Quest Lost & Damned

[Paragon]

Lost & Damned Timestamp: 84th of Summer, 512 AV It was Rayage that sensed the seal first. They were journeying through the Wildlands, in splinter groups bound for the undead citadel of Sahova. But Rayage had ventured into ruins of this sort many, many years ago. Though time had passed, the memories had not left him. He beckoned for Hadrian and Wrenmae, his travelling companions, and pointed to the raised mound in the ground - oftentimes, a sign of pre-Valterrian ruins below. Upon closer inspection, this seal felt a little different from Rayage's previous foray though. It seemed that glyphs and pulses of djed would not burst it open. It felt cold. And dead. It reeked of something rotten. Last time, Rayage had faced many dangers. Whether he was willing to lead the others into such ordeals was his choice, and his choice alone. He held the knowledge of his previous trip into the Syliran ruins.

[Rayage]

Timestamp: 84th of Summer, 512 AVIf date doesn’t work lets find one that does PMs!

The wilderness was unforgiving, as were most travels on foot. Nothing could be done about it though. It was the constant danger of which they all faced by traversing such land. No longer were they with the knights, but the three of them were separated, and it was with this thread of chance of which fate would weave a tapestry of adventure. It was funny how something so little could turn into something so big, but then again, the nuit knew that there was also a chance that no adventure awaited them. However unlikely, he had to take all things and circumstances into consideration. Could this be consciences or the acts of fate? Why were they separated from the rest of the group? Did fate conspire for or against them? Only time will tell, and with time, the nuit knew, he had to be patient with answers.

As they walked a particular feeling hit the nuit, one from before, but different. The presence in the air was quite odd to the immortal; it was like he had sensed it before, but from where? The more he thought it about, and tried to place it the stronger the sense became for him. Then he placed it. The energy felt like the one from many years ago, the mound in which Evalin and him had to unseal… Pre-valterrian ruins? Is that what they all felt like?

Confident in his find he motioned to Wrenmae and Hadrian, beckoning them to follow him. As much as he wanted to go alone and investigate, he knew that if it was the object of his suspicion he couldn’t do it alone. Had he sensed it first because he had sensed something similar before? Though the closer they got to the seal the more different it felt to the nuit. The presence of it was almost sickening. Death, cold, and rotting… These ruins were different from the others he had encountered, but just how different?

Observing the mound, it was probably of a higher magic than he faced before. This seal, he could tell wouldn’t be broken as easily as the last one he encountered. He almost shivered just looking at the mound. What a find! Here of all places, where else were these ruins hiding? A smile crept upon the nuits face as he eyed the mound, examining the magic deep within the earth. He doubted that they could simply dig this one out. It would have to be broken like the last one. No matter. It was nothing the three of them couldn’t handle. That he was sure.

Turning to his companions, ”Have I told you the story of a time where a companion and myself broke a mound similar to this one?” he asked, waving a hand, ”that grand tale is for much later. Under the mound, after the two of us broke the seal, were ruins from the BV era.” he announced, ”There were many contraptions to confirm my suspicion, things long lost to the cataclysm of the Valterrian, technology that I thought I would never see again.” he went on, sounding almost reminiscent about it all like it was a warm childhood memory ”The point is,” he pointed to the mound, ”I believe this to be of the same origin.” he said, ”And if we can, somehow, bypass this first layer, we will be able to travel further down, into the depths of adventure. Another ruin may lie under here. The trick is getting to it.” he said crossing his arms, ”Any ideas?” he asked, ”Because I don’t think the archaic method of energy redirection that Evalin and I used will work on this mound. It’s a different, and much more powerful magic.” he shivered a little, just thinking about the adventure to be had.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian was glad to have Wrenmae there. The other professor was a Nuit, and had less to worry about in the physical damage department than Hadrian did. Though he had plenty of tricks up his sleeve, and could summon inhuman strength and speed if the need arose, he found that he had grown used to traveling with others whose strengths complemented his weaknesses. Sondra with her warhammer and volcanic temper, Kendall with his broadsword, and the gaggle of Kelvics who seemed to follow him like moths to a flame with their claws that rend, their jaws that catch. But it had seemed prudent to leave behind Ethan and Xnnn, and Kendall had gone back to his family or some such nonsense. At least Wrenmae had proven his worth during the auction. When he saw the mound, he instantly recalled the ruins outside Syliras that he had plumbed with Alastair and Ha'na, and the others. Things had not gone so well then, but he was stronger now, with a broader range of tools at his disposal. Also, his companions weren't utter incompetents. But while Rayage waxed nostalgic, Hadrian turned his formidable observational skills upon the mound, the seal, and all. Both mundane and magical senses, human and divine. His auristic sense skittered along the edges of the barrier, seeking the smallest pore to sneak through. The Lormar symbol on the back of his left hand tingled and burned as he concentrated on any and all contributions to the local chavi might aid him in safely breaking through. Aid them, he reminded himself. As he searched, part of his mind ran through options. Overloading it with res came to mind, but Rayage dismissed it without Hadrian having to offer it as a possibility. He supposed he could open a portal to the Void as close to the edges of the wards as possible, hoping his strongest Pull would suck away enough energy to short out the magical circuit. He wondered if that deathly reek was coming from the mound or from the Nuit. One never knew with a Nuit. "Hm," he hm'd thoughtfully, still attempting to grok the puzzle before him.

[Wrenmae]

Shoulder to shoulder with the raucous knights was beginning to ware on him. The Zeltivan crowd kept mostly to themselves, moving behind or to the sides of the glimmering contingent, but never within. Here and there the curious or the starstruck slipped through the barrier and mixed their colors, some of the Waveguard accompaniment trading battle secrets and absorbing Syliras’ loud laughter, their self-righteous stance. Personally, the identity confused mage would have nothing of them. Born in the walled city, his childhood memories were filled with enough of the imposing metal giants to more than satisfy his curiosity about them. Were things different, he might have found himself nailed into one of those suits himself, or perhaps rotting in their dungeon. Luckily, his father had been more a servant of Zulrav and his winds than dead Sylir and his champions. Another jaunty chant echoed from the furthest end of the rigid column, echoing along its length like the spread of plague. Murdock, once Shroud, muttered beneath his breath and pulled away from the music. So far, the journey had given rise to suspicions and those suspicions had given rise to whispering. It wasn’t just the Zeltivans that bowed over in sickness. Ever since their journey had begun, some of the Knights had become ill, blisters born of pressure and the road’s rigors growing infected and distended. Thus far, there hadn’t been anyone fatally effected by the Blight’s aura, but it would be just like a Knight to ride himself to death rather than admit weakness. And then what? Would they search? Would they cull the Zeltivans one by one? Murdock kept a weather eye and a hand at his side. If need be, he’d separate from these espousing blowhards and make his way to Sahova on his own. Rayage couldn’t possibly fault him if things got…dangerous. As if the mage even knew his secret. If anything, the nuit’s calmly observational nature bordered on the clinical and traitorous. There was little trust left between the murderer and his companion, a being he couldn’t begin to really understand. Was that what he was then? Was he just the blip of noise in an otherwise quiet timeline? Between centuries, did people like Wrenmae appear and vanish? Was eternity so complacent that it scarcely moved itself to form attachment? Well. He would not be taken fool by the nuit’s easily respectable nature. Once he had thought to make headway with such a being, learn of him and perhaps find a kindred spirit, one of the few beings that did not wither in his presence. But in the end…it was all too clear that immortality only served to widen the gulf between humanity and amoral simplicity. Rayage…he was more a walking repository of knowledge, less a man. So it was with caution that he followed both he and Hadrian away from the column and into the forest. Both represented beings the mage had not yet begun to understand. The ever confident, perhaps even lazily self-assured Hadrian, the emotionally aloof Rayage…among them, he was a child, cut of jagged emotions, desperation, and internal strife. What did this Hadrian represent? What was he? What were the extent of his powers? Rayage was an Alchemist, but what would Hadrian call himself? A Teacher? A plotter? An Auctioneer? The blade at his side felt pale in the comparison to the quiet thread both other men represented. Still, he had his Hypnotism, and perhaps that would be the deciding factor between their respective strengths. “Smells like death,” He commented, looking sidelong at Rayage as they stood around the mound, “Cousins of yours?” A small smile to Hadrian, nothing more than the inclusion on the slight. Focusing his senses on the mound, trying to pull a sense of magical impression from it, he tried to once more pull auristics into play. First his vision blurred, colors and senses of the earth and especially the smell suddenly assaulting his senses with brutal efficiency. Coughing, nearly retching, turning even as he fell away from the mound and banished the magic from his senses. “Gods…” He muttered, “Are we desecrating a tomb?”

[Paragon]

Though Hadrian and Wrenmae joked of the Nuit's smell, the stench was far worse. Death, but not simply decay. It was ancient, and unspeakable. When Wrenmae tried to view the seal with auristics he was thrown back by colour and scent. Putrid earth - so old. It was Hadrian that sensed the presence first. He was inexperienced in Spiritism, but he knew when he could feel a spirit nearby. An image flashed into his mind, of shackles and chains. Tethered. Bound. There was something here, something tied firmly to the mound, and the ruins beneath. It would take a little more than mere res manipulation to get inside. On Mizahar, death was a powerful force. Rayage knew that only too well. OOCApologies for the short post - feel free to just have Hadrian post before I post again to save time. But post if you wish, the choice is yours

[Hadrian]

"May I try something?" he asked politely, and then knelt before the seal. "Just give me a moment." It was worth a shot. From his satchel, he pulled a bit of jerky and put it in his mouth, beginning to chew it toward softness. Next a bit of bread, then a couple of grapes. He had a tendency to keep a little food on him; when one forgot to eat as often as he did, it became a survival trait. It all became a shapeless mass in his mouth, masticating and focusing his aura inward. Last of all, he took his dagger, pricked the pad of his thumb, and stuck it in his mouth, coaxing a few drops out with pressure from his tongue. That was what did it. Strange how the world magics, so seemingly devoid of a connection to the body and the soul, often required blood sacrifice. Summoning, necromancy... He felt the transmutation take place in his mouth, felt the ordinary become extraordinary. He spat the glowing soulmist into his hand, wondering idly if this shocked one or the other. Despite his protestations that he was an anthropologist, most remembered him as Stonemiller's awkward, but brilliant magecrafting pupil. He wondered if this blood and spit magic altered their perceptions. Let the mystique grow, he thought. Ionu had taught him that perception was often as good as reality. "An offering," he said in Nader-canoch, a language possibly as old as this place. With that, he smeared the soulmist over the seal, hoping some spirit would come to feed upon it and, in gratitude, open the path. Or at least give him an idea of what was inside and whether it was worth forcing his way in.

[Wrenmae]

"What the petch is that?" Zan exclaimed from his hip, the resounding of his voice along the mental link twitching Shroud's eye for just a moment. I'm sure I don't know, some sort of magic. "What did he say?" An offering, I think. My old tongue isn't fantastic by any stretch, but he either said offering or gift. "And that shyke is a gift? For what?" I can't say I know, Zan, let's see and perhaps we can ask him about it later. Shroud's attention was on the mage now, watching the way he moved, the way he smeared the gleaming substance on the mound. Mysterious, mysterious, but nothing he didn't expect. In truth, Hadrian's mystique had been established in their first meeting. He held himself with such undeniable confidence, as if he could easily bat away incoming danger with hardly a thought. Both respectable and infuriating, similarly evoking the appropriate responses to each in Shroud's psyche. So rather than say anything, he simply watched, glancing at Rayage and then back at the mage. What other sorts of secrets did the fellow possess...and how willing would he be to reveal them?

[Paragon]

The soulmist drew curiosity and interest from the local spirit. It came into view of Rayage and Hadrian, with even Wrenmae feeling its presence, if not seeing it. A cool breeze blew across the Wildlands. A welcome relief from the Summer heat that purveyed most of the wilderness this time of year. To their eyes, they would see the manacles and chains that bound the spirit to the seal of the ruins. To their ears, they would hear the clanging of shackles, of bondage and servitude. The ghost moved to the soulmist of Hadrian's making, intrigued by the substance - the nourishment of ghosts. Then it looked up. Merely a boy, of fourteen, perhaps fifteen. His face was muddied. "Do you... wish to pass?" he enquired, looking at the visitors curiously. He didn't get many, after all.

[Hadrian]

OOCNot trying to take over the thread, but it seemed like Hadrian ought to respond to keep things moving. Mea culpa.

Hadrian felt the spirit manifest, then saw it too. The mark of Eyris upon his hand helped him see through illusions, but a ghost's seeming was less illusion than the fact that any materialization was more of a thoughtform than anything else. After all, Noaru often looked like some demonic dog though he had been entirely human in life. He glanced at Rayage and at Wrenmae, but turned his attention back on the youthful spirit. Apparently his mother had been wiser than he had known; being polite might open doors with which a battering ram might have trouble. Still kneeling there before the seal, Hadrian made no defensive moves. Unless it were a powerful shade, he could keep it out of his body, and a properly applied Shield might do the same for his companions -- this was a guess, of course -- and so it seemed safer and certainly more civilized to parlay with the creature, whose chains might have been crafted of some necromancer's skill or just a manifestation of the child's feelings of guilt. "Hello," he said. "We might." If the place was full of acid and vilemoss, he would happily keep walking. If it was the final resting place of various artifacts lost by Areesa Tallshade, he might have to kill all present and retreat to his subterranean lair. After that auction, he was loathe to let objects of power go to those who might abuse them, and since he trusted so few people, that meant he had to keep them for himself. He wondered if between himself and Nugget they might create an arsenal... "Ah, I am Hadrian Aelius. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Rayage is another professor at the University of Zeltiva, and Wrenmae is a talented warrior. We are traveling and came across this place. Some of us have seen such places before. If you are willing and able to tell us more about yourself, about who sealed this place and what lays inside, we would certainly be interested to hear."

[Rayage]

The two made fun of the nuit, but if they knew everything of which he had been through and the vast amount of experiences that he has had by being undead, well, he didn’t think they would be making such jokes. For now, he kept to himself, stepping back and observing the scene which played out before him. Of their group, none of them had yet produced a seemingly good idea for breaking the seal. Disappointing, but Ray couldn’t judge because then he would become one of the judged. Only his arrogance kept him at bay, and such pointed thoughts to himself.

Then it seemed that Hadrian had an idea. Nodding, as if he needed to give permission to the fellow professor, he observed. He wondered what the professor had in mind and what exactly he was going to try. It took him only a few moments of observing to see what was happening, for Ray had done the same thing long ago. The ingredients for soulmist… was this mound really haunted? It made him wonder. He didn’t, at first, sense any ghostly presence. Was he too distracted on other things? Was the awe and wanderlust for this mount affecting his judgment? Impossible! He dismissed it. He was not that simple minded. Was he?

The words the mage spoke made Ray smile. Nadar-Canoch. So he really was worth the title of wizard, for a wizard without the Ancient Tongue wasn’t a wizard at all in Rays book. Knowledge of the historical and arcane language made deciphering old tomes much, much easier. Lots of secrets were written in that tongue, Sahova could testify to that. Ray approved of Hadrian.

Shortly after the offering was given a spirit was produced. It came out in the form of a shackled youth, which surprised the nuit. If anything he was expecting some guardian, but a kid, and with chains no less? He wondered upon observing the chains if it was those that bound the spirit there which also sealed the mound. A reasonable deduction. For now, however, the Alchemist stayed silent. He and Wrenmae were introduced to the spirit, and more information was asked for, but would it be granted so freely. Ray doubted, but then he started to think about the last ruin like this he visited and the many open secrets it possessed.