"A curse is but a blessing bestowed upon the unworthy."
Ratau wanted her to venture right back out into the lands of the Old Faith, seeking out commandment stone fragments to begin inscribing doctrines to further the amount of devotion and faith that she could collect from the three followers. Instead, she remained with the little encampment for a few days - for a place she allowed to be named the Silent Garden, it still looked like an abandoned campground. She explained this patiently to the frustrated rat, calmly reminding him that appearances could entice or repulse a prospective convert and if they were to optimize the number of followers who joined willfully, the cult ground needed to be far more appealing.
So she took the time to begin dismantling some of the worse stone constructions, the things the Crimson Eye whispered in her head were unsalvageable, even for its great strength in resurrection. She cleared the larger bushes and brambles from the center of the camp, making sure to gather as many berries from them as she could to prepare meals with. She stripped a few branches of their thorns, creating thin, strong vines and used them to enforce the shrine and begin decorating the area.
Only when the camp looked a little less... desperate, did she agree to finally return to Darkwood in an attempt to locate a commandment stone
It was only the third time she had descended into the Lord of Chaos' domain, but it was already beginning to feel like something of a routine.
Again did half she extend an offer to join the Garden and find herself rejected, and half did she extend an offer and find herself violently assaulted. Again did she stumble upon the hidden pathway where Clauneck lay, and again did she receive a bit of pain in exchange for an appreciative amount of power. She sincerely hoped to continue drawing The Arachnid, for the venom that coated her blade with every strike made cutting through the swathes all the easier.
She had just gotten into the rhythm of it all, swinging and slashing at those who charged forth with blood-lust in their gazes hidden beneath their brown hoods, timing her rolls to better avoid the errant swings when something began stinging in her palms. She hummed acknowledgement when the crown started whispering to her again, obediently tossing the sword into her free hoof while throwing out her right hand in the direction of the of a cloaked swordsman,
A red crackling appeared between her bent fingers, red lightning flashing through her arm and exploding out with a ghoulish howl. It speared aggressively through the moss covered bat that had begun an attempt to dive-bomb her, practically vaporizing it on the spot as a new, pinkish energy dropped to the ground with a strange, wet spatter despite the lack of tangible blood. She spread her palms and the Called with the strength of the crown, watching the energy be seared by some form of invisible line and reeled back in.
Curses upon the non-believers, upon those who would challenge your strength.
A curse? Eve mused. Well, whatever had spurned this development, it was a useful new skill. The precious few seconds she was forced to waste when she needed to fling the crown as a knife into the chest of a heretic ( Servant of the Old, she reminded herself) to prevent them from getting out a panicked prayer to their Lord could now be replaced with a violent arrow of vengeance, silencing the would-be alarm before reinforcement could be summoned.
It came not a moment too soon either, for she advanced in the lair of the worm and stumbled upon her second sacrifice - it allowed her to make quite an impressive show of power, annihilating the executioner before he could bring down the blade before she slit the throats of the remaining too.
She could practically see stars as the stag sobbed. He was a young buck she could tell, only possessing a small, merely forked pair of antlers rather than a more impressive dressage. She shivered a little, the sheer amount of adoration pouring off of him feeding directly into the power of the crown. She didn't even have to ask him a question - the black lamb merely held out her hoof and without hesitation, the young stag grasped it,
He was the first follower to lack any hint of fear as the shadows dragged him beneath.
