RP:The Demons Within Us: Team Tranquility

From HollowWiki

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc


Part of the On Stranger Tides Arc


Summary: Traveling alongside the crews of the Maighdean Mhara and the Six, Captain Brand's Tranquility journeys to the Demon Archipelago, a realm known only for the death it brings to those who dare grace its shores. Their mission: Watch over the away teams from afar as they find and rescue Lionel O'Connor. Accompanying Brand and Khitti Herzegler is Magikrios, who has been swept up in all this through unfortunate association, as well as veteran Sundance and healer Lennier. Nothing can prepare them for what is to come. Transported to a hostile land, Khitti must use all her wits to save Sundance, Lennier, and herself from an icy abyss. Magik contends with dark imagery of his mother and daughter. Brand suffers a certain setback he'll only realize in the weeks and months to come. Surviving their ordeals, the group encounters Esche -- the clever and devious Ishaarite elf who seemingly abandoned Lionel and the rest of them to Kahran's whims many moons ago. Once they reach the Cave of Regrets, they must engage in a battle to end all battles; but gifts are bestowed from on-high amid the conflict. United with the other teams, everyone learns myriad truths of a future ill-fated and the subsequent heroics performed by post-apocalyptic survivors Rilla and Penelope one year from today. But now, the timeline is shifted, and the future remains unwritten. The war with Xicotl may yet end in victory.

Team Mhara and Team Six


The Wharf

Lionel | Sunrise struck the coliseum's ivory towers, bouncing early rays of light off of the stained glass windows adorning their crenelations. The bounced light covered Cenril's wharf in a warm sheen as Brand Herzegler's able-bodied sailors finished loading the Tranquility with vital supplies. Sundance, that tall, wide, and drunken-eyed dwarf who had served the Herzeglers for years, found it more than a bit ironic how much he loathed all this light. He had never yearned to dance in the sun, never cared for any hour before sunset. He was not an early riser, and more than once he had asked his parents why they had damned him with such a name. As far as Sundance was concerned, all this ricocheted light was an eyesore. Whatever else the Demon Archipelago had in store for the crew, he hoped it would be soothingly dark outside. "Alright, lads," he said with a hand to his forehead, wiping away sweat. "That'll do. Aye, that'll do."


Lionel | The Tranquility had seen her share of sunrises. For over forty years, she had sailed the open seas; first, as a vessel in the Catalian Royal Fleet, then as the home for the Navarre family of rebel pirates and their ilk, thereafter becoming the unassuming fishing boat owned by a motley, old captain who perished four years hence, and the property of Brand and Khitti Herzegler ever since. Having served as the last bastion for peace in times of war and strife, the Tranquility had been put through her paces more often in the past four years than any navy, or even Navarre could ever have commanded. It was the quieter days that Sundance cherished—a relative kind of quieter—when Captain Brand's life tilted more toward his less savory feats, which usually meant that the world was not in need of saving. Today was not one of those days. If Sundance understood the agenda correctly, which was never a sure thing, the Tranquility's ruling family intended to take their crew to one of the deadliest places in the whole of the world called Hollow. That didn't sound like much fun, but then, the dwarf's sworn duty for nearly two decades was to find and protect Prince Lionel O'Connor. There was something to be said for the fact that his orders that morning echoed those old edicts.


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, Sundance began to miss that eyesore sunrise. The voyage to the Demon Archipelago took the better part of two days. Despite the foul weather, Sundance and his team of scalawags 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 Tranquility all the stars in the sky to steer by. At times, Quinton Navarre's Maighdean Mhara and Iintahquohae's Six were spotted in the distance; 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, Sundance 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 Sundance as if the Tranquility 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 Maighdhean Mhara. There it was, Sundance 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. But the Tranquility's job was to watch for unexpected threats while the other two ships got in close and sent their away teams. On any other day, Sundance might have thought Captain Brand and the rest of them were in for a dull task of simple guard duty. Gazing at those eerie, multicolored lights, and a sky so dark and starless it bordered on pitch black, Sundance had a feeling that the Tranquility was about to be put through her paces all over again.


Before the trip started, a room on the first deck had been sorted out for Magik. It had the usual: a bed, a dresser if he needed it, a table and chair. Khitti also secretly added in a small safe that had been magically converted into an icebox for the occasion, so Magik could keep his usual supply of sushi fresh (Khitti could be a generous hostess if she felt like it!). The ship did not look like, on the outside, that it should have as many rooms and decks as it did (sometimes even Khitti loses count). The brigantine was nowhere near the size of a galleon and yet, from the looks of the inside, it might have well been. Once he’d gotten settled into the his room, Khitti would’ve shown him around. The galley. The large library with its amazingly nice window that showed both above and beneath sea, but was clearly not visible on the outside. There was also the armory and Khitti showed him how to use the voice commands that had been created for specific types of magic (whether it was spells or potions) to further shield the ship from destruction--the main one of course being to fireproof it if he wished to get warmed up for the likely, upcoming battle. And once that was done? And dinner was over with? She’d probably go spend time with Brand, when he wasn’t busy slinging around orders. They could die you know. And their kid was with Aunt Meri now because she is a saint. Once they got closer to the archipelago, Khitti would make her way to the top deck and eye all the things that Sundance was. Unlike the dwarf, however, the darkness didn’t bother her. She had spent so long in it. Born into it. Molded by it. The redhead didn’t dwell on the strange lights and the darkness for long. Instead, she went about stowing things in certain areas of the ship’s deck in hopes that they’d be in decent spots for quick use. The main thing of those were her bow and quiver. And those magic and stamina restoratives she’d prepped? Those were in the satchel she carried on her person now, so that if someone needed it, she could merely shadowstep her way to them or toss them one if needed.


Brand was feeling pretty good about this mission, actually. He'd gotten out of getting into the Cave of Regrets, and the relief that washed over him was something near palpable. Brand didn't have any regrets to speak of (he made it a point to not 'believe' in having them), but Brand and caves didn't mix well, not since The Incident. He'd die before he'd walk into another dark, dank, dire, damp... and smelly cave. But this? This was fine. He'd stand on the top deck with a spyglass in hand, watching for trouble and expecting none. For once, they got the 'easy peasy' job, and Brand's spirits were so lifted by the lack of necessary spelunking that he was feeling just dandy about it despite all the eerie lights and spooky tales told about the Archipelago as a whole.


Patrolling Near The Island of the Cave of Regrets

Lionel | One by one, crewmembers stood, stretched, and spoke their trepidations. The 'night that shouldn't be', as Sundance overheard one sailor say, might not have been so frightening if those strange lights looked more like aurorae and less like focused beams cast skyward purposefully by some unseen intelligence. Entering a den as heavy-handedly titled as the Cave of Regrets almost seemed easy compared to witnessing a mystery this unsettling. From the deck, there was a clear line-of-sight to the Six; it seemed tiny from this distance, especially outdone by the size of the island, but Sundance knew that Iintahquohae and her cohorts had set anchor and were preparing to come ashore. The Tranquility turned slightly and sailed northwest, gaining a vantage point for the Maighdhean Mhara now as well; the Six had arrived at the southern tip, whilst Quinton Navarre's ship anchored to the north. The Cave of Regrets had two openings—one on either end—so it stood to reason that two teams stood double the chance of finding Lionel, or death, or possibly even both those things. Thus far, neither boat had inconveniently exploded, or caught flame, or been struck by lightning, or anything so noteworthy. "With luck," one of the sailors said, "this will be one smooth patrol." Sundance chuckled, patting the raw recruit on her shoulder gently. "Something you'll need to be learning about the Tranquility," he replied, "luck is our dump stat."


Khitti scowled at Sundance and the other sailor. “Some of you have been to the Shadow Plane. Others were at what should’ve been a nice little election party in Cenril that turned into Kahran’s first attack. -Nothing- is ever that simple when Lionel or I are involved and you know it,” she said, strapping both the gladius, Embershard, and her new harpe--a sword that seemed a strange cross between a gladius and a scythe--Slice of Life, to her back. “If you rely on that line of thinking, you’re going to get us all killed. Might as well jump off the ship now and save us the frakking trouble.” She was probably going to get yelled at by Brand for scaring his crew again, but Khitti had little fraks for it at the moment. She was still very much in the “let’s not sugarcoat things” way of thinking. The closer they got, the more that uneasy feeling she’d had since she read about the Cave of Regrets grew, and the more irritated she got at it. For once, someone had listened to her bad feeling--they were even acting on it!--and yet it did little to quell the feeling itself. Khitti went over the vials of potions in her satchel, counting each one, making sure each was snug enough in the bits of padding she’d put in there to keep them from breaking against one another, but not so much so that they’d be unattainable when things get heated. It did not matter how ready she was. The feeling was there. And she was angry. And she wanted to take it out on whatever the hell was in that cave. But… she wouldn’t be going to the cave. And it was for the better, in the end. Khitti needed to be with Brand. For gross emotional reasons.


Brand could feel the unease of the people around him, but even this failed to dampen his spirits. "Look. This place is a Catalian legend, and this Catalian isn't worried, so you shouldn't be, either." Never mind that Sundance also hailed from Catal and seemed plenty worried for the both of them. "And look, the sky is actually kinda pretty, if you can ignore not knowing where the frak the lights are coming from." Was he really this chipper, or was he just trying to keep his crew calm? Brand wouldn't tell, but by all appearances he'd seem to be genuinely unconcerned. "Even if hell comes for us, we'll be ready for it. This place can't throw anything at us worse than things we've already experienced."


Magikrios was anxiously doing laps on the deck, occasionally stopping to talk to a crew member or to listen to any words Khitti and Brand might have had for the crew. The elven male ended up going back to his room once the Cave was in sight. He sat on the edge of the bed to readu himself further for the next step in the rescue mission. His boots were tightened. The belt that held two simple daggers on each of his sides was buckled an extra notch. The heavily armored sleeve was adjusted and tightened as well. The stupidly tall elf stands and adjusted his shirt. All of his clothes are colored black for optimum sneaky sneak if need be. Lately his fashion sense had favored button up shirts under vests. Just something about it clicked with him. His vest could pass for his normal Veneficus vest but had a few extra layers of protection inside. Sturdy but still light. He grabbed his backpack from the foot of the bed and put his arms through the straps. His bow, Death Stimulant is grabbed from the pillow it was resting on. After one more glance about the room, he walked back to the deck. Game time. Magik's feiry black eyes were burning beautifully violent as he took in the scene around him. Without letting himself getting too caught up in the scenery, he takes a knee and holds his bow infront of him. A finger is ran in the air from one curve of the bow to the other to create a black string of fire. The string is tugged on lightly to make sure the magic sticks as he points the bow towards the horizon.


Lionel | Sundance stifled a chuckle, preferring to appear genuinely moved by the Madam Khitti's snap. He'd learned the hard way, after all, that falling in line was far less of a headache. Besides, Brand was here, saying Brand things. It was difficult for Sundance to refrain from feeling relaxed when the good captain spoke his piece, even if half the time said piece wasn't especially sound of mind. "Yes ma'am," he intoned deeply for Khitti to hear, spitting a quick glare at the other sailor. As far as Sundance was concerned, it was all that guy's fault. And he might have been content to keep on thinking that all through the rainbow-lit ordeal, standing around on the deck and waiting for whatever went wrong on -other teams'- ends. Naturally, he let out a booming Catalian curse when…


Island of the Bleak

Lionel | Their worlds changed. Nothing was the same anymore. They had been on the Tranquility, all five of them; Khitti, Brand, Magik, Sundance, and Lennier. They had felt the wooden planks beneath their feet, smelled the salty sea air, seen the flashing, multicolored lights, kept vigil on the other two ships near the Cave of Regrets. Now, they stood on the frozen tundra, surrounded by ice and snow wherever the eye could see. The winds were strong and the temperature had plummeted from cool aboard the Tranquility to something surely in the neighborhood of -10 Celsius or lower here… wherever here was. Apart from the bitter cold, the alien environs, and the darkness of night, there was one more cause for immediate concern: All of them were alone.


Lionel | The ground beneath Khitti was especially slippery. The snow only thinly covered a sheet of ice here, and almost as soon as she arrived the wind brushed the snow away, revealing crystal-clear ice roughly one meter thick. Beneath that was equally clear water too deep to reveal the fullness of its depths. Too deep by far. The water was calm until it wasn't. It whipped itself up in a frenzy and the ice sheet shook dangerously in response. That might have been the end for Khitti Herzegler, but the water returned to its safer state soon thereafter. Only, beautiful beings now filled the lakebed, gleaming as they traversed their aquatic home. If Khitti were to look in any direction, she would see that the snow had been banished in a wide arc and the beings were swimming along everywhere below the ice. They weren't humanoid, yet they somehow felt sentient; they moved swiftly, and they traveled in a spherical pattern. They were souls. It would dawn upon Khitti whether she deduced it or not. The last vestiges of long-dead peoples lit up like pyreflies in the night. The ice then vibrated, and the sound of terrible cracking stemmed from the north. Ahead in the distance, terrified and sprinting, Sundance and Lennier were moving as quickly as they could in Khitti's direction. Wherefore? That soon became obvious. Hulking high, covered in white fur with eyes a blazing red, a primate-like creature gave chase close behind. Its roar was like a saurian's, its chest chiseled, and its claws and fangs were long and sharp one and all. It slobbered, hungry, as it -- and its soon-to-be prey! -- inched nearer and nearer to Khitti. The beast was either oblivious or arrogant over the fact that its bulk chipped away at the ice, shattering every bit of it behind its stride. Khitti and her reunited cohorts were under two distinct threats: the monster and its environmental mayhem.


Lionel | For the Lyastri, falling into a snow pile several meters thick was probably not the most entertaining time. Magikrios would need to be fast to escape the soft, plushy, flakes lest he was to otherwise suffocate. But that shouldn't have been too difficult. The snow offered very little resistance to any muscular motion. If he were to leave the uncomfortable pile behind, he would soon see the self-same tundra that the others had gazed upon from different vantage points; distressingly, he would not see any of the others. "Son," someone abruptly spoke behind him. Her countenance was uncanny, her attire unmistakable. Atropos. What was she doing here? "Your journey is ended." She smiled, reaching out her hand. "You've found your way home. Here is where the dead dwell. Or perhaps you believe I am alive?" Atropos gestured vaguely to her right, where Mirshann stood… headlessly. "Don't cry," Atropos soothed. "You couldn't have prevented this. It happened soon after you left for this expedition. Who knew Rinn had it in her?" Magik's mother seemed distant. Too distant. But the image of the decapitated Mirshann would not fade away. "I suppose that is why you're here, father." How did a girl without a mouth dare to speak? Was it through death? Was this real? "To be with me. All of us, we can be together now." The dark sky filled with beautiful beings, gleaming as they traversed their aerial home. They weren't humanoid, yet they somehow felt sentient; they moved swiftly, and they traveled in a spherical pattern. They were souls. It would dawn upon Magik whether he deduced it or not. "Just kidding," Atropos added slyly. She shoved the image of Mirshann, and the girl turned to ashes. "It's just going to be you and me. Forever." Reaching out her hand, the alleged Atropos searched for Magik's. If they touched, Magik would feel so cold that even his present setting would seem warm by comparison. All around her, icicles sprouted up surrounding Atropos now. The icicles moved conically in two lines, threatening to trap him within this creature's grasp forever.


Lionel | The pyreflies danced in midair, encircling Brand Herzegler in a dizzying display of theater. Their gleam was like a cyclone; too many bright flashes, too quickly. This is where the Captain of the Tranquility had arrived, and it offered no pause to collect his thoughts. It offered nothing at all, nothing but the lights, the churning of souls. Souls, he knew them to be; nothing told him, nor did their strange, wispy shapes foretell it, but nevertheless Brand would know. Curiously, the snow beneath his feet gave way only two meters ahead of him to a conveniently-placed gap in the earth that could be descended via an ever-more conveniently-placed ladder. From the looks of it, this was Brand's only recourse. It was the only way he could elude the pyreflies, whose gleaming cyclone was beginning to close in on him rapidly. "You belong with me," a voice suddenly echoed from the vortex. Immediately, the voice became a shape. The shape was distorted, but Brand was perhaps the only man in all the world who would recognize its imprecise features. Viera. The gap, the ladder, none of it mattered now. Not for him. For Viera, however -- that was a different story entirely. Having willed herself to snap free from the souls enveloping Brand, she was finally… finally… free. With one great leap forward, she would be free forever.


The ground shook beneath Khitti’s feet, her well-worn boots slipping now and then ever so slightly on the ice as she tripped to keep her balance, but she could not tear her eyes from the souls. She even went so far as to kneel down, to put a bare hand against the ice. The souls felt different from the ones in Venturil and Frostmaw. Different from the ones in the Shadow Plane. She felt the overwhelming urge to help them, perhaps something leftover from Amarrah from so long ago. The umbrawisps of the Shadow Plane, Amarrah and Facilier’s people, had been soul-herders of sorts. They aided them and kept them calm during their purgatory in that plane of existence. The souls were like will-o’-wisps, calling to her. The cracking of ice began and for the moment, Khitti could only furrow her crimson brows at the annoyance of it all. Well, until Lennier and Sundance and their new friend made themselves known. Khitti looked almost sad to have to turn away from the spirits beneath her and tend to her new, ever-approaching obstacle, but she soon tapped into that irritation from the moment before, a frown lining her pale lips. “Hurry up! NOW!” Khitti motioned to the elf and dwarf to get behind her, playing the meat shield as per usual. Before they were even behind her, however, one hand was directed towards the crazy-eyed beast while another was directed beneath their own feet, a wall of shadow ice conjured in front of her, while she tried to strengthen the ice beneath them. Neither was likely to hold, but it’d give her a moment to ask, “Where the hell is Brand? And Magik? Did you see them?”


They would not linger for long, however, as Khitti grabbed both Lennier and Sundance’s hands like they were children and told them to run. Why? Because she was going to shadowstep them the frak away from this thing. It was only a couple times; just enough to put a little distance between them and the creature before she started strengthening the ice beneath them as best as she could as they ran.


Even when faced with the abrupt change of scenery, Brand did not find himself particularly perturbed. This was an illusion, clearly -- a possibility he'd been prepared for. What he wasn't prepared for were the souls that swam around him. Brand saw them for what they were, though he could not explain how it was he knew or where they might have come from. They were souls, and they were weaving an ever tighter net around him, and he almost would have sprinted away if not for the startling visage before him. It wasn't until that moment that the icy claws of fear gripped his heart. A soul slipped into a crevice in his chest, and another, and another. Or were they all one? He couldn't tell anymore, they were woven so tight. His legs moved now, seemingly of their own accord, and down the ladder he climbed -- not that he could see it through the haze of pyreflies. The voice, Viera's voice, still spoke to him all the while. Word gave way to images gave way to feelings that had no words, and still she spoke.


Before Magik could turn around to ask Khitti and Brand a totally non-related question, he was thrown into that damn pile of snow. Suddenly deep in the snow, Magik attempts to quickly place which direction he is facing. The Lyastri keeps a tight grip on his bow while moving his other hand to his face. He quickly pushes snow into his mouth and slushes it around to melt it. Slowly, his pushes the water out of his mouth. It drips into his nose. He's upside-down. Head over heels. He quickly maneuvers his body and starts digging away to set himself right. Up? To the side? Anywhere but down, obviously. The elf starts digging up with his bow and diagonally until the bow and soon after his head breaches the snow.


"What the hell.." Eventually he pulls himself from the pile and steps away from it. 'Son.' The elf keeps his bow down but the grip on the string tightens as he spins around to see his birth mother and headless daughter. Magik was frozen figuratively and almost literally at the sight before him. Atropos' words almost had Magik convinced as his entire being was immediately filled with dread, "Mom..Mirsh...I.."


He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as the cold threatened to keep him there forever. As Mirsh turned to nothing but dust, the Lyastri dropped to his knees. A quiet, "No.." slipped through his lips as his eyes remained fixed on Atropos. It's been years since he had seen her but the push to get rid of Mirshann caused something in his head to click. He looked up at his 'mother'. She loved her Mirshann more than anything from the brief time they had together. Mirsh was her only grandchild and was spoiled from the start. As Atro reached out for Magik, the elf stood and took a step back, bringing his bow up as the icicles started to take form around her.


The bowstring, somehow still lit(fam), was pulled back and released at Atro's head. Nothing at first but a fiery black arrow formed just a couple inches from Atropos' head. If that didn't nullify the icicles, the pyromancer's body would set aflame. Open palms pointed down sent a sudden burst of heat into the ground below to throw the elf in the air and out of the way of the projectiles. Having never done this before, the elf's landing was hard and painful even with him rolling out of it into a kneeling position. The Lyastri quickly looks around to realize no one else is around. "Shyte.." The elven male throws a large ball of fire into the air. It lingers in the sky for a few seconds before exploding. Magik used flare..it's undetermined how effective it is.


Lionel | In a remarkable fit of karma, the beast's death was of its own doing. Oh, before it died it surely would have eaten at least Lennier -- if not Sundance as well -- were it not for Khitti's act of shadow ice. And if it hadn't been rampaging so damned much, Khitti's other casting may have even provided the furry thing with something solid. It let out an almost solemn roar at the sight of Khitti and her 'children' shadowstepping away from its claws and fangs, and then it roared some more, bashing its heavy arms into the fragile ice in frustration. After which, it continued its sprint, galloping as quickly as it could, coming awfully close to the shadowstepping trio despite their incredible speed. But its frustrated bashing caught up with it; the ice cracked in a wide chasm, and the beast fell into the depths, where it would drown surrounded by pyreflies. Khitti, Sundance, and Lennier were safe. Or, as safe as this place could ever be.


Lionel | The words, the images, the wordless feelings. Down the ladder Brand went, his mind an orchestra of utter discord, and on the ladder went, sweetly singing until it cackled, cackling hoarsely until little of Brand remained. The ladder ended, and Viera descended. She was standing upon tundra, and nothing but the sky was above her. There was no ladder. The past was a prologue. The woman was free, free, free.


Lionel | "Forever," the freakish abomination in Atropos' own image screeched. Her form distorted until her head was a medley of maggot-infested holes and her body was a skeleton filled with ice and worms. "Forever! Be with me forever!" The banshee pleaded with elevated desperation, her icicle attack melted by the magic of a man on fire. "Forever!" The thing's head imploded, maggots falling to the icy ground and withering away into dust. Still, the banshee wailed, and wailed, and wailed, until all of her was ashes and Magik's flare lit up the bleak sky. A string of pyreflies as long as a dragon, parading in the sky like national banners, chased after the flare and seemed to pulsate with it rhythmically. The whole realm vibrated and despite the distance between some of them, all five members of the away team felt the vibrations in the air. They were flown together, yeeted on the winds of winter. And at last, they were reunited.


Island of the Ruins of Elde

Lionel | Oh, but they were no longer in a world of ice and fire. Again, they were elsewhere. All these elsewheres. And then there was a man whom Magik may have never seen, but the others had known all too well. Until they didn't.


Lionel | Esche had been seated upon a broken-off slab of stone when the five arrived, one hand to his cheek and the other holding up the book he was reading. The stone was one of the last remaining pieces of a wall which had once bordered the ruins of this gorgeous city. "Elde," Esche declared without so much as a hello, let alone an explanation for why his guests were at death's door seconds ago but evidently safer now. "The ruins therein, I should say." The elf stood, placing his book back down. The grass had grown to great heights between and even within all the marble structures still standing; still defying the ages. Ornate statues, chipped and in many cases lacking limbs or even heads, depicted an elegant, elven people who had tried, and failed, to settle the Demon Archipelago. "It was an Ishaarite outpost. Ishaara, some of you will recall, is where the spirit within Lionel's sword once dwelt. To call them 'spirits' is somewhat of a misnomer. They were their own beings, not unlike the pyreflies you have just seen in The Bleak. They lived alongside us, the Ishaarite elves. Not as equals. As slaves." The words were spoken in venomous tones. "The most perfect forms of life, purest, and selfless. Enthralled, not unlike the grotesque things serving Xicotl. It sickened me. Then, one day, the 'spirits' rebelled. Ishaara was destroyed. Nearly every soul -- spirit and elven alike -- extinguished in possibly the greatest calamity the world has ever known. I pray 'tis the worst it will ever know." Esche appeared solemn. "Stories for another day." He sighed.


Lionel | "The wicked forces in control of this region have led you and your fellow teams on a merry little misadventure in the hopes that your wills would be broken, or your lives lost, or even perhaps your bodies snatched by vengeful fallen." The clever elf did not gaze upon Viera when he said that. "I will guide you to the Cave of Regrets. You must hurry. Your allies are imperiled. You may choose not to believe me," he added, "but I genuinely do not know what has transpired to compel you all here to the Demon Archipelago. I do not know why Lionel vanished, nor who pulled these strings. All I know is that I needed to be here, in order to guarantee your safe arrival inside a cave that is anything but safe. The highest concentration of restless souls gathers there. Only two people have ever stepped inside the Cave of Regrets and lived to step out again. Lionel was one of them. I was the other." Esche shook his head, glancing at what was left of Elde. "What say you? Will you go there, fulfilling your mission, finding Lionel, freeing your friends? It is within my power to present you that chance. It is beyond my power to interfere."


A certain former templar was getting mighty irritated with being teleported when it was not of her doing. The instant Khitti got her bearings, both Embershard and Sol were unsheathed, booted feet carrying her towards Esche as he spoke. She listened to him, some part of her brain filing it away to dwell on later as the anger took over. He would sigh and Khitti would glare at him. “Indeed. Is this where you’ve been all this time? When Lionel has needed you? Do you even know what happened to him? Gods, I’m so tired of people betraying and abandoning people they supposedly care about.” Sure, Khitti had been angry with Lionel once upon a time for his disappearance, but really, a lot of that anger stemmed from the problems that had been plaguing her in the Shadow Plane. She’d felt like she had had no one else to turn to besides Brand. She sure as hell wasn’t going to bring Meri into things that dealt with that other plane. “Of course, you’re going to lead us to him. Because if you don’t, I will kill you. It’s as simple as that.” Her impatience was obvious. “A lot of things have changed since you left, Esche. And I intend to get off that path very soon, starting with retrieving Lionel.”


As abruptly as it began, the strange vision ended. Brand was Brand. There was no Viera. Maybe there never had been, and she was still in her grave some thousands of knots away. Maybe everything was actually fine, and this 'Bleak' was nothing to fear. Maybe, then, the cave was nothing to fear, either. "Take us to him." Brand displayed none of Khitti's passion, nor her ire, nor the apprehension he had previously shown toward all and any caves. He was indifferent, almost. Somewhere in his brain, a thought failed to clear the synaptic chasm and died in the void between neurons. He couldn't recall what it had been. It probably wasn't important.


Magikrios didn't hesitate to point his bow and pull back on the string of Death Stimulant once more after he was semi-yeeted to the Cave. Khitti's words brought a less fiery Magik closer to Esche. As the string was pulled, a very defined black arrow flickered into existence knocked on the string of fire and on the arrow rest. Magik's form was plumming smoke as he breathed heavily to regain his composure. 'Take us to him.' Magik quickly followed up with a threatening, "Now!" The aim of the bow was adjusted to aim at the man's chest.


Lionel | Esche lifted one brow. Khitti's weapons were drawn, and she was threatening him with them. "Yet it would appear that some things do not change," he countered delicately, raising his open palms high above his head in a showing of acquiescence. It was the Lyastri's similar action that prompted the Ishaarite elf to sigh. "Well, admittedly I did not see that coming. But then, in all candor, I have no idea who you are. That aside." Clearing his throat, Esche gave the ruins of Elde one last, solemn look. "Do what you came here to do. We will meet again."

Reunion

Lionel | The Cave of Regrets loomed before them now. The crew of the Tranquility came here with the intent to watch over the island while the other two ships dispatched their away teams, but fate was a fickle thing and the rules of the game had changed. The cavern's wide mouth insinuated a colossal space within, but from here there was no telling what that space foretold. If the gods were good, even just this once, then Lionel O'Connor was in there. And perhaps, alongside Lionel, would be answers to whatever the frak all of this was ever about in the first place. It was time. Time for them to step inside the lion's den and prepare for the finale.


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.


Krice 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.


Lionel | 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.