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There was not much left of the man once known as Naram, mentally, that is; in body he was now long since neglected, his hair and beard having grown to lengths that were unmanageable. His eyes, once bright and full of life, were now dull and vacant, a mere shell of the man he used to be. His once strong frame was now frail and hunched over, his face prematurely aged.
By now, most of his family had abandoned him; Samarda had more or less given her responsibilities to Zarin, the slave girl she had bought to take care of him; Simbar, for all intents and purposes, was dead, reforged into the steel monster known as Mortharn, which now silently kept your creed enforced.
But that doesn't mean the last of the three is of any less use to you; Naram might be a whimpering mess, not even capable of eating his own meals, but you suppose you might as well see if there is something salvageable within his mind. The old caravan master would probably have some valuable information or insights buried deep within his broken psyche if you could just find a way to reach it.
And so you entered his mind in the same way as you had broken him initially, delving into the depths of his memories and experiences, searching for any glimmer of knowledge that could aid you in your quest. The twisted labyrinth of Naram's mind proved a surreal but at the same time dull hellscape. Distorted faces, twisted memories, grievous shrieks and haunting whispers filled the void as you navigated through the chaos, all in a wonderful grey colour.
You brushed all of this aside as you came closer and closer to the centre of the mind, where a shrivelled, starving, man lay naked upon the floor, his hair and nails overgrown, his eyes vacant and hollow.
He on occasion made noises, but they were unintelligible, for his mind had been shattered beyond repair by the horrors you had poured in. The man's body twitched sporadically, a result of the torment he endured within his own mind.
He didn't pay you any attention; on occasion a nursery rhyme reverberated through the mind, which was then followed up by more murmuring.
Naram's mind was shattered but not completely ground to dust; like a craftsman picking together a broken vase, you would try to piece together the fragments of his shattered psyche in your own image, of course. A new servant, in a blank state, is preferable. And so you reached out and began to chant.
Roll a 1d100 [DC60] To see if you can heal at least part of his mind.
By now, most of his family had abandoned him; Samarda had more or less given her responsibilities to Zarin, the slave girl she had bought to take care of him; Simbar, for all intents and purposes, was dead, reforged into the steel monster known as Mortharn, which now silently kept your creed enforced.
But that doesn't mean the last of the three is of any less use to you; Naram might be a whimpering mess, not even capable of eating his own meals, but you suppose you might as well see if there is something salvageable within his mind. The old caravan master would probably have some valuable information or insights buried deep within his broken psyche if you could just find a way to reach it.
And so you entered his mind in the same way as you had broken him initially, delving into the depths of his memories and experiences, searching for any glimmer of knowledge that could aid you in your quest. The twisted labyrinth of Naram's mind proved a surreal but at the same time dull hellscape. Distorted faces, twisted memories, grievous shrieks and haunting whispers filled the void as you navigated through the chaos, all in a wonderful grey colour.
You brushed all of this aside as you came closer and closer to the centre of the mind, where a shrivelled, starving, man lay naked upon the floor, his hair and nails overgrown, his eyes vacant and hollow.
He on occasion made noises, but they were unintelligible, for his mind had been shattered beyond repair by the horrors you had poured in. The man's body twitched sporadically, a result of the torment he endured within his own mind.
He didn't pay you any attention; on occasion a nursery rhyme reverberated through the mind, which was then followed up by more murmuring.
Naram's mind was shattered but not completely ground to dust; like a craftsman picking together a broken vase, you would try to piece together the fragments of his shattered psyche in your own image, of course. A new servant, in a blank state, is preferable. And so you reached out and began to chant.
Roll a 1d100 [DC60] To see if you can heal at least part of his mind.