BlackwaterDnD

Em:
Welcome to BlackwaterDnD, where good friends tell better stories. This series, Balance, is a miniseries using the Powered by the Apocalypse system, Godkiller, which was created by Connie Chang, now available on Itch.io for purchase, and is proudly sponsored by Hero Forge and Moonbeam. This tale takes us back, long before the end of the universe, to a time when we begin to explore & understand old divine wounds that run so very deep, and what happens when love is caught in the middle. This story encouraged us as creators to strive for genuine emotion and connection, relish the space we create at the table, and take big swings with the way we approached our narrative. For this story, your GOD, everyone else, and the thrum of the Cradle, is myself, Em Carlson, and my GODKILLERs are played by Gina Susanna & Jannes Wessels. As this game falls within a holypunk and dark fantasy genre, it may contain themes and depictions that are triggering for some listeners. Please take care of yourself and access safe support as you see fit.

Content warnings for this episode include: betrayal // grief & loss // lies & concealment // body horror // corruption & possession // graphic violence // premeditated murder // blood // knives as weapons // harm to animals // self harm & allusions to suicide // religious overtones // war // fire // unsafe water // sexual undertones //

So sit back and relax, heretics. And welcome to Godkiller: Balance.

Interlude 4: Betraying

[steps approaching followed by the striking of a match]

Em:
Silence. The only thing that brings you comfort these days is the silence of prayer. Here, within the hallowed halls of The Thanatea, Temple to the Feathered Mistress in Manta, within the Morianus Expanse, a collection of islands off a long landbridge connecting it to a nearby large continent that will one day be known as Wulfar. Though death is often considered to be a quiet process, you are consistently barraged with sound that feels more and more grating each day. The hymns and prayers that used to bring you joy when sung together, now make your skin feel like it's crawling. You avoid the laughter of your sisters because it feels like outright cacophony. And hearing your own voice as you speak sermons makes you want to retch. And still you do it. Because you have to. Of course you have to. This is the Dawn War. And you must carry on.

So in the deafening quiet of your personal prayer room here, accessible by no one else but the current High Priestess, Talon of the Feathered Mistress, this is where you go to get away. But while things may be silent, you are not alone. You're never truly alone anymore. Kneeling down in prayer of some kind, sheltered away from everything else, Aabria, who do we see?

Aabria:
Issilus kneels, and though she shifts under beautiful layered immaculate robes, she can hear the rustle of the fabric. She can hear the creaking inside of her own body. And again, it's that turning of her own stomach. It's all too loud. It's too much. She begs silently. And, that's different from the prayers that she knows she is to make here, but she begs something else within her, or something without, to just make it quiet. And she sort of pitches forward trying to take the pressure off of her knees. She's only thirty, but feels older inside of her skin and inside of her bones. And you just get flashes of beautiful, soft, moisturized hands and well-manicured fingers, again, that disappear under, like, swaths of beautiful fabric, different colours, immaculate, pressed and clean. And dark curls, that sort of drift down from her neck and mar the appearance of someone that is so well put together. So, if anyone walked in, they wouldn't be able to see her face, just the things that cover her, splashes of hair, and fabric, and expectation, but never what sits beneath. Her true expression, any kind of her truth. And her face is contorted. Soft, delicate, feminine features, some would call pretty, but god, she would, she couldn't care less about that. Contorted in pain. And just a misery of purpose, and being torn in your soul between two paths, the person that she always thought she would be and who Issilus is now.

Em:
Spending more time away from your fellow priestesses lately. The last year has changed you, and you know they see it. It's a gnawing from the inside of your skull that won't stop. And the rattling! The shrieks and screams that sound like they're echoing up from the chasm below. And not to mention what you've been hiding beneath your sleeves. Have any of them noticed?

Aabria:
Oh… There's a part of her, the paranoid bit. She knows… She fears that they can see it when she pulls a sleeve down a little bit to hide that last link of chain, the one that curls just so gently around where her thumb and forefinger join. And the rattling that she tries to keep to a minimum by keeping her hands clasped oh so piously in front of her body, or behind her back. But the arrogant part of her, the one being fed more and more every day… They're not smart enough to know what they've seen. I think they've noticed, but I don't think they realize. Everyone changes, but I don't know if they're clever enough or desperate enough or worried enough to put together how much I've changed.

Em:
What about your sister? What's changed there?

Aabria:
That may be the only genuinely tender spot. Every other pain is gnawing. It's agony of just nerves frayed, but this feels like a heart wound. Nepthysaket is the other half of my heart and my life, and I know.. I know she feels the distance. And every time she tries to bring up politely in a conversation what's changed, or what's on my heart, or what's on my mind, I'm coming up with fewer and fewer legitimate reasons to keep her at arm's length. So now it is just a game of avoidance. My duty's here. An imagined illness, not dire, but a little annoyance, a constant reason to walk away. But I can't keep lying to her. I don't want to keep lying to her. I don't know how to keep lying to her.

Em:
And before we go any further, how far out are we from the attack on Manta, do you think, when we see you like this?

Aabria:
It's not more than a fortnight. Weeks away. This is that corner that turns. It's the last moment before you slip down and commit.

Em:
Okay. So it's late, eleven or midnight. You know it's about time for your evening prayers, which you know by heart. You've been doing them ever since you were a baby, but you choose not to do them with the priestesses anymore. You do them alone, tonight. Tell me how you start your prayers to the Feathered Mistress this evening.

Aabria:
It always begins with a prayer to myself. To the sister and daughter and friend I used to be. Hold together, please, just a little bit longer. It's like when you can feel a shadow around a corner, and you know you are walking and must turn. But please let the light hold, just a little longer. And as she circles on that thought, that interior light, a glow binding her together to herself. She lights a candle [match strikes] and reaches into her pocket for a feather that she remembers finding… God, it just… On some green trail, with her sister when they were children, so long ago that the details are gone. She just remembers green and laughter, and that warm skin feeling of sun, and a beautiful dark, not quite black, but not quite blue, almost oil-slicked iridescent feather that they came across, that she has used as bookmark, and totem, and piece of grounding, ever since that day. She holds it in her hand and reaches towards the Feathered Mistress for guidance.

Em:
You move through the rites, the scripture of wing and shadow recited as they always are. But something falters. You know the words, but you can't get them out. You stumble, and you keep trying, knowing you have to at least keep up airs if anyone were to walk in. And as your ritual continues, you catch the glimpses of your arms. Glints of metal weave in and out of your skin, those chains. Sometimes they hurt and sometimes they do not, but there is a feeling like they have always been there. You don't remember what it's like to have them not there. Like they were meant to be there. You reach the apex of the ritual, and your eyes draw up, to the crack in the wall above your prayer space. It started first as a crack above your bed. And it moved about the room, encircling it, reappearing every time you had it patched. And now it has entered here, into your prayer space.

The altar to the Feathered Mistress, deliberately set and perfectly arranged in the utmost piety. Your words begin to falter fully, as you see small bits of stone begin to crumble away. You hear the crack beginning to deepen as the feeling realizes that it could turn into a crevasse, a chasm, that you could fall into but you would be unable to pull away. The candles snuff out. In the room, an allured yellow glow begins to emanate from deep within the wall. To your knowledge, there is nothing behind this wall. What would you like to do?

Aabria:
The light, that glow, it is so attractive, but the first thing, there's that moment when the pretense falls away, and all the feelings and sounds and all the distractions, they turn for her from a thing preventing the peace of ritual to something tantalizing. And she will spend a minute giving herself over to it. And, the tension in the bones of her wrist and her arm, feeling the chain, the slide of it under her skin begins to feel so good. It's a deep touch. And that little scent of a candle going out, almost an aphrodisiac in a weird way. This becomes an incredibly arousing moment, and she can feel the tension of like, this shouldn't feel good, but releasing pretense feels so good, and this feels good too. And then even as she closes her eyes, and succumbs a little bit to the touch of something dark and deep within her, she can feel the glow past the skin of her eyelids. And it gets brighter. And when she opens her eyes again, she doesn't realize that she has stood, and walked to that part in the wall, and her fingers, index, but mostly her middle finger, have pushed obscenely into the crack and are prying the stone and plaster loose as she reaches for whatever is behind.

[sounds of crumbling plaster being touched and pried]

Em:
The second you touch it, that rush, as you feel your fingers take on minds of their own as you begin to scrape, and pull, a desperation in your gut. You feel the blood begin to drip from your fingers as you gnash away at this wall. The light gets brighter and brighter. Your nails break but you don't care. You have to know. You have to know. And then you hear it. A whisper, but familiar. You know this voice. Your dreams have been consumed by this voice.

Si (as Tharakus): [layered whispering]
“Issilus… The time is almost nigh for you to do your rightful duty.”

Em:
And I am gonna have you roll to recognize a god. So, when you want to recognize the signs or influence of a god of the Cradle, you're gonna roll 2d6 and you're gonna add one for each true statement. You're in or near their domain. Normally I would say no, this is the Thanatea, but this space has been made theirs. So I'm gonna say a yes to that one.

Aabria:
Okay.

Em:
You're familiar with their gospel. You have chains embedded in your wrist.

Aabria:
Yes.

Em:
So that is a yes to. And it would be bad if you didn't know? It would be so bad [Aabria laughs]. So that is a plus three.

Aabria:
Ah! Amazing. Seven on the dice, plus three, for a ten.

Em:
Okay, so on, [short sigh] I am so glad [Aabria laughs]. Of course this is the first roll. So on an overkill, ten plus, you realize your divinity is actively trespassing against this god. And the GM will say how. You are attired in the iconography of the Feathered Mistress. You are the High Priestess. Her Talon. This god abhors anything that is not his. And you wearing that in front of him is insulting. And despite that, I think there is a moment where you realize which god this is. And part of you is crushed because you were hoping it was anyone else. You continue to dig, the stone chipping away at the dust falling over the room, the blood down your wrists hit the chains, which begin to glow that sickly yellow. You are alight in the room, from your fingers to halfway up your biceps.

Aabria:
Can I add something?

Em:
Please.

Aabria:
I think with that, there's that moment where there is stone, and plaster, and blood, under her, like, shattered fingernails, and that, like, as you dig the instinct to keep wiping, like to wipe your hands clear,

Em:
Yeah.

Aabria:
And she's wiping blood and plaster away, and doesn't notice in her, like, sort of fevered action that every time she goes to wipe, it is not just a wipe marring the garments with blood and masonry. She is actively tearing it. She reaches for seams and begins to rip it, not in a lurid way to expose herself, but just to sully it. And she doesn't know she's doing it.

Em:
There is only one god within the divine pantheon of Teris who carries the iconography of chains. Tharakus, God of the Abyss, Betrayer, Conspirer, Traitor. The Chaos in Chains. You have been hearing him in your dreams for almost a year, and you are now ready to follow through on your duty.

Si (as Tharakus): [layered whispering]
“Issilus…”

Em:
You hear the voice again.

Si (as Tharakus): [layered whispering]
“The gods must die for their hubris. Taking what rightfully belongs to the Titans. They created this forsaken place, and it must be returned to their hands. We must wipe it all, Issilus. Return balance to the universe. I will help you if you help me.”

Aabria:
The voice in her head began as a nightmare and as a warning, but after a year, it is a lover's whisper. She feels goosebumps across her shoulders, down her arms. It touches the chains that glow. And even though it is him, even though she knows in the part of her mind that is still connected to the world, and its history, and mythology, and what is good and right and true… There is some part of her for whom every word Tharakus says resonates like a bell. And every time he says her name, the rising fear of what must come is pushed down. A lover's whisper, an invitation. And without responding out loud or responding in her mind, she simply nods to the thing that speaks to her, and pushes forward faster.

Em:
As you break through the wall, you feel a hand come up to meet yours. Light filling through the room, almost blinding you. You feel long, spindly talons. You feel at least six hands. And you feel something pressed into your palm, a large something, wrapped in fabric.

Aabria:
There's a moment, especially with how isolated I've been for so long, how much I've removed myself from sound, and feeling, and life, and connection. There's, sort of, her left hand scoops and grabs what is pressed into it and pulls it from the wall and drops it into her like waiting right arm. And then the left hand reaches in and tries to just hold one of those hands, spindly and monstrous though they may be, maybe some connection that doesn't hurt as much, for just a moment.

Em:
There is a moment of hesitation even though you can't see it. And you feel the fingers gently interlace with yours. The claws rake the back of your hand, though they do not cut you. It's sharp. It feels dangerous. And you feel alive.

Aabria:
I think this is the moment when she turns the corner, and instead of praying for a light, she walks so willingly into shadow. That's her weak point. She loves her sister, and she's loved the connection that she has found in the halls of the Feathered Mistress for so long. And now she has been embraced again. And I think that's all she ever really wanted. To feel connection. Even connection in the dark.

She pulls her hand back, and cradles this fabric wrapped thing to her, like a precious toy in the arms of a child, or a mother cradling her baby, and holds it for a long moment, waiting to see if there is some part of her that will feel different, that will reject this. That will reach back for what she knows and what she thinks is good, and that feeling never comes. So she releases the part of her that hopes for goodness. And then kneels back down and opens it.

Em:
You gently unfold the fabric, and you see in it is a knife. The handle is bound with a deep black leather, and below the hilt is a curved jagged blade embedded with a sickly yellow crystal, the same colour as the light. The crystal seems to ooze this caustic green substance, and an acrid smell hits your nose immediately.

Si (as Tharakus): [layered whispering]
“Issilus…”

Em:
As you hear a whisper out from the wall once more,

Si (as Tharakus): [layered whispering]
“Do not touch the liquid, as it is the blood of the liar. But know this, High Priestess... My High Priestess. Issilus… This is what you need to do. This will see it done.”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“I understand. When? When?”

Si (as Tharakus): [layered whispering]
“When the Titans touch down in Manta. You will find your time.”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“Okay.”

Aabria:
And there's that moment where as she regards this blade, ponders its name and origin, and construction… She takes her fingers, bloodied, and walks her fingertips lovingly down the hilt, and almost touches the liquid. Does not. She kind of crowds the fabric back around, but does not fully cover it. She will not be disturbed again, and doesn't want to look away from this thing, this object that makes her the one that will change the world. [striking a match] And she begins to light incense in the room to cover that smell. She realizes until the appointed time, this has to become a part of her. And she, looking down, finally sees the destruction of her clothing, and begins to light incense and, like, puts it under her hair and under her clothes. Resolves to remove the stains and fix the seams. She will cover this. She will hide it. It will be in her and of her, and no one will know until the appointed time. When she will do not what she must, but what she can. She will change the world. She will restore balance. She will kill a god.

Em:
Do you touch the blade? Do you touch the hilt?

Aabria:
I do.

Em:
You begin to walk your finger steps back, but you can't resist. You wrap your hand around the handle. You feel this surge of power rocket through the chains up your arms. And when you have this knife in your hand, you have access to all divine and crucible moves.

Aabria:
Oh!

Em:
And with this knife in your hand, you can attempt to kill a god. And I think that feeling, that knowing, that terrifying, exhilarating knowing, hits you square in the center of your chest, and you feel a power thrum and vibrate you, and it almost feels overwhelming. You try and hold on, you hold on, and you hold on. Your eyes roll back into your head and you pass out. And you're not sure how long later, but you wake up to a knock.

[three knocks, Issilus wakes with a start]

Aabria:
Looking down, what is the state of this room?

Em:
You open your eyes and you are in your bed. Your fingers are not bloodied nor broken. You are in a simple black shift.

Aabria:
Hm.

Em:
Your eyes dart back and forth as you hear a voice from behind the door.

Em (as Nepthysaket): [sounding as though on the other side of the door]
“Sister? It is well past mid-morning. Are you feeling well? Are you ill, again?”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“I, I'm… Apologies. The morning found me unwell, but I am on the mend, sister.”

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“I am glad to hear it. Um, I led morning prayers with the priestesses, but they are eager to know if you are well. And, we also have that meeting with Captain Hyde to discuss battle strategy for if any of the Titans break land here in the Expanse. If you would rather me conduct it in your absence, I can, but…”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“No, no, I… Thank you for covering me, dear one. I will be well enough for that. I am well enough for that, thank you.”

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“Of course. Um, alright, well, I'll leave you to it. Um, and I will, I will go see to lunch, perhaps, and, ah, we will have the meeting after lunch.”

Em:
And you hear her pause on the other side of the door. You're expecting to hear footsteps go away, but you do not.

Aabria:
I try as silently as I can to slip out of bed holding chains, holding shift, and pad as lightly as I can to the other side of the door. I just put my forehead against it. I know she hasn't walked away. And maybe this is as close as we get again. And I think of her, the last thing in this world that connects me to who I used to be. And there is sorrow. But even as I lean, my mind goes to that meeting. My mind goes to my work, and my great purpose, and what was feeling, quickly turns into the memory of a feeling. And the tears on my cheeks are strangers to me. And the woman, the sister on the other side of the door, feels like a stranger to me. A reminder of a feeling, but not the feeling itself. And I wait for her footsteps to leave. But if they do not, after a minute… I walk away, with no care to hide the sound of my leaving. No care to hide the sound of my chains.

[chains softly knock against each other]

Em:
You wait. Something you know about your sister is that she is endlessly patient. But she also knows when to give you space. For that is what a sister does. Knows their sister. You don't see this, but we do. As your forehead is leaned against the door on the other side, she has her temple pressed to it. She waits to see if you'll open it, and you don't. And before you leave, you hear the soft pad of her footsteps, and the jingle of the jewelry she wears [jewelry jingles] as she walks away.

Aabria:
There is a flash in her mind, that like dark splinter thought of, not just sort of, tapping her head against the door in frustration, but harder. Harder, dashing her brains against the wood before she can do something, that not even her blessed sister could hold space for, could forgive. It would all be easier if she could. But she can't or she won't. And so she walks back into her room and prepares.

Em:
As we see you leave the door. The next fortnight drones on. You can't pick out any random moments. You have meetings, you give sermon, you pray. But you're just waiting. We fast forward to the morning of the attack you know is coming. It will happen today. And at the very least, when the screaming starts outside, you will be ready. The hours drone as you wait, and wait, and wait. As you are finishing late afternoon prayers, you hear a crashing, yelling. And screaming. There is shouting outside the Thanatea and you hear the mobilization of a small legion of troops devoted to the Mistress. Her bravest and holiest ready to fight to save their city and their goddess. What would you like to do?

Aabria:
Before moving into, like, full and proper action, ugh god, there is something inside her. The waiting, the patience of it, the thing that she has been suppressing, the connection to a god of chaos chained. She feels unbound in a way. And I think before moving into full and proper action, she throws open her door, and looks and hopes that one of her sisters is alone and distracted. I don’t know why… I don't know why. I want to grab her, pull her from whatever is sending her through the hallway past me, the unfortunate accident of her needing to be here and now on the eve of a battle. She will be my first casualty. I want to slit her throat, not with my dagger, but with a little, vestige, of the priestess I have been pretending to be now for so long, waiting for this moment. Can I do a little murder?

Em:
Oh yes, of course you can do a little murder, this is fucking awesome.

Aabria:
Thank you!

Em:
I think you spend the time getting ready. Knowing that the second you step outside you will have to, at least for a quick moment, put on airs. You get yourself dressed for battle. You walk out of your room and you stop at the next down the hall. You see a young priestess, maybe twenty one. Rifling through a chest at the end of her bed, she is alone in her room. And while the dagger you keep is tucked within your robes, dropping into your hand is a raven skull. A curved, sharp beak that you have used in rituals before requiring blood. What do you do here?

Aabria:
I'm so tired of lying. I'm so tired of calmness, of holding myself correctly in a position to prevent suspicion. There is no sound, there is no lie, there is no coup. She digs through her trunk and I drag the tip of my thumb across the raven's beak, to make sure it is sharp enough. I want no sound, only the scent of too much incense that I have been using to cover the smell of the dagger, my great secret. I simply wish to move behind her, and end her. I want to feel the lifeblood pour from her carotid. I want to cover her mouth, and drink the sound of her shock. And her alarm. I want this, as a warm up. The thing before the prayer. I want blood, mortal blood, to whet my appetite for the life I will take today.

Em:
It is quick. [sound of a person falling to the ground] And so easy. You have never taken a life before, but this is practiced. Your hands move of their own accord, yet you know they are yours. And once the blood runs down from the gaping wound on her throat, press your chains into it. The glow comes back. But a taste of what is to come. A whetting of your appetite.

Aabria:
I will hold her for a minute, no longer. To see what a kill means. And again she, again I wait, for that moment, for better angels to howl their indignation at evil. To remind me of a goodness I once cherished in myself, and I hear nothing. And I feel nothing, but the whetting of an appetite. And I hunger. And then I move on. I feel so empty. So empty. I will refill myself with purpose, with duty. I can do this. I will do this. And I will never think of her. I will never remember her name. I will move on.

Em:
It's like a mask comes on as you walk out towards the courtyard. You see your sister waiting at the door for you. She meets your eyes. But you have cloaked yourself so well in that emptiness that she sees nothing other than assuredness. What she's looking for, she sees what she needs.

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“Sister, is it time?”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“Yes. Yes, my loved one. It's time.”

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“Alright. I love you. We will get through this. And if we need her we can call her. She will come. She won't fail us, I know it.”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“She cannot.”

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“Alright.”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“We will not fail here.”

Aabria:
And in this, I move to Nepthysaket, and wrap her in my arms. And there's nothing but the summoning of everything I know that she expects of me in this moment. And maybe it is a gift, or maybe it is the cruelest lie I have ever told, but I will give her exactly what she needs of me, here and now, to comfort and encourage forward.

Em:
She relaxes into your hug. She knows that what the two of you are now set to do the second you broach these doors will be the most terrifying experience of your life. She's shorter than you. She always has been. [Aabria chuckles] She pulls back a little and looks up at you and a nod.

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“You and I, this is why we are here. Nothing between us. Not even death, right?”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“Not even death.”

Aabria:
And I hold her face in my hands and run my thumb across her temple, going from the soft skin of the side of her face to her hair, to the upper ridge of her ear, a gesture of comfort from when we were children, even before that, when she was but a baby. And I would hold her, and comfort her as she cried in the way babies do, but even still was sweet and innocent and precious then. And I remember the part of me that still sees her as sweet and innocent and precious now. One last great act of love or violence. A smile, a little weak, a little nervous, and a nod. And that, that tension, that creasing under your, like, your lower eyelids, that feels almost like a wince, like you're trying to convince yourself of something. And a nod. And then I hold her by the shoulders. Take a deep breath, and watch her take that deep breath with me.

[both take a deep breath]

Aabria (as Issilus):
“We will be victorious today.”

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“Yes, we will. By the Mistress' goodness, we will.”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“Yes.”

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“Come, let's go.”

Em:
You leave the Thanatea, and you run outside to the main courtyard where you see the Siege of Manta has begun. [epic and terrifying battlefield soundscape begins] You make your way out of the temple yard towards Thall Bask, the tree of life, which upholds the division of the Material Plane from the upper planes, your sister at your side. And as you approach, [massive wings flapping] a colossal two-headed dragon, larger than anything you've ever seen, ever imagined, touches down on the ground. Red and gold scales, shimmering and engulfed in flames, as Garryx, the Fire Titan, crashes through the outer walls of the city. An explosion breaks the wall, as soldiers wearing ornate black armour are hurled through the air. [sounds of screaming and burning begin] Hundreds of elemental beings of fire rush around, beginning the assault on any buildings and any troops that stand in their way. Nepthysaket looks to you.

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“Unless you have other orders, Bast and I will hold the line. We will protect the Tree.”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“Yes!

Em (as Nepthysaket):
“Sister, call her. We need her. Please!”

Aabria (as Issilus):
“Of course!”

Aabria:
And the breathlessness that she knows Nepthysaket will read as adrenaline and fear, is eagerness. This is the moment. This is the time. She hopes, she hopes, she prays that it reads not as the enthusiasm she feels the coiling low in her gut. And she is suddenly aware of the weight of eternal's undoing on her form. She feels as though, she knows she could not touch that awful liquid pouring from it… But she imagines that she can feel it sliding down her hip, down the front of her thigh. And eagerly she stretches her arm out and begins as the Head Priestess of the Feathered Mistress to go into her rights to summon her god.

Em:
Nepthysaket takes off in a run in the direction towards the fallen soldiers, swiping her hands across her holy symbol as a small black cat bounds out from underneath her robes and transforms into a giant black panther [panther roars], which tackles one of the approaching flame creatures shaped like a serpent. Another massive concussive blast rings out to your left as you see a giant wave, almost in the shape of a kraken, [giant wave crashes] slam down onto another part of the city. Grey energy lingers through the air, words of protection barely able to do their job as Istichia, the Water Titan, bears down on Manta with her full force. You begin your rites and you fall prostrate on the ground right in front of the courtyard. Practiced movements, you hear Captain Hyde as he moves towards you.

Em (as Captain Hyde):
“Protect the High Priestess! The ritual must be completed at all costs! Move, move, move!”

Em:
And then the sound fades away. [sounds of battle dissipate into deep background] That quiet that you have desperately been searching for. [Aabria lets out a short sigh of relief] You pull out the Raven skull, still wet with the blood of the priestess whose name you did not even deign to remember. You draw it across your own hands, your bloods mixing as you begin to trace an elaborate pattern in the dirt. While you are engrossed in this ritual, [sounds of battle begin to come to the forefront again] Bast, the large panther, is tossed aside with a yelp, as Garryx swipes out at Nehthysaket, knocking them to the side. [large wings flapping] Garryx rears backward, flame gathering in his throat as he prepares to incinerate your sister.

You look up to see this as you finish the sigil, as a pulse rips out from the mark [hum of magic]. A beam of blackness that sends you, that sends you fully backward. Dark, roiling electricity fires straight up from the bloody symbol on the ground. All flames are instantly extinguished with fire elementals dropping to the ground, the Fire Titan letting out a mighty roar as the battlefield is plunged into darkness. Energy coalesces atop the summoning, as a figure steps out, crackling with energy. Large raven wings extend from a long cloak, the Feathered Mistress appearing on the battlefield. She was summoned. She answered. And she takes off like a shot.

Flash of dark metal as the blood sprays from the two-headed dragon which stumbles backwards over the wall struggling to get to its feet. It is beautiful. The Mistress returns, her white mask visible in front, swooping past as she extends a hand towards the approaching water elemental summoned by Istichia, that start making a break for the tree. Thousands of raven-like spirits made of pure, [ravens caw] ethereal energy dive through the air, piercing hundreds of these assailants, disintegrating them. One does not simply challenge a god in their home city, and expect an easy victory.

Nepthysaket lies on the ground, Bast, fifty feet from her. And the Mistress lands, her white mask shining through the darkness as she touches down near your sister. Her back to you, her wings folded back in to form a cloak as she reaches down to help your sister up. What would you like to do?

Aabria:
Issilus feels, or remembers the feeling, of protectiveness. Of love that makes you fierce. She sees it in the god that was her god. And feels it in the reaching towards the sister, that she once loved above all things. She sprints towards them, hoping… Maybe beginning, the understanding of great love. Of love that gives purpose, of love that can be weakness. When she saw her sister and Bast, almost overcome by their enemies, there was a part of her that wanted to stop the ritual, that could have ruined everything for love. And she circles that thought as she sprints over to her sister, and tries to not interpose herself, but to like, assist in checking on Nepthysaket, and beholding her goddess. Her goddess. Fully here, fully present. And is torn as sister and devotee. But, the action is to rush to her sister and attempt to also help her up, while closing the distance to her target.

Em:
You see, as you're about five feet away, Nepthysaket takes the Mistress' hand, Bast moving in to help support his beloved, your sister, who he has been devoted to his entire life. And she begins to help her stand. Do you wish to be behind the Mistress or in front of her?

Aabria:
There's something inside of nightmares and visions and the way… The way they can layer on top of each other, everything inside of the person. Issilus thinks she is, and ought to be, moves forward, and hugs her sister and nods in gratitude to her god, for answering her call and for gracing her sister with a moment of genuine kindness and empathy. And she sees it all so vividly, she thinks it has happened. But when she opens her eyes, when did she close her eyes? She is standing at the Feathered Mistress' back. Oh, ‘cause that's it. You never see a knife in the back. And her left hand, when did it reach inside her robes? It is wrapped around the hilt. She is fully in her power. She holds eternal's undoing. She remains at her back. She knows this is the time. She knows this is how. I would like to plunge this knife into the back of the Feathered Mistress.

Em:
And I'm gonna have you roll to kill a god. So, when you confront a god in their true form, and you exploit their downfall to kill them, describe how you slay them, which you have. A knife to the back. And you roll 2d6. On a hit, seven to nine, they seize something vital from you as well. Name what vital part of yourself you lose. On a strong hit, their death transforms, liberates, or shields an aspect of the Cradle. The GM will describe what and how. And on a miss, six and below, they bestow a curse upon you with their dying breath. Regardless of your role, you seize a semblance of their power.

Aabria:
Nice.

Em:
So that's just a flat 2d6. No pressure.

Aabria:
I love being a PC, because my dice know me so well.

Em:
Mhmm.

Aabria:
I rolled a five.

Em:
Okay. [Em releases a short breath] So, you plunge Eternal's Undoing, square between her wings. You don't see it, but you hear it. The mask she wears, that porcelain white mask begins to crack. The sound almost deafening, as her form begins to quake, as she turns to face you. You see her eyes, divine blood spilling out from them with the deepest look of pain and sadness, because her downfall is she can only be killed by someone she truly loves. It hits you square in your soul as you feel the chains dig deeper into your wrists. You feel your hand begin to burn on the blade turning black as you drop it. It clatters to the ground. Instinctually, and I think even without her wanting to. Deep magic leaves her lips as she utters a curse towards you.

Aabria (as Issilus):
“No... No... No... NO!”

Em (as the Feathered Mistress):
“Thou shalt never know the solace and care of another again.”

[Aabria weeping and gasping for breath]

Em:
So from this curse, you may never carry any bonds of friendship, family, or romantic attachment, no matter how much you miss them.

Aabria:
Issilus weeps. The chains feel like they should be shattering the bones in her forearm, but they don't, they just wrap around and hold me together. Oh god what have I… I don't… No part of me that wants to scream, or cry out, or explain myself, it's not that I don't know what I've done, I don't even regret it. I wish I regretted it. I just feel carved out of what little hope existed for me in this world. I have only ever saw connection. Priestess, sister, friend, lover. And I feel that move beyond me. Beyond where I can ever reach. And maybe there's inside of me that would laugh if I could, because that's the thing that brings me to tears, that drops me to my knees in front of the god I have slaughtered. I do not regret placing that blade in her back. I would do it again.

But I look at my sister, and I see a person, and I feel nothing. And I wish, and I pray, if there are any gods there that still see me, that would have pity on me, let the world open and swallow me up here and now. I do not want to live unconnected and unmoored.

Em:
There are no gods who watch you, because you have the eye of one. The Feathered Mistress stumbles backward, divine energy spilling out as she attempts to make her way over to Thall Bask, with the battle raging around you.

Aabria:
I crawl forward, grab the knife as I crawl across it, grab the bottom of her robes, like a supplicant, begging for mercy. Begging in prayer, but it is simply to weigh her down, to hold her here. I want to be a burden to her, to let her not move forward, to not fight, stay here and let me watch you die. I say nothing, but on my lips a quiet whisper, no air behind it,

Aabria (as Issilus):
“Tharakus. Tharakus.”

Em:
Nepthysaket is close enough to hear you. She sees what you've done. She sees what you're doing. And you see her take, in her shock, an account of what has occurred. She looks at you, and her eyes say that she could have helped. She looked at you, and she says with her eyes, that she would have done anything to save you. She sees what you're trying to do. You can't hear her, but you see her scream and point as Bast runs towards you [panther roar]. A full charge. And he tackles you backwards off of the Mistress, and pins you to the ground. This is a divine celestial being. The knife has clattered out of your hand, and you are underneath a giant panther. You turn your head. Nepthysaket gets up, with one last look to you, and she takes off in a sprint towards the Mistress who falls down against the tree, clutching her chest, which has started to rupture. Blood is pouring from the eye holes in the mask. Nepthysaket is being burned herself by the divinity of the dying Mistress, but presses on as she presses her temple to her goddess, like she has done with you hundreds of times. Her hands come up, she begins to trace a pattern in the air, channeling a wealth of divine energy and magic, as the Mistress becomes more unstable. You hear the final word of an incantation that cuts through the air as she begins to tear open a fabric of reality. A void like crack to begins to engulf her goddess. She's trying to save her. And you can't let that happen. The chains dig at you, screaming at you to act. What do you do?

Aabria:
I think even the feeling of those chains, they do not presage her action. The curse is well landed. If I were the Issilus that I am watching the woman that was my sister mourn, and be repulsed by, I would let Bast hold me back. I would let this act. But I will tear through this creature. I will tear my way through her. I will not falter. I wish to destroy the thing holding me down. Not just move it, the intention here, to live inside of the power, to revel in the curse and the connection to a Betrayer, a dark entity of chaos. I don't wish to move. I wish to destroy anything that would hold me from my purpose. There are two things standing between me and the Feathered Mistress, and I want them gone.

Em:
Okay. I am going to have you roll to inflict violence.

Aabria:
Yay!

Em:
So when you inflict violence on someone or something, being Bast, roll 2d6 and add one for each true statement. They wish you harm?

Aabria:
Yeah!

Em:
I actually don't think so.

Aabria:
Oh! Okay.

Em:
I don't think Bast wishes you harm. He wishes you to stop.

Aabria:
Mm.

Em:
And if you'd have heard what Nepthysaket said, but you couldn't, it was to stop you, not to kill you. Are you desperate?

Aabria:
The most I've ever been in my life.

Em:
And is this personal?

Aabria:
No.

Em:
Okay, so this is a plus one.

Aabria:
God, I wish it was personal [laughs]. An eight. Plus one, a nine.

Em:
Okay. So, on a hit, seven to nine, this part of the fight ends on your terms. Tell me how you kill Bast.

Aabria:
Held down, pinned down, by giant paws. I think it's as simple as, she's held by the shoulders, so she can reach up, though it would be ineffective given the leverage, given her size and relative strength. She can touch the back of one of Bast's paws. And she does so, just flexing her elbow up. And one of her chains pushes through, slides past muscle and sinew and skin, and begins to wrap itself around its wrist, around its paws. She feels that connection. And then feels the lack of connection between those things. It is simply one being chained to another. And it squeezes, it crushes upward. And she sees the chains disappear beneath its fur, feels it dig into the idea of muscle and bone, coiling upward past shoulder, through rib cage, around where a heart would be. Wrapped. And ugh, wouldn't it be such a metaphor? But this Issilus doesn't feel with her heart anymore. So it is simply action, as she bids her chains to crush Bast's heart.

Em:
A sickening crunch, as you feel Bast immediately go limp, and collapses on top of you. A heavy weight. Which gives just enough time. You look out from under the body of this colossal panther as the rupture almost fully engulfs the Mistress. The divinity and the radiation burning your sister. You see half of her body is scarred, her face scarred, as she turns towards Thall Bask, the tree of life, an attempt to shield herself from the onslaught. A flash erupts, and like a dying star, the rupture begins to collapse on itself, sending a shockwave out towards you. You have a second before you know you will die. Everything here will die. All of it.

Jannes:
I think that's where Rake will step forward, and I will try and wield a power to stop the time here.

Em:
Okay. So from the other side of the divine Gate of Atonement, when you wield a power to do something only a god can. Roll 2d6, and you add one for each true statement. You've done the specific act before perfectly. No. Are you desperate for this to work?

Jannes:
I think Rake is desperate for this to work. I think knowing that the success of what they're attempting to do is dependent on the information that they can gather here... I think he knows this is their one and only opportunity. So yeah, I would say he's desperate.

Em:
Okay, you can mark one strain. And you're close to a shrine, lair, or domain of the god you took this power from. Currently, you are standing in the liminal, which Ungal controls. You hear the soft tick-tock of the metronome. So this is a plus two.

Jannes:
Well, I rolled a six plus two, so that's an eight.

Em:
Okay, so on a hit, you do it. Rake as you stand across, having seen everything that we have just described, following a Issilus from prayer to now, you and Ever take a step forward through the gate.

Issilus. You wait for death. With your goddess, dead or dying or otherwise, pinned under Bast. No one will ferry your soul. No one will take what is left of you to the River. But time stops around you. Pain ceased for a moment. The breath that you feel like you're holding as you wait for the impact of this shockwave, stays, but you feel your heart beat faster and faster and faster you know you're bleeding. There is magic happening here. Powerful, divine magic, and not from Tharakus, not from the Mistress, not from your sister. You hear the soft ticking of a metronome in steady time, as you see a gateway of the Weave open up, and two beings step out, about ten feet from you. Rake and Ever, what would you like to do?
Em:
Godkiller: Balance is performed by Em Carlson, Gina Susanna & Jannes Wessels. The voice of Issilus, The Broken Sister, is Aabria Iyengar. The voice of Tharakus, Abyss in Chains, is Si Rutherford. This season’s dramaturge is Tim Carlson. This episode was edited, scored, and produced by Si Rutherford. Special thanks to our campaign artist, Mischi, who you can find @Mischiart on twitter! Our main theme for this episode, Light & Dark, was composed by Sean McRoberts. Music and effects by Epidemic Sound. For more stories, come follow us everywhere at @blackwaterdnd, and make sure to check out our Main Campaign on Monday nights at 8pm PST at twitch.tv/blackwaterdnd. To play your own campaign of Godkiller and dive into your own divinity, go support Godkiller by purchasing the ashcan on itch.io today, with the print version published soon by Evil Hat Productions. This show is made possible by our sponsors who graciously support us playing pretend and having feelings about it. We are grateful to be sponsored by Heroforge, who offer fully customizable miniatures made with their online 3D character creator! Head on over and design your own Godkiller, and get them printed in a variety of materials, including colour printing options! With new content added each week, check out www.heroforge.com to start bringing your character to life! This show is also proudly sponsored by Moonbeam, a better and safer way to stream! Dive into Realms for vibrant community hubs where creators keep 100% of what they earn while protected by Pyxis, a revolutionary moderation tool that learns and adapts to your boundaries. So check them out and join Moonbeam today! Finally, we’re thankful for our Patrons for joining us on our second journey through the Cradle. You too can come join us on Patreon, where you can check out behind the scenes info, our talkback show Chatwater, as well as exclusive Godkiller bonus content and so much more. Head on over to patreon.com/blackwaterdnd for all the info. See you next time, heretics, and to all the gods out there, be safe!