Yankee
TruthHurts
princess
Plank SinatraKrat Zoo - Holding the Fort
Lvl 8 Sandalphon (61/80)
Edward’s @DracoLunaris Geralt’s @MULTI_MEDIA_MAN
Word Count: 2,337 (+3 XP)
As the bulk of the team spread out across the floors and wings of the Hall of Adventure, with the snarls and squelches of furious but brief combat against the carcasses grew fainter in the distance, Sandalphon absorbed everything she could about the new area. The Reindrix, now in the process of winding down after their involuntary involvement in the fight against the first wave of monsters, were very impressive up close. Though outwardly similar to caribou or elk, the puffy fur on their ears and tails gave them a oddly vulpine quality, and their icy antlers were nothing short of majestic. Sandalphon did not dwell on them beyond a cursory check-up, though, since animals were not her forte. Instead, driven partially by tactical necessity and partially by curiosity, she speed-read everything she could pertaining to the zoo itself.
Known as Krat Zoo, it seemed that this complex originally sat on the outskirts of the great city of Krat itself, though as a result of Galeem’s transplant the city itself was nowhere to be found. While she could glean that Krat seemed to hail from a world more advanced than her own but much less than Midgar, she couldn’t find much information on the city itself, since most of the material she found pertained to the zoo itself. Rather than clinically relaying animal facts in a dull and orderly fashion, the plaques, kiosks, and brochures she found presented the zoo to guests with a sort of theatrical bombast, embellishing and romanticizing not just the animals, but the proprietors of the zoo. The overarching narrative concerned one Colonel Little, a heroic gentleman explorer outfitted with curled mustache and pith helmet, who traversed the wilds of the world alongside his ‘eternal friend’, Rex the Crocodile, then returned home and built Krat Zoo to share his adventures with citizens young and old. Sandalphon studied a statue of the man briefly, noting his huge mustache and pith helmet as he beckoned visitors to join him on a grand educational tour. It sounded cheesy, but she couldn’t help but be interested. Just what had happened to this place?
After Edward dispatched a fresh wave of surveillance minions, the tactician stirred her from her silent observations. While both continued to watch for any signs of danger, he engaged her in light conversation about the weapon he’d sold her last night. “To borrow from automotive vernacular, it handles well,” she told him. “As a magic weapon, it feels far more natural in my hands than similar technological weapons. Without the need to compensate for physical projectile speed and bullet drop, I can be more ambitious with long-distance sharpshooting, limited only by the lack of scope. Usually, I detest random chance as a mechanic, especially in weapons. Reliability is vital; I must be able to utilize everything at my disposal without thinking. However, the transmogrification effect seems so potent that I’m willing to make an exception. As far as I can tell, it completely negates the target’s statistics when triggered. Depending on the specifics, the effect could turn the tide in any battle.” Considering the newfound power at her fingertips, however unpredictable, she would definitely treat the arcane firearm with respect.
”Ah so it was the weapon specifically that polymorphed the polar bear” Edward replied, mostly rhetorically, before commenting ”Quite powerful indeed. Particularly on something with such a high fire rate” as he had no such aversion to unreliable status effect application. All it took was volume, be it volume of firepower or volume of dice rolls on the individual shots. His own new rifle had 4 different ones being rolled on each shot, for example. Something was getting through with all those chances even if they weren't as individually effective as a fight ending polymorph.
”Still, what you’ve described seems more akin to familiarity with how the weapon handles than the specific fundamentals of the weapon. Or rather, that we’d need more data to eliminate that possibility. Some technological weapon that has similar projectile properties, if such a thing exists, perhaps?” He mused, making a few notes on the matter.
“While we’re here, I would like to ask you something,” Sandalphon told Edward. “I have been considering what we know of the rules that underpin this World of Light. That rumor about the Golden Order circumventing this world’s process of death is only the latest example of something defying the rules as we know them. In the interest of accounting for every possibility, I wanted to ask: are you personally aware of any individuals, from your home world, who managed to cheat death by transferring their consciousnesses -that is, their souls- out of their original bodies?”
”Cheating death is rather common… or, well, rather common at a state level, in the worlds of the astral sea, of which my home is but one. Most would act after death, rather than before it, however. To make preparations to cheat death preemptively, such that you can guarantee survival rather than relying on others resurrecting, reanimating, or reincarnating your using your body, you would either need to construct a Throne, or to become a godir,”
He then added context for those terms, explaining that ”A Throne is a physical anchor in the world that can be used to call the soul back and then reform the body. Typically an actual throne, as generally such an undertaking is only done for rulers and generals. A godir meanwhile is an individual whose soul is so heavily reinforced by magic that death merly sets their soul adrift in the astral sea rather than it being pulled to the well of souls where all the dead go.”
The exposition then continued, and was likely to continue for some time: ”Without a place for that godir’s soul go, however, be it back to their Throne, or to a neutral location which can resurrect them, such as Mage Haven, the soul would suffer the ‘Torment of Shadows’ which gradually twists them into a being of the astral sea. At that point it is a gamble as to if the soul retains any of its sanity, and becomes a being known as an ‘Eldritch Sovereign’, or utterly loses it and becomes a ‘lost wizard’. An eldritch sovereign can return, they are now functionally beyond death, a being of the astral sea rather than one of the worlds that float in it, but they are irreversibly changed in the process.”
”The godir plan is based on assuming the astral sea is even accessible. Given Galeem’s control over things and this ‘source engine’ it uses to populate the world I suspect that trying the same technique would be quite the gamble. The best bet, then, would be a Throne alone, but those require vast degrees of magic to produce. They are the pursuit of cities and nations, not individual sorcerers. Had we the resources, the extensive resources, piles and piles of crystalized mana, teams of assistants and artisans, I could construct one, but that is far more than the Seekers have at their disposal at the moment”
”Still, it is possible that others might have constructed these, or have had them pulled into this reality. It is possible to steal them, which is, or was, typically how Warlords and Rogue Lords of my home planet got their hands on theirs. Strike down the owner and then physically claim the throne before they can return, and they will suffer a true death, and you can take their place” he finally added, before giving a cough, apologising ”ah, my apologies for rambling on. Ultimately I think that the tensions such a throne might produce might be rather disastrous. Immortality is such a tempting thing, after all, and a conflict over who would be most worthy to claim it can only end poorly.”
Sandalphon wondered briefly if Edward had naturally just happened to use the royal ‘you’, or if he was more intuitive -or predisposed toward surveillance of allies- than he originally seemed. “Such means may not, however, be beyond Moebius. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can realistically do about such backups other than hope for the best, aside from dismantle them if we happen to learn of them. Since Moebius seem to suffer a ‘true death’ when eliminated and don’t return to the cycle, and they hold positions of rulership, they would be prime candidates for resorting to such methods.” Of course, since new Moebius would arise to replace any ones that did die sooner or later, the existence of death defiance only reinforced the idea that eliminating Moebius members would only ever be a temporary solution.
”Now there certainly is a group who’ve fallen for the temptation, and claimed it for themselves rather than because it better lets them serve the people. I’d certainly be unsurprised if they sought out additional failsafes” Edward replied, the man having been using ‘you’ mostly as an expedient. That and, because, well, he had used both methods in the life before this.
Sandalphon’s eyes had changed upon giving her explanation, but it had simply been to inverted triangles, which could really have meant anything, and so he took the explanation at face value. Mostly. No matter what anyone said, there were few who would truly turn down immortality itself, it was just the cost that got in the way of things, be it material or moral.
”How about yourself?” he instead asked Geralt
“Hm.” Geralt hummed, having taken up a spot of watch aside the carriage partway through their conversation. “Life beyond death is certainly something I've run into plenty of times, but to actually take a spirit and transfer it into another being? Only seen it once, and it went poorly.”
Stepping forward, Geralt continued. “I killed her. A woman, local legend claims, that brought three powerful witches into being, and slowly became mad with power. People sacrificed themselves to her, and those three witches killed her and sealed her spirit in a tree. Was sent to investigate deaths in the area of where she supposedly was, and found a being growing in the heart of a great tree.” Geralt took a breath, his pupils slowly narrowing to cat-like slits.
“And it begged me to free it. Claimed the witches, the crones, had betrayed and imprisoned her just like the stories. That they sent men to kill her, because she defied them.” His eyes flicked to the side, a flash of guilt. “I didn't trust her. Believed her. Didn't trust her, though. And, truth be told, I needed the crones’ help to find Ciri. Mind you, we killed two of them when we got the chance, they were monsters through and through, but…I needed their help. And I knew this thing would go after them if I let it. And who knows who else. So I killed it. It claimed to have a ritual that could have put its soul in a horse, but…I don't know what that would be. Or if it would even work, in my world or this.” He shook his head, and shrugged off another murder from his conscience, looking around.
“Place is interesting. Animals I've seen before, and plenty I haven't. Wonder how many worlds end up with similar creatures. The ones that came together millennia ago certainly didn't.”
Left with a grim cautionary tale in place of any usable information, Sandalphon could do little but look around the Hall of Adventure again once Geralt finished his answer. It seemed that many worlds offered grim fates to those brave, foolish, or desperate enough to try and cheat death. It was a natural and inescapable part of life, of course–under normal circumstances. Her impending fate, though, was unnatural, an unfair and unjust contrivance for the sake of control. If there were no good ways to cheat death out there, she would have to consider the consequences of a bad one.
With all the thoughts swirling in her head, she couldn’t come up with any sort of conversational reply to Geralt.
Luckily, Edward’s drones began to return about then. They’d found that the Hall of Adventure was more or less as she envisioned: huge, elaborate, and infested with grisly carcasses. Most of them belonged to former humans, but mandrills waited in ambush in certain hallways, clinging to ledges outside of windows they’d jump through in order to take prey by surprise. The newer west wing featured less overall damage, with more intact taxidermy displays as well as luggage and storage crates hoarded by those who’d tried to hole up there, now little more than unidentifiable mutated carcasses on the floor.
While the west wing didn’t seem to offer any alternate exits, the same could not be said for the east wing. It offered a large second-story balcony from which virtually any teammate could drop down and approach the big, heavy door from the outside. The door had indeed been secured by a set of heavy metal bars, but there were also a handful of strange, bulbous, growths. While these growths would explode like proximity mines if anyone got too close, they could be neutralized from afar for up to thirty seconds each.
To reach that balcony, though, anyone going through the east wing would have to contend with a horrible monstrosity. On the ground floor crawled a huge, lumbering carcass. Though the trunked face that drooped down from its skull like a half-shed cocoon painted it as an elephant, the hooved legs that hung from its hindquarters were foreign to the rest of it. Dragging those malformed, insufficient legs behind it, and unable to climb the stairs to the second floor, it staggered across the first floor restlessly, leaving a trail of sticky, corrosive decay behind it. Despite its sorry state, it would prove highly aggressive and capable of frightening short bursts of speed.
Sandalphon relayed the report to the crew. “White Team, be advised. East wing has a possible exit on the second floor. There is a large monster on the east wing’s first floor. Over.”