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You startle, falling out of your meditative trance, and realize that your work is complete - two milky white ampoules sit before you upon the altar. The previous day and night have been both infinitely long and momentary - but you are used to such disorienting experiences when working your witch’s will. The tiny white vials before you look unassuming, but you are well aware that only fragile glass and a small wax stopper stands between you and a near-instant demise. Even your own partly-divine regenerative abilities would only prolong your terminal suffering for several minutes, rather than allow you to survive.
You produce two loose balls of sheep’s wool, and with extreme caution, store the two doses of poison inside of a small wooden box with additional padding within. The box is carefully tied shut with hide straps - these doses of supernatural poison should be safe from the bumps, knocks, and jostling of travel along the roads. You go on to grab the two pouches of Dionysian Frankencense hanging from one of the shelves within the hut.
>Deianira packs her two doses of deadly Kerberos’ Slaverings!
>Deianira packs her two charges of Dionysian Francenkense as well!
Inside you, the fiery ember of power and rage has ignited into a flame - acidic remembrance burns within your breast. You find it easy to recall the exact sensation of the daimon’s crushing grip about your throat, of the shock and terror as Iudas slips from your grasp into the muddy water… The outrage and fury from that day is not just fresh for your recollection - it has grown sharper, more painful - it has become its own force. Locating the river daimon becomes a powerful <span class="mu-r">NEED</span> - and you are uneasy, as this compulsion is unlike you. It is a stallion that can bring you far, you think, but you are smart enough to know that it is not one that you can fully control. You will never be at rest so long as the daimon has escaped retribution…
A tiny part of your mind grieves for the happy girl that you used to be, a comedian and jokester who played tricks on her bigger, younger brother. You cast this mourning aside, forcing yourself not to care. Vengeance for Iudas <span class="mu-r">MUST occur</span>. The river daimon <span class="mu-r">MUST</span> suffer for his murder.
>Deianira has unlocked Witch’s Vengeance!
surely seeking vengeance against a supernatural spirit will have no unpleasant consequences for Deianira
You stumble out of your hut - the bright light of brilliant Helios causing you to squint and shade your eyes with a slender, upraised hand. With every step up to the palace, your fatigue grows. By the time you reach your room, you can hardly keep your eyes open.
When you awake, it is just before rosy Eos’ appearance - still wearing yesterday’s robes, your throat is dusty and dry. You suspect you had been snoring for hours as you slept. You consume an enormous breakfast, having missed many meals through your ritual or in the slumber afterwards...
>cont
