Titanfall Revelations

[Raigryn Vayd]

EXCAVATION SITE AT RAVARYN, FINAL RESTING PLACE OF THE ELDYR'S CROOK



I know this place.

Strangers from the east had arrived on the continent by boat and portal stone. No matter where they came from the voice of Seneschal had slowly been growing as magic had been failing.

It was known as Ravaryn. The Eldyr's Crook must lie here.

The voice was becoming more coherent, more reactive. The strangers to the land might even catch sight of a form when it spoke, just beyond their peripheral vision.

It wasn't the only thing. Occasionally one of the native Chi'xilixi was visible climbing through the ruins.

Ahead of you

The ground fell away, excavated to reveal a doorway twelve feet in high. There was a flickering light from the doorway. Inside was a grand antechamber. No dust on the ground beyond recent footprints. It had been sealed away for hundreds of thousand of years. Across that floor were hundreds of symbols. Familiar in shape and form to those that used the portal stones.

Look. There it is. In the murals.

Across the walls a series of murals. Etched into the stone, but each line inlaid with a smooth metallic substance. The colours glimmering in the torchlight.

---

Spoiler: OOC

Amazing art courtesy of Nidraak. More murals to come...

 

[Szesh]

Those who had traveled to Malakath by portal stone had been immediate victims of its hostility. Moments after a chance meeting with a chi’xilixi scout from the northern desert, the party was beset by monstrous winged beasts. The skycre pushed them to Tirnua, a settlement built into ruins older than memory.

While in Tirnua, the holy warrior, the ancient one, the forest protector, and their insectoid guide were met by Rana, an orc of the city guard. Rana accused the newcomers of being associated with a group she called the “cartas,” other visitors from afar who she blames for magic’s recent upheaval. She insisted they return to the portal stone to investigate its mysterious awakening.

Upon reaching the stone the party was ambushed by chi’xilixi warriors. The battle was frantic, bloody, and unexpected, but the travelers, their guide Xihuitl, and Rana survived. Her two companions, however, were slain.

After the battle Xihuitl explained that their attackers had been from the Shaxa hive, which controls much of Malakath’s wilds south of the mountains. He clarified that he was from the Chi’nzen, the desert hive to the north, and that he had been sent as a scout to investigate odd activity. Peace between the hives, it would seem, had been broken.

 

[Ermengarde]

Days spent trudging foliage and beasts of impressive form finally led the small band of explorers and guides to a portal stone with marks much unfamiliar to them and new to this land. The curiosity of the explorers and the ever-present whispering of an otherworldly presence was a call to something far greater.

Travelling north via the portal stone, the eerie beating of the portal stones seemed louder than ever, the loudest when the party appeared and reformed in this dark ruin of a characteristic not quite known to her.
Lighting a torch, she brought it forward so her party could see better, and going forward, the ruin cleared up into a series of marvellous illustrations.
»Look at what we've just stumbled upon... this place... is. Impressive... but why?«

 

[Xihuitl]

The ambush had been fierce. Shaxa and Chi'nzen had been contentious neighbors for eons, and small-scale skirmishes were not unheard of. However, to be attacked without warning, without provocation, and without mercy... that was unusual even for them.

Their attackers had been skilled, and though they were slain they had taken two of the party with them. Xihuitl was quick and nimble, but as a scout he was not built for sustained combat. Only by the grace of his companions did he survive the encounter. His spear had glanced off of exoskeleton and axe, and he had used what remained of his own throwing stars.

Rana demanded to know why they were attacked, rounding on the insect. "Shaxa, enemies of my hive. I came here to see why they have broken truce in north, why they secret away to the wilds."

The portal stone they surrounded had no care for their words, however, and it hummed to life with a blinding glow. With the sound of thunderous heartbeat, the party was torn through the ether.

The lights faded, and Xihuitl looked upon a dark cavern. Strange shapes were formed from stone before him, and as his antennae swished about, he gathered more and more of his bearings.

There were others here, as well, one of whom stood with a torch over a shining panel.

Xihuitl lifted his spear at the ready, he did not wish to find more enemies right away.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

This was not and never would be her style of fighting. She belonged on the back lines, far from direct threats; at the best of times, she might manage something but lacking her particular capabilities, she was little more than the child that one of them continued to assume that she was.

The orcs had spread out as soon as the ambush began, reacting with the reflexes of someone not only accustomed to such fights, but who thrived on them. Rana batted aside a spear with contemptuous ease, and one of her companions darted in to attempt to eviscerate their foe, only to be wounded as he drew close. The insects were quick, and they were strong - things that she could attest to personally.

Kiros was out of the fight, at least for a moment, she noted. She was still clawing at the source of creation, trying to do something, anything at all. But the magic refused to heed her call, coming unwillingly at best and, at worst, slipping through her fingers or fading away even as she drew enough to do something with it. One of the chitinous aggressors darted forward, seeing easy prey, and she only just had time to draw upon the prim - mostly out of reflex - and throw a hand up. For a change, something happened; the threads wove themselves together and the axe the thing wielded bounced off of something that cracked and shattered with a sound of broken glass, gleaming shards of light scattering. With a grunt of effort, she swung her staff at the bastard and scored a direct hit to the side of its head, the insectile eyes gleaming with surprise.

It bounced off of it with little effect; the thing batted it aside after it had connected but if it even had registered pain was lost in the inhuman face. Instead, it attacked again, a series of blows that should have killed the sidhe. She managed to dance back, parrying with her staff in a spray of sparks not once, but thrice. Calling upon her sorcery, she attempted to hit back but, unfortunately, the magic refused to cooperate.

She gave a frustrated cry, turning to run from the thing even as one of the orcs - the one that had been previously wounded - caught the damned thing from the side, cracking its shell with a vicious overhand blow. It turned and delivered a backhand slash that sent blood flying, even as some strange fluid leaked from the wound in its carapace. The nameless ally fell back, and the goddamned bug was back on her again.

Hearing it approach, she spun - just in time to see, and raise her ancient stave to fend off the strike. It struck with as much force as every other blow had, sending sparks flying-

-and snapped. Wood that had endured for a hundred thousand years, laced with layer upon layer of sorcery, some of it dating back to an era she could hardly remember, splintered and then shattered under that blow. The magic underpinning it had...faltered, failed, and what had made it an ancient, unbreakable weapon from a dead world had unraveled.

The axe connecting with her hip did not seem to hurt. Her eyes were as wide as they would go, filled with shock. The reverberation of the unthinkable loss seemed to slam into her very soul, as if a part of what had been in her hands had been her. She could feel hot blood streaming down her left leg, feel the inhuman creature pull its weapon from her flesh and bone, but it all seemed to be...somewhere else. Someone else.

The silver-haired sidhe hit the ground hard, rolling a couple of times before coming to a rest. She still gripped both halves of the broken staff, gripped them hard enough to turn her knuckles white. Without any further preamble, she gave a keening cry of loss and pain, a thing that was as heart-wrenching to hear as it was for her to bear the source of. The creature that had wronged her spun to face another defender, and this time the other orc managed to finish what the first had started, breaking the armor-like outer shell of the thing.

She lifted herself on to hands and knees, acutely aware of the injury she had suffered. There was little she could do about it; right that moment, she only felt the piercing loss of one of the few relics that she had kept with her all those years, a gift from...from someone long, long gone. Pain and rage swirling in her mind, and she tried to get to her feet. And collapsed, immediately; her wounded hip would bear no weight. Screeching in pain and loss, she tried again, pulling a truly titanic amount of magic into her flesh. She felt she was aflame, like the magic within her would burn her to ashes...and she wished to use it to burn them to ashes.

Weaving through pain hazed eyes, seeking to craft something...

...and it fell apart, again. The magic wavered, seemed to steady...and then vanished. More than vanished, it seemed to drain from her, beyond what she had pulled into herself. As if a part of herself was fading away...

The ancient Dragonslayer fell forward, eyes closed, and was still.

---

Awareness was slow to return, but when it did it brought with it no good things. The pain was truly excruciating, but deeper still was the sense of loss, the missing part of her soul. Once, it had been housed inside a prison of wood, and it had dwelt there for more time than any could probably understand. But it was gone, gone. Broken and evaporated, fled this world and forever beyond her reach.

Moving made her want to vomit. She could recall their efforts to heal her, but the efforts were weak at best; physical wounds were nothing special, but she was of an order of creatures far removed from the ordinary. She resisted their magic, and did so with no will of her own involved. So they had done what they could, precious little though it was. After a fashion, she did not care.

Her magic had betrayed her, had failed her in a way that it had never before done - at least, not within memory. Thinking on it, that did not say very much at all.

They were no longer where they had been. The tiny woman stirred from where she had been when the stone drew them through, and stood unsteadily, deathly pale in the darkness with eyes that seemed as lifeless as a corpse. She said nothing, only listened and held the pain she felt close to her chest, hiding it from all.

 

[Nyaro]

The hunters had led the small band to the stone of singing. The stone of whispers and whim as they had called it. They had no use for it, having plodded the land on their paws and charted numerous areas through sheer tenacity.

Nyaro had guided them through rather easily while the hunters had done their part to keep the wandering creatures to a minimum for harassing those trying to use the stone. Coming from the other side, they came to a stuttering halt before the murals as the hunters bowed their heads and woefully mewled.

Nyaro bowed his head, glancing to those around them before attempting to speak.

"Less-on, gah-reed of harrt. Slay even might-ee wans." Nyaro spoke softly as the hunters before them outstretched their paws and hugged one another. It seemed they were forgiving each other, or making peace with something as some hugged, others comforted and yet more seemed moved to weep.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Thrusts of the spear didn’t pierce the carapace of his foes, merely scraping gouges into it. But his superior strength and range afforded him an advantage, even if was a far cry from that of their orcish companions. He swung the spear as if it were a quarterstaff in an overhead strike against another insectoid rushing towards him.

The creature deftly sidestepped the swing and the weapon bounced off the ground with a clatter, catching it’s legs to send it toppling onto the ground. Clouds of dust were kicked up as Kiros thrust the spear downwards in repeated attempts to slay his felled opponent; his efforts were interrupted by a strike from behind that sent him stumbling over his mangled foe.

He spun around to face what was behind him with an immediate stagger of pain inflicted from his injury. The creatures spear had pierced through his leather brigandine; though most of it’s shaft remained protruding outside of it. The short spear’s former owner was before him, struggling to pick up an axe from the fresh corpse of an orcish ally. Taking a cautious step back, it's attention was seemingly split between Kiros and the ongoing battle – perhaps in search of a more suitable weapon to replace the spear still protruding from the priest’s back.

There could be no hesitation; he was already injured and without ready magic to fall back on. He dashed forward to engage it, willing himself through the pain it caused. Hardly two steps were made before a spear tore through his calf – thrown by the crippled insectoid he had left behind. Unable to chase the foe to his front, he made a desperate attempt to strike it with another swing of his spear; giving a push off his remaining good leg to aid him. The creature was quick to drop the axe and deftly dodged aside before leaping onto the spear itself. Kiros pulled the weapon back in attempt to wrest control from it, but he merely pulled both towards him as his foe held on securely.

Clambering up of the ground, he made another leap at his foe off his good leg and managed to grasp one of it’s limbs firmly. Pulling the creature down with him, he grappled it against the ground but was unable to maintain control. The insectoid was quick to retaliate with punches and strikes from it’s numerous arms. Eventually, the creature reached for the spear buried in his back, causing Kiros to let out a howl of pain and reflexively reach for his opponent's grasping arm. Blood poured from his wound once the weapon was pulled free of his flesh, but ultimately neither one of them would gain control of it as it flew off to the side beyond their reach.

Both tumbled to the dirt and landed beside a rock half-buried in the sand. His foe attempted to tear at his wounds with it’s claws, but he grasped at it’s antenna with one hand and reached for the stone with his other. It was sizable; a bit bigger than his fist. The creature finally released it’s grasp when he bashed the rock against it’s eye, shattering it and stunning his foe.

He was quick to strike at it again, holding it down while it flailed and shrieked from repeated strikes against it’s carapace. He swung again and again, crushing it’s limbs at the shoulder and causing growing cracks to form from the repeated impact. He kept no count of how many times he struck the creature, but he made absolutely sure it carried no further signs of life before he allowed himself to cease.

Grievously wounded but victorious, he limped back to his spear but the battle was already over. Rana had survived, but Seska lay on the ground slain along with their other orcish companion. But he too might perish, if he did not tend to his own wounds. With a struggle, he removed his leather armour and retrieved his holy symbol from his pouch. As much as the wounds pained him, it was easy enough to ignore; it was little compared to the agony caused by healing them.

He spoke a prayer before he made a sharp and groaned from the side-effect his self healing carried. It was a recent alteration, apparently intended to discourage him from injury. He mused that Itra would neither guide nor protect; rather, She seemed to provide little else than punishment and admonishment beyond what shoddy magic She granted. But better to suffer agony than death. Light softly began to glow from shrinking wounds beneath his robes, leaving behind stains of blood as he grimaced and clawed at the earth from the torment. Though he expected the process to be painful, this was to a degree far more than it had ever been. He had only mended the wound to his back before nearly passing out, but was unable to take a moment to recover from the unexpectedly heightened agony. Despite further wounds of his own to mend, he had fallen allies to heal and little time to waste.

Neither of the orcs could be saved, as neither carried the signs of life required for his healing. Seska however could be; he tried his hardest to use his magic to heal her. Though his magic would do little to mend the injured Sidhe, and he knew it – which was further provided it even worked under the increasingly chaotic nature of the arcane. As expected, his magic did little despite great effort; and that was when it didn’t misfire and fail entirely. In the end, he traded a meagre effect of healing for most of his remaining arcane energy, along with a migraine from arcane exhaustion. He managed to painfully heal his remaining wounds before the stone came to life; erupting in a bright flash that whisked all away through the ether beyond.

When vision returned to him he saw many more than he had ventured off with, all gathered within whatever structure surrounded them. The same voice that had been speaking in ever greater clarity spoke again, and told him what he sought was here was present before him in this ancient structure. But where? It was adorned with uncountable symbols and decoration; none of which he could guess the meaning of. But before he could wonder, the voice continued to direct him to the murals, specifically.

Inspecting the murals, he remained curious as to why his attention had been called to it. A band of straline marched right up to it, making some sort of display; not that he knew the meaning behind it, nor the words they spoke. He shifted his glance between the group and the murals as he pondered what to do next.

Why was he brought here? The voice had done it’s part and directed him here, but Itra had directed him to the voice; he sill held no clue why. What was he supposed to do? If She deemed it necessary that he be here, there must be something he was do to specifically. If the murals were magical, his spell of insight might gleam answers. Deciding it was worth a try, he pulled his magical symbol out again and held it to his front.

Shutting out attention for his surroundings, he brought his mind into near-meditative focus on the intricately etched designs. After the moment of preparation he uttered the ancient prayer to invoke the magic, keeping his mind in it’s focused state in the event some divination would be received.

Though he honestly doubted his magic would function at all.

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

(TL;D: spear go REEE into shoulder, Xzaar get big angery and yank it out. Elf boi torture bug-thing. Bug-thing die. Elf heal himself slightly. Angery elf boi yeet through portal looking like shit with other shit-looking friends)

Much like Kiros and Seska beside him, Xzaar was at a steep disadvantage against the creatures that ambushed him. The arrows he fired either bounced off their shell or created superficial dents across it. His arrows dwindling, he had reluctantly engaged them in appendage to bow combat. The insectoid that attacked Xihuitl was knocked to the ground by an unexpected, aerial kick by the elf as he leaped. This left Xihuitl to provide support from the back with his throwing stars.

He took the initiative and swung at the bug with a series of slashes and precise thrusts of the blades on his bow, but this creature had been a particularly aggressive foe, grabbing the bow with its free hands and hurling it away while its other set of arms focused on Xzaar and the dagger he pulled from the holster at his thigh. The bow would've shocked the bug after it left the elf's hands, but thanks to magic faltering, the bow was as the rest.. ordinary.

The insects extra pair of arms had made it nigh impossible to land a direct hit without being grabbed and struck. He was backed against a tree, growing exhausted by this relentless bastard. By that point, he had heard the agonizing cry of Seska. In the second he turned his head to find her, he saw her across the battlefield.. and the blood that stained her clothing as the offender approached. He diverted his attention away from his own foe to assist Seska, attempting to slip away from the tree. That's when the creature took the opportunity to drive it's spear into his chest... at least, that's where it was intended, but Xzaar's movement had changed its course, piercing into his left shoulder

The excruciating pain had shot through his arm immediately, causing him to yelp. He wanted to scream, but he'd stifle it in an effort to not draw his Allies attention away from their foes such as Seska's did to him. He could barely move his hand as the pain made it near impossible. Although... it wasn't just the pain. He physically could not fully close his fist. The spear had severely damaged him, and he feared he could never fire an arrow again if he survived this ordeal.

The creature approaching for another blow as he was wounded had given Xzaar a few choices: Attempt using magic to slay it, get slain by his own magic, get slain by the Shaxa, bleed to death or face the consequences of possibly surviving the use of his magic. Well... he found a middle ground. Sorta. He had pondered the usage of empathy magic during these times of faltering magic. As he's found before, magic is uncontrollable. There's a good possibility that it'll be completely unreliable or weakened as seen with the childs arcane shield.

The bug lunged at him with claws aimed at his head, but Xzaar, in what was a grueling task with his injury, kicked his foe into the abdomen and making it stumble. It regained it's balance, and that's when he made up his mind about playing chance with magic. He called upon the stored emotion of fury to aid him, and it declined his call.

The interval between the creatures assault had closed, and it tried to lunge onto him yet again. Grasping the spear with his hand, he painfully leapt aside as he made continued attempts at empathy magic. What happened next was due to magic's faltering, causing him to inadvertently trample a bit over rule seven and eight of Empathy. Drawing too deep and too much.

The initial rage hit him like a caravan in the spine that was fleeing thieves. A wave of debilitating pain had pulsed through his head as his heart rate skyrocketed. Feeling the adrenaline pump throughout him as his foe charged him with throwing stars in hand, Xzaar grasped tightly at the spear the protrude from his shoulder, bracing himself and, in an incredibly dangerous move, yanking it free. He used the momentum from it to slash it across the eye of his attacker, making it roll back onto the ground and screech in pain

Xzaar was in pain of his own, but the fury had dulled it... until he came off from that high and the rage suddenly left his body. The pain struck him at once, causing him to double over and clutch his shoulder as he released the spear. The thing about being an empath is that this form of magic requires you to be in control of your emotions.. especially the ones you've stored. Xzaar couldn't effectively shut the fury off at the moment, and it took control over him again with more drastic, physical changes.

Veins on his body began to bulge as his face became noticeably red. Vision tinted red as his eyes fixated on the squirming foe on the ground, experiencing a rage induced tunnel vision of sorts while he tuned out the fights around him. Placing a foot on the abdomen of the bug that started to come to it's sensed, he grabbed both of its loose arms and... well, the fury made him want to seek revenge, so he yanked the extra arms from it's body, twisting and pulling to sever the carapace.

Satisfied with the punishment he inflicted, he grabbed the spear and, well, finito to that bastard.

Fuck...

He couldn't stop trembling. He felt like he was going to die right there.
​

Drained of any strength to stand, he practically collapsed backwards and hitting the ground. He wanted to sleep... although he's positive he won't wake up if he did that. He positioned himself near a tree, leaning against it and forcing his eyes to stay up. The boost from the fury had faded, but the effects were still there as his skin was still red and prominent veins flow through his limbs.

He reached into the satchel at his hip, grabbing a few supplies he had packed with him. They were nothing special, just a small assortment of plants. The strange combination had contained plants believed to be antiseptic, anti-inflammatory and others to speed up collagen production and help sooth the wound. Normally, he'd use his control of nature to accelerate this process, but as he practically slammed the concoction into the wound in an unhealthy, impetuous manner, he quickly found out that his magic is taking it's sweet time. The pain was still very present, but now he can at least stand. Seems as though Kiros, Seska and Rana survived this ordeal as well.

° ° °

Traveling by portal stone is quickly becoming a thing that he dreads. Not only because of the ominous voices, but because he's been transported to another foreign area where an unidentified voices beckons their attention. He had saw Xihuitl ready himself at the sight of newcomers, and Xzaar instinctively wanted to do the same. His mind was there, but his body wasn't, so trying to move his hand only pained him further. The entire arm still felt weakened. The bleeding, however, had started to cease. Kiros looked like shit. Seska looked like shit.

He didn't fully examine the murals for he was too mentally drained, but he did see what appeared to be people depicted in them. They were kinda beautiful. He thinks. He honestly couldn't give less than a drawf about the quality of these illustrations in his current condition. He just wants to pack this the hell up and sleep. It's sad.. everybody here looks like an exhausted pile o' dung. Especially myself...

 

[Ermengarde]

Ermengarde gazed on each her side to check how much of the crew was still with her.
Dare she'd say, she feared that the magic of theirs was not the only thing misfiring these times, and what if the portal stones with their eerie beats were tampered with too?
Corso Drake Zara Abrielle Huxley Nezu Arnor Skuldsson Melaniphi Syllis Vulpesen Belrune Brighthand

She walked over closer to Nyaro, but held her torch close to the marks on the wall.
»Greed of the heart? Well, « she shifted her eyes towards the murals, noticing that some of the carvings actually looked like literal hearts.
»What do you guys think this means? « The next time Ermengarde turned, more faces appeared, those quite unknown to her, but they didn't appear as foes in this place.

 

[Xihuitl]

The more he looked the more alien this place seemed to be. They were indoors, or perhaps underground? The architecture was reminiscent of the other ruins on the continent. Xihuitl's antennae swiveled this way and that, and his mandibles quivered uneasily.

Chi'Xilixi were everywhere. Unseen, unheard, but definitely here. He imagined his violent counterparts, the Shaxa, crawling through the walls just beyond sight. What had brought them here in such numbers? Why did they hold to the deeper layers? Would they notice the sudden intrusion.

He bristled at the sight of the straline. A natural, inborn detest of the creatures filled him. Maybe it was the stories of how they boiled and ate chi'xilixi alive, or maybe it was just their tiny sharp teeth and claws, or maybe it was their smell. Yet upon closer inspection they appeared just as confused and disoriented as he was.

Slowly, with the backup of Rana and his injured companions, Xihuitl stepped gingerly forwards. The images held little meaning to him, but he was just a lowly scout. Perhaps the hive's older and more important members would have more to say on it.

He committed the images to memory, intent on bringing back a perfect description... if they survived.

 

[Nezu]

Nezu... A whispering echo at the edge of his perception. A lingering warmth like the faded embers of a hearth. His own name, spoken with the compassion of kin. Nezu...

And then he was through, through the stone and back into reality. Malakath continued; inexorable, unknowable. His heart dropped as his sight returned, taking in the ruin site. A great weight like solid iron rested suffocating on his shoulders. He sighed through his nose, brow tense, arms hanging.

The others of the Southern Star looked in various states of disorientation following their transport through the portal stone. The hunting stralines embraced each other around his legs like a ship's crew after a dangerous voyage, a stark contrast to the brave vigour with which they had defended their human wards from the vicious beasts of the new world. Nezu wondered if those were tears on a few furry cheeks. His thoughts lingered on a black cat that had joined them on the Star. He hoped she hadn't found trouble in her wanderings.

The metallic inscriptions of the ruins shimmered artistically in the captain's torchlight. Quite pretty, all things considered. Nezu remembered the esoteric sigils that covered the portal stones of home, recognised them here on the floor around them. Rune's insight would have been invaluable - even her nickname was strangely prescient here.

He looked down at his shoes, standing close to the light of the captain. "Is this... all of them?" he wondered aloud. "All the portal stone runes in existence? Could this be a record, like a catalogue?"

Almost like a ship manifest, recording the contents of a journey. Most captains would keep theirs sealed away in oiled leather, to be dredged up from the deep should the worst come to pass. Was that the purpose of this building, a record of journeys failed?

"What if we could use this to decode the stones we have at home?" he theorised. "We could even build our own..."

A task he would be able to offer no assistance with, he reminded himself with a grimace.

There were others here with them, he noticed suddenly. Those who he did not recognise from the journey across the ocean. Some of them looked normal enough but... But one of them was just an insect, standing on hind legs. The young priest positioned himself with the captain between himself and the strangers, eyes glimmering anxiously in the torchlight.

 

[Ermengarde]

Ermengarde set her eyes upon more people as they wandered closer. Like moths to a light! Ermengarde felt there was no reason to fear as more focus was set atop the curiosity of the murals.
»Hold your horses, Nezu. « Ermengarde let out a restrained chuckle. She personally wasn't convinced just yet that this had anything to do with portal stones, but as she moved further along the murals, the third's rune became familiar, and in fact.

"We could even build our own..."

She did feel a shudder of coldness run down her spine.
»These are the portal stone runes. This are the portal stones.«

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

With his prayer spoken and mind focused, he remained in wait for whatever answers might come.

But no effect would follow.

The spell had revealed absolutely nothing. The magic had been invoked, the cost had been paid; but any result was irritatingly absent. His magic seemed to hold no reliability, and the powers She had imbued him evidently provided no assistance. Why then, did She even require him here? There he remained, wondering what was even expected of him under the current difficulties.

Turning around, he saw newcomers; chagrined at the sight of another donning white vestments. Haggard as the journey had made him, this one clearly looked to be a priest. More so than Kiros did currently, with an orcish war spear in his hand and robes soaked with blood. By all appearances the other priest had a much easier time in arrival. If there was another carrying the will of the gods, then his presence was not only fruitless, but redundant. Kiros mired himself in fretful irritation until he got a better look at Nezu himself.

Oh; it’s just a Celestialist. He mused in silent thought, his former concerns now abated. Celestialist deities weren’t regarded as real by his belief; merely fables that the Easterners stubbornly held onto. That the Annunaki did exist however, seemed clear – Their presence was evident enough; he even knew firsthand, regrettably so.

Perhaps he had been hasty in concluding he held no purpose. It was a worthy disaster She set him out upon, after all. Further She was still a goddess of magic, even if he did consider Her among the worst of the divine; of neither renown nor reverence. Despite the headache further use of magic may inflict, it seemed worthwhile to give his incantation of insight another attempt. Perhaps it simply misfired, like others before it.. Now committed to casting, he renewed his state of meditative focus and spoke the same prayer; a response followed shortly after.

“These are the portal stone runes.”​

That didn’t sound quite right. The description was sensible, but the tone and presentation entirely incorrect for his spell. A turn of his now aching head would reveal the wisdom’s true source, a woman of blonde hair and scarred face who had unknowingly approached during his spell casting. Attention next turned to the mural before him, with his expression of frustration fading to one of discovery.

It was clear enough their destination was true, and if the answers weren't held in hand they'd no doubt be close. Preferably before further unexpected difficulties could anguish him again.

How he hated holy quests.

 

[Xihuitl]

These travellers looked very similar to the newcomers Xihuitl had been traveling with. It seemed that more aliens had been brought to this place by strange powers. They were not hostile, at least, not openly. While he kept his distance from the straline, he continued forwards.

“Che,” he said with a gutteral click. He tapped the stone at his throat a few times before saying “Hello.” The translation was still inconsistent.

His antennae never stopped moving. The longer they lingered in the cavern the more the other insectoids scurried around them. Now he was seeing a few glints of carapace from the shadows, could hear chitinous feet in the walls beyond them. Their presence had been noted, and from the subtle pheromones that passed through the air he knew they were not welcome.

Then a heaviness hit his mind. Invisible, formless, but drowning. He felt submerged, his body sluggish and his thoughts clouding. The psychic presence pressed in on him, scoured him, and sent a singular probing finger into his thoughts. Then it was gone.

All present would feel a similar pulse through their minds.

Xihuitl stood rigid, looking around to see if the others had experienced it as well. He clicked his mandibles together nervously. He knew that feeling, all Chi’Xilixi did.

“Queen,” he warned, and a wall collapsed with a thunderous BOOM at the end of the chamber.

 

[Andekhah]

The work was almost done. A team of black insectoid workers chipped away at the crystal containing the Treasure, the great Staff, the mighty Crook. So close to it now, so close to completion.

The workers did not fully understand, did not know their own history, but She did. Her mind had tumbled from one body to the next but her memories remained clear and vivid, recalling the ancient cataclysms with more clarity than murals could ever depict.

They had been wronged, used by the Old Ones. Chi’Xilixi built their cities, dug their mines, and died for their efforts. The ultimate Failure removed the Old Ones, but so too had it destroyed their wonders.

So she had thought. So had they all thought, until He came. Small, foreign, and weak, but clever enough to make the right alliances. With his help they had found the Crook. With the Crook the wonders would be reborn, but with new masters.

Those who had built them deserved to control them. This had always been true. This had always been right.

Turbulence hit the aether, and She turned her mind towards them. Foreigners, like Him. She probed just a hair deeper, but enough that they would feel her presence upon them. They were here to interfere. That could not be allowed.

The dust took time to settle as She strode through the crumbling wall, and from beyond the dust Her great and terrible shadow emerged. Black as the deepest stone, jagged and tearing, She dominated the cavern.

A single word swept through the minds of all present as a tide of black chi’xilixi poured from the adjacent chamber.

Perish.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

His head ached, and he had little arcane energy to spend. Whether he wished it or not, he was done with spellcasting for the time being. He put his leather brigandine back on while pacing in bitter ire, but his motions came to a sudden halt at the scraping noise coming from beyond the walls. He only had a moment to remain stilled in fear before he felt a presence in his mind; a sensation far more ominous than the noise. His fear remained, but his confusion would be at least quelled by Xihuitl’s lone word. Queen. A disconcerting description for an insectoid to give.

The mental probing encountered significant and unusual resistance. His mind had been locked and protected by divine enchantment, though the withering of magic had left it rather diminished and weak. His motives were different than the others; despite his desire to aid in the restoration of arcane order. He was chiefly here under divine duress; damned if he did, and very literally damned if he didn’t.

A short moment after the intrusion, what magic remained in the enchantment erupted with effect. From within the dilapidated protective spell, something unknown peered back upon Andekhah. A glowing eye of faint rusted orange could be seen leering angrily into her mind – before both the vision and enchantment came to a sudden and abrupt halt. The enchantment had clearly been woven by one with powers beyond that of a mortal human priest. While the aura upon it would be readable, Itra’s identity would doubtlessly be unknown. She had taken great care to conceal Herself and none but Her own priest ought know of her; even he hardly knew who She truly was.

Spear held securely in grip, Kiros began to step backwards with horror upon seeing the walls burst open. The horde of insectoids rushed forth from the dust and darkness, soon followed by one that dwarfed the rest. The telepathic threat entered his mind; perhaps She had sent him here to perish. The possibility was far from lost on him; it had been a matter of nightmares, though never in his most hellish of night terrors would he imagine a sight so wretched as the towering, winged abomination before him. His weapon held tighter, Kiros turned his mind to silent, desperate prayer.

“I beseech you for guidance, a sign! I know not what I must do!”

The horde continued to approach, and no answer came. It would be a disappointment, had the outcome been surprising; he was far too jaded to count on Her assistance. His plea had been ignored, and whether it was through malice, or inattention, mattered little. He was exhausted, both magically and physically. He had neither god nor magic to aid him – only a spear, and leather armour he still hadn’t quite finished putting on.

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

If he wasn't at a point of damn near collapsing, he probably would've taken the time to examine the ancient place they find themselves in. Attempting to use empathy magic had enervated his mind a body. Blood shot eyes, prominent veins, elevated heartbeat and an irritable attitude are some of the symptoms he's experiencing after the use of fury. Then, there's his injuries that demanded he pause and stop walking. The journey became more unnecessary the longer he traveled, so he had to look at his bow to remind himself of why he came. That bow, crafted in the wood of falwood, is why he made this journey.

In fact, that would be most of the information this damned creature would intrude his mind to obtain. That, and the fact he murders Dreadlords. The strange pulse that was sent through his mind had disoriented him, infuriating his throbbing headache and causing him to lean his back against the wall to regain balance. He looked at his allies, and they seemed to have experienced that presence as well.

The wall collapsing caused him to ready his bow, but that's all he was able to do. It was instinct to reach for an arrow after then, but trying to do so only brought his shoulder pain, and closing his fist was challenging as well. The legion of insectoids pouring from the hole was quite possibly more frightening and adverse than attempting the assassination of Elise Virak. The terror didn't stop there, for a hulking, grotesque insect had crawled out as well. He stood there with his allies, petrified as there was nothing he could fucking do. They barley survived their first encounter with them, and there were only five! He wants to flee, grabs his companions and-

Read the room you idiot.

Oh, right. What do we have...

He looked to the holster on his thigh.

Three combustible bamboo sticks.

He looked up the that disgusting creature, seeing that it's eyes were tiny or nonexistent.

Small eyes. It's either blind or has extreme limited vision, therefore it could be accustomed to this underground setting... what if I...​

The holster on Xzaar's thigh contains three bamboo sticks with a very expensive and time consuming alchemical creation inside it. One that will combust with sparks and smoke. He normally uses it as a distraction or get away, but today it's a weapon.

He drew the ten inch stick from the holster, forcing his other injured arm up and transferring the bamboo to that one. He grabbed the knife as he stood over to the cave wall, injured arm trembling as he held it towards the its surface. He struck the steel blade against the surface a few times. The third strike had produced sparks, and those sparks had ignited the fuse that is also coated in that substance.

Putting back his knife and transferring the bamboo to his good hand, he hurled it over towards the horde. Shortly after, the bamboo started to sizzle and pop, erupting in sizeable plume of smoke, heat and light. These insectoids possibly aren't used to things such as fire, bright lights or smoke, therefore the sight and feel of it may deter them from advancing... or it could incense them. It's worth a shot! "YOU! Torch lady!" He called out to Ermengarde as he approached her, hoping that the little flare bought them some time.

"That torch, use it. Look at that things face. Fire may be unnatural to it. Pardon me; I would ask but there's no time." He said as he pulled his hood from his head. The hood was fashioned threads and leaves from the falwood. Then, he helped himself to a bit of the torches flame, slipping a portion of the hood into it so it'd ignite

"Pardon me." He gave another apology, this time to Kiros as he ran over to him. As the priest grasped his spear, Xzaar took the liberty of tying the burning hood to the end of it as best he could before it was engulfed by the flames. He informed Kiros of to why he did that based on his observation about the Queen and the horde. Two people with weapons and someone with flare bamboo sticks hopefully might do something.

If this shit doesn't work, well, they could always run. Maybe.

 

[Seneschal]

Vergeßo-Avellini did not care for the insects. They had been quite efficient in their excavation, but if she died holding off the intruders then it would be one less problem for him.

He wanted the crook for his own. He wanted to return to Alliria with the most powerful artefact in the known world. The queen was far more intelligent than her underlings and he sensed her motivations were quite different from his own.

He cast his eyes up at the final mural. The final warning.



You will not be permitted to make the same mistakes as them.

Avellini turned towards the shape but it remained is his peripheral vision. The form Seneschal took seemed more defined than before. Its voice had grown louder the closer they came to retrieving the Crook.

"Then stop me."

I won't. The Herald will.

"Then let him."

The Herald serves one purpose. To ensure this cannot happen again. To maintain balance. Balance in this case could involve ending all of humankind for your mistakes.

"You are bluffing. Begone spirit."

It left. Avellini strode forward, moving between the insects. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at their work and saw a length of the Crook exposed. He reached out and touched it.

And a pulse of energy reverberated through every Portal Stone on Arethil​

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He hoped for a sign, yet hardly expected one. But as he stared down his advancing foes he heard Her speak; beyond a simple sign, he had received divine communication. Under unusual conditions, but there was no point in questioning either the situation, or Her.

“She has looked upon Me! She has seen Me!”

End her intrusive existence! Kill her!”

Itra was hardly averse to displays of anger, but never before had Kiros ever witnessed Her in such a state of rage. At least Her fury was directed upon someone else besides him, despite the petty reasoning behind it. The last thing he needed was Her making the situation more difficult; the sudden presence of Andekhah was enough for that. Some guidance on actually completing the task would have been preferable to making the obvious a mandated order. Still, more than he ought to have expected from Her by now.

Xzaar had thrown a flare; it was certainly of far greater assistance than his own deity had been. As Kiros prepared for the onslaught to come, his headache notably waned. Minor a blessing as it was, anything was both welcome and in excess of his own expectations. The elf called for his attention next with a flaming hood held in hand. An unorthodox preparation, but worth attempt, considering the lack of other readily apparent options. Fire may well be their weakness, and they’d be fortunate if so.

The strained motion Xzaar made as he tied the hood to his spear was a reminder that he remained injured. He hadn’t the energy to treat it before; he still wasn’t sure if he did, but the absence of his headache encouraged him to give it a try. While the elf was busy decorating his weapon, Kiros reached into his pouch and withdrew Itra’s holy symbol. With a spoken prayer he invoked his blessing; the glowing light from Xzaar’s wounds was a sight of relief and hope. However, the spell’s effect cut out far shorter than usual, leaving the elf with only a minor amount of healing, and a chastising from his own deity.

“What rubbish have you donned and brought in hand?

Doff that crass leather covering forthwith!

Then cease your hesitation and kill her!”

Under most conditions, he’d simply ignore Her advice; it was seldom sensible, but this was one such rare moment. He removed the armour in a rush, helped by the fact that he had scarcely managed to put it on in the first place. It dropped to the floor behind him, leaving him with only cloth and an unreliable deity for protection.

He looked at the Queen and her horde of insectoids, rushing towards them in numbers far greater than their already arduous prior encounter. No time remained to worry or search for solution; the situation called for either reaction, or death. Kiros thrust the spear forward in a bid to keep it from closing distance, and upon making impact with it’s chitinous hide the point erupted with luminance. The strike held far greater power than he expected, the burning hood bouncing of it's body while the spear ruptured cracked segments of his now lifeless foe's carapace. There was no time to marvel at the miracle, and many more remained rushing towards him. But Itra had yet more words to speak:

“Magic cries out! The crook is nearly lost!”

She too spoke of the crook, much like the other guiding voice had. He still had no clue what it was, finding himself irritatingly ignorant of this unknown relic of great importance. In the heat of battle he expressed his confusion out loud. It was directed to Her, but by all appearances the priest was shouting at no one.

“What crook? Where!?”

 

[Andekhah]

And they came. Chittering, scuttling masses of black chitinous monsters. They stood equal to Xihuitl in stature, being smaller than most of the soft-skinned visitors to the caves, but they made up for it in numbers. Where one body broke another swept into its place.

The fire did, indeed, prove useful. While the insects were not blinded by its light they did resent its heat. Despite their battlelust, heightened by their queen's bidding, animal instinct remained. The only question was: how many bodies need fall upon the fires before they went out?

Andekhah herself did not move, and remained in the archway of her own making. Her tiny, lidless eyes were indeed unaccustomed to the light, but she had not truly used them in quite some time. She saw through the eyes of others, each of her soldiers an extension of her senses.

The invisible tendrils of her mind slipped beyond her brood. These interlopers were not as expected, for each one of them held something powerful. The aether's flux had restricted them, but she could sense the roiling currents of magic, determination, and devotion within them.

Suddenly she was thrust out, and a surprised screech escaped through jagged teeth as her mind burned with the image of an eye. She no longer explored the visitors, no longer felt their thoughts as Itra fought back. The mental image lingered, as one god stared at another.

The momentary lapse would see the Shaxa hordes loose coordination for a few moments, their attacks would be individualized and sloppy. Andekhah herself could not see her surroundings during the twenty seconds that Itra held her full attention. Once the goddess was repelled, however, the Queen would resume control of her hordes.

 

[Xihuitl]

Xihuitl did the best he could, but he was not a warrior. Xzaar's fire and Kiros' sudden burst of divine power had gained them a small berth, but still the enemies came. Each individual fell easily enough, even the stone of Xihuitl's spear enough to crack their exoskeletons when properly placed, but there were so many...

The queen's presence left his mind, mercifully, and he felt the gentle touch of his own queen rejoin him. He was far from home, and her influence was but a whisper, but it was reassuring. Could she see through his eyes from so far away? Could she pierce the veil of Andekhah, who stood looming before them?

It was against his nature to even consider how to kill a queen, an act so abhorrent to him that even now he balked at the thought. Yet... the formless one's warning had been dire, and although his mother's touch was slight he thought he detected fear within it. He thought he felt... permission.

Xzaar had carried a bow, he recalled. The horde would be difficult to pass, but the queen was large and slow. He ran to the elf and spoke several times in unintelligible insect language before his translation stone kicked into action. "The abdomen!" He pointed at Andekhah with his spear, "The womb!"

Indeed, the massive abdomen of the queen was a softer, reddish color compared to the inky black of her jagged plates. Though she was still, it almost seemed to pulse, showing that it was softer, at least beneath, that the rest of her.

Rocks feel and bounced harmlessly off the queen's shoulders from the arch above her, and Xihuitl felt the grip of her psychic power begin to return.

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

The flare that was thrown worked to an extent, forcing the creatures to curve around it. He observed their movements afterwards, noting that theh didn't stagger or give any other signs of impaired vision. They simple chose to avoid it. "Bastards aren't fond of the heat... if only my runes worked." He spoke, words expressed with anger as he scowled at the impeding bugs. The flare had already neared the end of it's life, but the insectoids that were bold enough to run over it had extinguished it completely. He took at the priest's side, pulling his dagger in preparation to defend himself, although movement of his other arm pained him.

Then, he noticed the faint glow that radiated from his injured shoulder. What... Oh! He had no idea how he was able to do it, but it appears that Kiros had healed his wound. He tried to lift his shoulder, quickly finding out that the injury was still present, but now it's bearable enough to move.

Ah, the child. He set self preservation aside to keep her alive instead. The measures he went to for this were comical, throwing/catching Seska or carrying her to escape and counterattack the relentless horde. Eventually, he set the kid down on a nice boulder and ran back off into the fray. (Felt the urge to involve Seska in filler lmao)

Took him a good three seconds to notice... but their attacks were lazy and uncoordinated. They still had the intent to kill, but they weren't doing a good job at it. He was able to land a lethal blow onto one them before Xihuitl came up to him. "I don't--" he side stepped an attack before returning one of his own, continuing, "know what you're saying!" Xihuitl's clicks and noises wasn't a language that he assumes he could even learn! It sounds far beyond the capabilities of an elven mouth. Finally, his translator kicked in.

​

"The abdomen!" He pointed at Andekhah with his spear, "The womb!"

He instantly knew what he was saying.

Two arrows left... dont fuck this up...

He drew his bow with his right hand and transferred it to the left. The minor healing provided by Kiros couldn't have came at a better time.

Come on Xzaar... Focus. Ignore the pain and sounds...

The clicks and scuttling noises were deafening, proving a challenge to drown out as he strained to steady his bow, arm trembling from weakness.

He notched an arrow and pulled back, forcing his arm to cooperate as he clenched his fist around the bow.

Screw it up and falwood may lose another protector.

Motivating himself, he stepped to the side to find a shot, soon releasing the bow as the bugs neared the conclusion of their lazy advances. The arrow flew towards it's target, missing several creatures to pierce into the Queens weak spot.​

 

[Itra]

What crook!? Had he not been paying attention? She was well aware that he heard the guiding voice much as She did Herself, so what on Arethil did he think She sent him out on this quest for in the first place? It was the crook; Eolydiir’s crook – and ensuring its safety was the exact purpose She deployed him for. All the better that Seneschal gave guidance that lead him here, so She didn’t have to.

Not that She should need to in the first place, but it was of particular importance to remain silent here. Whomever would undertake such a disastrous act would be expecting interference. She had made sure to yield neither blessing nor guidance, so as to leave no trace of Her presence in these lands. That She had taken a personal interest in impeding their ambitious calamity was a detail best kept hidden, lest those who had committed this act prepare against it.

Not that She had much idea of what preparation that might be; but again, She didn’t have to.

“The crook that is your objective, you oaf!

Did you not hear Her? One dares seek the crook!”

As a deity attuned to magic, She could feel the ominous rippling through the Heka – and the sensation was both disturbing and frightening. It had not been caused by she who had spied upon Her; the touch was too maladroit for the being She had stared down. No, the tone of the disturbance must have been caused by some lesser entity. Was she handing this potential and great power to a mere mortal? Or was she simply so inattentive that her own minion managed to rob her desired prize from beneath her ugly nose? To think – that some insidious mortal would dare uproot the well of existence and threaten Hers! Infuriating, and all the more galling due to Her inability to do much anything about it; at least not presently.

Much as She wished to imagine this mortal’s eventual torment, the current conflict required full and immediate attention.

After all, this one had broken past Her own protections, and had seen Her. As unforeseen as the piercing of Her own woven protection was, She had still prepared for such a potential event. Andekhah’s transgressing psionic scanning had triggered the alarm, granting Her with both immediate awareness of the situation and presence in it; even if said presence was neither complete, nor even physical. The enchantment itself was written with the express purpose of keeping Herself hidden; protections she dared pull back to glimpse upon Her! Yet with the failure of that measure, She held another; one She had ordered Her priest to undertake.

If she wished to know of Her, She and Her priest would provide violent enlightenment.

May she choke to death on her careless curiosity

Awareness of the battle, however, was fleeting and muddled. The ongoing and increasing unpredictability of magic was a chaotic fog that impeded Her scrying of the scene. Much was occurring, but little was clear aside from the arcane actions of Her priest, the presence of Andekhah, and the elf he made attempt to heal while still clad in that boorish leather armour. She could sense him drawing upon Her power to invoke a blessing of might, again on the very same elf as before. He had an arrow nocked, aimed at Her hated enemy; She would see to it that Xzaar held the benediction of the divine invoked with his blessed action.

May his injuries encumber him no longer

May his muscles work with flawless dexterity

And may My grace bless this arrow to end her!

 

[Andekhah]

As the divine light of Itra's eye faded from her mind, Andekhah returned her attention to her legions. They still retained their individual minds, she but guided and coordinated. They moved a bit more fluidly, seemed to know where each other were a bit more than they should have, and their attacks came with more precision.

Until the arrow hit. A shriek both physical and mental rang out across the cavern, dropping yet more jagged stones upon the queen, shattering as they yielded to her armor. The simple wooden thing had struck true and buried itself in her abdomen, yet such a small barb should not have pained her so. It was thanks to Itra's blessing, and perhaps whatever magic Xzaar commanded that still listened, that bolstered the attack. Jagged, golden lines of light splintered from the site of impact, flaring for a fraction of a second before vanishing. A small, burning plume of energy had flared from the arrow's head. It hurt tremendously... but it would not be enough to slay her.

Now the Queen took hold of her subjects' minds. No longer individuals, she assumed direct and terrible control of the horde. Their eyes were hers, their limbs her instruments, their lives... expendable. What was once an army had turned into a tide of berserk spears and axes. A willing sacrifice of bodies to drown the intruders.

 

[Seneschal]

Seneschal looked upon the final mural and knew that she had failed.

No one knew this story. It was a story of betrayal and a great tragedy. It was a story of the greatest success and ultimate downfall of a civilisation that had been long gone when elves first learned the secrets of magic.

It was a warning.

No one knew this story and that was her fault.

In their last moments they had tried to stop history from repeating itself. Two voices. Two sides of a coin. One to enforce and one - her own - to teach.

Her power had waned. Only when the Crook had been uncovered had she returned.

She realised no one left on this world would ever hear this story. They would be left with just the murals.

She gifted the last of her strength to the brave adventurers who didn't even know what they were trying to prevent.

She sighed.

A breeze on the magical ether started to sweep the last of Seneschal away. It wouldn't be long before there was nothing of her left.

---

A wave of light swept through the caves. It burned a swathe through the insect horde clearing a path towards the central chamber. The Queen still stood, but in the blink of an eye a final sacrifice had left her force depleted.

---