The Naming Ceremony – Forfeit – 20/06/2023
Jul 28, 2023 12:55:57 GMT
Andy D and Mittens Mckittens like this
Post by Forfeit on Jul 28, 2023 12:55:57 GMT
A writeup of The Naming Ceremony
Featuring:
Forfeit, Tiefling, Level 3 Warlock
Mittens, Tabaxi, Level 6 Wizard
Snowey, Tabaxi, Level 7 Sorcerer/Cleric
Calla, Drow, Level 8 Wizard/Cleric/Warlock
Ruthenia, Wood Elf, Level 9 Wizard
Continues after The Chamber of Commerce
Names are anathema to me. A pain sears my soul every time I hear others sharing theirs so freely, when mine has been so cruelly taken from me. Even though I have no notion of what my true identity is, I miss it with a terrible longing. I was extraordinary! I was powerful! I was terrible! But now the label I bear has come to me against my will, and I am walking amongst those who consider me their equal… or lower.
Someday I shall remove the entrails of whoever did this to me, and take back what is rightfully mine. And my name shall no longer be forfeit.
Still, there is a naming ceremony celebrated by Tabaxi of the Fey realms, and upon hearing a rumour about it, I was driven by curiosity to seek out the participants. Daring Heights has thus far lacked interesting festivities and there are few who can beat a secret Fey celebration.
It led to a night of escape from the Prime Material, into a maelstrom of games and debauchery with lithe, sweet-talking, haughty cats decorated in fine golden silk and lace.
I drank fiery cocktails of elements from the planes of Earth and Water, cooled with ice from The Frostfell, and they became more potent the more I drank. I listened to the stories of the cat folk – admittedly framed for the ears of mortal children, yet entertaining nevertheless. I watched the fighting pits. I danced until dawn.
Even mortal cats live long enough to learn how to throw a party.
The Drow: Seemed timid around me – a not-unusual reaction, I find – which I put down to her studious temperament. Wove for herself a conjured outfit of cottage-core with matching flowers in her hair.
The Elf: Brought a coterie of undead with her, all dressed in top hats and tails and party gear. A novel way to keep company. To my amusement, pitched a zombie in the fighting pits against the champion.
The White Cat: A proficient healer and sorcerer of a snowy colouring. Nimble, thoughtful and studious. Attempted to persuade two young pickpockets into a life of honesty – but to my delight, this did not include dissuading them from a life of thievery. Upfront rogues have my begrudging respect.
The Black Cat: A level of hostility about things like my countenance that made him unable to hold a conversation. A strange child.
The Name: During the ceremony, I communed with Sharess, The Dancing Lady, goddess of debauchery and war. I called her out on her damned divine platitudes – the gods use them all too often – but as a kindred spirit, she read my anger at being so imprisoned, and duly bestowed a title upon me: Ir’Meneq’t’u: the improved one, the worshiped one. It is a curious experience, to be awarded a name. This is one I shall keep in confidence. I shall still eviscerate those who have taken my original name from me. And scatter their quarters across the lands that have become my prison. But for a short while, the acquiescence of a god lessened the sting of that indignity.
Continues in Dance of Swords
Featuring:
Forfeit, Tiefling, Level 3 Warlock
Mittens, Tabaxi, Level 6 Wizard
Snowey, Tabaxi, Level 7 Sorcerer/Cleric
Calla, Drow, Level 8 Wizard/Cleric/Warlock
Ruthenia, Wood Elf, Level 9 Wizard
Continues after The Chamber of Commerce
Names are anathema to me. A pain sears my soul every time I hear others sharing theirs so freely, when mine has been so cruelly taken from me. Even though I have no notion of what my true identity is, I miss it with a terrible longing. I was extraordinary! I was powerful! I was terrible! But now the label I bear has come to me against my will, and I am walking amongst those who consider me their equal… or lower.
Someday I shall remove the entrails of whoever did this to me, and take back what is rightfully mine. And my name shall no longer be forfeit.
Still, there is a naming ceremony celebrated by Tabaxi of the Fey realms, and upon hearing a rumour about it, I was driven by curiosity to seek out the participants. Daring Heights has thus far lacked interesting festivities and there are few who can beat a secret Fey celebration.
It led to a night of escape from the Prime Material, into a maelstrom of games and debauchery with lithe, sweet-talking, haughty cats decorated in fine golden silk and lace.
I drank fiery cocktails of elements from the planes of Earth and Water, cooled with ice from The Frostfell, and they became more potent the more I drank. I listened to the stories of the cat folk – admittedly framed for the ears of mortal children, yet entertaining nevertheless. I watched the fighting pits. I danced until dawn.
Even mortal cats live long enough to learn how to throw a party.
* * *
The Drow: Seemed timid around me – a not-unusual reaction, I find – which I put down to her studious temperament. Wove for herself a conjured outfit of cottage-core with matching flowers in her hair.
The Elf: Brought a coterie of undead with her, all dressed in top hats and tails and party gear. A novel way to keep company. To my amusement, pitched a zombie in the fighting pits against the champion.
The White Cat: A proficient healer and sorcerer of a snowy colouring. Nimble, thoughtful and studious. Attempted to persuade two young pickpockets into a life of honesty – but to my delight, this did not include dissuading them from a life of thievery. Upfront rogues have my begrudging respect.
The Black Cat: A level of hostility about things like my countenance that made him unable to hold a conversation. A strange child.
The Name: During the ceremony, I communed with Sharess, The Dancing Lady, goddess of debauchery and war. I called her out on her damned divine platitudes – the gods use them all too often – but as a kindred spirit, she read my anger at being so imprisoned, and duly bestowed a title upon me: Ir’Meneq’t’u: the improved one, the worshiped one. It is a curious experience, to be awarded a name. This is one I shall keep in confidence. I shall still eviscerate those who have taken my original name from me. And scatter their quarters across the lands that have become my prison. But for a short while, the acquiescence of a god lessened the sting of that indignity.
Continues in Dance of Swords