RP:Reluctantly Involved
Part of the Unforeseen Consequences Arc
Blood Fountain
This historic fountain has been magically restored, though with differences. The outer wall stands three feet high in a perfect circle, and a central pedestal rises a foot above that. On this have been raised two figures carved of pure white stone, a noble Lord and Lady of proud bearing, both obviously vampires. They are dressed in elegant robes, the embroidery depicted by fine, spidery engravings on the stone itself. Around the outside of the pool are carved, in slightly less detail than the statues above, depictions of all the races that may be sired, each in a vampiric form. The pool is already filled with bland but nutritious blood, the pipes creating a hypnotic spiraling motion as it flows in a clockwise direction. To the south a dimming path leads to high and ornate iron gates, beyond which may be glimpsed the tops of tombstones glinting below the bright moon as well as several larger buildings, and to the north seems to lie another hub of activity for the citizens and visitors of Vailkrin, to judge by the stream of nobles,commoners, traders and ruffians alike that are constantly treading to and fro.
The following information is presented under the convention of it being told by Ranok's companion, Draeta.
Booted feet touch the cobblestone of the old roads of Vailkrin. Reluctantly, if boots were able to be personified. As they lacked the ability to be so, it was the owner that had to made due. That specific man was not happy. Ranok was not happy. This wasn't his fight. This wasn't his city. This was Not His Problem. And yet here he was. Really, he supposed it was due to Kasyrbeing the ruler. Not due to incompetence, but due to strength. When the ruler of the realm was able to go toe to toe with potent foes, the threats tended to balance themselves out. It didn't for an interesting time when the king could just step down and rock the world of whatever upstart threatened everything. But that line of thinking wasn't really for the here and now. He'd come here for a reason. That reason, the particular tipping point, was a report detailing the arrival of a particular undead. One that, apparently, was neigh omnipotent. After all, what else would you call something that drops out of the sky and instantly kills five men and avoids harm or capture at the hands of an expert marksman and Kasyr?
The Blood Fountain was the particular landmark of interest in this case. Being the site of not only the Ueoud first strike, and being melted to the ground, it seems that it attracted a second high powered creature. Whatever Elarick was, it had attracted him to this spot. Likely because the tear seemed to be located above the site. Gray eyes look upwards. Overhead, the tear sat. It was a void, to be sure. A palpable Absence. It did not pulse, it did not whirl, it did not scream. It was there. And that was terrible enough. Dark, uncaring promises were of a different sort of terror then pulsing and beating malevolence. A statement of intent left little to the imagination. The inscrutable weren't exactly quantifiable. Right now, that was what was in the sky: the unknown made manifest. The smith strode uncaring under equally uncaring sky. There were bigger fish to fry then existential issues.
Ranok kneels next to the ruined fountain. First blasted by black fire, now cratered...it was unlikely the damn thing would ever get repaired. It'd been a month or two since blood flowed through those pipes. And given Kasyr's flagrant disregard for paperwork and administration, the smart money was likely betting on an administration change before the fountain was repaired. The man was not alone in the darklands today. With him was a figure clad in a thick woolen hood. The figure was as tall as Ranok, but the proportions were wrong. Too thin in the chest and limbs, too smooth in its motions. Frankly said, it was nearly every bit as unnatural as the things in the sky. The mantle was mostly to prevent stares. A thing of metal and living darkness, when the latter seemed to be dropping from the sky, was attention of a sort that neither Ranok nor the intelligence wanted. The figure went by the name of Draeta, the application of voodoo, otherworldly powers summoned, time, magic twisting in unpredictable shapes, and the intelligence that inhabited its body. To be precise, that body was the metal of the armor Ranok wore. Some men wanted singing swords. Others went for magical artifacts to hold in the hand that spoke or thought. Ranok opted to make what kept him alive directly intelligent, instead. A man's offensive capability was only as good as long as he was alive, after all.
There was no one around currently. With the tear directly overhead and the fountain in ruins, there was little need to be in this plac ein particular. The plops of things dropping from it every so often can be heard. They were ignored. Ranok was focused. Draeta was always focused, as well. The two converse in the smith's native tongue, unable to be understood to anyone that may be listening. However, for the purposes of utility, the words will be revealed.
"How bad is it?" The words, gruffly spoken. Ranok already knew the answer. Mere formalities. Like so many things. The armor doesn't move like a normal person would. No glance at the man speaking. Nor one upwards. It was stock still, for the moment. <My sensory abilities are not so powerful here, boss. You know that as well as I do. Give me a few more minutes.> The intelligence didn't speak in the sense that the words were to be heard by all. Air waves were vibrated at choice locations, at the left and right of Ranok's ears. It produced a fair approximation of a whisper, though someone close could hear it. The words were devoid of feeling, inflection, or emphasis. Sterile, in other words. Ranok grumbles at the news. Yes, he'd been waiting here. He disliked the dark lands. Such a pain in the ass. Being the only living thing for a mile around always unsettled him, too. Even he had his tolerances, truly. He spends the time spent while Draeta does its thing walking around. Pacing, more like. The issues in vailkrin were hardly his concern until now. That meant he was behind the curve on just what had gone down. An easy matter to fix really. He simply went and asked a fellow to gather all of it up and fill out a report. Command and money were wonderful things.
What was there wasn't exactly pleasing to read. It had all started with that civil war in Vailkrin, with the vampire coven deciding it could rule better then anyone else after Ginger's death. From there it spiraled into all out war, culinating in a large battle. In the process, an ancient dragon animated by necromancy was fused with a vampire who carried the special gift to implant into undead to empower them. The end result was a supercharged creation of dark magic and fire that wrecked a large part of the castle, then Vailkrin proper. The efforts of Kasyr, Vaidhe, and Kirien put the thing down, but not before the undead engine of utter destruction burned hot with the strength of hatred itself. These dark lines of fire defied conventional logic and magic and burned holes into the fabric of Vailkrin's sky, that construct that kept it sealed from the rest of the land and in perpetual night. Where the problem lay was What Laid Behind. There were forces, things, beings that laid in planes parallel to this one. And right now, one had found the hole.
As Ranok read, Draeta, the name of the intelligence that laid within the armor, had peeled back layers of the cloak that enshrouded it. Underneath wasn't anything remarkable. If one got beyond the notion that the ghroundium underweave was tightly constricted up against itself to serve as a basic skeleton and reinforced by black tendrils of palable darkness. It had no head. Normally, where a featureless mask sat to serve as a 'head' for the people who weren't in the know about its true nature had been discarded. Three lights, each burning brightly and intensely, each electric blue and crackling with energy, were spreading out from the space where the 'head' would be. The things arms spread, too, each ending at the elbow. The vambraces that were to lay there were on Ranok currently. The smith wasn't completely devoid of his defenses. The entire process was almost akin to like watching some flower made of metal bloom, and when the armor returned to its humanoid state, wither. If one considered a vaguely man shaped creepy...thing to be anything as comely as a bloom.
Ranok had finished his debrief. The sour mood hadn't lightened. He'd timed it well. Tendriled feet pad on the cobblestones, making little in the ways of noise. <There is little that is not already clear. There is a spacial rip in the membrane that surrounds this section of bubble. It has lead to an unknown locus. Currently, it appears to cut to a class three - better known as a Weirdling Place.> Ranok had begun to massage the bridge of his nose, "Great..." A 'Weirdling Place', as it was called, was a new and exciting universe. The rules were different. It wasn't just the presence of absence of magic, but a disconnected physical universe or location. The laws of physics were different there. Perhaps there was a fourth dimension, or a lack of a strong or weak nuclear force. Or perhaps gravity was the strongest universal force. Or any number of entirely different rules. They were called 'weird' in a massive understatement. No person from Hollow could comprehend the nature or make up - assuming one could understand it. Not even Ranok. Draeta barely grasped the concepts, as well. Spacial characteristics was its forte, after all. "What can you see, then?"
A click as the intelligence does its version of clearing its throat, <There is very little I am able to detect. Currently, I lack many of the tools I possess normally. There is a tear in the spacial structure of the sky in Vailkrin. Several of them, in fact. It seems that the structural damage to the Veil has torn open seals.> Ranok rubs his face. Oh, he'd heard about that one. Was the last straw, as a matter of fact. Eladrick, the super powerful undead, falling from the sky. "So. This means that there are prisons in the fabric? As the tear weakens the structure of the area, anything sealed away will awaken." It did neatly explain about everything. Why the dead were rising of their own violation. Plenty of things were put away for a long time in Vailkrin. Hadn't Redhale raised most of the graveyard, and even now, those Ancients stalked around? <It is quite possible. However, at the current point in time, impossible to confirm. That report may have been an anomaly in the making. Given that the whereabouts of the entity are currently untracked, it would be best to divert focus on the Tear.> Ranok grunts. Draeta was the only thing that could currently tell him a course of action and not provoke an argumentative response by instinct. He trusted the intelligence that much. "Very well, then. What is the rate of progression? Can you measure it?" Another click as Draeta considers. <Barely. It moves in stretches. It is not a progressive curve. Measurable, but just. I will need further analysis to determine how fast. As it lies, it is almost as if it were cloth being pulled apart.> A large amount of jargon was withheld explaining just how. Bruising of spaces and structural tears and exospeak abound.
Ranok paces a little more at that bit of news, "Well. Honestly. We already knew this. Little horrors don't rain from the sky. Which means that we've got something trying to come through." Speak of the devil, really. A thing made of tentacles and furred mixed with entirely too many finger-like appendages chose that moment to fall out of the sky and land right on Ranok's shoulder. The smith reaches up, tearing it from his person and hurling it onto the ground. It explodes like an overripe melon. A sickening image. "Scouts. Every single one of these things is different. And not a single one seems to be able to survive in this world. Look." He crouches, pulling out his knife to root through the gore. Sifting through, there was barely anything resembling an organ to be found. The armor stalks over, reaching down tendrils to sift into the ichor more directly. <Interesting. I seem to be unable to absorb the blood analog. Perhaps it does not serve as such. To study it, that creature was dead already. There are no organs or digestive systems to be found.> It was important to note. One of the few advantages in this situation that the natives of Vailkrin, and Hollow as a whole, had. An Eldrich Abomination and its minions could be powerful and legion. But when they came into a Universe they *had* to obey its rules. There were no shortcuts. Physics was a harsh, harsh mistress and she brooked no argument. The gods, too, were aggressive here. Their defusal of technology that short circuited the Preklek invasion showed that the rules were taken very seriously indeed. Unless you knew the loop holes. Those loopholes were generally regarded as 'magic' Which, as an outsider, this entity did not grasp. Not at first, anyways.
There were sounds of similar sounding splats around. Intersparsed was the occasional 'thunk'. A large amount of the creatures dripping from the sky were meeting fates similar to the one before Ranok and Draeta. "So...it's an evolutionary entity. We're looking at a slow start up, here. That's our advantage." In an extension of the previous 'rules' limitation, the thing at the other end of the tear needed to learn the rules. There were no textbooks for Eldrich Abominations to learn a new universe by. It was strictly trial and error. Imagine a child given the tools to create. A box of limbs, a jar of organs, and a hammer and glue to stick them together. Throw it together by randomness and throw it out through the void. Small creatures at first. Easy to mass produce and lose. But over time, they would grow to be more powerful. Durable. Harder to kill. The traits required to survive and succeed slowly amassing. The things now were merely annoying. In time they would grow to be deadly.
"At least it isn't at the bottom of the ocean. That one was horrible." Ranok doesn't elaborate on the anecdote. Draeta knew what the circumstances were. Old friends and all, really. Instead, <You do realize this means we have to enforce artificial selection.> A groan escapes Ranok. "Yes. Gods be damned. Yes. They're not much now, but these things have a way of getting out of hand faster then can be accounted for." Forced selection, in layman's terms, meant killing or hunting these things. The really dangerous ones. Remove those traits where they could be and make them considered to be 'failures'. Really, no one needed tank-like monstrosities that could fly and breathe fire. Ranok looks up at the void above, "It's in a really bad place anyways. Anything that comes through is going to have wings. Or be tough enough to survive that fall. This is just..." He trailed off. It was bad. That was what it was. Not often you looked up at the end of the world, grinning down at you. <Shall we report our findings today?> Ranok's head shakes slightly, "No. Not yet. We need to confirm this stuff. Do a few experiments of out own. Let's go. There are things to be done." He leaves the dark lands shortly, his armor padding next to him, donning the woolen cover easily once more.
But that was not the last time Ranok visited Vailkrin to check the progression. A one time observation was one thing. But these things required, no, demanded, constant attention. Flashes of information as they are relevant.
"Ugh. My head. Can't you feel that?" A telescope abandoned, hands seeking to rub at the temples. Carrying equipment on the rooftop of some place abandoned in the rebellion, the armor replies to its owner, <Negative. I am immune to headaches.> A growl of impatience, "D, sometimes you frustrate me. Can't you feel the *pressure* from the air?" A click, <Oh. One moment.> The moment lengthens. < I detect very little in the ways of psionic attacks. I would have to expend the empath's blood to confirm. Should I?> Ranok mutters out a gritted, "Do it." The armor makes no response, but those lights of it burn ambers rather then the electric blue. They'd been hauling a cache of supplies to the building beneath for the inevitable conflict. Medical supplies, food, weapons and their care kits. The things you'd need to hold out or supply a milita. Nothing that couldn't be carried on a back, but Ranok's back was quite strong. Draeta was even stronger, lacking the biological functions to get tired completely. <Complete. Yes. There is psionic pressure emenating from the void. It does not seem to be local. If I had to guess, it would be the method of communication or directive. Or perhaps it is beginning to test the waters.> "It just gets better and better, doesn't it? Is it spiking? Or background?" Spiking was indicative of an outright attack. The background was just so much noise. A sheet of water pushing downwards. <Background. I believe that we may define the entity as hostile now.> Ranok picks up a box, shifting it to where it needed to go. "Yeah. Probably. But it was already, wasn't it?" In his gut, at any rate. The pressure had been increasing slowly, more and more. Citizens of Vailkrin would begin to be effected. Headaches. Dreams. Influences. That was where the cultists came from, really. Whether or not some would crop up depended on how sensitive the victim was. Psionic influences mattered very much on the person they were inflicted on. "Let's keep working."
skip forward
The kite fluttered down, its string frayed. Fingers reel the thing in and poke at the ends. Like it had been cut with a razor sharp wire. "Well. That settles that, I suppose." More playing with the tips, "Looks like complete disassociation...transitioning from here to there isn't probable. Unless it was one of those damn flying creatures." Ranok was wearing Draeta that day, the matters of Vailkrin having gotten steadily worse over time. To start, those 'scouts' had begun surviving impact with the ground. And they were gaining the tendency to hop around and get themselves into trouble. There were still issues, such as the lack of internal organs, but the basic necessities like not exploding into gibs at the slightest provocation was down. And there were some that flew. <No. I observed it dissolving. The area around the mouth seems to be actively conflicting. Our Universe is mixing with the one on the opposite side. The process is decaying. A reinforced apparatus may survive long enough for a pass, but I would highly recommend against it. Anything organic is likely to be shredded.> Turbulence from the conflicting laws. The void trying to seep into the ordered realm. The results were every bit of hostile as the other end was. "Looks like sending a kite up to light up the void isn't going to work. I bet anyone that comes down is going to glow, too." <Affirmative. The breakdown of the air only is creating a very hostile environment.> The remains of the kite were wound in. Ranok blows air out between his lips. "But if we lose the air, we lose the ground. I see more flying aberrations by the day. I suppose we'll need the Eyrie's might here soon. And some dragons. Dragonfire and flamethrowers would be very effective. Maybe we ought to set out nets?"
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Binoculars, the lens made by mages painstakingly polishing the glass down to remove imperfections and create a perfect surface, flash across the dark lands. The abandoned building made a delightful headquarters. He spent more time and more time in Vailkrin. Rynvale's government was suffering for it. Paperwork was piling up. Gold reserve were dropping. A sign of how important this gets resolved if there ever was one. "The creatures have moved beyond small things. I'm seeing stuff as large as a dog. Bigger. We'll need to capture one. See if they're developing organs." The absence or presence of organs was important. Without a digestive system, the minions were as mayflies. Always on the clock. Which meant that the pressure from the tears was the only source of supply. Useful to know if you could out wait your enemies if it came to bunkering down. The things had been steadily getting bigger. Bipeds, quadrepeds. Things that flew, could walk. There was the odd 'utterly useless' creature, but those were getting rarer as the days grew by. In another week, they'd start to be a force that could inflict casualties. <That may be more difficult then anticipated. This is the point where diverse traits are introduced in small numbers. With the psionic pressure, other creatures may come to its aid.> Ranok takes the opportunity to stroke his beard, "Yes, but what can they do to a well made trap? They're not *that* big."
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Staring at a hole the size of him in the weave of rope that had been strung between two buildings, "Okay. So the nets were a bad idea."