From the West [Rhakros] (Graded)

[Maltruism]

There are times that all the rational assessment, and logical response, to a situation simply cannot cover all the sources of potential chaos. There was some confusion as to whether the Attuner had accidentally bumped one soldier into a shelf of vial racks, spilling their contents onto the floor and into the air; or if the soldier had shrunk back in fear of the gas and the Attuner had been a half-instant too slow in preventing the calamitous contact.

More fumes now rose from the spill, mixing with the gas exuding from the body of the dead chemist. Colors changed and gas weights altered, causing a layer of dark green gas to flow down to foot level, while a mustard yellow, oddly powdery-looking gas rose from out of the dark gas still hissing. Swirls of sickly purples and browns wafted with every step and spin the soldiers took in efforts to avoid those that they saw to cause immediate detrimental reactions.

Burns and blisters were to be the least of it. Joderall, he Attuner, shouted warnings of various layers and tendrils to avoid; giving warnings of which were simply caustic, which were necrotic, which were psychotropic, and which were actually mutagenic. But every desperate spin acted as a spoon to stir the blendings of horror that began to show their impacts upon vulnerable mortal flesh.

One last category brought a speechless blanche to the face of Joderall as he realized what was just encirling one of his doomed fellows. It showed in the hesitant half step he took toward him, and the immediate backpedalling of several more. The man he feared to attempt to save, a soldier named Bennings, stared back in abject terror, screaming "What is it? What is it?" for lack of a more scientific vocabulary.

One of the others, a Highmark named Rocher, grabbed Joderall, demanding an answer as the doomed man began to choke on a strangely "lumpy" orange and brick tendril of vapor. The Attuner hissed something as quietly as his despair allowed and the Highmark holding him released him almost absently as his eyes widened in a nauseating realization of what he had to do.

"Inhale all that you can, Bennings. If you can balance what you've already inhaled with the stuff that you haven't, you have a good chance." Rocher coaxed. Those that still had some semblance of calm could see that Rocher did not believe his own words, but could see that some odd mutation was giving Bennings an inordinate lung capacity.

Bennings stepped around the room, frantically sucking up the gas, as he fought the cough reflex. A good half the gas had been inhaled when Bennings clearly reached his extraordinary capacity. His eye begged for assurance that there was actually some indication of improvement, and Rocher stepped up with a smile that bordered on a tearful breakdown.

He clapped his gloved hand over the mouth of his brother-in-arms and croaked in soul-rending guilt, "Yes, Bennings. You have improved all our chances. Please forgive me..." Bennings' eyes cocked suspiciously at the tone of the one word. Then they bugged in traumatic shock as Rocher's dagger drove through the side of his skull.

Rocher's continued pleas for forgiveness wavered into sobs as he settled the twitching body of his former barracks-mate onto the floor, keeping his glove pressed to the mouth of the dead man. He made no attempt to avoid the green gas that drifted around him as he grabbed some impromptu means of wrapping Bennings' head in cloths that wrapped from jaw to crown to keep the mouth shut, and front to back to help keep it sealed against the lung pressure present in Bennings' body.

He stood, all but ignoring the blisters forming on any of his skin that came in contact with the green gas. He met the shocked eyes of his comrades with his wet, reddened ones. "The next time someone has to be sacrificed for the rest of us, let it be me..." He pointed another of his fellow soldiers, then pointed at the face-wrapped body. "Keep watch on it. If it does anything more than a nerve-twitch, you shout, ya hear?"

There was some brief protest of Rocher's use of the pronoun "it". But the significance of that choice seemed to dawn on everyone at the same time. And as quick discussions broke out over how magic did not seem to be working, there were always at least three sets of eyes on the body.

Some diversion from the creeping horror of what the Attuner, Joderall, had said to Rocher about the nature of the gas Bennings had inhaled was found in his attempts to puzzle out the mystery of one of the bugs in the jars. Its frequency did not seem to align with anything Idalosian that he'd ever seen in any study. Yet he was sure he'd seen something like it before.

It was entirely unexpected that a glimpse of the page of listed farmland plots gave him the clue he needed. But in order to be sure he needed to dump the thing out of the stasis fluid in which it had been kept, and maybe even wash the stuff off.

Naturally there was protest to any further releasing of what might be freakish chemicals into the air. Let alone the chance that his very use of the word "stasis" suggested the thing might come immediately to life. Joderall did not dispute the legitimacy of everyone's concerns, but explained that he could not truly be sure of anything unless he saw the bugs plainly, with no chemical layer.

For a good portion of this time, everyone was still dodging gas drifts. But it was soon pointed out that it seemed as if there was less now than even after Bennings' sacrifice.

As if on the very cue of his name being spoken, Benning's twitched violently. But it was easy to see it was not a nerve response, causing a muscle twitch. Some alien entity within was fighting to get out. It appeared at first the the mail armor in which Bennings' body was still clad was going to forestall this breakout, but the comparatively frail windings of cloth gave way to a long, multi-legged insect that burst from the dead man's mouth.

Rocher did not hesitate to move in, sword drawn.But even as he came within reach, disemboweling stroke ready, whip-like tendrils slapped out to wind around the arm and head of the man, pinning the weapon in place. The nature of the pattern of odd pod-like growths between the legs of the creature now became lethally clear as the spiky node nest to the tendril spat a dart that hit Rocher right in the neck.

Though he may have been subconsciously glad to be that next sacrifice, to give his fellow soldiers warning of what they were now up against, his screams of pain suggested that gladness was not all that he was feeling. The shriek of agony was cut quickly off as the area for a good six inches all around the dart literally melted into liquified skin, sinew, bone and blood. The tendril keeping the arm wrapped against the slowly dissolving skull was not affected in the least.

A six-foot centipede of deadly capability darted with alarming swiftness across the wall. Recall of how Joderall had described the frequency of the gas Bennings had first inhaled as being lumpy with zygotes of some kind brought looks of dread anticipation back to Bennings' body. Joderall ventured hopefully that this one creature had most surely devoured all the others before exiting the body.

There was little conviction that there was any proof of this theory; and in the meantime, Rocher's body took on much the same headless look as the young Rhakrosian chemist. The presence of the giant centipede distracted everyone from giving much additional thought to it. The creature seemed able to cling to walls and the webbing of the spiders, many of whom were now also dead, did not hinder it in any way.

One soldier found a surplus of adrenaline as the huge insect zipped along the wall toward him, putting the burst of panicked energy into toppling a large heavy shelf to slide and crash down along that section of wall.It was hard to tell if the move was planned that way,or if it was simply his pushing against whatever was in front of him in a desperate attempt to get away from it.

In either event, the heavy unit failed to crush the monster, but did give it motive to move to the opposite side of the room. As it rushed across one of the areas where the team's magic-users had been trying to breach the walls, the thing seemed to sink suddenly right into the wall, and come back to visibility on the other side of a two or three foot span of that same wall.

It was pretty much the exact scope of where one of the magic attempts had been made against the wall. The shock of this realization was compounded when the creature stopped right at the border of where the doorway had been, and once again disappearedinto the wall. Though it could hardly be said that justice had been fully served, or salvation fully achieved, there was a definite upswing in everyone's mood when the taunting voice of Senalee suddenly changed to one of horrified shrieking.

Her voice died in sudden gags and the illusions she had cast to make the magic users unable to see the actual results of their casts vanished to reveal the open door and a great breach in the wall to the tunnel outside.

Senalee's disfigured body could be seen twitching on the floor, but the centipede-thing could not be seen anywhere. The near universal impulse to get the hell out of that cursed lab was halted by Joderall's excited cries. "That's it! That's it! I've got it!"

[Woe]

OOC Note: The following are jointly written posts between the players.
Woe | Llyr | Oberan

“No,” said the now-known Transmutation mage, Magpie, to the Attuner, Joderall, in a stern voice. “You can explain whatever it is while we move. The gas will continue to leave this chamber into the tunnel, the more we stand around. The Rhakorsians might know we are here, already. We cannot remain for a trill longer.”

“And where are we to go then?” Asked the ex-slave, Lethroda marked, ignoramus known as Woe. “We have no purpose down here! What are we actually doing? At whose behest? What say you?” Woe looked to Oberan, “Why the hell have you joined this strike force? I’m willing to bet it isn’t so we could go skulking some Rhakrosian sewer…”

“Actually, I did join so I could go skulking around Rhakros,” the Mortalborn, anti-Sintra collaborateur and thief known as Oberan responded. “Granted, I wasn’t expecting to find myself here, or in your company. Now, I don’t know what you guys were doing, but I was searching for a hidden passage into the city.” Not that he had found any yet, and with the gas around, the chance to look had passed.
Magpie crossed his arms, glanced at the blistered miserable Etzori soldiers, and then looked between the other two men. “Back the way we came, then. If we aren’t going to execute the Rhakrosians, then we can return to the surface and properly desert the effort.”

Woe, still covering his mouth with the dirty cloth, murmured through it, “Then let’s be off. No waiting around to see if the gas takes to our flesh as well as theirs.”

Before anything else could be said, Magpie turned on heel and started to walk along the tunnel’s path. He routed around the disfigured corpse of the illusionist mage, paused, then pointed at one of the few remaining soldiers. “Drag her body into the lab.”

“If you don’t want to get stuck inside, hurry up.” Magpie turned back, snapped his fingers in gesture for the rest of the soldiers to get out into the tunnel. He waited a total of five trills, then placed his hand on the stone. His ether returned to the material, and he gradually closed the openings he’d created before, sealing off the various corpses inside from the tunnel. Once finished, he brushed his gloved hands off and started to walk again. He said to the small group, “You see or hear that insect, you tell me immediately.”

Oberan watched the mage work with thinly veiled interest for a couple moments, then turned his attention to the tunnel itself, hoping not to spot the horror centipede.

“So, what are you all doing? Return to the surface?” Oberan queried. Magpie especially seemed unsympathetic to the campaign, and Woe followed the mage like a puppy. However, the motives of the other soldiers were unclear. Why had they entered the hole, and what did they want to do now they were in here?

“I’m staying down here,” he continued. “If the Rhakrosians fled down here to escape the battle, then there has to be a passage leading in or to the city.” The Mortalborn altered his posture, ready to stealthily continue on by himself once they reached the split. He had a mission to complete regardless of the company he was in.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Magpie continued to walk, but he looked over at the scoundrel who’d stolen Graeslin’s Rupturing artifact. His expression hid behind his leather mask, but a hint of it showed in his eyes: the irises shifted to a dual-flecked color of blue and orange. He kept one hand at the hilt of a dagger on his belt, and kept an ear trained for any skittering noises. After a few more steps, he asked Oberan, “Why would you look to find a way into Rhakros if you have no one else with you? Planning on joining the assault on the city as a one-man hero? Who do you think you are, the Raggedy Man?”

Oberan grinned for a moment. No, he certainly wasn’t a Kasoria. “Even he would not survive that. But I have my talents, as he has his. Coincidentally, I have a mission tailored to my specific skill set, which I cannot abandon.”

“You think that illusionist and boy were the only Lisirrans down here?” replied Magpie. “How about, if you are so set on this crucial and unspoken mission then…”

The blond mage’s hand darted out and past Oberan. He grabbed onto the shoulder of the Attuner, Joderall, who’d been muttering and trying to interrupt them constantly since they’d left the lab. In a fist, he collected the cloth at the collar from under the other mage’s armor, and he forcibly dragged Joderall to stand in front of the Shadow Mortalborn.

Magpie shoved Joderall even closer, rather roughly, and he snapped, “Go on. You two make for a fine pair. All this feeler has to accomplish is following that woman’s trail to wherever she came from. You can manage that much, can you not, Jodie? Maybe a bit quicker this time, before Oberan gets his head chopped off or trapped in a room filled with harmful vapors that turn into deadly bugs.” His voice elevated, but he hadn’t shouted. Rather he’d hissed in a loud whisper. He didn’t wait to hear any response from either man. Magpie returned to walking, rather swiftly with his long legs, through the tunnel. They still had easily half-a-break before they would even reach the starting point where the paths diverged.

“Personally, I wouldn’t mind trading all your company for just Joderall’s,” Oberan added. Then, to the Attuner in question: “You’re quite welcome to join, if you want. I could use your magic, might make my mission a little easier. Don’t let Magpie get to you. He’s miffed Sumalee made him think his magic was useless, and he’s taking it out on you.”

Woe looked to Magpie, quirking a brow as he followed at the experienced mage’s heels, “You have some way of getting us out of here, then? I mean a more convenient path than treading the dark tunnel and hoping the hundred-legged horror doesn’t get hungry again?”

“Of course I do,” said the blond without thought. He paused, then quickly clarified, “For myself, that is. Not… all of you, which is why we’re doing this.” Magpie gestured at his feet while he kept walking. His gossamer wings fluttered, then settled neatly back down again.

Woe shrugged, and grumbled something under his breath, then kept on after the mage.

[Oberan]

There were few places for Oberan and Joderall to go, however. The laboratory had been sealed off, the tunnel only led back to the divergent spot between the other paths. For the rest of the walk, things remained mostly quiet… almost too quiet.

As they headed into the forked way, Magpie settled near the water-drenched wall. The Rhakrosian water glowed in a dim green illumination of the tunnels around them. He crossed his arms, looked over the soldiers while he waited for everyone to gather, and then glanced at Woe. While the Etzori discussed what they’d discovered in the laboratory, and Joderall stayed near Oberan while keeping a slight nervous eye on Magpie, time dragged on… and on…

Magpie didn’t say a word but he started to walk along the tunnel, back toward where they’d come into the underground.

Woe’s spider familiar crawled stealthily from the back of his neck, where it’d been resting. He held out an arm for it to crawl down, until it reached his hand, at which point he began petting the little wolf spider. He tried keeping pace with Magpie as he made his way back out to the tunnel along which they’d come from. “Refresh my memory, did we not send scouts back to check on this opening? I could’ve sworn…”

“Oh, by the way, take back your filthy cloth, will you, Magpie?” Woe handed the cloth over to the mage, expecting he’d take it.

Magpie startled slightly, having been lost in his thoughts, and accepted the cloth. He glanced over it, ran it along the watery wall of the tunnel again, then neatly folded it and set it in one of his satchels. He crossed his arms again, tapped a finger to his chin, then informed the few remaining blistered and exhausted Etzori soldiers, “We’ll scout the other tunnel again. See if anything’s changed, or if the Rhakros citizens are still there or have left. Come on, Woe.”

The biqaj pointed in the direction that led to the Rhakrosian citizens. He walked around the corner and paused in wait for Woe to follow.

Woe followed along, glancing sidelong at Oberan, and still wondering who he was and how the hell he’d ended up in this sewer with the thief. With one last shrug, he turned his attention back to Magpie. “Yes, let’s go.”

Magpie walked a few steps more, careful when he reached a hole in the floor where the updraft of a breeze against him. His wings fluttered, then he turned to Woe. He glanced over the Rynmerian’s shoulder, to check if any of the other soldiers had followed. They hadn’t. Why would they? Every person except for Oberan’s shade had vanished on this route… and Magpie planned to take advantage of that.

The young mage grabbed onto Woe’s wrist. He pulled him close, then wrapped his arm around his shoulders. He whispered, “Trust me.”

Then Magpie walked forward, with a strong embraced hold on Woe, and he purposefully stepped into the hole in the floor… and the two men vanished, seemingly like all those other soldiers… especially when Woe’s shout drifted into abrupt silence.

“What!” Woe shouted, unable to remove himself from Magpie’s grasp as he led him into the abyss. “Where---?”

Meanwhile, Oberan remained at the split with Joderall and a few other soldiers, having sent the remainder to scout the third route. As Woe had said, Oberan too believed someone should have gone down that path before. No-one had returned from there though, or perhaps they’d forgotten about it. Either way, an additional scouting party would do no harm. Still, the soldiers were advised to exercise caution, and to send word back to the crossroads immediately if they discovered anything.

Initially, Oberan had wanted to stay behind with Joderall by himself, but with the centipede still around, that seemed like a terrible idea. The spiders were dead, and Woe had left, so the likelihood of Sintra’s spies being around had decreased dramatically. Even if there was one around still, Oberan was confident he could take them on.

“Joderall,” he began, keeping half of his attention on the cavern walls all around, listening for skittering chitin legs. “Mind telling m-- us about the bug you were so excited about? It sounds like you’ve discovered something interesting.” An idea crossed his mind then, and he handed the mage a clipboard, paper and a pencil. “Can you write while you speak? As long as that monstrous insect is around I --all of us, really-- will probably be unable to pay as much attention as we should.”

The Mortalborn unwound the sling from his wrist, then quickly loaded it with a lead ball. He kept his arm at the ready, preparing to fire immediately if he saw the centipede. “Wouldn’t do for the others to return here finding our mangled corpses, right?” He managed a nervous chuckle, which was in no way as reassuring as it was meant to be.

[Maltruism]

The Attuner smiled with surprising ease, "Actually, I think we'll be fine back in the lab, and I think it best if there's no other ears. I'm genuinely not sure whose side some of these people are on. Maybe their behavior was intended to trick me into trusting you more, but I trust my instincts and don't think you are an agent of either Lisirra or Sintra."

Oberan did not mention his God Seal as a possible means of entry. Since Joderall had been so positive about going back into the lab, it appeared he had means of his own. Also, it was entirely possible that it would not work a second time on the same door. Once the illusion had dropped, he'd been able to see that it had worked. He too, had not thought of any reason to stop the soldiers from shutting the door again. Now that it had come up again, he waited on the Attuner to lead the way.

A jungling of metal keys heralded the means, "Nothing magical..." Joderall teased, "I simply looted them from her body when we dragged her back into the lab. I strongly suggest we shove her body back out once we are in. I would not be surprised if she is gestating another one of those monstrosities as we speak."

This served as ample motivation to make enough haste to lock themselves into the lab, with the body of Senalee on the tunnel side of the re-locked door. Joderall now moved to where the bugs had been left. He lifted the first, a specimen built along the lines of an armadillo, yet only normal-insect-sized. He opened a ledger, reading passages suggesting the dead chemist's notice of "...the weakening trend of the alchemical backflow and compounding reintegration of the empathic effect envelope..."

The Attuner was reciting date-ordered numerical figures, confirming the data that supported this finding when he looked up to see Oberan's eyes swimming in scientific confusion. With a suppressed grin, Joderall simplified the information.

"These insects are not native to Idalos, as far as I know, neither of them. But I have seen residue of their presence. This first one is what the alchemist kid there..." he gestured to the headless body of the young chemist, "...was referring to as he noted a reduction of the usual effects. And the dates correspond to the shutdown of Emea last season."

He went on, despite Oberan's still perplexed look, "Okay, these bugs are shown here to form a huge layer of bodies throughout the region's aquifer. All the moisture sifts through this layer of decaying bodies before collecting into underground pools and currents that end up in the city channels. It is some chemical derived from the actual decay of these bugs that is infused into the water around here that causes the mind-control in the citizens here.

"But I'm only getting that from these charts and record notations. What matters to me is the Attuning frequency of these things. It is not like anything I've seen on Idalos except once. Now that I know what to look for, I bet I can find a lot of it."

He held up his hand to stall what looked like a likely protest from Oberan that a regional mind-control effect was not as big a deal as an Attuning oddity. "No, wait, let me explain. In my training, I am led into many other layers of reality, so that I can distinguish spirit from ghost, dream from immortal spawn and so on by the Attuning frequency they radiate. This second insect has frequencies from every layer and level known to exist! Look at it more closely...if you can."

The cryptic nature of those last three words became clarified once Oberan did as he was asked. The details of the insect defied focus. It was as if there were twenty or thirty identical images of the same insect superimposed imperfectly over each other. But it did not end there. The overlapped images did not remain still, even in this slightly blurred state. There was constant flux of which image shifted in which way, to keep the eye in a constant struggle to adjust.

There was no sense of movement that could be detected in the hand holding it, where one might be expecting a sort of "buzz". It was more as if there was insufficient presence by either the insect or the hand, in any one layer of reality, to have such sensory interaction.

The Attuner waited a few moments to let Oberan make this realization before summing up his theory. "I believe this second bug is a mutation, caused by past ether storms, that now possesses properties from every layer of Idalos, the Beyond, the Beneath, and everything else. Once properly triggered, which might be something not planned or prepared, but entirely random, I think it could very easily prolong an ether storm. And I think it inhibited the insects decay effects."

He pointed to a section of the farmlands chart, his fingertip following some peculiar lines spreading out from a single point just west of the actual city of Rhakros. The point corresponded, as best as one could estimate, to the exact position where he and Oberan now stood. "I think Lisirra sent them tunneling into wider and wider regions to try to extend her mind-control into other populations. I recognize some of the names of these landowners. They were experiencing some freakish mutations in their crops. Not all bad, mind you, but definitely weird.

"I was sent there to check and found veins in the soil that had this same out-of-focus property, though it was much harder to tell, with just turned soil; not many stand-out details in a handful of dirt to look out of focus. But my Attuning could clearly see this weird, shifting, coalescing prismatic look. This was a few arcs ago. I made a report and we dug it up, noticing how it ran in such an oddly straight line. But I doubt anyone put it together until just now."

He walked back over to the wall that had been previously covered by the shelf unit one of the soldiers had kicked over at the centipede monster. There was a faintly glowing dot on the stone wall that was now exposed. "Now, look at this spot. Can you account for it? Some cause for it? Some purpose? Neither can I offhand. But what I CAN tell you is that it has this same property to my Attuning vision. I can actually look into this end and see that it goes a ways into the stone itself."

He walked back to the book and pointed at the spot on the farmland chart from where all the lines emanated, "Whatever it is that all those lines stem from, I'd bet my life it's through that stone. The question is, how do we get to it? Up for some pickaxe work? I'd have loved to use that blonde's transmutation, but frankly, I didn't trust him enough to ask for his help. I think he'd have sabotaged it."

[Oberan]

Piping up now Magpie the Know-it-all had left to go murder the Rhaksorian refugees, Joderall bade Oberan to follow him back to the lab. It seemed the mage had been waiting for the right opportunity to share his findings, and more importantly, for the right person to confide in. He had observed the others, so he admitted, having determined the Mortalborn was trustworthy.

The both of them moved into the laboratory, showing Semalee’s corpse back out. Another centipede being grown inside did warrant a nervous haste. Before the dead agent of Lisirra showed any signs of bursting open, the secret door locked safely behind them, and Oberan was glad to notice most, if not all of the fumes had dissipated.

Joderall began reading from a tome, spouting a load of words that probably meant something to someone other than his current audience. Still, the thief did bring out paper and writing utensils to start jotting down everything the Attuner said. It was likely the unfamiliar terms were spelled incorrectly, but to bother with spelling was to waste time right now. The simplified version was much easier to write down perfectly, and Oberan nodded along as if he followed his companion’s train of thought.

What the mage found the most important and odd, though, Oberan believed not to be relevant here. He’d thought he’d get to hear something about Sintra and or the ways she’d played everyone involved in this war. Instead, Joderall spoke about some odd thing his magic picked up. Oberan’d been taking notes about the mind-control bugs because he suspected Sintra had fiddled with them, not because there might be some odd attuning thingamajig happening.

Admittedly, the insect was extremely weird. No matter how he tried to focus his gaze, no matter how much he squinted or from what angle he looked at it, the carapace stubbornly remained a blur. It made him slightly nauseous, and he had to stare at something else for a couple moments to convince himself his eyes were not the problem at play.

“Yeah, that’s weird. But, ehm, what does it mean?”

Prolong an ether storm? The Mortalborn raised an eyebrow, turned his eyes back to the clipboard in his hand so he could furiously start scribbling more notes. Joderall had been right all along, this was indeed important. Whether it was Sintra or Lisirra remained to be seen, but either of them could have used these to get Etzos in the recent predicament.

That was not all though. Next, the Attuner revealed a spot on one of the walls, which apparently could do the same as the bugs. Oberan’s eyes sparkled and shimmered. He’d been right to discard Magpie’s claims of Joderall’s uselessness. The Attuner was way more competent than any of them had realized.

“When did you even find all this out?” the Mortalborn wondered aloud, walking up to the hole in the wall. He put an eye near it, but couldn’t really see much. Whatever was there remained a mystery. They would have to get through the wall if they wanted to unravel it. “Transmutation… Like Zipper, huh?” he muttered mostly to himself, filing that piece of useful information away. "Yeah, Magpie doesn't strike me as trustworthy either. Neither does the Spider guy, to be honest. Anyone who gets along with Sintra's children is a likely snitch." He searched his Vault while making conversation. It confirmed what he’d already suspected; there was no pickaxe among the items he’d collected. Grappling hooks, rope, climbing irons, hammers, chisels, a spade, armor, weapons, but no pickaxe. He’d remedy that as soon as possible.

“I don’t have a pickaxe though,” the thief confessed. What he did have were safety goggles, which he placed on his nose. Seemingly fishing more items from a pocket in his cloak, he produced a large and heavy sledgehammer figuring it was the closest thing to a pickaxe at his disposal.

Feet wide, shoulders squared, the Mortalborn gave the wall a series of good whacks with the hammer. He wasn’t certain how thick the rock was, but the hammer was designed for destroying walls, so it had to be effective, he believed. In between the first few swings, he also tried using his God Key, just in case. Might save them time and effort. Not that it would work if the target could not be opened, but it was worth a try.

[Maltruism]

The two men were disappointed to find that there seemed to be no reaction from the God key. Taking turns with the sledge was slow going, and Joderall was not a man that had spent his life in pursuit of athletic build and muscular endurance. But the disparity in how long he lasted compared to the others was minor given the contributions of the three other soldiers still with them.

As they slowly made their way into the wall of stone, there were times that they could hear the sounds of some sort of struggle from beyond the door; screams and shouts and some seriously disturbing creature sounds, hisses and what seemed like warbling laughter, as well as crunching and slurping noises. These warnings often served to persuade them to keep up what they were doing, given the sounds of the single option awaiting them should they leave the safety of the lab.

Thoughts of the remaining soldiers that had been scouting were kept in silence as they exchanged pained looks. They knew there would have been little they could have done. They lost track of time by the time they'd crumbled twenty feet's worth of stone. The occasional vein of dirt, or softer stratum of stone, gave occasional lifts to their spirits, but they were generally short-lived. The sounds of struggle had long since stopped, with nothing to define what might still be out there. Half-hearted suggestions that someone ought to go out and see what was what rarely garnered much more than a grunt of response.

There was one plainly visible oddity, however, that provided the primary motivation to keep at it. The single spot of out-of-phase light that originally appeared on the stone wall behind the large shelving unit continued on into the stone as if the stone had formed itself around a small tube of some sort of magic light. Anytime that a chunk of the stone through which this passed was knocked away, the light of it hovered for a good half bit, as if the fall of the stone containing it did not actually affect its placement. Furthermore, they both soon realized that if they looked down its length, they "dot" of light was beginning to take on a decidedly runic shape.

This of course prompted a surge of energy to go further. There was a waning of this newfound enthusiasm when Joderall perceived that the rune was actually of a dual-numeric type that translated roughly to say: "25/150". It was no small coincidence that their last measure of progress had shown them to have cleared twenty-five feet in from the wall of the lab.

"You mean we've only gone one...uhh...sixth of the way?" One of the soldiers wailed. He looked around, apparently expecting some sort of sympathetic agreement. The bulk of what answer he received was a comment on where the door was, in addition to a few shrugs.

Joderall, however, was newly energized by this finding, "Don't you see? This shows that the lab was a point deliberately included in whatever measurements were charted out for this...this...tube of light. There was some reason that it was important for that measurement to be taken! And the use of this language means it was done loooong ago. We have to keep going!"

The predictable groans were none too woeful as the rest of the party realized the point the mage was making. They were onto something. Their resolve was rewarded twenty feet further in when the shape of the rune of light changed. Joderall did not recognize the figure at first, and sat back with an angry groan. Exhaustion was setting in earlier and earlier every time. He called for a rest to think. There were no objections.

If he looked closely, Oberan may very well have had his memory tweaked by the shape of the new rune, unfamiliar though it was. If he was then further given to look at the gadgets he now possessed that sported runes of one sort or another, he would find it on both of them.

He knew the God Key was of ancient origin. But he'd never had the chance to learn of the origin of his part of the Rupturing artifact he'd stolen from Graeslin. Was Llyr still present, or was Kasoria to make a surprise appearance, either of them could have told of an ancient revealed Becomer that had originally possessed it. One so ancient as to have been the one for whom the revealed state of that domain had been named. One rumored to have been the very first revealed Becomer in Idalosian history.

And while Becoming was not a domain likely to have any bearing on this situation, the Rupturing artifact he had possessed might....

[Oberan]

The God Key did not respond. No rushing of ether that confirmed it had activated. Its necessary component was not consumed either, nor did the spot on the wall change in any way. Not a door then, or something that could be opened. To say he hadn’t expected this would be a lie, but the Mortalborn had certainly hoped he might get to the mystery immediately.

Ah well. To receive the satisfaction of gain, one had to labor for it –or so it was said, wasn’t it?

Hit after hit, swing after swing, the sledgehammer clashed with the wall. The stone was stubborn and indifferent, merely losing a few flakes and pebbles each time. However, the sledge refused to give up, taking joy in wrecking its target. Chunk by chunk, or flake by flake. Either way was fine. She was made for this, and fulfilling her purpose was something to relish in.

Inexhaustible as she was, her handlers were not. Oberan; the superior sneak, dashing rogue, amazing acrobat with blood of an Immortal in his veins was not used to demolishing walls. He was not used to swinging a big ass hammer for more than two or three swings. In fairness, he did his best, but lasted perhaps five minutes tops. Then, heaving and wheezing, he passed the tool to the next soldier, and sat down to catch his breath.

While they whittled away at the wall, the scouts returned from their excursion. Met with no comrades, they had no choice but to wait or go look for them. Maybe they believed to have been left behind, and in a sense, they certainly had been. Excited by Joderall’s discoveries, he had forgotten about the party. Similarly, the other soldiers had not complained or argued when they made for the safety of the lab. Perhaps their fellow men were a small price to pay for the safety of their own hide.

Either way, the scouts were not likely to be a match for not one but two killer centipedes. Struggle and screams and terrifying noises.

Feelings of guilt could not persuade any of the soldiers to open the secret door. Even Oberan, confident in his ability to remain undetected, would think better than to trade the lab for the tunnels.

The progress made was slow but steady. Rock crumbled away, sliding down a growing pile of debris. Every so often it was cleared away, granting the hammer-wielder a chance to rest for a moment or two. Oberan could not help but imagine how much easier this might have been with a pickaxe when they started tunneling into the rock itself. Yet, the hammer did fine work regardless. Not the perfect tool for the job, but the best one at their disposal.

Inch by inch their tunnel grew. First it was a slight indent, then a small alcove growing into a hole. Five feet. Then ten. Twenty. Twenty-five. It had become clear long ago that there was no room immediately next to the lab, unlike what Oberan had suspected. The depth of the tunnel was both a source of motivation and dejection, as each hit of the sledge –though adding an extra bit of length to it—simply revealed another surface denying them access to their goal.

Most of the group seemed to be getting fed up with it. Oberan certainly was. Not known for his patience, the Mortalborn had become increasingly frustrated now things were not going his way. He’d been locked into an underground lab with two killer insects outside, and the only way out seemed to be the tunnel they were currently creating. He didn’t even know how long they’d been in here! Even searching for secret passages did not lift his mood or increase his enthusiasm.

Until Joderall made a new discovery, that is. Some sort of rune that measured the thickness of the wall. Morale dropped when the realization struck; they were not even halfway there. Not by a long shot.

However! It did mean something was there! Hidden behind layers and layers of tough rock, yes, but it was there nonetheless!

Uncertainty had been transmuted into its opposite. Morale surged. The sledge sang her song of laboring muscle and thunderous strikes and crushed rubble. They dug another twenty feet before the next clue greeted them.

This time, even Joderall could not make sense of it. He needed time to think, to focus. No loud noises, no hammering. Not one soul complained. Certainly not Oberan, whose turn it had been to lay into the stone.

He drank water and ate some jerky, staring at the shimmering light-made rune at the end of the tunnel. Something about it struck him as familiar. Something he had seen before. Or a similar thing, at least. The rune itself not so much, though. He could not read it. He did not remember encountering it. Yet… his memory was nagging.

From what the attuner had said, the rune was magic. The rune was old. The language it was written in was also very old, and possibly mostly lost to time. Perhaps, then, he had seen similar things on an ancient artefact. In Orimar, maybe. During his connection with the Guardian? The vision the entity had shown him. No, no. Nothing rang a bell.

Still, he examined the crystal gauntlet he’d taken from the lost city, as well as the crystallized tear from the Guardian. No luck. The plate mail boots stolen from one of the guards of the Tower –having long since lost their etheric charge, no longer cancelling impacts when activated—were brought out next. No runes that were comparable to the one here, and the item was too new besides. The stone that emitted light also seemed to have no runes he could see.

But his last item, the Orb… Stolen from Greaslin the Pirate, it was one of his treasures for sure. Rightfully his, claimed through quick wit and quicker fingers. He’d come to know its workings rather intimately in his attempts to figure out how to activate it, though by no means did he believe to have uncovered all its functions. What he did know though, was that runes appeared on its surface. Just for a moment. A flash. To choose his destination, he thought he needed to trace a pattern, but those ‘patterns’ could very well have been runes.

Holding the Orb firmly in his hand, ready to Vanish it immediately if any harm would come to the item, Oberan brought it close to the rune. Then he activated it, focusing on the pattern that flashed on the artefact’s surface for but a moment. Yes, it was similar. Though it had no meaning to him, the Mortalborn could tell these were from the same writing system. Curiosity sufficiently piqued, he brought the Orb closer still.

[Maltruism]

Once again, the missing sensation of a "buzz" was noted as the orb responded with a slight blurring of its image. The closer the orb came to the floating, rune-shaped end of the light beam, the more pronounced it should have been. The orb now blurred to the point of rendering any affixed runes completely illegible.

For a moment, Joderall misunderstood the alarmed confusion beginning to register on Oberan's face, thinking it nothing more than the academic curiosity any colleague would have over glyphs that seemed to empower their own method of defeating translation. When Oberan wrapped a second hand around the thing, Joderall started to request that he allow him to take it from him.

The request died mid-sentence as the attuner realized the strain showing on the mortalborn's face. The man was in a position that should have had him falling on his back, leaning away from the rune light as he was, with both feet planted ahead of his torso. Even as Oberan made an effort to explain, Joderall realized the orb was pulling the man toward the light, feet slowly scraping across the stone floor and all.

The Attuner stepped in and tried to add his own push against the drive of whatever force was involved, but with each gained inch, the pull grew stronger. The soldiers saw what was happening and attempted to join in, bit for the most part, could only manage to brace themselves against the bodies of the attuner, one going around behind Oberan and trying to pull him back.

By the time that all were groaning with the strain, eventual failure was acknowledged and Joderall told Oberan to let it go. There really was no other option, as the orb tore free of the mortalborn's hands anyway, and shot straight toward the lighted rune hanging in the air.

What happened next made everyone feel as if they should have either been critically dizzy, or thrown from their feet, or both. The orb stopped abruptly when it struck the light, but a different movement took its place. At the same general speed of the orb's flight, the stone wall took equal-and-opposite reaction and slammed into the party at bone-shattering speed.

And passed through them without impact...

In a sphere of incorporeal power, with the orb now fixed at its center, the party flew into a space some 125 feet beyond the point where their rock-splitting had taken them. But they felt no sense of movement. It was more as if the world had moved to accommodate the displacement of their locale, the stone of the mountain taking on a misty appearance that flowed around their protective orb.

There was an odd sense that they should have felt the inertia of the rush into the empty chamber within, but it was not so. Nor was the chamber actually empty. A blur of coppery color slowed to congeal into an ornate cube, finely etched with an elaborate filigree of scrollwork. A fine, delicate flute of glass seemed to morph from the metallic cube to hold a second, much smaller cube of what looked like worked stone.

The cube rose an inch or so above the flute and spun quickly in the air, the glyphs upon it spinning to cause the various elements of their structures to align, in the way that a spoked wheel will look to be holding still when spun at the right speed. From all the different etched bits, the spinning formed four patterns that seemed to hang against the blurred, spinning background.

Joderall gaped at them, struggling to find his notebook without looking away. Then all light went out and the sound of a stone lightly clinking to a rest on a glass structure was heard. One of the soldiers had managed to maintain a lit torch throughout this ordeal and immediately swung it to restore illumination on the curious object.

There was no movement of any part of the object, and there was an odd sense that all the power driving these events was now spent. Joderall now looked away and scribbled down what glyphs he had been able to translate.

"Detect? Select? Perfect Effect?" he asked himself, quoting what he'd gleamed from the briefly beheld runes. His notebook slapped lightly against his thigh as his arm dropped to his side, the other hand cupping his chin. He scrutinized the orb, finding no individual runes, but only bits of what could have been every rune in one or more languages.

"I think this thing could spell just about anything, if it spun the right way. Some power seems to light the spinning etches from within at exactly the right moments to brighten the ones that will, together, make up the runes to form some message. But what does 'Detect, Select' and 'Perfect Effect' mean? Is this a device that gathers and purifies energy into some particular type?

"It would explain the mysterious combinations of realm layer energies I had seen on those farmlands. A whole bunch of different realm energies analyzed, with the most useful one being identified and isolated from the rest, in order to be purified to its greatest potential efficiency. I suppose those networks of weird light strands could have been for pulling energy in, rather than pushing it out. Maybe it just relays messages."

He stood, his pose suggesting dissatisfaction. After a moment he sighed, "I suppose the power in that gadget of yours might have been what drew us here. But if that's what this thing does, how do we get back?"

A puzzled look crossed most everyone else's face as they turned to point, obviously, at the tunnel through which they had arrived. They straightened in alarm and looked back in shock to see Joderall's surprisingly calm, but knowing, nod.

The tunnel was gone, replaced once again by the original stone of the mountain. They were in a small, domed pocket of air, a hundred feet into solid rock, where the only source of light would consume the already insufficient air they had. "Everyone take a look around, for a few moments, for any clues, because we have to put out that torch right afterwards."

Salvation appeared to have graced their efforts as one of the soldiers found a dark niche in the wall, that turned a corner to access a shaft rising to unguessable heights in this mountainous region. One of the others asked him if he saw daylight...or stars...or even just a different shade of darkness.

"Hang on...there's something...No wait...no, there it is again...I think it stars but it keeps getting blocked by som-..." The soldiers words changed to a short strangled scream. A wet splattering sound added to the atmosphere. The anxious wait was rewarded by the appearance of three huge spiders that burst from the niche into which the soldier had gone. Streaks of blood and dissolved flesh smeared their mandibles as they locked eyes...many eyes...on the four remaining humanoids.

Sintra's spiders had been helpful partners to the army thus far. It appeared that this small part of the Etzori army was no longer considered to be their partners, helpful or not. With bodies the size of small dogs, legs pushing 5 or 6 feet, and fangs frothing with toxins, their intent was clear.

[Oberan]

Like a magnet, the glyph pulled at the orb. Weak at first, but gradually getting stronger. The artefact blurred, seemly wanting to phase into another reality. Oberan’s fingers clutched it harder, unwilling to let go of the precious gadget. The pull strengthened, threatening to break the Rupturing Orb free from his grasp. He added a second hand, fully encapsulating the silvery sphere, but it was no use. It refused to stay in place. It refused to be moved backwards.

Joderall wanted him to let go so he could take a look. The Mortalborn could manage only a few refusing grunts and growls as he clenched his jaw from the effort. Still the orb moved forward, pulling Oberan with it. His feet scraped over the floor, his body arched backwards to increase the force he could place on the artefact. It didn’t help.

The Attuner added his own weight.

Futile.

Soldiers joined in, wrapping their arms around both the Mortalborn and the mage, pushing and pulling to try and counter the stubborn orb.

Useless.

They couldn’t stop it, that was becoming abundantly clear.

“Let go!” Joderall yelled. “It’s no use! You have to let it go!”

But Oberan did not want to. It was his orb. His artefact. His trophy rightfully claimed. Snatched right out of Graeslin’s unexpectant grip. Every glance upon it evoked that memory of triumph. He wasn’t going to lose it, not in a million years. Besides, it could open portals to boot!

Yet, for all his struggle, the orb could not be contained. Sweat on his palms betrayed him, allowing the artefact to slip. His hands were aching from the strain. He tried to renew his grip on it, but any loosening would mean the orb could slingshot away. Fingers were pried apart. Desperately clawing for traction that wasn’t there, eliminated by the treacherous sweat. The bulk of the orb had nearly slipped out of his hands. As soon as the widest point had left his fingers, he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

Oberan tried pressing his hands closer, but it didn’t work. Uncaring, the orb crept ever closer to freedom.

One last ditch effort, nails scraping over the smooth surface of the ball—

Oh wait, I can send it to the Vault—

Too late.

Like a cannonball, the orb launched itself out of Oberan’s grasp. The Mortalborn fell backwards in a tumble of limbs, managing to roll over his shoulder and right himself quickly. Just in time to see the orb lose all momentum when it touched the glyph… And for the wall to race toward the lot of them at breakneck speed.

Oberan closed his eyes and braced himself for impact.

Which never came.

Gingerly opening one eye, the thief expected to see Vri and those judgmental twins, but was instead met with the sight of the world around streaking past incredibly fast. The floor underneath did not seem to move though. Then they suddenly found themselves in a weird-ass chamber with spinning cubes and glyphs and no exit or entry. The Rupturing orb unlocked itself from its suspended position, falling right into Oberan’s eager hands. He sent it to the Vault immediately, lest it escape him a second time.

Only then he examined the room, finding that Joderall was quite excited with the find. He was taking notes as fast as he could, though the lights going out halted his progress. Oberan reached for the Daylight Stone inside his Vault, and one of the soldiers lit a torch. Between the two of them, the chamber filled with light again.

Joderall rambled about his findings with childlike enthusiasm, as he seemed prone to do. Something about Select, Detect, and Perfect Effect. Oberan did not know what that meant. A message? Instructions? He showed the Attuner the orb again when requested, and stored it immediately after the man was done with his observations.

“Maybe it detects energies of different kinds, selects a particular one, and amplifies or perfects its effect?” He shrugged. It was a wild guess. Since those lines in Etzos seemed to originate here according to Joderall, this could be the device that kept the ether storm going. If Audrae was right about that. It made sense to him, at least.

It was becoming high time they found a way out though, as they would run out of air sooner or later. Someone found an opening, but alas, hostile spiders barred their exit. Sintra had not left this chamber unprotected.

“Seems like we’ve found something we weren’t suppose to,” the Mortalborn casually remarked. Too casually for the fear he felt well up inside him.

Flesh-dissolving poison dripped from those horrid mandibles. Too many eyes stared straight at him. Hairy, thin, angled legs carried a bulbous and equally hairy body. Revolting. Terrifying.

His first instinct was to pelt them with the fluids and potions and elixirs he swiped from Lisirra’s lab. However, realizing at the last minute –several test-tubes already appearing between his fingers—that something similar had created a monstrously huge mutated killer centipede, he refrained. Although, he pondered, getting one centipede instead of three spiders might be a good deal.

On the other hand, perhaps Lisirra’s experimental solutions might just end up creating an even more dangerous foe out of the spiders.

The Sphere then. The Sphere might help… Or more likely, it would cripple both parties. Or change nothing at all. Perhaps it would hinder the soldiers and aid the spiders. Hadn’t he seen bugs grow quite large upon use once? If that happened now, they really were in trouble. Besides, even harmless changes could distract the soldiers and then they would die too!

Fuck! For all it’s power and potential, the Sphere was too random. He should really try to amend that if he survived this.

What else did he have? What could he do?

He manifested his sling and loaded a lead ball inside the pouch. It hummed as he swung it at his side, building speed and momentum. A deep breath in. Oberan aimed, then launched the projectile. It struck one of the spiders on the abdomen. The carapace dented with a disgusting crack, and the spider hissed in pain and anger. However, it did not seem to impair the creature too much. In fact, it scurried towards him faster now, clearly angered.

Cussing under his breath, Oberan backed off, vanishing the sling and manifesting the sledgehammer instead. On his free hand, he manifested the Glove of Shadows, hoping to find a way do deal with Sintra’s daughters by using his mother’s borrowed power.

Instantly, his fear took a backseat to calm and rational thought. It was there still, nagging, crying, begging for him to make rash decisions that might not be helpful at all.

And Oberan laughed at his own stupidity.

Rely on his mother’s power to deal with some spiders? Ha! What a joke! Since when did the great Oberan, Mortalborn with control over the Domains of Larceny, Mischief and Thrill, Patron of thieves, brigands, burglars and crooks have need of another’s power? Since never!

He had company; the best environment for one of his abilities. Steal from the enemy, give to allies. Let others do the heavy lifting, let them be saddled with the toll excessive thrill required.

With a thought, he drained the Thrill of the spider scurrying towards him, then pumped it all into Joderall. The spider became sluggish and languid, but Oberan did not stop. He took more and more, until the spider fell unconscious. One down. Then he focused on the other two. They weren’t far apart, turned to the two leftover soldiers. Forelegs raised and hissing threateningly, they moved back and forth, left and right as the Etzori hid behind shields and stabbed at them with blades.

A wave of the Glove of Shadows and the shade cast by the bodies of Sintra’s children came alive. Tendrils shot up, wrapping around the left legs of one spider and around the right legs of the other. Harder and more unyielding than steel, the Shackles of Iron locked the arachnids in place, giving the soldiers time to catch their breath and back off. Frustrated, the spiders pulled and strained, but there was no give on the shadows.

Having bought some time, Oberan focused his Thrill Domain on the second spider. He drained it, enhancing the soldier closest to it. The third, exactly the same. These he did not incapacitate them fully, believing the shackles would pick up the slack, but the spiders were still growing increasingly sluggish and lethargic. The soldiers on the other hand, found their bodies ready for action. Muscles tense and jittery. Reactions fast and honed. They felt faster and stronger, and the pain from any wounds they might have received in battle was dulled to a faint throb.

Between that and the sudden languidness of the arachnids, the battle was as good as won.

The soldiers brought down their blades. Stabbing, slashing, sundering, piercing the thick carapace. Slicing off legs. Stabbing out eyes. Sundering the connection between torso and abdomen. Oberan helped out as well, lifting the heavy sledge high above his head, then bringing it down on the third spider’s head in a wide arc. Aided by gravity, it smashed the creepy face into pulp, splattered across the room. He targeted the abdomen next, just to be sure. The other spiders, he left to the soldiers.

Once they were certain the threats had been permanently neutralized, Oberan stepped up to the suspended cube. Daylight Stone in hand to illuminate the artefact, he studied it closely, and gingerly reached out to it.