wished they did, even though it wasn’t his fault. How could he have known?

How could any of them have known that the city’s guardian was a twisted disappointment? 

Jamie hunting him had been obnoxious, but he was a highblood. That was their nature.

Process…Process should have been better.

He supposed it went to show no AI could truly have the ethics or feelings of a real person, no matter how complex it was. Troll morality couldn’t be replicated. A machine couldn’t be expected to understand something beyond its capabilities; it had no stake in the feelings of others or how they suffered.

So why did he still feel let down?

He shook his head, annoyed at himself. He was old enough to know better. 

“Jas?” Called Abbeth from past his respiteblock’s closed door, his younger castemate sounding unsure as the faint scent of cooking beef reached the cyborg. “Are you gonna come to dinner?”

“In a few minutes.” He said, trying to sound reassuring. “I have to wash my hands, I’ll be right there.”

He had to move on from this. He had to boost the group’s morale again somehow, as well as his own, if he was being honest. It was a miracle they’d stayed loyal to him after having to flee their homes, and he wasn’t going to make them regret it.

He got up, stretching his lean limbs, and cracking his neck. Maybe he should cut his hair shorter; he didn’t want to get lice while he was here, though they’d already been careful to set up bug traps and repellent inside.

The yellowblood grimaced at the thought as he went and washed his hands, noting that they needed more lemon-scented soap. 

He liked his tight curls. Other trolls had told him he had beautiful hair, and while he was hardly one to fuss over his appearance, it was nice to hear compliments sometimes.

He walked out into…confetti?

“Surprise!”

“Hm?” He said, blinking as confetti was thrown over him and he saw a small pile of wrapped presents next to a broken stereo. He blinked, confused.

“Did you forget your own hatch night?” Said Xineck, shaking his head. “Fucking typical.”

Jastes paused. 

“Maybe.”

“Dumbass.”

He smiled a little and shrugged, palms raised and open in a gesture of concession.

Edri smiled back at him, the brownblood serving out the beef onto plates. The portions weren’t large, but they were enough. She’d made peppers and zucchini as well, and poured everyone juice.

Jastes went to sit down, pulling out one of the old chairs. It creaked a bit as he did so; yet another thing that needed to be replaced down here, but it was lower on the list than the structural repairs. It would still hold him; he hardly weighed much, even with tech.

Still, he took care to sit down gently, and began eating with a word of thanks and a smile, savoring his first bite to really soak in the flavor of the beef and its rich sauce before going to the zucchini. 

Eventually, once he had gotten a decent way through his meal, he spoke, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention. He didn’t have to speak up as much as he used to to make sure all of the resistance heard him…he tried not to let his bloodpusher sink at the thought. 

“So…I’ve told you all about Process’s intel. We all know their word is dubious at best, but this is worth investigating. The Spine itself, though it’s currently being studied and dismantled, is also worth investigating. Modern helm generators are so little like it. I haven’t been back since I defeated them, since Latrai’s team is down there…but apparently that’s how to find this system that’s supposedly even deeper underground.”

Edri shook her head as she tried and failed to get another slice of vegetable onto her fork. 

“A rogue security system still sounds silly to me. Robots and drones can go berserk sometimes, if there’s flaws in their code or they’re hacked, but a whole system? Those don’t tend to be able to think. That would take so much processing power. How would someone have not noticed by now, even if it’s hidden away?”

Jastes shook his head. “Process said the guardian isn’t a normal system. Apparently it’s some synthesized hybrid of biotech and hard tech. I guess given my power - my ancestor’s power - that’s not really surprising.” He admitted, looking away from everyone’s faces. It was a bit silly, but…

…well, he’d had to tell the resistance what his power really was, after the blackout had happened. After he’d had to explain what he’d done. 

While they’d outwardly taken it well for the most part, he wasn’t dumb enough to think that everyone was fully comfortable with it.

He couldn’t blame them. It still stung anyway.

A quiet hung over the table as pink and green moonlight shone through the room’s windows, closed despite the heat. 

The resistance leader managed to look back at his people, making a brave attempt at a smile.

“I would never make anyone into anything.” He said softly. “Not unless they were willing. I don’t…you know I hate that kind of thing.”

He tried not to look at Xineck, hoping for support. The maroon shifted in his seat, then muttered something indistinct under his breath.

“He wouldn’t.” The lower-hued man said out loud, a little roughly, but honestly. “He’s never done shit to me, no matter what I said. Never even threatened it. He’s got other problems.” The raptor troll said dryly, and a few uncertain chuckles went around the table as Jastes sighed but figured that was the best he was going to get.

“So, if this is true…if this system exists, didn’t Process say it wasn’t finished?” Abbeth piped up hesitantly. “Is it going to be any good to us, then?”

“They still acted like it was a formidable threat.” Jastes answered calmly. “They’re hard to read, but they seemed genuinely worried about how the empire would respond to it, if their body language was any gauge. I don’t know if we can use it ourselves, but maybe we can strip it for parts and materials if that doesn’t pan out. Having things to sell that can’t be traced would be a huge help on its own.”

A steady murmur of agreement went around the table. Jastes himself was trained as a mechanic, and he wasn’t the only one who had experience handling and selling technology and its raw materials. 

“What exactly would we do with it, even if we could control it?” Asked a voice crisply. 

It was Uthern, another maroon man, but utterly unlike Xineck; he had been raised as a highblood attendant, and was very formal. Jastes had been surprised he’d turned against his supervisors when he had such a cushy position for his caste. Uthern had told him, very evenly, that his position hadn’t done a thing when he’d tried to protect his moirail from being given a so-called mercy cull when she’d gotten sick and had to miss work for a week. 

Just another brownblood, one of low psiionic power, considered disposable. There were always more, the highbloods said. No one ever lacked for lowbloods, especially ones who weren’t valuable psions.

“Protect ourselves.” Said Jastes, slightly incredulous. “Protect other lowbloods. Imagine if we could use something like that, Uthern. We’d actually have some bargaining power.”

The maroon shook his head. “Not for long. We’ve survived because we don’t fight directly, Jastes, you’ve said it yourself. Sabotage, infiltration, blackmail. That’s how we make a difference.” 

“I did all of that, and Abnale still nearly caught me. I did all of that and Process still tried to hijack my body.” He gripped his fork tightly, knuckles whitening slightly. 

“Don’t you go back and talk to both of them?” asked Uthern dryly. “You don’t seem all that concerned, Jastes, if I might say.”

“For intel.” Jastes said tightly, voice very deliberately kept from rising. “Do you think it’s because I like or trust them? That I’ve forgiven them for what they did? That I don’t still go to sleep and dream that Process is trying to get into my head again, that Abnale is hunting me across the city? I had to tear myself open. I had to remake my own brain.” 

The yellowblood clutched the fork so hard it cut into his hands, a few drops of dark yellow blood dripping out and onto the old plastic table. The other resistance who hadn’t spoken looked away, or looked at him briefly, unwilling to break the awkward silence.

“Shut it.” Cut in Xineck, looking at Uthern mutinously. “You want Jas going to pieces in front of us all? That what you fucking want? Trying to see if the cyborg still has feelings? Of course he fucking does, you prick. What are you getting at? Just talk straight.”

Uthern looked awkward for a moment, then shook his head in irritation, smoothing back his hair. Xineck did the same thing to mock him, his own far scruffier than the taller man’s, who somehow still had product with him. The maroon ignored his castemate’s antics and looked at the yellowblood again.

“I just think it’s a little…strange, how much time you spend as an AI, speaking to the people who tried to kill and catch you. Surely you don’t have to actually talk to them, Jastes?” He said, threading his fingers together, plate abandoned entirely. “You could just watch. We almost never engage, that’s our way. That’s how we stay safe.”

Jastes was silent. 

“We aren’t safe, Uthern.” He said after a few moments, voice cracking a little. “Look at the ones who didn’t make it, and we’ll never know why. Dead. Caught and helmed. Just plain decided they didn’t want to do it anymore. Could be any of those. We’ve never been safe, especially not now. I just…I don’t want to lose any more of you. No matter what it takes. No matter who I have to talk to, or what I have to be.”

Yellow tears gathered in the corners of the cyborg’s eyes, and he didn’t bother trying to hide them. He couldn’t find it in him to act strong right now. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Abbeth got up from his chair and walked over to his castemate, reaching his small six sweep old’s arms out to hug the other lowblood. Jastes leaned into the embrace, too done to care that a child had to comfort him, something he’d normally be embarrassed by. But right now being held felt like the best thing in the world, as he wiped his lightly bleeding hand off on his shirt and took deep, shuddering breaths.

“You happy?” Said Xineck after a short pause. “You proud of yourself, Uthern? Get the fuck out of my sight, I’m not as patient as Jas.” A switchblade appeared in the six-horned man’s hand and flicked out, the silvery metal gleaming. 

“You can’t order me around.” Replied the other troll tightly.

“Stop it.” Said Jastes quietly, still holding onto Abbeth. “I know we’re all stressed. We’re all angry, or upset, or sad. But we can’t fight each other. I need all of you to help me prepare before I go find this security artifice, or guardian - whatever it is. That’s my big hatch night present, okay? The presents are a nice bonus.”

He let Abbeth go and managed a watery smile as Xineck snorted softly and a few other trolls chuckled, Edri among them. 

“If you boys are done fighting while the rest of dinner gets cold, I can bring out dessert.” Said the brownblood woman dryly, standing up with her arms crossed.

“Yes, Edri.” Sighed Uthern. Xineck rolled his eyes but didn’t object, essentially equaling an affirmative as he put his switchblade away. The bronze shook her head in amusement and walked back into the kitchen. 

Abbeth sat down again, a hand on his chair as usual to help guide him given his lack of one eye.

Jastes swallowed, steadied himself. He could do this. He would do this.

“Let’s enjoy dessert, no shop talk.” He said to everyone, as lightly as he could. “Then we can brainstorm while I unwrap presents. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be walking into, but whatever it is, I know I’ll be prepared.”

Some smiles, even if a few were unsteady. A few nods. 

It was something.

He’d take it. He’d make it worth their while.

Whatever was down below the Spine, he was going to bring it back and make it work to their advantage. 

No matter what he had to do to make that happen.

[monstersdownthepath]

Deity: Iai-Cophleal, the Scarred Diviner

Lawful Evil Outer God of Destiny, Agony, and Sacrifice

Domains: Evil, Knowledge, Magic, Rune, Void Subdomains: Velstrac, Education, Memory, Rites, Legislation, Dark Tapestry Favored Weapons: Scalpel (dagger) Symbol: An eye with three scars trailing down its surface; or hand with its fingers curled inwards towards an eye in its palm. Sacred Animals: None Sacred Colors: Purple, red

BIG WARNING: This deity deals a lot in the concepts of torture and self-harm. Do not read further if you are sensitive to either topic.

What would you give to know?

What price would you pay to understand?

What sacrifices would you make to achieve enlightenment?

How much are you willing to suffer to get what you want?

The core belief in the faith if the Scarred Diviner is that all progress requires sacrifice, that one can never gain without giving. The alien god holds fast to his belief that pain, fear, loss, and death are the greatest motivators for change and adaptation, and that many of the greatest creations or steps forward in mortal history have been achieved in the throes of deep and piercing agony. It is through this suffering that all have learned, and it is through yet more than he will teach.

He is the guardian of knowledge against the unworthy, those who’d sacrifice nothing, who’ve never known suffering, and those who’d never pay the price themselves. Such creatures will find themselves unwelcome in the Diviner’s flock, unable to hear anything but his barest whispers and scraps of knowing, because while they can torment as many helpless victims as they want in his name, it’s the victims themselves that gain the greatest insights into the truths of the cosmos and receive his greatest blessings. They are the ones paying, after all.

The Scarred Diviner can be called cruel, sadistic, or callous, but he is fair. Knowledge belongs to those who pay for it. And the more you give, the more you get.

The Scarred Diviner is something of an anomaly among Outer Gods, registering and interacting with mortal life on a scale even their comparatively diminutive minds can understand. He does not see them as insects to be exterminated or ignored; indeed, he does not view them as insignificant at all. Perhaps to the greatest among their kind--Yog-Sothoth, Azathoth, and Shub-Nishurath--mortal life is little more than dust, but to the Diviner, their capacity for change under pressure (Outer Gods rarely change or experience pressure) is an absolutely fascinating phenomena, one he has studied ever since there was life to study.

In a universe filled with suffering, going out of your way to inflict yet more upon yourself to gain strength through adversity is a blessed act to the Diviner, an act that must be rewarded. His faith is thus filled with people covered in ritualistic scars and bearing the signs of self-inflicted tortures and dismemberment, who perform excruciating experiments upon themselves and each other in an attempt to commune with and please their lord. The screaming of nerves, burning of muscles, creaking and cracking of bones, and tearing of flesh is sometimes referred to as “his voice” or “his song,” and those who ‘hear’ it long enough begin to receive flashes of divine inspiration and instruction, visions of the future or of steps they must undertake to reach their goals, answers to the questions that plague them or instructions on how to find them, or even the keys to obtaining divine magic.

As one discovers and surpasses the limits to the agonies they can feel, eventually their bodies will simply no longer respond to their self-inflicted tortures, and the Diviner’s song begins to fade from them. Most turn to restorative magic to fix their most grievous injuries and heal dead nerves, but the fact of the matter is that, eventually, they will reach a point where they feel pain, but no longer suffer. While many would consider such a state to be ‘perfect,’ believing that all the weakness has been carved from their bodies, those used to feeling the song coursing through them and those who still need answers may grow desperate to feel again. The former is difficult to satisfy, the supplicants often ending up destroying themselves in the search for more exotic means of self-torment, but the latter is thankfully rectified by the fact that the Diviner cares little who is paying his price, so long as someone is.

Within the faith, members who’ve scoured their bodies to the point of numbness often work through proxies. Initiates who long to hear the voice of the Diviner, practiced members who need to learn more, poor fools stolen from the streets or their beds, it matters not who suffers so long as there is suffering. The Diviner rewards the victim with the answers to questions they ask (or are forced to ask), the torturer-surgeon attending then extracting those answers via whatever means are at their disposal. With others in the faith, it can be as simple as asking. With stolen victims, their nerves unprepared and screaming in time with the song, are typically less likely to simply hand over what they’ve learned through their blessed suffering and may require some coercing. Of course, most will shout everything they’ve gained just to make it all stop. Alas, the intricacies of enlightenment through adversity can be lost on the uninitiated.

Rather understandably, this practice causes pockets of the Diviner’s faithful tend to veer into “sadistic torture cult” territory (and be justifiably viewed as such by polite society). He blesses those who pay his price, but the lazy and weak will often get others to pay the price for them--willingly or otherwise--and then extract the obtained knowledge from their victim without ever suffering a single papercut themselves. They go on their merry way to live a life free of suffering, never changing or facing adversity. He does not hold back when punishing those who would abuse his system; direct action is impossible for him as it is for any divine figure, but those true to his faith will quickly hunt down these “soft ones” and teach them to truly hear his song. In a similar vein, he dislikes those who torture their victims to death so that they cannot use the knowledge they’ve paid for, and will work to punish those who too often prevent the Diviner’s song from concluding properly.

------

OBEDIENCE AND BOONS

------

Mortals have been suffering ever since the very first birth, all of their collective knowledge driven towards the goal of minimizing and eliminating that very suffering. Abundance and safety are anathema to the Diviner, who believes that safety will lead to stagnation, that a lack of danger or threat of agony will prevent mortals from continuing to adapt. Thus, he and his flock work to assure mortalkind will keep moving forward, quietly sabotaging events on both a short- and long-term scale to prevent or subvert anything that would otherwise birth utopias or civilizations free of worry.

The majority of the Diviner’s faith are masochistic mortals either attracted by the allure of knowledge or looking for a purpose to their penchant for mortification. While individual organized cults may be more restrictive (a dislike of Constructs is especially common), the Diviner himself accepts all kinds into his flock; those of any background or species are accepted, for all beings can suffer in one way or another. His faith is especially popular among trollkind, whose regenerative abilities allow for an endless cycle of self-destruction and who can perform one of the most powerful sacred acts of the faith: gutting ones self to divine the future through one’s own entrails. This action is obviously fatal without the assistance of healing magic or major medical intervention, but the trolls can do so with almost insulting regularity and ease... Which is why the Diviner regularly demands that they escalate even further, branding their bodies and their exposed organs with fire and acid.

Velstrac who dislike the madness of their Demagogues can find curious solace in the teachings of the Diviner, turning away from the practice of endlessly butchering others to graft the most appealing parts onto themselves and instead moving towards... the practice of endlessly butchering others for the sake of teaching them. Velstrac who serve the Diviner sometimes claim to have found some corrupted equivalent to self-sacrificing enlightenment, unable to hear the Diviner for themselves due to the ruination of their bodies but eager to help others listen to his song.

As Outer Gods do not possess a dedicated Prestige Class for accelerating the power of their faithful, one can only enter the actual Evangelist, Sentinel, and Exalted Prestige Classes to obtain Boons at a much faster pace. Otherwise, they are gained at levels 12, 16, and 20. One must have the Deific Obedience feat to enter into the mentioned Prestige Classes, and entering the classes as soon as possible allows one to obtain the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14. 

Obedience: Ritualistically inflict painful wounds upon yourself or upon another living creature. These wounds are grievous and scarring, reducing the recipient’s HP maximum by 3 for the next 24 hours. The recipient must be able to survive the reduction for this ritual to succeed. Benefit: The recipient of the ritual torture selects two Knowledge skills. They gain a +4 profane bonus to checks with those skills, and are considered trained in those skills for 24 hours.

------

EVANGELIST

------

Boon 1: Sight And Suffering (Sp): Gain Anticipate Peril 3/day, Augury 2/day, or Inflict Pain 1/day.

Boon 2: Hear His Song (Sp): Through suffering, you shall receive the answers you seek. Once per day, you may inflict a gruesome, lengthy, and agonizing ritual upon yourself or another sapient creature that is willing or helpless. This ritual takes one hour to perform and inflicts 5 points of Constitution damage on the victim if they are a living creature. Undead take 5 points of Charisma damage; being reduced to 0 Charisma destroys them. The creature must be able to survive this affliction for the ritual to succeed. At the conclusion of this ritual, the victim asks the Diviner a single question and receives an answer to it as if they had used the spell Commune. Unlike most beings contacted with Commune, the Diviner is omniscient and is capable of answering any question that can be answered with yes, a no, or a five-word phrase. The damage from this ritual cannot be undone through any means for 24 hours. 

Boon 3: Apostle of Pain (Su): In the twisted, blood-soaked dungeons of the Diviner’s most horrid faithful, creatures of great power await the call of his greatest agents, eager to show off their talents. Once per day as a full-round action, you may call an Advanced Velstrac Interlocutor to your side, which will unquestionably obey your commands. In addition to its normal retinue of spells, this Interlocutor may use both Heal and Harm 1/day. It lingers for 1 minute per HD you possess, after which it politely departs, vanishing back to its home.

------

EXALTED

------

Boon 1: Careful Cuts (Sp): Gain Inflict Minor Wounds 3/day, Cure Moderate Wounds 2/day, or Fractions of Heal and Harm 1/day. 

Boon 2: Touch of a Surgeon (Ex/Sp): Helping your victims back on their feet (provided they still have feet) is an important step in the Diviner’s beliefs, as slaying your victims after every session is likely to anger him if it happens too often. You gain a profane bonus equal to half your HD to all Heal checks, and may treat creatures with Heal in half the normal time (a standard action is reduced to a swift action). You may treat a particular creature’s deadly wounds a number of times equal to their Constitution modifier (min 1) each day. In addition, mistakes happen; thus, you may also cast Breath of Life as a spell-like ability 1/day.

Boon 3: Tapestry of Scars (Ex): Your body bears countless terrible scars and wounds from your self-inflicted injuries, but you are not inconvenienced by them; quite the opposite, in fact. You’ve been cutting weakness and ignorance from your body for ages now, and the Diviner blesses these wounds, granting you a +2 profane bonus to your Armor Class, as well as to your Constitution score and one mental ability score of your choice.

------

SENTINEL

------

Boon 1: Cruel Teacher (Sp): Gain Interrogation 3/day, Blood Armor 2/day, or Excruciating Deformation 1/day.

Boon 2: Mercy in Cruelty (Ex): You know exactly where to strike to cause lethal blows... And know even better how to render a victim unconscious through agony alone, so that you may use them further later. You gain +2d6 Sneak Attack damage, stacking with any Sneak Attack damage you may already have. You may use a dagger nonlethally without suffering a penalty, and doing so allows you to use your Sneak Attack nonlethally as well. When using a dagger to deal nonlethal damage, your bonus Sneak Attack damage from this ability is raised to +4d6.

Boon 3: Tortuous Chorus (Sp): The Diviner’s song reaches a terrifying volume within you each time you suffer enough damage, a volume you cannot possibly contain within your own body. Each time you take damage equal to or exceeding 25% of your total HP from a single action (such as an attack or a full attack, a spell or spell-like ability, or an environmental hazard), you may use an immediate action to shriek out in agony, afflicting a number of creatures equal to your Constitution modifier (min 1) of your choice that are within 60ft of you with Power Word Stun. This Power Word Stun is a pain effect, rather than a compulsion and mind-affecting effect. You may use this ability a number of times each day equal to your Constitution modifier (min 1).