RP:Worms and Widdershins

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Part of the Laugh Now, Cry Later Arc

Summary: As the new moon draws near, Khitti, Kanna, Lanlan and Valrae gather their forces and prepare a ritual to free the zombies that remain under Caluss’s control. Thanks to a warning sent from the astral plane from Quintessa, they’re ready for the Worm that Walks (NPCed by Quintessa!) and his forces when they appear and attempt to intervene.

Khitti defends the circle from the Worm as the magic inside spins out of Valrae’s control and defeats it.

Using her powerful bardic magic and necromancy, Kanna frees the zombies and restores their human memories.

Valrae, using the power of the crystal skulls she had gathered, manages to restore humanity to a lucky few but pays a horrible price for the magic she calls down.

Lanlan manages to help the witches find control of the magic again while defeating the sentient undeath that was unleashed.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to those gathered within Cenril, Jaxson and his collective face down impossible odds as Trajek makes a reappearance. Bringing a legion of undead and a tidal wave of monstrosity with him, Jaxson and those who dare stand with him defended Cenril’s shores. Victory is won after a hard earned battle and Leviathan intervention.

Arril Street

Tucked between the walls of two large buildings, the street here is mostly unremarkable. Still composed mostly of hard packed dirt, the lack of direct sunlight lends an almost sinister atmosphere. Occasionally, sparks of some wild magic hurled with little aim come careening over the high walls to the south.

The New Moon

Valrae || Darkness blanketed Cenril’s streets, though none were so dark as the center of the quarantine zone that had been festering in its own desolation for many months. There was no light that could reach here, no moons hanging to cast the silver rays of hope down onto a place so filled with decay and endless sorrow, no coldly shining stars to shed light from the heavens. Clouds gathered in the darkness, swollen and heavy with the promise of rain. Though the cursed wind that had brought so much destruction no longer howled, there was a chill that permeated here that not even the return of Cenril’s warm spring could thaw. It rolled in waves from the hard packed dirt and the shambling, pitiful creatures that paced it. Preparations for the ritual began and the spark of a long forgotten memory hounded Valrae’s steps. The witch had beckoned and the Coven of Selen had answered her call, gathering in the darkness in perfect silence as they set about their work quickly. There were sixteen from her coven, three of which were crones with stooped backs and age worn faces, her closest friend Juniper among them. They wore talismans to warn away the attention of the undead, not unlike the gris-gris talisman Valrae herself wore, a twin to Lanlans, and they worked unhindered by the walking corpses. They used besoms to cleanse the space as they poured salt and burned sage braided with valerian root and lavender. Wood of oak and ash were gathered at the center of the prepared space in preparation for the large ritual fire.

Valrae || Tucked away in the darkest corners of her memory was the night that she’d been reborn. She’d watched from the faraway space between living and dead as her friends and coven sisters gathered in a ritual that nearly mirrored the one they readied for on this night. There had been the earthy, sweet scent of cleansing smoke, the long cast shadows that moved in the glow of candle and firelight. Only now, she was among the living and could feel the cold that seeped up from the earth beneath her bare feet. She could smell the smoke and the scent of rot that crept underneath it. She wore white, the ceremonial shift thin and useless against the cold that sank deep enough to ache in the marrow of her bones. It did little to soothe her bruised vanity. Though the healing process had been aided by Khitti’s light magic and additional healers, Valrae’s injuries were still apparent and on display now. Her legs were heavily scarred, as well as her arms and most of her chest. Her tanned skin was marred with pale ripples, like seafoam in the arch of a cresting wave. The triple moon diadem rested atop her head, her golden hair now hanging in short waves that just brushed the bare skin of her shoulders. The short length was all that could be saved from the ravages of the fire, much to the witches dismay. Her pride had demanded she place a small glamor upon herself, hiding the worst of the scarring that branded her brush with death on her face. She’d taken great pains to khol line her dark eyes and brush color onto her cheeks and lips. There was a thin, golden bracelet on her bicep. It pinched her still tender skin as she placed four crystal skulls around the unlit ritual pyre.

Khitti stood off to the side as Valrae and her coven prepared for the ritual. Despite being a witch-in-training--an apprentice to the Red Witch herself--it didn’t feel right for her to help, so she’d volunteered to keep watch. She did her best to hide her uneasy frown and fiddled with her cracked lapis lazuli choker as she stared at the ground, thinking things that she would not speak of to anyone present. Of course, she came well prepared for the ambush that was likely to occur, thanks to Quintessa’s warning, but nothing ever really prepared her for the wave of a severe lack of confidence that liked to overwhelm her at the worst times. Absently, her fingers ran over the cracks in the stone, the very same lapis lazuli that had triggered shared visions with Brand in the past, and she wondered if she’d be able to conjure up any electricity to spark said visions, as it had so long ago. Then she’d pass out. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with the imposter syndrome that gripped her heart and mind like they were in the tightest of vices. Then she could continue being a disappointment, but she’d be an unconscious one! The redhead breathed a heavy sigh, shifted her position somewhat, and stared off into the direction of the sea and waited.

Kanna || The new moon was upon them, and Kanna was not entirely sure if she was ready. The summer heat is upon Cenril, making some of the more wealthy denizens openly lament for the time that the chill wind allowed them to enjoy hot beverages by the fire pits and pretend the cries of the ill were not in the distance. While they enjoyed the luxury of worrying whether droplets of sweat would stain their silk nightgowns, Kanna was worrying whether she even had access to her necromancy at all now that Alithyk Caluss had plucked the roses from her heart. Between her interrogations from the various Mage's Guild members, helping the now conscious Leralynn leave to find her preferred healer, having her hair washed at least four times until the stench of death was out of it, and being dragged here by Khitti to ensure Kanna's continued complaince, there were no opportunites to test her magical ability. Now as the human woman approaches the ritual pyre, her research notes in hand, apprehension washes over her as easily as the unusually chill wind on this street does. While Kanna had not been able to obtain the needed book Quintessa mentioned, she was a bard first and foremost, and knew how to dig through the most dust-encrusted tomes and decipher yellowed parchments of handwritten notes, all of which had thankfully been preserved before her kidnapping. The results of her pillaging of the Black Library had granted her glimpses and gleans into the world of visceromancy. All she could hope was that the bits of information she had gathered would be enough. Kanna steps into the light, calling Valrae's name softly. Her hair is still a silvery grey, though her complexion has become more olive and rosy in place of the stagnated grey complexion held for years before. A loose, deep rose blouse with latern sleeves and a handkerchiefed skirt in alternating black and silver fabrics tastefully hide her arms and legs tonight as she steps forward. No need to dress for show during business matters. Her nature's diadem sits atop her head, the woven yew branches braiding themselves into her hair, and her Ya-Te-Veo staff at the ready on her back. She is the first to break the silence as she unstraps her stringed instrument from her back and moves to set it just outside the pyre for her to work. "The sea and skies look calm tonight. That's a good sign, isn't it?"

Trajek || Hunger. It was not a new sensation for the ghoul. Long had he hungered for flesh, of which he had precious little while he battled the deepest, blackest currents of the ocean. The darkness, the pressure, the infinity of a lack of up or down, left or right, had slaked its hunger with him, but he had not been consumed fully. He had waited. He had passed his time, held on to his sanity, until the cold depths warmed, until the salinity lessened, until he heard the call of his master. And he brought from the depths what was not his; he stole from the depths what he had no right to take. It waited below the moldered deck, upon a ship that’s shape was held together by a skein of dark energies that poured from the kneeling figures. No ears, no lips. No eyes, no mouths. Their weight rested on butchered wrists; their hands long since removed. They made no sound, but magic rolled from their bodies, from their desiccated skin. Letters of uncountable languages, entire alphabets of both sounds and pictographs, they desecrated every inch of the sexless, featureless’ mages bodies --- letters were drawn close, pulled into place by will and by power alone, letters forming words that bled both necromantic energies and bile. They worked in silence broken only by the low slops of gore sliding from their bodies, or if one were a mage, the bellows -wrongness!- that was the concentrated ritual drawn from Caluss’s necromantic powers.

Trajek || Trajek stood on the beach, his back to the city, his eyes turned to the far-off distance. He saw, he felt, the tremors of the ritual, the ebbs and flows of power, through the webbing, he coils, that rose from the undead at his disposal to end at his back. When he turned, so, too, did the undead he had gathered on the beach. A barrier of creatures far from those that shambled along the Cenrili streets. These were bred for war; perhaps humans once, tall and mighty and strong. What was left of their humanity had long been claimed by the soil; what stood in formation were more armor than soldier, their corroded cuirasses more rust than metal, and their weapons looked even worse for the ware. Centuries beneath the ground, beneath the water, drawn from their eternal resting places to wage one last war. The phalanx stood along the edge of the waves, their ossified heels dug deep into the sand.

Jaxson Ravencroft finds himself wandering the streets of Cenril as he has been for several days now, the man’s recent business dealings having him often traveling to all corners of the port city. This unnatural chill in the air causes him to wrap himself in the custom-made Kerrigan overcoat that came as part of the deal he made with Iintahquohae recently, the nobleman’s closet now filled with fine suits and clothes for every day and situation. But even the master craftsmanship of his current attire fails to fend off this preternatural cold, which seeks to enter one’s very bones with its unnerving presence. But even still he was being drawn forth from the warmth that his office offers to investigate a strange occurrence that was reported to him. It seems a strange ship has been spotted coming into the bay, the reports speak of horrors to behold, the ramblings of the messenger leave the man with only one true warning before exhaustion claims him: The Undead have come. Gathering forth trusted allies, a group of veterans of the Cenrillian army that follow the man’s lead to this day, brothers in arms that are a crucial part in the man’s most recent endeavors. Many citizens flee the arrival of Trajek and his undead, clearing out the immediate area, leaving not just the Ghoul and his flock of lost souls and Jaxson and his men. The recognition of this creature being the same one that was on that ship, that night, quickly allows the seabound soul to know that a true threat has come. “Stand fast men.” Says Jax to those gathered around him as he takes in what will surely erupt into a battle. “We must hold them here.” In the presence of this foul creature, the warlock can feel the wrath of the primordial starting to swell within him. She was angry, for yet again this servant of Caluss dared to steal those lost at sea from her domain. ‘Kill him…’ she whispers in the darker corners of his mind. ‘Take back what is -mine-!” Causing the power that lies dormant within him to begin to course through him yet again. Surges of electricity dance along his form, as Jaxson calls out to Trajek. “This is as far as you’ll go, fiend.”

Quintessa || An ill wind blows throughout Cenril, something sinister and powerful on the horizon. First it is a fizzle, then it is a crackle, then a cacophony of dark mana ripping through the skies above. Thick, black clouds roll in from the ocean, carrying a familiar purple lightning. A clap of thunder accompanies a slender portal tearing through reality behind Trajek’s phalanx, undead reinforcements marching in from the Chaos Realm. The legion moves to stand in line behind the ghoul’s forces, bolstering them. Then, when the last soldier marches into place, a figure made of squirming vermin wearing a cloak exits, the portal snapping shut behind. The Worm That Walks. It meanders closer to Trajek, a hand of worms placing a cold-iron masque on its face. “Use these forces,” the Worm That Walks tells the ghoul. “Destroy those who would defy Alithyk Caluss.” That was the only request from the undead. With that said the general departs, only taking with it only a token retinue as it advances on the ritual location.

Lanlan was still feeling somewhat diminished after his interaction with the god of undeath, and the right thing for him to do was stay home and rest; or find out if there was some lingering curse still shored up in his bones that was pinning his health to the floor. But Kanna and Valrae weren’t resting, and he was -much- more powerful than them, so he must be fine, actually, his ruby-capped cane with the shooting star motif was just for show. The ill wind had left Cenril at last, and took its frigid temps with it. But also the shadow. A latent dysfunction of doing good, he realized, was suffering. Now he had to contend with the sun. Of course he had his long brimmed hat (with a burning phoenix feather for fun) and a lightweight scarf, so he was covered head to toe. It was managed. But it wasn’t fair that he -had- to wear them. A dust devil spun sand and loose debris densely until it became a vaguely man-sized shape, and then rapidly dissipated. Then there was Lanlan, dressed for a funeral. His hat put a shadow over his face, but his eyes still glowed red underneath so he was basically unmistakable. All his friends were here, and some of his enemies too, probably. That was, as always, to be determined. He had little faith in what he considered to be superstitions, but few knew better the power of the placebo effect. So he grabbed a bundle of burning sage and stared at how the other knowing witches waved it around. With this many casters working on the same spell, there was little they couldn’t accomplish, he reckoned. “Valrae, I’m amazed you’re actually here,” he said doing a decent job imitating another witch. “You look…well?” Suddenly thunder cracks in the distance, heralding a putred type of calamity, and a chilly wind billows through them. One that none here wouldn’t recognize. Except maybe Kanna, who probably hasn’t ‘felt’ in a while? Lanlan stands just east of the magnificent funeral pyre, and braces it with a massive glamour in the guise of…exactly what the street looked like yesterday, -before- a coven of witches landed on it. The area outside of the witches’ circle became deafened to what was inside, and hopefully it would allow them an abundance of peace to work with. But he was doubtful.

Circle of Stars

Valrae || The emerald skull was placed at her own feet, the amethyst to her right and the bismuth skull to her left. The amber skull was across the fire. Each of them hummed with dark power, responding to the other and filling the cold night with the oppressive, hungry magic. It was thick in the air, tingling across the witch’s skin like a wicked promise as she passed through the ritual smoke and let the crones cleanse her. Lastly, she took the Basilisk Blade from where it waited, wrapped in white cloth, from Juniper and placed it by the emerald skull at her feet. Lanlan appeared then and the witch was hesitant to return his gaze, afraid of the disgust she might see written on his face. But Val seemed to come alive when he spoke, her smile cheery and bright despite the circumstances. “You too.” She took her position at the center of the circle with Kanna as the bardess called her name. Valrae offered her a soft smile, “If the gods are kind it will be.” She replies gently. But the ill wind that followed, reeking of Caluss and his vile power, told her they would not be so lucky. She looks toward Khitti, selfishly wishing the redhead was standing nearer to her but grateful that she stood watch over them regardless. Turning away, the fire before her sparked and rose high with her will. The heat rolled across her cheeks and inside of her secret heart she shuddered. The coven surrounded them to form a tight circle of witches. When everyone was in place Valrae began calling down the Watchtowers. Walking in the path of widdershins, the witch invited the elements into the circle and felt the magic of the coven rise up to greet them. The coven began to chant, their voices rising together as they called down power. The stagnant, death filled air howled around them and picked up the short ends of Valrae’s hair. The skulls resting near the fire began to glow as if the fire had taken hold inside of them. Power as black as the night burst forth, threatening Valrae’s control as she returned to the head of the circle and began to raise her arms. The world outside of the circle descended into a madness of warring elements. The webbed connections tangled from the Basilisk Blade and shone with a sickly light. The magic inside the circle collided against the connections, seeking to untether the zombies from the curse that gripped them. The otherwise listless zombies began to thrash, wailing and howling with the wind as the skies opened up and belched torrents of icy rain and lightning. The fire burned higher and the light inside of the crystal skulls burst out with the sound of a thunderclap. It beckoned the spirits of those lost. Older, wilder things came to witness and paced in the endless black. Outside of the circle the darkness seemed to writhe, searching for weakness inside of the circle so that it might take control of the power that manifested so thickly it threatened to choke all who stood so near.

Khitti remained silent for now, but moved closer to where Valrae, Kanna, and Lanlan were, so as to better protect them. She didn’t dare tell the other bard about the bad feeling she had all day. She knew the difference between her imposter syndrome and the gnawing badness that clawed at the inside of her stomach, bringing on that ever familiar nausea that had been so strong of late, thanks to all these different interactions with both Caluss and Xicotl’s army. She reached into her satchel and pulled out her planisphere, leaving it to float in the air as it always did. And yet, it did not. It fell to the ground with a clatter, dirt and dust collecting on the wootz steel implement. It even went so far as to fall apart, leaving it in two discs, similar to chakram. Only then did they glow with her light magic and Khitti could only stare at the pieces with ever-growing confusion. The redhead picked them up, noted a certain sharpness to the steel circles, and let out a ‘hm’ in consideration. As the gears turned in her mind, her confidence returned a little and her posture changed from one of doubt to that of a protector’s. “Something is coming…,” she said to the coven, as well as Lanlan and Kanna. “You must hurry.” Stars blinked into view around the whole of the circle that had been cast, twinkling brightly like their kin in the night sky. Several more circles of stars staggered themselves around the first, like an army or a minefield. There’d be several waves the undead would have to go through before it reached the witches and their friends, but there’d be a Khitti they’d have to go through before they even got to the stars.

Kanna gives a courteous nod to Khitti and Lanlan as they approach the pyre, before wrapping her arms around herself as the chilled wind picks up again. Thunder cracks in the distance, proving her statement wrong. Though she couldn't see it, the air around them was changing. Something was coming. The smokey sage overwhelms her sense of smell, and so moves away from the other witches of Valrae's coven and takes her place at the base of the platform, her koto laid out before her. The soundboard is been painted with a thick, clear lacquer, revealing inlays of finely detailed foxglove flowers carved from thin layers of an opalescent material. From sight alone, the flowers seem to be made of mother of pearl, with the stems of amber. With it being seven feet wide when laid out, it nearly takes up the length of the pyre's base. Kanna kneels before the koto, placing the ivory picks on her fingertips. Once the pyre is lit and the warmth of the flames lick at Kanna's back, she begins her song. One by one, the strings are plucked in a haunting and ominous melody. Kanna looks straight ahead at the undead that creep out from the shadows and abandoned homes as she plays, her expression stern and her large monolidded eyes appearing nearly black in the shadows of the flames. "Dasshutsu suru no ga mottomo muzukashī..." Every syllable sang is slow and drawn out, allowing her voice to carry through the nearby buildings. Wails and screams rise from the darkest corners that the pyre's light refuses to reach, and the streets of Cenril descend into chaos. Still, Kanna sings, casting a bardic spell between notes so that her voice carries over the cries of the damned across the furthest reaches of the quarantined areas. Even the chanting of the witches falls in line with the melody she plays, creating a dark harmony as Kanna continues her song and spell. "Keimusho wa anata no kokorodesu..." Her left hand changes the chords from G-sub to E-minor as her tempo picks up. Khitti did not have to repeat herself twice. The ghouls inside the barrier move in time with the bard's notes as though every plucked note is puppeteering their very form. The screams of the undead fade away, their cries of agony momentarily quelled as memories of the things most important to them and the scenery of their lives that made them human flash before their very eyes. Kanna was still a necromancer, and the magic was working. A droplet of blood falls upon a pearlescent flower on the musical instrument, and it takes a moment for Kanna to realize the blood is her own. She couldn't stop now, though, the spell was not yet complete.

Trajek || The Ghoul and his phalanx were as stones, roughhewn caricatures of humans, or what had been humans, at some point. As statutes one and all; not a rotted leather fluttered, not a thin piece of bronze clanked. Silent and still, a contrast to the ever-flowing waves that barely touched the heels of the undead. Barely touched; their bones were already dried. The sand itself, once dark well beyond where they decaying shield wall stood, was losing the darkness that dampness provided. The tide, perhaps, though each wave was weaker. Nearly imperceptible at first; slower and fainter, as though its strength was being sapped, its very essence being -pulled-. Trajek did not look to the newly arrived superior. He did not take into account the reinforcements that had been provided to him. He stood there as the General departed, his hollowed eye sockets staring at---through--- the noble who made his threats. He stood there as waves pulled back even further, as the ship out at sea, barely a smudge on the horizon, lifted higher. ||||| || Chaos. Churning chaos. Upon the tome pages that were the ritualists skin, the letters forming words, the words imbuing their essence, the essence poured into the darkest, blackest smudge that the ritualists encircled. Features formed, the dips and swells of the lay of the land of the beach and -before it.- The bay, the continental shelf, from shallows to the depths the map rose from the once flat smudge. Upon its very top where the stirrings of what were waves, what could be waves, had their momentum not been stalled…had their trajectory not been reversed. Anyone who had spent time along the sea would know the telltale signs of what was to come, and those who were inclined to magic would certainly sense the unnaturalness of the act. There had been no earthquake on the ocean floor; there had been no large slab of earth that fell off a mountain and into the ocean. But, the wave, so small at first, was formed, and shot through the churning blue waters was the viridian taint of Caluss.

Quintessa || The Worm That Walks drifts closer to the barrier meant to keep the undead out, sensing the witchcraft being performed beyond it. The common rabble undead could do nothing to break the wards keeping them out but the Worm was a powerful sorcerer, it knew how to dispel magic and could break through given enough time. The small attachment that escorts it forms into a semi-circle, protecting it from any physical attacks as it slips away from Trajek and Jaxson, using the fog of war to its advantage. With Trajek’s churning chaos serving as the perfect distraction the Worm could infiltrate and disrupt the ritual. Soon it reaches the edge of the wards and orders its undead to step aside, its arms waving wildly as it commands an arcane intention. With a final gesture the creature utters the word “Splinter,” and the ward cracks, creating a weak point for it. Then, with a raw burst of eldritch energy, it breaks a hole in the barrier with a brilliant flash of carmine light. As the dust settles the undead retinue reform their defensive circle once more as they continue their steady advance, keeping the Worm that Walks within the center.

Jaxson watches as the heavens themselves are torn asunder by the arrival of an army of the damned. A legion it would seem, brought forth for one singular purpose: The destruction of everything the man held dear. The small force in which the nobleman had been able to gather pales in comparison to the magnitude of what now awaits them, but it does little to truly shatter the resolve every man and woman standing with him have. These are veterans of the Cenrillian army, tested in combat upon the fields of battle many times over. While death seems to finally be upon them, these mad lads will rush forth into battle to meet it upon the command of the Ravencroft heir. Each one is armed, be it sword or axe, bow or spell, even Barion stands ready with his alchemical contraptions that got him kicked out of the army many years ago. And then there was Jaxson himself, chosen of the sea primordial who whispers promises of power to him so he may vanquish all who would dare appose her intended vessel, if he would just agree to accept his destiny. Her words flow through his mind with every passing moment, even as he tries desperately to formulate a plausible course of action in the light of overwhelming odds. But as he is being seduced by this ancient force that seeks his enslavement, the power that erupts from within the heart of the city captures everyone’s attention. It is a mixture of magic that is hard to decipher, but with that swirling mass of preternatural power comes a storm of icy rain, dark clouds, and thunder. He felt it within him, the call of the tempest’s rage. ‘Release your power my chosen…’ comes that voice again, like a mother beckoning their child home. ‘Show them all what you truly are…’ His focus blurs for a moment, as if he is lost within deep thought. But within the next heartbeat the man’s gaze snaps back into focus as he raises his right hand skyward, just as thunder would boom within the darkness of the clouds above with an explosion of force that reverberates throughout the city. A streak of lightning crashes down mere inches away from the protector of the port city, illuminating the shadows that surround them all in a brilliant flash of elemental might. In the wake of this a weapon has appeared, embedded within the earth before its master: The Trident of Primordial. Taking Hold of eldritch artifact, Jaxson feels that dormant power within him surge forth with, almost begging to release upon the world its eldritch devastation. The rain falls, though the guardians of Cenril stand firm as the last passing moments of calm break war to the chaos that is battle. His mind settles, a breath is taken, before Jaxson raises the trident up to point it towards the enemies of the living as he shouts for all those gathered to defend the city to hear. “To your dying breath! Take from them all that you can and give them nothing but the hell they truly deserve!” With a collection of battle cries, the forces of Cenril march out to meet the army of the damned. The battle begins.

Lanlan is tempted toward the edge of the circle as the ritual begins, sensing a small and curious being just outside of it. A spirit of some kind, yet he wouldn’t realize that. As power surged behind him, he felt at once invigorated and oppressed, and he could -see- the power of the ritual bursting like a million threads out of the basilisk blades into the undead that ‘live’ in this city. In reality, the threads were always there, but now they were revealed, in the hour that they would be cut. As the power and purpose became clear to Lanlan, so did the forces that came to seize it. When he turned again to the invisible wall protecting them, there wasn’t just a curious spirit, there was an army of restless souls. Maddened with loneliness and envy and despair and longing, they threw themselves at the wall, and he felt a familiar feeling. He slowly walked back from them, as if they couldn’t see him if he walked so slow. From behind him, he could sense the wild energy emanating from the pyre threatening to overpower the practitioners behind him, it was at once confusing (because how could such things beckon such power?) and frightening. But mainly, it was a call to action. Abruptly, he throws up his arms against the forces both visible and invisible, lending nothing but the force of his will to keep the explosive energy in check. Power lashed out like whips, seemingly intending to cut through the witches that summoned it, and Lanlan would repel it, forcing it back into the reigns of the witches. The original magic that kept the souls suppressed within the bodies of the former people of Cenril was strong and completely sound. The results of unbinding that curse would be explosive, and hungry, and it would ravenously seek out anything that lived. Lanlan did his best to force it to feast upon itself or nothing else as it coagulated in the space above them.

There Are No Strings on Me

Valrae || The magic that tethered the undead to Caluss’s will and the cursed blade began to snap. Each break echoed around them and threatened the stability of the magics that warred inside the circle. Valrae’s head fell back as she called it down, her body trembling with effort as she cried out. Stars began to blink around her, just as she heard Khitti’s voice beyond the noise of the magic and the storm, and fear shuddered through her heart. Outside of them, the zombies began to drop with each severed connection. Valrae could feel the magic spinning out of her control, the will of what she’d called down now using her only as a vessel to unleash whatever machinations were held within. The skulls began to shake and rise, floating above the ground where she’d placed them even as her feet slowly lifted from the cold ground. The witches arms opened up to the sky. Suspended in the thralls of the ancient power, her golden hair and shift moved as if she were held underwater. The rain that fell in sheets around them stopped, suspended in time inside the bounds of the coven even as it poured outside of it. Kanna’s song rose above it all, the shouting and the howling, the gnashing of teeth as the mindless undead were returned to themselves. Light poured into the circle, gathering in the fire that danced erratically at the center of it all. It haloed the bardess, casting long shadows around them as she returned their memories. That light burst out violently, finding homes in the undead that had dropped to the earth. Though not all, when some rose again they were living. Fully living, fully restored to the humanity that had been stolen. Some cried out in pain, the injury and rot they had endured now wounds that caused great pain and suffering. Others stumbled and ran in their confusion. From all that fell and were returned as the living writing, putrid mass had escaped them. It was undeath incarnate, given sentient form. And it was starving. Its amalgamous, ever changing form barreled into the line of light magic Khitti had created, oozing black gore raining down as it took damage without slowing. It pounded against the circle that had been cast, the ground inside trembling with each blow.

Valrae || Humans and ghouls that had been returned to their own control alike ran screaming as the Worm that Walked and his forces shattered the wards that had been containing them. They scattered, hiding in abandoned and ruined buildings as they screamed. The witches inside the circle faltered, some of them crying out as the chant became more erratic. Control slipped farther out of reach as the light continued to funnel out of the fire. Valrae felt beyond it now, no longer feeling the ache of the cold or the pain of her still healing skin. The sound fell away from her, her eyes rolling back as the magic took control. Behind her, standing in the circle with her arms raised was Juniper. Valrae did not see when her throat opened up, as if an invisible blade had been pulled across the skin, and her blood poured out. She let out one final, strangled cry before her lifeless body hit the ground. The screaming started then and it pulled Valrae back. Terror rippled around the witches as another went down, dying in a river of thier own blood just as Juniper had. They began to fall one by one as Valrae struggled to reign the magic in, to undo what had been done. She could feel Lanlan’s will, it called her back even as the sentient undead form wormed its way into the circle where Juniper had fallen. It consumed her body, leaving only yellowed bones in its wake.

Khitti let out a ‘tch’ as the newest creature sent from Caluss nearly effortlessly made its way through the barrier. She took a step and a half forward, slinging both chakram at the undead that protected the Worm That Walks, leaving rainbowy trails of light magic in their wake. Each time one returned to her, she’d throw it again, and in the down time between each throw, she’d conjure up small balls of light and throw them at Caluss’ undead as well. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to buy a girl a drink before you try to kill her? Sheesh, even my husband knows that,” she said, spewing her usual sh*t-talking at the protected general. “Neat trick with the barrier. I’m afraid stepping inside it just made things worse for you though.” Khitti shadowstepped forward and caught the chakram mid-air, closing the distance between her and the Worm. In the same fluid motion, she sliced at the air with both chakram, sending great waves of light at the creature, all of which looked very much like someone had held a prism up to the sun and allowed the light to split into its rainbow spectrum.

Kanna looks out at those who despair past the barrier of protection as she continues her spellsong. Kanna could not look away from those that she had aided in the creation of; so much of her first days spent as a ghoul were hunting in the alleyways of Cenril. How many of those people out there were friends and family of the men she had killed to sate her hunger? Time could not be undone, but Kanna could make things right. From a few yards away, Khitti prepares to ward off a threat just out of sight from her position, and Kanna realizes that time is not on their side either in this endeavor. Another drip of blood runs down her lips and falls onto her koto as the melody continues. Even though her magic was nowhere near as potent as it was in her ghoul form, the magic in her veins from the bards and wizards in her bloodline was pulsing through her chest and out through every bit she could muster. Then, the chaos itself comes into the circle. The blood of the witches around her stain Kanna's navy clothes and dye them black, and the gore rains down without mercy, until-- TWANG! --a discordant note from the interfering elements interrupts the song and spell. For a heartbeat, Kanna is still as the cold wash of failure overtakes her. She failed them, she failed everyone and they would all die here because of her. Another adrenaline-fueled heartbeat passes as Kanna rakes her hands across the koto's strings in frustration. A third heartbeat as the chord rings out, and a pulse of energy rings out. The breaks of strings that had been happening in slow order resound in a powerful clap of thunderous magic that challenges the lightning abovehead itself to grow louder than it. The remaining strings to the undead of Cenril snap all at once the way that Kanna herself had forcefully ripped the strings off herself with the help of Leralynn and Khitti. Those who were living and breathing would not feel the force, but those undead and being between like the cryptid general would feel it as well. A surge of invigoration powers through the human bardic necrobotanist, and despite the throbbing pains rushing through her head and a burning fire in her throat and lungs, Kanna stands and moves to face the surge of undead gore. Blood drips down from her nose and ears, but there is a fire behind her cornflower eyes that says, 'I didn't hear no bell.'

Trajek || The phalanx of soldiers remains unmoving; not when the Cenrillan charge, not when the skies rent open and the storm batters them from above. Each one a statue until the advancing troops drew close. Each soldier dropped its foot back, the shield before it lowering, the broken spear laid upon the rotted rim. Even when the vanguards met, the undead phalanx did not attack. Bony shoulder to bony shoulder, decrepit shield to decrepit, they took the full force of the charge. When their petrified bones had the strength to hold firm, they did; when the force was greater than the undead spearman could handle, the line bowed back. Not a weapon was drawn even when a killing blow was in strike; the undead braced themselves against their shield. When a shied broke and an undead fell, the zombie behind it took its place. They would hold, and they would die another death to do so.

Trajek did not remain where he had stood before his troops; he moved, and undeath moved with him. The first soldier he met, the first experienced man who lunged his weapon at him, he came in beneath it. Quick as his counter lunge, and even quicker did his hands, his fingers, pierce the man’s abdomen. Into his guts his fingers tore, and they stopped only when his grip rested around the man’s spine. A twist. A snap. The soldier fell to the beach, as lifeless as the moment before he was born, and what stood over him was the ghoul, the man’s spine held at the ghoul’s side like a weapon. Vertebra fused, coaxed into undeath by the necromantic energies that pushed from his hand into the spine. Bone elongated, that which ran from the base of the man’s skull fusing, morphing, into a macehead. Tendon, arteries, muscle and meat hardened, and when the ghoul turned to face the Jaxson, the warhammer’s creation had been complete. The next noble who drew close felt the full brunt of the blow --- the hammer connected with a leg, shattering it instantly, the blow much to devastating to be from a single ghoul; an undead soldier from the front line twitched, his body tensing as through exertion, as though it was his hand that had landed the blow. But even with the second soldier dispatched, even with the newly kitted Jaxson throwing words at him, Trajek stood where the last soldier had fallen…and waited. |||| The simulacrum of the beach and ocean grew ever more focused, ever more detailed. From rounded smudges to sharpened features, from the approximation of land mass to the land mass itself. Fully formed. Fully imbued. The first of the ritualists fell back on its haunches. Its chest moved even though it couldn’t breathe, it fought for the last moments of its existence. It succumbed, and with its stillness, the untold, unaccounted for, unknowable languages that had been scarified into its flesh flaked away. Three still knelt around the blackened map between them; the third moved where it had been before, sliding along with the tilt of the ship, as the wave rose higher.

Quintessa || The Worm has no interest in the humans and ghouls that scramble away from it, they are not of importance, but when it approaches the first ring of stars it pauses momentarily to investigate it. Pointing a wormy finger in the direction of the circle, one of the undead charges directly into it and it explodes into brilliant light, absorbing all the holy damage from the first explosion, but this is all the Worm That Walks has time to do before Khitti is on its retinue, striking them down with rainbow chakrams and balls of light. As its iron-masked face snaps in Khitti’s direction an ethereal voice creeps out in response to her quips. “There will be time for that when I bring your body back to my creator.” The Worm That Walks doesn’t move when Khitti shadow-steps towards it, her weapon slicing its body in half effortlessly, her holy magic disintegrating hundreds of individual worms in the aftermath. The creepy crawlies squirm and wiggle on the ground, shifting around to try and build a single body again. They are supernaturally fast on the ground, moving with a strange intention that could not be seen in normal worms. “You will come to regret that.” The ethereal voice goads as the worms begin to pool around Khitti’s feet, crawling up her legs and trying to bite into her leech-like mouths full of razor teeth. The few undead it had brought with it continue to charge into the rings of stars, hoping to destroy as many of them with their sacrifice while the Worm combats the redhead.

Lanlan could feel things spiraling out of control as the spell actually took effect. The chaos bombarded them from two planes: ethereal and corporeal, as ghouls became sentient again or even regained their humanity -completely-, being returned to life. They suffered the most. But the tethers that connected them to the spell snapped, reverberating violently against the spell the witches were casting. If the spell was a torrent of water, the witches were the glass walls that kept it from flowing out of control, and they were under enormous pressure. It was inevitable it seems, that the vessel would chip, and Lanlan saw death take a witch. In that moment he knew the ramifications would be severe enough to take all the witches, if not everyone in the area. And yet he stayed. Lanlan saw the black sludge roll over Juniper and slurp her up, leaving no trace. That wasn’t enough for it, and it would imminently move on to someone else in the circle. Still, he wouldn’t leave. Even as the Worm that Walks breached their formerly impenetrable barrier and started harassing Khitti, even as the legion of longing souls breached their barrier, he lingered. That being said, he still wasn’t going to be -brave-. For no apparent reason (though the mages and witches here would have an inkling), the deathblob has a portion of its mass suddenly burned away. As it nears one of the remaining witches, Lanlan throws his arm forward toward it as his Xalious wood staff slides out of his sleeve and into his hand, waving it in an arc across the deathblob, calling forth an invisible plume of fire to sizzle away at its forward facing mass. Its only momentarily repelled from the witch however. But Lanlan doesn’t stop. Unseen flames continue to lash against it, until it shifts its perception fully toward him, catching him in the act.

Jaxson looks on as the initial collision of forces finds the phalanx of the undead holding fast, a tactic known by many militaries the realm over, to include these veterans. With numbers advantage it was a wise tactic, let the mortal men tire themselves while the undead wait and feast upon that which remains. But Jaxson would not allow this, not with his limited forces, he couldn’t. But as if fate itself had decided to favor him, the darkend skies above hide the storm of arrows that rain down upon that forces of Trajek, as from the shadows a force of felines from The Collective have arrived, led by Kadiir. While the bulk of the Collective had to stay back due to their territory being primarily in the quarantine zone itself, Kadiir has found himself gifted a small force of his people with the blessings of Matriarch Roahin. The arrows are expertly aimed, and land in a way that the endless shieldwall faulters just enough for Jaxson’s forces to break through. The clash has now evolved into the full throws of chaos that such battles often do, as the defenders of Cenril spill into the gaps created by the Collective to meet the undead head on. To his left and right do the valiant men and women he knows as brothers and sisters in arms unleash upon the summoned forces of Caluss a true warrior’s fury. Tylania, a half elf ranger and former scout of Jaxson’s, claims a handful of undead with her magic imbued arrows. Klavin’s a brute of a man, swings his two headed axe and sunders the rotting corpses with unrivaled skill. Falrynn, a mysterious man, commands the arcane to do his bidding as he blasts the waves of undead with cones of cold, freezing them in place before shattering them into oblivion. Yes, these heroes fight for Cenril with all they can, leaving nothing held back as they know defeat could mean a fate worse than death. Even Barion is lost within the lust of battle, as the mad alchemist is finally able to test his experiments without fear of the law, the man cackling as he tosses forth towards the back lines of Trajek’s forces concoctions of a truly sinister design that unleash a hellish phosphorous explosion that will continue to burn away and devour all that remains of the walking corpses. A few brave men had found a path towards Trajek himself in the heat of this battle, but meet a grisly end at the hands of the ghoul, who continues to obliterate all who dare stand before him. In the thick of all this carnage is also Jaxson, that trident used to create a wave of destruction of his own as he tries to push through the ranks of Caluss’ minions to get to their commander before he slaughters anymore. The waters about him seem to cling to the weapon as he spins it about, and with the building of momentum does it seem the sea itself is turned into a weapon as he sends forth arcs of salt water flying forth to cleave enemies in half, followed up by the man summoning powerful gusts of wind to blast away others in his quest to end this battle. That electricity has never left him either, as it burst forth to blast nearby enemies who would get too close. In the absolute chaos of it all the building of powerful magics swirling all across the coast cause the heavens moan in protest, as thunder booms above the battlefield once more. Jaxson sets his sight upon Trajek, and with the trident as a focus, he calls down the wrath of the tempest upon the servant of darkness, sending forth a devastating blast of lighting straight down upon the former wielder of the basilisk blade.

Devoured & Out With The Tide

Valrae || As witches fell, a mournful wail rose from Valrae’s throat. Her scarred skin was slick with sweat as she struggled to pull it back. Her will battled with the magic and the desire of the crystal skulls as spirits poured into the broken circle. The amber skull began to tremble, its crystal mouth cracking open wide as the empty sockets of its eyes gleamed bright. It devoured the restless dead as they neared, siphoning them to itself to feed the endless hunger that rivaled the undeath given form. Kanna’s song falters for a heartbeat, the sound returning loud enough to leave ringing in the witch’s ears. She was nearly knocked back as the song reached its crescendo and the remaining threads of Caluss’s control were ripped away. On a desperate plea to the gods, Valrae cried out. She fell to the ground and landed on her knees, struggling to stand as the rain that had been suspended pelted down around them again. Her hair clung to her face as she tripped through the mud, moving in a deisul direction as she began to end the ritual. “I release you!” She cried out to each watchtower, her tears mixing with the rain that streamed down her face. She fell into the mud then, as one of the undead that had come with the Worm slammed into the stars that Khitti had summoned and the blast knocked her back. Her vision swam, a high pitched ring echoing in her head as she looked into the lifeless eyes of a crone who lay before her. The witches were trying to reform the circle, to protect those at the center as they battled the new wave of zombies with curses and offensive spells flung from finger tips and wands alike. They joined Lan’s effort to beat back the living form of undeath even as it consumed the bodies of the witches that had already fallen. Valrae stood on trembling legs, mud clinging to her as she neared the center of the circle. Pain rippled through her as she reached out, taking hold of the emerald skull first as it hovered over the ground. Reunited with it, the magic slammed through her body. She was nearly knocked down again but she held tight, focusing it on ending the ritual as she cut the connection to the bisthmus skull, and then the amethyst. They clattered to the ground, the light snuffed out of them just as the witches regained control of the circle and the spirits were beaten back. The wind began to die, and the amber skull fell last. It’s crystal mouth closed, the sound as piercing as nails being drug across a board as its feast ended.

Khitti let out a shriek as the worms started to pool around her and crawl up her legs. As they gnawed and bit at her flesh and continued to make their way up her body, she shook with anxiety and screamed as she frantically tried to brush them away, sparks of light seen shining around her form as she struggled. Memories of decades past when she was back in her homeland flooded her mind. One fateful day, Khitti had gone into a nearby pond for a swim and in her forgetfulness, she’d stepped into a section of the water that was swarming with leeches. She’d screamed and ran out of the water, covered in them. Her father had had to use a lit cigar to burn them off of her. She continued to scream now, just as she had then. It almost looked like the end, the worms had nearly taken her over until a person-sized ball of light began to shine beneath the worms. It kept building and building, in brightness and heat until finally, it exploded. That explosion triggered the stars nearby, many of those too added to the light and heat. Any of those considered a friend was showered in a warm wave of healing, while those that were foes--like those disgusting worms--would be dealt the full force of Khitti’s holy magic. Even the poor undead that the ritual had been for would likely take some amount of damage, but none so much that necromancy couldn’t deal with. And Khitti? Where was Khitti? She wasn’t in that same spot. Perhaps she blew up with her spell. Smoke curled up off the ground where she’d once stood and there was even scorch marks from the blast that had blackened the dirt. No, she wasn’t dead. She’d shadowstepped a few feet away and was currently trying to brush off any worms that might remain, while still screeching like a pterodactyl. It’d be a moment, but she’d get back to fighting if it was still needed.

Kanna stumbles forward, her heirloom koto filthy, waterlogged, and abandoned at the base of the pyre as she moves towards the mass of concentrated undeath. In a flash of lightning, Kanna swears she can see the viridian insectoid eyes of Alithyk Caluss staring back down at her in disdain. Unseen to her in the chaos sweeping around the pyre, a surge of energy revitalizes her stamina, stopping the active bleeding from her insides at her overexertion of magic. Kanna takes a deep breath, a very deep breath for the years of her life she was unable to breathe while being a slave to the cretin that called itself the God of Undeath, and unleashes a banshee scream. The soundwaves from the spell center solely on the mass of undeath. The force of the soundwaves cut through the being just as Lanlan unleashes the fire magic at it. Bits of it are cauterized off, made easier by the dislocation by Kanna's bardic scream. The air in her lungs run out, and a tendril from the mass of undeath lashes out at her in the moment of vulnerability. Kanna gasps and shuts her eyes, only for a hand to reach out to grab the tendril. The ghoul Kanna had brought with her from Cenril to Vailkrin and back, the nameless once-human called Tuxedo Mask, now a skeleton that still wears the tuxedo and featureless porcelain mask over it's skull, looks back at Kanna as the tendril wraps around him instead. "Thank you." Though he has no vocal chords to speak it with, the words still resonate through her mind. Before Kanna has a chance to react, to cry out for her comrade, the skeleton is pulled into the mass of concentrated undeath and smashed to pieces, bits of bony shrapnel raining down on those who remain. With the concentrated undeath distracted just for a hair of a moment, perhaps there would be an opportunity to strike.

Trajek || What force could hold fast in such an onslaught? Row after row of the undead phalanx faltered. Cut down by powers or by the strength of arms, with broken armor and arms, each succumbed to the blow that was directed squarely at them. Yet still they did not fight. Even as the last of the phalanx fell, the last row, leaving nothing but mounds of putrid, broken flesh, those that stood the line, that held the line, did so without a single arm raised in anger. A victory, it would seem hard fought and easily won. The last undead who stood on the field of battle was Trajek, his hammer swung with mighty blows that broke bone and body alike. Alone, until one looked towards the bay. || For now it truly was a field of battle. The waters had pulled back nigh completely, exposing the bay’s ground. Boulders and chains. Brown sand that faded to dark rock. Dying fish and the skeletons of ships and those who had departed. Centuries upon centuries, the dead had fallen to the bottom of the bay. Centuries upon centuries, men had tested the ocean and had been found wanting. Months upon months, the Leviathan had torn through the local populace, throwing ship and sailor alike to death within the depths. And with the waters receded, pulled back into a wave that fought the moon and stars for dominance of the sky, they found their life anew. || The strands that rose from Trajek’s back went taut; his connection to the undead sensing the blast that was coming his way. The ghoul turned, his mouth covered with the gore of his latest victim, the flesh he tore from the dying man’s body pushed through his mouth and falling out from the hole that was his neck, and his gore-stained teeth were barred in a grin. The blow hit him squarely, though it was not the ghoul who moved. Far in the distance, newly raised undead, hundreds upon hundreds of them, evaporated --- the flash of lightning that connected with burned a hole into the newly uncovered ocean floor. The strands that ran from his back, those seen only by those attuned to magic, flexed, burned brightly, and then returned to their hazed blackness. || When Trajek took a step forward, those uncountable number of undead the ocean had claimed took a step. When he raised his war hammer, what weapons the undead had in their hands were raised to. And when he lunged forward, when he threw himself in a headlong rush at Jaxson, those that had raised fully from the ocean floor began their assault in earnest as well.

Quintessa || Disjointed and separated, the necrotic magic keeping the Worm that Walks held together fades under the assault of Khitti’s light magic, a great majority of the worms evaporating instantly as the chain reaction obliterates them. Only precious few core worms survived the barrage of energy, the undead creature lacking resistances against such an attack, but it made up for that by being tricky to fully destroy. As the remaining vermin scatter, leaving behind a cold-iron mask on the ground as they retreat to reform somewhere else, that eerie voice whispering out once more. “You have bought yourselves more time,” it congratulates the group, a bitterness in its tone, “But for mortals it will always inevitably run out. Farewell, I’ll give Quintessa your regards.” With its mission failed and its reason to be here gone, the Worm That Walks slithers away to safety, the dark clouds filled with purple lightning clearing away slowly to reveal the clear sky.

Jaxson | Jaxson feels the strain of channeling so much eldritch power sapping his strength, testing his resolve to carry on with every passing moment. The last blast has used up the bulk of his physical strength, and with every passing moment more and more of his comrades die. In a moment of weakness he drops the trident and just stands there. Arrow after arrow from the feline Collective led by Kadiir find a mark, but it almost seems pointless in the light of the seemingly unending supply of new forces Trajek can conjure forth due to having Caluss’ favor. Sweat, even blood, drips down from his brow as his breath comes in slow and heavy waves. Blasts of arcane magic, explosions of Barion’s alchemical creations, and the roar of barbarian rage from others all sound muffled and distant as Jax watches Trajek survive a direct blast of the tempest’s wrath. Then the dead begin to rise once more, as the ghoul summons forth yet again the lost souls that were claimed by the sea to do his bidding. The ancient being, the primordial, that chose him as her vessel cries out at this great insult. She was to claim all those lost beneath the waves, she and she alone had the right to them, for this creature to dare continue plucking them from her was an insult she would no longer tolerate. The shadows close in around Jaxson, he is once more lost within the recesses of his mind where the mistress of the abyssal depths reaches out to him once more. ‘Call upon it…” She demands. ‘Call forth my child, so that I may reclaim what was stolen!’ This command comes as a roar, that darkness of his thoughts shatters like glass at her rage and the exhausted and at his limits Jaxson once more finds himself under the thumb of his patron once again. The dark veins return, creeping up his neck, until they cover most of his features. His eyes roll into the back of his head as those eldritch powers swirl about him, causing the trident to pulsate with power even as Trajek rises in unison with his legion of undead puppets. The warlock’s body starts to rise above the ground as the swirling mass of ancient power courses about him, building and building before seemingly imploding into him. He comes too, as is resurfacing from deep waters, gasping for breath before his gaze rolls back, though now the sclera of eyes are pitch black, the color of his once blue irises are now a glowing sea green hue. Reaching out with his right hand the trident returns to his grip, as his voice booms out with a darker tone, a mixture of his own and another’s, as they say. “Come forth my child..” As they raise up the trident, “Take back that which was stolen…” The already chaotic sea almost seems to calm for a brief moment, but to say that is the truth would be a lie. No, the chaos that swells the tides due to the ghoul’s ritual continues, but beneath those waves something else stirs from its millennia of slumber. Yes, from the depths of the sea comes forth a child of the primordial, a colossus of destruction in the form of a massive sea serpent. A leviathan.

Jaxson | This ancient creature’s emergence from the depths comes first from below one of the ships holding one of the undead performing the ritual, the resulting collision of ship to sea born monstrosity captures the attention of all upon the battlefield, as within the blink of an eye the ship if bit in half by the great serpent, sending what it does not swallow within its gaping maw back into the abyss where it belongs. The great beast whips its massive head around as it chews, setting its sights upon the other ship. A moment of pause is taken before the behemoth builds up a swelling of eldritch power from deep within, the inhalation causing a vacuum like force to pull the ship and many of both Jaxson’s and Trajek’s troops back out into the sea with its force, before it would then unleash its fury in a tremendous blast of power upon its target. The darkness that has blanketed the realm is once more illuminated by the brilliance of another display of awe inspiring power. The second ship is destroyed by this, totally annihilated to the point nothing remains. The giant serpent then lunges forth back into the depths, the ritual stopped as none remains to conjure forth the intended destruction the ghoul had planned. Now does the vessel known as Jaxson look down upon the charging forces of Trajek and his horde, that multiple voices of their calling out to the servant of Caluss. “You took from the sea, and the sea shall reclaim that which belongs to it.” Raising the trident, tentacles of eldritch power would rise up beneath every undead Trajek has risen. They wrap themselves about their bodies, stopping their advance before violently dragging them beneath the ocean floor once more. With this act done, Jaxson’s body falls back to the earth below, the trident falling before him. Painfully he struggles to fight for control, even as the primordial tries to finally take what she so eagerly has been wishing to claim. But he hasn’t said yes, he hasn’t given in, and because of that the primordial is once more driven from him, leaving only the ghoul and the warlock and the small remaining forces they have standing in the bay. With the ritual done, the sea returns to normal, and Jaxson’s men swiftly pull him back to the shore, leaving Trajek and his remaining undead to be swallowed up by the sea that comes rushing in once again.

Lanlan became aware of an interested third party overseeing things through his eyes, or perhaps through something he wore. Nearly simultaneously he felt himself beckoned toward the use of a spell he hadn’t considered before, though it was one that came with a cost. Other witches gathered with him to beat it back, but the deathblob seemed to absorb and regenerate all of it. He decided to lean on his invisible overwatcher, and as the pyre’s power waned, he reached for it, suddenly knowing how to claim it for his own benefit. He felt the power burgeoning through him, in a way that must’ve been similar to how Valrae felt. Instantly he felt electric, but knew he couldn’t house such a force without…detonating. Yet it was too close to Kanna, and he wouldn’t unleash it if she was at risk of being consumed. As dubious at it seemed to trust her, he -wanted- to. He remembered the version of her that went along with his harmless prank when nobody else thought it was funny! Some day, he wanted that Kanna back. Luckily her ghoul friend recognized her even as a human and intervened on her behalf.The bones from his skull to his vertebrae seemed to glow and pulse until he channeled it through his Xalious wood staff, and then the nature of his hidden patrons magic emerged. A great serpentine creature of pure force erupted and slithered out endlessly toward the deathblob, wrapping around it until it was ensnared in layers of blindingly vibrant violet coils. The massive maw arched its head briefly before suddenly snapping down against the unfortunate deathblob, engulfing it and plunging the entirety of it into nothingness. The serpent thrust it violently into some unseen realm, disappearing against the ground until there was nothing left of it or the deathblob. As if knowing he’d just committed some atrocity, he wanted to silently disappear, and he slowly retreats from the mages who were just helping him, gathering darkness around him until he seems to disappear.

Bitter Fruit

Valrae || Terror speared through Valrae’s chest as Khitti’s screams reached her, she looked around, desprate to spot the redhead in the maddness. It was then that the remaining stars burst, she braced herself for pain but was instead anointed in healing, holy magics. A sigh tumbled from her lips as the ringing in her ears finally ceased. It returned as Kanna unleashed a scream so powerful her soaked hair was blasted back from her mud and tear streaked face. She watched in horror and awe as the undeath took the full force of that scream. Her stomach rolled as black, stinking rot spewed around the circle. As the tendril reached out for Kanna, Valrae moved. She knew as she ran she would be too late and the despair of that knowledge ached in her chest. It was then that Tuxedo ghoul appeared, sparing the bard at the expense of himself. A strangled sob caught in her throat as she fell to her knees. The witch had little time to mourn as the Worm made his exit, his eerie voice reaching her with a threatening farwell that seemed to hold the promise of pain for Quintessa. With the emerald skull wrapped tightly in her arms, Valrae finds her feet and turns back to the writing mass of hunger. At the exact moment she reached for whatever reserves of strength she might have left, Lanlan’s sperantine power coiled around the undeath and swallowed it whole. Her stomach clenched at the sight, bile rising in her throat. She took a step toward Lan but he was gone, swallowed up in the line of mages and out of her sight. The words she might have said to him died on her tongue. The fire died then, as Valrae pulled the last of the ritual to a close, most of the magic already snuffed out from the feat that Lanlan had just accomplished. The magic that had permeated the air cleared and her coven was freed from the circle that bound them.

Khitti finally stopped freaking out long enough to realize that the ritual was done and the worms had gone. She breathed a sigh heavy enough to blow at her long bangs and moved to pick up her chakram and found the cold-iron mask nearby. She let out a ‘hm’, then kicked it with her boot just right, so that it flipped up into the air for her to catch. Khitti looked it over, making sure there weren't any worms still attached to it, then shoved it into her satchel for now. She took a moment and looked around, realizing the death that had occurred behind her while she fought off the Worm. “Wait… where the hell is Lanlan?” Siiiigh. She just stood there, looked at Kanna, then shifted her attention towards Valrae. She really didn’t know what else to say about any of this. She just looked tired. Eternally, existentially exhausted. But, she eventually went to collect the witches and the bard, frowning at where the drow had once been. “Come on… We’ll find a place for you all in the apartment for tonight. The back door to the bakery isn’t far from here.” Thank the gods they had remodeled it and added a third floor before Lucien was born. The backdoor to the bakery would be left unlocked, just in case Lanlan had made it and wanted somewhere safe for the night.

Jaxson is supported by one of his comrades as they fall back, and soon join Kadiir and the feline Collective forces at the beachhead to take measure of lives lost and damage. Luckily the fight never made it out the bay, which is quickly being swallowed up once again by the sea. The threat of the ghoul still lingers, Jax knowing that thing isn’t defeated yet. Another clash would seem inevitable, but he would prepare. The events leading up to this, the Sullen Siren and now this battle, have shown him more of his true powers than ever before. Next time the ghoul showed his putrid face, the Ravencroft heir would be ready. For now, those remaining brave souls who stood with him would retreat, Kadiir already leading them to the Alystrian Lounge, where booze, smokes and rest await them all. Healers will be sent for, but all Jax wanted at the moment was solitude. He had much to ponder.

Kanna falls to her knees as the scraps of cloth and the shredded missing persons poster float to the ground. Though the extreme weather had passed, a storm was still brewing in her mind as she tried to make sense of what had happened. All was silent now; had they been victorious? With her face and clothing once again smudged in mud and soot, the necrobotanist forces herself to rise and move towards her heirloom instrument. It was so much larger than she was, but with a few fluid movements, practiced for nearly as long as she had been alive, the stringed instrument folds in on itself until it is little more than a large box with two leather straps for her to hoist onto its back. Once it rests on her back again with her wooden staff, Kanna tiredly follows Khitti's order to find safety in the Ginger-Snapped. The fruits of their sacrifices would be seen once the sun rose again over Cenril.

Lanlan saw Valrae approaching him as nothingness swallowed him up, but he didn’t stop it. He just waved. For a moment, he thought he would accompany them to Khitti’s house to bask in their camaraderie, but he didn’t want to be prodded about his mistakes. It was his job to maintain the integrity of the spell and he failed, causing Juniper to die. Never mind the blank check he just wrote to a particular monster in the name of protecting his friends’ and (mainly) his own life. He didn’t need to be questioned about these things, didn’t want to be. They had each other and the entire coven to congratulate and commiserate with, and he had himself. That was fine, it was always fine. The next time he appears, its at 1 Reverie Court, the location of the coral castle.

Valrae || The rain had ended. Humans and ghouls began stumbling out of where they’d hidden, their faces a mix of terror and confusion as they took in the destruction that was wrought and struggled with newness of life. At the center of it all, the circle was burned into the ground in mud streaked silver. Witches moved about, tending the wounded and what little was left of their dead. Valrae stood near the pyre, fully spent and unsure if she could manage the mountain tasks that still lay at her feet. Greif moved through her coven, was vocalized in those who cried out over the fallen bodies of their sisters. And a guilt so profound it left a taste of bitterness burning the back of her throat kept her still as a stone, rooted to her place in the mud. Khitti appeared again, pulling her from the consuming tide of guilt that threatened to drown her, and Valrae had to fight the urge to fall sobbing into her arms. She could see her exhaustion mirrored on the redhead’s face. Surely it was reflected on Kanna as well, the horrors of the last week enough to last anyone several lifetimes. She nodded wordlessly to Khitti, only stopping once to pass orders to the new witches that had stepped into the quarantine zone. They had been absent in the ritual, they were fresh and ready to face the task of cleaning up the mess that the ritual had made and were ready to offer aid to those who would now begin the journey of reuniting with family or laying to rest those that they lost. As Valrae headed toward Khitti’s bakery, she wondered what the world would look like for Cenril in the light of tomorrow.