session 21

Mind Games¶

Our journey to face the Dyarch began under the cold, impartial light of Strom, with Corinth’s subdued summons ringing through the dormitory: “Wake up, the boltline awaits.” There was a palpable tension in the air as we prepared to ascend the Spar—each of us keenly aware of the scrutiny and potential peril that lay ahead on this path laid with political and psychic mines.

As we boarded the Boltline Runner, the stark reality of our situation settled in. Here we were, adventurers by calling but fugitives in circumstance, whisked away on a marvel of magical engineering through the heart of a planet. The Spar itself was a wonder, a monolithic column that pierced the very core of Ermis, binding the floating city in an unbreakable spine of stone and magic.

The ride up the Spar was tense, though punctuated with moments of humor and awe. Gloopwing played tricks on the Hetai. Stigs sat in thoughtful silence. Gwen excitedly questioned Corinth and Garos. Each revelation about the Dyarch and the delicate state of affairs in the Dyarchy only deepened our resolve—or in some cases, our desperation. As Omerth’s grandiose silhouette materialized from the clouds, it was both awe-inspiring and ominous—a city suspended in the void, as if hanging by the thread of the very secrets we were trying to protect.

Our arrival in Omerth was met with a cold reception. The architectural splendor of the city was overshadowed by the gravity of our forthcoming audience. The Dyarch, twin entities of enigmatic power and presence, awaited us in their throne room, an austere space that felt as much a court of judgment as a hall of rulers.

The audience with the Dyarch was nothing short of harrowing. Their ability to dissect thoughts and intentions with surgical precision left us vulnerable and exposed. The ceremorph, presented as evidence of the chaos infiltrating the realm, was obliterated with a mere thought—its demise a stark demonstration of the Dyarch’s might and an unspoken threat to any who might deceive them.

As the interrogation deepened, our fears were realized. Confessions, accusations, and the hidden truths of our quest spilled forth under the relentless gaze of the Dyarch. Gloopwing, ever the enigma, became the fulcrum of our fate. Her stubborn refusal to surrender the cursed tomes she carried within her amorphous form led to a fierce clash. Breathing fire in defiance, she sparked a confrontation that none of us could have anticipated, let alone prepared for.

The combat was swift and decisive. While some of us hesitated, torn between loyalty and self-preservation, the Dyarch responded with overwhelming force. A mind hammer shattered the brief but violent resistance, leaving Gloopwing incapacitated and the rest of us in shock.

With the tomes finally wrested from our grasp, we found ourselves confined, not in dungeons, but in sitting rooms that felt just as restrictive. We were captives not only of the Dyarchy but of our own choices. As we sat in stunned silence, the weight of our decisions and their repercussions hung heavily in the air. The question of our fate loomed large, a puzzle whose pieces were now scattered by our own hands.