Fatima's Diary

reflections for the lost

38. Rihanizationalism is Very Charming, By the Way...

The warrior who had invisibly wreaked such havoc upon us was the only Cultist to survive the combat. I had thought the mage was also still breathing, but either she quietly lost her way while being carried up into the light, or she expired upon the hard stone floor below while we were healing our wounds. Either way, we only had one member to question.

Rihana and I primarily questioned him at first, but he was unyeilding in information. He claimed that this was only his "daily employement", as in he was merely a hired hand. A hand whose wrist and brains flicked his wicked greatsword into our companions' flesh. He refused any connection other than one of a mercenary until Rihana did what she does so well. She leaned forward a bit, opened her eyes wide, and smiled one of her winning, door opening, prize-dropping smiles. He leered and looked down her blouse. Nothing else happened.

Rihana was not swayed. She took a small step forward, gently took his chin in her hand, and opened her eyes. The oven furnace of her smile turned on again. With a single bead of sweat rolling down his face, his eyes unfocused slightly and he smiled back. He was Rihanaized.

Questioning through his new best friend was easy, though he responded with a sneering smirk and a rude, "who are you?" to anyone else. Rihana gladly repeated our questions and he twitched in eagerness to tell her all.

With a puppy eyed face he admitted that he lied about his employment. His name was Sorba, and he readily explained that the Mist Weaver who fled more than likley took all the Fey with her back to what was supposed to be a base camp, but had apparently been destroyed. I suspect that this was the Fey mound we destroyed almost two years ago. Sorba named the Mist Weaver as Mettana. By the way he described her, I suspect we will meet her once again.

Sorba spoke of how the Cult of Arawn had tried to infect the populous of House Abrantier and their people. They tried to cast their fiendish dance and infect the inhabitants, but they were unusually resistant to the dire charm's effects. Arawn itself has taken personal interest in this area that has been so resistent to the Cult's dance. Sorba paused then, with a puzzled look in his glassy eyes. "It is almost as though there already was something residing within the soul of the inhabitants that pushes Arawn out. It should not be possible," were his words.