Seed of Blasphemy

There was still half a day of sunlight left when we walked out of the druidic circle. We drifted toward the edge of the grove where the caravans clustered around the quieter borders. There, among makeshift tents, overturned crates, and scattered bundles of firewood, the day seemed to slow. People rested, played flutes, argued softly, or simply dozed.

We found a spot among them—a patch of earth softened by moss and shaded by a thick-branching Oak. Shadowheart sat with her knees drawn up, soaking in the rare peace. Lae’zel paced a short distance away, still on edge, her blade never far from her grasp. She didn’t like standing still.

I, however, needed quiet. I excused myself from the group and wandered toward the outskirts, past a broken cart and into the shallow gullet of a cave. It was dim, cool, and blessedly silent.

I sat cross-legged on the cave floor, resting my hands on my knees, and let my thoughts sink deep. I spoke his name—not aloud, but as if he was nearby. Listening.

He heard.

The shadows shivered. A laugh, smooth and echoing, oozed into my thoughts.

"My lovely little apostle. Already whispering my name? I’m touched."

His voice was velvet and smoke. The presence of Graz’zt bloomed around me like sweet perfume.

"I have a question," I said, steady. "Can I corrupt the Idol of Silvanus?"

A pause. Then a thunderous, guttural laugh erupted in my mind, shaking the stillness of the cave.

"Oh, that is delicious!" he purred. "The audacity. To desecrate a sacred site, an entire grove filled with worshippers? That’s not corruption—that’s a theft of faith. Gods hate that."

He practically purred with delight, basking in the idea like a cat in sunlight. Then he went quiet. For a long, unsettling moment.

"It could be done," he said at last, thoughtful now. "But you would have to blaspheme—not just insult, but invert—the Oak Father’s entire cycle. His precious circle: Birth, Growth, Decay, ****, Rebirth. Each stage turned inward. Twisted. Made obscene."

I nodded, thoughts already spinning. "I’ve heard the rites. I’ve seen the symbolism. But how would I—"

He cut me off with a low chuckle. "You mortals are inventive. I’ll leave the details to you. But I will give you a starting point. A gift."

A shimmer bloomed in the shadows of the cave. There, floating above my hands, was a seed—black and pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat. Its surface shimmered with infernal red veins.

"A Seed of Blasphemy," Graz’zt whispered. "Forged from infernal essence, the needing flesh of a succubus, and raw, unspent lust. It must be fertilized—by way of a kiss. Not just any kiss. A willing one. A true touch of mortal desire."

I stared at it. Still very confused.

"What do I do with it?"

"Plant it. In the soil beneath the idol. Let it feed. Let it whisper."

And then he was gone. No farewells. Just absence, thick and quiet. I was alone again, staring at a tiny impossibility in my hands.

This was NOT in the game.

I sat there with that terrible thing cradled in my hands, feeling more like a pawn than a player. The rules had shifted, bent into something darker and stranger than anything I had seen before. No quest marker. No journal entry. Just me, a blasphemous seed, and the whisper of a demon prince who found my chaos entertaining.

How in the hell was I supposed to Blaspheme against the Oak Fathers circle. Birth, Growth, Decay, **** and Rebirth..?

I sat there for some time my mind twisting and turning to no avail. When I finally returned, Shadowheart looked up briefly. "Everything alright?"

"Define alright," I muttered.

Lae’zel was already agitated. "We’ve wasted enough time. If we don’t move now, we’ll lose the light."

I said nothing. Graz’zt’s gift warmed faintly against my leg, wrapped in cloth and stowed in my pocket. It felt pleasant.

We began walking toward the gate at the edge of the grove, threading between refugee tents and merchant stalls. The air was thick with woodsmoke and the scent of wild herbs. Somewhere, a lute plucked a sad tune.

That’s when I saw her.

She stood behind a warped wooden table draped with a faded green cloth. Her hair was gray and slightly unkempt. Her skin was weathered but soft-looking, and her smile had the innocence of grandmothers, yet something underneath.

She was selling potions—small vials of cloudy blue, green, and amber. A hand-lettered sign read: “Elixirs for Aches and Afflictions.”

"Hello dear Petal.."