Refuge

by **Liar** on March 1st, 2012, 6:44 pm

1 Spring, 512

An expedition was to be made, the message said, to see what answers the Aperture held. All who would find a solution, or a salvation, were invited to add their strength to the team.

The dangers would be many, the messengers warned, to which the people laughed and looked around. But nonetheless, the gossip of Nyka surpassed the odds and word got round well enough.

If all the monsters were running around up here, the people reasoned, then what was left in there?

Saera Sennac was waiting with a handful of monks at the center of the Cursed Bridge, while pairs of them guarded either side for the first time in decades. There was little use here, in this refuge from the destruction; even the monsters avoided this cursed and sacred place, though whether it was for the presence of the guards was hard to tell. Their brown robes were emblazoned with more than the Sword of Uphis, troops from every Quarter having warily set aside their differences for the good of the cause. Survivors trickled into their team, some who had heard the message and were eager to fight, others who had wandered through the wreckage and chosen to join the mission if only to escape the rest.

The rope bridge that hung into the darkness was strong, though it was rarely changed or touched. Saera ran a finger over the tight hemp cords, then closed her fist when she realized she was shaking. The monk initiates did not use this one, but every monk around her knew the feeling of dread that came with facing the flimsy ladder and its inevitable end. It was not dread that moved her now, but insufferable anxiety, a sense of heart-wrenching panic that she could not shake. She wanted to look into the darkness, but could not bring herself to bend over the edge.

One of their best aurists, and a dear friend, had gone mad trying to find some meaning to it all. Nyka, in her isolation, had learned little aside from the warning of the Konti healers. It was a war of the gods, or the peace of them—the latter was admittedly less probable, and therefore like to shake the world worse. The cause of it did not matter anymore, only the end.

The people were restless, their movements frantic. One made a suggestion that stirred the high priestess more than she would have liked. “No magic,” she ordered, or repeated; she could not remember. Magic was the reason for this, the magic of the world, the Aperture, the gods. Magic meant ruin, today of all days.

And yet here they were, ready to descend into the heart of it.

OOC :

by **Jett Variona** on March 4th, 2012, 1:35 am

It did not take long to prepare. Monks did not own anything, and the equipment that did accompany them were normally on them at all times. The food and other provisions were the responsibilities of another, and so all that Jett needed to worry about were the robes on his back and the hammer at his side. It was almost his initiation all over again.

As he stared down the depth of the Aperture he was reminded again of how much he did not want to be doing this. He would rather be fighting out here, protecting his beloved Nyka from her invaders. In fact that was what he had intended to do from the beginning until he heard of the disappearance of Azura. He hadn't talked to his monk sponsor for at least a half season, but she was still one of his closest friends. It was in no small part because of Azura that he now wore the Anvil upon his breast.

The high priestess of Uphis said no magic, and that gave Jett cause for concern. Of course there would be no magic. The world was swirling with it, what calamity would happen should he try to influence the flow with his inexperienced hand? Surely disaster, if not to those around him then to himself.

Jett placed a hand upon Agnis's head to reassure himself. All this waiting around was worse for his nerves than just going through with it, he thought. When they were finally ready he knew that he would volunteer to be the first one down.

by **Lucas Arias** on March 4th, 2012, 6:44 am

Nyka was in chaos. Lucas wasn’t sure what exactly was happening and why, but he knew that it was bad. Very bad. It was so bad that he reconsidered his decision to go on this stupid „pilgrimage“ yet again. He should have stayed in Syliras. Syliras was probably safe. The knights would have prevented the things that were happening in Nyka now. A couple of his neighbours had suddenly disappeared. The knights would have found them whereas the monks didn’t seem to be able to. The knights would also have killed the monsters that roamed the streets. Most of them had boring personalities, but they were at least good at killing things.

At first Lucas considered just hiding in his house, under his bed, with his sword, but then it occured to him that a monster could jump through the window and eat him, so he decided not to stay inside after all. He’d heard that an expedition into the Aperture was planned. Under normal circumstances he would never have considered joining such an expedition – he valued his life too much - but seeing as most monsters seemed to be in the city at the moment, the Aperture was probably safer than Nyka itself. So he made his way to the bridge, sword in hand, hoping that they’d let him take part even though he was not a monk.

Maybe they’d make him a honorary monk just for this occasion?

The warning about no magic was acknowledged. Lucas was not a mage anyway, at least not a particularly good one. His sole attempt at magic consisted of trying to open a void – once – and then he’d never done it again because it was too complicated for his taste. With his kind of luck he would probably void himself instead of the monsters. A sword was easier to control. Besides, he had Kelwyn on his side as well.

by **Volans** on March 10th, 2012, 10:28 pm

Now and forevermore, he is...

...the one who dwells in the recesses of night.

Nyka, the only home he had ever known since his fall, was burning. And the ethaefal known as Volans could only sit and watch as it was torn to pieces.

Its wounds were magical in nature, the byproduct of a terrible storm that screamed with a divine wrath. Volans had been indoors when it had happened, luckily enough, in his room at the Safe Haven Hostel. There he had sat, shivering on the edge of his cot, as a God’s fury had poured out and shook of the very foundations of the monk city.

He had made his way to the Cursed Bridge out of sheer desperation. He had heard of the expedition down into the Aperture from some of the other occupants of Safe Haven. The danger of it was mentioned as well, and it had been that fact that had stayed his hand ever so slightly before he had left the hostel. He had no combative skills of any kind. The only type of fighting he had been in was with the more corrupt monks, and most – no, all – of those fights, he had lost.

But he had to help. That Volans knew in his heart.

He had joined the mongering crowds at the last minute, just in time to hear the high priestess’s warning.

“No magic?” He muttered to himself. “That won’t be a problem.”

Despite his acidic aside, and as he glanced into the depths of the Aperture, Volans couldn’t help but think of how unprepared he – and the rest of his group – truly was...

by **Liar** on March 11th, 2012, 7:58 pm

Saera went first, Jett second. There were two other Uphis monks, as well as three with the wheat stalk on their breast and one with the coin. Cameron Niktam, High Priest of the Heavy Coffers, framed the group at the back of the line, sent by his Lord Alvina to account for the missing and the dead. In addition to these nine were ten other brave souls, citizens and visitors alike. A pair of Vanthan brothers had brought their weapons, as well as a merchant from Zeltiva. With a Syliran and an ethaefal, they climbed down between mourning, hard-faced Nykans, who forgave them for their strangeness if only for the coming hours. There was as much terror in the bleak sky, looking up, as there was in the untold shadows below, looking down. Each of them was on edge, but the old ropes held true and no one fell.

The aura of panic was almost tangible down there, so much that it was almost easier to separate oneself from the peculiar affect. They gathered around the ladder in the darkness, shuffling around to the scraping of flint against steel. “Our existence attracts enough attention,” she explained to those who questioned them. “The flames won’t hurt much else.”

Soon enough, a torch was lit, and six fire-wielding monks took to ranks among the group. They had seen the bottom before, in the three days of their Trial, but never like this: the walls were as rocky and steep as they were anywhere else, but at their base were strewn remnants of shattered stone that had clearly been carved and painted once, and beneath their feet were little square tiles that might have once lined a great plaza.

The High Priestess took little heed of such wonders. She glanced down the cavern, noting how it narrowed on both sides, and ultimately decided to move eastward. “You may see and hear unspeakable things, and you may not be the only one to see them.” A great pillar had fallen across the path and split into three pieces, leaving the group to trickle around it. “But you cannot trust your senses here. Stay alert, and move forward. Have your weapons at the ready, even if you’ve brought only your mind. I suspect that, by the end of this, blades will not be our only defense.” Cameron Niktam chuckled at her mention of a weapon used by only one-fourth of the city’s guard. She ignored him, added, “Watch your step.”

Her long brown robes barely skirted a pile of flesh and bone and blood that might have once been human, freshly thrown to his death from high above. The Zeltivan made to retch, but managed to hold it back. “Be strong, soldier,” Cameron suggested wryly. His voice was shaking through his thin smile, but he seemed keen on keeping the mood light. “You will see more monstrosities than that, in this place. Bet you haven’t heard the story of—”

“Oof!” Someone cried, and Cameron stopped to look back. The very last torch-bearing monk looked back too; the noise had come from behind even him. If one were to count the heads among them, they might notice that there were one too few.

“Beware the shadows,” Saera Sennac warned, and continued forward.

by **Jett Variona** on March 15th, 2012, 8:09 am

Before he knew it, Jett's sandaled feet met the rocky floor of the Aperture. He quickly stepped aside as those behind him made their descent. He took one of the lit torches offered to him by a monk, and awaited the final adventurer to touch the ground.

He placed a hand down upon the cool earth, his fingers tracing cracks along the stone. He recalled his initiation, of how ignorant he was at that time. He had tried to reassure himself that his affinity to rock would help to make him feel more at home during his time in the Aperture, but that was folly. This wasn't even a home to the creatures that he had fought here, no more than an urchin would call the streets his own. He could surround himself in a cocoon of earth and still would not feel safe.

He rose as they readied themselves for their journey. Jett drew Agnis to his hand, relishing her tight embrace as if she had been made for his very grip. He swung her in a small circle, closing his eyes as the air wooshed by his ear. It was almost calming.

He did not know personally anyone in this little band, most of his comrades were up in Nyka fighting off the hordes that plagued their streets. Once again he longed to be by their sides, but he could not abandon a chance at finding Azura. Those who traveled with him now he would get to know, for their lives would be next to his in the hands of the Celestials.

One had already vanished. So soon? Jett shuddered away his imagination as it began to conjure up visions of grasping shadows and formless monsters that could not be defeated. He made his step to be livelier, and fell in between two who's faces he thought he had seen before but was not sure. A boy and an obvious foreigner. He nodded to each as if he were not afraid of the dark unknown, for it was a monk's job to be brave in these situations. If he did not have heart, who would?

by **Lucas Arias** on March 20th, 2012, 3:08 pm

Being fairly new to Nyka, Lucas couldn’t tell the monks apart. No matter whether they served Uphis or somebody else, they all looked the same to him. He didn’t care which Alvina they served anyway, as long as they were well armed. He didn’t know any of the people that had decided to climb into the Aperture with him, but they looked as if they knew what they were doing, so he decided to follow them – for now.

He couldn’t see very well in the dark, so he was relieved when they lit a couple of torches. He actually wasn’t particularly worried at first. To him it seemed as if the real danger was in the city above, lurking somewhere near his home and waiting for his return so that it could eat him. He only started being a little concerned when that woman mentioned that their existence already attracted enough attention.

Since he was not a monk, he only had the vaguest idea as to what he should expect. He hadn’t thought that he would find tiles on the floor. Wasn’t this some kind of monster lair? Had the Aperture been part of the city once?

He took note of the High Priestess‘ warning. Lucas never trusted his senses anyway, at least not since a girl he had tried to hit on once had turned out to be a boy. His sword was drawn. It seemed best to do what she said.

As he noticed the pile of flesh on the ground, he made a face and quickly looked away. Lucas wasn’t really squeamish, but neither was he the kind of person that enjoyed looking at such things. He was much happier when he didn’t have to see blood.

„This isn’t really a monstrosity“, he remarked to Cameron. „It’s a dead guy …“ He was just about to inform him that the monstrosity was probably at least in part responsible for what had happened when he heard the cry.

As he looked around, he noticed that there was somebody missing, although he didn’t have any idea who. It suddenly seemed a very good idea to stay near the others, especially the High Priestess – who didn’t really react to the disappearance.

„You’ve noticed that somebody’s gone, right? Shouldn’t we look for them?“ he asked.

by **Volans** on March 25th, 2012, 2:27 am

Volans had kept himself at the back of the group, which made the disappearance all the more frightening. It could have so easily been him...one or more of the monks might have noticed Volans sidle a little closer to them, though it might just have been a trick of the dim light.

"We were told to keep moving, Arias." Volans muttered in response to the redheaded boy's question, "And, as the strangers, we're out of our depth here. I'm going to do as the High Priestess says...I don't like leaving him behind, but," There was an affected shrug of the shoulders with just a touch more bitterness than there should have been; he knew what it was like to be abandoned- "We have to just keep on moving."

There was a grimace on his face as he looked away, but the lines of his mouth were set and his shoulders were strong. Volans kept on moving.

"We should keep watch every direction, even at the walls." Volans said, steadily. "And be sure to keep in the light." At the end, his voice held but the slightest tremor.

by **Liar** on March 26th, 2012, 3:40 pm

“That’s the spirit,” Cameron japed, giving a hard slap to the Syliran’s shoulder. A sigh was all the mourning he gave to the man who had disappeared. “Not a monster, just a fall. But a strong stomach’s not as helpful as a strong mind. The Aperture chooses whom it will, it seems. We cannot hope to stop it.”

“Do not be afraid to resist,” Saera interjected. “There is always a way to fight.”

“Fight what? There’s nothing. Look. You can’t even see the lights of the Last Breath, or any fancy dourdem vines. Everything’s dead, or risen. We’re alone.”

His words, their implications, quieted the group for a while. There was only the sound of their breathing and their feet on the dirt and sparse tiles. The dark seemed to surround them as they huddled near their flames, shutting out the world. However they protected them, the torches left them night-blind, nulled the dim light that wilted down from the crack above, the sun and the flames and the wild djed. And then, though no one would be able to say when, the slightest of breezes began to move through the dank cavern path. It smelled dank and stale as it touched their faces and tugged at their clothes, like delicate, pushing fingers.

There was another sound, the whispering trickle of falling water. Perhaps soothed by the noise around them, a few voices rose in mumbling conversation. What were they looking for? They complained. What could they possibly find?

“Shh,” someone said.

The other sounds seemed petty distractions, when a good ear finally found the sound of a human between them. They were headed toward a whimpering song, full of muttered prayers and heavy breaths. Before long, crumbling white stairs rose before them. Saera did not hesitate to continue upward, and the monk that trailed her revealed with his torch the ruins of what seemed to be a shrine.

The stone was not the same as might have been familiar to Nyka, but seemed bleached white, or unstained. The platform at the top of the steps was square, with the remains of tall pillars standing at each corner. Beneath their feet was carved a great circle, made of the names of so many gods: Ivak and Gnora, Leth and Syna, Kihala and Dira and Lhex were all spelled out among others, like Common-tongue glyphs. The names were repeated on each pillar, over and over, an eternal, unyielding prayer. At the center of it all a woman sat on her side, as if she had once been kneeling. Her clothes and hair were both incredibly mussed and markedly Nykan. The light shined in the fresh blood on her knees and hands.

“No... No,” she was muttering. Though she flinched from the light and shielded her eyes, she did not withdraw from her position. She only waved her arms at them and cried, “Why are you here? Go back! This is my place, my sanctuary. The rest were taken, but not me.” She turned away, mumbling to no one, pressing her injured palm into the streak for red beneath her. “Why not me?”

by **Jett Variona** on March 31st, 2012, 1:59 am

The magic here was so heavy Jett could practically feel the res seeping from his breath. The scars on his hands ached, briefly conjuring an unbidden memory of when his uncle had bestowed upon him the gift of his Reimancy, and his training within it. He quickly shook away his lack of focus and looked around for the source of the water, partly in order to deter his slowly blackening fear.

He wasn't the first to pick up the sounds of life from the ruins before them, nor was he the last. He swung his torch round, standing slightly behind the two leaders in their expedition.

He viewed the frantic woman with more suspicion than sympathy. Was she one of those they sought? Or perhaps an illusion, or a more sinister creature in disguise. His fingers twitched indecisively upon Agnis's hilt.

No one moved for a second. Jett's voice broke first through the woman's sobs, perhaps over asserting his station. "Where are the others?" He demanded. "What has taken them? Speak quickly!"