The memory is clear and bright, in the way that most terrifying experiences are, when you think them over.
You’ve just descended the stairs to the speakeasy of this Gentleman you’ve heard so much about, when a tabaxi turns to your group. She starts:
“Halt friends, I do not r— Lucien?” Her eyes widen in shock, but you still don’t know who she is, you’re racking your memory, but the name
The name makes you feel ill, all of a sudden, an itch at the back of your skull. There’s no time to consider it.
“It has been too long, two ye–”
“Far too long!”
“Two years!” She laughs, bright, hands still gripping your shoulders on either side, tightly, like an old, old friend. “Look at you! You grew out your hair! And you are covered in tattoos!”
There’s something in her expression that seems confused about this, as her eyes flit to your hands, your neck.
“We’ll catch up, we need a table, we need drinks for me and my compatriots.”
“Of course, you– these are your friends now?” She looks over your group, appraising, but then goes to do as you’ve asked. Drinks and a table.
You now get a better look up at the top, some skulking individuals with long dark cloaks and dark armor, carrying what looks almost like a heavy crossbow, but it’s a long, metal rod. You’ve only seen them in use here and there. A recently emerging technology that has been largely guarded within use of the empire itself.
The second she turns, you give Fjord - a green, half-orcish man, a little pat on the back and hiss a whisper at him. “I’m sorry, this is my nightmare, please just go with it? It’s Lucien.”
He simply looks a bit baffled in return. The tabaxi returns to the table, reaching her hands out for yours.
“Oh, too long.” She starts quickly, sitting up straighter, then her face suddenly turns apologetic. You see all the faces of your friends, twisted in confusion. They aren’t even trying to hide it.
“Luci— Nonagon. I apologize for using your old name. Nonagon, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Who can keep track these days? Again, a long story.” You manage to croak out. She doesn’t seem to notice. She just looks concerned.
“Nonagon, what happened? We watched you die.”
She looks expectant. As do the rest of them at the table. Jester, Fjord, Nott, Caleb, Beau. All of their eyes are trained on you. They all await your answer.
“I’m sorry, it— I think it all went a bit fuzzy at the end there. Won’t you remind me?”
The tabaxi looks almost stricken, but she recovers. Casting a glance at the others at the table, and then,
“I don’t trust these people, Nonagon, but—
If you trust them, then I trust you. You gave us a speech. We had a fine meal. We all got ready there in the forest. . . She said it would be hard for us to tell whether or not it worked at first, but we went and checked, and you were not breathing. For a good hour, you were not breathing and you had gone cold. We knew then that-- that we had lost you. We checked, and I'm very attuned to vitals, as you know. There was no heartbeat. So we waited longer. The sun rose, and nothing. So, as you told us, if anything were to go wrong, we had to get rid of any sign, any trace. So not far from the Tomb Taker hideout, we buried you and we went our separate ways. She took the tome, the mage woman, it was part of the arrangement you had with her. Her contract said she was in the right and that we knew better than to go toe to toe with her and her ilk.”
They all turn to watch your reaction. Eyes on eyes on eyes on eyes.
[A tale of another life, intersected. Mollymauk's confusion is palpable, but that itch at the back of his skull...that's what truly interests Douman. Its one thing to be confused with another, but to be told that you died, and that you are now walking, a new man, a new life, as you are?]
[How very, very intriguing. The memory fades, and Douman stands, lightly smiling.]
...How very interesting, Mollymauk. I wonder how many people we have within the both of us.
He's been rather calm or - upset, somewhat - at some of the reactions to the memories he's managed to spill everywhere unintended, but something about that comment seems to grate right at the wound and he snaps back, shortly:]
Of course. There are such coincidences in the world. Sometimes people are cut of the same cloth.
[They splay a hand over their chest.]
Regardless, you are you, and always have been, Mollymauk. Do not let the past pull you down, even if it is the past of another. I certainly don't dwell on mine, though there is much I find hard to recall. But does it bother me? Huhu. Hardly not.
[There's a beat where he still has a bit of sourness to his face, before he absorbs that little speech and
it's back to bright and sparkling grin. though he does truly seem to like that sentiment, tail swishing.]
On that, we are again two of a kind. Suppose that's why this-- this shit is terrible. Digging where it doesn't need to go. Some graves should stay covered, in my opinion. [He laughs a bit.] Should thank you, I guess. That one has gotten several people truly up my ass with questions.
Or, really fascinated by the existence of tabaxi. They aren't that exciting.
Ahaha, people always have questions. I certainly have questions. But considering I'm in a similar position as you, I simply don't want you to return the favor.
[And a laugh.]
What, that cat-like person? I knew of a race of men who had been combined with Chimera Beasts...they looked like bipedal wolves, as far as I've been told. Its hardly that strange.
[He seems quite pleased at being called ostentatious? Even if it was (derogatory). He will take it as (complimentary).]
Ah-- I'm the perfect color. I'm just saying, we've a better variety than humans. [But he hums a little at the demon part.] Not a demon! Not a demon. Bit rude to say, actually. Demon-blooded, I suppose. Long ways back.
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The memory is clear and bright, in the way that most terrifying experiences are, when you think them over.
You’ve just descended the stairs to the speakeasy of this Gentleman you’ve heard so much about, when a tabaxi turns to your group. She starts:
“Halt friends, I do not r— Lucien?” Her eyes widen in shock, but you still don’t know who she is, you’re racking your memory, but the name
The name makes you feel ill, all of a sudden, an itch at the back of your skull. There’s no time to consider it.
“It has been too long, two ye–”
“Far too long!”
“Two years!” She laughs, bright, hands still gripping your shoulders on either side, tightly, like an old, old friend. “Look at you! You grew out your hair! And you are covered in tattoos!”
There’s something in her expression that seems confused about this, as her eyes flit to your hands, your neck.
“We’ll catch up, we need a table, we need drinks for me and my compatriots.”
“Of course, you– these are your friends now?” She looks over your group, appraising, but then goes to do as you’ve asked. Drinks and a table.
You now get a better look up at the top, some skulking individuals with long dark cloaks and dark armor, carrying what looks almost like a heavy crossbow, but it’s a long, metal rod. You’ve only seen them in use here and there. A recently emerging technology that has been largely guarded within use of the empire itself.
The second she turns, you give Fjord - a green, half-orcish man, a little pat on the back and hiss a whisper at him.
“I’m sorry, this is my nightmare, please just go with it? It’s Lucien.”
He simply looks a bit baffled in return. The tabaxi returns to the table, reaching her hands out for yours.
“Oh, too long.” She starts quickly, sitting up straighter, then her face suddenly turns apologetic. You see all the faces of your friends, twisted in confusion. They aren’t even trying to hide it.
“Luci— Nonagon. I apologize for using your old name. Nonagon, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Who can keep track these days? Again, a long story.” You manage to croak out. She doesn’t seem to notice. She just looks concerned.
“Nonagon, what happened? We watched you die.”
She looks expectant. As do the rest of them at the table. Jester, Fjord, Nott, Caleb, Beau. All of their eyes are trained on you. They all await your answer.
“I’m sorry, it— I think it all went a bit fuzzy at the end there. Won’t you remind me?”
The tabaxi looks almost stricken, but she recovers. Casting a glance at the others at the table, and then,
“I don’t trust these people, Nonagon, but—
If you trust them, then I trust you. You gave us a speech. We had a fine meal. We all got ready there in the forest. . . She said it would be hard for us to tell whether or not it worked at first, but we went and checked, and you were not breathing. For a good hour, you were not breathing and you had gone cold. We knew then that-- that we had lost you. We checked, and I'm very attuned to vitals, as you know. There was no heartbeat. So we waited longer. The sun rose, and nothing. So, as you told us, if anything were to go wrong, we had to get rid of any sign, any trace. So not far from the Tomb Taker hideout, we buried you and we went our separate ways. She took the tome, the mage woman, it was part of the arrangement you had with her. Her contract said she was in the right and that we knew better than to go toe to toe with her and her ilk.”
They all turn to watch your reaction. Eyes on eyes on eyes on eyes.
The memory fades out again.]
no subject
[A tale of another life, intersected. Mollymauk's confusion is palpable, but that itch at the back of his skull...that's what truly interests Douman. Its one thing to be confused with another, but to be told that you died, and that you are now walking, a new man, a new life, as you are?]
[How very, very intriguing. The memory fades, and Douman stands, lightly smiling.]
...How very interesting, Mollymauk. I wonder how many people we have within the both of us.
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He's been rather calm or - upset, somewhat - at some of the reactions to the memories he's managed to spill everywhere unintended, but something about that comment seems to grate right at the wound and he snaps back, shortly:]
One. I've got one. And it's me.
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Wouldn't you know? Me, too!
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[He simmers down a bit, but, the delight. Oh the delight. It makes the back of his skull itch.]
I'm not-- whoever that was. At all. He's just a dead man, who happened to look like me.
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[They splay a hand over their chest.]
Regardless, you are you, and always have been, Mollymauk. Do not let the past pull you down, even if it is the past of another. I certainly don't dwell on mine, though there is much I find hard to recall. But does it bother me? Huhu. Hardly not.
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it's back to bright and sparkling grin. though he does truly seem to like that sentiment, tail swishing.]
On that, we are again two of a kind. Suppose that's why this-- this shit is terrible. Digging where it doesn't need to go. Some graves should stay covered, in my opinion. [He laughs a bit.] Should thank you, I guess. That one has gotten several people truly up my ass with questions.
Or, really fascinated by the existence of tabaxi. They aren't that exciting.
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[And a laugh.]
What, that cat-like person? I knew of a race of men who had been combined with Chimera Beasts...they looked like bipedal wolves, as far as I've been told. Its hardly that strange.
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[Yeah, a laugh right back.]
Bipedal wolves? Now that's just fucking ridiculous.
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[Yeah! Fate/ had furries! Cursed information!]
It's true, it's true! They wore clothes and lived like people and everything!
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i will say the idea that Fate/ has furries is the least surprised i've ever been but it is still Cursed]
Lizardfolk, sure, tabaxi, definitely, tieflings, well, I'm standing here. But dog people? Just seems silly, doesn't it?
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[Missed opportunity.]
I'm a tiefling. Horns, tail, some folks have the-- hooves. [molly does not appear to have hooves.] Better colors.
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[Is that an insult or not. Hard to tell.]
The hooves? Mmm. A person I knew would call you a demon. [Hmm!] What color would you want to be?
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[He seems quite pleased at being called ostentatious? Even if it was (derogatory). He will take it as (complimentary).]
Ah-- I'm the perfect color. I'm just saying, we've a better variety than humans. [But he hums a little at the demon part.] Not a demon! Not a demon. Bit rude to say, actually. Demon-blooded, I suppose. Long ways back.