Forge

Battle Toyale — Christmas Rumble!

Hubris begets the fall

The wind whistled through the needles of the pines, flowing along the fog-covered grounds. The bristling of the wind felt ominous, dangerous. It felt cold against the flesh and wet in the throat. The dampness seemed never-ending, the swamp-like landscape seemed to sweat. Almost like a living thing standing in the heat, the liquid squished when walked on. The sunlight never touched here, instead it seemed to be blocked away by something. Some force of power, centralized on the tiny, derelict looking building holding it at bad. The solitary structure standing alone in the center of the bog, even the fog seemed afraid to get too close. It held its distance, tendrils touching here and there only to snap back as if it felt some form of pain. The single source of light in the windows danced the shadows along the walls and the ground outside, the pale moon-like light barely lighting the exterior.

From within the hut came the grating, raucous cackling of a woman. Considerable age apparent in the voice, the air seemed thick with her laughter. Chains rattled inside, and her voice broke through the silence. A high-pitched, grating, raspy sound like a voice spoken through a throat torn to shreds by glass. “Hm..you thought you could come into my domain, young one? You thought to trespass upon this land, hm?” The voice seemed formless, floating from within the hut but surrounding her in a shroud of pure terror. Something about it forced panic to rise through her, and she turned to run - only to stop with a blood-curdling scream.

There stood the Witch of the Bog, Agatha. Her still-attached decaying flesh, rotten and yellowed and barely holding, nearly touching her own. Hair disarrayed, graying and falling out in patches scratched along her hands. Dark, evil eyes peering into the depths of her soul with a single glance. Veronica’s scream broke the silence in the night, a scream so full of terror. She reached for the woman, trying to push her aside to run - only she couldn’t move. Her mind told her arms to raise, her legs to run. Every thing about her brain screamed at her to move, to run. To get away. To fight back. To do whatever she had to do, use whatever she had to use, to get the fuck away from this woman. Yet, her body refused to respond.

The yellowed teeth of the witch appears as she smiled, what could be said to be a warm smile on most never touched her eyes. That dark, soulless gaze kept her locked in place. Clearly the witch used some of her magic, and while Veronica herself was well-versed in the art of the witch, her power was no match for this woman’s.

“Ms. Agatha, I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come here. I was just out for a walk, I had no idea I was entering your domain.”

“No, child? No clue? You didn’t know you were coming here, to this place? You’re a poor liar, my pretty.” The witch cackled, her talon-like fingers - barely more than bone with flesh tones painted on them - stroking down her cheek. “A place only accessible by a very specific path, on a very specific road. In a very, very specific part of the woods. But you didn’t know…it was an accident?”

“Y-yes Ms. Agatha, I promise.”

“So you didn’t come for this…” the witch asked, a sudden flash of her hand materializing a book, “…book of mine? The ‘source of all my power’, the people say?” She looked at the book for a moment, her eyes darting from the book to the young girl held captive. “You don’t want it, then, I suppose. I could just..burn it and it wouldn’t matter?”

“No, I mean yes. I mean…I didn’t come for the book. I didn’t even know I was coming here!” Her voice tried to rise, to voice her deceit as loudly as she could. Yet, it barely came out as more than a whisper. Her body betrayed her, her eyes showed her truth. Darting to the book, then back to the witch, back to the book longingly. Oh, she longed to have that power. To have what the witch had, a life unending. The people so afraid of her that few in a generation ventured to the wood. And only a select few of those returning whole.

“Liar, liar.” The witch cackled into the night wind, and her laughter echoing for what sounded like an eternity. “You want my book, you want my book!” The witch chanted for a moment, then snapped her mouth shut and her face became serious. “I occasionally take apprentices, you know. And I can sense the gift in you, budding and growing. It’s strong. Very strong. Almost as strong as mine, in potential anyway.” She looked at her, cocking her head to one side. “You might be teachable. With a little refinement, with a little direction…yes..hm..”

Veronica stopped struggling, the futile effort sapping her of all of her energy. “You…you could teach me, yes?” Oh, the idea of it. The thought of it was beyond her wildest dreams. Truthfully, she came here for the book. She wanted the power, coveted it. The witch offering to train her didn’t dampen that desire. It strengthened it. If she learned from this woman, if she apprenticed. The witch would spill her secrets, would open her book and her home. Even if she didn’t, she’d be in a position to steal the book much easier.

“Perhaps, child. Perhaps. You have to prove your strength in the gift, first, though. I’ve got a friend, you could say, a friend in a way anyway. He’s having a bit of a bash, you see. A party, in a way. Yes. Yes. A party. A party you’ll go to, you’ll go and you’ll break into his party and you’ll have some fun with it. You’ll display the power inside of you, you’ll nourish your gift. The party is a contest you see, and if you win the contest. If you show me your resolve…yes..yes. I’ll teach you the gift. Come, child. Come.”

Veronica followed her, not of her will but of the witch’s. Her body moved of its own accord. “You’ll not use this body, of course. Your flesh is far too young and supple to let be marred by any mishaps on your part. Yes, yes. I know the perfect body for you. Come, child. Come.”

Inside the shack, the hovel became even more noticeable as abandoned. Filled to the brim with trinkets and toys, mostly made from bone - some of which appeared oddly human, adorned the walls and floor. Littered with dirt and dust, decay and stink filled the air and seemed to seep into every fiber of her soul. “Yes, a body. A good body. Here, it’s here somewhere.” The witch dug through a chest, tossing rotten vegetables and meat aside, bodies of small animals and bones and refuse. “Here it is!” The witch exclaimed, pulling from within the chest a doll of cloth and burlap, dark hair half falling off and oddly human.

“This is going to be my…body? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, dear. I’m sure. It’s not like you really have a choice in this anyway, you trespassed on my land. I know you meant to steal from me, whether you’ll admit it or not. So, you’ll use this body and you’ll go to the party. If you win, you get to live and learn. If you lose…well, I’ve been in need of a nice, young body to replace this one.”

Veronica’s body fell limp, as a bright flash of light burned through her eyes and into her soul. The pain forced a scream from her mouth, and she fell to the floor with an audible thud.

The Aisle of Misfit Toys

Veronica opened her eyes to the sound of her own scream. The pain still seared her soul, but her body felt nothing. The light burned, bright and painful. A light unlike anything she’d ever seen, emitting from the ceiling on long tubes. The brightest, most permeating light she’d ever seen. Her burlap hands pushed against…something, a shelf? Lifting her onto her wooden feet. Her mouth, sewn shut and unusable emitted the scream still - as if her soul spoke into the world her feelings. She could feel her gift, though. It remained within her as she stood, and she drew upon the well of power within.

The power seared and burned in a way that felt right, natural. She stood and looked around, taking in her surroundings. A shop of some kind, maybe? It looked something similar to the general store in the middle of her town, though the floor and walls were made of a material she didn’t recognize. Around her lay the broken things, the toys no one wanted. The refuse bin, really, though just a pile not yet sorted through and disposed of properly.

“This must be where the party is…and I’m stuck in the body of some toy, some child’s plaything. A doll so battered as to be considered trash. Still, I have to make do with what do.” She thought, before manifesting her words into the air. “Hello? Hello, my name is Vero. I’m here for the party, or contest. Whatever this thing is supposed to be, I’m here to win it either way. Who will be the first to feel the power that flows through me?”

The Land of Skara: and the Songtale of the Breaking

The Festival

The Marketplace

People milled about in crowds, walking the streets with little care for the world around them. It was time for Festival, and people flocked to the city of Lundros from the surrounding countryside. They brought their wares and their stock, things made and things grown from their farms. Stalls lined the main street, turning the whole central area of the city - normally reserved for a park - into a massive marketplace which sprawled as far as the eye could see in every direction. The city center, circular in design to facilitate the flow of traffic, lined with merchants of all types. The more affluent and strange of them taking center stage in the midst of everything. The more mundane, normal merchants lined the streets. Many storefronts lined these streets, and most of them were open - though their owners had stalls of their own.

The denizens of Lundros were engrossed in their own worlds, focusing on their shopping - buying pretty jewels and trinkets for their lovers and their children. Many cloth vendors sold their best silks and linens. Dressmakers sold the gaudiest of things. Blacksmiths made shoes for horses and weapons for the rich, farm tools for the poor. It was a time of joy and happiness for most. For some, though, it was just a pain in the ass. The people in the city were mostly good, wondrous people who came simply for the happiness of festival. But some, though, some came for more nefarious purposes. During the time of Festival, crime in the city nearly doubled. Mostly petty theft and cutpurses. It disgusted Cerwin.

He sat on his balcony, feet crossed and his hands cupped around the back of his head. He looked out over the crystalline railing, fingers laced together watching the suns move through the sky. The commotion below in the marketplace annoyed him, but not enough to ruin his good mood today. Even the thought of the cutpurses who made his job harder than normal couldn’t spoil his mood today. Just the night before, in the blackness of the night he’d made a killing. Of course, the town watch was up in arms about it. They couldn’t figure out who’d robbed The Shining Gem, a high-end jewelry shop.

Cerwin pulled the gems from his pocket, figuring they were worth at least a small fortune. In fact, he knew they could pay for his house a thousand times over. The problem with gems, though, was finding somewhere to sell them. He couldn’t offload them in the city, not yet anyway, the heat was too much. And besides, the only person who could reasonably afford to buy them happened to be the one he’d stolen them from to begin with. Of course, he didn’t steal them for the money. He had plenty of that, more than enough to feed a few hundred families for a few years.

He stole them for the thrill of stealing them, in fact, he was already contemplating how he could return them without being caught. He’d only stolen them to prove he could, after all. The braggart made unfounded claims that his security couldn’t be beaten. His people were the best, he said, unable to be outwitted. The magic protecting his house couldn’t be breached! Cerwin proved that wrong, in about fifteen minutes of his time. He tossed the gems into the air, deftly catching them before placing them back in his pouch - which he buried beneath the dirt in a flower pot by the balcony door.

Looking back over the city, Cerwin sighed. It had been harder than necessary, though, the guard was pulling double duty with the influx of visitors. Actually breaking in took him no time, but escaping and getting back home without being caught was a bit harder. Still, he’d managed it - and now he was up bright and early despite the late hours he kept. His meeting for the day should be arriving any minute, and while not the most important meeting - it was a meeting he agreed to a week ago.

“Isla is our friend here, yet?” He asked.

“Yes sir, he arrived five minutes ago. I thought you might want to take a few minutes to prepare before I let him and the Banker in.”

“Yes, yes. I’m ready for them, Isla. Send them in, I’ll see them now.”

Cerwin settled in at his desk, pulling some papers and a quill out. His feet didn’t even touch the floor in this chair, he hated it - they didn’t really have the equipment for him when he furnished this place. The custom order was almost done though, he’d been told. Settling in comfortably, he folded his hands around one another. Isla, tall and slender and beautiful in her own way, showed the two men into the office. They each sat across from him.

“Good morning, Gentlemen. I know we’re here to discuss funding for a new development of land outside the city walls, yes? I’m assuming you both have taken the time to study my offer for funding, since you’ve decided to take this meeting.”

“Yes sir, and we do have an issue with the time frame for repayment. The interest rate is a little steep, as well - but we can live with that. However, a one year repayment plan seems kind of short-lived. We’re not sure we can make the payments that kind of frame of time gives us. Can we, maybe, negotiate for a longer term?”

“I suppose that could be considered, given the undertaking and the project you’re taking on. See, the problem is, your upfront payment is kind of small. There’s no guarantee your project is going to pan out, and I have to be sure I’m going to get a return on my investment. I definitely need something of value, if you want to extend the loan term and make smaller payments.”

“I have some family heirlooms. Things of value they’ve gathered over the years. Jewels and the like. A few swords said to have magic properties that the Lore Wardens have said we could keep. There’s even some…other things. I’m not sure of their value, but we could look through them and you could judge. I’m hesitant to speak to much of them currently, though. I know you’re a collector of…antiques, yeah?”

The way he said it piqued Cerwin’s interest, canting his head to the side and thinking about it for a moment. “Yes, yes I am. If you happen to have some of these antiques, I would very much like to see them.”

The details of their next meeting were sorted quickly, a dinner between the two of them later that evening. In his home, of course, as Cerwin didn’t enjoy leaving his home after dark the other man knew. In fact, the whole city knew. Leaving at night was dangerous, especially with the festival coming through the city. Notorious cutpurses and ne’er-do-wells roamed the streets in the cover of darkness.

Cerwin smiled as he shut the door behind them, reaching into his pockets for a moment and feeling the gems he’d procured the night before. Pulling the few stones he carried on him from his pocket, he tossed them into the air and deftly caught them one-by-one as they began falling. “Isla, I need you to handle something for me.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Take these gems, and the few buried in the secret compartment on my desk and return them to their rightful owner. And make sure you get the reward money, for yourself of course. You’ll come up with the usual excuse, I assume? Something simple, but effective. Can’t have you getting yourself locked up, and the watch is hot after these things. They spent the better part of an hour and a half chasing me through the streets last night. Well, they think they were chasing an urchin twice my height, but you know how that goes.” Cerwin laughed, remembering the foot chase through the streets.

As Isla gathered everything, Cerwin walked back to his main living space - settling down and sipping on his tea. He thought about the night before, and then he thought about the coming dinner. Antiques and collectibles were things of value, things he could definitely take as collateral on the loan. Especially if they were anything like what Cerwin wanted them to be, what he longed for.

His fingers ran along the edge of his table, flipping the hidden level which pushed the two halves apart and lifted the platform from inside. A bit of a hidden stash, books lined the interior of the table - held perfectly in place and preserved by his limited amounts of magic. He looked through them, touching the pages reverently and carefully. He couldn’t read them, the language was foreign and ancient. But, he knew what they were. The most valuable assets in his whole collection, though not ones he could often speak about. The collection and keeping of these books was taboo. One of the most heinous crimes in the land, even. They were relics of an age long before his life, or of any living creature currently walking the streets of Lundros.

Hopefully, the books his new friend brought tonight were akin to these. Relics from before the Breaking. Eventually, he might learn to read the books and find out the true history of their world. What caused the world to break and change, and become the thing it was these days. He knew, in times long past, the people’s magic was far stronger - and their tools far beyond their current comprehension.

“Gods, I need to find someone that can read these.”

On the topic of dreams and nightmares - Forge v Odium

Atop a spire in the long forgotten city he sat, his legs crossed and his palms flat against his knees. He came here many times, to think and let his mind wash itself over with the troubles within him. A century ago he was among the first to lay sight on this ancient city, buried deep in the jungles and hidden from humanity and others for ages. He and his friends cleared it sector by sector, slowly removing the evil blights that plagued it and making it safe for humanity to scourge and pick through once again. Many of those friends died in that noble crusade, and the ones who didn't were long gone anyway. Either from old age, or from other tasks. His mind reached out to one of the latter, a small piece of mirrored glass flickering between his fingers. He looked into it, and saw the Eukajae village. Even after all this time, Calypso remained young - but she ruled their...her...people well. Once, a long time ago, they had been their people. Raised among them from a young age, he once sought only to be like them.

Now, though, he thrived in the differences. She wasn't the same girl he knew as a child, and he wasn't the same person she'd once paddled for trying to sneak a sweetcake. Her dark skin starkly contrasted his own red. His demonic heritage showed in his horns and his talon-like fingers. He was not an elf, nor was he a human. He wasn't even a halfling, he was simply himself. Mal'drek fully opened his eyes from atop his spire, and looked down upon the city - sprawling and still in the process of being rebuilt to its former glory. These people flocked here from the surrounding forests and villages, seeking refuge and a place to call home. Savith-Yhi, once a ruined city in the darkest section of the jungle, quickly became a thriving metropolis for the jungle-dwellers.

And yet, even these people who flocked to the city he fought so vehemently to protect, to liberate from the dredges of the evil Chara-kau, looked at him sideways and with a slight bit of disdain. All tieflings felt this, he knew, but he felt it more - because until he left the village he'd never felt it. Until grandmother sent him on this suicide quest to find Calypso and her sister, to return them home if possible, he'd never met anyone who didn't love him as one of their own. Yet, now, it was all he could find most days. The people didn't take the time to know him, to understand him. They simply saw a man different from them, his flaming red skin and his curled, darkened horns that seemed to reach toward the sky. And they hated him for his differences.

Maybe hate was strong, but they certainly didn't love him the way the elves did. At least once. 'Maybe they still would', Mal'drek mused to himself. He shook his head, as if to throw the thought aside. He wasn't going to go back there, at least not for now. Maybe one day, when he finished his mission. The others finished what they sought to do, and they left him behind when they left. He knew his answer was here, though, somewhere. He knew it had to be, buried deep in the ancient knowledge of the Azlanti. He helped them find their goals, accomplish what they wanted - and they left him to fend for himself.

"They weren't really my friends anyway, were they?" He whispered to himself. "Just people hired to do a job, and when that job was completed they left. Nevermind that my job wasn't done, that it wasn't near done. Nevermind that they told me they would help me, and then conveniently left before doing that." His hands balled into fists, shattering the looking glass held in his right hand. Talon-like nails digging into the flesh of his palms. His sharpened teeth grit, a low growl emitting.

'I should let this anger go, it consumes me when I grasp it. They have lives and things to achieve. Besides, the humans of them are long dead now.' Unclenching his fists, Mal'drek pushed himself to stand and look down over the city. Reaching into his pouch and pulling from it a single feather, tossing it into the sky as the magic washed over him and he stepped off the edge of the spire. His body gently lowered to ground level. As his feet touched stone, he pulled his cloak's hood over his head - hiding his face and horns - only the slightest whisper of his long, gray hair visible beneath it.

They readied the ritual room, even as he meditated. Soon, he would find the answers he sought and the world he seeked so long to find. Soon, he would be reunited with his friend, his companion. He lacked the power to fully summon him into this world these days. Magic was beginning to fade, dying with time and people not bothering to continue learning it. With all things, only a few truly held the dedication to it - and with their waning interest it seemed to grow weaker by the day. Once he would have flown down nestled deep in the breast of Rarn'gar, flowing draconic wings propelling them across the city.

Now, it was a hassle for him to even manage to cast feather fall like he had. Once again, he shook the negativity from his mind - perhaps the ritual would work, perhaps it wouldn't. The magic it fed on wasn't of the material world, and Rarn'gar prepared his end - though he couldn't bring him fully into the world anymore, he spoke to him daily - almost constantly, through their mental link.
The scholars here worked tirelessly for him, at least, understanding the great need he sought. They worked day and night on deciphering the ritual, and finally they managed it - sending him word just the night before. Today would be the day. Either the magic worked, or it didn't. Soon, he'd find out.

Noon

"Are you sure about this, Mal'drek? We might muster the magic to get you there, but there's no promise you'll be able to come back. The Dreamlands are dangerous enough on their own, and they're made only more dangerous by our lack of knowledge."

"I know all I need to know, Nedrick. I'll be fine. Is the ritual ready?" Named for his uncle, Nedrick was nothing like the forebearer of his name - though he didn't look much like his father either.

"Yes, Mal'drek. All you need to do is stand in the center, focus your mind on your location - the rest of us will handle what's left."

"Thank you."

Mal'drek stood on the sigil, presumably it spelled Leng, but who knew what it really meant. Vors' son seemed to think he did, but wizards always thought they knew everything. And he was surrounded by them. Probably the last of their kind, really, given the rumors of the great wars sweeping the outside world.

"Somnus", Nedrick said as his hands lifted a woolen cloth, covering a single feather in his hand. Mal'drek felt the power surge in the room around him, as the others followed suit and spoke the word of power that activated the ritual. The ground rumbled for a moment as the sigils around the outer ring lit up, the braziers surrounding the room whooshing out as only a dark, green light lit up the room emanating from the central sigil. The power this took clearly hurt them, he could see the anguish in their faces as his eyes grew heavy.
"Goodbye, my friends. Thank you, for everything you've done." With that, Mal'drek closed his eyes and his mind drifted off to a deep sleep - as his body propelled itself across the planes. He focused his subconscious on a singular spot, on the beaches of Leng, at the bottom of the plateu. The meeting place.

-------------------------------------------

Brined water washed over his flesh, ice-cold and touched with just the faintest feel of slime and grease. The water lapped at him like an animal of the wild. It seemed to come in droves, as wave after wave crashed upon him. His eyes slowly opened to the inky, star-blotted darkness above him. His mind adjusted slowly, his eyes even slower. The ground around him looked like glass, broken-shards of it forming the finest sand that bit at his flesh like a thousand tiny insects. He gingerly pushed himself up, wiping the water from his face before looking around him.

Before him stood the highest wall he'd ever seen, and through it a narrow path presumably leading to the top. From everything he'd read, this must have been the place. The Dreamlands, a section of the Astral Plane accessed presumably only through dreams. Yet, things lived here - and those things were dangerous - not just to him but to his friend.

His friend!

Mal'drek reached out with his power, feeling it stronger than he'd done in years. He pulled through the rift in his soul, grasping through and pulling with all of his might. The power surged through him, and then in that moment it surrounded him, a warm embrace of a lost brother. It molded itself to him, and he felt their minds fully meld for the first time in decades.

'Rarn'gar, my old friend. How I've missed you.'

The warmth grew. Mal'drek knew without opening his own eyes that he stood, once again, within the meld of their bodies. Around him a force of pure rage and power, the Eidolon Rarn'gar. A nearly translucent, four armed monstrosity with horns that put his own to shame - and the body of a giant. The power of that strength flowed into him once again. After years of being helpless, powerless to do anything but exist and search for this place.

He'd found it. Before him lay Leng, and on the other side of it Kadath. His ultimate goal. Nyarlathotep would die by his hand, and his blackened heart would sustain the magic of his kind for a hundred centuries to come. All they had to do now was cross Leng.
"Let's go, Rarn'gar."

With those words, Mal'drek began the ascent into the Dreamlands nightmarish hellscape.

On the topic of dreams and nightmares - Forge v Odium

This should be fun!

The Family Biz [Open To Apply]

Allure City, The Courtyard Out Front

Aleck stepped out of the car, his sneakers hitting the concrete at the front as the valet opened the door. His eyes took in the scene around him, the blinding lights putting on their dazzling display, the people milling around the entrance coming and going. A lot of them not human, but some of them were - and all of their minds screamed either luck or the lack thereof. They screamed internally from losing it all, everything down the drain as they wasted away their life savings in the games they found within. On the other hand, some screamed of happiness and hope. They either were going in, hopeful of winning more than they brought - and of retiring from their mundane lives. Others were leaving, their minds screaming the happiness of having won exactly that. It meant nothing, though. They all thought they had an edge in life, something to help them or to make things better for them. Aleck knew it for false hope, something the city offered but never actually provided.

Aleck walked through the front door, held open by a sturdy looking man. Clearly someone there to deter a would be thief, or perhaps put an end to a fight breaking out between drunkards. Aleck simply nodded as he passed, definitely giving him a once over and realizing he wasn't a threat. If Aleck wanted to fight him, he'd make short work of the man. It helped being able to read their thoughts, know what their next moves were going to be, sometimes even before they did. He snapped his attention back to what was in front of him. The casino floor filled with people, their voices a cacophony. A symphony of happiness and sorrow. He tuned it out, though. The same as their thoughts. Closing his mind, something he learned from a young age growing up in a home full of psychics. Something he excelled at, though his other family members not so much.

Striding through the people, pushing past them, he walked past the screaming bells and whistles of the slot machines and video games. He pushed past the people playing blackjack and other games of pure luck and chance. He wanted something that required skill, though his particular skills gave him an edge others didn't have. Finally, his eyes caught what he sought. The tables were nearly full, especially the lower end ones where the common people played for pennies and dimes.

Walking to the cages, he pulled out the wad of cash he got from Tommy, and counted it out. Ten thousand dollars. A lot of money to carry around in your pocket, but Tommy always was the flashy type. He passed it through the cage, "Can I exchange this, ma'am?" He said, knowing they'd exchange it without question. His fingers tapped idly while they counted out the chips, and then passed them through the opening to him in their little holder. "And can you direct me to the no-limits tables, I don't want to waste my time with the common riff-raff, ya' know?" His charming smile warmed his face, and touched his eyes - a simple trick to get what he wanted.

"Yes sir, I'd be happy to show you the way personally. Follow me." She said as she stepped from behind the cage, and began to lead him through the tables toward a door at the back. His eyes wandered from her to the people around him, only to land back on her. As they neared the door, he pulled out one of the one hundred dollar chips and tipped her as she opened the door for him. "Right through here, sir. You'll find the games with the kind of money you want, though..you may need more chips."

"Don't worry, darling, I'll get the chips I need." Once again, his charming smile warmed his face and he walked through the door. Quickly he discerned a table worth playing at, and sat down. "So, gentlemen, what's the game?"

"Hold 'em, no limits. Blinds at five and ten. You sure you can handle this game, though, bud? You don't seem like the kind to have what it takes to be in this room, let alone at our table." A burly man in a nice suit, clearly someone of status, leaned out of the shadows with a big cigar in his mouth. "You should just leave, while you still have shoes on your feet to leave with." His boisterous laugh echoed in the room, nearly silent for the seriousness of the game. The sound of chips, the smell of velvet, stale smoke, and staler liquor permeated his nostrils, which flared almost in anger.

"Sure, bud. I'll be big blind this hand, I suppose, and I only brought ten thousand in chips. So, definitely going to have to win this one." With that said, he put his chips down and leaned back, smiling. Already, he was reopening his mind - focusing it on the seven other players at the table. Focusing it on reading their thoughts, both surface and subconscious. Before he left, he'd be rich and full of knowledge of all the seedy business these gentlmen knew.

The Courtyard, Aeternus

Valkyr's gaze darkened as the magic ebbed out of his body, his torn flesh repairing itself even as the magic ripped it apart. He listened to the words of the shit-stained old man, whose words he barely understood as anything comprehensible. HIs fingers flexed for a moment, and in the stillness of the air wind stirred - shifting the scent of the man away from him. He stopped as the other responded, his yellowed teeth behind the ever-dark hood baring themselves in contempt. Turning his gaze from the one, to the lights switching themselves back on. Already annoyed, the lights turning back on in defiance of him only seemed to anger him more. Though, he could sense the source of its power. His eyes turned from that, to the distance - where he felt something drawing upon the power of magic. The screaming, boisterous roar of a monster lashing out in the darkness.

Valkyr calculated a dozen things at once, and then a voice that broke through him like fire burning through his veins and ripping through.
"Another task for you, Valkyr, return."

As the words ripped through his body and burned his very essence, he turned his robbed gaze toward the casino, sighed - and as suddenly as he was there, he was gone. Robes dropped to the ground in a heap, a pile, and his body simply gone and dispersed from Aeternus in that quick moment. Pulled away by a power far beyond even his own comprehension, much less the comprehension of those others who thought this place a home.

Neo Babylon

Name: Irawan
Alias(es): Ira
Gender: Male
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green
Skin: Brown/Hispanic
Height: 3 foot
Distinctive Features: Sharp, pointed nose. Eyes sometimes glow
Likes: Theiving, rabblerousing
Dislikes: The pigs

Appearance:

Fairly normal, Irawan is barely three feet tall, giving him a small and unassuming frame that keeps most people from being intimidated by him, or taking him seriously in the first place. Slender, but strong, Irawan is barely noticeable by the people around him most of the time.

Personality:

Easy going, fun loving - never far from trouble, but always maintaining innocence.

Powers, Skills, and Abilities:

Theivery: Irawan is a skiled thief, in basically every sense of the word.

Knives: Irawan is a master of knives.

Invisibility: Irawan can camoflauge himself nearly perfectly.

Speed/Deftness: Irawan is fast and accurate

Equipment:

Backpack: A container filled with odds and ends needed from day to day. Lockpicks, data-miners, hacking tools and theives tools of various kinds. As well as additional rations and magazines for his silenced pistol kept on his hip.

Your Last Memory:

Attempting to rob a major player in a mob organization, not really sure what happened before that - or what's going on after that. Woke up here.

Additional Plot Hooks:

Irawan is the rich son of a cartel lord back home, but doesn't really care for the family business and instead chose to hone his rogueish skills to make a name for himself across the world.

The Family Biz [Open To Apply]

Allure City, Another Day in the life

“Aleck, answer your phone. We need you to come back, there’s important things going on here. The Company is in turmoil, we already recalled the monster, you shouldn’t still be there either. Call me back.” His finger pressed the little red button, ending the voicemail call before he shut the phone back and put it in his pocket. A lot of people had smart phones these days, especially with the advancements of Xanathan and the other corporations that basically controlled the world. Yet, Aleck preferred his burners. Untraceable and cheap as shit, they’d always served him well. His sister was one of the others, the ones with the expensive, bulky things – though at this point, he was pretty sure she’d opted for the implant Xanathan offered its senior executives. She was insistent that he come home, though, but really – why? There was nothing left in Xanathan for him. Bharata was a madman, running the company like a personal army.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of the company, never had been. He’d only signed on as a mercenary, and eventually became one of the top officers in the militia side of it. In fact, his status was why he’d been embedded in Allure to begin with. Long before it ended up here, before Xanathan ended up here. He still wasn’t entirely sure how they’d managed to find this place, or what happened for them to set up shop here. And yet, here they were. As the city settled into its new location, she’d already begun calling him. She’d known about his mission, hell it was her idea to send him on it, he’d bet. She’d never admit it, but Alex never did enjoy him being around.

Smart, serious, and sensible described her. He was the exact opposite, depending on luck and charm to get his way. It led to some weird family dinners, and their father always did favor his little princess. The thought of that made him sneer, a momentary break in his ever-smiling demeanor. It was a flash, a moment of disdain for his family, before he was back to himself. His mission wasn’t changed, as far as he was concerned with it. Infiltrate and observe. Watch and learn the habits of the aliens, the denizens of this massive city, which now took up the place where – if his education in Earth geography from his childhood held up – Spain used to be, a small country replaced by a sprawling metropolis. “Shit’s wild”, he said aloud as he pulled himself up from his chair. His news broadcasts were nothing but turmoil, and he was almost out of smokes.

Walking to the corner store seemed simple, but Aleck knew he’d have to deal with the moochers nearby. Usually friendly and upbeat, today just wasn’t his day. He didn’t want to deal with those clowns and their incessant need to beg him for his last few credits. Besides, he barely had enough for himself right now. Checking his watch, he reached for the door – tucking his pistol into its place just behind his hip – and grabbing his bag from beside the door.

Large, it was clearly a survival pack of some kind. A go-back most of his operators called it. It, to him, was just a comfort to have on him. A few extra magazines tucked here and there, as well as a couple on his person in easy reach tucked into the vest beneath his jacket. The bag contained his rifle, as well, Xanathan-made it featured several folding points that made it stowable in smaller compartments. His senses reached out, touching the familiar knot of emotions he kept locked away in the back of his mind – another of his small comforts. It let him know his sister was alive, as well as their father. Opening himself up to it, letting the thoughts inside, would give him as much information as he wanted, but it also opened his mind to them. And he refused to let them in, not anymore. His ritual completed, he opened the door and stepped outside, reaching down to check for his keys, and then realized he forgot them. “Well, fuck.” He pushed the door back open and reached up to the knife stuck in the wall – which held his keys looped around the hilt, and pulled it from where it was embedded in the picture of his father. “See ya’, Markus.” He said, closing the door and locking it behind him. “Ya, fuckin’ prick.”

Aeternus Entrance, The Courtyard Leading to.

Valkyr kept his ever-moving, slow pace toward the front of the Casino. His eyes losing their malicious glow with each step, the power receding from within him. The magic flowed strongly here, through his veins and into his organs (such as they were, anyway). It burned like fire rushing through him, boiling water in his veins as it battled against the very nature of his being. His essence, his power – it was like the rushing of a river, and yet calm and peaceful like the sea at the same time. Two parts of him, constantly at war within him. He sought only to find relief from it, to finally get some relief. Magnus refused to allow it, coercing him into things like this. Shutting the Casino down, as some affront to the name of Hell? This place was its own special kind of hell. Ten minutes, and he already felt the deep shame this land held. His fingers dug into his palms, fingers clenching tight into fists. His yellowed teeth gritting against themselves, jaw locking in frustration.

“Why must I be this way, why must I do this? Let me rest, Magnus. Give me peace!” His words were audible only within his mind, reaching out to the edges of this realm – pushing them toward the outer regions of Hell, to the darkest recesses of him. Always an answer came, the sound of the control Magnus asserted over him. The deal made for eternal life; it held a lot of sway over his being. And yet…silence was the only answer. No return of voice, of command. Not even the dark laughter that usually accompanied his pleading for peace.

For a moment, he dared to hope – his eyes widening and his mouth opening as if to exclaim some form of surprise. “Magnus…are you there?” Only silence. “Could it be true, surely not. He’s toying with me. I must continue forward, continue with the plan.” His body began gliding once more. The very fact his power worked here told him Magnus’ influence was still on him, that he still had a connection with the outside. It was a test. A test of his mettle and his resolve to do as he was told. He entered the courtyard just in time to hear a voice, and the overwhelming stench of human excrement. Not the man he needed to speak to, he could tell from how he was dressed – and the putrid odor swimming in the air around him.

“Can you take me to the owner?” Valkyr’s graveled voice, double and triple layered sound, resonated with suggestive power. The words themselves seemed to hang in the air, encircling him and projecting themselves. “Or, if you can’t, could you point me in the direction of someone who can?” He meant the owner of this pocket world, this injected, shit-riddled realm that sought to attach itself to his home and become a part of it – even if only in this one, weird, small way.

Allure City, The Back Alleys of Sin

The horrid scent of the air told him he was in the right place, the back alleys that served as places for drug dens and whorehouses. They littered this part of the city, at least two on every corner and four on most. The ground seemed forever sticky, though from what Aleck didn’t even want to think about. He didn’t really want to be here, but his cover depended on him doing business in this part of town. Mostly with one man, a guy who claimed to be comrade-in-arms with some of the biggest drug dealers in the city. Whose boss, apparently, ran a lucrative crime trade. Bharata sent him here to find the guy in charge, and though it’d been more than two years since his arrival in Allure, he didn’t really feel any closer to that goal. Pretty frustrating, really.

“Yo, Tommy, you around?” He called out, his voice bouncing back at him in the silence – broken only occasionally by the sound of rats digging through trash. Both homeless and animal alike, and sometimes the faint moans from one of the whore’s rooms upstairs. He hated the whole stench of the place, and he hated having to be here. His fingers curled around the grip of his pistol, easing it in the leather and fingering the safety switch off. Just in case.

“Yo, Aleck, my man. You good?” The questioning tone came from behind him, and he almost drew his gun out of instinct. He recognized the voice, though, and turned with a smile on his face. “You need something, out here yelling my name in the streets like that?”
“Yeah, man. I need some stuff. You know, it’s bout that time again. I just need something to get me through.”

“Aleck, you’ve got a problem man. You’re one of my best customers, and I enjoy the repeat business – but if you don’t slow down, you’re gonna die, man. You can’t keep going like this, and if you die that’s a lot of potential money I lose out on.” A savvy businessman, Tommy knew the secret to dealing. You never let your customers kill themselves on the supply, a dead customer is a customer who can’t spend money, after all.

“Man, shut up and get me my stuff. I’m fine, I got control of it.” Aleck’s voice, friendly as it was, said he wasn’t going to argue with him.

“Nah, man. I can’t let you do that today, besides – someone bought my supply out just a bit ago. Waiting on a call to pick up some more.”
Instant rage. The anger washed over him like rain – or at least that’s what he showed on his face. He wasn’t really an addict, after all, just portraying one trying to get in with this man’s crew – hoping to work his way up to the big boys that ran things eventually. Though, he’d enjoy a bit of the Psispice a time or two. It wasn’t bad stuff, really, for most people it gave them visions – mild psychic moments. Nothing major. For Aleck, it was like doing literal crack, though. Psions shouldn’t be using psionic-enhancing drugs, an inheritance of his father’s power, Aleck had a strong affinity for telepathy. He could sense his sister and father from here, thousands of miles away after all. The first time he took the Psispice, though, he sensed everything. Everywhere. All at once. Or at least, that was how it felt to him – the whole of the planet’s thoughts seemed to flood into him at once, and he couldn’t turn it off. In ways, it was like the strongest psychedelic a man could take, and in others he made him want to end his own life just to shut it down.

That feeling kept him from ever doing it again, anyway, so addiction wasn’t a concern for him. Tommy thought he was taking it, though, and he wanted him to think he was taking it. “Well, look man…just put me in touch with your guy already. I been a customer for a while, you can trust me, man.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Aleck. Though, I don’t trust you. At all. It’s that he doesn’t trust you, man. Nobody trusts a junkie.”
“Alright…alright. Just, let me know when your next shipment comes in man. I need that shit.”

“Sure thing, Aleck.”

Aleck turned to leave, taking a step or two before a sense of malice raised an alarm in his brain. He could easily find out who Tommy worked for, all it would take was reaching out with his mind, touching thoughts. That simple thing could end the mission right now. He’d started to do it once, when he first began trying to infiltrate it. The thoughts he saw in the other’s mind drove him crazy, though, the things the man had – the images in his mind. The things he did to people, for the pure joy of doing them, caused the bile to rise in Aleck’s throat.

Besides, telepathy made his job too easy – there wasn’t any challenge in it. Yet, now even without touching his mind he felt something sharp and painful stab at the control center of his brain. Something told him to move, that he needed to just slide slightly to the left, and he listened to those instincts clearly.

In that same second, a flash of silver rushed past his neck – and punched at the air in front of him. The silver glint of a knife, sharpened tip protruding out the front of what – moments before – would have been Aleck’s throat. His body reacted purely out of instinct now, and Aleck grasped the other’s wrist, flinging his body around as he shifted his feet and used his hips to leverage the other’s body, flinging him over and slamming him into the asphalt of the alleyway back first, wrenching the knife from his hands.

“The fuck, Tommy?”

“Shut up, Xanathan Scum. You think we wouldn’t find out you been working for them? We always find out. Get him, boys.” Tommy screamed, as people began rushing out from the alley. Aleck almost opened his mind completely, ready to crush them under the weight of his psionic energy. Then he stopped, opting instead he launched himself directly at the first, the closest. His hand grabbing his own knife, pulling it from its sheathe and slashing through the air.

Not silver, but fiery red and burning red hot the laser-edged blade tore through flesh and bone smoothly, like butter the skin separated. For a second, blood sprayed and then the heat of the laser cauterized their wounds. His head turned and his right hand pulled his pistol up, the safety already off and the first round already chambered. Squeezing the trigger even before the gun was fully pulled up, the first round blasted off like thunder in the tight alley, the echo carrying it further than necessary. The round flew, and then it split – the mental control he held over metal manifesting in that moment – fragmenting the bullet in mid-air, adding velocity and power.

The fragments became fragments, tore themselves into smaller pieces and split a dozen times over – turning into like slivers of metal so small they’d be nearly invisible to the naked eye. Each one tore through a person, into their throat so precisely as to be surgical. As soon as the fight began, it was over – Aleck replaced his pistol in its holster, mentally activating the safety.

And he looked down at the body of Tommy and sighed. He’d spent a good portion of his time here building his cover and getting in with this guy and his hoodlums for nothing now. The man’s body lay limp, unmoving except for the excited rising and falling of his chest. Eyes widened in fear, as Aleck knelt next to him. He picked up the other’s knife and ran it along his cheek for a moment.
“How’d you know?” Aleck asked, genuinely curious.

“Your sister. She called looking for you, explained that she heard my name in your mind. Thought that was weird, but whatever, you know? Said she needed to speak to you, about your mission to infiltrate the gang, to get to the leader. Ya’ know, always thought something was off about you. Apparently, your sister is a crazy fucking bi…” his words cut off as a death gurgle, his own knife buried deep into his throat. With a violent, teeth-gritting twist of the knife, Tommy’s head separated from his body.

“Nobody calls Alex a bitch, Tommy.” Aleck said to the lifeless, glazed over eyes. At the same time, Aleck began rifling through the other’s clothes. Wallet, keys for his car and house, and plenty of free cash just hanging out in his pockets. Aleck definitely kept that for himself, and then pulled out Tommy’s phone – pocketing it before walking out of the alleyway. He opened the door to the other’s car, an import from the look of it. BMW, the steering wheel said. A good brand, though for some reason the letters were changed to BWM. Probably a knock-off reproduction from some company in Allure.

He flipped through the on-board GPS settings, the most recent places. A casino kept popping up, several times he’d been there according to the tracking software, whose security was barely existent to an expert in advanced electronics. “Guess I’ll start there, eh?” He put the car in drive and took off. At the same time, opening his mind to his family for the first time in years. “You really are a fucking bitch, Alex.”

The Family Biz [Open To Apply]

Revertetur In Terram Suam

The words echoed through the darkness surrounding him, encasing him in the endless night. The darkest depths of his soul tortured by the haunting whisper reverberating through his bones - shaking them like some witch's hex. Eyes closing tighter, muscles tensing as his entire body absolutely shivered under the weight of the words. The voice deep, dark - an ominous sound bouncing around inside of his skull. He clenched his fists against it, bracing himself for more. Nails dug into his flesh, piercing through and letting his blood flow freely from the wounds. He didn't respond, he made no motion to respond. Scared of what might come, scared of the darkness that enveloped him from his mind.

Revertetur In Terram Suam

Again, the voice boomed within his mind. The sound of a command, not a request, and again he fought to control his body's involuntary impulses. The reaction of his subconscious mind against the war that voice began within him. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to leave. It wasn't a request. He knew it, felt it deep in his bones. Already, he could feel the consciousness leaving his mind as his body drained into nothingness. It sank into the darkness, his conscious mind separating from the physical body built for it. The call of the depths reaching up from the void, pulling at his very essence - dragging at what counted as a soul, warped and twisted as it were. The soul pulled from flesh, drug beneath the surface of reality and ripped asunder from the material world he came to call home.

"Wake up, Valkyr. You're home." The voice didn't hold the same measure of weight anymore, it wasn't the booming, resonating sound of a mental command, more the quiet sound of a person speaking in close proximity with another. Not commanding, but not friendly either.

"No, this isn't my home anymore," the response was cold, without emotion or inflection, "you tore me from my home."

"It's been too long since you visited, my son, your power was waning. Replenish yourself of me." The voice spoke softly now, the calm, quiet tone of a mother to her child. Asking the child to eat their vegetables, so that they might gain some measure of strength. Yet, the command was there, hiding beneath the surface.

Valkyr opened his eyes, and looked up at the statue of ice in the middle of the lake. Towering over the icy lake, massive beyond comprehension and even then only a physical manifestation of the idea behind it. Valkyr coughed violently, trying to stand but without the strength to do so, only lifting himself up onto one knee. Almost like some force held him down, forcing him to kneel before the stature, his head bowed low enough to touch against the frozen fire.

"As you wish, my Lord." His talon-like fingers reached up, scraping at the iced statue for only a moment, before the force released itself around him. As if the air lost a massive weight, holding him in place under it. He pushed himself to his feet, standing, eyes scanning and searching. He wanted to fight back, to fight against the voice commanding him. To go back to where he called home now, to the material world outside of this horrifying existence. Yet, no escape to be found, he could only succumb to the commands of the Almighty.

"I will drink of your essence, and in your presence become whole." Valkyr's hand reached up, lifting a golden chalice from a shelf along the precipice of ice. The blackened, viscous fluid within looking like a violent mixture of excrement and blood swirled into a single, horrifying beverage. Yet, he knew from experience that it held no flavor, no taste. It simply existed to sustain, flavor mattered little here. In the darkest, deepest pits of hell the only thing that mattered was obedience.

Tilting the cup, swirling the liquid. Valkyr watched it closely, before turning his head back and sucking the liquid down in one, smooth gulp. Immediately he felt the changes within him, the power returning. His body tensed to a stop, nothing moved - no rise and fall of the chest, not even the movement of blood through his veins. It seemed as if the world stood still in that moment, as the drink poured its power through his body. And then he shivered, a deep shiver that ran its course through the whole of his body. The cup dropped, but dissolved into nothingness even as it fell from his grasp.

"Welcome home, my Son. Now, I believe I have some business for you."

"Yes, Magnus. As you wish, Lord."

Stultus Luminaria

His movement carried him through the crowds milling around the streets, going about their business and yet unconsciously giving him space. As if some force were pushing them away from him, either passive or active. He glided through them, feet not touching. Beneath the hood of his crimson cloak, there seemed to be only the darkness. No face, no eyes. Nothing to be seen except for the darkest of blacks, a void of its own making. And then he reached the center of the main street, leading to the courtyard and up to the casino itself. The lights shimmering from it, inviting the people in to their games and their fun.

He looked up from beneath his hood, orange eyes beginning to glow. Already the stench of this place bothered him, this fake hell, this side-show that sought to be something, but only ended up a stain on the name of his true home, of his true masters. These people fancied themselves demons, yet they knew nothing of true demons. They understood nothing of Hell, except their false existence and their claim to be like him and his brothers.

"Exstingue," the word fell from his lips as barely more than a whisper - but the implication of it was clear. The magic swirled around him, manifesting from the rivers of power that flowed through his home and into him, sinews of power that while only visible to himself, carried an immense strength behind them. The whisper echoed for miles, across the entirety of this would-be hell, this knock-off perdition.

Almost as soon as the word uttered, the lights of the casino winked out - as if the power keeping them going were flipped off. The darkness began from there, and much like a blackout when transformers go down - the power began to die around it. Until, after a few moments, only darkness remained. "That's better." Valkyr said, before continuing up the path that would eventually lead him to the casino, and through the courtyard.

I want some arena wins.

I'll fight you.

Trials of the Gods

Her fingers latched around the haft of the staff, her body shaking slightly with anticipation and panic. She wasn’t sure which was the predominant emotion right now, really. All she knew is this guy seemed to be kind of threatening, and she could sense something within him that made her skin itch. She lowered her staff a bit more, keeping it ready as he assumed his more defensive stance. She didn’t have to survey the landscape, Forge did that within her. Even as he refused to help her, he helped her. He needed her, as much as the Gods needed him. She sensed their power in her, welling. Not all of it, she couldn’t handle more than a microcosm of what they contained, but enough. Ares knowledge spilled through into her mind, she saw the same tactical advantages any seasoned warrior would - and more. Millions of years of warfare cycled through her mind, the greatest military minds tactics and reasonings justifying themselves before her eyes. She knew how to fight, she’d known that even before meeting the Wizard, but even now she understood much, much more. She knew how to gauge even the most subtle of motions, to understand the intent behind even the slightest twitch of a finger. She discerned the defensive stance, as subtle as it was meant to be - and she took one of her own. Her confidence fleeting, she knew she was strong - but how strong was she? She couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t intend to die trying to find out.

“My name is Fo…er…Kassandra. My name is Kassandra, I am the Vessel of the Wizard, who is the Champion of the Old Gods. And you are?”

She asked the question with an obvious desire for an answer, this man didn’t seem to be much of a threat, and she didn’t want to fight someone only to end up killing one of the good guys. Yet, what was he? Was he a good guy? Truly? She couldn’t know until things progressed, but she wouldn’t be the one to launch the first attack. Still, she needed to be ready for anything. Pulling her staff back, she put the butt against the ground once more. For all intents and purposes, she looked completely exposed and harmless. Yet, the staff began to glow - a pale orange light flickering at the very end of it, even as the ground began to emit that same glow in various locations. If intentions were discerned, it would seem she only prepared to defend herself. Yet, who really knew what was going to happen.