Quest Lost & Damned

[Rayage]

Ray proceeded with caution. This man knew Wrenmaes name, and it would be best to find out more information before blindly joining the old man. Though Wrenmae thought otherwise, announcing that he would return once his business was settled. Ray had a feeling that it would not be the case, or at least as easy as Wrenmae made it sound. He put too much faith in the man and in this seemingly shifting place. Once split up no one knows how long it might take to get back together. So be it, was Rays concluding thoughts as he watched the other start to leave with the man, opening the door and departing.

Then there was two. How easily the numbers fall. Circumstance or Fate, whichever force drives this setting of events, one had to applaud it for things seemed to be going disturbingly as planned. The nuit let his gaze wander the room, looking over the nick-nacks and gadgets, the piles of books and scrolls, such a collection of things was quite impressive, along with the knowledge which may be stored here.

The undead let his body wander where his gaze was transfixed. He overlooked the books for now in favor of the gadgets and gizmos that laid about the room. Some of the items were curiosities he had never seen before. It amazed him as he looked one over and wondered what it did or what its intended purpose was. He even went as far as to carefully pick one such contraption up and start to analyze it not only with his eyes, but his magical senses as well. Gaze transfixed on the item in his hand, the summoning of djed took some effort, a bit of time passed as he moved the item in his hand, looking at it from all different angles. What was it? He asked himself, and more importantly was it ordinary? Well they would soon find out as slowly the aura started to show itself, the lights flickering into view in his mind. Tactile impressions slowly started to come to him.

"How long do you suppose it takes to amass such a collection as this?" he asked when he was satisfied with the impressions he had got from the thing, talking mostly to himself, but his words were not to be lost on others. He felt tired from the djed drain, so much djed, yet so little information, "There sure is a lot." he commented his gaze falling on the ornate book, and he nodded at it, hinting that it might be something worth looking into. It definitely looked different from the other books around the room, though it was just as old, of that he was sure.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian stared at Wrenmae for a moment before nodding, and then the man was gone. He shared a long, pregnant stare with Rayage, too, before the both of them began to case the joint. So far all his auristic training had offered little tangible information; all the same, his senses were on high alert in an attempt to gather more information about all that was around them. The Lormar symbol Eyris had writ upon his hand flared to life as he culled the chavi of certain items and books for contributions made by those who had crafted, written, used, or read them. "That would depend, I suppose, on how much gold one has at one's disposal," he said quietly. "And connections. My father gathered a fair amount of books for a private citizen, but the library of the University could outbid him if they wanted a valuable book. It's certainly impressive, though." When Rayage nodded to the rather ornate book, Hadrian crouched to pick it up. He didn't feel any sort of magical traps attached to it, but some things were nearly impossible to spot, passive until one triggered something. All the same, he opened the book. "Living Structures," he noted. "I wonder if this deals with magecrafted or animated buildings. If I ever master animation, I would be hard-pressed not to attempt to create a Supervisor, even after seeing what trouble Drainira has given Mashaen and the others." Hadrian had rubbed elbows with the elite of Sahova, though the extent to which he had done was not something he often elaborated upon. All the same, he found Rayage to be a thought-provoking companion. Perhaps they might be friends as well as colleagues, though the last Nuit he had called friend had turned out to have a criminal bent. As he leafed through the pages, his eyebrows rose, even as a faint shudder went through his body. The healers had apparently not dealt with whatever he had contracted from Trente during the auction. Perhaps in Sunberth he could find someone to look into it. He didn't want to be weakened and sickly in such a place.

[Paragon]

Hadrian & Rayage The pair found themselves comfortable in each others company. Hadrian's name dropping told Rayage all he needed to know. The man was respected, by those with power on the isle of the undead. That probably made him a safe bet. Having gotten over their awe at the small library this crazed man seemed to possess, Hadrian began to look a little deeper at the book he had picked up. Living Structures. It had caught both their eyes since it seemed to be the oldest tome in the room - at least on the surface. As he leafed through the preface, he began to realise this was not simply magecrafting or animation. His fingers ran over the page, and Rayage would turn to see Hadrian's curious face. Architectrix is the magical art of birthing buildings, great works of architectual art, guided by the Djed that flows all around us. Its use can be seen in several buildings across Alahea. Two points came to mind: the mention of Alahea meant this book had existed pre-Valterrian. Secondly, what on Mizahar was Architectrix? -*-*- Wrenmae The moment they passed the threshold, a door bolted behind him, and then vanished into darkness. He was alone. The man was nowhere to be seen. A phantasm perhaps? A ghost of the past, like the boy at the entrance to this place? And what a foul place it was. A stench filled the air, of rotting and putridity. Even Wrenmae, marked of Vayt would turn his nose up at the unholy aroma. He couldn't see a thing. Even a witchlight of djed would not illuminate this inky hovel. He took a step forward, and then heard the sound in an instant. Something flying through the dark. At speed. Aimed for his head.

[Wrenmae]

Murdock reacted more than moved. The moment he'd stepped into the dank sepulcher, his senses had been assaulted. Darkness weighed on his eyes, foul smell attacked his nose. His sense of touch was mitigated, keeping arms and legs near to himself lest risk this unknown terrain and taste was out of the question.

He dared not try and taste the rot that dwelt here. It was his hearing, an often overlooked sense, that alerted him of the oncoming danger. Dropping without thinking, Murdock rolled across the dank earth as something whistled above him. Already Djed roiled in his body, res for his hands and his meager flux propelling to his legs. Quick jolts of speed, leaps, dodges, an unseen opponent. Forcing Djed into his eyes, he mimicked the red he'd learned of Symenestras, their shadowy homes the perfect environment to emulate some sense of sight.

He touched...something. It felt alien in the complete umbra. It could be a body, mold, the grasping and fetid claws of some unknowable thing.

Even to his Symenestra eyes, the gloom was penetrating. Objects only just began to reveal themselves, ponderous shapes looming before him.

Out came his blade, res pooling in his other hand.

"What trickery is this?"

[Rayage]

”Yes,” Rayage agreed, ”Gold would be helpful in this pursuit, but I’m sure there are more ‘gold friendly’ and less ‘people friendly’” he used to terms to try to describe what he wanted to say without being too blunt about it, ”ways of acquiring items which one desires. If you’ve been to Sunberth then you would know that most people don’t pay with gold.” he said, a small smile creeping on his face from the grim assessment of the city which they were traveling to. ”There are some things, Professor,” he started, ”which I would stop at nothing to acquire.” he said stepping over to Hadrian, behind him, but he had no ill will about him. He really just wanted to look over the man’s shoulder as he opened the book, see it with him.

”I don’t have a clue about ‘Living Structures’” he barely said tilting his head in interest as his eyes sought to devour the book and all the knowledge within, ”If this book is Pre-Valterrian…” he pondered for a moment, ”Professor, how good are you with the ancient language?” he asked, ”With Nadar-canoch?” asking the question over again, but instead referencing the original name of the language as if Hadrain would only recognize it by one name and Ray did not want to take any chances of him not understanding exactly what he was asking. More so wondering if he would need to translate for him or not. It was common for any wizard worth his salts to know at least some Nadar-canoch, and Ray wouldn’t put it past the professor for knowing at least some of the almost dead language.

Asking his question the nuit noted that Hadrain had been to Sahova. He wondered what business the man had at the undead island, and although Ray had not been there at the time of Drainira’s assault of the place, he had heard plenty about it to not want to have been there. He was just thanking his lucky stars that he wasn’t a part of that big event. No, he wanted his name to go down in Sahova for something great which he would accomplish, not being a part of some over glorified clean-up crew, ”Animation…” he muttered unable to get the topic out of his head, ”I know little about it as my specialty lies in Alchemy, but I’ve seen their products stalk the halls of Sahova.” he told him, not poking any questions at his time spent there. If he wanted to share, then he would, if not, Ray was sure he could find out the events of that day more accurately in the Sahovan Library, or in reports…

Ray too had the pleasure of meeting one of the Sahovan ‘elites’ by the name of Qiao. Yes, he greeted him on his first day, and agreed to fund his research. Gave him the nicest lab, though now Ray has suspicions that the other alchemists death, the one who had owned the lab before him, didn’t die exactly as Qiao had said. Though it was all still a mystery, and one that wasn’t too pressing for Ray to want to solve it in any timely fashion. He has the rest of his life ahead of him to do that!

The book was indeed odd and strange. It talked about an art, a new magic, but an old one at the same time, or maybe it was an elaborate prank. The crazy man who had welcomed them here did not seem too trustworthy. The nuit wanted to believe it was real, but that would mean… ”Architectrix?” he asked, looking at Hadrain that asked ‘are you done reading it yet?’ or more precisely it said ‘turn the page so we can learn more about this book’. Ok. So it had grabbed Rayages attention. Thoughts swirled in his mind, a certain kind of excitement radiated through him. He loved mysteries, but more importantly he loved what sounded like magical mysteries.

[Hadrian]

Of course, Hadrian had been to Sunberth, but now wasn't the time for storytelling. The way Rayage admitted to the lengths he would go to in order to acquire some things very nearly made him shudder due to an atavistic reaction; the undead of Sahova always needed fresh bodies. Thankfully Hadrian had better control over himself than to allow his body to betray him like that. Instead he held the book where his companion could read it, in the light and to the side. "It would seem to be pre-Valterrian," he said in Nader-canoch, answering both questions. "This speaks of Alahea, and by the time books were in production post-Valterrian, nobody would be speaking about Alahean landmarks in the present tense. It would seem we are become archaeowizards." He carefully turned the page, not knowing how long they would remain in this waiting room, and eager to absorb as much lore as he could in the meantime. As yet, he was not getting any helpful impressions either via auristics or Lykata, but the search was new and anything could happen.

[Paragon]

Hadrian & Rayage The rugged book went on as Hadrian turned the curled pages. He and Rayage began to read of the basic concepts of this lost art that now presented itself. The communication and seeding of new buildings. Magical buildings that had a life of their own. The initiation. Both men, purveyors of lost mysteries, were intrigued by the words written inside. Suddenly, there was a sound behind to which they would turn. Two fragments of stone slid from the wall of their own accord, and both sat there, hanging from the stonework. Both had the faintest of glows. A dark glow, as if whatever light it held was only at its centre. There they remained, not moving any further, though seemingly removed enough to pull free from the wall. -*-*- Wrenmae Wrenmae armed himself with blade and energy, for something stirred in the darkness. No... many things stirred in the darkness. Suddenly the floor began to shift, as if the whole carpet had lifted and moved. The green res illuminated the insects. Hundreds of them. Locusts crawling along the ground, shifting, screaming. "How coincidental you come here," a voice uttered. It was rich, educated perhaps, but a sickness clung to it dearly. "But of course. Where Gods are concerned, there are no coincidences." A figure moved deeper in the darkness, unsettling the insects once again. "Put down your blade," there was a pause, an audible swallow, "And you wonder why I have not graced your presence. I dislike dealing with the insane."

[Wrenmae]

“Insanity is a harsh term,” Murdock answered Vayt with a frown, sliding his blade back into the sheath and letting the res seep back into his body, “Disadvantaged by circumstance is a more apt diagnosis, but nothing I have not risen to overcome.” In the presence of his God, Murdock took a knee. It had been years since Vayt had last seen him, and for less than one he had been plagued by this overgiving consequence. Now even that ebbed away from him, his mind forcing itself back together through the power of another god. Rhysol, with all his pompous posturing and self-righteous punishments had done more for the hypnotist than an ever absent Vayt. Even so, it was to Vayt that Murdock owed his life entirely, and it was Vayt he followed.

“It has been too long, my lord,” Murdock said, keeping his eyes toward the ground, “I’ve sown your touch in Alvadas, among the Svefra, in Sunberth, and finally in Zeltiva. The city still reels from the plagues encouraged by your mark, even the self-righteous knights of Syliras slow their quest for a Fragment under your influence.” Insects crawled across the floor, hanging from the cloth along his legs, crawling along his body, exploring and ever present. Murdock did not let a shiver betray how uncomfortable he felt. It wasn’t the most promising beginning with his God. Despite having done his bidding, moving from place to place to spread influence, evidently the unrest in his own mind was somehow betrayed. Was it how he moved? Had Vayt been watching him?

“I’ve served you faithfully for more than a decade, my recent damages at the hands of torturers in Sunberth is only a…minor setback.” He held up his right hand, closing his left into a fist and knocking it against the invisible metal with a dull ring. “Rhysol, God of Chaos, has seen fit that even this inconvenience won’t last. As we speak, magic pulls my mind from pieces to whole.”

Much as he hated to admit it.

“I will be complete again in a matter of days, bound for Sahova and then to anywhere you would have your influence go.”

He smiled at the teeming locusts and beetles, letting his hands drop to his side again, “I am yours to command, my lord.”

[Paragon]

Wrenmae The silence was broken only by the scuttling of hundreds of insects. Wrenmae - Murdock - waited tersely in the darkness for Vayt to speak again. "Much pestilence follows you, yes." But his words were dark and disappointed still. At the mention of Rhysol there was an audible hiss. Though not one necessarily of anger. Vayt had worked with Rhysol before, after all. But insanity is not too harsh a word. You are broken. And broken men are weak." The figured shifted slightly through the darkness, unsettling more insects that scurried to the corners of the room. There was a terrible smell like rotting. "Rhysol seeks to use you as a mortal instrument. As I too have used you. But you do not seem to care, do you? What is it that drives you on this quest of darkness and disease? Do you truly want my will, my instruction?" Suddenly, Vayt was beside him. A crescent of his face was visible in the dimmest slant of light that proceeded behind them. He was a devastatingly handsome man. Perhaps he had been of higher class in his mortality. Fingers rose up, wrapping around his subject's face. The touch was ice. "Mizahar's people grow weaker by the day. It is only disease that keeps them strong, and kills off the deadwood." The last word was spoken harshly, portent enough behind it to make Wrenmae afraid.

[Wrenmae]

Murdock made no claim to refute his god. Vayt was correct, in the worst possible way. Insanity was much of what plagued his conscious mind. Although Rhysol’s magic pulled his pieces together, the unfortunate truth was that he had been broken, shattered into shards beneath the streets of Sunberth. Sometimes he was not himself, and although the idea of becoming nothing was terrifying, somehow a deeper part of him quailed more to upset the being who had granted him life those many cold years ago.

The insects scuttling around his body quieted, their many legs and wings as an infestation of shadows. Vayt was beside him, his fingers on Murdock’s skin. The murderer stiffened, resisting the urge to pull away as the Plague god touched him for the second time. The first had granted him immunity to sickness, perhaps the second would claim that immunity back, leave him to die in the shadows.


“In Sunberth I was weak,” The hypnotist admitted, an edge of bitter anger cutting along his syllables, “I lost myself. Rhysol offered me a chance to continue living, at the cost of a favor. My lord, I have never deviated in spreading your message. I walk this path because of the weak child I was, dying on a mountainside. You saw fit to give me more than that. Now where I go, death follows. Only the strong will survive in the wake of my passage, only the truly worthy of survival. I have been many places, My Lord Vayt, I have seen many weak minded people, simple creatures content with the ruins of their civilization around them. No one moves forward anymore, they are content in their indolent fear. I remind them of their mortality. I bring your power among the secure and deny them their highborn ideals of safety. My work with Rhysol was a matter of necessity, I thought to better serve your will alive than dead. So long as this manacle binds my wrist, repairs my mind, I am bound to perform a favor for that god.”

He dared to look up at Vayt, again taken by how peerless his visage was. The god carried himself with the poise of a Zeltivan noble and the confidence of a master mage. Perhaps he had been all those things, or none of them. Had any god ever been human before?


“Unless, My lord, you can remove this burden from me. Give me the means to continue your work, give me your blessing, your commands, your power and I will bring your influence to any corner of Mizahar you require.”


Head bowed again, Murdock searched inside himself. There was conflict there, the lonely road of being entirely to oneself, a solitary existence of desolation and agony. He was the only marked he’d ever met…were there more? Did Vayt love any of them? In but a season he had filled Zeltiva with illness, orchestrated moves that, on his return, may raise him above suspicion and give him the power to oppress the weak…press them till strength came of nothing, or death came of waste. Was he not worthy? Even with his damaged mind…had he not done Vayt’s will? Twelve years was a long time without word from his sovereign…perhaps he’d strayed.


Much as he had been in the presence of Rhysol, Vayt’s influence left Murdock shivering, almost ill with apprehensive terror. He could die. Here. Now. Alone among the teeming insects and Vayt would lose nothing…at least, nothing he seemed to care much about.


“What is your will?" He asked at last, quietly, humbly.