Session 85 Report

General Summary

 

Moon Planter, the Sword Bearer's Log

7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15, fuck you. With the enemies cleared from the museum, we finally had an opportunity to analyze the situation. These Living Graffitis are everywhere. Even images of ourselves lept from the walls at us. Only a few civilians were saved as we ran here. Ord's ghost briefly explained that she was pulling some kind of prank. I would have been angry with her, but there was no time. The screams of the ponies outside filled my ears, and I called on our casters to look at Stitch's Falchion and hat to see if the spell could be reversed. Everyone we called on looked and studied, but nothing could be found. Nothing.   Belle Hop looked closely, and found some more insight. The Aetherstone on the Falchion was swirling with some kind of magic. It resembled the Ankh amulets that the Jackals had been wearing. I took one and pressed it to the Aetherstone. A eerie spirit poured from the Ankh, and seemed to melt into a blob of paint onto the floor. It began to slink away until Belle Hop poured alcohol onto it, and its screams ceased. Ord became frightfully uncomfortable. She couldn't explain why, only that she felt something was wrong. The Aetherstone stopped swirling, and seemed to go inert. I reasoned that if we discharged the magic from the stones, then perhaps the magic would be reversed. We gathered two more Ankh necklaces, and used them. This time, the Living Graffitis fell into the alcohol, and were killed.   Tangent stopped us when she realized that we were destroying the spirits of those who had been killed making the necklaces. My heart dropped. I had thought the spirits were being freed from imprisonment, but they were being destroyed outright. I'll have to deal with the moral implications of that later. The last of the four stones still remains active, as do the screams of ponies in Holbeck.   Triple and Stockade were gone. I ran out to call for Triple, but the only thing I heard in return were gun shots and broken windows. Swift pulled me back into the museum. With no other options, and our resources depleted, we had no choice but to rest and heal our wounds. I took the opportunity to question the Jackals we had saved. Those insolent scumbags make my blood boil. We save their lives, but they feel no obligation to aid the citizens, or return the artifacts they stole from our city. Both of them even felt inclined to put their paws on my chest. If our situation were any more stabilized, I'd have cut them at the knees, and left them in the streets. Alas, my fellow Bannermanes are more interested in making peace. I'm going along for now.   We went through the crowd and asked about Mainstitch Avant Garde. We learned he was the unfortunate mirror pony we had destroyed in the Greenhouse. He took part in some ritual that transformed him, and his reward was this Falchion. An odd, yet pretty....thing. His insanity lead to the death of so many. More civilians and even Jackals poured into the museum through the windows, and front door. We worked to keep everyone calm, and heal wounds. I took it upon myself to heal the Jackals. I despised doing it. These criminals have stolen our history, and remain insubordinate. Even so, healing their wounds put them at ease, and they revealed much about Stitch, and even their boss they call Godfather. This Godfather has made himself an enemy of the Bannermanes, but he will be dealt with in due time.   I healed who I could, and went to sleep. My dreams are full of imagery of brush strokes. Sometimes I watch the painter, sometimes I am the painter. But I can feel the texture of the paint, and see its many colors. It's so vivid. Beautiful. Terrifying, yet I don't feel the fear. I merely sense it from everywhere. Swift Sail woke me for my watch, and flew quietly over those who slept. Moon Painter, The Sword Bearer — 06/04/2022 Triple and Stockade had not yet returned. Triple is resourceful enough, but I don't know if Stockade can handle things on his own. Even as my mind wondered, I kept noticing the Falchion being held in my hooves even though I didn't draw it. I would occasionally land, and either a civilian or a Jackal would point it out to me. I'd sheathe it, and it would appear in my hooves again. This adamantine blade. It's such a pretty thing. It's truly the perfect weapon. Everything I've wanted. The images engraved, masterfully done to perfection. Better than any hooves could craft. It's edge sharper and more durable than anything I've known. It's everything I wanted. The perfect tool to bring my bounties to justice.   My shift ended, and I awoke in the morning to begin my daily preparations. I woke the others, and we started prepping our spells for the day. Things are much quieter now. Stockade barged through the door, and showed signs of battle. He informed us of Triple being attacked, and leaving him behind. We formed a search party, and went after him. Stockade showed us where he had last seen Triple, and I began searching. Triple is a slippery one. I found only a feint trace of his blood, and knew we were in the right place, but he was no were to be seen or heard.   Swift and I flew over the houses in this alleyway, and found Living Graffiti everywhere. They couldn't reach us, but they showed images of Triple being beaten. Swift believed he could reason with them, but I had my doubts. I readied my sword without a second thought, but Swift's words seemed to stop the Living Graffiti in it's tracks. He was actually speaking to them! They were unable to speak, but conveyed a message of hatred for Triple. The others came out into the alleyway and surrounded us. It was at this moment I realized Triple was hiding in a nearby pile of trash. Madame Fortuna began whistling, and the Graffiti joined her in a marching formation. It was uncanny.   When the Graffiti were out of ear shot, Triple explained he and Stockade had been spending the night directing everyone to the safety of the museum. We decided we needed to go to the Greenhouse, and investigate what could be found. Madame Fortuna whistled out loudly, and every Living Graffiti came out of the woodwork. So many in fact, that she appeared to be leading a small army. Stockade explained that many of the residents here were part of a marching band, and Mainstitch Avant Garde was their director. Madame Fortuna lead all of them to the Greenhouse, and we did our best to march in step with them. Upon arrival, Stockade showed Madame Fortuna the motion to command them to stop, and all the Living Graffiti stood in formation, not moving. We're assured by Stockade that they will not move again until given the signal to disperse.   Swift and I took to the north side of the Greenhouse to search for clues left behind by Stitch. Swift found a room full of curious potions, all associated with emotions and labeled appropriately. Next to it was a room full of crafting materials. There's clearly some kind of alchemy work at play, but I have no idea what it could all be. The personal diary for Avant Garde was found, and in it were disturbing revelations. Avant Garde had gone under cover shortly after the Jackals arrived, and attempted to undermine them from the inside. During this time, he had partaken in a ritual involving an artifact known as the Mirror of Sorshen. It's supposed to show you what you desire most. This transformed him into the mirror pony we fought and destroyed. Strangely, Avant Garde desired the Adamantine Falchion I'm now holding. His diary doesn't explain why he wanted it, only that he would use it to defeat the Jackals.   The final entries in his diary are full of ramblings of a mad pony. His mind was gone, and we destroyed what was left of him. We took his diary, and Swift Sail found his baton on the remains of what was left.   My mind raced of what I read regarding the Four Horrors. The sword Bannermane Rime wielded that caused such tremendous fear was written to be an intelligent artifact. But a Greatsword, not a Falchion. And nothing written of it said anything of it possessing Aetherstone. But there's no denying both items having a similar effect. Rime nearly lost himself wielding Mea Pena Ki'i, and Avant Garde suffered a similar fate. As I recall this, I can't... sense any fear at all. Not like I did before. Or did I ever sense it? Why does everyone around me shake and cower, yet I feel.... nothing? This blade. I could paint such a canvas with this blade.   Rumor has it that Avant Garde has a sister, but she's no where to be found. Swift and the others insisted I put the Falchion away if it's what made Avant Garde go mad. I don't feel mad. I feel braver and more assured in my abilities than I ever have before, but Swift seemed adamant, so I attempted to place it in my Bag of Holding. It....refuses. This blade has a powerful aura, and a will of its own. I thought perhaps I was being childish, and refusing to cooperate, but it's not myself. It is indeed the blade. I could not place it in the bag. I attempted to place it in Swift's bag, but with only the same result.   This blade refuses to leave me. Even while gesturing to the rare Dragon Plant I wished to collect seeds from, it appeared in my hooves again. I feel this overwhelming desire to be rid of it, to protect these civilians, and free Holbeck from its grasp. But if it's chosen me, why should I refuse? Already, my fellow Bannermanes are plotting to take it from me. Do they not see what a weapon like this could do? The legacy of the Bannermanes, my legacy, would be told for generations. I'm conflicted, yet at the same time certain of myself. This blade was made for me. It's beautiful, and should be held by those most worthy. Oh, what beautiful paintings I can create. It is...precious to me.