RP:The Demons Within Us: Team Mhara

From HollowWiki

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc


Part of the On Stranger Tides Arc


Summary: Traveling alongside the crews of the Tranquility and the Six, Captain Quinton's Maighdean Mhara journeys to the Demon Archipelago, a realm known only for the death it brings to those who dare grace its shores. Their mission: Find and rescue Lionel O'Connor. Quinton, Jessie, Sali, and Harry accompany the iron-willed and possibly insane Rilla, the brave yet beleaguered Rorin, and the dangerous but deeply conflicted Quintessa. But when they first attempt to approach the Cave of Regrets, they each must endure a gauntlet of personal pain. Torments from their pasts come roaring to the forefront, sparking Harry's demise by Quintessa's hand. The arbiter of all this bitterness reveals itself -- a gargantuan thresher maw who feeds on self-loathing. Sali is soon consumed, and Quinton Navarre -- unable to let go of his past, his terrible failure to protect his dear sister Caedan Navarre -- drifts downward to the maw and is slain. Contending with tragic losses, the survivors make their way to the Cave of Regrets at last. There, revelations abound, as Rilla discovers the fullness of her heroism and Rorin receives a blessed shield. In a battle to end all battles, they learn about an apocalyptic future one year from today built from Lithrydel's failure to destroy Xicotl. But the tide has now turned and the future remains unwritten.

Team Six and Team Tranquility

The Wharf

Lionel | Quinton Navarre squinted as the ivory towers of Cenril's coliseum bounced the light of sunrise directly onto his face. It felt like holy judgment, and worse still, it was just plain annoying. "Copper for your thoughts," Risu interrupted him. Turning around to face his first mate, the last known Navarre in the world simply shrugged. "Hell," he said, "I'll give you this one for free." He gestured toward the Tranquility as it departed from the wharf while the Six and Quinton's own Maighdean Mhara began final preparations to do the same. "I just have a funny feeling, like I'm never going to see her again." Risu chuckled, patting her captain on the shoulder. "Relax, you old pirate." Quinton snorted but couldn't suppress a smirk. She was right. Risu had a tendency to be right more often than not, a fact which he admired most of the time and admonished on occasion -- specifically when it made him look bad. Maybe it was time she was told the truth about who she was. Kahran was dead; it was unlikely that anyone would come for her again. 'Yeah,' Quinton thought to himself. 'As soon as Lionel is back, he and I are having a talk. It's time.' Quinton spun the ship's wheel, taking the Mhara away from land and into the unknown.


Lionel | Belowdecks, Jessie Raspberry was all grins and smiles whenever Quintessa Dragana so much as walked by. They had been growing closer of late, Jessie believed, and she suspected that it would soon be time to make her move. Romantic entanglements with other suitors wouldn't be an issue with Jessie; after all, the archaeologist extraordinaire firmly believed that love was to be shared, not hoarded. Hopefully, the changeling felt the same. "Your face is gonna get permanently stuck with that expression," Sali, the orcish woman who had become a veteran of battles linked with the Warrior's Guild, said with a chuckle. "What's so bad about that?" Jessie asked earnestly. Sali grinned in return. "As a fighter, that might make me the class clown. As a scientist, well… I suppose it does suit you." Jessie beamed, waving as Sali left to go order her subordinate Harry to come with her to the armory. There was going to be another battle soon, Jessie lamented; she would stay close to Quintessa, whom she trusted, and all would be well.


At Sea

Lionel | The seas were choppy and the sky was overcast. Before long, as he stood on the deck and squinted at mists so thick he had to trust a sailor's intuition to know that they were headed in the right direction, Quinton began to miss that eyesore sunrise. The voyage to the Demon Archipelago took the better part of two days. Despite the foul weather, Quinton and his team of soldiers fell into a smooth routine. Neither tropical storms nor hull-tearing sea monsters prevented progress, and the dense fog was at least kind enough to dissipate during the night, granting the Maighdean Mhara all the stars in the sky to steer by. At times, Brand Herzegler's Tranquility could be spotted in the distance; it made Quinton feel the fool for worrying. He could also spot Iintahquohae's Six; the three-ship flotilla had formed a vaguely triangular sailing pattern in order to avoid inadvertent collisions if the fog grew any worse. On the third morning, Quinton expected to be greeted by his crude and underappreciated ally, the sunrise. But the light never came. Not the right sort, in any case. Titanic, cylindrical illuminations of green, red, fuchsia, and yellow sprung up from faraway islands, meandering across a sky that refused to purple—let alone brighten. It seemed to Quinton as if the Maighdhean Mhara had ventured beyond the sun's reach and all the way to the edge of the world, where night refused to yield. The islands seemed huge, all but one; the sole exception, the southernmost, and still sizable enough to warrant the docking of both the Six and the Mhara. There it was, Quinton knew; the 'Cave of Regrets' wasn't far inland on that island. That was where Lionel had told Iintahquohae to go; it was more or less where he had told Khitti and Magik to go as well. "Bringing her in slowly," the captain told his crew. Rilla, Quintessa, Jessie, Rorin, Sali, Harry, and himself; it was to be a seven-strong away team approaching the Cave of Regrets from the north whilst the Six's away team came at it from the south. Lionel's notes had indicated there were two entryways. They were not quite kind enough to explain if one was preferred over the other. The two teams would risk finding out firsthand. "Alright," Quinton said when the ship came to a complete stop. "We just got here, and the frakking place is already giving me the creeps. Rilla, will you do us the honors and lead the way? We'll stand united. You just tell us whatever you can and we'll prepare accordingly."


Lionel | The morning of the expedition Rilla was quiet, in her own head about going back to a place that had spit her out the way it had, but nothing would stop her. She kept to herself, headed below deck and stayed there away from the others as much as possible. Going alone was one thing, but these people were mostly strangers to her, and frankly, she has trust issues. She remembered how long it took, could practically sense when they were close from the dread that settled in the pit of her stomach. She gathered her blades, her bow and arrow, even a sword despite having moved away from them in her years away from Hollow. Auburn curls were pulled into a braid and put into a bun at the back of her head and hidden beneath the hood of her dark cloak before she resurfaced, stood by Quinton as the approached.


The Island of the Cave of Regrets (North)

Rilla certainly didn’t expect to be back here anytime soon. When she’d been teleported? Moved? Off of the island the first time she had never intended to set foot on the loamy ground again, but how could she ever resist going back at something that had called her out so personally? Yet there they were approaching once more. A deep breath and she nodded to Quinton, crystalline eyes flashed as she took in the strange, dark sky with it’s impossible lights that not only didn’t seem to help, but perhaps made it even worse. “There isn’t much to tell. When you hear the voices, you’ll know. Just remember that it’s using your own mind against you, whatever you see isn’t real.” The rain was heavy, and her words were somber. She kept her head down as her feet sank into the mud beneath them, “take a deep breath and follow. Don’t stop breathing.” She instructed, her voice even and low as she started for the mouth of the cave. Her head down to fed off the rain, she had little knowledge of the terrain outside of where she was headed, a fog reached their knees and with every step the mud threatened to pull them off balance. She reached for her stone, this time secured around her neck and tucked beneath her cloak. It sparked and glowed, lit her face for an instant as she calmed herself and her hand fell away. “Everyone okay back there?”


Rorin faces the sea off Cenril with quiet enthusiasm. A self sured optimism even. He had shaved and looked younger it. He had spent the last few weeks or so in solace and solitude and looked wiser for it. He took his time to settle into the unfamiliar ship with familiar faces and spent the next couple of days playing cards and smoking or drinking with them between the work shifts he also spent side by side with them. It had been far too long since he simply sat down among the other warriors sharing lives and stories. Putting his back and elbows into the nit and grit of it. Being a part of something felt good again. Despite his natural worry-wort features Rorin was actually looking forward to the trip. He felt ready to immerse himself once again in his element. Back on the deck of the ship looking out on troubled waters. Here on the edge of the world, on the edge of destiny and despair, greatness and grief, triumph and tragedy. Be a hero, save the world. He would watch Rilla and listen as they disembarked. “Here, I can help with that.” As a paladin creating an aura of calm and air to cut the fog around them and help them not sink in the mud wouldn’t be too hard. “I’ll stick to the middle. I can’t make it very big.” 60 feet was stretching it, and it would shrink more if he had to divide his concentration.


Lionel | The light that Rorin shared helped immeasurably, especially in the rain. Quinton found Rilla's words -- short and straight to the point -- oddly reassuring. Besides, the woman had been here before. She was undeniably nuts for returning, but Quinton Navarre had long since learned that nutcases, oddly, make for some of the greatest allies a man can ever have. And so they were off. Seven adventurers, marching toward a wide cave with only themselves to fear. Or at least, so it seemed. Mere moments into their hike, everything changed.


The Island of Karma

Lionel | A sharp pain struck them, one and all. The air went cold and the world went black. Somewhere in the distance, Rilla's voice echoed, but not from her. The words were too mangled to be deciphered, but they sounded almost pleading. The sand and gravel that had greeted the away team upon disembarking was replaced with a smooth, slick surface that matched the perfect darkness to a tee. Where once there was water behind them, now there was darkness. Where once there was a grassy field just ahead; darkness. Where once there had been a cave, distant yet looming; darkness. Although they could see each other, this didn't last for long. From each of their perspectives, the others abruptly blinked out of existence. Alone now, with nothing to indicate how to escape, it was time for hell to commence.


Lionel | The Baroness of House Dragana was surrounded by her fears. Everything that had ever tormented her was made manifest now. Against the all-black backdrop of a world between worlds, an image appeared of a young girl, heterochromatic and sullen, scowling at her as she dug into the scraps of what was once a doll. Beyond the girl, everyone Quintessa had ever felt compassion toward was dying. It wasn't so much their deaths that were horrible. It was that every conceivable way of dying that could ever enter Quintessa's mind seemed to be happening at once. Whoever she saw, she saw them a million times, and a million times again, and sometimes they were stabbed, sometimes they were struck, sometimes they were carved into little bits and pieces. Sometimes, they imploded; sometimes, they took their own lives in grief. Sometimes, they had turned to ashes, burnt away by unseen forces. Always, they were dead.


Lionel | The vampire who had been here once before didn't see much that she hadn't seen already. The scenes had been rewound to their beginning -- the deaths, the torture, the maggots and all. Peculiarly, this time it felt even easier to bear, and not just because Rilla had survived it once before. The voice was louder now, her own voice, that voice from afar, the one who had seemed to loath her only weeks ago. "Endure," the Rilla who was not Rilla spoke far more softly this time around. "“It only gets worse before it’s over. Find your strength; you’re going to need it. If you can’t we -” the voice wavered, “-if you can’t we will no longer be.”" It no longer sounded haunting. Rather, it sounded haunted. It was up to Rilla to endure this gauntlet of her fears all over again, perhaps to wait for whatever pain would inevitably come while she stubbornly crept forward with steely resolve.


Lionel | The sword and shield of justice would find himself having fallen to his knees in this inky black hellscape. To rise, he would need to muster all his power, for he would feel as heavy as a boulder atop a mountain. "Failure," a voice entered Rorin's head. "Failure." It kept repeating itself, sharper and sharper, like vocal knives to his ears until they bled. Those whom he had loved and cherished began to appear in a row like ghosts, dead or alive. Oline's skin crawled in on itself until she was just ogre flesh, her eyes bulging and her right hand reaching for her bulbous throat. She was suffocating. "Failure," Oline said. Lionel was next; his heart had stopped. This was a familiar scene. Kahran had just been slain and it was up to Rorin, Penelope, and Lanara to bring him back from the brink. Only, this time it did not work. Nothing could spare him. Tears flowed down Penelope's cheeks. Tears now flowed down Rorin's as well, even as his ears continued bleeding and his heaviness increased. "Failure," Penelope said, turning briskly toward the lad before she and everyone else vanished, replaced by row after row of Warrior's Guild members past and present. Khitti was blown apart by white magic. Rorin's white magic. "Failure," she said spitefully. Kasyr withered away, aging in a flash, screaming in extreme pain. Extreme pain that Rorin would suddenly feel as well. "Failure," he rasped. Kreekitaka devoured himself almost comically until he was nothing but chitin and blood. "FailUAH." It was failure unending, and no hope was in sight.


Lionel | Quinton was exposed to the intensity of death as well, the deaths of so many and more. But Quinton had the perfect reason to ignore it all, to silence the damned and hone in on one thing and one thing alone. If only it were something good. "Why?" The girl asked. Her frame was no longer slender -- it was thin to the bone. Her once-pretty eyes were jaded, cold, insane. It was all she needed to ask to shatter Quinton Navarre's whole world. He fell to the inky blackness, tears streaming down his face. "What the hell is this?" He shouted but no one answered. Looking up again, he shuddered as his sister's heartless stare did not flinch. She spoke nothing more. She didn't need to say a thing. Caedan Navarre, the sister whom he'd lost, the guilt that was unending. The face he longed to see; the face he feared the most. The girl he had left behind. The sister he had lost forever. This… this was too much.


Rilla nodded back to Rorin as he cleared their path, reluctant to even acknowledge that she willingly had people at her back, but such was the life of a renegade and rogue. “Thank you.” She said reluctantly just moments before it started again. The second time was much like the first, disorienting and then suddenly she was alone, but she wasn’t. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, like she was falling. Thin fingers closed around the stone upon it’s chain around her neck, the light flashed around her, muted by her cloak and held tight to her chest. She couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t keep from looking at the bodies before her, the port city she’d failed, the husband she’d never loved who died because he loved her. The voices were the worst part, they pulled her attention in every direction and none all at once. One jumped out at her, softer, closer, her own. Her fingers shook, but she focused, certain that this must have been her inevitable decline into madness. She took a step forward, took a deep breath to shake it off. “A few dead men never stopped me before.” She hissed through her teeth in reply, nails bit into the flesh of her palm as she clung to her stone and grounded herself in herself and the impossible bravery that came from having nothing to lose as she saw the body of her husband once more. Laid out in a bloody mess on their bed, she could almost feel the hands around her arms, the piercing of her throat with fangs. She bit her tongue, the taste of copper flooding her mouth and she focused on the taste, the smell, anything but what was happening around her just as she had the first time.


The Pilgrim collapsed to his stomach in the darkness. The weight of his shoulders rolled in his head like a wave of pain. The others were already gone. “It’s moved us. This soon-“ incredulity turned to a groan of agony. His heart drummed in his chest wanting to escape. Slowly breathing deep, the visions came. He had already gone through with this. As years flowed from his cheeks he would watch his friends, lovers, mentors, and companions die. But he would do it with a smile. Rorin was stronger than this. He was stronger than his doubt. During his excursion to the wild wood in search of inner peace and strength Rorin had pictured these things echoing throughout his life. That made them no less poignant and real. But the pain was already a dull ache. He had agreed not to torture himself. Too many times now had some villainous dark force made him picture some past presence in his life being lost to his own hand. So Rorin had practiced the art of visualization and meditation the priests had taught him in his youth- when he had been too rash and inexperienced to use the incredible tool they had gave him. No, the pilgrim would not succumb to these visions here. He was ready. “I forgive you.”


Three simple words, and he would say it as each vision passed him by. Not because he forgave them, no. He was saying it to himself. “I forgive you.” The power to reach pasts one grief and grab hold of growth was a tremendous one. Already he could feel himself calming. “I forgive you.” The most poignant image was one he had never told his friends about. Of a beautiful young maiden in white, broken, battered, and bruised. He choked out a sob that rocked him. “I forgive you.” When Rorin took up the shield in the name of Arkhen, his friends had nearly died. When they escaped, he had left them behind. When he was born, his mother had died. But they were still with him. “I forgive you.” He was with himself now. In those moments long ago when a darkness much like this had nearly taken him, and a witch of chaos laughed. When Rorin had truly picked up his shield for the first time in defense of others. The path he had chosen that day cemented his destiny as a paladin.


"I swear The Oath, here and now. My name is Rorin Garecht. By the Light of Arkhen, I will protect the weak, and strike down the wicked.” Just as he had years ago, he clenched his fist and rose to his knees. The power and the light surged within him. “My name is Rorin Garecht. I will protect the weak. And I will strike down the wicked.” The weight persisted, but he was stronger. He would rise from his failure. The light shined from his chest and hand. He was ready. “My name is Rorin Garecht, I will protect the weak, and strike down the wicked. You could never stop me. I won’t lose to the likes of you. You will not hurt my family, and you will not hurt my friends.” With a raise of his hand, the light shined as bright as ever.


Killer's Jut and The Fall of Navarre

Lionel | It only got worse.


Lionel | The blackness was gone. In its place, palest grey. The world seemed almost monochrome and everything moved erratically. Sometimes, it was all so glacial that it seemed to stop entirely. At other intervals, it spun dizzyingly, time moving too raw and too fast to comprehend. At least there were others now -- the away team had gathered somewhat close together, separated by thirty, perhaps forty meters. Unfortunately, no one saw who they should have seen. To each of them, the other away team members were other people entirely -- to Rorin, they were frost giants screaming as their bodies caught fire. To Rilla, they were her old allies, Arien stood in Quintessa’s shoes and Kail in Jessie’s, each one of them an old friend she’d let down one time too many. To Jessie, they were Quintessa, one and all, but every Quintessa was crying in an agony Jessie couldn't understand. To Sali, they were foes of all kinds; she raised her sword and stood defensively, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down her brow. To Harry, they were innocent bystanders, conversing between themselves as if they were all standing far closer together, none of them looking at him at all. To Quinton, they were past shipmates ill-fated through the years, though one was Kasyr, smiling at him sadly. The last of them was Caedan, and it hurt beyond all feeling that she did not fade away. It hurt most of all to know that her fading was what he needed. Jessie approached one of the many-splendored Quintessas. As fate would have it, she had chosen the one who was, in reality, Quintessa. Harry ran up behind Jessie, flailing his arms in frustration, trying but failing to make some semblance of sense out of all of this. "Hey, you," Jessie said with her earlier grin. "I'm scared," she admitted, her grin evaporating under pressure from a grimace. "I'm really scared. Please stay close."


Lionel | It was too bad, then, that Quintessa did not see Jessie. Nor did she Harry. She saw hundreds of her fiercest enemies, faceless and irrelevant but in dire need of killing. Leading the charge, staring coldly at his daughter, Quintessa saw her father. In the sea of grey, slowing, and hastening, it seemed her father moved with all the normalcy of reality. And it seemed he wanted to slay her. "You," the changeling growled. "You, you, you." She lost control of herself. In that blinding, emotionally searing instant, she did what had to be done. She killed her father in cold blood... even if, as it happened, the mirage of her father was cast over poor Harry. The young soldier in Quinton's employ screeched a blood-curdling screech and died. No one else could see it happen, because everyone else was inside their own minds.


The most exhausting thing about the archipelago was it’s propensity for moving them from place to place without warning or explanation as to why. Where once there was psychological torture and nothingness the world was suddely surreal, and Rilla breathed a sigh of relief, momentary as it may have been. Her breathing abruptly stopped at the sight before her as she looked out on people she hadn’t seen in over a decade. There was her mentor, older but still the stoic man who had raised her, Arien who had abandoned her and the clan long before she did, Keturah who had once been a sister but the trail was long lost to time. There were others, but Rilla’s brow furrowed, caught by her own urge to spring forward. How could they leave her? How could they leave together? A roar tore through her throat, but she remained in place.


The light was gone, the scent of jasmine no longer running through her nose from where it was tapped behind her ears, and she could feel the warmth of her stone against her fingers. Breathe, she reminded and did as she was told, eyes finally squeezed shut. The pictures still played across the backs of her eyelids, but at least she knew they were little more than that. Adrenaline surged, and her fingers twitched and she watched as it played out knowing she was powerless to stop it, that it was another attempt to provoke a reaction by this cursed place. “Stop.” She breathed, her brow furrowed and she stepped back from the fray, away from them, a single blade drawn with trembling hands almost instinctively but clutched too tight to throw.


Confusion. “Gross. Why does it always have to be sad and gross? Can’t evil just pick a lane and stick to it?” He was just distracting himself so he didn’t have to focus on it. “What am I really seeing?” Rorin hummed to himself and closed his eyes. He waved his hands around and kind of banked it on instinct. “By the power granted me through the grace of my god, I demand to see through the lies of my enemy and behold the absolute truth. Dispel illusion!” To be honest, it wasn’t a spell he had really tried before, but what Rorin lacked in priestly experience, he made up for in raw blind faith. He absolutely believed that these weren’t actually frost giants being made into zombies and succumbing to the dust drugs that swept through the community those few years back before being lit on fire.. Maybe he just had to believe it hard enough.


Lionel | "Very well. I will stop." What an unearthly bit of sickening laughter then screamed across their collective horizon as each of their false realities shattered one by one, like dominos. Sali was left to cry out in anguish at the sight of Harry, dead, his corpse most pointedly beside Quintessa. The likeliest of the killers. Had he been in any position to stop her, Quinton Navarre would have raced to Sali and reminded her that perhaps not everything was as it seemed, even now. "Some bastard is laughing at us," Quinton grumbled from his place on the void-like ground instead, finding himself unable to stand. "Don't give in. She didn't do this." Quintessa, for her part, blanched in shock and came close to Jessie as the girl had begged. Harry was dead by the changeling's blade and she knew it. This -was- her fault. At least Jessie was safe; at least she didn't… "Where is it coming from? The voice?" Quintessa Dragana pried herself from her mind, from her fever dream, and tapped into every reservoir of clarity her brain had left in order to keep them all on an even keel.


Lionel | "I am everywhere you want to be," the thing cackled. The ground shook and gave way, shattering into a million shards of nothingness. In its place was a terrible wind, a gravity well that kept them all frozen in place and Harry's corpse dangling precariously in tragicomedy zigzags until his head spun off and flew downward into… what was beneath them? What was far below where the survivors were held suspended in midair? It was massive; it eclipsed the world. Nothing seemed to exist beyond it. Thousands of sharp teeth and a tongue so big it might have enveloped the fullness of Cenril if it were off in Lithrydel rather than trying to suck them all up like food here at the Demon Archipelago. It wasn't Xicotl, but whatever it was, it had similar goals. They twirled sickeningly, Quintessa and Quinton and Rilla and Sali and Rorin and Jessie, swirling and swirling, inch by inch being pulled by the bizarre gravimetric force closer and closer and closer and closer and closer… they were merely a quarter-kilometer from the bottom now, a wide berth by most standards but next to nothing here. It seemed the heavier one weighed, the worse of a time they had. That was particularly unfortunate for Sali, who had only just begun to grieve for her lost underling, whose life was fully ahead of him. At least the orc was middle-aged, but that didn't mean she wanted to die. With a sudden gust, however, the tremendous, gaping maw beneath them all sucked in air precisely where she was suspended, sucking her into the void forever. Her scream was heard until deep, deep inside, where the thing's stomach juices immediately ceased all of the orc's vocal discord.


Lionel | Jessie was close enough to Quintessa to cling, and even between the two of them, the weight was not so severe. Quinton almost seemed to be still in a daze, for even with the psychological nightmare ended, he still felt Caedan's judging eyes upon him. How would any of them outlive something that felt so inevitable?


For an instant the darkness behind her eyelids were a good sign, but the moment Rilla opened them she was greeted with something out of a novel. Her breath caught, her fingers loosened around her throwing knife. Instincts kicked in without thinking, she was trained for this, had been training her whole life to fight these battles. She breathed in, out, and then reacted, not one to back down from a challenge. Or at least she didn’t want to be. The wind whipped her hood from her head as the earth gave away. Rilla had one thing on her side; she scrambled forward, clawing at the ground as it gave away beneath her. She moved quickly, pushed herself off of crumbling dirt until she could put space between herself and whatever it was. “Run!” She shouted to the others, there was no fighting off something of that size. “Do something!” Before she knew it she was off, running as fast as she could in a desperate break for some kind of freedom, or existence. It felt inevitable, but nevertheless she continued to push, to stay low and desperately cling to the earth beneath her as gravity pulled her back. Thank the gods she’d been running for the last two years, instinct was instinct. She’d told herself not to die - whatever the hell that was supposed to mean - she Rilla full intended to do as she was told.


There was time enough to come to a few supported conclusions. Rorin had gasped in shock and dismay at first but Quinton was at least trying to keep them from turning on each other. Despite that, it was very clear Quintessa murdered that poor boy, just not entirely of her own free will. Or at least, he wasn’t him to her when she had murdered him so it wasn’t wholly her fault. Secondly, just as Rorin had supposed back at the guild, this thing was in fact the lair of some psychological predator. Which made the incredible question was this then real, or another illusion? Could Salli be saved? Before Rorin could work out wether or not this was another illusion, he had to work on this illusions terms. There was no time think, he had to act. Orienting himself in such a way as to know down at his feet from up above his head, Rorin summoned a transparent holy shield to float with. As an unarmored half elf, he was quite light, but he was about to very much not be. Rorin struck out towards his friends with chains of light. He went for those closest to him first, knowing he couldn’t save them all, but that he would damn well try. The pilgrim became something of an ambitious spider as he stared hatefully towards the toothy abyss. “Quintessa! Kasyr! The swords!” Were they meant to slay this beast? “Save - Lionel!” A person with softer belief glands than Rorin might have asked if that was even possible by this point. He didn’t give a damn, he would make it possible.


Lionel | The crisis continued. Their lives seemed doomed to conclude. As Rorin floated about and Rilla led the way across ground that fell into ruin not far behind her, Jessie and Quintessa followed suit while Quinton seemed incapable of motion. Rorin's divine spell had no effect on him, broken as he was. Rorin might well know, from his training, that this kind of thing only tended to happen when the target was close to catatonic. Whatever Quinton Navarre had gone through when all of them were seeing nightmares, it must have shattered his heart.


Lionel | "I'm so sorry," the last of the Navarre clan of Catalians muttered as tears flowed down into the maw not far below. As Quintessa tilted perfectly on her right foot and raised her sword into the air, the colossal thresher maw beneath her winced. Rorin's blade caused the same reaction. This thing fed on fear and loathing. That was why Sali had died, and it seemed imminent that the same fell fate would soon engulf the captain of the Maighdhean Mhara. "I'm sorry," Quinton pleaded. The mental torture session that the maw had created for them had ended, aye, but here was a man trapped in grief. The image of Caedan that he still saw was one of his mind's own making, his heart's own yearning. The sister he lost; the sister he left behind. "I tried," Quinton pleaded. "I tried." Another inhalation from the maw, and while the other survivors were safe from that breath, Quinton was sucked midway to its mouth. "I tried. I swear to all the gods I tried."


Lionel | With the shining of Rorin and Quintessa's weaponry, the thresher maw winced once more, and its hold on them was gone. The two of them now stood safely beside Rilla and Jessie, though they may have still felt disoriented to say the least. But Quinton Navarre was gone. Still in the beast's hold, he was pulled in after one last inhalation. The thing's teeth clamped down fast. "I'm s --" He never got to finish the line.


Island of the Cave of Regrets (North)

Lionel | What little ground remained would lead the four remaining team members down a short spiral staircase. Did the land's geography sensibly support a staircase? No, but everything around them was different now, rebuilt; and the thresher maw was far, far away. It was like a gothic cathedral, their landscape, and it was over as soon as it began. In its place was a rainy island, muddy and covered in fog. The Cave of Regrets was right in front of them. It was there, and no one's voice warned them not to enter. It was right there. All they needed to do… was go inside.


There weren’t a lot of things that Rilla knew more than fight or flight, but she’d never quite married the ideas together. As her feet found purchase on solid ground, Rilla turned, panting as she surveyed the scene laid out before her, bow and arrow drawn in a moment of desperation to do anything, but before she fired off even a single arrow it’s mouth was closed, the captain disappeared within it. She shut the thoughts down before they could begin, focused entirely on her breathing. Her whole body tense as she looked from person to person, and then wordlessly she stepped towards the staircase and into yet another place. “Honestly so unnecessary,” she mumbled to herself as she descended several steps out of time only to find herself in a third place. “Seriously?” Rilla’s laugh was bitter and manic, she swung around to get her bearings, but trudged ahead all the same back into the same cave for the third time - maybe this time she’d walk back out.


Rorin beat his fists against the wall. He thrashed them in the mud. He screamed at the futility of it all and sat staring. “That’s it. We’re just... back outside? Staring at it? Did we... did we even move at all?” He looked to see how many of them were left. It was not his leadership that failed them, not his inability, or lack of strength. Perhaps it was only a dumb mortal lack of understanding. No, that wasn’t really it either. This place. That thing. They were built to destroy you. From the inside out. “That’s it. That’s it.” Rorin slogged back up and onward towards the cave. “I’ll give that fracker a root canal like it’s never seen. You hear me?! You didn’t win! I will destroy you, you sack of cosmic garbage! I will be your end! You’re nothing but a clump of celestial snot and I’m comin for you! You hear me?!” He thrashed about and looked for Quintessa. “You! You’re coming too.” Even if he had to drag her along. “You saw what it did to them, what it tried to do to us. I ain’t leaving this island till I find that thing and kill it, and so help me gods, if I have to pick you up and tie a sword to you, I’ll do it. I ain’t afraid. I’m not full of hate or fear, I am full of determination. Twice damned hutzpah!” He flailed his arms back towards the cave and resumed proclaiming. “You better start squealing you rotten filth, you blasted backwash of the universe, cause I am here to kill you! I refuse to retreat quietly into the night with my tail between my legs. No. I will go into the abyss with light in my heart and fire in my lungs. Arkhen be with me, for I go now into the mouth of wickedness, and I seek to cut the very tongue from that mouth. I will remove it’s teeth, and it shall speak darkness into the minds of mortals no more.”


Lionel | The earth was soaked in mud. The multicolored sky, its beams of many shades, might have been mocking them all. Jessie bit her lip to stymie tears from dripping down to the ground by her feet; they had lost three already, and only now had they reached this climactic cave. Quintessa eyed her wearily, the first hints of utter exhaustion lingering upon the strange girl's countenance. For all of Rorin's self-righteous fury, all his endless words -- gods damn him, why won't he shut up! -- the changeling couldn't disagree that it was high time this team did what they came here to do. "Chill the frak out," she said with a dark whisper… a whisper which then folded into a half-smile. "Let's go. And Rilla? You're not wrong. That cathedral was filler trash. Worst game design ever. Stupid frakking archipelago." The Baroness of House Dragana kicked the mud and stubbornly ignored the fact that she was tired enough now that her ankle hurt in the kicking. Marching straight into the lion's den, she entered the Cave of Regrets, remaining allies by her side.


Reunion

Lionel | At the center of the Cave of Regrets, there was a room so massive it was a small wonder that the cave itself was huge enough to warrant multiple entryways. Neither chained nor wounded, but exhausted and wielding a weapon he did not have prior to vanishing, there stood Lionel O'Connor in the middle of the room. Beside him stood numerous others -- those from the Six; Krice and Penelope, Kasyr and Iintahquohae. It looked like they had conversed, if briefly. More stunning by far was the strange projection that encompassed an entire wall, spanning uncountable meters. The projection was distorted, but discernible; a bizarre mechanical contraption and a visibly haggard Rilla and Penelope. They both seemed older, and the projection made them larger than life, but it was clear that they weren't actually here -- at least, not in the traditional sense. Who were they? By all standard accounts, they who precisely who they appeared to be. But why did it appear that they were from the future? Could it be -- somehow -- that they themselves had been the architects of this entire mission?


Lionel | "Thank you all," Lionel greeted the new arrivals. "Beyond words. Beyond measure. But I was yeeted here just as surely as any of you were yeeted across this frakking hellscape. All by the machinations of the millions of restless spirits who use this region as a nexus. They're angry, or hurt, or grieving, or something -- anything -- that keeps them trapped here. But despite that, the Demon Archipelago is the one place that can offer us salvation. Not from me… but from them." He pointed at the projection. "A year from now, and the war with Xicotl was lost. A year from now, and everything we knew and loved was gone. It's not for me to continue. But none of this has transpired exactly as intended. Those restless spirits? They're almost here now. They're going to exact their toll in blood. They want us all dead for trespassing. But we have to hold the line. Just for a few moments. And if we hold the line," Lionel concluded, "we can change history. We can win this war. Please believe me."


Lionel | The storm of lost souls that Lionel portended rushed into the massive chamber on cue, sparing the Catalian's allies no true time to process what he said. Even Lionel cursed up his own storm at that. Garbed in all black, his face pained but his azure eyes seemingly more resolute than ever, he raised his glowing-green sword into the air and prepared for the fight of their lives. The storm was like a hurricane. Millions of pyreflies, each one a vengeful soul, surrounded them, sealed off the exits, and sought to collide with flesh. One collision and a victim would feel a thousand knives upon their bodies, but still be fine in truth; two collisions, however, and they would burn away to nothingness. Lionel dodged and danced his way past the first few, slashing several at a time with a weapon that seemed destined to destroy them. He was at the center of one of the deadliest places Hollow had ever spawned, centimeters from his demise with every breath, but nothing would deter the Hero without Hellfire. "Just a few minutes! Just hold out and hear the tale! It's all we need!"


Rilla || “The war took a toll on everyone; all of the Great Heros are dead,” Rilla’s voice echoed from above - around - everywhere, the young vampire managed to look older, her hair cut shorter around her jaw, eyes serious but just as wild. The image and the voice didn’t quite seem connected, a fading power that threatened to give out as the images flickered and changed. Switched to snippets in time, fragments that had to be changed. A difficult trick to pull off but they had nothing but time. In flashes there was a battle, flickered and faded but each member of the expedition was within in. One by one they fell, Lionel first, torn to pieces as he stood and fought, but without his weapon he was no match. Then Khitti, screaming and kicking as she and her son were dragged and tied to stakes and set alight, left to burn while Brand just meters away was bound and held to watch only to be executed in his time too, beheaded as a part of some twisted game the world was held prisoner in. Krice died in battle, pushed back by the monsters as Talyara became food for the herd of thralls that only ever grew larger. Fangs and nails ripping into flesh. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” Rilla’s bitter laughter bounced off the walls of the cave.


Rilla || “Penelope and I were the last of us, a few foot soldiers remained, but no true leader.” The image changed to Iintahquohae and Kasyr near face-to-face with Xicotl, the closest to a success anyone came. Kasyr changed first, drawn into the darkness more readily after much longer living with the curse inside of him. Whatever sweet nothings his new overlord whispered soon overtook Iintahquohae as well, the pair of them turned into thralls and turned around back into the fray, but fighting for the wrong cause. Rorin, who had been close behind them, was the next to fall - and by their hands nonetheless. A first meal for hungry thralls who had no concept of whom it was their were feasting upon, who he should have been able to protect from such a fate. A brighter flash where the image broke into darkness for just an instant and sparked to life again with Magik on a wharf held by masked men in black, larger than any humans. One of them carried a large anchor and chain. He was bound, gagged, and thrown off the edge while the onlookers cheered. Bubbles rose initially, frantic as he scrambled to try to break free, but he fell still too, killed on his search for something - a secret that they would never know. “ I analyzed every move of every battle, but there was no winning. Not the way we were, there were always more thralls, always another monster, and there always will be until we face the source.”


Rilla || “But then Penelope remembered something she and Kasyr found before the war, something we had a feeling about.” The projection was fading, but Quintessa was clear all the same as the scene changed once more, Rilla was meters back with knives and arrows as they tried to push through and regroup at Vigilanti Sempir. Between them and the fortress were hundreds of thralls and vampires, followers armed to the teeth and monsters like no one had seen before. Quintessa jumped in, eager and aggressive, she was squashed like a bug by some Great Magic, not an ounce of fight left in the flattened-changeling. The image became more light than anything, Rilla leaned in close to whatever it was that they used to communicate in a last-ditch effort to help them. “It’s been all I’ve thought about, all we’ve done for months to get you here together. Whatever this place holds, it’s the key to surviving what’s to come. So if telling you this means that I don’t survive the next time so be it,” the voice centered around Rilla’s physical form, “you never ran from the fight, even when it looked like it was over.”


Rilla not only did not know how to react to what was laid out before her, but didn’t truly have time to. Her jaw dropped at the sight of herself, but different, scattered in light and sound, her mind reeling at the onslaught of information. Her body reacted faster, though there was no weapon that was likely to defeat these strange magic things that she had in her control. Instead she focused on staying alive, keeping an eye on the strange projection the whole while her thin form twisted and contorted out of the way. No time to fully understand, all that she could do was react.


Rorin || There was a moment when Rorin created the final threshold and stood in the center of the cave where righteous indignation turned to exasperation. “What?” He looked to Rilla. He looked back at... this mess. Whatever it was Rorin expected to find here, this wasn’t it. Exhaustion and confusion threatened to settle in as the pilgrim shrugged his shoulders with dim resignation. Everyone dies. Some in odd, ironic, and even seemingly unrelated ways. These were visions from a Rilla and Penelope in the future, somehow. But everything would be fine if they survived here? “Okay.” Before the word was out of his mouth a fearsome breeze thudded into his back. The cave was full of angry spirits. Lionel had said hold the line, and that was what Rorin would do. He wielded no particular weapon, taking only defensive stances or strikes with flashes of light to ward off the enemy. Then the near impossibility of a defense while so thoroughly surrounded began to sink in. He would slip up if he kept trying to shrug them off with glancing blows. Rorin would need to erect a total defense. The pilgrim took a knee and began to chant a solemn prayer. A dome of swirling light would slowly encompass him, growing outward, a maelstrom of energy that pulsed and thrashed as it deflected the innumerable gusts of accursed phantoms assaulting them. Stuck still, fully concentrating, Rorin had faith he could hold his own against the rising tide of darkness. Just buy a few minutes. He could do that. As long as nothing interrupted him...


Khitti || [1 of 2] Khitti just stared at the projection of Rilla and Penelope. She… died? She’d died just as the Council back home had promised she would so long ago. It was always the flames… why? Why was her world consistently on fire? She had not even been safe in her dreams, so long ago, before she’d cured herself of the vampirism. Even then, when she’d been a lich in her dream--yet another alternate timeline, though this one her and Brand had managed to escape from--Brand had to set her aflame to realize that she couldn’t die until her phylactery had been destroyed. Always the fire… Always. She had long since resheathed her swords. Khitti tried hard to push through the thoughts of her and her three year old being burned while Brand watched. It was no different than what people in Dhavislaav, where magic was banned, had experienced. Well, she leaned on that fire now as the spirits rolled in. Still unsure of her light magic, Khitti tapped into her shadow magic, slinging fireballs here and there as she dodged as much as she could.


Khitti || [2 of 2] There was one spirit in particular, however, that took notice. Unlike the others, this spirit had only been trapped here for three and a half years. It had felt like forever though to Amarrah Facilier. She had even wished she was still trapped within Khitti’s body, as she had been for so very, very long. That was HER magic that bitch of a redhead was using! HERS! As with most things with Amarrah usually went, she did not take kindly to this. The instant Khitti left an opening, the former Shadow Plane denizen honed in on her, enveloping Khitti with her ethereal form, forcing Khitti to feel those invisible knives. Khitti screamed. It reminded her of that night Emrith almost killed her. So many near deaths and here was yet another one. “YOU! You are the reason why I’m here!” Amarrah’s voice shrieked at Khitti and only Khitti could hear her. But, just as it had been in the past, Khitti was already done with the umbrawisp and summoned all the shadows she could to her. Much like Amarrah’s spirit had, the shadows engulfed the redhead, doing everything it could to burn the spirit with its acidic touch… and hopefully some of the other spirits around them.


Brand was slow to react. He was caught off guard by the projection of future deaths, but even moreso by the form of the spirits attacking them. They looked the same as those souls he had seen in his vision, just minutes before. But that hadn't been real. It couldn't have been, because --


Brand [2 of 2] || There was no more time to think. The spirits enveloped him, and Brand still had not mounted a defense. He braced for impact, but... none came. The spirits surrounded him, but did not touch him. He raised an arm. The spirits flowed around it like a rock splitting a stream. "Odd," he thought, but his speculation ended there. He couldn't seem to muster any further curiosity. Instead, he used his newfound immunity to shield Khitti. He stood with his back to her own, and waved away any spirits that tried to get too close.


Magik knelt down after entering the center of the room and placed his bow just in front of him as Lionel spoke. He removed his backpack and quickly searched through it. First, his goggles were strapped to the top of his head, just incase. Next, his fully loaded quiver was found and slung over his shoulder to sit on his back comfortably. Now we are ready to go. His backpack is secured to his being once again as he stands to watch the impressive display on the walls. Well, the content could have been a little better, to be honest. Magik looked at each victim after the display went through their deaths to look for a reaction. Magik’s heart sunk at the sight of his merciless death. The elf shook his head and took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled through his nose..Until the spirits showed up. “Just a few minutes! Just hold out..” Just a ‘few’ ‘minutes’. Okay, fine. Each of Magik’s arrows had been runed for a few special effects. Explosive tips, toxicity, chain lightning, and some freezing spells would surely help slow down the swarm of souls. Magik’s first loosed arrow impacts a soul but there’s a couple second delay before it explodes and causes damage towards the middle of the swarm. His next arrow freezes some, sending the frozen souls crashing to the floor and shattering to pieces. His next grabbed arrow is pointed and fired to the ground. A sigil appears on the ground below the entrance in which the souls arrived. The gravity increases in the area around the sigil, pulling the lost souls towards the floor should they not escape the field to be crushed or simply pinned against the ground. Any stragglers are handled accordingly. Sniped out of the air, batted out of the air with the heavy long bow, etc. Magik’s moves are quick and precise until a rogue lost soul zips passed him and circles back around to collide with the elf. The Lyastri’s bow is tossed to the side out of pure reaction before he crumples to the floor where his form ignites into his familiar fire. The elf let’s out a blood curdling scream as he rolls onto his back to spot another soul coming in for the kill. Magik is quick to open his left palm towards the incoming target. A black arrow rips through his palm towards the soul, but misses. Dread fills the pyromancer’s eyes as his left arm twitches violently. Another arrow is produced and hits true. Magik’s pain remains but he scrambles to his feet to resume the fight against these lost souls. Just a few minutes longer..


Iintahquohae , pleased to see that the others have arrived because to her it meant that they could get going faster. Of course she is wrong she realizes, once Lionel begins to speak. Scooping him up and running for the exit is too easy. She grips her bat as he explains, poised to swing at whatever souls may be coming their way. Sidestepping, she moves to stand closer to Kasyr, whispering out of the side of her mouth to the Kensai “The f-” in come the angry spirits, conveniently masking the curse, “-did I get pulled into?” Rilla's – older Rilla's, the seamstres blinks - voice provides an explanation, though it confuses her more than anything as she swings for the pyreflies, likely not destroying them with her bat but scattering them. As one veers straight for her amid the chaos surrounding the rescue party, she's certain her aim will shatter the thing as iron completely phases through pyrefly, rendering her bat useless. She ducks and the thing zips by, but as she cautiously stands up, the seamstress doesn't realize that the little thing is zooming straight for her back. It meets its mark, hitting her square in the shoulder blades, and the agony Iintahquohae finds herself in makes her cry out and double over. Losing the grip on her bat, it falls to the floor with a loud clang, and she clutches at her stomach. Unbeknownst to her, the serpentine tattoo that encircles her throat is on the move, circling as it did when it first moved from shoulder to shoulder, then up the side of her neck, returning to its original hiding place behind her ear. The ink seems to have morphed into a different image. Instead of a serpent poised to consume its own tail, it is a great serpent's maw, open, fangs bared. A familiar, terrible feeling settles over Iintahquohae as she clutches at her stomach, eyes snapping shut. No, no, no not again please – Bile builds up in her stomach. A torrent of horrible, black vomit pours from her mouth, unending despite her efforts to try closing her mouth again.


Kasyr affords Lionel another sidelong glance, before casting his gaze towards the rising swell of rage and unrest swimming through the air towards him. That sheer outrage and odium is enough to coax the Empath to force his eyes shut, as though he might be able to close himself off from that swell of emotion. Already, the Kensai can feel a weariness building up inside of himself, fueled in part by that vast emptiness that had taken hold of him ever so recently, and worsened now by his awareness of what he'd been asked to do. "Slave driver. Not even a smoke break between orders." His fingers flex, his grip tightening about his Katana- but it's the words of the future-born Rilla, their collective harbinger of doom, that serves as the impetus for him to finally ready his weapon, alongside a long exhale. Still, he does manage to crack something of a smirk when Inks gives her own insight on the situation, as it provides the Kensai with that most traditional of remarks, "Unfortunately, This really es Business as Usual." And that's all the warning the seamstress gets before the kensai begins to once more draw upon that familiar well of primal strength- the scent of the cavern giving way to that of ozone, just as swiftly as the swordsmans flesh begins to give way to lightning. It's a vicious exchange to start with- a blood sacrice for unnatural strength and speed. And yet, it does not suffice, in the face of that seemingly insurmountable tide of spirits streaming into the cavern. Even as Kasyr's form flickers forward to cleave through a line of ephemeral beings- he continues to dig even deeper into that elemental connection. The line needed to be held, after all, even if it meant that he could begin to feel some essential part of himself begin to flicker and gutter away. And perhaps, one part of this catastrophe could be averted- both his part, and that of his loyal fledgeling, if only his own role came to an end here. A jagged row of wisps burst apart with a sweep of his blade. And he draws deeper still.


Krice retrieved his mithril katana once more, drawn from the sheath on his back to a tight hold beside him – in his right hand. His left arm trembled almost imperceptibly but he ignored it in favour of scanning the faces of the other teams who now joined them. It was good to see that all of them had survived – at least, all of the people he knew. Lionel’s hasty retelling of events yet to unfold disconcerted the warrior at best. There were a lot of powerful and skilled people on their side. -All- of them fell? It didn’t bode well for the future. A year from now... Naturally his thoughts returned to Talyara, and it was with the witch firmly at the forefront of his mind that he observed not only the death of his friends, but his own death as well – leading to the evisceration of the woman who held his soul. The projection of Lionel’s story at once filled the warrior with dread for the loss of his friends and loved ones, and a renewed sense of purpose to make sure that they all survived this hellish place.


It was easy to find motivation to fight when you were protecting people you cared about. Talyara’s death on the wall was the perfect catalyst for Krice’s unabashed defence of his friends, and his attacks against the encircling spirits. Their rage was palpable, the magical presence of their network near-tangible, and he raised his katana just as Lionel raised his green-glowing sword in preparation for the rush. Where before he had fought while keeping his own team as close together as possible, now the warrior separated from those who had entered this vast room with him, moving around the collective to fortify those who were more at risk. A swipe of his katana and the shooting of two bolts from his crossbow – still slung over one shoulder – dispersed souls from their convergence above the fallen Iintahquohae, whose screams echoed loudly in his ears just as clearly as the rest.


Krice :: With the cluster of angry spirits dispersed from the fallen woman, she was left a momentary reprieve as he backtracked toward Rorin. As the ice of Magik’s frozen souls scattered around him, Krice pressed onward to sweep his katana in wide, fast arcs above the shield of the kneeling paladin to ensure that he was not disturbed during his prayer, clearing the space for his ally’s success. Evasive maneuvers and calculated hits of his katana spared him the trauma of those spirit-attacks that pained some of his allies, while spreading out the spirits from their concentration-points of attack more than outright dissipating them. And like this he fought, compelled to succeed by not only Lionel’s message and Older-Rilla’s explanation of the future that awaited them if they did not, but by the very real motivator of Talyara’s future death at the hands of hungry hordes. He would -not- let his allies fall here today, and by extension, neither would she.


Resolution

Lionel | The maelstrom raged. For every soul they bested, the barrage was without end. The moments that Rilla and Penelope's future selves vitally needed seemed almost to shatter. The fate of Lithrydel hung in the balance, but the most lethal spiritual storm Hollow had known pushed its assault. It was the most hateful thing in the world. A chorus of dissent filled the room, drowning out all shouts. Millions of voices cried out in terror. Millions of voices wanted to be silenced. Millions of souls reached for those precious few who held the line. Had this gone on any longer, all hope would be ended.


Lionel | Some felt the transformation from within. When Krice's vigor returned, it enraptured the silver-haired warrior like nothing ever had. It emboldened him. A reminder of what as at stake was the boon that Krice needed. A reminder that he could never yield, no matter the odds. Not today. Not any day. His sword arcs had always struck true. But this was different. This was something more. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.


Lionel | Some felt the transformation upon their hands. When Khitti's ability to use both dark magic and light returned, it enraptured the heroine like nothing ever had. As the alchemical symbols faded, she unlocked the boon she needed. A reminder of what once was and what could be again. But this was different. This was something more. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.


Lionel | Some felt it upon their forearms. When the shield fell beside Rorin, it was unlike any shield he had ever seen. Glistening and sapphire-studded, with buttons hidden within its interior to launch the protective device like a boomerang, tearing off heads on a whim with its vicious spikes. It seemed magical somehow, powerful in ways he would not yet comprehend. It wasn't what he'd had before. But it was the boon that he needed. A reminder that standing firm to one's convictions was what it took to save the universe. No matter the horrors the boy had borne witness to today, there would be a tomorrow. A new dawn. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.


Lionel | Some saw it on the wall. Written in the boldest ink. Written with the future itself. When Rilla heard the words of her future self, it solidified the wary woman's resolve. It amplified everything she once was and reminded her why the future was worth fighting for. She hadn't always made the best decisions in life, but who had? She was gazing upon the courage and heroism dormant within her. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.


Lionel | Some came here to be free. When Sacred erupted in front of Iintahquohae, the serpentine spirit gazed coldly upon the spiritual maelstrom. "So you have come," it said. "Good. We shall speak on my terms, elsewhere from this place." Was that a no, then? Was all of this for naught? All pretense was abruptly tossed aside as the creature snarled… in the best possible way. "You have proven your worthiness by bringing me here. You are perhaps more than a vessel after all. Thank you… for the feast." Sacred struck the wall of souls with the intensity that only it could summon. Thousands died in one sick beat. Thousands more thereafter. A clearing formed through which the survivors could escape. But with all these awakened powers among all these people, was escape necessary? The tide was turning. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.


Lionel | Some fought tooth and nail to their own ends. When Kasyr electrified his surroundings, he might have died on the spot. His vices were many. His soul still yearned for redemption. In that yearning, in this place, at the edge of the known world, he found his boon. His virtue weapon shredded two of its forms, leaving gloves to help conduct his lightning overture and save his own life. This was something new -- something that could save his life long enough so that he could keep on saving others. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.


Lionel | Some of them found solace within newfound spells. Magikrios was one such man. In a flash, the Lyastri possessed the capability to control light itself. Absorbing it, he could cast the shadows necessary to linger in the darkest crevices, slinking through the inky blacks of the world in order to enact change on his own terms. This was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.


Lionel | Some had what they needed, but not in the way they would have ever wanted. The clock would tick for Brand Herzegler until the truth emerged. But for it, he would arise stronger. This, too, was the power that was needed to survive the cave and destroy Xicotl.


Lionel | All of them felt it in their veins like an elixir. All of them were mighty alone; mightier together. As Sacred raged, the maelstrom flinched. As Krice arced, the maelstrom shivered. As Khitti struck, the chorus took on a dire, fading tone. Each of them changed the world that day. Lionel slashed through dozens of the souls, twisting around, dodging as he always did, and he too felt the strength that was needed. The great gamble from a post-apocalyptic future had paid off in spades. Some had lost their lives. Their sacrifices would live on in those who survived. And the sacrifices of their future selves would be remembered. Rilla and Penelope had given earth a fighting chance. It was up to all of them now to finish clearing out this suddenly-underperforming mass of tempestuous spirits and return to their ships. Return home. To Lithrydel, where the war with Xicotl was about to take a turn for the best. "I see you were intrigued by my offer after all," Lionel called to Rilla with the subtlest, happiest, little snicker. "Rightbackatcha."


Khitti || Something felt different, but Khitti had no time to dwell on it. Brand would protect her from the spirits, but he could not protect her from Amarrah. So much shadows had gathered around her that it was like a fog; if she had a moment to look over her shoulder, she’d barely be able to see Brand now. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to get rid of Amarrah. Would anything? She could not let Amarrah plague the people she cared about again. As she tried to fight off Amarrah’s spirit as best as she could with one hand, she reached behind her and grabbed Brand’s hand, squeezing it three times. I. Love. You. This was neither the time nor the place for mushiness, but it wasn’t that. Khitti was about to do something just as bad as the last time she’d died. Self-sacrificial as always, the hand was soon removed from Brand’s own and a ball of pure light conjured inside it, her opposite hand creating one just like it. Gone were the holy flames, replaced with the magic that looked like sunlight shining through a prism. Still she willed the shadows to her as the light grew brighter and brighter. The dark and light mixed together, like a strange shimmery vortex, surrounding both Khitti -and- Brand. As the shadows protected Khitti like a shield, the light burned Amarrah away, the spirit screeching as it faded from existence. And then that was it. The magic faded away and Khitti braced for the oncoming storm that was to another one of the magic-induced heart attacks… but it never happened. That should’ve been it. It should’ve been The One. The one that was going to kill her. But, it didn’t. Confusion was written all over her face and she looked down at her palms. Oh. The alchemical symbols were gone? She was… free? No magic scars or Tenbatsu Kaji to hold her magic back anymore? It’s safe to say that once things were finally over, Khitti looked like she wanted to cry. It was not often this happened in public. In an attempt to try to hide it, she clung to Brand and hugged him… completely unaware of the danger that was now lurking within her husband.


Rorin tried to concentrate. Don’t think about dying. Don’t think about letting everyone down. Definitely don’t think about them eating you because you couldn’t save everyone and then the world ended. He couldn’t think about them the way a fish couldn’t breathe under water. The malevolent maelstrom made its way around the room in a whirl of violence and it slammed against his defenses. The rocks must give way to the tide. Rorins shield was not so much penetrated as it was bored through. The pilgrim was knocked back, his breathe taken out of him, his flesh aflame with the endless piercing light. It was there, gasping for breath, hand reaching out, that he grasped it. Reflexively jerked overhead, the instrument bestowed on his forearm batted away the angry sprit that dived towards him. Rolling and thrashing, Rorin managed to get to his feet, beating away the ethereal assailants on instinct alone with the flat and edge of the new armament. Stumbling his way towards the center of the room Rorin had found Lionel. Taking up his proper stance as the heroes shield deflecting the endless litany and drone of spirits from the flanks. Side by side, at the ends of the earth. A green sword and a blue shield that cut and smashed their way through the endless torrent of light. “Let’s go Commander. We’re walking out of here.”


Iintahquohae stumbled, falling to her knees as the great serpent that possessed her slithered free. The tattoo, unbeknownst to the seamstress, is gone. Looking at her hands, she notices the lack of darkened veins, the unnatural boost to her already excessive confidence that swelled within her as of late fading away. When her dull eyes meet Sacred's much larger eyes, she visibly flinches. The one fear that possesses her is back – snakes. A terrible, impossibly large one...If she could run, she would, screaming – likely into the wall of pyreflies to her end. Instead, with the pain still racking her form and her throat, raw on the inside from all the retching, she can hardly speak, let alone stand. Kasyr did explain that the more souls it eats, the stronger it becomes, no? Well... “Eat,” the seamstress manages to croak out. “As many as you can. All of them.” She slumps over, vision blurring into a mass of color as the chaos continues around them. Hopefully her sire stood somewhere nearby, as the seamstress felt herself begin to fully tip over to a side on the floor.


Rilla had no shield, no magic, nothing to protect her from the coming onslaught of spirits but her ability to move through them. Her shortsword was drawn and all she could do was focus. There were too many of them not to, despite the sounds and smells coming from the others. All she had to do was survive, hold the line, make it out alive. A million ways to say the same thing as one of the spirits collided squarely with her shoulders, causing her to cry out. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, stifling the sound as she whipped around her blade to deflect the ones that came after as she sprang away, back past Krice and Rorin, away from where the spirits came from and the magic. She moved through the world, more shadow than woman just as she had been as a human, just as she would always be. She fell back, but slashed at the onslaught all the same, in constant motion as she avoided the strange burning beings that threatened them all. All at once she realized what she’d missed before, that if she were the coward she’d thought herself, she would have never come back. Nevermind the small detail of reaching through time to change history as if that was some achievable feat. With this renewed vigor the running stopped, the fending off stopped and she moved with a purpose again, shortsword arcing in practiced swings as she joined into the dance as the tides turned for the band of heroes - a word she would have never applied to herself.


Rilla || Then there was Lionel, a Great Hero who she had met maybe twice, who’s books had guided her into this cave the first time. Crystalline gaze fell on him, a dangerous little smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “We’re going to have some words when I’m not busy saving your ass.” She called back to him, one hand left the handle of her sword and in a flash retrieved a throwing knife only to throw it in a smooth arc past him, into a spirit that promptly disappeared into nothingness too. As the onslaught slowed, she moved towards the mouth of the cave and back to the boats, eager to finally walk out instead of being flung through time and space again.


Brand [1 of 2] || As the tide turned and the spirits began to dwindle in number, Brand would push his way towards the exit, and then lead the way towards his ship for any who chose to depart on it. The Tranquility was a beautiful sight, and he paused to look upon it while it was still far enough away to take in at a single glance. He couldn't quite say why, but now more than ever the ship brought up swelling feelings of freedom in him, of sheer delight. He'd finally escaped, after what felt like years. It was as if he'd found a new lease on life...


Brand [2 of 2] || He was torn away from his thoughts by an itch at the base of his forearm, right under layers of rolled-up sleeve. He ran a nail over the offending spot, but it gave him no relief. Fine, then -- he'd slip a finger underneath the fabric and scratch that way. Only, when he moved to do so, he was greeted by a rash of scales in a sickly, iridescent black-green. A woman's laugh, full of venom, echoed in his head. He should know that voice, but... he couldn't place it. He blinked, and the rash was gone. The laughter had never been. He was... fine?


Kasyr had not called for Empera, the weapons alignment towards temperence having oft put him at odds with the spiritual arnament- and yet, as his form began to dissolve and waver, and his very soul sat poised to rupture apart into a brilliant incadescence - it took hold, dragging the Kensai back from the brink of that self destructive impulse, and forcibly solidifying his body into flesh and blood. Perhaps moreso the latter than the former, given the grievous wounds his actions had already inflicted upon himself- the weapons manifestation unable to reverse the damage done. And yet, the Kensai doesn't have the time to marvel at his brush with oblivion- nor even at the manner in which his lightning comes rushing back to him, this time without it's voracious appetite for flesh. Around him souls still rage, and within his vision, ab abyssal serpent rises- feasting upon a well of souls in a vision that he can only view as horrifying. And whether it's by some residual element of their connection as fledgeling or sire, Empathy, or merely chance- he sees the seamstress, even as she begins to collapse before it. "Inks!" Kasyr's skidding to a halt next to the seamstress before he's even fully cognisant of the movement, before she's even had time to crumble. Mid-way through the motion his sword is abandoned, if only so he can catch her before she falls- and yet he cannot bring himself to stay still. Instinct takes hold of him; instinct and a mortal terror of the enormous serpent which rampages so close by, carving out swathes of souls. A part of him screams that it needs to be suppressed, to avoid becoming yet another monster he failed to slay. But it's pragmatism and a need for himself and the seamstress to survive that wins out, the Kensai launching himself through the array of spirits in a literal streak of lightning that sees him clearing a path through the cave before his sword can even finish hitting the ground.


Magik || As a fireball spins out to keep the lost souls at bay, there's a distinction in how the shadows twist along the cave's walls. Trying to see if it happens again, the pyromancer hurls wave after wave of fire, watching as the shadows flicker across the walls to reveal what is undoubtedly the silhouette of a familiar symbol: a phoenix. Magik continues throwing fireballs at the lost souls who get too close while paying mind to somehow release the phoenix from the shadows. Upon throwing another fireball with his left hand, he notices his sleeve as become uncuffed to partially reveal Magik’s family tattoo on his wrist. On any normal day it would be pulsating and plumming off black smoke due to the intensity of his family’s magic coursing through his veins. Today was not a normal day though. He was far from home, in pain, and fighting side by side with some of Lithrydel’s toughest warriors. The Lyastri kneels down while keeping an eye out for any soul targeting him yet again as he scrambles to rolls his sleeve up to see what’s going on in there. His hands are too shaky for such a task. His fire extinguishes as he tries to calm his nerves long enough to accomplish such a task. Frustration gets the best of him and he is quick to simply rip his sleeve off to reveal his phoenix tattoo with a shadow swirling around it. The area starts to darken with thick shadows until the phoenix on the walls becomes its own entity. The shadow bird pulls itself out of it’s own shadow and takes flight immediately to devour any lost souls heading towards the Lyastri. Once again Magik is a target of another rogue group. Magik stands to face the incoming enemies head on. Another explosive arrow is picked from his quiver before he knocks it and pulls on the string. Before he can loose it, the phoenix swoops down and devours the souls and flies right through Magik, leaving the elf unharmed. A wicked grin creeps across the elf’s face as he’s hit with a sudden realization. His body ignites yet again before he starts yeeting fireballs about to help the cause. The phoenix continues to bite, slash, and devour as many lost souls in the room as possible. Finally seeing an out, Magik starts backing out towards the exit and eventually back onto the boat he arrived on to meet up with the others.


Krice had been so lacking in energy before, courtesy of Quintessa’s attack, that he was practically a different warrior. He moved around the group and inserted himself into the battle wherever he was most needed, supporting those allies who looked as though they might be overcome to at least tip the scales more evenly for his interjection. Of course he wasn’t able to help everyone at once, but his clarity of intent boosted him to be successful with most. Ever more quickly he moved around the circumference of his allies, expending what must have been enormous amounts of energy to maintain such high rates of speed. Each swipe of his katana was powerful and tight, never wasteful, always clear on the mark. Rilla would feel at her back the pull of air that followed Krice’s blade as he swept it upward in a tight arc, the tapered point passing harmlessly through red strands of hair toward the spirits swirling between him and the vampire. A clap of sound followed the crescent explosion of air that followed, compressing between blade and spirit to shred the swarm overhead upon impact. Without the slightest hint of tiring, Krice moved through the group, artfully evading the attacks of his allies en route to Magik where he provided similar supportive attacks against the spirits encircling his space. At some point he cast a look toward the large snake and shadow-phoenix but actually comprehending the existence of those two creatures would have to wait for a later time. Keeping up the rear, Krice would be the last to board a ship in favour of ensuring that few if any of these spirits followed his allies to the sea, ducking beneath fireballs as he went.


Lionel | The fight was over and the Catalian rescued. The Demon Archipelago still loomed, its malevolent powers and myriad terrors doubtless undaunted by a defeat at the Cave of Regrets. This was still the scariest place she had ever been, but Penelope Halifax didn't care. As the others rushed to their ships, the girl turned and faced the cavern mouth one last time. Rain fell in sheets, soaking her, but she didn't so much as squint. "Lass," Sundance cried out as he almost darted past her. "It's high time we leave before who-knows-what happens all over again." Penelope offered the dwarf a polite smile. "I know," she reassured him. Something about the seriousness of her visage must have given Sundance the hint he needed because he nodded slowly and kept going toward the Tranquility, maintaining eye contact with the healer just in case anything went wrong. Penelope tasted the raindrops on her lips, thoughts dangling in her head. It still felt as though months had passed, courtesy of her team's time-bending perils. Maybe that was a boon of its own. In her mind, Penelope had been here, in this damnable region, for so terribly long. Just being coiled within the slowly-eroded tendrils of those shadow beasts had been enough to give the girl the time she needed to prepare for the revelation that followed. Running a hand through her water-mop hair in a smooth motion, she remained in place even as the scattered spiritual aggressors gave chase behind Krice. "I helped," she said, mystified by the existence of her future self. A future self that, now that the timeline had been changed, had quite possibly faded into nonexistence. No. That was the darker way of looking at things. Even after everything she had been through, Penelope Halifax preferred the lighter touch. "She's me now," the woman realized with a dawning smile. A single, shiny object beside her boot drew attention wayward of the battle's denouement. Lifting it up into the palm of her hand, she examined it curiously. It felt right somehow just to hold it. She knew in her heart of hearts that it was something good and pure. Whyever it was out here, she could not say. But like so many things about the Demon Archipelago, it wasn't wise to dwell overlong; things simply were.


With one last glance at the Cave of Regrets, Penelope shoved the small cylindrical object into her damp pocket and ensured that Krice held his pride as the last to board the ships.