Post by Delilah Daybreaker on Nov 12, 2022 22:49:38 GMT
Striding through the Twilight Court, she is seen when she wishes, hidden at other times, and uses her new abilities to mean that occasionally a courtier sees a figure, but not one they would recognise as a member of the Temple of Night. Delilah greets many old faces. Some she visits out of respect and relative position, some to share a kind word, and some who she believes will be of use to her in her mission.
Midway through her time there, she is approached by an older male elf, wisps of grey hair jutting at odd angles from his head. He slips a note to Delilah mumbling, “Mothers blessing upon you,” before shuffling off into the warren of service corridors and stairs. Unravelling the tiny roll of fine parchment, she sees a small elegant script, written in her own cypher.
Thank you for sharing such detailed reports of your mission, I cannot wait to be reunited with you daughter. I do hope you’ll bring your father, we haven’t caught up with each other in months.
The shadows writhe and scream as she remains silent before they embrace her, helping her run, tearing through space, slicing the distance she moves into such tiny pieces that there is nothing left but darkness.
She visits the Temple. Watching a small group of black clad fighters running through drills, she is approached by a figure dressed in the robes of an instructor. Nodding with respect and showing open palms holding no weapons, she stands next to Delilah.
“I hear you seek Demona. We perhaps share a goal,” she says in a low voice.
There’s a slight narrowing of eyes, a burst of questions, thoughts, and answers in her mind, but she silences them with a nod to her former Truths instructor, an invitation to continue. “I thought the Temple believed her to be dead.” Her words come out clipped and sharp. “What’s changed?”
The Mistress of Truths relaxes her arms by her side, coming half a step closer. Her gaze stays on the fighters and their drill practice.
“Since Sarastra died (may her stars ever shine above), the Temple has slowly been fracturing. Some internal divisions have created gaps which can be exploited, and in particular, several recruits have gone missing over the last three to four moons. It has taken significant investigation but it would seem at least half had been given ‘top secret’ objectives by an unnamed woman, promising position and power if they could achieve these aims without even the rest of the Temple discovering.” She glances at Delilah. “These started with suspicions, requests to spy on other trainees, but those that were missing had ‘proven’ themselves and been sent abroad to complete a task. They have not been seen again. The running theory — my theory — is that Demona has been utilising the vacuum to manipulate more junior members and then either killing them or capturing them on their ‘final’ missions.”
Pale hands have formed fists of iron, the only indication of the torrent raging through her, but they remain hidden under her Robes of Night.
“That follows her M.O.,” Delilah admits. “These pupils… Do any of them have any skills out of the ordinary?” she asks, feeling Beastie’s piqued curiosity mixing with her own.
“They are not our strongest, but none lacked potential. The only link I could find was a lack of self belief, perhaps that’s what marked them out as targets. Either way, someone is walking amongst us, whispering lies and nudging opinions to create unrest.” They turn to face Delilah. “This may be difficult, but have you any method of proving yourself? That I may confide further without giving away my intent to the very person I try to hide it from?”
There is a ripple from the shadows, but the Pale Daughter does not move an inch. She has become still as cold and hard as the stone she stands on.
“I claimed to have killed Demona and yet we know she is here, returned from the dead, hand gripping the Temple by the balls, slowly squeezing out its life even as she makes us dance. My record in the Ledger does not match my word.”
Slowly, she releases one of her clenched fists, drawing out the note she received. Not even glancing at it, Delilah holds it out to the Mistress of Truths.
“Demona has tapped our lines of communications. She knows everything I have been doing. My Hand is compromised.”
The figure before her stiffens too.
“Well that is certainly dire news. If I were to find her, would you be willing to take action? Decisive action? I can step into the dreams of others, I could contact you with anything I find, I believe it to be the most secure method of communication I possess. Do you have the leverage to call upon support? Could you bring the strength needed to defeat her to bear?”
“I do, and then some.” A slight pause, then, “I want to see her ended. Not just dead, but utterly and completely erased from existence. No trace of her can remain.” Delilah lifts her chin.
“Finding this information may take time, particularly without raising suspicion. If you don’t hear from me in a month, assume I have fallen foul of her dark cunning.”
A grim nod is all that’s given in response.
The figure gives a shallow bow, holding it respectfully for a few seconds before drifting away. Beastie appears from the shadows cast by her hair, draping themselves across Delilah’s shoulders.
“…was it wise to show your hand so?…”
“I am past the point of caring. My mother has gotten too bold. If we are not ready to take our own risks, we will never be ready to face her.”
“…hmm, perhaps…”
The Pale Daughter looks at the not-cat, not sure if their hesitancy is for her choice of course or something more. They seem to sense this uncertainty because there’s the sound of breath passing between a ribcage as Beastie sighs.
“…I am with you until the end… whatever shape that takes…”
There isn’t quite a smile, but a hand still reaches up to hold the more incorporeal form of the cat made of shadows closer.