Death's End IC II

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Ben: The man in white sighs, as though listening to the punchline of a particularly bad joke. Nevertheless, his gaze is both stern and earnest at the same time.

"Very well. You two say that you know each other. My usual policy involving these kinds of fraudulent schemes involves a quick kick out of the house of the gods. However, given the circumstances, I will make an exception to my own rules. If the Six are truly as dangerous as people have been telling me that they are, I doubt that there are many trapped in this city who are ever going to be same. There will be blood in the streets before long."

"That being said, I put a great deal of faith into the idea that holding onto hope is as important as having a plan sometimes. Onyx is a place in sore need of hope. So let's not have any more talk about payment for your friend, and tell me everything there is to know about this plan of yours."


Calia, Elara, Myr: As you descend, the light from Calia's torch seems to be the only source of illumination ahead of you. The stairwell leads out into a series of empty corridors that open up into empty classrooms. Everywhere you look, there are the signs of recent habitation. Doors and windows have been left ajar for students. Books have been earmarked and folded across desks along with loose pieces of parchment. Lines of text have been started under lesson headings, and just... abandoned. Incomplete diagrams on the chalkboards, supply cupboards left untouched. Whatever happened here, happened fast. It's as though the entire population of the di Kerastin Academy got up and walked off campus at the exact same time. The alternative is almost impossible to conceive.

Yet as you proceed further through this hollow shell, you become accustomed to a faint acrid smell that you trace to the floors, to the walls and windows. You can taste it in the very air you breathe. The more academically-minded of you recognize the scent of bleach and cleaning powders. Someone - or several someones - has done a remarkable job of covering up their tracks. All of this happened relatively recently, and if you had broken in here a day later, you would have found no traces whatsoever.

And then you see the blood.

Near one of the entryways leading to a pair of closed doors, you catch sight of a small spattering of droplets. In such a small nook, it would have been easy to miss. The liquid has yet to harden at all, suggesting that the event could not have happened even yesterday. At your best guess, whatever went down here happened not long after noon: the first public appearance of the Six. The two events might not be connected, but the specificity of the timing does not escape you. The silence you move through is a kind of noise unto itself now, bearing a very different character than it did when you first arrived. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the screams.


Lirian: At first, the pain is excruciating. The barbs around the choker and armbands pierce your skin, digging into your neck and upper body like miniature daggers. And yet your body is under Oberon's control, so it completely ignores the pain. Normally, it would be all you could do to stop from screaming, but now even that release is lost to you. Little rivulets of blood begin to run through the fur around the puncture wounds, turning what was once white into a steadily growing carpet of russet red. The initial shock wears off soon enough, leaving you with a dull ache that permeates your nervous centers. At the same time, you can feel the three items working in tandem to energize your body with new magic. Your veins are filled with the songs of sorcery, and your eyes blaze with new fire.

To your horror, Frost hops over into Oberon's lap, watching your transformation with a curious expression on his face. It's not quite clear exactly what effects the spell has on him, but they don't seem to be favorable ones. There is no recognition in your familiar's eyes, but if you look closely enough you can see the reflection of your own becoming. Oberon, noticing the interaction, puts away the chest and hands you a mirror to examine yourself properly. What stares back at you is not yourself, but something empty and twisted. Oberon has made a mockery of you.

There, there. Pain is by its very nature temporary. But you're right: I mustn't tire you out too much. You are but mortal, hm? Come, let us find you some suitable quarters in this godforsaken place. Draping your cat over his shoulder, Oberon begins to draw you away from the main chamber.