>>6262068“I have many a name,” she purrs with that voice, so familiar — you have heard it in your visions — as she bows at you. Her hood falls, revealing a mane of brown hair that withers and lengthens, flowing over her shoulders and past it in a waterfall of glistening white.
“My parents were from Earth, yet I know them not. So I used to be merely <span class="mu-i">Lithala</span>, of the Night Lands, for I was born there on the dawn of the summer solstice.”
Her eyes still burn— green, then white, and lo! They blast alight in a glow of crimson, her pupils as bright as stars.
<span class="mu-i">You are walking amidst the overgrown ruins of your old house. Your mansion, your fields, the rows and rows of vineyards where you used to play with your family — it’s all destroyed. All due to the greed of the merchants of Frigéia. The place that, one day, you will know as the realm of the Stilladìa.</span>
“But your ilk knows me by the name I gave to <span class="mu-i">myself</span>, on the night Ansàrra cast me off from her life and her grace, when I stopped being useful to her schemes. The name of the Star that always hounds the Sun, and never lets it out of sight. The Star that one day will raise to bite into it and tear it apart,” she growls. Her skin turns unnaturally pale, devoid of all blood. It develops thin cracks, like those of a hastily-repaired statue, oozing a kind of light that makes your eyes blink, a light that brightens nothing. “The Stilladìa.”
<span class="mu-i">It’s called… a Morningstar</span>.
“<span class="mu-i">The Adversary,</span>” you trace the words, breathless.
She bows.
When she stands again, two horns break through her skin over her forehead — they twist and blacken, like old bones charred by fire, and amidst them come to rest a thousand thousand thousand tiny stars, floating in the shape of a flower with five petals.
Your left hand brushes against something hard and cold. It’s either your sword or Carnaval’s feather, you wouldn’t know.
“And let us not forget that, for the briefest of times!” She adds with a cruel laughter, pointing a black-tipped finger before her chin, as she flashes you a smile, tilting her head slightly to her right, “I was known in Madua by the name Ansàrra gave me when she came to pick me up from the ruins of a burnt house…”
“… <span class="mu-i">Bragia Lacresta,</span>” you whisper.
<span class="mu-r">You reach for your sword. Combat roll, 1d100 + 18 + 10, one roll per reply, best rollm wins.</span>
<span class="mu-b">You reach for the feather. Combat roll, 1d100 + 18, one roll per reply, best roll wins.</span>
<span class="mu-g">Your fingers brush against the hard edge of the weapon, but your slump. You can’t raise your weapon against Bragia Lacresta. Even… even like this. You are tired of the lies. You will not strike.</span>
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So... schizoanon was right, hmmm 