---
title: 00024
created: Sat, 22 Oct 2022 13:43:40 -0600
updated: Sat, 22 Oct 2022 13:43:40 -0600
public: yes
syndicated: yes
---
### 00024 {#00024}

> **Corraidhin**  
> Well I'll be! You can turn yourself into a dagger. And I did say we could stab blavin if you could do that, it's much more stealthy this way. But let me posit this, is the act of stabbing a hobbit unprovoked not itself evil? Or perhaps more convincingly, would it not be better to use the hobbit for whatever information he has so as to lead to this mysterious benefactor, who most assuredly must be evil. 
> 
> Someone who would send out myriads of teams to pillage and plunder cultural artifacts is truly evil, that must be our target.
> 
> Now this isn't to say that we won't stab him. I'm convinced that's probably a good idea in the long run, but we know nothing of the true evil that motivates him! We would kill him just to lose track of the true evil we must smite! 
> 
> **Y'aml**  
> But YOU said if I could turn into a dagger we could STAB him. HE'S EVIL. YOU said so! Not keeping your promises IS one step away from PURE evil! Make a choice Hardy Bear! Stab the evil hobbit, or stab the inkling, or stab SOMETHING evil this minute!
> 
> **Corraidhin**  
> I most certainly cannot abide with stabbing Inky, it's entirely off the table. And in a city like this there aren't any evil things that just jump out for the stabbing. 
> 
> (Corraidhin tries to silently control Y'aml during the discussion. However in so doing the party has fallen silent, aghast even)
> 
> Corraidhin stands, Y'aml held in hand, red gem eye gleaming a wicked joyful grin as it's raised high, poised to strike.  The party around him is silent, and Blavin stares up in shock. The tavern around them has died down and you can hear the bustle of the proprietor calling for his strong men to deal with this ruckus.

The table---and all of Lucy's Basement within earshot---sits in tense, uneasy quiet at Corraidhin's one-sided conversation with the Sword of Yam'L. Blavin giggles nervously and sips his martini, willfully forcing himself right up to the very last moment to believe that it is all some sort of jest.

But then the sysorcerer stands and raises the blood crazed dagger over his shoulder, and Blavin squeals and writhes in his chair. Lucy's  bouncers scramble forward from the corners of the room to intercept.

> **Y'aml**  
> We STAB Hardy Bear! We STAB NOW!!
> 
> Against Corraidhin's control, as though he's in a trance, the dagger comes down. A swift stabbing motion strqight to the neck, as he lunges across the table at Blavin knocking the map and his martini to the side.

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Bloodlust 3 to Stabble Stabble
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Corraidhin once again feels the same peculiar quality of the blade, that sensation of a hollow core with a heavy liquid sloshing inside. Held aloft, the weight of it feels concentrated at the grip, the blade light as a feather.

He stabs down---Yam'L cries out in wordless glee---and the weight flows into the tip of the blade, the blade itself now drawing Corraidhin's hand downward in a rising crescendo of stabbitude.

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Do Anything 1 to Resist Bloodlust
3: Partial Success
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Blavin flinches at the last second, and instead of burying itself in his throat, the blade plunges into his shoulder and pins him to the back of the chair. A red mist fills the eye and threatens to cloud it over entirely. It rolls back in ecstasy as it drinks deeply. It sings out, "MORE! MORE! MORE!" and Corraidhin feels the tides of madness rising inside of him, threatening to wash over him wholly, to pull him under and carry him away on thundering waves of bloodlust.

Corraidhin struggles to pull the blade from the chair back. Blavin whimpers and mewls as he yanks on it, and clutches his wound and, incredibly, takes a large gulp of his drink.

The sysorcerer still has the wherewithal and the presence of mind to be aware of his surroundings. He is not yet so overcome by the bloodlust. He sees his companions, his fellow residents of the Milk Market, seated around the table. And he sees the musclebound bouncers now nearly within reach.

Finally he draws the dagger. Blavin sinks in his seat and slides to the floor with his drink, blabbering incoherently, and starts to slither away.

WHAT DO YOU DO


[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00010.html)
