The Changeling
- 4 years ago
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(Authors: This is set to private, but if you would like to write for this story feel free to message me. There are plenty of other adventures, missions and exploits to be had. All characters are 18 years of age or older.)
Sunken far below the depths of the surface, a devious monastic order of female changelings makes their home and thrives: The Sisterhood of the Broken Mask. They number almost a hundred strong, with two dozen mindless thralls and a horde of bloodthirsty monsters to protect them and their profane halls from would-be adventurers and other dangers in the darkness.
The world is a dangerous one; even a trained assassin can make a mistake and the sisterhood prepares for this by constantly training new members. Those that do not return from their assignments are considered lost assets, broken tools that will be replaced in due time. These young women are stolen from birth and know little of the surface world, they are taught instead to learn from their surroundings, fully embrace the culture that they’re immersed in, do anything it takes to blend in with the others and above all else, loyalty to the order.
In a musty, stone chamber, a bubbling black sphere floats above the ground with no features, save for a misshapen toothy maw dripping with thick green ichor. Despite its lack of sensory organs, the entity is more than aware of the cloaked cultists quietly gathering in front of it… it senses great fear and doubt. The ground is flooded with a light, wispy mist and barely illuminated by glowing blue-flame lanterns, swaying and creaking from the ceiling. The sisters of the order are all draped in identical flowing white robes, painstakingly tailored from the silk of giant spiders. If one were to suddenly stumble upon this scene, it would be easy to mistake this eerie lair for a haunted grave, infested with ghostly spirits.
“Alvura.”
The crowd of women splits apart like a sundered block of wood, immediately revealing one of their own; she is smaller than the others, but not obviously so. Her bone-white hair hangs lower than her sisters, scandalously reaching down to her gray-skinned shoulders. Without hesitation, she steps forward and kneels onto the ground, bowing her head deeply.
“Yes master, I am here to serve.”
“It is time.” The ominous dark mass communicated through telepathy, its massive jaws unmoving while it spoke. “This will be your first mission to the surface: a test of your training, your willpower and your commitment to the sisterhood.” As the monstrosity appraised her, it noticed that Alvura’s delicious fear was palpable and was surely the source felt earlier. It did not take offense nor did it consider it a detriment to the mission... these puny mortals were right to be frightened by his presence.
“I understand master.” Alvura replied, her feathery high-toned voice on the verge of faltering, “I will not fail the order.”
“As you are still an apprentice, your objective is primarily surveillance and information gathering.” The master continued, his monotone voice boomed in the minds of his followers, “You will be assigned a liaison that will meet with you when opportunity presents itself. In the event that your objective changes or it becomes time to return, they will inform you of it.” There is an unusual pause, but Alvura dares not attempt to raise her head to peek, “Mother Megthera, ready the apprentice and bring in her new form.” In an instant, the black sphere disappears with a cloud of smoke, leaving little more than its sickly green drool pooled on the ground where it once was.
The wooden chamber door creaks open and the newest thrall to join the order stumbles in, led by chains; the woman is completely nude, leaving nothing to the imagination, as is intended… After all, her’s is the identity that Alvura will be stealing. The magical collar around the slave’s neck is the only thing covering her body other than her manacles. It suppressed the mind and renders the wearer not much more than a servant to the one that holds their chains.
With a thumping heart and unsteady legs, Alvura approaches the naked woman and begins inspecting her, taking in every detail of her body. Mother Megthera steps beside her, “We do not have much time, one of our surface agents took an opportunity and she was seized only hours ago. She is expected to be seen soon. You will be teleported with everything she had at the time of her abduction.”
Alvura shrugs off her robes and the other cultists aid her in removing the loose clothing underneath. She blushes a bit as she’s rendered stark naked, just as the thrall is. She pushes past the discomfort and concentrates, flinching with pain as her body forcibly changes and reforges itself. Her silvery hair drops to the ground in thick clumps, replaced by a stranger’s, her skin color begins rapidly molting, and she can even feel the voice in her throat shifting. Throughout this magical process, Alvura's eyes glow in a bright blue hue.
“Until the operation is complete, you are Alvura no longer. Your new name is…”
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