Poet
Nu Guardian
Posts: 19 
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Post by Poet on Mar 24, 2014 23:13:07 GMT
 Pilfering smoke hung like spiderwebs, and seemed to violate and penetrate every pore and opening in the body. Gavant choked and his vocal chords coiled like springs. His breath seemed chased and exasperated, and in a haze of confusion, struggled to his feet. His head wobbly spun from side to side, and the world spun around him, and he just couldn't catch up. Behind him was chaos, the Justice was carved in half, lying dead on a barren shore. The rolling waves crashed into the mutilated corpse of the ship, red sails torn and worn by the rain and wind. The sky was black, but not from the smoke. This was something unnatural, the man could just feel it. A stench came with it. A stench like.... Death. He pushed the sinking feeling in his stomach to the side, slightly regaining some semblance of focus, though having to strain his eyes to do so. His instincts had taken over. Supplies for survival became the poets primary focus. Going through the exasperated ship, he pulled a length of rope, an old, but readily sharp sword and its sheathe, a bag of bread, and a canteen half full of water. He threw the bag across his shoulder, and came to stand up, realizing he had a sharp, wincing pain in his right thigh. A hole was punched cleanly through his leg, bleeding profusely. The mixture of confusion and adrenaline must had left him unaware earlier, but now that he was getting his wits about him again, reality became apparent. The ship was awfully forgiving, Gavant tearing some cloth off of a corpse of a cabin boy, and used it to tourniquet his wound and stop some of the bleeding. He bent low inside of that wreckage for what seemed like hours, just absorbing the destruction around him. Placing his hands together, it seemed that he had come to a decision about whatever he had been contemplating. One by one he hefted the corpses out of the wreckage of the ship, and with a spare shovel, began digging. Giving a prayer to Revellus Sularia before each, he sent the bodies off to their final resting place. He repeated this process over and over, with a saints patience and dedication. His work was just about complete, a single corpse left in the wreckage. Like he'd done thirty times before, he, with practiced efficiency lifted the body over his shoulder. By this time he had removed his shirt, saving it from the ocean of sweat he'd perspired. It did him good, this work, even in light of the grave circumstances. It was cold, and the word cold is an emphatic understatement. Frost nipped at his skin, and chills invaded his spine like needles. The work allowed him to stay active, and therefore warm. Then something made him stop, just as he was ready to set the body down. A cough. But it wasn't from him. That kind of cough someone makes when the're spitting back up water that was in their lungs. Kind of gutteral and painful sounding. It donned on him that it came from what he thought was a corpse! He layed the body down on its back, pressing his head against the chest. Bump bump. Bump bump. The beat was slow, but it was steady. Gavant's face lit up. When you've been alone surrounded by corpses all day, there is literally nothing you could pray for more than for just someone, anyone to share in your despair. He pressed his hands on his chest, one palm atop the back of the other, and pushed CPR fashion, then breathed his breath into his lungs. No response. He reached into his pockets, and pulled out a slip of paper. it was wet, but it would do. He rushed, making a make-shift pencil from a dislodged splinter of wood and the blackened charcoal, drawing a series of geometric shapes into the parcel with practiced, studied, learned precision. In under a minute he had finished, and placed it on the mans chest. A flash of white light beamed forth from the paper like a pillar to heaven. It parted the blackened clouds, and for the briefest moment, showed just a patch of blue sky before fading, and allowing the black clouds to reclaim what was theirs. Gavant's hope fluttered. |
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Post by Alchemist on Mar 25, 2014 3:03:58 GMT
Flowers-
A sky full of flowers…
No, a room full.
Carnations, lilies and roses, filled the seemingly endless room that smelled strangely of ocean water. Sparrow lay in the middle of the silk-soft floor counting petals.
3444….3445….3446….3447…
The young man felt a slither of relief and ecstasy, as though he had been troubled by something. Whatever it was escaped him. All that mattered were the beautiful, intoxicating colors of these flowers.
The questions where and how budded in his mind, but quickly died off at the passing of a violet lily. He made a lazy effort to grasp the stem behind the flower to hold it happily, but his arm was so heavy it would not move.
It started as curiosity. Why, why couldn’t he move? The spirit of inquiry became anxiety, then panic. His screams echoed through the flowers though he could not move his mouth. The young man began to thrash and wriggle against his invisible bindings.
Only when the room spun and tilted sideways was he able to be released from the floor. He tumbled through the leaves, stems, and petals that soon became burning sprays of icy water.
He inhaled sharply the taste of iron, wood, and death. The breath was painful and urgent. Images of beautiful flowers had faded and Sparrow had been engulfed in blackness.
For a few, suspenseful moments, there was nothing.
Another long, agonizing breath. Sparrow opened his brown eyes wide. He sat upright and grabbed the man in front of him, trying to regain his bearings. The face of the broad shouldered fellow in front of him became familiar.
His bone dry, shaking fingers let go of his comrade as he turned his head of silver hair around to look at the wreckage and the overturned soil around them, realizing immediately what lay under it.
Sparrow looked out unto the unknown and without looking back, asked a question with a voice barely above a whisper.
“It's just us, then?”
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Poet
Nu Guardian
Posts: 19
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Post by Poet on Mar 25, 2014 3:42:53 GMT
"For all these serene things that I believe I've seen, count me for dead, for it was all but a dream".~
"I've buried the bodies."
Gavant didn't forget to answer Sparrow's question. He didn't, and he knew he didn't. He looked out to the rolling waves, and he wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but he could have sworn they were speaking to him. Calling him. He shrugged it off as shock, and depression settling in.
"I used to love this, you know? Those were the normal times. When I loved the water, and the boats, and that feeling of freedom. It's why I got into this business to begin with. I don't think I feel the same. Probably going to need to get a new profession after this."
Ephemeral memories pervaded through his thoughts for a few brief moments, but he pulled away from them like they were insects. They left a sour taste in his mouth.
He turned to look behind him. He didn't do it out of curiosity, or whim. No. He felt like his eyes were drawn there. He didn't know if it was the shock, or the confusion, or his preoccupation with his phoned in spellcircle, but he hadn't noticed the almost cullis-esque portway into the mouth of a large cavern just behind them.
What's more, was the stonework. Along either side of the opening in the cliffside, two figures or idols were depicted; Two old men, weilding blades and wearing crowns of thorns. It wasn't overly familiar, but vague memories of his research at the Surian Temple caused the rise of the hairs on the back of his neck. He stood up now, never looking down to Sparrow, who was still catching his breath.
"These are the Nemian Kings. I learned about them when I was attending the Temple school. They were considered the creators of dark magic, particularly necromancy. Why is this place not on the map?"
He went back to the decrepid ship, flexing as he pulled off some of the spare wood. He ripped his sweater, and wrapped it around the top of the plank, and dipped it in oil, courtesy of a broken barrel. An ignition source was easy enough to find. Blazing butterflies were a wonderful addition to any wanton magicians travel kit. Its wings flutters, and upon making contact with the oil covered cloth, set it to flame. He held his spare hand out to Sparrow.
"We don't have much of a choice."
The crack in the cliffside that served as a doorway thrummed with power, and seemed to suck the survivors in.
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Post by Alchemist on Mar 26, 2014 1:10:23 GMT
Sparrow almost forgot to listen to for the experienced sailor’s response. The howl of the icy wind seemed to sweep up his morale.
There was a sinking, desperate, knowing feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Something was wrong….
Something was horribly wrong…
The silver haired adolescence had become frightened. He had never stepped outside Ariya until now. He had been sheltered and pampered by The Cage university so ironically named, and the harsh conditions of this venture had left him in a state of near shock.
Sparrow had absolutely no idea how to answer the man’s question. He had only begun to study Telaris and its’ contours a week ago.
Was something genuinely off about this place? Or was Sparrow just giving into his nerves? Even the thought of that terrified him. Maybe his professor was wrong about the brave and ambitious characteristics he praised so highly in Sparrow. Maybe the General has misread his smart outbursts and way of thinking.
Maybe the entire Cage had portrayed him as something he was not, and he had allowed it, with his personality that oozed hubris.
Maybe he was nothing…
It was not until the experienced sailor lent a hand to Sparrow to help him get on his feet that he came back to his senses. Sparrow looked toward the crack in the land’s edge and it seemed to drag him toward the entrance of the unknown. He reached out for the man’s hand, and then drew back. “Your wound….” He stammered, pointing at the gaping hole in the man’s thigh, tearing his eyes away from the entrance of the cliff. Immediately, he scrambled to the Poet’s thigh and pressed his hands over the entries, hands becoming filthy with dried blood. “This may feel strange, forgive me, please.”
Sparrow whispered a series of chants very hurriedly, trying to concentrate solely on the task he’d given himself instead of the beckoning entrance before them.
A few agonizing minutes passed.
“Recreantur restituunt Salutem. Vicit. Ossibus, sanguine….” He released his hands from the sailor and the bone, muscle, and skin had become fully restored. Sparrow shuffled to his feet awkwardly, looking to the entry. “We don’t know exactly what’s in there, but we can’t have you leaking everywhere now can we?” The young adult shook his near frozen hands and pulled them close to his mouth. He muttered a word, maybe two. A ball of bright light illuminated from his hand. It was small, but it’d be enough.
They walked onward.
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Poet
Nu Guardian
Posts: 19
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Post by Poet on Mar 29, 2014 19:03:25 GMT
The air was crisp and dry inside of the architecture, so much so that ones breath could be made out with every exhale. As they drove deeper, the temperature only seemed to drop, and Gavant's compass began to go haywire. He tapped the face a few times, but the arrow continued to spin sporadically. Wherever they were, there was a huge amount of magnetic disruption down below. It was a slow progression, but Gavant had begun to notice ice forming along the azure walls as thy climbed down the precipice. Just how cold was it down here? And what sense did this make? It was the middle of summer for one, and they were in the southern hemisphere, a few hundred miles south of Osceux, if he had to try and put a pin on their rough location. They walked for what felt like hours, though it must have been the silence, because it had only been roughly fifteen minutes, when a giant mass of ice had blocked them from descending any further. He came to a halt, bending at the knees and down so that his arms could rest lazily on his thighs. "Not sure if it's magical in nature, but there is some kind of incredibly strong magnetic field down here. My compass doesn't know if it's sad or happy. Now we've got no way to even guess at where we are." He pointed toward the ice. "And as for this? I could probably melt it with a rune, but I have no idea how long it's been here, and could easily be the only thing holding these rocks together. I melt it, and it might all come crashing down." He spent only a few moments contemplating before his mind was made up. A bright orange flash, and the exhaling steam of ice put to pressure and heat filled the caverns, obscuring everything out of view of just a few feet in any direction. Fire licked at the walls, and the ice had all but degraded into vapor and water. When it all settled, and the rolling mists vanished, his mouth was left ajar, and his blue eyes were open like doors.  The ice had not just grown out of the freezing of the seawater in the cave, but rather froze around something. A large obelisk-shaped object, encircled and clothed in odd symbols and runes, some that were familiar to the scholar, and some that were completely alien.
"Do you know what this is?" It seemed he could practically break down in tears right there. His hand reached out and touched the wet metal of the structure. "This is no rock. It is a gate. A city gate to be precise. And the magic used to seal it is nothing to sneeze at, either. We've got to get down there." He reached into his bag again, pulling out a medley of measuring, writing, and recording devices, and several sheets of blank paper. He drew those arcane circles he'd mastered so long ago. Not like before, though. Not haphazardly, but with a practiced, masterful precision. It took him hours. When they went down into the crevice the sun hung in the center of the sky, albeit obscured by black clouds, but now had long since winked its eyelids shut and retired from the world by the time his work was complete. He seemed content that he had done whatever it was, correctly. All about him hundreds of sheets and tools were strewn along the floor, waterproofing them with one of the many spellcircles layed out no doubt. "It's a cryptograph. All I had to do was decode it, and rewrite it. When you've been around doing what I do, for as long as I've been doing it, you learn a thing or two." One by one he set the papers full of impossibly complex runes across the face of the gate. Upon placing the last, a light flashed vertically from the structure, symmetrically. And with the clanging and whirring of gears and cogs moving, parted to open its maw. Gavant stepped forward into the opening, coming to a large cliff that overlooked the glory of it all.  A brilliant expanse of stonework exposed a great, thriving city miles beneath them, etched into the land something like the circles of hell. Gavant took a deep breath. "We've got to tell someone of this." |
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Post by Alchemist on Apr 6, 2014 19:05:01 GMT
Unsettling.
Sparrow watched his breath appear in white puffs then disappear. His eyes occasionally wandered to the ice that had gripped the inside of the cave. There were a couple of characteristics about the area that unsettled the novice explorer.
Though the explorer came with no instruments to make his venture easier, he could tell the temperature inside the structure was too cold. He felt it on his frostbitten skin, the air cut into him like hot knives.
There was zero to no humidity in the area, which only became more alarming as ice started to form along the blueish walls.The moisture in the air should have increased as the went farther into the cave...
Wait.... that's not right.
As Gavant continued, tapping lightly at his compass, Sparrow stopped to observe the ice. He crouched and pressed gently into the solid water.
"Not sure if it's magical in nature, but there is some kind of incredibly strong magnetic field down here. My compass doesn't know if it's sad or happy. Now we've got no way to even guess at where we are."
At that moment a sliver of ice cracked from its' mother. Sparrow held it up carefully in the air to observe it in the dim light.
"And as for this? I could probably melt it with a rune, but I have no idea how long it's been here, and could easily be the only thing holding these rocks together. I melt it, and it might all come crashing down."
Tiny inscriptions of some language Sparrow couldn't quite make out in the darkness were scrawled along the azure tinted ice. The ice...all of it, was man-made.
"Gavant," Sparrow said shakily. "I don't think you shoul-"
The young explorer dropped the slither and tripped backward along the ground. The bright light had blinded him, and sent him flying and into a fading world of lilies, roses, and carnations.
A couple minutes passed before he regained consciousness...
Sparrow propped himself up on his shoulder slowly, then turned his head to observe the masterpiece before him. His breath caught in his throat as he took the view of the city gate.
It was immaculate.
The young man rose from the steaming ground and made his way over to the gate carefully, as though if he walked too fast the entire structure would break like glass. When he finally reached the gate, he marveled at it's symmetry. Who could have made something so close to perfection?
He was so enthralled by the object that he barely noticed Gavant was busy at real work.
Whatever he was doing, it took forever.
Liam found himself wandering up and down the length of the cave, counting the steps it took to reach the sculpture. Occasionally, he peered over Gavant to see the artwork that took to him ten years.
The writing in the ice still bothered the young man. He searched the area for a spec of frozen water that had not been destroyed by Gavant, but found none that could survive the wave heat.
He peered over Gavant again.
"It's a cryptograph. All I had to do was decode it, and rewrite it. When you've been around doing what I do, for as long as I've been doing it, you learn a thing or two."
Sparrow watched closely as Gavant placed the sheets of paper that completed the spell circle in order. He felt the urge to help, but was certain that he'd only get in the way. Once each piece was in its' proper place, a loud groan reverberated through the cave, and he instinctively shielded his eyes from the light.
"We've got to tell someone of this."
The second explorer moved his arms away from his face, and took a few shaky steps forward to see the brilliant masonry. His eyes rolled over the circles in awe, and stopped as they reached the fire-colored pit. He felt drawn towards whatever that bright light was, felt it calling to him as the flowers did just hours before.
"Gavant," He mumbled, "The ice from the entrance, it was made with magick." His vision became blurred, and all he could make out was the flame from below. "...Whoever was here was trying to keep something....something..."
Sparrow pitched forward and into the pit.
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