# Prismatic Trial _Special Thanks to [[Venom]] for transcibing from [Bound and Broken](Bound%20and%20Broken.md) S4E6-7_ >[!info|no-i clean]- ### The Violet **"Janest Mytheria Trueheart"** >As you gaze upon the vestiges of the past you see the violet emanation carrying with it the great regret of the one who was once known as Mytheria You see yourself standing in the hallowed halls of the church of light, your head bowed in prayer. Pain, fear building within you. The Surge of the demons from the wastes in the center of our world looks to be breaking through the mountains. Like a dam about to crack. You search your father’s tomes trying to find an answer, a secret… anything. With the old tome and the assistance of your friends you begin to unravel a great mystery of the world in which you live, their faces flash before you. Though your life was short, you traveled, you learned, loved. That spirit that burns within you, a deep need to save this wonderful world. You would do anything to ensure its survival… and you found it. The way to save them all. And so you delved deep within the earth, in the forgotten places of stone and steel of devious machination there within forbidden volts and mires of secrets and intelligence. You found the secret, something that you could use to destroy them, the demons that raged against you and your people. One by one your allies placed their hands on the curious crystal. One by one forever changed by its irradiant hues, though their changes met within them similar to who they were. Yours was more insidious though you do not know why. Visions of oblivion in the edges of your mind. You focus them away but every conversation, bite of food, drink of water every kindness every piece of light felt dimmed slowly, minutely at first but as your companions continued the goals the set seven of you could feel it ebbing away piece by piece. You stood with them in the depths of the stone city, abandoned at first by the dwarven people, restored by the ambitions of your dearest friend. You stood in the stone halls where the machination and the shared brilliance of the past met the focus of the present and the promise of the future, you met with them, slept with them and on the day that the demons would die you realized one singular truth. This power, this power had changed them, they were less your friends and more of something else.  > >You saw it, the cost of ambition. The City is no longer dwarven but something else. The demons that you had hunted to destroy now used, used to fuel infernal engines, the future promised was not the future you wanted to see > >You lift your sword and the thread is severed. >[!info|no-i clean]- ### The Green **"Esoterio Lafet"** > >All around you there are tomes and scrolls, you stand on the precipice of the enormous library tamed by your people constructed amongst the first building. As around you the glass city is being constructed  > >Shining lights can be seen on this evening air, revealing each crevice each knotted tree and each field that will the greatest city this continent has ever seen, you reflect on how long an architecture was planned indeed many lifetimes for the humans and despite this it is almost a familiarity for you people, your dear friend will be expecting you soon. Some new discovery no doubt, you had always found her as all humans tend to be spirited and enthusiastic, but a friend all the same > >You reflect on your work, stack the tomes and recite your prayer to those before > >Tomorrow no doubt will bring new experiences, new challenges and greater perils. Hope fills you up on the inside, you are no stranger to the pain that the peoples of this land have felt, to the demonic scourge, you were among the first to offer your aid when to that curious human began to call for aid > >Now your journey continues The crystal shown with hues of wondrous power, up to this point not of which can be calculated, Your arcane ruminations; the formulas flash through your mind as you try to understand the object in front of you but come up short, improper to proper description > >As you look around at your companions differing approaches to answer the question as not to what it is but rather should we use the empower before us It had taken months to delve into the stone and metal work of this past laboratory, your mind still dances almost to the joys as to what is soon to be discovered here > >Powers of ancient lands, practitioners of magic perhaps older than the green itself > >Such machination excite you, thrill you even > >You keep such things to yourself, you are seen as stoic voice of reason and you wouldn’t want your own excitement to persuade your own companions from less reckless means especially with the presence on that man as your gaze stumbles on the orc. > >Moments pass before one by one before you and your companions stand, hands outwards towards the crystal, there is trepidation in your movements  > >Your mind tells you there is much to be frightened of, there is something else as well stirring, of hope, of life, of the damage to the land restored. You see it fields of green and wheat, the people eating plenty, and for once no need for the terrors of war > >And so you reach out like your companions towards the crystal and to whatever fate it may yet bare >It took a lot to stay your words, to hold back the tide of emotion that comes crashing around you , you can feel the primordial strength of the mysterious power you have gained. You can feel the pulse of its thread, you can feel Its love, its burden, you speak with words you hope may not be ignored. This is wrong you say Demons are what they are but this wrong it goes against the laws of creation itself only a fool would attempt to bypass the world itself, as you stand in front metal crates filled demons their bodies twisted and trapped with grim silence you turn your back on your companions > >Only despair, the hot scorching sun irradiates the desert before you, the great portal in the wastes, the source of the demonic corruption > >You stand with your allies uncertain as to the paths that have brought you here yet settled in your resolved. "Evil wins when good men do nothing" > >You raise your hands to call forth the power of your people, the shining of the glass. And then there is pain, and the flash of violet light >[!info|no-i clean]- ### The Red **"Logan Mornenson"** >A cold wind begins to blow all around you > >Each step a crackle of snow, the bite of the wind, the cold frigid air, the feeling of home, the feeling of joy. And so at this moment you approach the great city of Mournhowl, the land of your fathers and your fathers’ fathers, you smile despite the pain of your body, the great wolf’s body dragged in the sled behind you, the cold frigid air still biting and your nearly exposed skin > >Your trial is complete just as your fathers before you, you will be a prince of war, a swordsman, a knight. You hope that you’ll make your father proud, that you will lead, that you’ll invoke others into inspiration but more so, you hope that you will have the wisdom to make the right choices and the hardest decisions. The festival as it begins to die down around you has left you with a feeling of emptiness, you love your people, you love your father, you love your home. But there’s something else, something missing, you stare out into the cold night before a firm hand grips your shoulder, you turn around and see the wizened  face of your father. He speaks to you of the festival, of your coronation, of life and its many mysteries. You didn’t mean to let it slip but perhaps you did, your mind spoke without your permission, words you thought would bring great shame in your father’s eyes but instead quite the opposite he simply smiled and said “to seek the world’s mysteries, to walk the roads that our people would, and the people of which we would trade, of which we might war and make peace to wonder is not in shame son” he said “i have many years left and you have many things yet you might learn, Go! Drink deep on the road, find that which you seek and return home” you embrace your father and although you are now a man, an excitement begins to dance in the back of your mind of all the things yet still to learn of all the things yet to see. > >The following morning, your pack heavy, you wave over to your shoulder as your father returns, the road opens, you step out to face what lies beyond. It was a strange thing just this morning you knew none of this people and now you find yourself standing in the middle of this ancient hall what a precarious sort of position to find oneself in you couldn’t help but feel that maybe you were pulled along something greater, as you take a step back and look at all your new found companions you’ll see that each of them has upon their faces a different outlook, each one flashing with a different emotion, peculiar thing; this crystal they say flows with power, powers the likes of which none of them ever seen, but it looks just like a crystal to you. Beautiful sure, many colors and hues but honestly doesn’t seem like anything more than that. Your father’s words speak to you uttering caution, but what was the point of your journey if not to learn of the world, it’s secrets so that your people might know joy. Your eyes lock with the man sitting across from you, the orc with the gauntleted hands, he smiles you cannot help but smile back, he has become a good friend in the short time you spent together. A reckless man to be sure but one who listened to his friends, sharing a nod you both step forwards, what things you might learn, what secrets the world may yet reveal. > >Upon the surface of the scorched wastes the great portal yawns, its maw empties, the wound upon your back screams through your body, the pain, the pain is so great. You look behind you from where the blow came your friends lie upon the ground and there she stands >[!info|no-i clean]- ### The Yellow **"Isola Vast"** >You stand out on the streets looking left and right at those that pass by, each face covered with a mask of misery, no one looks to the person next to them except perhaps with suspicious eyes. You sit on cobblestone streets hunger assaulting your stomach, pain in your limbs, the cold will be coming soon and maybe the last cold you’ll feel.You look up at the stone streets rising up above you like cold pitiless gazes, and you think of what your life might have been had you been born somewhere else, to anyone else. > >You stand despite your misery, the unending will to survive pressing up against the sadness, that seeks to swallow you hunger is a prime motivator, you walk through the streets soft footed and light fingered, you approach the marketplace your hand moving through pockets taking from those that have little to take You are able to gather a few measly pieces, something that you might sell, something that might be safe to eat, looks like another day you’ll survive and another night that you’ll suffer. > >As you step through one piece of pocket catches your eye, a fine trim, a cloak and a bearance of wealth, a risky venture such an individual no doubt has guards but the hunger in your stomach presses against you, you press forward were always hungrier than other people, at least the other in the orphanage before it burned down, some say it was because your mother was a halfling, you don’t really know you never knew any of them. Your hand reaches into the pocket and your heart sinks as you wrist is grasped and you are lifted and stare into the eyes of the stranger > >You stand at the edge of the docks, belly full and your heart fuller,  the man approaches in his heavy armor and beside him the girl that you have come to know as a friend. You shake hands with them and get upon their vessel to sail to the east to go visit the homeland of this dark haired man who has saved your life and his daughter who has become like a sister to you, a family, a purpose, and so finally you sail from that island city in the midst of the massive lake  to cross the shore and head to the east. The journey you were excited for, the future even more > >The choking air of the wastes may have been awful to some but to you it was a familiar sting not unlike the smog on the charcoal burners you stood amidst the slaughtered demons as they dissipate and look back towards your companions, your friends, your family. As you move at the edge of shadows, your party moves forwards, ever forward towards your objective today would be the day that it would finally end, today would be the day that the killing and the misery would end as you step through the shadows looking for enemies the few that you spot are separated, isolated, easily dealt with your mind wonders as the what the future might hold, the excitement of new foods yet to be tried and the time you spend with your family to finally erase the misery you once felt. One final task lies in front of you, one last shadow to be put to rest, the demons will be stopped one way or the other. > >You signal to the party that it’s time to move forward burning pain screams you can hardly feel it yourself, your hand reaches up the stone and you see it the violet light >[!info|no-i clean]- ### The Indigo **"Gweneth Gildfire"** >Sacrifice, it is a word that your family knew well, it was a mantra meaning a purpose. As you sit on the stone steps, before you the benches of the other warriors making their preparations, each one here for a different reason, whether it be penal sentencing, whether it be seeking glory and gold, or an honorable death each one bearing the same reserved almost solemn burden of purpose. You yourself were there because it was needed, to pay debts to confirm promises, your mothers sickness had grown worse throughout the years, and at some point, at some point you needed to make a change, and so here you were, scars barely healing from the first bout, moving to the second, no one really knew who you were, a minor noble a nobody, a fourth born daughter, but they would know your name after today. These men as they prepared themselves with sacred oils, and blessings, and prayers to foreign unknown deities, some of them, and some of them to the light itself. You knew this would be their last day, for when the morning came there would be only you, you and the crown you sought.  > >A gravestone is a curious thing, the last markings of someone's life, a reminder that you were there at all. As you stare at your mothers grave you realise, despite it all, the time you spent together, the people you had killed to ensure her own survival now seem pointless, a sacrifice unheeded, and what is worse, you can't remember her face. Stirred from your ruminations, you look up to the strange merchant that found you that day, he spoke of greater purposes, despite the sadness, despite the almost morose outlook you took that day, you could not help but be persuaded by the strange little man’s words, his enthusiasm was infectious even if his pros was quite annoying, still what else did the razor cliffs have for you, you had already become their champion, you had already conquered all there was to be conquer. Perhaps there was something more to this world, you turn away from your mothers grave and back to the mullings of that silly little man. > >The carriage was quiet, you and your companions said little, they knew what was to come. Each one of them no doubt feeling the same pain that you felt, whatever that crystal was had changed them. Power coursed through them, and each of your companions were responding in different ways. You watched them, your friends grab at their hand, some openly wet others tried to stoically shoulder the burden and all you can feel was a screaming in your own heart, what you would give to see they’re burdens lifted, what you would give to see joy on their faces, what you would give to see them healed, what you would give to not fail them the same you did your mother. Scouring death, the demons rise and the surface weeps. >[!info|no-i clean]- ### The Orange **"Zira of the hand"** >You awaken to screams you rush from your tent, though still young not yet to be blooded you grabe at your father’s axe, you move through the tent and out into the night and around you you see them demons creatures told in stories, whispered in shadows, all around you was fire and blood and death you’re frozen in fear, your heart wrenched in your chest, eyes wide you watch as the warrior of your tribe are felled by these creatures, you listen to the screams of the vulnerable, the old and the weak. > >You drop your father’s axe and you do that most shameful of acts, you flee . Flee into the dark of the mountains and there with fearful eyes and a shameful heart, you watch as all you’ve ever known be consumed into dust and ash. As the morning kisses the sky you search the ashes and corpses of those that once were you tribesmen, your family, your friends, your life. Desperate you move through the dust until finally you find it, your father’s axe, broken. Wielded by some warrior perhaps, shattered against the stone, as you pick up its shaft you’ll see his signature and word, simple but straightforward “To my son show me your strength”. But you hadn’t that day, that night you failed him, you failed them all, as you gripped what remained of your father’s weapon, you promised yourself that you will never again feel the way you did that night. And If by some miracle you may yet absolve yourself of this shame of weakness. You wrap your father's haft and place it against your back, your weapon you’re not ready to wield, perhaps one day but for now with your own hands you’ll remake your future and have your vengeance. The fire in your heart burns brighter than any fear  that you’d felt, covered in the ash of your tribe, you walk through the mountains. > >These people are strange, they speak of things they know nothing about, of courage and honor and death and demons, they speak about it as if it was something to be excited about as if some joyous accomplishment to be made. But the more they speak the more you can’t help but feel intrinced, perhaps they’re not as wrong as they seem. True you doubt any of them have the conviction to do the things that they actually say they want to do, but their enthusiasm is difficult to deny, you also feel a strange kinship with them. Each one bearing a different mark of misery, if they are to be successful they’ll need a firm hand to guide them, as you look down at your own scarred hands you think to yourself “Perhaps it may as well be me”. You stand before your great enemy, the dust, the fire, the smell of brimstone, but finally, finally you had put your father’s soul to rest, you can feel them, hear the drums of your tribe, you can hear their voices calling out to you. As you put your hands behind your back and grip the staff that once held your father’s axe you fall to teh ground broken and betrayed.