Post by Mizagium on Nov 19, 2017 2:25:37 GMT -5
Sand.
Heat.
It never ended. How was that possible? Varesh had passed this way before, hadn’t he? How could he know? This far away from the Hyper-rail, there was nothing but endless dunes, a veritable sea of sand. It dragged at his feet, pulling him down, down, ever down into the shifting wasteland; it crept into the spaces between his armor, into his undershirts, his mouth and eyes.
Varesh was becoming one with the desert.
His scythe had been claimed long ago. Where was the Bridge? Wasn’t this where he was supposed to meet them, the seekers? Galleh Kah had said they were coming. He knew where it was! He’d found where Tenacity was hidden, but he couldn’t open it. It was…was… Christof knew. He had to get the seekers before Christof reached the Crimson Plateau. He had to make it back to Dustwind. Dustwind…
Suddenly the desert fell away, revealing a great, black chasm that stretched all the way to the horizon. It couldn’t be. The Rift was widening, somehow. He’d been able to see across before. Sand poured down, ever downward into the abyss. Horrible noises echoed up from down below, churning, gurgling, and howling.
They hungered.
Varesh stumbled and fell, let the sand swallow him up to his waist. He coughed, was unable to stop, heaved and vomited blood and grit. Varesh couldn’t breathe. He wretched and hacked until he thought he would suffocate.
Tendrils of sand wound up his chest and arms, around his throat. “No,” he tried to say, but his mouth was too dry. The desert poured into his mouth and dragged at his arms. He coughed and tried to vomit again and again, but the onslaught never ended. It filled his stomach and his lungs.
Varesh screamed as the desert consumed him, but all that came out was more howling desert, arid wind, lost in the endless desert.
-
Wessos, the land of shadow and ruin. Once a thriving land of advanced magitech, a great Cataclysm struck the land and created the vast wasteland that now covers the region. But the survivors - and their descendants - are a hard and scrappy lot. They endured the unforgiving heat and sand out of spite, if nothing else.
Now, a great reawakening is ocurring. The rediscovery of lost magitech Remnants such as the Hyperrail has caused no small amount of social upheavel. The scattered settlements are connected for the first time in centuries, allowing for the flow of goods, money, people, and ideas.
Abel Cristoff, self-proclaimed disciple of the Deep Word, has come to the frontier outpost of Dustwind with his most loyal followers. Bringing the the unsettling Deep Words with him, Cristoff is on an evangelical mission to bring the Word to all of Wessos, so that his dark gods will be remembered by all.
-
Samantha’s Lair - Northyros
Samantha had long ago moved her laboratory from her office in Blackspire to a desolate mountain in the remote Far North. The office had been too small for what she was beginning, and besides, she was growing tired of the questions from the Senior Council. Not that they would have understood, but still. She couldn’t have nosy savages interfering with her great work.
Her sneakers squeaked on the polished stone, echoing off the equally smooth stone walls. It had been her first test of the worldcode engine now humming beautifully in the center. She didn’t have any mirrors in the place, but she knew she looked smug. A giggle brewed in her lungs, but by the time it escaped her lips it was a prolonged cackle.
She had done it! She had entered worldcode without her devices! The engine was running perfectly and she was finally – finally! - reached the ascension previously only theorized in old notebooks from her drunken college days. This was it; she was so close.
Suddenly worried she’d dreamed the whole thing, Samantha took her hands from her sweatshirt and gestured at an empty section of stone floor. Nothing happened. Well, no duh, she hadn’t thought of anything. Hrm. Brow furrowed, she pictured her old dorm room and the messy desk that had been shoved in the corner, far away from the lone window. Stacks of papers of various heights covered the desk surface so that it was actually impossible to guess where it ended. Her chair had bee raised to it’s maximum height, and then several pillows layered to add some extra. Empty candy wrappers and ramen labels were interspersed thereabouts. She loved that desk; it had been a collection of years of research, her entire life – all that mattered.
And she’d had to burn it and the papers, everything she couldn’t take with her. That the fire had spread to the entire dorm had been an unavoidable consequence to keeping their hands off her work. The greatest regret of her life had been burning that desk.
The air – no, the fabric of reality shimmered as her memories were converted into worldcode by the engine. In seconds, her old desk, in all it’s glory, manifested itself right there in her mountain lab. Samantha gasped in wonder and rushed over, nearly falling onto it. She grabbed at papers willy-nilly, desperate and gleeful like a child opening presents.
Her mood quickly darkened. Page after page, it was all blank. Her memory hadn’t been eidetic then, so she hadn’t memorized it all like she would have now. What she remembered from that time had been saved, or already copied down. Fleeing home had set her back by years; she still hadn’t fully recovered. If manifesting the desk and the esoterica housed atop it had succeeded, it would have signaled the final end to the project.
She it was just an empty shell.
Papers crumpled in her hands as they balled into to fists. Her face twisted into a snarl and she backed away like it was suddenly the worst smelling thing in existence. Unbidden, flames sprouted from the tallest stacks. Soon the whole memory was engulfed in flames – she tossed the papers she held into the inferno and stormed away.
The moment has been ruined. Around the other side of the engine stood two cylindrical glass tubes, inside which were suspended one figure each. She tapped a finger against the one holding the elder boy. “Sorry, kiddo,” she said. “But this is the way things have to go.”
“Getting sentimental, are we?” On cue, a maddeningly cheerful voice interrupted her solitude. A man in a cloak decorated with swirls of green and gold and black appeared in the chamber, walking along like he belonged there.
“Hard not to,” she said, unsurprised.
“This him?” He indicated the cylinder. “I can seen the resemblance. Never actually met the kid. Seems unfair; I’ve been manipulating him from the beginning.”
Samantha ran a hand through her hair. “I wouldn’t have let you.”
“Hm, yes, you prefer to handle your own betrayals, don’t you?”
“What do you want, K?” she snapped.
He shrugged. “Just to see if my investment is paying off.”
“You’ll get your power,” she muttered. “I just haven’t decoded an Immortal before.”
“You’ve studied me.”
She shook her head. “Different, believe it or not.”
“How so?”
“Jeff is a – well, he’s not an Immortal yet, not fully, but he has the necessary code additions. You don’t. He’s a legitimate vessel. You’re – what was the term you used? An Agent of Chaos?”
The cloaked figure shifted uncomfortably. “That…used to be the term.”
“Point is. I learned basics about Immortal energies from you, but your codes - “
He waved his hands dismissively. “All very interesting, I’m sure. Can you do it?”
“Of course I can,” she said, disdain dripping from her voice. “I’m not some second-rate magister.”
“See that you do. Remember. If you can’t – I have Deicide waiting in the wings.”
“Keep your big-ass anime sword to yourself, K. I can handle this part. Go back to playing chessmaster with those armies or whatever.”
He tutted. “Completely unconcered with world events. Back in my day, megalomaniacal villains were quite up to date on such matters.”
“Hah! This isn’t my world; what do I care? Besides.” She turned away to resume working. “I’m not a total megalomaniac. Yet.”
-
Samantha’s tears in spacetime weren’t as clean as Gallen Kah’s. Whereas his were portals, nice and neat, hers were literal tears in reality, so the ride was…bumpy, to say the least. Magnus, Leske, Desmond, Ash, Sarina, Dorrei, Zento, Welkin, The Dayman, and the Bread Wizard were all dumped unceremoniously onto the coarse desert sand. It was rough and irritating and it got everywhere.
The sun blazed down upon them from a blue, cloudless sky. A haze of mirage shifted all along the horizon. Although they couldn’t see it exactly from where they had been dumped, a great, impassible Abyss lay behind them, separating Wessos, and them, from the rest of Cardinalos. Just to the southwest, barely in view, was a small collection of buildings one might tentatively call a town.
A ragged figure crouched on a rock jutting from the sand, not too far from them. He looked thin and sunburned, with a wild look in his eyes. Thin, dry hair, one dark but now sunbleached, dangled in his face. He rocked gently back and forth to a strange, unheard cadence. He clutched a long, metal rod and held it straight, like a signpost.
He just watched them for a moment, then he raised his hand in salute. "Oh, henlo new friendmates! Much wilkommen of you to Wessos, desertplace of badtempos. Journey before is longtimehard, but congratules on bottom stairs. Manform to yoy is guidepost - shamrockfree! Com, come. Follow muchfords."
Heat.
It never ended. How was that possible? Varesh had passed this way before, hadn’t he? How could he know? This far away from the Hyper-rail, there was nothing but endless dunes, a veritable sea of sand. It dragged at his feet, pulling him down, down, ever down into the shifting wasteland; it crept into the spaces between his armor, into his undershirts, his mouth and eyes.
Varesh was becoming one with the desert.
His scythe had been claimed long ago. Where was the Bridge? Wasn’t this where he was supposed to meet them, the seekers? Galleh Kah had said they were coming. He knew where it was! He’d found where Tenacity was hidden, but he couldn’t open it. It was…was… Christof knew. He had to get the seekers before Christof reached the Crimson Plateau. He had to make it back to Dustwind. Dustwind…
Suddenly the desert fell away, revealing a great, black chasm that stretched all the way to the horizon. It couldn’t be. The Rift was widening, somehow. He’d been able to see across before. Sand poured down, ever downward into the abyss. Horrible noises echoed up from down below, churning, gurgling, and howling.
They hungered.
Varesh stumbled and fell, let the sand swallow him up to his waist. He coughed, was unable to stop, heaved and vomited blood and grit. Varesh couldn’t breathe. He wretched and hacked until he thought he would suffocate.
Tendrils of sand wound up his chest and arms, around his throat. “No,” he tried to say, but his mouth was too dry. The desert poured into his mouth and dragged at his arms. He coughed and tried to vomit again and again, but the onslaught never ended. It filled his stomach and his lungs.
Varesh screamed as the desert consumed him, but all that came out was more howling desert, arid wind, lost in the endless desert.
-
Wessos, the land of shadow and ruin. Once a thriving land of advanced magitech, a great Cataclysm struck the land and created the vast wasteland that now covers the region. But the survivors - and their descendants - are a hard and scrappy lot. They endured the unforgiving heat and sand out of spite, if nothing else.
Now, a great reawakening is ocurring. The rediscovery of lost magitech Remnants such as the Hyperrail has caused no small amount of social upheavel. The scattered settlements are connected for the first time in centuries, allowing for the flow of goods, money, people, and ideas.
Abel Cristoff, self-proclaimed disciple of the Deep Word, has come to the frontier outpost of Dustwind with his most loyal followers. Bringing the the unsettling Deep Words with him, Cristoff is on an evangelical mission to bring the Word to all of Wessos, so that his dark gods will be remembered by all.
-
Samantha’s Lair - Northyros
Samantha had long ago moved her laboratory from her office in Blackspire to a desolate mountain in the remote Far North. The office had been too small for what she was beginning, and besides, she was growing tired of the questions from the Senior Council. Not that they would have understood, but still. She couldn’t have nosy savages interfering with her great work.
Her sneakers squeaked on the polished stone, echoing off the equally smooth stone walls. It had been her first test of the worldcode engine now humming beautifully in the center. She didn’t have any mirrors in the place, but she knew she looked smug. A giggle brewed in her lungs, but by the time it escaped her lips it was a prolonged cackle.
She had done it! She had entered worldcode without her devices! The engine was running perfectly and she was finally – finally! - reached the ascension previously only theorized in old notebooks from her drunken college days. This was it; she was so close.
Suddenly worried she’d dreamed the whole thing, Samantha took her hands from her sweatshirt and gestured at an empty section of stone floor. Nothing happened. Well, no duh, she hadn’t thought of anything. Hrm. Brow furrowed, she pictured her old dorm room and the messy desk that had been shoved in the corner, far away from the lone window. Stacks of papers of various heights covered the desk surface so that it was actually impossible to guess where it ended. Her chair had bee raised to it’s maximum height, and then several pillows layered to add some extra. Empty candy wrappers and ramen labels were interspersed thereabouts. She loved that desk; it had been a collection of years of research, her entire life – all that mattered.
And she’d had to burn it and the papers, everything she couldn’t take with her. That the fire had spread to the entire dorm had been an unavoidable consequence to keeping their hands off her work. The greatest regret of her life had been burning that desk.
The air – no, the fabric of reality shimmered as her memories were converted into worldcode by the engine. In seconds, her old desk, in all it’s glory, manifested itself right there in her mountain lab. Samantha gasped in wonder and rushed over, nearly falling onto it. She grabbed at papers willy-nilly, desperate and gleeful like a child opening presents.
Her mood quickly darkened. Page after page, it was all blank. Her memory hadn’t been eidetic then, so she hadn’t memorized it all like she would have now. What she remembered from that time had been saved, or already copied down. Fleeing home had set her back by years; she still hadn’t fully recovered. If manifesting the desk and the esoterica housed atop it had succeeded, it would have signaled the final end to the project.
She it was just an empty shell.
Papers crumpled in her hands as they balled into to fists. Her face twisted into a snarl and she backed away like it was suddenly the worst smelling thing in existence. Unbidden, flames sprouted from the tallest stacks. Soon the whole memory was engulfed in flames – she tossed the papers she held into the inferno and stormed away.
The moment has been ruined. Around the other side of the engine stood two cylindrical glass tubes, inside which were suspended one figure each. She tapped a finger against the one holding the elder boy. “Sorry, kiddo,” she said. “But this is the way things have to go.”
“Getting sentimental, are we?” On cue, a maddeningly cheerful voice interrupted her solitude. A man in a cloak decorated with swirls of green and gold and black appeared in the chamber, walking along like he belonged there.
“Hard not to,” she said, unsurprised.
“This him?” He indicated the cylinder. “I can seen the resemblance. Never actually met the kid. Seems unfair; I’ve been manipulating him from the beginning.”
Samantha ran a hand through her hair. “I wouldn’t have let you.”
“Hm, yes, you prefer to handle your own betrayals, don’t you?”
“What do you want, K?” she snapped.
He shrugged. “Just to see if my investment is paying off.”
“You’ll get your power,” she muttered. “I just haven’t decoded an Immortal before.”
“You’ve studied me.”
She shook her head. “Different, believe it or not.”
“How so?”
“Jeff is a – well, he’s not an Immortal yet, not fully, but he has the necessary code additions. You don’t. He’s a legitimate vessel. You’re – what was the term you used? An Agent of Chaos?”
The cloaked figure shifted uncomfortably. “That…used to be the term.”
“Point is. I learned basics about Immortal energies from you, but your codes - “
He waved his hands dismissively. “All very interesting, I’m sure. Can you do it?”
“Of course I can,” she said, disdain dripping from her voice. “I’m not some second-rate magister.”
“See that you do. Remember. If you can’t – I have Deicide waiting in the wings.”
“Keep your big-ass anime sword to yourself, K. I can handle this part. Go back to playing chessmaster with those armies or whatever.”
He tutted. “Completely unconcered with world events. Back in my day, megalomaniacal villains were quite up to date on such matters.”
“Hah! This isn’t my world; what do I care? Besides.” She turned away to resume working. “I’m not a total megalomaniac. Yet.”
-
Samantha’s tears in spacetime weren’t as clean as Gallen Kah’s. Whereas his were portals, nice and neat, hers were literal tears in reality, so the ride was…bumpy, to say the least. Magnus, Leske, Desmond, Ash, Sarina, Dorrei, Zento, Welkin, The Dayman, and the Bread Wizard were all dumped unceremoniously onto the coarse desert sand. It was rough and irritating and it got everywhere.
The sun blazed down upon them from a blue, cloudless sky. A haze of mirage shifted all along the horizon. Although they couldn’t see it exactly from where they had been dumped, a great, impassible Abyss lay behind them, separating Wessos, and them, from the rest of Cardinalos. Just to the southwest, barely in view, was a small collection of buildings one might tentatively call a town.
A ragged figure crouched on a rock jutting from the sand, not too far from them. He looked thin and sunburned, with a wild look in his eyes. Thin, dry hair, one dark but now sunbleached, dangled in his face. He rocked gently back and forth to a strange, unheard cadence. He clutched a long, metal rod and held it straight, like a signpost.
He just watched them for a moment, then he raised his hand in salute. "Oh, henlo new friendmates! Much wilkommen of you to Wessos, desertplace of badtempos. Journey before is longtimehard, but congratules on bottom stairs. Manform to yoy is guidepost - shamrockfree! Com, come. Follow muchfords."