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The Owl.

21st of Trescia, 1492.

Principality of Nevstan, Kurnak Land. Chor, The Galza Strip.

11:11.

[Rogue Devil, Soul Mastermind. Step 5: Networked.]

[Prestige Sorcerer, the Path of Zefroth. Step 4: The Minion.]

***

For the first time since awakening the ability, the Owl utilized the Devil's Disguise to prance about the City of Bards in the guise of an old retiree with an abundance of time, money, and ideas to spend. A traveled old man of wit and culture, of finesse and charm.

For perhaps the first time, the Owl had no ill intentions. On the contrary, the Owl wished to spend the day in simplistic elegance. Wining and dining until night befell the City of Chor. Wherein the work would begin.

With the boons granted by virtue of being the Soul Mastermind of Rogue Devils, the task at hand would be a silent breeze, for the Owl would not have to try to find the eye's prize. The Thieves Cant was more populous in this area than even Brybs. Safe houses and caches. Black markets and fencers. Familiar places, the lot of them. Born from the ordinary structures the Other saw months ago. Filled with familiar faces from head to toe.

With Devil's Mimicry and Devil's Intrigue, the Owl could truly play the part of a retiree from Bakewia out for some sleazy entertainment, even having the forged documents to prove my position in a non-existent shell company. Not that it mattered to anyone but the Owl.

Entertainment had to be provided somehow, after all. No longer, could the Owl snicker at Etyl's frustrations in encountering the Wicked Mind. And oh, did she try to read Mani's thoughts. It was a shame Amun never presented false thoughts or nightmares to her. The Owl waited and waited for it to happen.

But… well, there was always next time.

This time, there was hardly any need for the Owl to use the Wicked Mind. And so, the day was killed by conducting a field test of the newest perks by first studying up on the actions of the devils, Archer and Diamante, educating their favorite souls in the pit about the glories of torture and the revolution the Owl was to bring.

The Owl could see Zorrenor, withering away in his office. And so too could the Owl see the former drunk from Bakewia, studying manners and etiquette amongst a cohort of robed skeletons. He would be there for some time, learning how to be a proper lord until he graduated by virtue of change. Thus freeing Zaraxus from his post.

Indeed, it was essentially NoxNet without the extra steps. However, it was a perk only the Owl and the Other could use. A perk unable to be replicated through divine means like the engineering marvels in the Cuttleship. Yet, the irony was that they could still be combined to revolutionize the network by leaps and bounds.

Therein brought about the true field test. With a mind full of ideas and designs to bring into this universe, the Other used Mani's eye to identify the best candidates to be recruited by the Troupe. Using the memories of the ever-present eye above, dossiers were created for each of them, and their locations were pinged across the map for the young ones to track down, thus bringing about the Owl's duty.

Using again the NoxNet, the Owl linked with the Cuttleship's scanners to gaze upon the barbaric camps and strongholds from afar. Using the new Masterful Tactician perk, the Owl assessed the best plan of attack for each member of the Troupe. Their numbers were identified. Their equipment was inventoried. Their patrol routes were mapped out. Their assets were tagged for destruction or acquisition. And when there was no more information to transfer, the Owl continued its prance throughout the City of Bards.

The Devil's Disguise was used to spend hours in rowdy restaurants, eating and watching festivities unfold. To pass by dilapidated slums and forgotten orphanages, assessing the pitiable quality of life. To dawdle in crowded alleys filled with lively but hardly talented musicians, silently admiring their efforts. To waltz through the front doors of private theaters filled with only a few high-class bards working in relative silence, if only to watch.

In those places, the Owl saw many favored faces going about their duties with the tireless patience of a panther. In those restaurants, the Owl saw the up-and-coming gang of six girls led by Blude ease into restaurants to incite the underpaid workers into a strike, resulting in the lot of them getting booted from the establishment; wherein she masterfully recruited the now unemployed youths into Sam's kitchen.

The up-and-coming mob of two dozen girls then waltzed into the slums and barged into orphanages next, enticing the friends of their new recruits and all others present with promises of gold, power, and adventure. Then, the up-and-coming mafia of over fifty girls stormed into the territories of the small-time delinquents and ne'er-do-wells to beat dreams of prosperity and greatness into their minds.

Their return to the Cuttleship saw them return with 73 recruits to divide among the now-nine leaders of their organization. In addition to, of course, whatever families they had. Even while that was happening, however, the Owl witnessed Geri and Freki in the crowded alleys, recruiting bards in practice and bystanders alike. Although for different means.

Freki, having over 50 vassal workers toiling and learning away in the Cuttleship to bring his agricultural enterprise to fruition, only recruited four mostly human bards to complete his business. Meanwhile, Geri, seeing no difference between traveling companions and vassal workers, convinced quite the diverse mix of girls to join her. Gaining two humans, a strifling, a dwarf, a halfling, and a deep gnome.

In those private theaters, the Owl gazed upon the Lore Master, Willard Rowe, lecturing a classroom of the Legions' next generation on our history, values, goals, and beliefs. In the next room, the Master of the Laughing House, Ritrix Mildbluff, rigorously educated her peers in the various forms of comedy and how they applied to the Legions.

In no rooms in the theater and even beyond, nowhere, did the Owl see Sinestro and his quartet. Although, with but a search, the Owl could sense and hear his best recordings echoing across the night.

When there were no more sights to see, the Owl found a perch and looked beyond. Past the walls of Chor, the Owl spotted Geri and Freki departing from the Cuttleship with their subordinates tucked away inside, permitting them a hunt.

With Iris trailing them from above, the werewolves leaped across the Mazi-Nevstan border wall to sprint due east through the forest. Within moments, they came upon the first camp of primal humans. A cluster fuck of hide-tents and crudely raised structures of mud and wood filled with barbarians and captured prisoners of conquest that somehow merited the name of Faymouth.

They stalked about while Iris hovered above, observing in pitiable disgust. There were humanoids of all types down there. Not to mention orcs, gnomes, and even elves. Both children and the elderly, pampering the barbarians with food and ale, mending their wounds, or performing mundane labor while the adults and sometimes the stronger children fought to the death in gladiatorial matches by the dozen.

The troupe's rage grew with each drop of spilled blood. Their eyes burned with every cry that rang out, chased by a wicked laugh. Their hearts grew colder with each body that fell.

The result was a slaughter that lasted mere moments.

A dizzying blur of blue and gray fell upon the camp and disappeared like a rainstorm congealed into a single, bouncing drop; disappearing groups of slaves at a time. What remained of those searching for their lost slaves or preparing for battle witnessed a flame-wreathed celestial release his rage above the central 'hall,' unleashing a wave spawned from the surface of the sun before it closed just as quickly, leaving only ash and molten rock to remain.

Another eye of blistering cold opened and closed soon after, calming the landscape to the same frequency as its gelid surroundings. Then, they were sprinting through the forest once more. Distancing themselves from an alien landscape frozen in time on the primal lands of Mazi.

Their campaign was akin to an elemental arrow skimming a 250-kilometer stretch of land at a significant fraction of lightspeed. It was over in a relative instant. Yet the havoc wreaked would leave a crescent-shaped scar of blackened glass and amorphous rocks to mirror the Mazi-Nevstan border for generations to come, witnessed and retold ever more by the hundreds of humans seen streaming through the skies towards the Cuttleship.

Seen, not just by the Owl, the troupe, or the Other. But by two young bards of Chor who immediately became enamored at the sight unfolding above their eyes. So, while Freki feasted and Geri gathered as much loot and rallied as many wild canines as she could, Iris made a final descent to Chor before they retired to the Cuttleship for a long night of briefings, acclimatization, billeting, and all the other things began.

With the last bit of time on the Owl's plate before the awaited time came, the Owl used Soul Surveillance once more to observe Iris make us proud by offering a deal to those broken bodies and bruised souls. Service in exchange for bodies infused with nanites like hers, albeit of the arcane variety rather than the divine.

Ever thankful for the Other taking up the role of the Divine Engineer, the Owl then watched thirty or so refugees agree with no consultation between any of the twenty or so existing parents. Along with Iris, the children and parents alike received their grace and those who were wounded, crippled, or maimed followed the prodigal youth into her Creation Station; wherein she tinkered and toiled and created and prayed to the Divine Engineer for the implants and augmentations to be fabricated and implanted.

Of course, she was on track to becoming a prestigious witch, among other things. But surgery was beyond her purview for now. Let alone so many. And, while we had sentient, automated surgeons, observation and assistance were necessary for one of her classes. Not to mention, it was highly more efficient.

That was hardly the end, however. Or rather, that was the beginning. With the setting sun came cries of joy and songs of praise. Tearful revelries and legendary feasts. Convictive declarations and hopeful ambitions. Pledging bites and playful discourse. Worship and faith for the Owl, whether they knew so or not. Faith that made the Divine Well boom.

It was at this time, and with this increased power, that the Owl went into motion. Discarding the Devil's Disguise, the Owl hopped from perch to perch, perusing the memories of the Other to track the old friend's descent into despair.

Rickley Ravenbrook. Once given more gold than she'd ever need, fell down a pit of pity and greed. But the big leagues were not reached with money alone. Thus losing her gold was no fault of her own. Not all was as she so thought. Brought down, however, Rickley was not. Some more-than-decent food, a posh suite, and some dazzling suits. That was all Rickley needed to chase down her pursuits. Plenty more gold, she had stowed away. For registration fees and bribes for the night and the day.

Rickley Ravenbrook was not disheartened. No, not in the slightest. Until all was lost. Then, her fury was righteous.

Her suite, thrashed and emptied. Naught a coin remained. It was then, she swore; in someone's blood, she'd be stained. But as for who, she hadn't a clue. So she pointed and accused. 'Was it you? I bet it was you!' Until night came, when she'd cry until day; inviting cancerous fibers to come in and play. Those very fibers became a black cloud over her head. She later stopped giving a damn about who deserved to be dead.

"Someone's gonna fuckin' die!" She pleaded and cried. And when none caught her charm, she threatened and begged until a renowned bard of yore was forced to shield her from harm. Only, in turn, to threaten to sever his arm. Not out of anger, but in refusal of his offer. "Hell no! No way I'm to work in a brothel!" But as tendays turned to months; there seemed no other way. Given, at least, the way her eyes remained lifted all day.

And yet, Rickley stayed from the place that seemed cultic. For at last, she believed, she had found her culprit. The one man she'd never thought to suspect. And surely, he thought, she would never think to check. For no matter how much gold he acquired, the man never seemed to change his attire. It was the man who received a mountain of gold at the same time. Was her having gold, Rickley wondered, so hefty a crime?

"Of course not! It's not fair!"

The Owl had to agree. So towards her heart of despair, the Owl turned with glee.

Intentions were made known. Soon after, Rickley was seen. When hours later, she returned home, there was in her possession: a seed. An idea in her mind. A hope, coupled with a dream. "To make that man pay, I'd do any-fucking-thing!"

She would gladly die; if only to be the one that gets to kill that fucking guy. She wanted no possibility of it being a surprise. She wanted to put his peen through a guillotine while staring him dead in the eyes. Even if it meant becoming an Undying Fiend.

And so, in the early morn, the Owl perched to preen above the sobbing form of Rickley Ravenbrook, sitting in a den so torn. Hidden in this hole of memetic fibers; the Owl took, the Owl MacGyvered. The Owl offered Rickley, a deal oh so sickly. A contract that barred no need to examine. For intrinsically she knew, she be the undying fiend, of Famine.