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abraxaslogs2021-12-17 12:09 am
- alucard; the hierophant,
- castiel; the hanged man,
- estinien wyrmblood; the hermit,
- geralt of rivia; the hanged man,
- goro; the chariot,
- hector; the magician,
- himeka sui; the fool,
- inej ghafa; the hierophant,
- kylo ren; the tower,
- leonard mccoy; the lovers,
- ronan lynch; the moon,
- sam wilson; justice,
- sasarai; judgement,
- stephen strange; death
The Mission
The Dimmest Day is upon us.
The champions of Thorne seek to deliver their caskets safely to the central artifact of the Singularity. Opposing them are the champions of the Free Cities and Solvunn, who are charged with intercepting as many caskets as they can and carrying them safely back to their respective factions— but each is also charged with preventing the other from doing the same.
From across Abraxas, in the dead of night, three groups of the Summoned converge on the Singularity. What they do here will have lasting effects on the world and every other beyond it.
Pleased to see a healthy number of volunteers gathered at the Empty Throne, Ambrose allows his champions a moment to savor the vocal appreciation of the gathered crowd ringing the courtyard. Thorneans applaud and cheer, and Frederick, previously this year's Elected sacrifice, looks beyond relieved. High above, the King and Queen emerge on the Royal balcony, and without any further warning the gathered crowd breaks into song— an ancient hymn of thanksgiving that feels very awkwardly like a prayer being directed towards the Summoned themselves.
Along with black leather sling packs for carrying the caskets and a lantern each, a group of apprentices bring forth pieces of armor, enchanted rings and circlets, all of them offered as temporary loans to Thorne's champions who could use a little aid in their work. These hold simple defensive and life-preserving spells, presumably a small hoard of trinkets kept aside from the usual Dimming sacrifice: putting them on may grant added resistance to magical attack, a boost to existing magical ability, or increase an individual's speed, strength or dexterity. Once everything is distributed, Ambrose himself passes out the caskets, taking great care to hand each one over with a stern, steady stare.
Even tapping into the emergency storage of magical energy provided by an ornate reliquary placed behind the throne, it takes the efforts of all the assembled Thornean mages together to open the portal that will deliver the Summoned to the crater's edge. Ambrose explains that due to the Dimming, they won't be able to create another to bring his champions home until the sun rises— and only then if the mission to restore the Singularity is successful. Everything rests with the Summoned, now. They must not fail.
Aleksander's laboratory is exactly the kind of mad scientist with access to magic take on Leonardo DaVinci's workshop you might expect. Strange, chemically powered devices bubble and tick. Doves flutter and coo anxiously in cages. A couple of ominous metal exam tables with leather restraint cuffs bolted to them have been pushed back to the walls to make room for a large contraption that looks like a cartoonish steampunk ray gun, far taller than a man, aimed at a hastily painted bullseye target on a raised metal platform. Surrounding it are strange alchemic sigils burned into the floor. It becomes clear all too soon that this is the method of transport the champions of the Free Cities will be using to get to the Singularity for their mission. This is a very tech-heavy flavor of New Magic.
Assistants usher the Summoned towards the platform and offer a range of odd hand-held devices and wearable tech for anyone who would like a little extra boost. Alongside chemically powered lanterns, the Summoned are invited to pick up energy dispersing chestplates, power-assisted boots for increased speed or spring in a step and so on— though it's fair to say Aleksander's creations do all look like they might be more in the experimental stage.
Charged using a device some of the Summoned might recognize from Alexander's holiday experiment at the Circus of the Sciences, the transporter ray is ready to deliver the Free Cities' champions to the Singularity. Set on a timer, the device will activate a second time at dawn to generate a gateway to welcome them home with their winnings. Aleksander wishes them good fortune, ensures everyone is properly situated on the platform, and with a pull of a lever sends them on their mission.
By the Solstice itself, a great unlit pyre topped with a strange, crude effigy of a creature resembling a bear has been built in the middle of the town, encircled by a group of seven mages in elaborate masked costumes representing elements of the landscape around them— rocks, fields, forests and streams. But Rowan, who the Summoned have been directed to report to, is not among them. He stands by a smaller fire, uncharacteristically solemn. It is time for Solvunn and its champions to receive their blessings, though as always these come with a price.
Rowan directs each of the group to step up in turn and surrender something to the flames. These sacrifices can be small, but they must belong to the person giving them up. A garment they are wearing would suffice, or even just a lock of hair, a drop of blood, a clipped fingernail. These gifts, Rowan explains, will link each of the Summoned with a blessing they can carry with them as they travel to the Singularity.
Another mage wearing an elaborate antlered headdress bestows the blessings as the Summoned give their gifts, dipping an elegant hand into the flames and drawing a strange runic sigil onto their foreheads with the ash of the ceremonial fire— and instantly, the Summoned may feel they have received increased vitality, strength, speed, enhanced visual or auditory acuity. They are handed a lantern each and instructed to stand aside as the mages ask the gods to light their path, and once all gifts are distributed, the gathered mages lift their arms and begin to chant. A fiery tendril leaps from the sacrificial fire to the main pyre itself in a crackling arc that sustains itself there in the air, forming a doorway to the edge of the Singularity’s crater. This passage of fire will remain passable in either direction until the great pyre burns down to embers.
The more perceptive of the group may catch sight of huge, formless shadows moving at the very edge of their vision as they step through the fiery arch.
When each faction's group of champions emerge on the other side, they find themselves delivered to the closest point around the rim of the Singularity's crater to their home faction. A few miles in diameter and several feet deep, the crater is a strangely, perfectly circular depression in the desert with the towering monolith of the Singularity itself glowing faintly visible through the dark of night at its center— and unlike the last time the Summoned were brought here, they have time to catch their breath and let their eyes adjust, if they wish. Muted and diminished, the Singularity makes no attempt to draw the Summoned to itself. To approach it, they will have to walk.
Physically breaching the border of the crater makes shivers run down spines and hairs stand on end, but it seems Ambrose was right. Rather than being yanked without ceremony into the metaphysical realm of the Horizon, the Summoned are able to make their careful way over the sloping rim of the crater, where each party will be able to catch sight of lights moving in the darkness as the Summoned of other factions climb down to the arena of the crater's smoothly featureless floor.
The desert air is cold and clear in the dark of night, sound carrying easily across the distance between the three parties. Raised on its rocky plinth, the towering statue of the Singularity beckons. The Dimming reaches its nadir as the Summoned of each faction march towards inevitable conflict.
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Anger, however, is the one thing that isn't channeled into repaired headstones and reassembled statues. That anger has simmered below the surface since Thorne dragged him out of Wallachia, declared him a mistake or a threat or whatever, and thought that putting him in a cell was a good idea. It got worse when Sypha arrived and brought back the awful flood of memories of what had happened just before Thorne did that.
So the chance to make Thorne's life hard and to let at least a portion of that anger go? That's an opportunity not to be wasted. Not in the least.
He's taken none of the offered lanterns from the Free Cities, and long since discarded the experimental chest plate. A risk, yes, but Alucard's eyesight in the dark is perfectly fine (his father's heritage comes with a number of advantages), and there's no need for a spring in one's step when one can fly or turn into bats. The only thing he's taken is a sword, and sadly it isn't as attuned to him as he'd like. It's good enough. Just like this opportunity to spite Thorne is good enough.
The stairways represent a good opportunity to throw anyone off balance that is carrying one of the caskets. They're heavy and the stairs require balance and consideration. Anything might throw those walking up or down off balance, and the angle for it doesn't require perfection. Just a heavy blow.
That's when Ronan falls into the dhampir's line of sight. A few steps up. That's what needs to happen first before he can swoop in.
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He takes a breath and shifts the sling on his back until the weight feels as steady as it's going to get. As he begins to climb, he takes his last silver orb from its pouch and rolls it between his fingers like a good luck charm, like he might hold a rosary.
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Vampire speed being what it is, the only indication of an oncoming attack is a gust of wind before a slender figure bodychecks Ronan from the right side of the stairs.
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This time, Ronan drops down on purpose rather than letting gravity do the work for him. He keeps his back to the rock face as he sweeps the area with his eyes, but it's useless. The dark is all around him, blinding him as effectively as a bag over his head.
It doesn't matter. He doesn't have to fight. He just needs to protect his remaining casket long enough to disable whatever's coming at him. Rather than aiming for his invisible enemy, he crushes his orb at his own feet and lets the cloud of confusion engulf him as it explodes.
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Which means that he misses the orb's motion as he prepares a second iteration of his attack, sword now drawn. It isn't until the dhampir is inches away that the cloud smacks him in the face, and fuck!
A series of bats explodes, trying to get away from the cloud as it expands.
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It's the most complicated thing Ronan has ever dreamt — not because it can freeze all cognitive processes, but because it can eventually restore them. It would be so much easier if all he intended to do was permanently eradicate the mind.
He doesn't move from his crouched position. There's nowhere that's safer for him than at the epicenter of this bomb, because it's a dream that doesn't affect dreamers. Only everything else. He can't tell what it is that's out there, but it sounds like it's flying, which means soon it'll be falling.
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Moreover, that means the bats don't reconstitute themselves immediately into a single human shape. They won't until the effect of it all passes, however long that takes.
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Satisfied, he slowly rises to full height and beckons his ghost light, directing it toward the area he's sure he heard the bodies drop. As the dim light glides over the scattered bodies of disoriented bats, Ronan whispers to himself, "What the fuck?"
He'd normally indulge in further investigation of the weirdness before him, but the clock is ticking and he doesn't have any more orbs to use on the next enemy that finds him. The bats won't regain their senses for a half hour or so, but someone else might be right around the corner.
With a flick of his hand, he summons the ghost light to him and continues up the stairs as quick as his battered body can carry him.