Serious Plots 7: Why so srs?

[Shadowcaller]

[FCFC - The Hold]

"The girl is observant! As am I, dear. As am I," Croupelt seems to be smiling somewhere in the dark. "You'll be taken care of while you're a guest on my vessel. I'll see to it personally. You'll have some time to consider your situation. I'm confident you'll make the right choice." There's a whisper of movement to Astrana's right as Croupelt moves past her.

[FCFC - The Hold]

Astrana nods. "Okay, I'll consider it assuming I will get released from these chains. Its not like I can escape either way." She once again attempts to present her chain bond wrists.

[Hattish Thing]

[Expedition]

Arbrim grimaces, reaching towards his chest to grip the spike running through him. He coughs and sputters, foul brackish liquid bubbling forth from his lips. The bounty-hunter grips the shard of metal buried in his chest, his muscles bulging beneath a thick layer of rotten flesh mostly held to bone via bolts and iron prongs.

"My pack... in the snow. Canister."

[Earl of Purple]

Expedition

Tyndael nods and hurries over to Arbrim's pack, digging through it for the canister of which he speaks. When she finds it, if she manages to do such a thing, she hurries back to give it to the undead bounty hunter.

[billtodamax]

[Expedition]

Marshall it seems didn't notice the iron spike what with all the excitement of his demon returning. He blanches when he sees it. Oh dear.

He quickly rushes to Arbrim's side. What can I do?

[Reinholdt]

[Underground Laboratory]

Sophie is momentarily stumped before proceeding. This man is more detached from reality than she thought...

"...no, it's Tuesday. And you haven't come back to pick up a child you'd left with us."

[Underground Laboratory]

The doctor snorts derisively. "Find someone else to pawn that monstrosity off to. It's not coming back here. And if you're hoping to be worked on, there are no openenings until Friday. Now see yourself out," He demands, resuming cutting into the beargon, who makes muted, angry bear noises.

[Deathkeeper]

[The Vault]

"Yeah buddy, you could really use to let a decorator in here. And it's only getting worse all the time." Jim says, trying to get himself oriented after catching the armor and trying to get the spear up and pointed properly while carrying the scrolls.

[The Third Circle]

"Souls can buy quite a lot, unless you're asking for one of my most powerful books. As for what I do with them, I'd likely send them back to my realm, though I could likely make an imp out of them if they were a particularly inquisitive one, suited to be a servant." the imp says with a shrug, resting upon the corner of a high shelf, watching Anima from up high.

[Hattish Thing]

[Expedition]

As Tyndael approaches with the canister, Arbrim reaches weakly for it. The bounty-hunter snaps off the jar's filthy lid, breathing in the disgusting stench which wafts forth. The undead raises the lid of foul black liquid to his mouth, slurping vigorously of the jar's nauseating contents. Once his maimed lips disturb the rancid, curdled fluid, a bubble previously trapped within the thick, churning substance contained within the jar rises to the top of the liquid and bursts, piercing the thin skin of congealing toxins that had been previously keeping the substance's dire smell in relative check.

In one go, Arbrim downs the repugnant elixir, shivering as each and every gelatinized glop of revoltingly questionable fluid cascades down his throat.

--

As his wounds begin to partially regenerate, stabilizing him, he reaches for Marshal.

"Help me up, help me up, or make yer friend do it."

"This gonna seal up soon."

[Earl of Purple]

Expedition

Tyndael stands back after the canister is opened and gags slightly. She'd help Arbrim get up, but she's far too small. She can't lift him a sufficient distance for him to be able to continue on his own.

She does move so she's behind Marshall, at least a little.

[Chaotic Bob]

[The Blue City - Sealed Prison]

Well that's rather intimidating, isn't it? Even here in what presumably is part of Feia's lair, one can never be sure if the Feia in front of you is entirely there, or still just some sort of aspect of the big scary dragon lurking nearby. The disk scuttles over to stand just on the other side of the barrier from Libitina. Easier to talk this way.

"You say you're undeniably necessary, but I'll deny it anyway. Laws can be rewritten. It's funny that you'd lean on electricity as a comparison - we're only reliant on electricity until we find something [I]better[I]." The disk's little holo-Affy has a stern, determined expression. "That you exist is not a problem. That you need to exist, or the implication that there is something you can do that nobody else could, that is the problem. But that can be changed with time."

"Oh, I am not necessary. Death is necessary. Some places that means a governing entity or embodiment is also necessary. There are places where removal of said entity quite literally upends the fabric of reality itself."
There's a solemn tone to this, as she recalls some unhappy memory or another.
"Perhaps as another example: a hormone gland, which may not do much itself, but directs or produces or stabilizes the movements of the body's hormones. Its removal can lead to chaos. It can be compensated for, perhaps...but only by creating a replacement to do the same job, leading to the same situation."

"Enough. Professor, step back."
Or scuttle back? Whatever it is he needs to do to move.

Regardless of if he does or not, Feia continues onwards. She glides back a few feet herself, make a circling gesture towards the prison that ropes a line of her typical purple energy through each of the gems.
"\\// /\\\/ ///\\/\//\ \/\"
The Professor's instruments may be able to pick up the crumpling of Time in a surge of chronomancy, shortly before two more Feia's appear around the circle in a roughly triangular arrangement from the original one. They all appear in the midst of separate spell-casting procedures, one crafting a series of glyphs in the air, the other simply holding her hand towards the circle with her eyes closed, lips moving to unsaid words.
Feia-alpha draws the energy line through the gems up and around the prison, in a vaguely cage-like shape that meets into a bright point directly centered above.

About five seconds from the point of starting all this, all three Feia's speak in unison-
"\/\/ //\\\\ \\/"
"Eclipse."
"Ipir mu velam."
-and the bright point of the cage sharpens into a radiant corkscrew which wastes no time in plummeting through the prison towards Libitina.

The prison fails immediately, a wash of cold and dead air flowing out from Libitina-now-freed...who does nothing.
Merely passively stares upwards as the light drills straight into her chest.

The energy pulses once, twice, and the wash of cold air seems to fade away along with the shadows obscuring Libitina's face.

About six and a half seconds from the point of starting all this, the corkscrew and light from the gems fades, leaving behind a tired, pale woman in a dark cloak standing in the middle of the room, and a furious looking trio of witches standing around her.
Although perhaps furious isn't the right word.

Apocalyptic might be better.

Feia-beta and Feia-gamma disappear promptly, Time resettling itself.
Feia-alpha remains behind, a rare state of clearly visible rage on her face as she stares at some small orb of necromantic energy that has appeared before her, relocated from the corkscrew magic she just wrought.
"She has no spark."

[billtodamax]

Expedition

He's not my friend. Marshall says, leaning down to grab Arbrim by the shoulder and hauling him up off of the spike, grunting a little with the exertion. The demon, for its part, shifts sinuously toward Tyndael, pulling its awful head down so it's near to her ear.

He didn't check on either of you, did you notice that? Had to deal with me first - but he knew I couldn't hurt him. What's that say about what he thinks of you? It whispers to her, a pair of forked tongues flicking over his sharp teeth as he finishes.

[Recaiden]

"Inquisitive."
Anima steps into the restricted section and picks out a couple books, more qualified sources on the construction of imps and angels, the transmutation of souls.
"I think we can find something for you. It will take a while to sort through the inventory. In the meantime, what do you do with imps?"

[Ashen Lilies]

[The Tomb of Removed Hope]

Cass curses, throwing up her arm to try and shield the worst of the glare without needing to close her eyes. She'll try and make the angel need to respond in kind, a dazzling spray of colored lights erupting from her other hand.

[Murkus]

[FCFC - The Hold]

Astrana nods. "Okay, I'll consider it assuming I will get released from these chains. Its not like I can escape either way." She once again attempts to present her chain bond wrists.

"What chains?" Croupelt asks, and as she tries to present her wrists, she'll find her arms easily lifting from the chair. The door cracks open wider, light spilling across the floor. "Right this way..."

[The Void]

His decision made, Val approaches the orb. He looks at it for a moment long and then tries to grab it in both his hands. He'll try to dash it into the ground with a strength greater than his frame would ever suggest.

[The Void]

Val smashes the stony thing like a cheap piece of china. Almost instantly, a strange wail goes up from the ship. If Val is perceptive, he can probably tell it's an alarm beginning to blare.

Heedless of this, the creature before him rapidly starts to jostle in place, eye flicking over the controls, directing parts of the floating apparatus to move with will alone. The ship reorients beneath their feet, and seems to begin accelerating quite rapidly...

[The Vault]

"Invasion's a strong word, cutter," Michalson says, seeking refuge in audacity. "We did get the owner's permission. It's a fine kip, but a bit run-down, wouldn't you say?"

[The Vault]

"Yeah buddy, you could really use to let a decorator in here. And it's only getting worse all the time." Jim says, trying to get himself oriented after catching the armor and trying to get the spear up and pointed properly while carrying the scrolls.

"Oh. The voice. At the door! Yes, I suppose that's permission enough. But I would not have minded either way," says the entity in the dark. "Or did you mean a different instance? Oh, oh well. It doesn't really matter."

A beat. A tiny rapping, conjuring imaginings of a claw against a metallic chin. "Uh, would you fine gentlemen wait a moment? I'm just realizing my attire isn't exactly well suited to company... Much like the decor. Heh-heh."

Clanks and clicks in the dark. Eschelle looks wary, but doesn't move or speak. The lads are doing plenty of that. They can see movement, now, the glints shifting and rotating. A rapid and oily whir, like a sowing machine, industrial size. A strange wet slosh.

Then the machine in the dark recoils, back into that shadowy hall, and instead steps forth a man. He is tall, thin, elfin, and covered in violet tattoos arranged with clear arcane intent upon his pale grey skin. He wears only a pair of very new looking black breeches, and has no hair to speak of. His eyes are wide, wet, and silvery, almost so eccentric as to make him seem drugged. His ears are long and sharp. Most importantly, he has a set of rubber tubing and thick copper and silver wire trailing from the back of his head, backwards into the darkened room.

He looks like Sticks. He would look like a very much ordinary Sticks, if it weren't for the skin and the head-ports. Eschelle doesn't quite pull a double take, but her eyes do flutter and widen, her stance shifting to one more wary.

"Eschelle. Jim. And... Michalson," he points a finger at the man. "I believe this is the first encounter you are having with me. Have had. Will have again, now. Uh." He blinks, guessing (or perhaps knowing) they'll wish him to elaborate. "This is the first time you are entering my loop. The branch is grown, and tread upon! Ah. Excellent." He has to blink several times. Those nearest him might hear faint clicking from within his head. "This is so much easier a conversation to carry out when things are aligned."

"Jim. I believe in this current iteration, this is your first time meeting with this instance of me, yes?" He claps his hands. He already has the answer. "Splendid. Oh, my goodness, I believe greetings are in order."

"Sticks," Eschelle manages.

"Nono, dear Eschelle, no," he quickly corrects, one finger upheld. He fixes her with a glance before bowing at them all, at the waist with his arm across, his form immaculate. "Not Sticks. No. No more silly nicknames." He smiles as he rises. "I am Vargain."

[Morty]

[The Vault]

Michalson watches "Vargain" with an unimpressed expression. By all the Powers and their mothers, every minute in this madhouse just gets better.

"Silly 'old' nicknames, you say. But are you him from the future, or the past?" he asks. "Or is it neither? You said we've entered this 'loop', which tells me it ain't as simple as before an' after."

[Earl of Purple]

The Tomb of Removed Hope

Erasmus scrabbles at the angel's wing, kicking free white and black feathers, as she beats her wings once to try and knock the little dragon free. The angel also recoils from the light hurled by Cass, blinking as it tries to swing its halberd at the elf sorceress, though without much accuracy. She's still glowing, but the light is dying down a little as she focuses on other things.

[Deathkeeper]

The Third Circle

Anima will not find anything on creating demons and angels, though she can find plenty on their natures. Demons and gods don’t keep their secrets in mortal tomes. Soul magic is a much more achievable, though oft-forbidden line of thought.
”They are my servants, that is all. One day perhaps they will be my lieutenants. But mostly, mere clerks for now.” says Nyarlahotep with a shrug of his wings.

The Vault

Jim stiffens, his telltale smile absent, his look imperious with the indent gripped tightly, thumped against the floor deliberately.
Vargain. Jim knows the name, despite Sticks’ attempts for him not to. Sticks’ past is dark and secret. But Jim knows that it is. Sticks did not merely throw it away; he cut it out. Jim has no love for whatever part of his beloved master that was so awful he tore himself in half to escape it. The metal monstrosities just out of sight don’t help that at all.
”Please, Master Vargain, Jim is for friends. I don’t know you.” he tells the master of the vault coldly.

[Recaiden]

Well, it's a start.
"What's the price for knowledge of how your imps are made?" Anima inquires, suspecting that she already knows the answer: not for sale.
She also keeps two of the books that she picked out.

[bc56]

Tomb of Removed Hope

Erasmus hangs onto the angel's wing for dear life. The little drake opens his mouth and exhales a cloud of white mist which envelops the angel's head. Depending on her natural resilience, she may start to feel woozy as the effects of inebriation set in, or she might be unaffected.

[Recaiden]

Is that? The vague shape of an angel?
Alice forces her eyes back shut. You saw where the angel was, she tells herself. You know enough.
It's going to be entangled with the real mage, and then it'll still be...there!
She lunges back forward and snaps a fist out towards the angel, surprisingly well for someone not looking at the target.

[Deathkeeper]

Well, it's a start.
"What's the price for knowledge of how your imps are made?" Anima inquires, suspecting that she already knows the answer: not for sale.
She also keeps two of the books that she picked out.

The Third Circle

”Quite high, and most of it can only be done by me so it isn’t actually helpful. Be happy I’m not one of the swindling kind of demon. Forgive me.” says the ‘imp’ simply, holding up his hands helplessly.

[Recaiden]

"Nothing to forgive, sir. But I will not forget." She say matter-of-factly. Tep refused to help, even for fair compensation. "This looks like it's going to requires science."

"Now, for the books, I have the souls right here, though I'll be keeping the jar-"
She reaches into one of her satchels and draws out a little bottle, nearly-as-black as can be, but with many shining facets.

[Murkus]

[The Vault]

"So perceptive - yes, I'm seeing it in you now," says Vargain, peering at Michalson in particular, his eyelids rising and falling with a few more rapid clicks. "Ahm. You are close to understanding. Please permit me to explain. I-I am the prime instance, the ur-Sticks, if you prefer. I exist in a-- a state of super perception. I do not see time as a flow, or distinguish different periods of time... I can observe situations which I have experienced or will experience at all points."

"B-before you ask - this is not the equivalent of omniscience. The future, as you perceive it, is not fixed. Aside from certain... certain events. Imagine a titanic tree..." He extends his hand, fluttering his fingers in a meaningful gesture. "A world-tree, with its branches ever growing and shrinking, billions and billions..." Vargain looks lost in thought for several seconds before resuming his explanation as if nothing happened. "I can see these branches. They are the paths we might take."

Vargain smiles. "I have leapt from the tree to my freedom. If you are tree-dwelling beings, rodents or insects, I am like a bird. Or... Oh my, trying to describe this is such fun, but I'm not sure it will work. I'm sorry. It is not meant as condescension. The tree analogy is inherently flawed. The past can be realigned as easily as the future. Does this answer your question?" Vargain's head ticks gently to one side, and he smiles mildly.

The sorcerer extends his hands on either side of him, his voice seeming to gain volume, to take on a metallic pitch. "I am a testament to the power of wizardry as an art and a science. I know that secret which eludes liches, kings, and gods. I exist, have existed, will exist, all with utter certainty. Future and past are no longer meaningful terms."

In an instant, his modulated words shrink to the familiar shy timbre which Jim might well associate with Sticks. "Come, Jim. This rudeness doesn't behoove a young practitioner. I am perceiving a relatively small number of instances in which you chose to attack me. You must see something of your teacher in this... this shell I have made to speak with you. Please, don't be cold."

"I feel that I should offer you three some refreshments. At least as a thank you for opening the door," Sticks extends a thin, very normal looking hand. His eyebrows, the only hair visible on him, rise up as his eyes widen and shine. "Could I invite you all to dinner?"

[Gullara]

[The Void]

Val smashes the stony thing like a cheap piece of china. Almost instantly, a strange wail goes up from the ship. If Val is perceptive, he can probably tell it's an alarm beginning to blare.

Heedless of this, the creature before him rapidly starts to jostle in place, eye flicking over the controls, directing parts of the floating apparatus to move with will alone. The ship reorients beneath their feet, and seems to begin accelerating quite rapidly...

[The Void]

As soon as Val feels the ship's movement beneath his feet, his mind is on his next goal. He turns away from the being flying the ship and hurries to get above deck again. He can only hope they get close enough that he can get on, even if he has to jump.

[Morty]

[Underground Laboratory]

Sophie breathes in deeply and raises her gun.

"And you're not pawning her off to us," she says, putting emphasis on the pronoun. "First you're going to tell me who she is, who you are and what this place is."

[The Vault]

Michalson understands everything all too well and doesn't like it much.

"Openin' the door, you said? You couldn't open it yerself?"

[Deathkeeper]

[The Third Circle]

"Forget what, dear? If you want to buy useless information I'm happy to oblige. Tep says with a shrug.

"I hope you don't mind if I inspect them?" Tep asks, suddenly his normal 8-foot-tall self.

[The Vault]

Jim sniffs, not impressed.
"I would have hoped to have seen something of him in the man before me. But if you admit all you have of him is a shell, I wouldn't hold my breath, Master Vargain. Do you know that your doorman almost bled to death on our way in? He might have passed by now. As did quite a few others, it seems. Do you even care? Or are you more concerned with dinner and grandiose speeches?" Jim says, an accusatory glint in his eyes.

[Recaiden]

Presuming you know what's of use to someone. Tsk-tsk.
Anima blinks in mild surprise at the sudden embiggening of the imp.

"Of course not. I got to inspect the books, after all."
She uncorks the bottle and coaxes a couple souls out.

All of the souls are brave and willful and at least a little bit evil.
This one was an inquisitor of a storm god. He killed heathens and pretenders by the hundred. No secret went undiscovered with him about. He was himself executed for heresy.
This one was a young village woman who had just begun to be a great artist when she was struck by lightning. She had previously murdered her entire family.
This one here was an moderately efficient bureaucrat. Died of cholera.
This one was just a child, who loved taking things apart to see how they worked. Clocks, spells, younger children, etc. He was killed by necromancers.
This one was a fastidious librarian, who would choose a single scroll over the lives of several families. She died of old age.

Perhaps some of them interest Tep?

[Reinholdt]

[Underground Laboratory]

The doctor pauses his work, growing much less frenetic as he becomes deathly calm while silence pervades the room. He steps back away from the beargon, turning towards Sophie with narrowed eyes while he wipes the scalpel clean on his lab coat. It's not a threatening move. He's too far away to make any reasonable attempt at anything with it. Rather, it's a method of transition for him, to separate from the unfinished surgery. He puts the scalpel down on the table nearby holding all the important operating tools.

"IT," the doctor begins by correcting her mistake with emphasis of his own, "Is a monster. I am Doctor Xeyal. This is my home. Your turn. Why do you care, why are you here, and how did you get here?"

[Shadowcaller]

[FCFC - The Hold]

Astrana looks at her arms in bewilderment. Illusions? She had to figure out how he did that... later. For now, she gets on her feet and sees where this door leads to.

[Morty]

[Underground Laboratory]

Sophie's gaze doesn't soften and her gun remains pointed at Xeyal.

"You've left a child in our care and didn't return for her. That would be reason enough, even if the child hadn't also been made a monster in ways that managed to rattle me after all these years," she says. "So I came here for answers. And I used my Hunter powers to track down your location." The last one is, of course, a bald-faced lie. But it's said with conviction and without any tremble to Sophie's voice or face.

[Ashen Lilies]

[The Tomb of Removed Hope]

Cass parries the halberd blow, meeting the haft of the halberd with her own staff, and batting it to the side as she steps forward, forgoing casting another spell in favor of simply swinging the bottom end of the staff up, to try and give the angel a nice sharp thwack across the chest.