>>5559393“Why so mysterious?” you ask tiredly. “You have told me nothing of this ‘contact’.”
“I know little about him, save rumours of the scandal which keeps him thus hidden,” the Novice—Sseztlussth—admits. “Well, and the usefulness which prevented his destruction.”
“What do you mean?”
She doesn’t deign to answer your question, but you learn soon enough. You come upon a door of wood, carved with arcane sigils of forewarning and protective warding. The Novice taps upon one repeatedly, triggering the spell to alert its caster… And when the door opens, all is revealed. Before you stands a horrid and misshapen thing. Though clad in a grey and ratty robe, you can see that is brown of skin like the Southern humans, but that skin is stretched taut over a warped, elongated parody of the humanoid body-plan. You see no obvious signs of scales, but the vivid yellow of the eyes, the long neck and flattened snout, the domed skull… These are unmistakable attestations to a forbidden and unheard-of ancestry.
“A Degenerate,” you gasp. “A Serpent Priest’s child, and also half-human. That is… It is not done.”
“Apparently, it has been done at least once,” the Novice notes wryly, quickly removing her hand from yours.
“…Indeed,” the strange and forbidden hybrid in question replies. “I… Did not expect a visit from a Serpent Priest and a Dragonborn. Has the day finally come for me to be UNdone, then?”
“We are not here to execute you,” the Novice snaps. “But we well might, if you do not move and allow us inside.”
He does as she ‘asks’ of him, keeping his head low and shuffling like a craven slave. He watches you more than her, you note, with a fear and curiosity.
“What brings you here?” he asks, when the chamber is closed. “Is it… Official business?”
“Obviously not,” the Novice sniffs. “Nobody comes to the Degenerate called ‘The Heretic’ with OFFICIAL business, I am quite certain.”
“Yes,” this ‘Heretic’ agrees. “But then… Why?”
You hesitate, but at the Novice’s prodding and out of desperation, you eventually speak to your divine affliction—its cause, its effects, and your desire to be rid of it.
“You mated your spirit to the Jealous Goddess,” the Heretic murmurs. “Yes, her fangs must be deeply buried in you, after that. It is considered a great honour for her to even permit a mortal the trial… Let alone one so young. Your status and accomplishments must have appealed to her a great deal, Superior One.”
“Hm,” you reply, noncommittally, for it does not presently FEEL like an honour.
“Are you familiar with the legends of her past mates?” he asks.
“Yes,” you admit. “Most came to bad ends.”
“You KNEW that,” the Novice balks, “and you STILL took it upon yourself to… To… You IDIOT!”
