Lusarin Corpsesinger (Loose-uh-rinn)
Mistress (H.O.T.), Councilwoman (M.T.)
Mistress Lusarin Corpsesinger is the leader of Leona's chapter of the House of Thoth, and a councilwoman in the Macabre Triumvirate.
A necromanceress who has learned all three of the primary Death Arts of Kangaya, Vistaleia, and most notably Qalrya, she has excelled in the House of Thoth's various Leoni iterations. She has successfully recruited hundreds of Leoni mortals and several Luminaries.
Due to her career reputation as a wicked and effective Mistress of the House of Thoth, she is wanted for Annihilation by the Luminary Authority, North Jarldoms United, the Queendom of Morrisette, the Sierran Dwarvish Crown, the Knights of Radiance, the Heilish Throne, and others.
She has killed several Thothites who offended her by telling her she is worthy of Qalvi Varai's title of Gatekeeper, an allusion to Varai's governmental title for head of state back when Varai served as the only Gatekeeper of the Gate of Thoth government (3,209 - 3,215 LE).
Social
Speech
A dank, small, locked chamber illumined with pale green light cast by enchanted stones. An elvish male God named Jelwyn Weststrike shuddered and groaned involuntarily, despite himself. Jelwyn's eyes were narrowed, unfocused. His arms were wrapped around his knees, his back pressed against a wall. Mistress Lusarin Corpsesinger, the commander of Leona's House of Thoth, approached the insubordinate fool's pathetic cell. Her gaunt yet smooth face whispered out of the darkness as she entered Journeyman Weststrike's cell. No sound foreshadowed her approach. Her silver-embroidered, emerald priestess robes were simultaneously tattered, yet the epitome of coven fashion. She arched the cartilage of her mouth in what was supposed to be a friendly smile. "With thee I just discussed this yesterday, Journeyman Weststrike. Tis too many wasted thralls if thou dost not conjure too with Qalryan power." Jelwyn heard clacking noises in the vicinity. He regarded Corpsesinger without facing her head on. "Well?" Mistress Corpsesinger spat, "hast thou nothing to say for thyself, Weststrike? It was five villages' worth of forces lost over your petty treachery." Jelwyn Weststrike, a warparty lieutenant and advanced Thothian necromancer, tried in vain to clear his throat. As he spoke, his voice was raspy & hollow. "My most regretful apologies, my esteemed Mistress," Weststrike said, regarding Lusarin Corpsesinger's bright crimson eyes searchingly. "I put myself before the House. And the House suffered for it... I would review the Rune of Abnegation, and other relevant arcana. That I might next time collect greater forces than we bring, or lose." Like a corpse reaching for thy foot as thou doth finally sit restfully upon the forest floor, the Thothian lieutenant felt the Corpsesinger's spry, disarming and vicious mind starting to ransack his mental defenses. Or perhaps it was an undertaking he just now had noticed... Weststrike shielded his consciousness with a Vistaleian death mystery: <Master Ravaphine said, 'Shouldst thou slit the throats of both Time and Death, anointing thyself in their blood... What weakness hast thou still left uncovered and exposed?'> Mistress Corpsesinger frowned slightly. Her telepathic message to the lieutenant was loud and pressured. His reticence to accept her authority unwaveringly made him a liability. <This is the very nature of my dissatisfaction with you, Lieutenant-Adept Weststrike. THOU CLING'ST TO ANTIQUATED PROPHETS' RAMBLINGS WHILE WE AWAIT THEE TO COME TO THY SENSES.> Weststrike's face did not move. Lusarin Corpsesinger felt his rapt focus deny her entry to his mind. She resourced an avalanche of energy and assaulted his mental focus with 5 separate conversations veiled as different Thothians that Weststrike commanded, and had grown to regard fondly. Meanwhile, Mistress Lusarin said: "Ravaphine was a hatchetman tag-along for that whiny, self-important Anwaqaal degenerate. The two spent their early adulthoods playing keep-away with Heilish and North Jarldoms' crowns, failing to gather counsel and fortify their political rule. For over. Two. Whole. Centuries." Lieutenant Weststrike felt a tidal wave of rage bubble within him. "Art thou saying that Cenushem Limth did any better?" Lusarin Corpsesinger snorted derisively. "For one, he spent 3 centuries perfecting Kangaya before bringing thousands of dwarvish ancestors to bear against their living relatives. For another, it would have been called the Split-Helm Era, were he to have disguised his Runes of Thoth from the very beginning. A fatal oversight." Jelwyn Weststrike tried, but failed, to bite his tongue. "He was also put to True Death by a child with a water spell. And at least two were his fatal mistakes: he also doggedly refused any possible allies during his campaign. Including a defector from Clan Vustizevud, of all things." Mistress Corpsesinger guffawed. "There we are... He was an ally-foiler," she cleared her throat, "just as thou hath become." Weststrike held very still. He felt Corpsesinger's eyes burn through him. "O Thou, dignified & proven Jelwyn... tell me this," Mistress Lusarin continued. Her voice grew very quiet, almost inaudible. "My rebel against the mysteries of Qalrya. Against the very brilliance of the Master Qalvi Varai." Weststrike adjusted his wrists, because while he had twisted his chains from behind his back to his front, the discomfort of the Luminary Chain seared his flesh like lava. He was unfed and ill-rested, so the manacle sores healed not. It was all he could do to not scream. The Mistress' eyes flared orange, and Weststrike swallowed. "Wherefore dost thou upturn THY ASHEN NOSE AT THE WISDOM OF QALVI FUCKING VARAI?? THE CONQUEROR-FOUNDER OF THE BLOODY HOUSE OF THOTH?!" "I don't upturn my noise, Mistress," Weststrike mumured. "I fear I am too dull to comprehend the Rune of Abnegation in all its glory." Lusarin Corpsesinger's voice was raspy after her outburst. What started as a titter bubbling in her chest became a fit of sneering chortles. "Jelwyn Weststrike...? Lieutenant Weststrike, who has held the front unwaveringly against the Sierran Crown and the queen Morrisette? The one who left Thothian advancement duels bloody and breathing to advance as a future master of the Death Arts?" Corpsesinger's retinas turned a vivid, royal purple, and what she said next was telepathic. <I would have Ashed thee 203 years ago, if thou wert that stupid. A family member dies with each new attempt of thine to misdirect me. Cut the blarney, Lieutenant-Adept... I will not be denied by thee!> Like a sudden hammer to the head, Lieutenant Jelwyn Weststrike almost lost consciousness when Lusarin Corpsesinger's mind abruptly invaded his. He felt her rapidly passing over his memories of M̷̧̡̥̥̗̝̂͐́C̴̟̲̼͚̜̥͈͈͇̫̘̲̺̟̤͛̄͐̋̑̽̿̀̿̀̚̚͝B̴̖͙̝̩̏̋̇͘͠Y̵̨̢̭̟͈̬͚̲̱͕͈͎͆̃͐̅͑͐̑̎͛̾́̑̚͜͝͝L̷̨̯̦͇̲͔̺̿̀̈́V̴͇̝̬̠̝͖͇̥̣̭͓̝̆̏̀̓͋̍͂̒̿͠Ë̸̢̧̜̲̟͕̺̫͓̯̪̘̗̮̃̑̕ͅȌ̴̘̗͙͐̋͐̑͝T̸͓͓̮̓̔̽̓́̀̀̂́B̵̧̨̨̭̮͙͖͔̟̹͉̥̐̊̾͜F̵͚̮͕̰͇̝̆͗̈́̑̑͘͠Ų̸̨͕̗̺͇̻͇̾̊̎̊̋̀͂̏̆̈̎͜͠V̶̨̡̯̥͍̣̫̲͚̪̤͔͗͐͆͛ͅȆ̵̻̥̠̟̲̞̥̩͚͉͚͊̒͗͊͒̀̏̃͂͘̚̕͜, lingering for fractions of a moment, before redoubling her explosive insertions into the locked vaults of his mind. She would never believe him about his experiences with an Ľ̸̢̛͈̰̭̯̼̰̺͗́̀̿̎̇̈́́̔̀͠͠V̴̙̜̙̠̭̀̀̎͆͛H̵͚̄̈́́̀̔̚͠A̴̧̢̱̬͂͋̓͛̀̚͜B̷̭͖͛̀̉̒̀͒͒̊V̶̫̬̠̀͛̒̊͆́͝M̴̧̯̖̤̠̞͍̈͒̓̐̔͝Ȗ̶̞̱̯͙̐͒͛̀̅̐̐͒͘̚V̴̧̧̧̨̡̛̮͉͇̭̘͕̦͔͎͓͠B̸̛̞̠̲̫̮̈̾̽́̉͒́̕͠Ọ̴͖̳̻̘̟̯̱͚̎̀͛͌̈́̃̈̽̅̇̈̂̽͘ͅ. She would condemn him to death instead. Yet, strangely, her mind seemed to glaze over the details he had most feared for her to discover. <Thrice said and done, Weststrike. Thou shalt explain this abject failure to me post-hence...> Lusarin huffed. Jelwyn stirred slowly. <The marvels and miracles we accomplish through the Death Arts are a gift we supply across Lumina. I learned things that have P̷̠̱̻͉̝̏͒̈́̅̀̍̒̀̈̌̋L̸̮̞̞̝̘̤̮̥̣̭̜̜͓̒͐̀̌͂̄̌̓͘͠K̷̺̞͆̇̈́̄̿̚͝L̴̞̜̙͇̺̃̈́Z̵̨̡̝̯̮̮̼̻̯͈̦͖̮͎͇̆̋͠B̶̡͉̜͎͔̀̅̾͛͋̔̅̾̍ͅË̴̙̿̓̈́̾̓͐̾̔̽́̊͜Ē̸̹̦͔̈́̅̾̎̃̔͌͗̍̊̏͘͠ͅẀ̵̤̩̻̹̬̭̋F̸̢̫̲͖͍̼͕̣͓͚̣͇̾̄͐̈́̈́̃͜͝͠F̸̞͖̺̬̏͛͋̊̑͑̓̽̄̈́̚͝W̷̧̢̩̯̞͆Ạ̷̧͎̝͚͖̗̝̍͑̃̕V̴͚̻͕̳̮̤͚̈́͜Ȇ̷̢̡̡̼͓̟̫̯̪̐̚͘͝E̴̢̧̧̫͖͚̜̪̼͖̠̻͌̂̎̐͜ I am no coward, yet even as A God, I know myself to have called my lessers ants among me... But now, even I am as a grain of sand's worth of seaweed in the vast ocean of our world.> The interrogation lasted at least another hour and a half, with mental invasions creative & varied on Corpsesinger's part. Everything Weststrike said revolved around the last thought he had conveyed, which he repeated ad infinitum in increasingly mystifying ways. Finally, the Mistress of Thoth, Lusarin Corpsesinger, left Lieutenant Adept Weststrike's cell. Awaiting her outside were eight Qalryan zombies made of ectoplasm and armored to the teeth. She'd not bothered with ornately glamoured & dashing appearances: instead, her mental images of the most decrepit yet attentive skulls she had seen in her 700 some years were painting the faces of her guards. Mistress Corpsesinger turned back towards the war-captain thrall. "Lord Captain, see that Jelwyn Weststrike is properly attended before his impending Annihilation tomorrow morning, before our noble House. Leave my tool and vial roll-up splayed outside his cell. His last meal will be a soup of ground bone, wine, water, and thistlewort." The Corpsesinger had one last thought as she ascended the crumbling spiral staircase out of the dungeons of the Temple of Qalrya at Ravenheim. <King Tidus, thou shalt have to vouchsafe thy faith in me on this. Queen Abreres IV, of all people, would not have a secret tunnel into her stronghold simply left out as a security risk. Pardon me, but it's ludicrous. Forgotten Strength's poster pest has no chance of handling numerous Qalryan necromancers playing commander. Especially given what we have planned for the North Jarldoms...>
Relationships
Legal Status
Wanted
Current Location
Species
Ethnicity
Year of Birth
4002 LE
781 Years old
Spouses
Siblings
Children
Gender
Cis Woman
Belief/Deity
Qalrya
Aligned Organization
Other Affiliations
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