Hemlock's Dilemma
Hemlock came too but wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep or did she pass out…or more concerningly had the events with the mirror simply been a fever dream brought on by changing over to a body with far too much mana, and equally too much derangement and foreignness to how the body felt to mostly mortal being. As part of her started to sigh with relief as she almost instantly convinced herself it was all just a nightmare brought on by the trauma of the unique body swap. Every body she’d occupied had been human save for once she was an elf for a short time, and a gnome another, and a half-orc for a bit, they all felt pretty much the same when you got down to the deepest feelings of what made a living thing a living thing. While sure each felt unique in their own way, the half-orc being strong, the elf begin far weaker physically, and for the gnome it was always odd seeing things from so close to the ground, however they all had a similar feeling of finite existence, not so much a feeling of knowing that you will one day die. It was always a feeling of how you moved and existed in the world around you, you could always tell and feel that you only touched so much of the world and universe with your presence, but in this body Hemlock felt so much more sensation of the world, she couldn’t feel it all, not by a long shot but she could feel so much more. More emotion, more power, more life, more everything. Some feelings she’d not felt in a long time. While the bodies she typically occupied were not ‘dead’ in the traditional sense they lacked a spark that normal living things did, but this angelic body, or maybe that was the incorrect word, the body was of a fallen angel, not quite a demon but closer to one than it was to an angel.
Hemlock rubbed her shoulders with her arms. Feeling a chill on her skin.
“Tick, Tock.” a voice whispered in her ears, “You are procrastinating and I am getting closer to taking back what is mine.”
Hemlock responded with silence, standing up from her bed and moving over to a truck against the wall, with a grunt she pulled it away to the center of the cellar and opened it. Taking out several items, including candles, salt, a cold iron knife, chalk and a chalice.
“Oh.” the voice said in an almost purr, “The dirty necromancer thinks she can perform an exorcism.” it then cackled.
“I’m sure you think that…” Hemlock mumbled as she felt the presence of the voice pull back and way from her mind, like it had lost interest before Hemlock had even started to try the spell.
Hemlock went to work, moving as quickly as she could so she would not be interrupted by the voice again. She places a candle at the doorway, on the landing between steps, then one at each of the four corners of the room, next she drew a line of salt across the threshold. Being careful to make sure it was a thick uninterrupted line. And finally came the two steps she hated the most, with the knife she made a shallow cut across the palm of her hand, the cold iron made the pain far worse than had it been a normal dagger. She left herself bleed until the chalice was filled with at least a mouth full of blood, the by far worst step was next. Putting the chalice against her lips she let the liquid into her mouth, just before swallowing she placed her bleeding hand on the wall closest to the threshold as she swallowed. Feeling disgusted and dizzy, but she felt the spell take hold. Hemlock stepped back and sat on the bed admiring her work, until she heard the voice come back. It screamed in a fury of works of an unknown language but the tone and message was clear, she was not happy about being tricked.
“Sealing spell…” Hemlock said, “Keep you from running a muck till I can figure something out.”
–
Hemlock went over to her bed and sat down, pulling her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees, the light ash colored wings encircling her like a blanket. “Okay.” She said to herself, mostly to know that the thoughts were her own. “I need help, short list of people who can help me.” she thought for a moment. “Soldor’s library might have information about fallen angels but might be a dead end, Horo is missing in action, The Church of the Fair Lady might help…but will probably be upset with the body snatching thing, Enanth and his lot might be able to dig up something but that could take too long, and despite cordial interactions he still frowns on my occupation, then their is Aldous…” Hemlock was interrupted by a rage filled voice of the angel in her mind.
“A DEMON!” it would have spat it if it could, “You would call upon a demon for assistance, and not just a demon, a demon lord, a demon lord of LUST!” it growled. “A lot of good it will do you, will you truly be willing to pay the price a demon would ask of you to kill an angel’s spirit?”
Hemlock couldn’t help but laugh at how angry the voice in her head was. A little laugh bubbled up from her throat. “Guess you don’t know Aldous.”
“Oh I know that wretched demon lord.” it said. “Entangling himself with beings of power, corrupting them with the emphatic mortal ideation of lust. Daming mortal and god alike with his contemptuous…”
Hemlock cut off the voice. “By the gods, you have a crush on The Lord of Lust!” she snickered. “Oh that’s rich.”
A sudden pain lanced through Hemlock’s head. “Silence necromancer scum.”
Hemlock closed her eyes and refocused, wiping some blood from her nose. “Just for that I think I’ll get in contact with Aldous…”
“He’s never seemed like a bad guy to me.” Hemlock mused.
“Of course he isn’t, that’s what makes him so dangerous.” the voice said.
“Why do you hate him?” Hemlock asked.
The voice growled. “Are you under the impression we are friends, is this the reason you have convinced yourself that you might ask questions of me?” The voice asked.
Hemlock shrugged. “Well if you are going to kill me and take your body back like you say what’s the harm? Hells, you might even change my mind about going to him for help.”
“I do not hate the demon called Aldous, if anything he is the only decent Devil there is, But he is still a demon. I would not go out of my way to kill him, he is not worthy of my time or efforts.”
“Sure…” Hemlock said unconvinced.
The voice shouted something in a language Hemlock didn’t recognize and her head hit her pillow just before the world went black.