Mind of the Wormkeeper

The Mind of the Wormkeeper is an artifact recovered following the Defence of Claygate.

## Description

While the rest of the body of Valaara the Wormkeeper was sundered by the warhammer of the Bugbear Barbarian Dovruk, the central mass within her mind remained intact, and was later recovered by Vaedryn'Drada Arkenviir for further study and research.

## Research

### Completed by Vaedryn'Drada Arkenviir

The form is pervasive, a miry mass of purple-black flesh, streaked through with cords of fibrous white. The thick, almost hide-like casing that surrounds the central mass is thrice-layered, seeped through with just off-clear fluid that does not flow as readily as the water it so closely resembles. Dissecting through the three laminations of membranes, the first the thickest most, the second thick and laden with blood vessels twisted and dark, a fell webbing sprawled between a flattened ligament, and the third, thin and fine, woven into the ridged gryi of the undulous mass beneath. Streaking from the centre point, tendril-like axons, each near as wide in diameter as corded hemp rope trail freely, frail telodendria grasping even in death, seeking a binding point for the synaptic terminals at their pale, root-like tips.

The cortex of the Mind of the Wormkeeper bears some similarities to that of humanoid creatures, though woven through an altered manipulation, a corruption no doubt shaped by the architect of such matters - the one that the Wormkeeper served beck and call. The substructure of the neuronal mass is sleek, refined, though twisted tumours of aberrance punctuate through, blending once discrete portions of grey and white matter into a twisted blend of crossed synaptic fibres, laden upon streaks of sinewous fibres. Nonetheless, application of pressure to specific areas of the brain causes peripheral spasms, trailing axons flailing in disordered rhythm in turn as mundane probe or arcane charge spurns such activity. Without the full body of the Wormkeeper present to confirm, further magical identification seems to suggest use of a spell similar to *True Polymorph* was largely responsible for the transformation, though the configuration of Transmutation magics does not quite perfectly match with the more conventional teachings and form of the incantation.

Digging deeper, you start to develop a psionic link with the bundled nervous tissue, its memories prying into your subsequent trances throughout the research process, each in time seemingly earlier and earlier:

*The thatch roof sinks slightly beneath your weight, watching onwards as a dozen hunched figures shuffle through the barley before. Bulbous grey-purple forms crush crop beneath black chitinous claws, araneiform mandibules chittering and marred with a sleet of fresh-spun web. A trio of barns rise on the horizon before you, but you can feel your cortège at work, the swarm surging from the soil and stone to gnaw at foundations, timbers streaked through with rot, each building in turn collapsing as supporting beams are sundered to pulp. No sooner does the dust start to settle do you compel the swarms to move again, commanding as you have been commanded. His voice, that which has held dominion for centuries whispers the next action to be completed, the next step to be taken - and so you find movement compelled once more into your stride - westward bound.*

*The spires loom, inverted and hanging low from the cavern overhead, woven with intricacy and beauty alike from the monstrous stalactites grasping down from above. Something deeper stirred within your mind, pushed aside but present all the same, pangs of acknowledgement from the prior one now buried in a sunken pit of consciousness. A passenger where once they were the pilot. An unimpressed and regimented gaze carried from balcony, bridges trailing between each in time, strung between buttresses with silver lines spun by the silk glands of cave fishers. Clouds of oppressive haze clawed at the fringes, tinged pink-blue in the dim sources of light that were allowed to penetrate just far enough - and no further still. And yet, it was not as the passenger remembered it, a city twisted through with discordant pillars of flesh, every-shifted as organic fibres folded, coiled and whirled like the writhing tendrils of a monstrous being. The Wormkeeper stepped to the base of one such columns, readily embracing the dozen corpulent cilia that grasped outwards in response, and you find yourself lifted by the rhythmic contractions, transportation via peristalsis.*

While the other memories had been viewed from afar, still through the eyes of the Wormkeeper but without a true sense of control, a detachment by design, those that follow seem conversely more intimate, carried upon a wave of emotions previously absent.

*Dread. Cold and moist, the tendrilled bindings fix wrist and ankle in place, further bindings of sinew tether across waist, chest, throat and brow. The air is thick with an acetic humidity, cloying and lingering. The moisture upon your lips fades, a sting settles on the ridge of your nose with each breath, vision glazing over as conjunctiva effloresces, casting clear sight aside and sinking vision in an off-focus haze. A silhouette looms. Agony. The slick dampness parts the flesh, tracing over grey-black skin with a gentleness at odds to the barbarity enacted. Pendulous trails dance like brush upon canvas, leaving crimson trails in their wake, gore coagulating in an instant, fascia commanded to scar into keratinous cords at a command. Terror. The sprawling cacophany of segmentation crawls beneath your skin, each undulation mimicking the quickening gallop of your heart, until that too falters in an exultation of panic. You start to sink away, mind fading upon the pressure placed upon your brow, the tearing of silver hair, the creaking of bone beneath. A wetness seeps onto the surface beneath you, what little sensation remains within shoulders recoiling from a ciliated shift beneath. Despondency. Further distant you watch now, as your form lifts and turn to his Will.*

*Surprise. The shaking of the soil and stone from below cast the bridge in a flurry of movement, gloves hands grasping tight until the tremor ceased, the cavern floor beyond vision below, cast in shadow as it always was. With tenative steps upon suspended stone, you shuffle along when they fail to falter. Behind you a figure falls, casting into the gloom, a cry cut short before it can echo beyond the cavern. Hurried steps bring movement towards a lesser spire marked with a twisting moon, etched into adamantine and magimorphic crystal. Wrath. Uttered prayers echoed up spiralling stairs, followed by curses whispered in spite, malisons of lamentation and abandonment. Demands of departure made, you make you way, trailed by a household of a few dozen, familial all. A shattering of the cavern above, constructs of shell and sinew, seething columns of flesh barbed and barbelled. Its foundations loosened, another spire cracks free, polished bricks of obsidian-black cast down into the dark, aberrance rising up to meet it and guide it into horrific embrace. With authority you command the others surfaceward, through tunnels lesser known, rarely traversed. One of the figures lingers, reaching out a hand for you to follow, before what remains of the suspension falters between you. A fleeting glance at the melacholic soul commanded into flight, and tiresome wave of acknowledgement, acceptance - and a final comment spoken upon quavering lips.*

*"Go, Umrae, I shall not dally far behind..."*