Set Al-Sayyid
Changeling Fighter/Hexblade
AC: 17 HP: 36/41 (36/43) THP: 0/5
PP: 12 PIv: 13 PIs: 9
Conditions: Mal's Aid, Nome's Hero's Feast (immune to poison/frightened, Wis ST adv). Mad/Frightened/Quirk: Fascinated with binding and power over death.
Concentration:

The Lab

Set reaches out, attempting to run gloved fingers over the near-invisible strings, frowning down at them and where they lead. As he lifts the weapon higher to get a closer look, Set's heart jumps into his throat as the darakhul dances. When the moment passes and he's sure the undead is no longer capable of attacking him, Set realizes there's magic at work and opens his eyes to the arcane. "<Residual.>"

Energy pulses from the weapon, revealing the enchantment that connects it to those that have passed. Set briefly experiments, shifting the blade up and down, left and right, watching the iron ghoul mimic each motion. A sense of power floods through Set as he recognizes the sickening potential. A corpse forced to fight undead. Death to fight death.

Set fingers the weapon, lost in thought. It's horrifying. A weapon that binds the dead in a cruel mockery of life, forcing bodies to carry on after their souls have fled. Dead or undead makes little difference, in this case. The weapon is evil. A tool of death. A glaive that binds bodies, if not souls.

But what of the living? Why should Set bleed when the dead could take a blow for him? Why should Vargath? What is evil if it means making sure Mal and Selissa regain the surface unharmed? What's wrong with repaying Maus for the kindness he showed Mido? Shouldn't Set be willing to do what it takes, to keep them safe by whatever means necessary? What could be more necessary than finding his sisters? The means are of no consequence to reach that end. Right?

As Set seeks to justify his thought process, something grips him, pulsing with every heartbeat. His gaze rises, drifting up from the tip of one weapon to the corpse of another, but both weapons are his. Corpse and glaive, both weapons are bound to his will.

"Power over death," he whispers, puppeting the iron ghoul into a defensive posture. Eyes wide, Set fancies he can feel the strings binding them together through the weapon. He briefly loses himself in the sensation of being a master, eagerly ignoring his own strings. The Shadowkeeper is far from Set's mind. Even the coin remains unconsulted, allowed to sit idle yet again.

Looking between Vargath and Mido, the floor drops out from under Set. The sense of power flees. He's in a nightmare, falling, but he can't wake up. His stomach lurches, churning violently as the darakhul's arms fall limp, it's body twitching as Set loses conscious control. Releasing his hold over the ghoul entirely, Set watches it drop back into sewage even as his own gorge rises. A moment of unsteadiness passes as Set swallows spit and bile, cursing himself in no uncertain terms. What would Sisi think, to look at him now? What would Sythpen say if she could see him playing puppet-master to the dead? Set looks to the half-orc beside him, trying hard not to imagine what Sirus would do in his position.

"I need a weapon," Set says to Vargath, coming to a decision and biting back the bile in his throat. He's still sick, but insistent as he nods towards Mido. "He will have that one, at least until we are safe." Chewing the inside of his cheek, Set holds the glaive out, unwittingly forcing the ghoul to crawl forward below them. Swallowing, Set forces himself to look.

The ends justify the means. Moira would know. None better. Life isn't a gift you get to keep without being willing to fight for it. To bind for it.

"In your studies, did you ever hear about its like? A weapon that makes the dead dance? The thing is rotten with an enchantment, but if it can help us get out of here alive, so much the better." A chill runs down Set's spine, strangely comforting.