Titanfall Revelations

For threads related to the Titanfall event of 2021

Raigryn Vayd

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

revelations.jpg

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.



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

The Silver Flame
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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

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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

Chi'nzen Scout
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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.
 
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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

Gobnyan
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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

Outcast Priest
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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 caution step back, itts 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 and willed himself through the pain it caused. He had hardly made two steps 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. 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 in a firm grip. Pulling the creature down with him, he grappled it against the ground, but was unable to maintain control. The insectoid was quick to strike out at him 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 back 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 in a hand and reached for the stone with his other. It was sizable; a bit bigger than his fist. The creature 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 the 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 and 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

Just An Elusive Empath.
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(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

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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

Chi'nzen Scout
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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

Seaward Itinerant
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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

Duellist
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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.«


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Kiros Rahnel

Outcast Priest
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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.
 
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