Tiaumil
Before the group launched themselves into the sky, Tiaumil would take a moment to ask the last questions of the soul he had in the soul cage. The time of its usefulness was limited, and considering that this was the Shadowfell and nothing tended to go smoothly there, he decided to ask the remaining questions while he still could, rather than waiting.
Three times he had already utilised the soul, and wasn't it fascinating just how powerful, and useful, those questions had been? Utter truth torn from the soul he held, rather than whatever that soul might otherwise have attempted to mislead him with.
"What is the most problematic aspect of keeping collared sorrowsworn?"
He had previously intended to perhaps ask about the spell itself, but he had seen how Effie's silence spell had not hindered in the summoning of the sorrowsworn, and so words alone would not teach him. It was better to find other ways to gain an advantage.
[DM]
The soul spoke without hesitation but you notice its voice has become thin and fading from use.
"Binding the Sorrowsworn is no simple slavery nor trick of enchantment. Each collar is an active binding between the sorrow and the creator. And through that bond things leak.
A handler starts subtly being dominated by the emotion. A Rage-master wakes furious for no reason. A Despair-keeper stops eating. A Fear-warden won’t be able to sleep. The link is faint at first, but it's constant. You don’t notice the change until everyone else does. Madness is inevitable with prolonged use.
When a handler keeps more than one bond the process is much stronger. Some, fools, even hold bonds with different types of the spirits. The emotions mix, twist, distort. The ones who do so do not last long."
[Tiaumil]
"What will the ancient black dragon soul that was taken a few days ago be used for?"
[DM]
"When we captured the creature it remained calm at first. It was still elven like but it was bowed down by great black claws and skeletal wings.
Unknown
"We sent word to Lady Caldrithen* (https://app.kanka.io/w/163775/entities/8133362) *and soon after the thing escaped. It pierced through our wards like they were not there. It came up the stairs, and killed so many... It killed my collared, each strike filling me not with hunger but fear.
"We pursued while it fled, the Lady almost upon us took her loyal soldiers to encircle it. It fought us, resisting blade and sorrowsworn alike.
"And then the lady descended. She cared not for formation or tactics. She simply stepped up and ripped the darkness out of the figure. It fell and was dispatched.
"She turned and looked at us and said nothing. I understood. We burned the bodies and removed all traces we could.
"I know not what the lady will, use this darkness for but it was something of great power. Perhaps she will summon a spirit strong enough to sunder all our enemies? I do not know."
Your questions are direct and specific. And yet the soul speaks of events around the questions, of feelings it had while it lived.
You get the impression of a desperate need to not fade away. To say something before the soul is no more.
[Effie]
"That's some great information, Tiaumil! Keep going!" [Bardic Inspiration!]
[DM]
You sense the need of the spirit to be heard is intense even though it's voice is almost entirely faded now. You realise you can use this to get a final question and hear what the soul has to say of you choose your words with care.
[Basically with the above roll you are confident you can ask a specific question but also give it freedom to speak it's mind. E.g. *How was this thing there* Followed by and "speak freely" to get both]
[Tiaumil]
"What are the details of the most important magical secret you know? Speak freely."
[DM]
The soul hesitated, the usual precision gone. Its voice came uneven, as if something inside it was finally cracking.
"I am part of of the greatest rituals ever done. It isn’t the collars. It's the towers”
A pause, long enough to feel like a breath.
“The towers were meant to stop planar travel. To defend us and our kingdoms. But once we journeyed to this land other avenues opened. We asked, why simply stop the flow of things when we could instead redirect it?
We increased their abilities, built a grand network surrounding the city. And eventually we were able to capture death itself. Any who die within their influence do not leave this place. The towers capture all, bodies, souls, echoes. All directed to the Nexus Vault. I've heard rumours that it almost full. Power enough to do wonders. After millenia we are so so close. Every tower, every collar, every death, it all ends up there. That’s what will bring Merdelain home.”
The voice grew even thinner, her words now tripping over one another.
“I was a Hunger-keeper. They said the feeling would fade, that mastery would conquer it, but it never did. It lived in me and I was always so so hungry.
"But I endured. I collared more, hurt more, told myself I was helping to bring us back home.”
A wistful tone fills the voice now, it's sound in dire contrast with your surroundings.
“When it became too much, I built a place of my own under the western promenade in the Merdelain gardens. A small room sealed with my command. I gathered stones from the Outlands and put them on the roof, pretending they were stars and somehow the hunger felt lesser there.”
The voice now changes to a sad whisper.
”It's probably still there. You can speak Eldani to enter.”
For a moment you think the soul is done but it continues with the barest of sounds, akin to air passing by a tree.
”I only ever wanted to see the sky.”
The light within the cage fades to a dull glow. A sob echoes from it.
”Oh Gods, I’m dying.”
And then nothing. The soul is gone.
[Tiaumil]
Tiaumil lets out a breath, looking up towards the group, and then to the shrine beyond. He had received far more than he ever thought he would from the soul, and no matter how determined he had been, had always been, to destroy Merdelain as a whole, there was a part of him that regretted how that soul slipped away. How it would be caught in the very trap they had helped forge in the hope of returning from the Shadowfell.
There was so much information there, so much nuance of intentions. The Merelainians were using this to try and return, using the towers to fuel it, much as Ularan had been said to want to use their destruction to fuel the creation of a powerful god of death.
He told this to the group, the details that had been given, minus the information about the refuge. For now.
"I believe this is probably what Jergal is concerned about," he said when speaking of the tower, "Something that could tip the balance of the worlds in such a way as to be a major threat. I need to tell him, and find out if anything needs to be done about this," he said, gesturing to the blood-soaked altar. "I will be but a few minutes. This cannot wait."
He would move aside the altar, and crouch down, quickly opening his tome and relieving it of its special pen. Pain travelled up his veins in familiar streaks as he set words on parchment without the use of any ink and yet the words flowed in their own sacrifice for the convenience. After he had related the information about the towers, he added:
'Your altar here is covered in blood. Is this something that you need me to clean off, or is it best left as-is? No one bothered your altar before, but I don't know if this is desecration or worship.'
He paused there for a moment, waiting to see if the words that sank into the page would be returned with an answer.
[DM]
[YOUR ANSWER WILL BE GIVEN IN SESSION]