Forge

Anshin vs Lysander VII: How the Cookie Crumbles...

“Sir, Sir!” A group of orange, tiny men ran into the security room - their little legs hustling hurriedly toward him. “There’s a situation upstairs, there’s a…I don’t even know what to call it. A dragon? A man? It’s attacking us!”

“Yeah, I see it.” The man sitting at the monitors noted, his hand slashing the air to change images. The security feed shifted to different angles. Then the voice boomed through them, a sound of challenge - a sound of familiarity, in some ways. Something deep in him resonated with the voice, recognized it from some distant, long-forgotten memory. “Tell the men to stand down, they can’t handle this fight.”

Long, thin fingers wrapped around the hilt of a large, oversized sword and swung it over his back - locking it in place with a string of souls. His gray eyes turned upward, toward the courtyard looming stories above the deep bunker. Technically it was part of the factory, those here lacked the intelligence to understand the doorway through realms.

He turned once again to the consoles, to the vaguely familiar man. “I know you, I swear I do. From where?” He stepped through the door forlorn, not knowing how he knew the man or why he felt so familiar to him - to a part of him buried deep. Vanishing through the shadows, he shifted his consciousness through them - flowed along the dark pathways of the Jigoku.

Materializing once more, he stood in the open courtyard where the other assaulted - looking at him head on. “I am the champion you crave, Sir Dragon. I’m not fully understanding why you decided to attack here, but if that’s what you want - then I suppose the only thing I can do is fight you in his place.”

He reached up to wrap his hand around Gekimetsu, pulling the Lord of Shadows free of the souls binding it - feeling the power flood in to him, through him. The darkness of his veins reflecting the darkness in his heart. The shadows pulsated rapidly as the sword pulled from his back. His gray eyes darkened. “If you wish to die, then who am I to dissuade you?” The sword touched the ground, and the concrete shattered under the sheer weight of it - though he moved it effortlessly.

Battle Toyale — Christmas Rumble!

Veronica’s eyes turned toward the shelves, the roar of the dragon in the distance singing in her ears. She settled back on the balls of her feet, the box in front of her ripping and a weird contraption of a toy holding onto a sword hilt. Weirdly enough, the sword seemed more real than most toys came with - at least in Veronica’s world. Her own hands clenched. “I’m not sure of much, other than this whole thing is a farce.” Veronica’s hair began to raise, the yarn-like substance which made it up lifting. A dark energy emanated from around her, a warmth flooding her body. A fire broiled beneath the surface, as her power began to emanate around her - a flame-like aura surrounding her. The teddy bear spoke next, and she turned her eyes for only a moment toward it - snapping, the flames began to raise around it - a fiery heat raging into existence.

And then the black lance split “flesh” between its eyes.

Veronica once again shifted focus, turning fully onto the man riding a headless goose. The sound of the dragon’s roar still raging in the background, nearly drowning out the words of the man. She felt at ease at his words, though wary of him at the same time. The fingers shifted once again, thumb and forefinger disconnecting to drop the circuit completing her power. Of course, this was all intentional - and not at all the source of her power. She spared a glance at the toy holding the sword, and sneered. “You simple things with your toys, using weapons instead of your own spirit.”

She swung her leg up and over the side of the goose stallion, running her hand along its neck. “I shall name you Reginald Von Archibald the Third.” Once again, her attention shifted onto the Black Prince. “Well, my Lord, shall we slay the dragon, and afterward I’ll finish this competition and get my book.”

Solaria, The City of Light

Solarian, City of Lights

The island of Solarian spread out from the central mountain, rivers and lakes surrounding small sections of land. The water flowed naturally away from the idyllic mountain, glittering with the light of the sun falling from the sky above. The people wandered the streets on the upper islands, carefree and filled with the joy of living in such a wonderful place. The city prospered through trade with the outside world, their airships offering quick transport of goods and services. The beauty of it brought in tourists and vacationers, some of the finest word smiths of the world found the beauty a muse to their natural gifts. Painters used it for inspiration, writers for the quiet. The people of the world flocked to the islands for their natural wonder. And where tourism and beauty brings money, so to does it bring criminals. The city proper filled with people early, and spread among them the street rats played. Small children darting to and fro, in and out of the people. Their hands a blur of motion, many of them pocketing something pulled from the pouch of a tourist or local. Most of them, though, only played amongst the others, laughing and smiling with the joy of a child.

A dark figure walked among the crowd, his long duster-style coat dragging the ground behind his hard heeled boots, a large-brimmed hat pulled low, obscuring his face enough to hide the long scar down the left side, with a patch covering over that eye. He watched the ground just ahead of himself, trusting his sense of crowds to guide him through the throngs of people. He kept a constant watch on the kids. Others might not see their game, but he saw each pick, each sleight of hand. They weren’t nearly as good as they thought themselves, but they were good enough to get by, he supposed. Smiling, he loosened the strings on a purse hanging off his crossed gun belts. Holstered there were large, pearl handled revolvers, the belts themselves crossing over his groin with the handles angled toward his hands. The loosened pouch jingled with the loud sound of change, and it wasn’t long before he found the kids play bringing them closer and closer to him.

Pretending not to notice, he continued walking aimlessly through the crowd - until he felt it. The slight, barely noticeable shift in weight tugging at his belt. His hand, lightning fast, lashed out and wrapped around the wrist of a pale, emaciated child. Her eyes shown with fear beyond fear. So sure she’d been that he wouldn’t notice, she barely stifled a scream that would give away her fear.

“Now young’un, what’cher doin’?” His smile broadened, and his one eye softened with kindness as the smile touched a light within. “All ye had to do was ask, ya ken.” Tossing the coin pouch and catching it, he gently sat it in the girl’s hand, letting her down. “Buy yer’selves sumpin nice, girlie girl. Find me later, I might have a job for ye, ya ken.” The child nodded, fear replaced with wonder and excitement, before darting off to rejoin the group trying to hide behind a melon stand. Roija smirked as they darted into the shadows once again, figuring he might not see them again - but keeping a mental note of her for future work.

“Joseph, you got the bounty board ready, yeah?” The sound of his voice changed, the backwoods accent disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “I need some work, some poor little thing just stole all my money.”

“I bet they did, Roija, as if you wouldn’t have known a day before what they planned and stopped them if you didn’t want them to have it.” Joseph’s grizzled voice laughed aloud. “And yeah, it’s ready. I got one specially picked out for you.” Reaching out, he passed him a piece of rolled up paper.

Unfurling it, he looked it over. A good bounty indeed. A huge chunk of money, but a hard to find quarry residing in the darker parts of town, buried in the tunnels running through the mountain. A lot of them were old mining shafts, but with the mines mostly dried up - the gangs and outlaws began using them for hideouts and bases. Roija went in there some, mostly to retrieve bounties, and most of them knew him well - and knew not to fuck with him when he showed up.

Still though, the poster showed the dark face of a man Roija wanted to take a piece of anyway. Shifting his weight, the leather of his gun belts creaked against one another. He tossed Joseph a coin from another pouch, and turned toward the mountain - watching the sun begin to descend down the backside of it. “This’ll have to wait till the morning, but I should be back by tomorrow evening, old friend. Have my money ready, ya ken?”

Tomorrow wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and a lot of men would end up dead in his pursuit - but tonight, Roija intended to spend his time at the The Wandering Sojourn, drinking and working on a different kind of bounty. It helped that it was nestled just outside the old mining towns, close by the entrance into the mines. Maybe he’d recruit some help in the tavern, actually, being outnumbered - while manageable - didn’t appeal to his sense of fun.

Solaria, The City of Light

The opening of a new setting, all are invited!

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.