The milf pope has 35 charisma I don’t understand how pathfinder allows this

—42 days before the Revival—

It was an empire in every sense of the word. European-esque architecture of all colors and shapes and sizes coalescing into a beautiful, sprawling cityscape. Nowhere in your world could you find spires so tall, roadways so immaculate, foliage that glowed and thrummed like a single, massive heartbeat.

And all this was before you realized it was a flying city.

At the center was a cathedral; and at this time of night, it shone a vibrant gold. It was tall, more so than even the biggest spires the city had to offer. Older, too. It had the majesty you could only expect from something truly ancient. And it was most certainly important. Partly because of what it represented—a headpiece to the world’s largest religion, a collection of all knowledge arcane and otherwise, storage to some of the most feared relics in the world—and partly because of who it housed at its peak.

Her Eminence Cassiopeia of Morabella, High Oracle to the Church of Nine Stars, relaxed under the massaging hands of her servant.

“It’s been such a nice day, hasn’t it?” She purred. Her voice carried a slow, resonant quality that was hard to ignore, and she looked absolutely flushed with delight.

“…Yes, Your Eminence.” Sitting across the chamber was a very flustered Cleric Ninette Riscernos. Young sort, pretty enough, trembling with the energy of someone who had no clue why they were called here.

“It’s not often I can relax. Always fixing problems, playing diplomat to whoever visits and whoever else thinks they’re worth my attention. Fulfilling work, but exhausting—and even then! I had to double book to see you.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.” Ninette took a big gulp. “I couldn’t imagine what it’s like to have such responsibilities…?”

“Please, I’m well aware of how much you’ve been up to… Ah, one moment. More pressure, dear. My shoulders can handle it.”

The servant gave a polite nod.

Cassiopeia took exceeding care in selecting her servants; they were exceptionally dim, exceptionally attractive, and exceptionally quiet. Mute, in fact. Cassiopeia made a point to purchase them after someone else rendered them so.

The easiest way to garner loyalty is to play the savior, after all…

“Where was I?” Cassiopeia continued. “Ah, yes, Miss Riscernos. I’ve looked into your academic background. Necromancy and planar-binding… Well, aren’t you naughty?”

Ninette squeaked. “A passing curiosity, Your Eminence! From my days as a student. A regrettable curiosity, which in no way represents my current—”

“I know about the experiments.”

“Ah.”

“Indeed.” Cassiopeia smiled. It was a radiant smile, perfect for her radiant features, with all the predatory grace of someone who could have you disappeared and look stunning doing it.

The good cleric realized she was quite terrified.

“Deep breaths, dear,” said Cassiopeia. “Being as cute as you are, and despite how… Unlicensed some of your endeavors have been, it’s nothing I can’t sweep under the rug.”

Ninette inhaled. “But… Why, Your Eminence?”

“I need your talents, Miss Riscernos.”

A pause. Ninette took a moment to process the statement. A leading authority in one of the most powerful empires in the world, admitting she wanted access to something very, very frowned upon.

She exhaled sharply, only to fall into an array of bewildered coughs. “…Pardon?”

“I had a vision, recently.” Cassiopeia stretched languidly, as if this were little else than casual gossip. “It seems I’ll be dying next month.”

Ninette blanched. “Pardon?”

“Most likely an ****. Though I wouldn’t put it past myself to overheat in the cathedral’s sauna—it’s truly divine, you know. I’ve this terrible habit of staying in too long.”

“Your Eminence?”

“That’s partly why I called. But more importantly, the gods have this… Peculiar event planned. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Your Eminence, if I may be so bold,” said Ninette, struggling to keep with all the directions this was going. “Shouldn’t you be more… Concerned? About that first thing?”

For the first time during this encounter, Cassiopeia sat up—and Ninette remembered how truly breathtaking she was. The figure of a goddess, her contours so soft, perfect, and inviting it was a wonder the fanciful robes could ever manage to contain them. Her visage was one of maternal warmth and serene dignity. With piercing, silvery eyes that saw through and into you, that reminded you of every sin you’ve ever done and every secret you’ve ever kept. With golden—not blonde, golden—hair that cascaded down her body like waterfalls to a mountainside, glistening to the soft nearby lights.

And here she was, one tantalizing leg crossed over the other, mountainous breasts ignoring silly things like “moderation” and “gravity,” fully naked and blissfully unconcerned with the effect she had on those before her.

The rumors spoke of angelic ancestry. They did not speak of how blatant the ancestry was.

“Dear,” said Cassiopeia, her radiant smile easing just a little. “You ask so many questions. Don’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look into containing souls before they pass on. Have it possible by next week.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, by the week after that.” The High Oracle leaned forward, her voice tapering to a sharp whisper. “Discover how to transfer my soul to a new body.”

—Now—

As it turns out, Aubrey did have fantasy booze. An assortment of wine bottles, each more whimsical than the last, varied in shapes, colors, and even how they sparkled with subtle arcane energy.

Frost Brandy

Pixie’s Giggle

Touch of Slumber

Natalie settled cross-legged on Aubrey’s… Cordelia’s desk, books pushed to the floor, with a large bottle of Pixie’s Giggle nursed tightly in her arms. It tasted like sunshine and caramel.

The whole experience until now was a rollercoaster, and Natalie was reeling to parse how she felt about it. Like, the size and muscles were great. Supposedly. They made her feel so confident, powerful—and just as awkward and fumbling. Each and every movement carried this bizarre intensity, a tightly coiled rage threatening to explode out the moment she wasn’t careful… If the broken trees outside were of any indication. Or the pointedly bisected zombies at the other side of the planet.

There was the weird new color, too.

It was jarring to look down and see red. A vibrant, impossible crimson no human could realistically have. Yet here she was, with exactly that, paired with a massive tattoo snaking along her body. It should’ve been badass. Hell, she knew it was badass… But she could also recognize how being a tall demon lady left Aubrey all sorts of frazzled.

“Hey… Abby… Annie… Aubrey? Hey Aubrey!” Natalie finally announced, the sensuous rumble of her voice doing a terrible job disguising her drunken slur.

“Yes!?” Aubrey squeaked and twisted around, her pendulum hips knocking over a pile of books. She’d been sorting through them, in some attempt to better understand this strange world, and in some other attempt to avoid sitting still. She was anxious like that.

“Drink with me.”

There were several bottles on the floor, each one large enough to knock out a small bachelor party. But Natalie was only hiccuping contently, her tail rocking to and fro like a kitten after a toy. Aubrey gulped. “I think I’m good. You keep enjoying yourself, I’ll be…”

Natalie frowned. “You sure?”

Specifically, Natalie gave Aubrey a look, with those handsome, demonic features, which left her feeling some kind of way.

—28 days before the Revival—

To Ninette’s relief, the next meeting did not involve the empire’s High Oracle lounging naked on some massage table. It involved lunch at the Cathedral gardens, during the fifteen minutes of free time Cassiopeia had between meetings with some Elven diplomat and some other, equally forgettable Elven diplomat.

…Didn’t make her any less stunning, of course.

Cassiopeia wore a billowing gown of shimmering white silk, woven with glowing threads and flowery ribbons. The neckline was cut low, exposing the creamy swell of her breasts, and the hem reached the ground, sweeping around her feet like a cloud. Resting on her head was a delicate circlet of gold and silver, set with glittering jewels and complementing her immaculate braids wonderfully.

“How goes the project, dear?” She asked, airily contemplating the small stream meandering through the garden center.

“Just as requested, Your Eminence,” said Ninette, head high and eyes steady despite the bags under them. She even managed to keep the several day’s worth of sleeplessness from her voice. “The ritual is ready. All calculations are reviewed and flawless. Completed within two weeks’ time.”

Cassiopeia’s plump lips eased into that striking smile, and she leaned forward just enough to leave Ninette blushing crimson. “And the experiments?”

Ninette made an attempt to look anywhere else. She failed. “…Inconclusive. The animal test subjects didn’t have souls, as it turns out.”

The striking smile fell to a just-as-striking pout. “How unfortunate! And here I went through all the effort of finding you such adorable rabbits… A volunteer, then. I can have someone **** and sent over within the hour.”

“Th-that shouldn’t be necessary, Your Eminence! The fundamentals are the same as planar binding, which I’ve done on countless occasions. The only steps left…” Ninette held up a delicate golden chain, simple in design and housing a brilliant sapphire at its base. “Are the vessel to bind your soul…”

The High Oracle’s features eased back into a smile, though there was something distant about it. Clinical. “And a replacement body to receive it.”

Ninette nodded. Several questions were left unsaid—not for lack of trying, but she didn’t quite know how to phrase ‘Where do we get a replacement body? Do you have a replacement body? Why on Earth would you have a replacement body!?’ without coming across as rude.

But Cassiopeia seemed to understand, and didn’t seem to mind. “That would tie into the event I mentioned before.”

Cassiopeia told Ninette about the future. How, a month from now, the world would see the revival of its strongest late leaders, adventurers, and whoever else powerful enough to have a name for themself.

…And how they would all be imposters, with the strengths and talents of their originals, but the memories of strangers from some other reality.

“Ah,” Ninette said, smartly. “Of course.”

“Indeed.”

A pause. Ninette decided this was not worth thinking too hard about, at least not while she lacked the brain capacity to think about most things. “Then I suppose you’re…”

“Looking into possessing my own imposter?” said Cassiopeia. “Maybe! But that’s not for you to worry about, dear.”

Ninette then decided she didn’t like how the High Oracle was grinning at her.

“Though I do have another favor to ask of you, related to all this business.”

—Now—

“It’s not faaaair,” Aubrey announced, red-faced and holding her third glass of Frost Brandy. It tasted like mint and blueberries, and was possibly the coldest thing she’d had in her entire life. “I had a future! And a cat! I really liked my cat!”

“Dude, cats are… So great,” said Natalie. She was on her however-many-nth of whichever-the-fuck she could find laying around, and was finally reaching that point where words were hard and thinking was harder. “I had one, once. It died.”

A heavy silence as they both mourned Natalie’s cat.

“Hey. Natalie.”

“Thas' me.”

“Nat.”

“Thas' also me.”

“You know what I don’t get? Like, at all?” Said Aubrey. She’d been switching between pacing around and sitting in one of the fancy armchairs laying about, and was currently settled on doing the latter.

“Wazzit?”

“How pretty everything is here.” A hiccup. “I mean… There’s how you look, and how I look… And…”

“I knoooow! Our tits are so biiiig, right?”

“And it’s not just the tits! It’s the everything!” She made an attempt to gesture at herself and somehow failed. “Skin isn’t allowed to be this smooth. I have an ass big enough to land a small plane, but no cellulite. And my hands!” She threw a hand forward. “Look at it! The nails are all… Naturally manicured or something… And I’m pretty sure these are the kinda hands that, like, hand models have!”

Natalie nodded.

“Oh, right. And there’s the everything else, too,” said Aubrey. “The cottage, the forest, and even the books! It’s all, like, vibrant and colorful and rustic and stuff. Less real life and more…”

“A painting?”

“Yeah, a painting! Or a fairy tale!”

“Or the… Thing…” Said Natalie. “The Studio thing… Studio Gibby…?”

Aubrey nodded in perfect understanding. “Studio Gibler.”

“Studio Gadiver,” agreed Natalie.

“Point is, everything is too pretty to be real.” Aubrey leaned forward, her voice easing to a hushed whisper. “I think… We might be in a dream.”

Natalie gasped.

“I had my theories…” She continued, before remembering that, wait no, she didn’t, and the whole notion crumbled if she thought too hard about it.

Another bout of silence as they once again forgot what they were talking about.

“I miss my boyfriend,” Natalie finally said, staring at the empty bottles on the floor.

Aubrey grazed down apologetically. “I’m guessing you were really close?”

“Oh yeah.” Natalie sounded dreamlike. Distracted. “Super close. We were best friends before we were a couple, and we were best friends for a loooong time.”

Aubrey suddenly felt quite bad.

“Ya’know… I wasn’t all that scared to be stuck here. It was hard to be, with him around, looking as small and cute as he did.” She giggled. “Huh. What a weird way to realize I might be bi…”

“Then,” Aubrey said, the guilt and **** brewing together and encouraging all sorts of great decisions. “Why don’t we go save him?”

Natalie blinked. “Now?”

Aubrey hiccuped. “Sure! We’d have to cross a few countries first, but that probably won’t be too impossible. I mean, you can punch things, like, really hard—and I can do magic! So much magic!” She leaped up. “I have, like, spells that make people fly, and other spells that, like, summon carriages!”

Teleportation magic, too, but things got weird and horny both times you tried that.

Natalie looked to the window. It was nighttime, probably around 2 in the morning, and she could hear weird sounds in the distance. She looked back to Aubrey. “Dude. This is such a good idea.”

—Like, 4 minutes before the Revival—

Imagine you were falling. Now imagine you were blind, and that the world forgot which way was down. Being dead was a little like that.

…Actually, no, not quite. That’s more—what that brief, impossible moment between your final breath and your first tug towards the afterlife was like. The last second of consciousness, of being you, before you were whisked away to whatever came next.

Cassiopeia didn’t know what came next, because she never made it to the second step. She didn’t know what her **** was like, either. Aside from some struggling and shouting, maybe a blow to the head, she simply remembered a blur of noise and color, followed by sudden blackness.

And now here she was. Waiting.

Time was frustrating, when you had no body. Only silence and boredom; no way to move, no way to see or hear, and no way to distract yourself. Not even the grounding comfort of your own heartbeat to help count off the seconds…

Then again, she’d never been particularly attached to her body. No more than a blacksmith to his tools, at least, or perhaps an academic to her spell book. It was too small and too fragile, and much too difficult to find proper clothes for.

Though, admittedly, it was quite beautiful, and being beautiful was just so brilliantly useful.

With the right outfit and blush, even the most rigid political rivals would underestimate you. Wear a uniform, or something dark and dazzling, and you were the scariest person in the room. Go bright and subversive, maybe show a little skin—others would be too engrossed by your magnificent bosom to remember how to negotiate properly.

But, here, now? She didn’t have such tools to work with, or anyone to use them against. She also didn’t have her usual responsibilities, which was nice, or any idea how her side-projects were doing, which was less so.

Just, waiting.

…And more waiting.

…….And even more waiting.

That is to say, when she did eventually feel something, she reacted quite strongly and excitedly. It was a push. Or perhaps, an invitation. An awareness that someone finally donned the necklace, and that she was moments—seconds—an instant—from…

It all going catastrophically wrong.

Cassiopeia did not scream, because she could not.

But she did feel the worse pain she imaginably could without a body, as for whatever reason beyond her understanding, her soul—the essence of her being, her thoughts, her everything—had just began to slip from the vessel and into the host body, when a new, conflicting **** pulled her in a different direction.

Her soul did not go one way or the other. It went for both, and tore in half in the process.