Nonet Ritual

What god dare observe this wretched chronicle? Be not unless you are, vast ghoul.

[nonet-ritual]

In other words, TAKE COVER.

So fragile is this wayward life. A masterpiece designed by gods though each moment may be, a great number among them seek to CLAIM us.

Alas, COURT MAGE CYRUS NORWOOD, your TIME is at an end. It seems some prophecies were made to be severed.

Well, now look what you've gone and done. While you only MILDLY REGRET not letting the projectile pierce your skull for the sake of experiencing what might have been a LUSCIOUS DEATH, you certainly WISH you hadn't gone and soiled a pair of INVALUABLE INGREDIENTS, critical toward tonight's RITUAL. It seems you've got a job to do (one more important than interrogating vegetables), for the others will surely arrive any moment. None will be happy to see this.

[nonet-ritual]

Take it to the next level. Kill one of its own in front of it. That'll get it talking.

You hadn't hoped it would come to such dire straits, but too much is at stake to deny the necessity of such ruthless tactics. With a thoughtless SPELL, you conjure a FOLD to the CATACOMBS where the traitor's kin RESIDE.

As if mocking you, the victim you so indiscriminately select makes no attempt to RESIST your AURA and confronts you with the same unconditional silence. The whole family must have prepared their COURAGE for a vicious interrogation. Alas, the gesture is a fruitless. You have no questions or convictions to offer this specimen.

See ya later...

...ONIONGATOR.

WORN NUMB already, your conniving respondent is left SPEECHLESS as you reduce its sibling to a BLIGHTED CORPSE, a mutilated nightmare devoid of the natural beauty integral to any divine's creation. The explosion of viscera moistens your callous smile, as does it splatter upon your disheartened prisoner. In this moment, the ONION is forced to grapple with its FRAGILITY, its INSIGNIFICANCE, and - perhaps worst of all - its LIBERAL EXPENDABILITY.

But where the wings of GLIMMERFLIES silently flit, calamity so often is birthed.

[nonet-ritual]

Investigate those onions. Something about them seems…unsavory…

You're of the persuasion to agree, for - being entirely UNCOOKED and having probably sat in the idle must of the CATACOMBS for at least seven sunsets - you'd scarcely understand how the onions could have arrived at their existential peak of being desirably savory.

As such, the investigation is immediate to commence, for any who not only oppose but equally fail to endorse the RITUAL and its proponents are nay to be trusted. You DETAIN the treacherous ONION with confounding haste, pores BOILING HARDILY WITH HEARTBROKEN DISTRUST. To think you ever so much as laid tail on this sullied conspirator! For what seems the whole darkness of the night, you gradually chisel away at the MENTAL FORTITUDE of the vegetable, berating it with impossible questions and crushing defamation. Alas, the ONION is unyielding in its placidity, almost as if it is FAILING TO PERCEIVE YOU ENTIRELY. You'll have to up your methods if you intend to close the case.

[nonet-ritual]

kick back and munch on some delicious gummy worms

ENTICING, are they not? You suppose this PILE OF NEITHERWURMS is the subject of inquiry, and you're quick to assure yourself that you'd consume one no more fondly than the muck in which they writhe. And just to be perfectly clear, you - unlike some creatures - HAVE NEVER BEEN FOND OF EATING MUCK. Perhaps more importantly, however, is the fact that these wicked invertebrates are CONSIDERABLY DIFFICULT TO FIND AND PRESERVE, as attaining them not only involves an undesirable degree of elaborate gardening, but as well requires the seeker to TOUCH MUD AT LEAST ONCE.

Such is to say, your NONET would be more than disappointed if you decided to make a snack of them, for they are in fact critical to tonight's doings.

[nonet-ritual]

too much conflict, be someone else

Let it be so. You are COURT MAGE CYRUS NORWOOD, and you hear little of the squabbling that is COURT MAGE BISHOP DOWSER GETTING HIS BITS ROCKED by some irrelevant nightwatch. Though no less a beast of this earth than any other, you - as your title would imply - serve as well as a mage of the Wainwright family's royal court, and further choose to engage in the STATUS and PRIVILEGE afforded by such a noble occupation. You have little PATIENCE for creatures of misery and woe, knowing achievement and greatness surely favor those unyielding in their AVIDITY. And you intend to attain achievement and greatness.

In pursuit of such, you have agreed to contribute your unparalleled precedence to tonight's RITUAL, and have even taken the initiative of arriving early to the CATACOMBS. Unlike anyone else it seems, but outperforming the rest is to be expected. You don't really appreciate the general vibe of the place, but agree that the solitude of the musty, old maze bears no feasible equal.

It seems the ASSORTMENT OF INGREDIENTS amassed by your NONET has been spared any unwelcome tampering. The complacent royals surely remain NAIVE to your unthinkable schemes.

[nonet-ritual]

check if there are any other friends in the chest

I'm really not the type for making FRIENDS, but - supposing I was - I'd scarcely conceive of how one would reasonably end up inside that idiot guard's BRAWNY CHEST. The gods made chests for supporting upper body strength and for enhancing the visual engagement of beach days between our libidinous youth, not for storing illicit goods and useful creatures like a BEDSIDE TRUNK might do. Simply a foolish notion. Nevertheless, my impression is that this yappy sap is feeling pretty HOT BENEATH THE COLLAR, so we'll likely have to sort that out the controversial way. So much for going unheard.

[nonet-ritual]

Open the bucket door with wild abandon

Absolutely not.

Surely we can proceed with a little more caution than that. The idea is to NOT BE HEARD, and that violent explosion shan't have acted in our service. We'll be LUCKY if the night guard isn't already scrambling to see who's broken curfew.

Now, with just a bit of MAG-

Perhaps ROMANCE is never as the world understood it to be.

Outstanding. It seems another party has taken the courtesy of SOLVING THE PUZZLE for us.

[nonet-ritual]

stop and freak the fuck out about this for a minute

Without question. As if mandated by the distant stars, I stare with begrudging hatred at these bitter words by each passing of my chamber door. Explosive outbursts have become embedded in my ROUTINE on account of their sight. Even now, my BLOOD boils with FURY and RAGE, for how could some insolent germ dare insult me as if it is not I who will someday claim stake over fate and reality? Know they not the force at which they pinch and prod? Understand they not the damnation I will so gratefully inflict?

Their ignorance will be their eternal torment.

Oh hell.

I should really GET GOING.

[nonet-ritual]

Examine door

Indeed, and to DEVASTATING EFFECT, for these fatal wounds so deeply scrawled bear burden on my SOUL. To be made victim of such profanity is perhaps the greatest anguish a creature of my status can conceive, for though the fierce flames of dragons may char the flesh, and though the harrowing pierce of brabblestung stingers may liquesce the very bones, it is the sentiment of PETTY INSULTS that sinks its fangs into one's SPIRIT, around which no bandage can be fastened, into which no potion can be prescribed. Upon my INEVITABLE ASCENSION, the pitiful mortal who dared slander my amplitude will face the FURY OF THE COSMOS' ENTIRE. Mercy at all will be blind to the fool, and pain as a concept will be redefined.

This GRAFFITI appeared about a season ago, but it unfortunately torments me from several heights above my REACH. Alas, it serves as a reminder that this kingdom is UNWORTHY OF MY SYMPATHY and furthermore that maintenance LIKELY HAS SOME BIAS AGAINST BRILLIANT, YOUNG MASTERMINDS OR IS OTHERWISE PREOCCUPIED WITH UNRELATED AFFAIRS. They too will know my wrath.

[nonet-ritual]

We were supposed to leave this room. Stop following the rodent.

This isn't a room, it's the CORRIDOR OF DORMITORIES' PASSAGE HALL, WESTERNMORE, which hosts private chambers of equal caliber to my own for creatures of EQUAL IF NOT ARGUABLY LESSER PRESTIGE. Here stows and slumbers a fraction of the small population of those most useful to the Royal Family, be they wizards, warriors, or reserved masters of any preferable craft. Alas, we have no interest in this hallway beyond passing it swiftly and silently, for tonight it is THE CATACOMBS that beg dearly of our attendance, and nothing will prevent me from answering their seductive call with promptness and haste.

Unbelievable.

[nonet-ritual]

Contemplate what the hell Dowser has been doing in here

You are not familiar with anyone who bears the name "Dowser," and thus cannot complete this task. You are, however, very familiar with COURT MAGE BISHOP DOWSER, the mighty and honorable, and so you choose to CONTEMPLATE him instead. Unworthy though you may surely understand yourself to be, you are OBSESSIVELY INFATUATED with the Court Mage, and hope that he thinks even a sliver as fondly of you as you perpetually do of him. He is your purpose. He is your sunshine.

Admittedly, his prior doings are entirely beyond your comprehension. Especially THIS SHIT emanating from the wall, which almost immediately ensnares your empty gaze. You stare into the depths of the abyss, unaware that it may very well be staring back at you.

You are now ACUTELY MORE AWARE that it is in fact staring back at you.

[nonet-ritual]

Proceed to the next room in hope that less garbage collectables await.

Surely so. May the beginning end; may the end begin.

Yo what, who the fuck is THIS ASSHOLE? Emerge from the shadows, foul beast of obscurity. Let our gaze fall upon your undoubtedly disgusting visage.

Oh, it's just you. Right. I'm pretty sure you're NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, but we can work around that.

You are to be regarded as IO, but you don't remember that right now. You are the LOYAL and OCCASIONALLY RELIABLE scribe of COURT MAGE BISHOP DOWSER, and have been for a number of seasons. You were invited to THE CASTLE to study as a PULSE apprentice, but you don't remember that right now. Your interests involve sitting silently in places that are warm, not getting yelled at, and writing things down obediently as to evade premature expiration. You also like practicing magic, but you're NOT ALLOWED TO DO THAT RIGHT NOW. You are under the hazy impression that you have somewhere important to be tonight, and you're trying your best to remember that right now. You should really inquire the Court Mage of your expectations, but he seems to NO LONGER EXIST. You vaguely feel like throwing up and crying, but that's a very normal sensation.

[nonet-ritual]

Who’s this douchebag?

This "douchebag" is a HIGHLY ILLICIT and EXCEPTIONALLY RARE MOONBLOOM LOTUS, nourished and tended to under my longstanding and delicate care. With it, I possess the means to complete tonight's RITUAL, the outcome of which transcends even my own estimation.

Indeed, with such beauty and power at my disposal, the considerations imposed by kings and even gods surely pass beneath me. In honor of the blessed volatility of magic, I shall abuse the otherworldly aura of these darkened petals, and ALL that is or ever was shall soon be held within my paw, controlled by my own mind.

So it is, and so it shall be. Court Mage Bishop Dowser adds the POTTED CACTUS (PLASTIC) to his REGISTER.

[nonet-ritual]

You should try headbutting the lock, maybe it's weak.

Be it WEAK or MOST THOROUGHLY RESILIENT, the genius contained within my unprecedented cranium will surely compel the brute to rupture.

BEHOLD!

You begin to understand that SWIFTNESS, PRECISION, and GRACE are all spectacular magics of their own.

Invigorated by the mage's magical essence, the troublesome LOCK jingles fiercely, clicks, clacks, and falls from its shackle.

Assuredly now we may begin to PROGRESS, for the night is as young as it is filled with obligation.

[nonet-ritual]

Ask what Billy Dee Williams has to say about the situation

Frankly, I'd rather put a sword in my mouth and PULL THE TRIGGER. This isn't my first interaction with innocuous portals to sinister dimensions. Acknowledge what's on the other side for so much as a moment, and you've invited an inter-dimensional invasion into your own private chamber. And that sounds like a whole lot of dancing and artificial drama for which I am PRESENTLY NOT IN THE MOOD. Checking under the PILLOW, however, could be worth a shot. I've already explained that this LOCK is not one to be opened by key, so I really don't know what we're hoping to find, but a beast of greed like myself would never say no to more trinkets and baubles.

Eureka! A SMALL VARIETY of SPICED OLIVES. These will surely prove USEFUL in subsiding an inconsequential measurement of HUNGER. Fascinating!

Court Mage Bishop Dowser adds the SPICED OLIVES to his REGISTER.

[nonet-ritual]

Try smearing the soap on the wall into the shape of a lock for your new key, maybe it'll work, it's magic.

A lesser mage would surely SCOFF and TELL YOU TO GO FUCK YOURSELF, but - as a wizard of distinguished reputation - I can attest to the fact that this may very well serve our desires.

So it is, and so it shall be.

What a profound waste of soap.

[nonet-ritual]

Grind the soap on the wall to reshape it into a key

This feels stupid, and it will probably be recollected as a moment of regret later on.

Unreal.

Unfortunately, the LOCK isn't one by which you'd open with a key. Furthermore, a critical quantity of NETTLE SOAP has now been wasted - at least a dozen baths' worth. But I suppose this could come in handy later, so we'll hold on to it for now.