>>5184985“You’re no ally of their ilk,” you say, tone lowering. “I know how you resssent King Archosss and hiss government… The Tower and their hoarding of knowledge. You’ve SSEEEN what I have acquired accessss to… What I could grant YOU accccesss to! I could give you the names of MANY demonss… Could even give you the sssuccubusss!”
‘H-hey,’ Irinnile whispers, affronted.
You reassure her that it’s a bluff.
“And take advantage of another ritual to turn me into your… Your plaything, your minion?! To drop ANOTHER FUCKING BOOKCASE on me?!”
Okay, so he remembers a lot.
“Lord Bianchi—”
Your latest appeal is interrupted as he staggers forth. At first it seems like he is making a bolt for it, but as you move to stop him, you feel a shooting pain. You look down and find a long, thin line of steel piercing your abdomen straight through: a blade, drawn from the staff. A sword-cane?
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you hiss, and you see red. Your calm is gone. “Even a pitiful, weak-willed, half-assssed demonologissst like YOU should know that, if I’m posssessssed, I can’t be harmed by mundane weaponsss.”
>1Lord Bianchi’s expression isn’t devoid of fear, not at all… But you also are not certain you’ve ever seen this smarmy snob any smugger than he is right now, in spite of it.
“I didn’t use a mundane weapon, you stupid bitch.”
It’s then that you realize that the pain isn’t fading… Isn’t lessening. In fact, it’s growing worse. You try to speak, to demand an explanation, but only a rattling croak emerges… And blood. Lots of blood. You look down again at the staff in Bianchi’s hand, and you recognize it: the family heirloom staff, which you helped this foppish occultist to materialize from Irinnile’s own essence, that first night when you encountered her.
‘Oh fuck!’ Irinnile cries. ‘Oh shit! Oh, babe! No!’
This wound… It’s potentially lethal, but only POTENTIALLY. You can regenerate it, but it will take time… Uninterrupted time, without distraction. And you doubt if you have long before the Inquisition arrives now. Minutes? An hour?
‘I can fix this I can fix this I can FIX THIS,’ you panicking inner demon shrieks.
What do you do?
>KILL THIS SURFACE-BORN SON OF AN APE! TEAR HIM APART AND EAT HIS SOUL!>Get away! Get out! You’ve been made by the staff either way, and further combat will only risk further injury—right as a pack of damned mages are bearing down on you!>Make a last-ditch effort to negotiate a pact—whatever Bianchi wants, just to fix this mess!>Try to force the regeneration while maintaining your distance, and hope to the Dark Gods that the Inquisition doesn't burst in>Call in the [DIVINE FAVOUR] to smite this entire building and its denizens>Call in the [DIVINE FAVOUR] to restore you to full health, so you can handle this personally>Die>Write-inOof, a DOUBLE fumble. Yikes. 