Hexaflexagon

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@Gowi
Don't judge me man!

Though I'm if we are technically speaking she could be anywhere at the start at least so if you prefer me to change locations I can do it. You just have to ask nicely.

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Boop.

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_{Z A T A N N A}

Zatanna Zatara, 29 (b. 1939)
_{Vigilante based in Gotham City, New Jersey
Active since approximately Two Weeks Ago}

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Well I figured it was about time I want back to my roots with spooky scary skeletons and the mystical. The sixties present a fabulous time to do it, swinging out of the repression under McCarthyism people started to look towards the weird again: Nancy Reagan consulted an astrologer to help plan her husband’s presidential schedule; Pat Robertson suggested feminism was a plot to make women take up witchcraft; Rick Santorum identified “the father of lies, Satan,” as America’s Number One enemy, or in other words the strange and the odd was getting more mainstream attention than it had ever had previously. The fascination with the occult that would peak in the eighties started here and I figure why not spice that up a little bit with actual devil worshipers and the like.

Giovanni Zatara, famed magician and World War II era superhero is gone. Not the gone as in went away sense of the word but really gone - seemingly wiped from existence and memory. The only person that seems to remember him is his daughter Zatanna Zatara. There was a time when Giovanni was training his daughter to take up his mantle as the next great Zatara crime fighter to continue a legacy stretching backwards towards antiquity to keep the forces of the beyond at bay. That time was long ago and seemingly a distant memory; after Zatanna had found out that Giovanni had been altering her memory since childhood in a way of 'protecting' her from experiencing too much trauma at a young age she stormed out. In the ten years that had followed Zatanna had all but given up on the very idea of magic and the arcane moving to Gotham where she would become a moderately successful costume designer. That all changed when a mysterious book was left on her doorstep, a book which would end up being her father's journal. Now trying to find him she has to deal with a whole different world of problems as it turns out things are starting to get loose from the Source Wall.

So in short it's Lovecraft but not the water-downed Lovecraft that most people are used to. It's the real Lovecraft filled with all the racism, sexism and horror that was involved. Yet at the same time it's a story about a woman's relationship with her estranged father, and also it's a story about legacy characters those that have to take up the mantle from those before them and how they deal with the expectations. The story will be split between the present, flashbacks to Zatanna's youth, and the occasional journal entry from Giovanni. (I've actually written out a solid plot outline this time aren't you folks proud?) It might be a little dark, and it might be a little strange and I'm going to have too much fun pulling all the weird things from the world of comic books, but hey the devil's in the details right?

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To be added. Maybe eventually. Probably.

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Hungover - John Constantine
Coming - Superman
Red- Cyclops
California Nights - Aquaman
Once Upon A Time In Mexico - Iron Man

Endless: A Tale of Villainy

_{| Evil Always Wins |}

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^{Fast Facts
▌ A fantasy world where the forces of evil won.
▌ Linear story driven by player choice.
▌ You are the protagonists but you definitely aren't good guys.
▌ Political machinations and intrigue. Conflicts of morality and duty.
▌ Blood magic is cool magic and the only magic.
▌ An intended exploration of the full scope and complexity of evil beyond your standard mustache twirling villains.}

_{T H E M O V E M E N T OF T H E W O R L D}

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The Empire of the Endless did not always have that name. Once it was but a simple land on the shores of the Sea of Tears known as the Aldrun Dominion, it would best if we started here. Following the demise of several inheritors before him, the nephew of Emperor Meerus III ascends to throne of the Dominion taking the name Caesius. Soon into his reign Caesius made a peerless sorcerer from the Jeweled Cities known only as the Hand as Judge of Shadows. Caesius was an ambitious man who saw only a land crumbling to decay, To secure a future for his people and more importantly secure his own legacy he began a great restructuring of the Dominion into a machine built for war.

The Dominion marched to war for the first time in over seventy years in the tenth year of Caesius reign. The first land to fall was Brant, a steadfast fixture upon the Known World from which the Dominion was originally a vassal of sometime ago. The years of Brant's supremacy were long behind it having long ago devolved into the home of squabbling lords and starving peasants. It was here that the Hand began to show their true powers. They began to spread seeds of discord and vials of rage among the lords of Brant. Soon Brant would consume into bitter civil war with each lord assuming that they could wrest control from their fellows and then steer a cohesive force against the Dominion. The blood had saturated the earth and the kingdom had fractured beyond repair; the Dominion marched it forces in with little resistance.

This pattern of Conquest would continue for another twenty years until almost all of the Continent of Nurban lay under their control. Emperor Caesius would never live to see his dreams of unification come true. He would die of a terrible affliction - poisoned at his Harvest Manor. The Emperor was dead and the void had to be filled. It would be in the resultant fallout of Caesius death in which the Endless would have its beginnings and the world would change forever.

The Hand moved quickly to secure their power. They had made alliances and allies among a significant majority of the Dominion's military. A tale was spun of treachery and betrayal most unjust of Caesius' sons and the Hand's enemies allying together and striking a deal to divide the Dominion up among themselves. The people rallied to the side of the Hand and by the end of the brief but brutal civil war, all the opposition lay dead, the central squares running red with blood birthed from executioner's axe. The Hand took on a new title, the Undying and the Dominion became the Endless.

Thirty years have past since the death of Caesius the Unifier who in his death had become revered as a god in the lands of the Endless. Thirty years have passed and the Rule of Order has fell upon most of the known world. The Rule is simple in its structure those that submit will be free of crime, pestilence, hunger, and given a limited reign of self-governance. Those that resist will be tortured, their families will be slaughtered, their villages destroyed, their histories wiped from existence, and only then will be they granted the mercy of death if only then to be risen again as a undead thrall.

The Undying does not enforce this rule personally save for the rare insistence when they must personally intervene with the conjuring of horrors unlike the world had ever seen. Instead the honor of enforcing the Rule falls to the Voices. The Voices are composed of the original thirteen generals of the Dominion that swore fealty to the Undying during the civil war. Each with their own duty and armies beneath them they are equivalent to demigods beneath their supreme being. For their loyalty they were rewarded touched by the Abyss, they have become much like their master twisted creatures of unending existence more monster than man able to bind reality to their will. The Voices do not get along without argument and petty squabbles and plays to secure more power between them are not uncommon.

Our tale focus in upon one of the many groups pledged beneath the Voice of War, Tarkus, a group known only as the Legion. Once called Caesius' Fist they were the second and the most well regarded and decorated of the fifty legions that made up the Dominion's military. Following the ascension of the Undying things became different. The legions who had sworn undying loyalty to Caesius and no one else were seen as something of a liability. And so they were sent to their deaths in suicidal missions against unfavored odds to be replaced by the Anthem, the horde of murders and monsters that make up the Endless' ranks. And soon the Second would became the singular remaining Legion through sheer determination and luck.

And so our tale begins on the eastern continent of Zanthalia. The armies of the Endless struggle to bring the continent to heel facing fierce resistance both internal and external. The Legion had almost entirely been decimated in the Breaking of the Walls of Avless and yet they are continued to be thrown into the fire once more. Throughout it all, strife threatens to tear the Endless apart as whispers of fighting between the Voices intensifies as rumors speak of an age old prophecy that could bring death to the Undying. You are not concerned with this. You are one of a cluster of legionnaire's remaining after Avless, you are just trying to do your job and make it out of this shitshow alive.

_{O O C I N F O R M A T I O N}

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Howdy I'm Hex and this is Endless. Taking inspiration from things like Malazan Book of the Fallen, Black Company, Tyranny and the like, Endless is a story about evil and all that means. To give you an idea our story focus upon a group whose history includes rampant destruction and the complete and utter eradication of entire races and they are the closest thing to "good guys" cause at least they are polite about it. Basically the general idea is what happens to a fantasy world when the Evil Overlord actually wins. When they become a living god and take over the world, when all the heroes are dead and all that's left is the slavers and the slaves. It's an exploration of duty vs morals, of totalitarian order vs free-reining chaos, and most importantly its an exploration of the ideas and driving forces of well evil.

The world Endless takes place in is old and storied. Yet at the same time much of its background has been intentionally left as vague snippets. Allowing you to extrapolate as you please. Player freedom to express and tell the story is paramount here. You, the Players shape this world and its up to you to deiced how this story ends. There is the vaguest idea of a central plot and a way forward but where this path leads to, which allies you make and which enemies you slay. It's up to you to decide which lines you are willing to cross in the name of survival and success. The story itself will go at a slower pace focusing more upon character interaction and development in the interest of creating good scenes and interactions between players rather than rushing forward from action set piece to action set piece. The focus always being on telling a good story.

So if you are at least a little bit interested why don't you come and say hi?

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

_{Two dudes present: two dudes talking about feelings in a surprisingly healthy manner given the nature of this band of fuckups.}

_{A R C H A D I A / / F O R E S T. . . I N T E R I O R.}

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Kain looked at the hand that landed on his shoulder. Corr, the one person who he didn’t have a actual problem with seemed intent of fixing that little irregularity with his comments. Yet there was no malice, no arrogance. He was not like Carmen, posturing and beating her chest with taunts and empty posturing. Not a manipulator who saw only tools. There was a sense of calm to the man, like someone that seen the world for what it is and decided it would not shackle him.

“Like the rock that that split the wave. Like the sun bleached stone and frozen and cracked earth, he will remain even when our fire have scorched the flesh and vegetation off the world's crust.” His aeon coiled inside him the fires dimming down. An act itself that was downright confusing for Kain. But Kain was not one who saw things the way of his fellow soldier. He was born and shaped not from natures elements, but from the nature of his fellow cruel man. His tone, as he spook was not unkind, but it carried a harshness to it. Tinged with bitter resentment not for Corr, but for everyone else.

“And who would put the hound down, The Government? I would have wasted away in a cell either way.” He said with a snarl that bared teeth, much like the proverbial hound he now apparently represented. “Besides, there is no such thing as a controlled fire, only a dying or a contained one.” He said before the plan was layed out by Carmen. He scoffed. Their plan was fire? Why bother with sticks when he could just light whatever tree they came upon on fire. Regardless, he nodded.

“Alright. I’ll go with Corr." IT was a statement of fact rather than anything else.

“Fine by me.” Replied Corr as he made a quick gesture with his head towards a path through the surrounding foliage. He could talk to the man once they were moving and away from the group proper. In his time he had learned folks respond better to that, felt more comfortable not encircled by judging ears. But he did think on the words that Kain had said, the thread as it were still flickered and flared and that bothered him. Yet that was typical of him - there was something wrong and so he had to try his hardest to fix it.

Purposefully he did not lead but kept his gait at an even peace with the other man so that they walked side by side, shoulders almost touching. It was a strange thing as Corr was not used to somebody that was nearly his height, he could keep his head straight for once instead of keeping it perpetually cocked downward. Yet these new foreign sensations were outweighed by the feeling in the back of his head as small pockets of energy sparked as their close proximity made the auras released by their aeons clash and bounce off of one another. Much like whenever the others draw in the Giant rumbled agitated by the other presence.

He sighed.

“No, the Government won’t put you down - they are too weak willed for such things but I will.” He spoke simply not mincing his words, no idle threats to show dominance, only a simple promise between equals. He continued. “A warrior controlled by his rage is but a slave to it. You speak of contempt of the idea of rotting in a cell, yet you let your anger hold a dominion over you that no prison warden could ever have, and I just don’t understand why to be honest with you.”

“What do you feel, when you look upon the word. What did it give you?” Kain said, not looking Corr's way. “I will tell you what I see. I do not see people, I see those that condemn me. I do not see trees, I see the fuel of my fires. Why? Because I was given nothing. I took everything I ever had but for one thing. And that one thing was taken from me. Ripped out of my grasp, because I dared to dream of more. And so I tried to make a life for myself, despite the old one doing everything to snuff me out.” He said as he picked up what he thought looked like the driest and largest sticks on their way. His eyes never looking to Corr, just staring ahead, as if he was searching for something.

“When the time comes.” He began, kneeling, picking up a particular large branch. “I rather it be someone like you, who take me down. Then someone like Carmen. Out of all of them, you are the one who does not make my insides boil with rage” He finally look the others way. “If you are able, that is.” He rose to his feet.

“I was made the way I am. I was turned into what I am not by nature, but by people. The only person I ever truly cared for is dead, I buried him myself. Everywhere I have gone, people have tried to control me, and every time, I have bucked them off. What they cannot control, they fear. What they fear, they kill or put in a box to rot. You see me as a prisoner of my own anger. Maybe you are right. But I rather be a prisoner to that rage, then sit behind the dull bars of obedience.”

“I suppose we are all trying to get free of something.” Corr mused pondering upon the words spoken as he tilted his head skyward. The canopy had become progressively thicker as they moved deeper into the forest proper, now there was only the darken silhouettes of branches occasionally broken up by small pockets of stars. The smell of smoke was filling the air as various fires crackled to life in the surrounding area.

“But,” Corr looked back towards his companion, “to answer your question. I’m not quite sure what I see the world as anymore.”

He laughed dry and morose.

“The first thought that comes to mind is abandonment. I see a world which has forsaken me. A world where every good deed, innumerable moments of a lifetime were repaid with nothing but sorrow. They gave me praise and titles such as Commander and yet I only feel the loss for what once was and fear that I'm becoming what I once hated. I saved a woman in the slums not too far from here and in return I was repaid with self-damnation. Even if a time comes where I can leave this life behind - which I highly doubt would even come, there is nothing I can return to; to my people what I have become is nothing more than a wretched best, a weapon forged from union of flesh and sin.” Corr explained as he felt the Giant grumble and roar more loudly roused by an influx of emotions normally kept at bay. “And I’m not a perfect man, I’m no saint despite my namesake, and sometimes all I wish to do is just crush it all, make them pay. And it would be so damn easy.”

A fist snapped outward like lighting bursting across the sky, and slammed into an adjacent tree, the trunk groaned and bark splintered fragmented by spiderweb fissures and cracks. The fist crackled and roared with energy unrestrained by force of will. Kain was to see something most rare indeed, for a brief moment something began to form behind Corr like a shadow come to life but made of brilliant white - the Giant let loose. But with a breath it vanished and Corr was back in his normal composure as he drew the fist from its tiny crater and examined the now bloodied knuckles, a smile upon his face.

“But then I remember all the little things. The shameless dreams of children, the unrestrained love of youth, the smiles on the families which let me sleep in their homes when the cold came, and the laughter. And maybe in the end if I managed to at least make one more person smile, help just one person it will all be worth it. Or at least that’s the hope that I desperately cling to” He shrugged.

“I guess you could call me desperately naive. But maybe I’m a prisoner to my hope as much as you are to your anger.”

“I could imagine worse bars to be trapped behind. Hope” He said the word as if it was a rare spice he hadn’t tasted in a long while “Hope makes you do stupid things, reckless things. But unlike anger, the strength hope gives does not.. Break all reason. Or blind you to everything.” He said before pushing his palm against a crooked, wind bleached dead tree. There was a spark of fire as his arms briefly was engulfed in white hot flames. Then the tree was burning just as bright.

“And yet it still does blind you.” Corr said more to himself as he watched tree feeling the warmth creep out towards him in the chill of the night. “I ask a favor of you Kain - Give the others a chance. I do not ask for love or for acceptance, but only an open mind.”

Kain hesitated, but then he nodded. The fire around his arm died out and he reached it out. “I will.” He said finally, grabbing the others hand in his. “If only because you remind me of someone. Someone who asked me the same thing once.”

Corr could feel it in the vocal inflections, a familiar sense of painful nostalgia that he knew all too well. He didn’t pry upon the matter though. He liked to believe that a man was entitled to his past, and there were some things that were better left unsaid. He did though reply with a simple smile and a nod of his head. “They sound like a person who I wouldn't want to disappoint. A good person.”

He reached out unflinching towards the burning tree and ripped off a branch and tossed it with tremendous strength out towards the horizon, a trail of smoke following behind it as it deposited itself somewhere in the distance. “And for my part I promise to keep Carmen and the others to the same standard of which I’m holding you to now. If anyone tries to start anything, they are going to have to answer to me. And we will see how that turns out for them.”

He laughed again lighter this time, less weighed down. Whether he liked to admit it or not it felt good to actually be able to talk to somebody again.

“Well we best finish lighting these fires and get back eh? World to save and whatnot.”

“Are we saving the world? Damn, They really need to brief us better”

Spiritum

And the first part is done. You heard that right first part. This thing became so gosh darn long that for sake of clarity and not having to read a giant wall of text, I split it up into two posts, the second of which I'm working on right now. But in the meantime y'all can read all that plot that's going on. And ponder the dark mechanisms at work or whatever. I don't know.

Spiritum

"So are you single, or...?"

Colette managed to keep down whatever liquid she had just ingested with minor effort.

“You don’t just...” She started even as words were swallowed by a sigh. “I was up until recently engaged to be married.”

“Was? What happened” Setzer prodded between a mouthful of bread that he had stuffed in his mouth crumbs exploding outwards from the open orifice. Lee had opened up an avenue of attack, so it was only fair that they followed it through till the end. Get all the information they could and that. That and whether he like to admit or not he was a sucker for gossip.

“He died during the initial push into your country. Sniper.” She explained with a shrug as she pointed towards her head and pantomimed getting her brains blown out.

“Oh...” Setzer muttered. There wasn’t anything in their training that dealt with something like this. “Sorry, I guess? I mean he probably would've killed us so I don’t feel that bad”

“It’s fine really. It was a political thing, he wasn’t even my..”

Colette began stumbling over her words as she tried to backpedal the conversation. Despite her best or well intended efforts, an awkward silence easily hung itself over the group. The only sounds being the occasional rustling of plastic packaging and liquid being poured from cups. Colette was rather confused why they only seemed to be carrying copious amounts of alcohol on them, but admittedly it was helping with the nerves. Daryll rejoined the group having aquired places to sleep for the night. The old woman he had bartered with poked her head out of the office telling them that she was heading to bed and that they better damn well clean up after themselves or she would charge them extra.

As Zimmy left, Colette nodded her appreciation even as Setzer called out after her.

“I mean if you want to just hoard Lee for yourself, you just need to tell us.”

Colette attention turned from her intense examination of the asphalt beneath her feet as Trent thanked her. “Don’t mention it. It was Gideon that kept me from ramming us headlong into a tree.”

The air was relaxed despite the circumstance that they had just survived. A return if desperately forceful to the levity of what seemed like a lifetime ago. A way for frantic hearts and racing minds to slowly come to terms with events and what lay ahead of them. It was easy enough for Colette to imagine that these people could actually be her friends. But she knew better than that, they no doubt like those back home thought of her ideas of peace as nothing more than a child’s dream.
As Galahad addressed her with a level of forced civility that the Princess had become accustomed to over the years she could only nod her head. The mere mention of sleep tugging at her tired frame. She was exhausted both physically and mentally from the ordeal that had occurred. Those acutely attuned to the Mist would have noticed something odd, once more about the girl. Even now as she just spoke and talked she was like a low flickering flame Mist in small quantities being constantly formed around her - like a strange homeostasis. Part of her wanted to scream, part of her wanted to cry over Ardin and the rest that she lost, bust mostly she just wanted to forget this day had ever happened.

“Sleep actually sounds like a great idea.” She admitted as she stood up and gave a curt bow as she excused herself definitely misplaced in the circumstance, but forgiven nonetheless.

Setzer finished consuming what was maybe about half of their squandered food supplies. Wincing in pain he stretched out his left arm and rolled it backwards feeling the shoulder crack and pop. He felt like shit, he looked like shit and was doing the best he could to control the urge of running back into that forest and kicking the living shit out of every one of those damned robots. He looked at those who remained running a hand through his hair, dried flakes of blood that had been pancaked in falling to the ground.

“Well this is a shitshow,” He sighed “guess we should all hit the sack as well.”

He stood up.

"Warning though Galahad if you wake me up at five in the morning because you are doing your pretty boy hair, I will throttle you.” Setzer explained with a smirk, the jab falling somewhere between completely serious and pulling a leg.

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_{Thirty Kilometers from the current Front, Vangar Occupied Rassvet (VOR), Vangar Central Command (formerly Fort Kierksten)}

High General Zalser Auckwaeld was awake as he had been for the better part of two days. He stood hands clenching the sides of the large constantly updating tactical map. At the moment though the map was silent with the early hours of the morning came with it an odd peace. A peace that had lasted for the better part of a day as the ceasefire held for the Princess Colette’s meeting with the enemy. Yet still the general examined his options, a level of unease unable to be shaken.

He ran a hand through his black hair which had more splashes of grey than he would of liked. The weight of command was showing even upon his young shoulders of thirty three, expectations mounting upon him. He was the prodigy, the perfect tactician meant to easily secure a victory for his great Empire, and forever be known as a hero to the people. Though in honestly all he wanted to do was head home, maybe eat a steak and go fishing. But one did their duty no matter what their stomach told them otherwise.

He heard the sounds of footsteps in the hallway and looked up as one Tellah Resbaan entered the room. She was dressed simply as to not stand out from the other members of the camp, yet the green of the irises flickered with a uncertainty against the natural dark pallor of skin. Resbaan was an officer in the Intelligence division, graduating the same year from the academy as Zalser they had managed to establish a rapport with the lieutenant serving as his ears and ears within the shifting world of the vast and often unchecked Vangar intelligence community. She walked in with little regard to common formality crossing the distance between them quick positioning herself at the other end of the tactical map.

Knowing that she would tell the reason for her interruption when she was good and ready Zalser turned around and moved toward the back corner where a small trunk sat. He pressed a finger against the biometric lock lifting the lid and reaching in producing a bottle of brandy. Two small glasses materialized from the clutter of his workspace and were quietly filled. All the while he kept watching Resbaan from his periphery. She was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, whatever had just come down the wire had to be important and not good in equal measure. He walked over glasses in hand and set one down in front of her.

She looked at him puzzled.

“You look like you need it.” Zalser insisted and she nodded her thanks and with a measured practice she downed the entirety of its contents. “So?”

“Honestly? Don’t where to start.” She answered breathing out deeply. “Little birds from back home just sent us some bad news.”

“The nobility clamouring for another withdrawal?” The general replied dryly as with much more moderation took smaller intakes of his own drink. Distilled in the highlands it was something of an acquired taste bitter as all hell and went down just as easily. Yet it was what he had bottles upon bottles of the stuff after the tabloids had caught him drinking it in a cafe while he was on leave.

“Aren’t they always?” Tellah replied with a small smile which quickly faded away. “We lost contact with the Palatine.”

“What?” Zalser himself wasn’t monitoring the young princesses’ ship. His own team had stopped communicating with the ship soon after it crossed into Rassvet airspace as to not give the heathens a chance to tap into their communication systems of the offensive during a so called time of peace. That task was dedicated to the 1st and 2nd Imperial Dragoons as was their duty whose base of operation was back at the Capital.

“A distress signal was sounded about there,” She gestured to a point on the map, “but it quickly dissipated and the ship has now all but vanished.”

“Rassvet wouldn't be so asinine to strike a diplomatic envoy.” Zalser tried to argue but Tellah just gave him a knowing shrug.

“We can only assume the worst.” Tellah continued. “The best case scenario is that they were attacked by a splinter group opposed to any idea of a settlement, but given how quickly the Palatine was silenced that seems unlikely.”

“Has his Imperial Majesty heard yet?”

“He has,” Tellah replied whistling a shrill unsteady note, “and he is understandably not pleased.”

“This can only go over well.” Zalser replied as he downed the remaining portion of his drink with much more vigor than before.

“He’s been in council with the advisory committee for the last several hours.” Tellah explained turning to look Zalser straight in the eye. “The common consensus is within the hour, everybody here is going to get the order to drop the hammer.”

The general did not speak he simply ran his hand through his hair once more. ‘Dropping the hammer’ was a seemingly innocuous phrase that was spoken of much in the Vangar military but not often used in practice. As most of its military campaigns were of seizing territory for resettlement and bringing into the folds of the Empire, they were delicate and precise affairs: collateral damage often being kept to a minimum, towns and other non-essential infrastructure of the enemy war effort was to be preserved, and civilian populations treated with a measure of restraint. It was a simple matter that Vangar had to effectively rule the land after it was conquered and if it was entirely decimated and filled with an angry populace that wasn’t an easy thing to accomplish.

In contrast ‘dropping the hammer’ referred to the opposite, a full offensive - total war as it were. Cities were to be leveled to the ground, no soldiers were to be allowed to surrender and any citizen that resisted would be treated as a combatant. All restraint shown by the mightiest empire of Yerin fell away and the weight of its military slammed into the opposition. The last time such a campaign was waged was nearly fifty years ago with the assault of Xiaeir, a vast kingdom of interconnected city states within the great Xia Desert. These days the Xia Desert goes by another name - the Sea of Glass for obvious reason.

Zalser let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “Well it would seem we are to have a real war after all.”

“Yep.”

“Thank you Tellah, you’re dismissed.”

The woman nodded and turned walking towards the exit, she turned around one last time. “You know you still owe me that dinner right?”

Despite the current circumstances Zalser chuckled. “I hear the restaurants of Orestia are some of the best in the world. Shame.”

And with that Zalser turned back to his map. There were things to be done.

---

_{Council Chamber, Unknown Vessel}

The sounds of more than a dozen voices arguing filled the council chamber. A gargantuan semi-cylindrical drum in the center annex of the ship. It rose high into a vaulted ceiling where faces were concealed in the darkness. The only light coming from the soft orange glow from the eyes of the several automatons stationed throughout the room.. The thrum of activity rising in pitch and intensity as debate soared after the latest encounter.

There was the groan of metal of the far side of the chamber and the voices grew silent. The towering double doors which lead into the chamber intricately laced with glowing glyphs carved in the pattern of pulsing blue circuitry were pushed open by the two towering automatons that stood guard on the other side. A sliver of light from the harshly lit hallway cut through the darkness like a dagger as the door was opened just enough to allow a figure to pass between the tremendous frame.

Silhouetted in light and shadow the figure, a man, walked into the the chamber his boots echoing through the large space that had fallen silent. The armor he wore bristled with a combination of Mist and advanced technology black as the night, shimmering and morphing almost like it was alive. Long hair, white as fresh snow, slicked back away from the face. The face itself was harshly angular with high prominent cheekbones that gave an almost otherworldly appearance. A heavy bandage was currently placed over his right eye where the old man on the Palatine had managed to strike him. The other eye seemed to glow in the darkness, a cat-like yellow. He stepped into the middle of the chamber onto a large circular platform where beyond its edges everything seemed to just drop into a dark abyss, upon reaching the center of the platform he knelt down.

“You let the Catalyst escape Primarch Raeth.” A voice echoed out from the darkness that stretched above the Primarch.

“There was no other choice.”

“We only needed seconds more.”

“Seconds more and we would've past the boundary of the forest and then the illusory wards placed before hand would have been gone. Every man, woman, and child within sight would of seen the explosions upon the horizon.” The Primarch explained as he tilted his head peering into the darkness. “To bring attention to us would only further complicate matters.”

“You speak the truth Primach,” Another voice began different from the first - higher, “and yet every moment we waste we draw ever closer to that which cannot become.”

“Next time the Catalyst will be ours.” Raeth spoke back assuredly. “We have eyes upon them as we speak and all communications have been jammed, nobody outside speaks to them without us knowing it and allowing it. It’s only a matter of finding the right time to strike.”

“Yes, but what of the interlopers?” The first voice asked as a projection was displayed into the room of a image of the group that had helped the Catalyst escaped the crash site. Faces turned upwards towards the large vessel above them.

“An unforeseen inconvenience, but they are mere children they are of no worry to us.”

“Meer children which fought their way through our forces.” The higher voice answered in a sing-song manner.

“Children that nearly died to our weakest automations. As I said, they are nothing more than an inconvenience. Bugs which will easily be crushed.”

“As you say Primarch. I hope you are right for all our sakes.” The first voice responded doubt still marking the edges of its tone.

“As am I.”

“You are dismissed.”

And with that the Primarch rose and left the chamber, the doors closing behind him.

A C T O N E E N D

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

@Hellis

Spiritum

Hey look at that posts! I'll work on the next plot post this weekend.

@AlexStarsion
Gotta just work through that funk. Sometimes you have good days and sometimes you have bad ones.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

And I have a minute free so I'll poke my head in (still probably won't be actually be available till the weekend but hey). Rushing that post actually works on another level since the distraction team or what left of it is odd numbered if I believe? That being said @Hellis,@AmongHeroes if either of you needs to yell at Corr just yell at me and we'll see what we can do. Otherwise I'll just sit here and watch the interpersonal drama with glee because I'm apparently a thirteen year old.