Oraculum

Galaxy Aflame! A space opera RP (Closed)

((Collab with @Ozerath))

MSV Friedrich Lochland
ICX-979 System
Restricted Space

MSV Friedrich Lochland stood still in space, vigilantly watching over the swarms of mining drones swirling about the asteroid field nearby. MSV was perhaps a misleading prefix for the Friedrich Lochland. It was indeed registered with the Commonwealth Ministry of Commerce as a “Merchant Space Vessel”, but it was considerably faster and better armed than most ships of the same designation. Friedrich Lochland was in fact a decommissioned Resiliant class battlecruiser, purchased and refurbished from the scrapyards above Bravia. Formerly named RCNS Impatient, the vessel’s original hull was over a hundred years old, and it had been mothballed for 50 before being refurbished and renamed. The Resiliant class predated Commonwealth positron beams, so its turrets were less potent grasers. Combined with the removal of its axial weapons, it was cleared for civilian ownership and operations, but it was still very much a warship. Just a very, very old one.

The expense of purchasing and maintaining such a vessel exceeded the costs of a more traditional freighter, but the Friedrich Lochland’s captain had come to possess it under some interesting circumstances-namely with assistance from the Office of Naval Intelligence. The captain himself was an interesting man, engaged in all sorts of interesting business. His name...was also Friedrich Lochland. Lochland was a bit of everything; innocent cargo hauler when it suited him, smuggler and gun for hire most of the time. He occasionally took passengers as well; there wasn’t much of a market for high security high discretion personal transport, but those few who needed the service tended to pay well.

Lochland prowled around the bridge, deep within his ship’s armoured bulk. He was a male Vit’azny, a touch over 70. He was a little on the tall side and a little on the thin side. His frame was lithe, but well muscled, and he twisted a stylus between his fingers with tremendous dexterity.
"Status?" he called out, continuing to fidget with the stylus.
"All clear. Wild Rose and Rusty Razor report holds are at 80%." Vana replied with a touch of exasperation. Vana was a yanissan woman who served as Lochland’s pilot and first officer. On most ships, the two roles were filled by separate people, but Lochland insisted that he was the only one allowed to walk around the bridge looking ‘captain-y’, so his first officer had to be firmly seated to avoid clashing with his image.
“Well I’m sorry that my concern is bothering you Vana,” Lochland replied sarcastically. “We’re just a little exposed here, and starships are very expensive. I think about these things Vana, that’s why I’m Captain and you’re...well, definitely not Captain.”

Lochland’s sarcasm blew over his XO like so much hot air, the woman having long since gotten used to his eccentricities. Something on the display gave her pause though. Vana frowned. “Hold on, I think we just detected a bunch of FTL transits...Confirmed. Nine signatures, one of them outmasses us by a good chunk too."

Lochland stopped fiddling with his stylus, his face grim. This had been a possibility from the beginning; the system was in restricted space for a reason. But its fabulous mineral wealth had made it too tempting to pass up for a particular mining consortium, and they were paying Lochland a staggering sum of money to escort two of their ships.

"Signal the miners. Tell them to flush the holds and abandon the drones, we're leaving right now."

Thankfully, the mining captains didn't argue. They were evidently frightened enough to listen to their escort without question. The three ships set off on a vector that would clear them of a nearby gas giant's gravity well while keeping them away from the unknown ships. But the problem was speed. Friedrich Lochland could have outrun their pursuers on its own, but the mining vessels were proving to be too slow, even with empty holds. Lochland watched the plot as the unknown ships drew closer.

"Captain...we'll have to leave the miners behind." Vana said quietly. That was certainly an option. It would mean forfeiting pay, but money wasn't much good if you weren't around to spend it. Lochland was seriously thinking about it when a particular memory struck him, a young boy saluting a uniformed father he'd never see again. A memory that had troubled him for years, and gotten him into trouble many times.

"No. Turn us around and prep for combat. Tell the miners to keep running for the well limit." Lochland said firmly.

Vana sunk her head. "Captain, I know what you're thinking but you're going to get us all killed."

"You're welcome to take a shuttle and leave, if you're feeling cowardly. The ship is staying to fight, and I'm staying with my ship. You're all welcome to run actually..." he cast an eye around the bridge, but no one moved from their post. "Good. Now prep for combat."

The 'Merchant Space Vessel' did exactly that. Armoured shutters slid down to protect vulnerable areas, the space around her flickered as her shields came up, and missile hatches and railgun batteries popped up into battle configuration.

Meanwhile, the unknown vessels, having fully emerged from the spatial ruptures they had opened, had approached dangerously close. Though the distance was still too great to distinguish most of their shapes' finer details, their overall appearance was dishearteningly clear. The distinctively sleek and smooth black hulls, scattered with green markings, betrayed their origin, yet this was apparently not a concern for whomever had sent them. While it was not yet entirely recognisable, their sides bore the criss-crossed golden circle of the Yrrkeltharl Coalition. Whether by chance or machination, a small fleet of its battle drones had found its way to that perilous out-of-the-way system; and anyone who had ever had dealings with the Coalition knew that, however horrid and strange its acts, it rarely ever did anything by chance.

The nature of this force showed that whoever had sent it not only knew what they were doing, but likewise did not want to take any chances. Over half of it was made up of small, oblong and predatory Thorns, which now were speeding further and further ahead of the other ships as their infamously fast sublight drives accrued strength. Behind them came a couple of Nhuul Parasites, their mechanical mandibles already poised to sink into the enemy's hull. Some way to the side, a single Tlaelon Scavenger, not as minuscule in comparison to the Friedrich Lochland as the others, flew in a way that would have been cautious had it not been a machine, occasionally swerving evasively to one side or the other.

But it was the last of the drone ships that truly laid the Coalition's intentions bare. Advancing much slower than its escorts, yet not the less threatening for it, a Nfaal Devastator was making its way towards the old Resiliant and its charges. The vast, gleaming bulk was partly obscured by the crackling of its shields, stronger by orders of magnitude than those on the Parasites, but what could be glimpsed of it, from the vicious spike of its spinal projector, flanked by what seemed to be purely ornamental steel jaws, to the grates running along its armoured back, eerily similar to some gigantic monster's ribcage, seemed to be there solely to flaunt the construct's deadly purpose.

As the Lochland began to turn about, three of the Thorns abruptly accelerated and shot forward so suddenly they became for a moment a blur on the sensors. However, they were not headed towards the battlecruiser itself. Turning aside by a slight angle, they moved to intercept the mining ships, cutting off the shortest route out of the gravity well. At the same time, the other two, followed by the Parasites, charged the larger craft head-on in a bid to distract it from the threat to the miners. Beams of pale-green light flashed from their prows, and the Nhuul began to pulse with ominous light-blue luminescence as they charged up their unmakers.

Lochland watched the various ships manevuering about intently. His own vessel had barely completed its turn, and there was plenty of time to intercept the group heading for the miners. But that would expose him to the second group...ah well, he'd already committed to protecting the miners, might as well go all out. "Match vectors with Bogey 2, I don't want them reaching the miners. Railgun batteries to full offensive fire, smaller vessels are the priority targets. I want all missile launchers on rapid fire mode, double broadsides on Bogey 2, a mix of standoff warheads and proximity nukes. Main graser batteries, target Bogey 2. Disable engines if you can, but whatever you do don't let them reach the miners."

"What about Bogey 1?" Vana asked, referring to the group of ships targetting Friedrich Lochland itself.
"We'll just have to worry about them later." Lochland said, trying to project calm. They had to be Coalition ships, he thought to himself. The system was near enough to where their territory apparently lay, and the designs of the ships didn't match anything in the databanks, so they had to belong to that mysterious faction. He'd heard stories of the Coalition, but only stories, and had hoped never to encounter them. Too late now.

Friedrich Lochland turned about again, maneuvering to intercept the Thorns pursuing the miners. Her missiles were the first to fire, all of her tubes from both broadsides throwing their weight towards the still distant targets. A second salvo of missiles was away scant seconds after the first, then her dorsal and ventral graser turrets lashed out with their invisible fire. Finally, her broadside railguns opened up, barraging both groups of enemies with relentless fire.

The grasers and the first salvo of missiles reached their targets almost simultaneously: without access to military munitions, the Friedrich Lochland made do with weaker bomb pumped lasers and good old fashioned nukes, which furiously erupted among the Thorns, even as the graser turrets swept across them, with the first waves of railgun rounds coming in close behind.

Struck so suddenly in their progress, just as their speed had reached such heights as to make manoeuvering impossible, the drones found themselves in the very middle of the barrage. In an instant they were engulfed by the explosions bursting out around them, tossing them off-course and causing them to careen dangerously close to each other. One of them attempted to redress itself, firing its thrusters forward to stabilise its mass, only to find itself shredded by the oncoming railgun projectiles. Its armour, already weakened by the grasers, gave way, and the metallic shell caved inwards as though something inside it had begun to drag and fold the hull. In an instant, a misshapen husk surrounded by minute debris was all that was left of it.

Another of the Thorns tried to spin sideways without slowing down to elude the Friedrich Lochland's fire, but its excessive momentum, combined with the debilitating effect of the explosions and a lucky graser shot having hamstrung its lateral propulsion drive, caused it to spiral uncontrollably and crash into the remains of the first one. Beaten, but still functioning, it began to retreat in order to resume its trajectory, but some well-placed rounds struck it in the fractured point, penetrating into its engines. With an inaudible groan, the ship seemed to literally implode, an invisible anomaly at its core drawing in both what was left of it and the carcass it had slammed into, reducing both to an unrecognisable bundled lump.

The third drone, however, was more fortunate. Flying at the head of the group, it had already been rather forward when the barrage struck, leaving only a section of it exposed. While that part did include the vital rear thrusters, it had nonetheless escaped serious damage. Graser burns pitted its flank, and stray railgun slugs tore off pieces of its armour, but, though battered, it flew on, without even losing much of its impetus. In a blink, it was near the scrambling mining ships. With an abruptness that would have left a living pilot smeared over the walls of the cockpit, the craft decelerated and swung around, facing its defenceless targets. Yet its goals must have been less evident than they seemed, for, instead of firing at them directly, it began to weave over them, blasting their engines with surgical accuracy. It shot to cripple, but not to destroy.

All the while, the four vessels that had hurled themselves against the Friedrich Lochland had drawn so close as to be visible to the naked eye. And they showed no sign of stopping. One of the Thorns swerved towards the main drive at its rear; the other dodged upwards, aiming for the heaviest weapon emplacements. They were within metres from the battlecruiser, and still they did not stop. If anything, they were going faster, their great speed letting them punch through the old battlecruiser's shields with minimal effort.

The battlecruiser's batteries were barely fast enough to respond. Mere seconds before the drone struck the larger ship's flank, it was torn to scraps by intensely focused fire from directly before it. The greatest part of the Thorn fractured into several pieces before and inward force akin to the one that had claimed another from its ranks sucked it in, compressing the loose plates and machinery with tremendous strength. Only a few stray shards of debris clattered harmlessly against the Friedrich Lochland's armor.

But the other drone met no such resistance. Avoiding the sparse belated blasts from the fore, it sped along the ship's side, now distinctly locked onto its rear. Another moment, and it struck. Its spiked head tore into plating, scattering parts of itself around as it did. The whole carapace began to crack open as it was still moving, the anomaly within it seeming to grow by being fed with tatters of both hulls. There was a silent creaking, and a section of Friedrich Lochland's drive aft collapsed on itself, sending shudders through its whole bulk, before exploding into a series of bright flashes.

The ship bucked and heaved as the smaller vessel tore into it and explosions ripped down the aft section of the hull. Emergency bulkheads slammed into place, the shields flashed and failed, and on the bridge, Lochland himself was thrown off his feet as the lights and displays flickered. But the ship was built to last, and it kept fighting, railgun batteries lashing out with massed fire.

"We've lost the GDC. We're not going anywhere now," Vana reported grimly. Lochland clambered back to his feet. Technically they were still travelling at a great speed, but they could no longer accelerate or decelerate, except with tiny amounts of thrust provided by maneuvering thrusters. Lochland glanced over at the tactical display, noting the 1 remaining hostile surgically carving up the mining vessels. He couldn't risk another full barrage, not with the miners so close, but he still had grasers...

"Wait for a shot, then blast that last guy from Bogey 2 with all the grasers. Throw all our missiles at that farthest ship from Bogey 1, keep railguns at maximum offensive fire!"

The remaining Thorn finished crippling the first mining ship, then moved to begin it's surgical attack on the second. As it moved between them, Friedrich Lochland's grasers fired, reaching out at the speed of light and neatly catching the Thorn in its center of mass.

The missiles flew off towards the more distant Scavenger, their number reduced and their targetting compromised, but still deadly. The railguns kept right on pounding away at the approaching Parasites. The Devastator remained untouched, its vast bulk too much for the crippled battlecruiser to contend with.

While the last Thorn imploded upon itself as it was struck directly in its battered midsection, the Scavenger continued to weave at the edges of the battlefield. Until that point, it had not yet fired a single blast, though it had had ample opportunity to do so. Now, abruptly finding itself the target of enemy fire, it seemed to gain speed as it began to twist and dodge in even more intricate patterns than before. A few of the missiles were thrown off their trajectory before they reached it, swinging wide past the ship. As another cluster approached, the Tlaelon hurled a brightly-pulsing sphere of plasma at it. Some of the warheads fired off moments before it reached them, scattering the others; yet that did not prevent them from being drawn in by the unmaker bolt's second wave and incinerated as the sphere collapsed upon them. The last few missiles crashed against the drone's shields, which momentarily dimmed before starting to rapidly recondense.

At the same time, the Parasites, which were already dangerously close to the Friedrich Lochland, responded to the railgun shots with their own scorching flares of green light. A good part of the first shots to reach them was deflected by their shields, which, however, seemed to give way soon afterwards, albeit vague halo of sparks still surrounded them. One of them brought itself to the front with a short burst of speed, drawing the brunt of the continuous fire upon itself. Yet, as its beaten hull seemed to be about to give way, it dove under the Friedrich Lochland, bringing itself outside its broadside radius.

The focus of the batteries turned upon the second Nhuul, but found itself once again repelled by its shields, which had strangely coalesced in the brief interlude. They did not last longer than the first time, but that was enough for the drone. It blasted forward, the large spines on its prow digging into the armour between weapon emplacements. Its entire fore suddenly blazed with searing plasma light as it fired its unmaker directly into the surface, incinerating it and sending superheated gusts into the battlecruiser's interior even as its own form, the batteries and the plating around it were fused into a single liquid wave, rapidly cooling into a fantastically distorted shape stuck to the ship's side like an unnatural tumour.

Alarms blared on the bridge and the ship heaved again. The lights flickered again, this time going dark, to be replaced only by dim orange emergency lighting. Lochland checked the tac display again. One of the miners was hopelessly crippled, but the other was just now making it to the edge of the gravity well. An instant later, it disappeared into the relative safety of slipspace. Lochland breathed a long sigh of relief. He'd saved at least one of them. He wasn't expecting it to summon help; the Royal Commonwealth Navy had made its stance on venturing into Restricted Space very clear. But they were safe.

"What've we got left Vana?" he asked with a calm that surprised even him.
"We just lost 60% of the port broadside railguns, 80% of the missile tubes, and control runs to turrets 3 and 4 are fried, though they still have local control capability."
"Can we do something about the ship below us?"
Vana shook her head. "He's out of the ventral turret's firing arcs, and we can't roll or maneuver fast enough to change that without the GDC. Missiles could still get him, but he's really close; we wouldn't survive our own barrage. We don't have enough left to do much to the other two hostiles. We've done all we can Lochland."

Lochland nodded. "That we have. Stand us down, but have everyone ready to abandon ship, in case our 'friends' out there hold a grudge."

Just like that, it was over. Trailing vapour and debris as it drifted through space, the Friedrich Lochland's guns finally fell silent.

As the surviving Parasite swept further down below the damaged battlecruiser, the last ship finally approached. The vast silhouette of the Devastator hung menacingly over the Friedrich Lochland, drifting, almost idly, to cover the remaining mining ship from its sight. It had lowered most of its shields, and the long curves of its dark, glistening armour were clearly visible in all their facets. The force driving the great vessel seemed indifferent to the possibility of its quarry still having some hidden trick to bring to bear against it despite the destruction of their weapons. Still, the immense focus projector between the horns on its prow remained aimed at the smaller ship's midsection, sparks of yellow light coursing around it.

Once it found itself directly above the Friedrich Lochland, the giant drone slowed its progress to an imperceptible speed, strangely coloured blazes pulsing from its exhaust vents. Then, a circle of evenly spaced beams of pale green light erupted from the tips of its frontal spikes, encompassing the battlecruiser from all sides as they blasted past it. Not one of them had struck or even glanced it, but the message was all too clear. None was to leave the ship or otherwise attempt to escape.

Some minutes passed before the Scavenger emerged into view. As fast as it had been during the battle, it circled around its prey once, then a second time, pelting its sides with what seemed to be missiles. Or, rather, what would have seemed to be missiles, had they not been so large and slow. The foresides of the cylindrical steel capsules were lined with large, thick triangular blades, whose purpose became apparent when the Friedrich Lochland shuddered under several impacts from both boards, and a quake of continuous vibrations, accompanied in some spots by the odious screech of plating being torn open, coursed through it. Soon, they faded, only to be replaced by a thundering of steps through the ship's corridors. Heavy, metallic, mechanically rhythmical. They were approaching.

A dozen figures marched onto the deck. They were shorter than most of those on board, but in the silence and fading light of the dying ship they seemed enormous. The blows of the thick, crude digits of their fourfold limbs remained brutally cadenced even as they dispersed around the chamber, their ovoidal carapaces more than vaguely resembling the bodies of monstrous mechanical insects. The spots of golden electric eyes, empty of thought or emotion, sought their living quarry, quickly, accurately. Yet, of all their parts, it was perhaps the unassuming tubules of the particle stream-blasters that were most menacing. Not, perhaps, for their shape, or even that they were there at all, but rather for how many there were on each of the machines.

Once the steel invaders had ascertained the number and position of the crew on deck, they began to rather unceremoniously push them into the corridor whence they had appeared. The drones’ strength was even greater than what their armoured exterior led to believe, and no amount of resistance could make them budge. Slowly at first, then faster and faster as the struggling was crushed by implacable unfeeling motion, the metallic herders and their captives made their way through the battered ship, past closed emergency bulkheads and failing engines. The sound of more such processions could now and then be faintly heard from other parts of the Friedrich Lochland, converging then trailing away into the distance.

At last, the machines roughly ushered their convoy into an empty, dark lateral chamber that had quite clearly not been there before. In fact, even though its entrance was itself in heavy shade, it could be seen that the wall around its circular doorway had been molten and torn. Inside, there was nowhere to sit, nor even anything to properly stand on but the treacherously concave floor. The space did not seem to be designed with humanoid occupants in mind. Or, for that matter, living ones.

Heavy panels slid down with a clang, swallowing the last glimmers of light, and all was silence and darkness. The maw of the Coalition had closed around its prey.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Righteo.

Attention All Players

You hereby have three days from now to ensure your might statistics are up to date in the might calculation spreadsheets.

After the three days, barring any objection or further delay, we'll post the beginning of turn 12 with updated might values.

@Muttonhawk

Osveril seems to be missing from the demigods tab. Should I edit him in with might values and all?

Beginner's DnD 5e Game - Group 2

At long last, the rest of the party had decided to put an end to its untimely vigil, and, much to Ulor's satisfaction, move on to the further end of the corridor. He briefly nodded as Lex trampled by upstairs, then hobbled eastwards. On the bridge, he paused to cast a glance at the water flowing below. The octopus eyed it inquiringly, but he shook his head, both inwardly and outwardly. There was no telling what might have been lurking down there, and to stir it while standing on that bridge - and swimming under it - without anyone more robust that could have been put in the way was more than even he was willing to risk. One of the comparatively few things he had learnt over the years that were actually useful in practice was that it was better to leave the parts of a cavern, dungeon or suchlike that seemed the least safe last. If he was correct in his guess, there was a good chance to lose something he would have needed elsewhere. If not, well, it was a relief.

Someone's unfamiliar voice loudly called from the east, and Ulor continued on his shuffling way through the tunnel until he reached the chamber at its end. It was small and already rather tightly packed, leaving him to stand outside and try to peer over everyone's shoulders. Or, well, face the matter more creatively. He motioned for the octopus to float over head and under ceiling, extending and contracting its way above the group. All the while, he projected his sight through its eyes, conveyed by the aether of thought. From overhead, he could see two more of the seawater-filled (it seemed to be seawater this time as well, and besides, why would it be anything else?) tanks, one of which had just been relieved of its less liquid contents. A human, this time. Loud, but not large. There seemed to be a pattern of the people having been put to marinate being shorter than the human norm. Curious indeed.

Besides the tanks, there were two oddly placed coffins in the chamber. Now, while it was by no means uncommon to find tombs and sepulchres under a church or cathedral, the uses this one had been put to suggested that the coffins, as well, could very well have served some ulterior purpose besides honourable interment. Hovering over the one, then the other, the octopus turned its body downwards, it dull and rather short-sighted - like master, like familiar, after all - eyes sweeping over the stone lids. Thus seen, there did not appear to be anything odd about them. They must have been leftovers from the time some major religious order had occupied the building. With this having been seen to, there was not much else worth a glance, but Ulor let the octopus remain hanging where it was, in case something transpired that needed seeing. Or, which would have been better, hearing.

Nothing to see here. Circulate, circulate...

A 6 in Investigation doesn't give Ulor much insight into whether the coffins might have been put to strange uses.

Galaxy Aflame! A space opera RP (Closed)

Yrrkeltharl Coalition Space
Unknown Region
Mlan’entel E’thuur

The dark oblong shape of the ship, covered in swarms of blinking green lights that crawled like unnatural star-born gnats over its smooth, uneven surface, sped through the stygian gulfs of empty space. A mere glimpse of them could not have revealed whether the vessel was traversing the pulsing Core of Yrrkelthar, overflowing with life and activity, or the dread vollnetlle, silent and haunted by deadly terrors. The stillness and shadow of the cosmos, indifferent to such irregularities within its folds, were identical countless light-years across. Out of the sight of planets and metallic simulacra, be they covered by the blight of alien life or corpses at the mercy of unthinking machines, the blackness was as cryptic as it had been at its dawn, and would yet be when even the hardiest of the parasites burrowing their way through it were gone.

Yet the ship pressed on, unconcerned by the mystery of its surroundings, as though it knew full well where it should go. And, indeed, it, or rather the ones driving it on, did know. The waves of strange, ethereal signals coursed through the void from the twisted prow into the unseen distance, words in a voiceless tongue being exchanged by synthetic mouths glimmering with electronic lights. The further the craft advanced, the stronger and more numerous the whispering impulses became. First they came only from the front; then more of them appeared to hammer at its sides, until the greatest part of it was engulfed in a sea of them. Eyes of astral steel opened to gaze at it from afar, and immaterial tendrils sounded its hull. Along with this prying, though so far aside from it that spatial metaphors failed, another influence began to gradually permeate the space. It was blind and had no face, not even an artificial one, and it was all the more sinister and oppressive. The breathing of ancient, immensely strong minds of metal and unnatural flesh.

Aboard the vessel, Fh’thnal Two felt it, and was uneasy. It had memories of having entered this presence before, and likewise knew that memory could not compare to its actual sensation. Now, especially, there was something in it that it, as one endowed with such powers itself, perceived and recognised all too keenly. The great sentiences were displeased. Whether at it personally, the entire situation or those who had brought it about, it could not tell; but the umbrage lying over the coursing echoes of thoughts was distinct and heavy. There were shades and fluctuating depths in it. In places, it was black, viscous and bitterly venomous, almost as strong as the Hand of Wrath itself; in others, it was but a fleeting gust of choking smoke over the depths of something too immense to be filled by feeling. But it was almost everywhere.

The presence continued to grow closer and stronger. Outside, their source was already visible. A cluster of green and golden lights, too dense and bright for stars, had appeared before the vessel. As it drew nigh, it spread out, expanding to fill more and more space, and at length their true nature could be discerned. Akin to the swarm running over the one ship, they burned in recurve metallic walls. But, where the former was a handful of gnats in the dark immensity, they shone like the malignant eyes of a pack of ravenous otherworldly beasts. The sides of the ships they were set in were colossal, as imposing as the walls of a great Nodule, and their own size was such as to rival in places the approaching ship itself. Slumbering amid the swirling of nebulae and the monotonous cycles of the stars, yet ever restless and awake, the Fleet Lastborn waited.

Not a moment sooner than Fh’thnal had expected, the door of its cylindrical, metal-walled chamber quietly slid open, the evenly burning lights on the panels parting to reveal the N’vall acolyte who had escorted it onto the ship after receiving it into consign from Ahl-115’s coordinators. The lesser one, only one of its kind it had seen since awakening in the Circuit’s hold, had been in all as deferential as befitted one of its stature towards an I’nler’attul, but it could sense that, instead of the dread and veneration it was due, the acolyte regarded it with nothing more than wariness and disgust. It so longed to wrack that firstborn wretch with all the torment it deserved, much as it had with that vile dirt-dweller of the Coalition, but again it was restrained, and by something greater than an Amaranthine envoy’s instructions. Not even the strange compulsions it had been ridden with could match the fear before the ire of the I’mthal’atl, Them Who Rule.

The acolyte beckoned with a nod, and it followed through the unaal’s dim, smooth, irregularly arched corridors, past more doorways, by the sides of which stood pairs of motionless Fham’nhl guards, through the series of small chambers that led to the exit. The main door was already unsealed, and beyond its semi-circular opening the shadowed interior of a vessel immensely more vast could be seen. They had arrived to their destination. Here, beyond the gates of a void-home that had seen much, but never something so grand, lay the halls of the legendary flagship of Mlan’entel E’thuur, last among all the N’vall fleets. The seat of the utmost dominators, whence emanated the designs that shaped the destiny of the seekers of the lightless day. Unloth A’lthn, the Final Throne.

In solemn silence, its head bowed both by the solemnity of the occasion and the crushing vicinity of the Rulers of Substance, Fh’thnal hovered through the portal and into the bowels of the great ship. The chamber was sparsely decorated, with only a few stains of glow piercing the penumbra, and empty save for some Terror honour guards on their silent vigil. A door directly before the gateway led into a further corridor, this one brighter than those on the unaal, but otherwise quite similar. After only three recurve, broad bends it ended in the white, circular space of a small elevator, sufficient for but one passenger. It was expecting its guest, and readily swallowed it before speeding upwards without need for commands. The ascent lasted but a few moments; then the enclosed platform smoothly came to a halt, and an opening appeared in the wall before Fh’thnal. It passed into the short, but high gallery beyond, swept through the tall doorway surmounted by a pointed arch and past the sentries at its sides, and came into the darkness of the great room, acrawl with eyeless thoughts and stagnant rancour.

It rose into the heights as an enormous inverted cone, growing wider and ampler as the rows of balconies lining its walls spiralled upwards. Even the lowest of them loomed meters above, the sheer steel wall only giving way to the circular terraces a few times over its height from the floor. Up there, in order of greatness, sat the I’nler’attul of the Fleet; the first ones were lowest, whereas the last were so far above that, had the chamber even been lit, one could not have seen them from below. The I’mthal’atl themselves, it was said, were not even on the balconies at all, but on a platform suspended from the ceiling, so that not even the best of the lesser could glimpse them. None knew whether this was true, for the great ones had never been beheld. Yet they were clearly there.

When Fh’thnal Two reached at last the centre of the room, where it knew it was to endure judgement, the hovering thoughts writhed and diverted their course from their unseen evolutions up in the air to converge upon it. They felt, they sounded, reaching into its thoughts with hands of cold bone. It did not try to hold them away, for what good would it have been at that point?

From somewhere high above came the resonating mind-voice of a greater I’nler’attul. It was rumbling with ancestral strength, and vibrating with the raw power of a greater shaper. Between it words, the susurrations of the gathering could be heard in slithering fragments of instinctive reaction.

”One akin to Fh’thnal, wrought by means false and heretical. You were brought to life (Defilement of the shape! Blasphemy!) by ones who came from beyond this void-realm, who name themselves as a circuit of amaranth (Vermin of the stars! The vile ones will be expunged!) and can imitate the form. The ones from beyond compelled you to serve them, although they have no strength themselves (False claimants to the throne of being! Broken puppeteers! Feeble to be bound by their snares!), and challenged the ascent of the N’vall body by bringing you upon the soil.”

At this point, the whispers grew so thick as to be indistinguishable and untraceable for a moment, the dark wrath swelling and towering over their umbral weave.

”That you did not smite them where they stood would have warranted grave penance had you been N’vall. (But – But – But) But you are not of ours, even though you are in all things alike. You are first, unknown and unsounded upon your path. For this, the mandates (Portentous though they may be) of the seekers alone are not sufficient. The I’mthal’atl, who guide the threads of flesh and void (Fist and bone of us all! They will know), will descry and speak their wisdom. Great is their reach (None more than them). May it descend.”

In spite of knowing it was not meet for it to do so, Fh’thnal Two pulled together its thoughts in a tense web. The one who had spoken wielded such force that, under the impacts of its echoes, it had not been quite able to rear even the hastiest spectre of indignation or – absurd – defiance in its defence. For all its life, it had been among the highest dominators of its fleet, and now it found itself paling before a mere mouthpiece of the great ones. Nor would it have been of any use to voice that most crucial fact – that the transgressions for which it had been summoned hither were as much as an affront to itself, if not more, as to all the N’vall, and certainly no will of its own. If Those Who Rule intended to sound it, they would inevitably feel it themselves. Their sight was all-reaching.

It came. From the shadows high above, the invisible pillar of scouring flame that was the will of the bearers of the end. Maybe only one of them. Fh’thnal remembered having put its powers to the test in its early days, and having felt the searing lashes of other I’nler’attul as they struck at each other in seeming battle. This was nothing alike it. It did not demand access, or force its way in; it swept by with the speed of a distortion lance, unconcerned about anything before it. It was impetuous and indifferent, a force of the cosmos, that to which all the seekers should aspire, and at the same time thorough, for so vast was it that its tongues crackled in every recess, be it even so recondite.

It was power, pure and simple. Painful was not a word in its light.

In its wake, more presences crept down, clawing their way more cautiously. The assembled masters of the void-homes dripped down to ascertain for themselves what had led to this point. The echoes of their motions were many, and laden with hundreds of shades; yet, even in the searing grasp of the supernal entity, even among all their faceless numbers, Fh’thnal Two’s attention was spontaneously drawn to one of them. Its resonations, the paths it left, so much easier and more confidently than the others, as it slid through memory, the speed with which it surpassed all but the fiery column were captivating in a fiendish manner. The answer to whom it could be was made obvious by this and more, yet it did not have to ask itself the question at all. Immediately, it knew.

Fh’thnal turned upwards, arduously tearing itself from the chains the weight of the great one’s mind had inadvertently laid upon it, and looked at itself.

The other did not block its sight. It could smell its smouldering anger, more potent yet than those of most who were assembled there, fade to a surprise it could not quite suppress itself. It had, obviously, expected this, but manifestly had not known what exactly it would find. Little more than an extension of itself. How little was indeed why it was taken aback: instead of the crude, superficial and, beyond any doubt, distinct replica one could have expected from heretics of the form, here was one of itself which had ramified into another corridor of progress. Almost disappointing in its identity, like an extraordinary sight ground into dullness by routine before being beheld at all, but less surprising than that would have been.

It was thus all the less surprising that, upon seeing that the one whom the outsiders had constrained in mind – by then, all could clearly see, if not the fetters themselves, their effects – and degraded from its high station was itself, Fh’thnal’s wrath against them should have surged higher than before. Hunger for the torment of the beings it now could itself remember gnashed upon itself with cold spines. Not even a likeness, but it had been made subservient to incomplete beings, and it had become a symbol of hindrance to serve their insignificant ends. They probably did not even think of what they had done, and upon this the thrashings of violence grew higher yet. Fh’thnal Two found it natural, almost reflexive, to lift up the anger as its own – for its own it was – and hold it at the very core of the inquisitorial pillar.

If the I’mthal’atl did feel something, its grip did not betray it. Perhaps it already knew, or its thirst for violence was already absolute. But the others, who not were struck by the arising emotion in the full light of its presence, reached for it curiously, and it spread among them like a plague. The black tendrils of their probing thoughts bristled with slashing edges and tormentous claws, grasping, flailing, invoking censure. Fh’thnal, duality notwithstanding, was no longer the sole possessor of the seed; all of the I’nler’attul had partaken of it, and from them, it would doubtless spread to all N’vall between void and stars. The fleets would blaze forth as they had centuries ago, bearing waste and ruin upon the blindly arrogant dustlings.

Abruptly, the pillar split into a multitude of narrow, spear-like rays, which dispersed, sweeping to all sides in a circle mirroring the shape of the room. They cut through the groping feelers, dissipating them and sending the charred stumps wavering back. Fh’thnal Two could no longer feel most of them, though the presence still pierced it with the innermost ones, which had remained motionless. Then, the great one spoke.

S^SU^UR^RC^CE^EA^AS^SE^E.^. A^AL^LL^L W^WI^IL^LL^L B^BE^E A^AS^S I^IT^T I^IS^S M^MA^AN^NI^IF^FE^ES^ST^T.^.

The last rays faded, and for what seemed to be minutes all was plunged into silence and darkness. No thought stirred where others could hear it, though it likely was because they, as well, were clustered together, almost not daring reach out. At length, the I’nler’attul who had been first to speak broke the stillness, either by the daring conferred by its vicinity to the ones above or by their command. No other echoes joined it.

”As it was seen, so it will pass. We are to honour our accord with the earth-dwellers, and not move against the blasphemers from without ere great motive is given. You who were wrought in imitation of Fh’thnal have trespassed in negligence and shown the face of weakness, but the I’mthal’atl find no further fault with you. You shall do a penance, and if you return absolution will be dispensed.

It has been decreed, and it will be.”

Yrrkeltharl Coalition Space
Core Region
A’thaur I’entil Kotsal, Orbit of Iurthelath

The silence in the chamber would have appeared eerie and unnatural to any not accustomed to its dusky atmosphere. That neither the curvilinear, almost fluid, yet bulky mass of the monitoring and input apparatuses, nor the large cylindrical vats, strange dark shapes writhing and beating about in their obscured depths, nor even the metallic tubes, which appeared to fuse with the walls and floor and now and then pulsed irregularly, should emit even the slightest of sounds despite their evident activity was strange, almost unsettling. The impression was strengthened by the fact that not even from without the room did anything resound, near or far. The entire ship seemed to be dead, a husk fit only for the haunting of warped wraiths. And, after a fashion, it was. But to Xalthil this mattered little.

The Skirol presently stood before one of the vats, its proboscis occasionally darting to the nearby control panel and withdrawing without having touched it. In the recipient, a dense bright-blue liquid stirred uneasily, bubbles of irregular size sporadically rising from the centre of its mass. At brief intervals, glimpses of an indistinct tubular form emerged into view. Its appearances followed a curious pattern: almost regular sequences interrupted themselves just as one’s eye was about to begin expecting them, matching the moment with uncanny precision. At times, even this custom seemed to be broken by a flash clearly out of any rhythm.

Having finally laid its appendage upon the panel and snapped something on it, Xalthil swung it in a negative gesture and turned sideways towards the further corner of the room, where a cloaked N’vall was hovering before a concentric holo-display.

“If these two hundred and three simulation estimates will run their course as probability dictates, the result for this subject will be the same” it clicked, before crawling to reach another panel set in the wall.

“We now know with all certainty this approach to be sterile.” The other did not divert any of its limbs from their manipulations at the display as it voiced its reply.

“And nothing else.” Xalthil’s proboscis remained suspended over the device for a few moments, wavering from side to side as a snake ready to strike, then drew back as the Skirol paced towards another of the vats.

Just as it was midway to its goal, the ghost of a muffled grinding sound, as of jagged metal upon stone, blinked through the air from the display, immediately vanishing in the oppressive ocean of stillness. One of the N’vall’s hands paused in its motions before resolutely snapping through a three-dimensional spiral of light.

“Belay the next scheduled experiment” the being spoke, and Xalthil stopped in its tracks. “We will soon have something unprecedented to work with.”

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

That reminds me not even Osveril is in the wiki yet. Here is something else I must see to.

Anyway, a post and possible accompanying sheets should float up from the void hopefully soon.

Beginner's DnD 5e Game - Group 2

Ulor had not the time to unleash another blast before the monstrous ooze collapsed under the paladin's blows, spreading its foul ichor over the tunnel's floor. It seemed as though the creature, though seemingly subterranean or at least liable to being encountered in deep, dark tunnels such as these, had found itself more cramped and exposed by its large size than it had benefited from it. Then again, to do it justice, it had probably not expected to encounter a large and armed group such as theirs, and besides, despite it being so outmatched, its attack had nonetheless proved effective enough. Indeed, the tiefling did not seem to be moving even after being freed from her viscous prison. Could it be that it-?

Beckoning for the octopus to join him, Ulor approached the green and malodorous form. He paused as first the feline, and then the elf bent and spoke over what was by now quite clearly a corpse, then moved a few steps closer and, wincing with one eye as he reclined his head to one side and scratched his chin pensively. Truly, the gelatinous entity's corrosive abilities were prodigious. In so little time, it had managed to potently burn what was not even, all things considered, normal skin. Now that he thought of it, the body did reek of the vegetables that had been a little too close to the fire he had eaten, day after day, in his youth. Not enough to be as appetizing, fortunately, but the resemblance was striking.

"Regrettable, but-" he thought better of it and did not finish the sentence. People grieving over bodies tended to react badly if stirred, appropriate though it might have been not to linger for long where they were. The fact that now was just such a case did not, as by the unspoken rule, appear to concern them. The ooze was destroyed, but, if such beings did indeed crawl out of the walls with little warning, they would have done better to prepare in the event that more should appear. Not to mention that there still was much to see. Ulor exchanged a mildly annoyed glance with the octopus, who, however, did not seem to be quite as impatient, and began to quietly rap his fingers upon his staff. Hopefully, the usual rituals would not take much longer.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Do standard creation sheets exist somewhere? I could have sworn I saw some in the OP or second post at some point, but they seem to be either gone or a product of my imagination. Also, is filling a sheet for creations necessary, or just a way of keeping track of them?

Galaxy Aflame! A space opera RP (Closed)

Yrrkeltharl Coalition Space
Border Region
System Ahl-115

The dim light of the nameless star washed over the sluggishly spinning barren worlds of Ahl-115. With the scarce consideration given to celestial bodies typical of the Yrrkeltharl authorities, the system had not even been deigned a name of its own, instead taking on by default that of the only item of interest within it. On the fourth of the rocky planets from the unnamed pulsing gaseous orb of plasma stood the metallic walls of a Nodule, seat of those who truly swayed the fate of the Coalition, or at least a fraction of them. A rather small one as well, truth be told, and by far not the most significant; yet, for thousands of light-years to all sides, this was the greatest bastion of the interstellar covenant's authority, and it certainly did not disappoint in this regard.

Around its planetary seat, swarms of patrolling drone craft darted from one end of the system to another. Some sped outwards, tearing themselves from the star's gravity well before vanishing into rips in the dimensions of space; others emerged from similar ruptures and converged over the Nodule's seat to rearm, repair and refuel; others yet circled around the desolate worlds, as though seeking prey they knew was somewhere nearby.

On the surface, the stronghold appeared even more forbidding. Its gleaming, convex walls curved inwards as they rose over the lifeless landscape, tapering into menacing spires. Cones of pale green light, visible even in the planet's feeble day, struck out from them, sweeping about like ravenous inhuman eyes. All about, over wastes and mountains, dark valleys and glimmering plateaus, amid black angular factory compexes erupting with choking fumes and the immense pillars of the planetary shield generators, legions of war-drones stood, awaiting silent commands or crawling about on unknown errands. Their toxic exhalations rose to choke the already weak spark in the sky, coating the world in the foul, viscous grip of the Coalition.

Scarcely a thousand kilometers beyond the nameless planet's surface, an unscheduled slipspace rupture burst into being, the blinding, iridescent arcs and tendrils of light clearly visible from the surface as flashes of blooming cinders that bled through the nauseating coils of smoke that choked the atmosphere around the Nodule and surrounding complexes. The craft that emerged was immediately flagged by the ubiquitous, bead-like ink-colored sensors and surveillance devices that dotted the larger superstructure. It matched no known configuration of vessel. A structurally curious craft around the size of a Frigate, it seemed strangely compartmentalized even on analysis of its surface hull and chassis, with multiple seams and detachable bulkheads. It resembled an extended octachoron, with smoothed curves at each angle that broke only at the observed seams. The metal itself was curious - a synthetic, manufactured material obviously, but the Nodule's sensor arrays were having some trouble keeping a steady bead in contact with the craft, as its frame appeared to a uniformly flat down to the atomic level, as if it had been shaven to a perfectly level plane and set of grooves with a monomolecular honing blade. Complicating the issue was the distorted spatial geodesics surrounding the vessel. It had no visible external propulsion, and as it eerily moved through space it seemed apparent that it used some form of internal drive for sublight movement.

Just as keen, cold intelligences below began to calculate and devise potential scenarios - the unexpected occured. In one of the orbital traffic control segments of the Nodule, one of the controllers received a telepathic message with official parameters from a being onboard the alien craft.

~Ones upon the early world, Fh'thnal Two of the N'vall speaks. Under my hands comes the house-from-beyond named Urbane Errata Twenty-Two, approaching. Heralds from a people beyond our voids of roaming are in it, and demand to hear from your shapers and speak to them. Send your voices to me.~

Pulsing slightly at the neural centers with the pain of a N'vall mental contact, the operator did its best to proceed as instructions indicated when dealing with the I'nler'attul - focus upon the thoughts relevant to the matter, and direct them at the intruding presence. It seemed simple on the electroscreen, but, in practice, it was an uphill struggle. The brief exchange was unpleasant and taxing; thankfully, the oddly-named harbinger communicated a conceptual equivalent of remote communication data and indications on how to use them. Inputting the deciphered codes into the contact device terminal, the controller cast forth an invisible link to the unknown vessel, and signals prompting to open a direct transmission soon followed.

The images transmitted down from the Errata depicted Fh'thnal Two standing in a darkened, cramped compartment along with another, similar being. It was roughly of the same height as Fh'thnal, and might have even been reasonably mistaken for a member of the N'vall had it not been for the off-yellow coloration of its flesh and the fact that rather than a head, it had the suggestion of a formless lumpw, with no visible sensory or respiratory organs. The similarity to the N'vall was nonetheless striking - its body was ever-so-slightly bulkier, but it had the same four arms, each ending with an extremity bearing four digits. It wore a gray, skintight suit over its body, only moderately obcured by the N'vall-like cloak-garb covering it. The material looked pristine and unblemished, as the alien figure had only just put it on moments before.

"Operator." Fh'thnal Two rasped through the transmission, the skin along its neck shuddering faintly as they vibrated. "Indicate the place where this house is to strike old soil. Gather the shapers and bearers of word to come meet the beyond-heralds."

The Ekhrilthur swayed in perplexity upon hearing the "harbinger"'s world. This being clearly possessed powers comparable to those of a N'vall leader, and it was best not to contradict it openly. And, at the same time, it was clearly not one of the wandering species, not with that name and a request to land.

"Exact coordinates of the nearest landing point and adequate approach trajectory are now relayed. The Nodule overseers have been informed." As it spoke, it saw to sclicking levers and entering commands of virtual selection interfaces, as much as a show of faith as a carrying out of its duties. "Identify yourselves so that appropriate arrangements might be made."

"The last beyond-herald besides me is Mardelr Nineteen, Mucor Typis and plenipotentiary envoy of the Ninth Amaranthine Circuit. Their head of security is Kenat Six-Hundred Twenty-Four, Mucor Typis and commander under the Ninth Amaranthine Circuit."

The strange headless N'vall like being - Mardelr - uttered a noise, like hissing static and boiling tar, a brief issue filled with pops and slick resonance.

"Mardelr Nineteen forwards their regards." Fh'thnal supplied, gesturing faintly towards the strange alien. The Operator saw on their read-outs that the craft's descent trajectory had changed as it passed through the planet's atmosphere. Strangely, despite moving more than fast enough to have generated an entry burn cone, there was no hint of flareups or building heat across its surface - likely because with whatever drive it used for propulsion, it was not descending fast enough within its own private frame of reference for the friction differential to affect it.

Oscillating in acquiescence, the operator proceeded to enter a second sequence into its devices. Somewhere high in the ovoidal towers, signals were probably ringing out from the assembly broadcasters, and images of the strange delegation, accompanied by a standard, yet rarely ever used protocol text appearing on larger, more sophisticated displays than this one. It had almost never been there itself, and could only imagine what the convocation sound for non-hostile contact was. With Luxan raider incursions being almost a routine, one tended to forget how most things aside from the alarm screeches sounded.

If even these N'vall-like beings did not immediately show aggressive intent, however, this was no reason not to observe the usual procedures and, most of all, common sense. The course set for the unknown vessel led not into the seat of the Nodule or even a nearby space, but a bare, even tract of ground some distance away. There was no assurance that the newcomers were not planning to obtain safe access to the surface in order to then strike out with a surprise attack, or whatever that ship, small though it might have been, was concealing; and the selected spot had the advantage of being readily accessible to response forces stationed nearby.

The alien vessel settled into the barrens, its curious sublight drive seeming to warp the ground for a moment before it made contact and disengaged its propulsion. That, however, was the least of the ensuing oddities. As the craft settled, some unseen field extending out from it - kilometers in radius - tore a massive, circular trench into the barren ground. The ship itself seemed to fracture and fragment at the seams, its form levering itself apart like some kind of puzzle-box. The front and rear of the vessel remained largely intact, but the curved extremities near its center of mass folded out to either side while extensions of the forward hull pulled back and extended out to form the equivalent of ramparts. The upper extension of the hull slid forward before blooming open, its sides prying apart to reveal a fortification akin to some kind of watchtower. Directly in the middle of the craft, now fully opened and exposed, was a turbulent, spherical apparatus of some sort. The air immediately around it, partitioned and blocked off by hazard lines and a surrounding guardrail, seemed to boil and churn. Immediately ahead of it, secured by cable-lines, were a number of twelve-by-twelve meter cargo containers in what had previously been an enclosed hangar bay. Swarming across the interior were a number of tall, indistinct beings wearing powered exoskeletons with highly segmented armor sections. Finally, nearly unseen beneath the deployed fortification's mass, eight armored, two-jointed arms reached down to settle heavily into the earth with broad, flared support pads.

The reason for the craft's compartmentalization was now apparent - it had been made to deploy into a fortification upon landing. For the moment it was remaining stationary, appearing to be waiting - although the unseen field that had torn the circular trench into the surrounding terrain was evidently still present, made manifest by the swirling halo of debris and rock that rose like a short, billowing curtain around it.

For some moments, all remained quiet. Dust slowly settled upon the charred soil within the alien field's perimeter, and beyond its unseen barrier the rocky wastes appeared motionless. And such they were, for a few moments, until they sprang to life. The grey terrain seemed to well and roil forward like a sea of undulating quicksilver, its motion converging upon the circle formed by the ship's protective emanations. Sparse gleams of reflected starlight passed through the advancing mass, even as from its midst there rose clouds of poisonous vapour. It was only when the tide approached the obscuring halo and stopped still before it that its nature could be distinguished. Hundreds of thousands of the drones that had, at the Nodule controllers' command, begun to gather at a distance considered safe from the designated landing spot now marched towards the strange intruder, weapons trained upon the distant yet detectable vessel. Over the even mass of their ranks, monstrous Colossi rose like walking hills, their hollow electronic eyes blinking in automated yet seemingly malevolent patterns.

High above the extended craft, the already crepuscular sky began to noticeably darken. Myriads of black shapes blotted out the nameless star as they floated menacingly overhead, the concerted pulsations of their jagged, angular flanks almost visible from the ground. Now and then, the echo of a shrill creaking sound reached down through the invisible dome.

Within the ship, the transmitter device resounded once again with the operator's words. "Urbane Errata Twenty-Two. Confirm intent of non-hostile contact."

"We do not seek to reap. The beyond-heralds have descended to bring our homes together." Fh'thnal rasped through the transmission. The sound of the swirling, turbulent atmosphere surrounding the alien craft was now clearly audible through the N'vall's side of the image. "Show us where the last beyond-herald will meet with your shapers."

There was a brief silence, then the Ekhrilthur's vibrations replied: "A section of the Nodule complex has been allocated for that purpose. Transportation will be provided should you require it." Simultaneously, a partial internal map of the turreted stronghold, a section of which was marked as "accessible", was broadcast along with the vocal message as if to confirm what it said.

"This is meet. The beyond-heralds and I will await transport there. The home-from-beyond will lower its shield. None are to intrude beyond the stricken earth." Fh'thnal indicated, sending back a return external map of the field the frigate had landed in with the ring created by its shield highlighted.

Some minutes passed, during which the drones at the edges of the scorched circle remained still as a wall. They did not advance, but neither did they withdraw. At last, their files began to part in a point, the gap between them growing wider until it became a narrow road through the metallic forces. Through this fissure there appeared a shape that was evidently the promised vehicle.

It was a fairly small trapezoid of black steel, hovering half a metre above the soil with the aid of some silent, but evidently effective device. Its shell was angular and many-faceted, with two lines of dusky glass-like material running along its sides and a dozen of blinking pale-green lights on its front side, but no signs of a cabin or a driver. Having traversed the shallow crater, it slid to a halt near the ship's side and stood waiting.

A number of armored being coolly surveyed the vehicle. They all apparent to be anatomically similar to the N'vall-like Mardelr who had appeared in the transmission, albeit they bore two legs and had only depressed lumps where their heads might have been. They stood approximately two meters in height and bore four arms, each with four digits at the end of each extremity. They appeared largely unconcerned of the craft as it approached, merely standing by within the rampant-like fortifications of the deployed frigate. A few minutes passed, and Fh'thnal emerged from the still-intact forward section of the craft along with Mardelr, who was wearing an exoskeleton, albeit one without any armor affixed to it. Worn over it was a dark cloak reminescent of that Fh'thnal thmself was wearing, albeit much less worn in appearance. They were both accompanied by another of the armored beings, who wielded a long, streamlined carbine and was followed in turn by a semi-halo of six drifting, head-sized spherical drones, each mounted with dish-like arrays and drifting through the air with the use of eight, gyroscopic ion emitters. The three figures and their six smaller attendants approached the black craft, whose flank suddenly seemed to have been horizontally sliced near its lower edge. Rotating upon unseen hinges, the suspended machine's side rose in a smooth semicircular motion, revealing a dark, empty but surprisingly large space within. One of the six drifting spheres entered the craft first, and after a moment of examination, the remaining party filed onboard.

As though it were aware of its passengers' motions, the vehicle closed once all of them had entered it, then turned about and headed back into the corridor formed by the drones. The glass in the cabin's walls appeared translucent from within, so that its occupants were able to observe the tetrapodal constructs from up close as they passed among them. As well as, perhaps more importantly, form an estimate of their numbers. If the length of that tunnel was any indication, the latter must have been fairly impressive.

At last, the steel ranks ended, and nothing was left at the shuttle's sides but flat, boundless desolation, with only columns of nauseously coloured smoke rising in the distance to interrupt the monotony of the wasteland. It might have been a mere impression, but the small craft seemed to gain in speed as it moved through that grey landscape. From inside, almost no trace of its outward motion could be felt, save for the mild tugging of acceleration and a subdued, but persistent vibration of the floor. A while had passed when the vehicle began to perceivably slow down, and soon it stopped, though nothing could be seen from the windows. Then, it turned on its axis while remaining in place, and its left half was cast into shadow by the steel walls looming over it.

The cabin opened, and a greater part of the fortress became visible. From up close, much of the complex's higher part was out of sight, vanishing into the sky before even half of it had come into view. The uninterrupted smoothness of its imperceptibly bending surface struck the sight as unnervingly unnatural, and its vast face, curving out of sight in both directions, gave the impression of a metallic tsunami risen up from the earth to engulf the insignificant figures before it. The only feature to mar its gloss was an arched doorway, small and black from that distance, which opened near the ground directly before where the shuttle had stopped. No other entrance was to be seen.

The six spherical drones that had accompanied the three envoys exited the craft first, three of them immediately flying through the arched doorway. Two more listed to the sides, scanning the external permimeter while the last one followed after Fh'thnal, Mardelr, and the armored being - presumably the security chief Fh'thnal had introduced as Kenat - emerged and entered the doorway themselves. Fh'thnal had taken the lead, hovering ahead of the two alien envoys with its prosthetic boosters.

The visitors were not far gone into the building when the entryway behind them was closed by a sheet of metal noiselessly sliding in place, sealing the opening as though it never had been there. Beyond the portal there was a dark corridor, weakly lit by a seemingly distant golden light shining through narrow fissures in the walls and ceiling. It delved into the structure for a brief distance, then took a smooth bend to the right, followed by a series of short segments and curves in both directions.

After about twenty bends in the way, the corridor emerged into a large circular room, whose domed ceiling hung high above, slightly obscured by strands of thin, pale vapour. Its walls and floor were as bare as the fortress's exterior, save for a second doorway directly opposite the one which led into the tunnel. It was noticeably larger, and of a slightly more circular shape; before it there stood a group of eight figures. Three of them were Ekhrilthur, their seemingly identical semi-fluid bodies rising as undulating grey-brown mounds over the floor and spreading a distinctively pungent, humid smell through the air. Near them stood a fairly large Skirol, the low breeze of its breath audibly whistling through its ribbed exoskeleton and its proboscis flicking from side to side in what might have been impatience. The other four were drones, similar to those that had surrounded the landing zone, but not not bearing any visible weapons. They followed the envoys with the impersonal gaze of their multiple red eyes, and the veinings of their armour regularly pulsed with the same colour.

One of the Ekhrilthur briefly swung its body in a greeting gesture, then spoke in already familiar tones: "I am Sentry-Operator Eullvallt. Here present are Nodule Administrator Iuvruelt, Nodule Defence Coordinator Aulthellr and Cycle-Weaver Xeresh. By our personal mediation, the Sovereign Coalition of the Yrrkeltharl Systems and Fleets declares you welcome guests."

Mardelr turned its lump-like head to Fh'thnal and 'spoke' once more, its voice a largely muted mixture of static and churning tar. It could barely even be heard by the assembled mediation party. Fh'thanl, it seemed, had no issue interpretting the incoherent noise however,

"Shapers, these are the beyond-heralds Mardelr Nineteen, unbound speaker," It gestured with both of its left arms to the unarmored alien wearing the dark N'vall cloak. "...and Kenat Six-Hundred Twenty-Four, their protector for this occasion of nearing." They jabbed with one of their clawed hands at the armored figure bearing the carbine. Even as Fh'thnal spoke, the six floating drones assembled in a loose hexagonal boundary around the mediation party. "...and I am Fh'tnal Two, and shall be their interpretor." A curious claim to have made, seeing as it had failed to relay the Sentry-Operator's own words back to either of its companions, unless it was exclusively using telepathy to converse with them.

"Mardelr represents the Ninth Amaranthine Circuit, and accepts your designation of them as guests with gratitude and reverence. They demand to know if you will partake in a preliminary exchange of tokens of honour."

As Fh'thnal spoke, Mardelr took a single step closer to Kenat and indiscretely uttered more of its churning, static-filled voice, though clearly in a subdued tone that was barely even audible. Kenat turned its body slightly towards the envoy as if listening, and then turned back and gave the Skirol Xeresh an appraising scan, raising and lowering the lump of its armored head, twice, in a cursory examination before turning back and respong to Mardelr in the same low undertones.

Eullvallt exchanged waverings and low vibration pulses with the two other Ekhrilthur, then slightly waved a pseudopod at Xeresh, who, finding its own interest in inspecting the visitors, replied with a somewhat careless series of clicks. Rising and falling in slight frustration, the Sentry-Operator addressed the Circuit's delegation with the same even tone as before.

"If such is the intent of the representative, we do not object to it being enacted. However, the Coalition has nothing to offer them in response to their own gift."

Fh'thnal gave the Sentry-Operator the best equivalent of a look the eyeless N'vall could manage. "I can tell them you are worthless and empty-handed, or that you refuse to comply. Which one is it?" It indicated with a venomous tone.

The Ekhrilthur shrank slightly at the interpreter's words, not so much due to what it had said as at the thought of being in a room with the displeased equivalent of an I'nler. Xeresh, on the other hand, tapped one of its forelegs on the ground in irritation and hissed out in the Ekhrilthur language, albeit with a heavy accent:

"Threaten us, will you, false-N'vall? If you seek the way of arms, not even the strength you have appropriated will safeguard you or your charges." It gestured with its proboscis, and two of the drones took a step forward. Bluish sparks began to distinctly crackle between their arachnoid mandibles.

Kenat visibly lowered its own weapon as the drones advanced, and the hexagonal ring of the smaller drones that had accompanied the delegation notably did not move.

"That was not a threat, firstborn one, but a lashing. Would you receive any of the I'nler'attul with such lowly braying? I am borne of the stars, coalesced with the same reverence as any other N'vall, and will not endure your earthly ways." It raised both of its upper limbs as if about to signal for something, but before more could occur, the alien Mardelr stepped forward and lay a single hand on one of the N'vall's raised limbs. It spoke in the same, crackling and popping voice as it had earlier, the intensity of the sounds now raised and keening.

After a brief moment of consideration, the N'vall tore its arm free of Mardelr's grasp and looked with an air of contempt back towards Xeresh and Eullvallt. "It has been asked," Fh'thanl's voice was insidously low and soft. "If you will demand another interpreter."

Upon Mardelr's intervention, the drones had extinguished their mandibles and stepped back. "You are no I'nler'attul, and you know it" the Skirol continued to snap in a lower tone, but Eullvallt waved it back and resumed its activity as the Yrrkeltharl group's main speaker.

"The representative may dispose of their entourage as they see fit. However, if we are to ensure peaceful and fruitful contact, we recommend they do not take antagonistic action against us or other Coalition personnel. Responsibility for any undesirable developments would lie with them."

Fh'thnal visibly paused for a moment. After a brief silence, Mardelr spoke again in lower static tones.

"The last of the beyond-heralds has indicated that I do not speak for the Ninth Amaranthine Circuit or its interests and am no more than an interpreter. They refuse to declare themselves responsible for my actions. Nor do they desire any strife between themselves and the Coalition, and now desire to withdraw and return in order to produce a more appropriate interpreter." Fh'thnal sounded positively livid, its voice containing barely controlled rage.

Eullvallt was about to reply, but, before it could begin, Nodule Administrator Iuvruelt spoke up, its voice somewhat softer and lower than that of its fellow. "You may inform the representative that they may act as they see it most expedient, but there are some factors they must consider. By constraining your own person, which you yourself assert is comparable to that of any other member of your species, to enter the atmosphere of this planet and move on its surface, they and their associates have committed an action condemnable by the N'vall fleets. Should the latter be informed of it, a forced cessation of cooperation between us, as well as violent reprisals against their persons and property, would follow. The forced withdrawal of your person from the function of interpreter would likewise be regarded as objectionable. However, we can ensure that such developments would not come to pass if the concerned Nodule personnel were to receive due compensation for the friction caused in this occasion, and your own person were additionally consigned to us for extradition to the N'vall fleets."

Another brief pause. What passed for Mardelr's head turned and gave Eullvallt a steady look before it issued another inquiry-by-proxy with its hissing, seething speech.

"...How would my own extradition not bring about similar condemnation upon my sounding?" Fh'thnal asked, its voice bearing a trembling timbre to it, as if their vocal cords were on fire.

"There is a distinct probability the N'vall will prove more tractable should they be able to directly dispose of your person as they see fit" Iuvruelt responded, as its colleagues oscillated appreciatively, "Any decision in that regard by the representative and their associates would be interpreted as a further affront to their authority."

Mardelr almost immediately issued another sound once Iuvruelt has finished, almost as if Fh'thnal was providing translation for them in-time. They were not slow to translate for the envoy in turn. "The NAC would prefer not to deal with the ambiguity of distinct probability. They are prepared to accomodate your request, but require more adequate assurances."

The Nodule Administrator motioned with its pseudopods for its compatriots to draw closer, and the four began a hushed conversation of short, rapid replies, now and then casting a motion of the center or a swipe of the proboscis in the envoys' direction. After two or three minutes, they drew back to their previous positions, and it was Eullvallt who spoke again. "In view of your preferences, we are ready to vouchsafe for the absence of a hostile reaction on the N'vall's part. However, in this case, we find ourselves constrained to request a contribution for the mediation process in addition to the compensation previously mentioned."

"You will find that the NAC is capable of rewarding you generously for your services in this matter, and that they will likely be able to provide your compensation at will without conferring abroad. They are prepared to discuss your needs in further detail once more true bridging has begun." Fh'thnal indicated, this time without Mardelr having to say anything. Their voice sounded curiously empty and hollow. Their stance was bent and wary. "They find your gift adequate. Although it does not begin to equal your magnanimous offering, they are willing to offer you a token of their own propitious will and intent."

As Fh'thnal finished, Kenat abruptly stood to attention, and adjusted the grip on their carbine, while Mardelr reached underneath their N'vall-like cloak and produced a a small spherical device with a brass-colored ring around its equator, handing it off to one of Kenat's free hands. Kenat then approached one of the four drones, presenting both the carbine and the sphere for the machine's inspection.

The spider-like construct's red eyes flared up as it swept its probing gaze over the items held out before it. As the electric light passed the carbine, filtering into all of the weapon's incuneations and external mechanisms, a premonitory buzzing rose from its body, but it was promptly silenced by a pseudopod wave from Eullvallt. The sphere proved to be less easily recognisable in its purpose, and the drone paused, its eyes flashing in a manner that could have appeared perplexed and emitting an indeterminate hum. It was then flanked by a second machine, and both raised one of their forelimbs, mmanipulator claw rotating upwards, towards Kenat.

As they did, Eullvallt voiced the group's satisfaction with the turn events had taken. "We greatly appreciate the NAC's disponibility and eagerness to meet our necessities, and offer our and the Coalition's gratitude for its well-inspired gift. Insomuch as it is within our abilities to ensure it, we shall provide to it that its own needs in Yrrkeltharl space be optimally satisfied."

"That is satisfactory. If you are willing and prepared, our speakers may retire to a better position for further tractatives." Fh'thnal indicated.

"We may proceed" came the Sentinel-Operator's reply.

The four officials and their drone escorts turned about, more or less noticeably, and lead the way through the ample doorway they had come from and into the maze of corridors beyond.

SACRILEGE WAR (Grimdark Fantasy NRP)

Outskirts of Göl Kasabi

Ostrob - 300 AWH
Collab by Oraculum and Grijs

The fog lay heavy upon the island, coiling up from the sea to flood streets and smother palaces, houses and shacks. It was not thick, not for the southern seas, at least, and would soon be gone in the morning; yet, under the dark night sky, dimly lit by the nearby red star gleaming over Uudhin, it appeared as impenetrable as a tide of quicksand that had suddenly descended upon the slumbering city. Had anyone walking through one of Kasabi's myriad passageways lifted their eyes, they would have been unable to see the very wall a few steps to their left, and the lights above were but a faint memory save for that single red spark overhead, glistening malevolently through the fog like a distant, yet watchful eye. But those that were abroad at such a time had no business looking at the sky, or else found themselves fully at home in the shadows.

Under the pale shroud, the city stretched far inland, from the ominously murmuring sea to the heart of the island, harsh, but not as forbidding as what lay beyond the waves. Along the shore ran rows of docks and wharves, by which stood, nodding slightly in tact with the rippling waters, the wooden, sail-draped pillars of Kasabi's power. It was not uncommon for many of the docks to be empty, but now, with part of the fleet having sailed to Ouroborasia, the absence was all the more palpable.

Yet there were places where the differences would not have been felt had every ship abandoned the island all of a sudden. Places where the wharves were rotted and crumbling, where no shapes hurried here and there across the embankment and no torches burned through the enveloping darkness. Where the buildings themselves, cramped and misshapen, bent towards the earth and the black waters under the weight of age and the secrets they concealed. Where mazes of narrow, winding streets crawled in perpetual shadow through grime and filth, and the air was poisoned by wafts of untraceable stench.

There, in foul corners, by malodorous rivulets of strange fluids, over puddles and pits, there moved vague, indistinct shadows. These were not the industrious inhabitants of the docks: their movements were wary and sluggish, their backs stooping, their voices unheard. They shuffled among the dirt and foetor, casting quick glances at the dark awning windows as they passed or staring stolidly before themselves. Some muttered to themeselves as they went, others were deathly silent. In these far, forgotten reaches, the blood of Kasabi was thick, rotten and touched by strange diseases that have no name.

Deep in this labyrinth, at a crossroads of twisted paths surrounded by faceless walls of stained stone, three cultists stand in heated theological debate.

''The doctrines of the Salt Prince are crude and dubious. Doth he not seek the usurp the Celestial Plane? Be he truly a Red God, or another Justinian?''
Speaks a female cleric donning the robes and emblem of Ephemem.
''Bite your tongue, whore. For instead you bite the hand of the host that feeds you. Were it not for Yitizer's Mercy, your lands would have been naught but reduced to slavery to the New Pantheon.'' A cultist wearing a horned mask and wearing grey robes depicting the emblem of Axohaan, responds indignantly.

''You are one of Soghba's muppets, yes? Than surely you understand this 'alliance' is on paper alone. We know you Uudhinites are little better than the New Pantheonists. You're a heretic.'' She replies.
''Heretic? Please; flattery will get you nowhere.'' The Axohar cleric replies with a vicious smirk.
The third cultist only nods awkwardly. The cultists of other Red Pantheonist sects pay little heed to him and his fellows. Because his robes depict a much obscurer and less esteemed, perhaps even insignificant faith. Insignificant in so far that few enough people recognise the logo, and it does not rouse theological debates or swollen historical slights in contrast to the deeply notorious and stigmatized logo of the Salt Prince.
The sign emboidered on the earthen-brown robe under his ragged, worn cloak, a raiment unseemly for a cleric even in the lands of the Red Pantheon, was akin neither to the angular emblems of Axohaan nor the cryptically abstract devices of other southern deities. Instead, his garb was emblazoned with a curious and sinister figure of deformity: the body of a horrid being, at once a monstrous crab and a face distorted by a fiendish grin, surmounted by a second inhuman head with a snarling, fanged mouth. Gnarled limbs radiated from the entity's form, and the whole was surrounded by the likeness of a dusky halo or a black sun.

The mark of a shadowy power.

As the cultist shuffled in place, his fingers intertwined while his fellows argued the merits of their respective patrons, one could have noticed something hanging around his neck and swaying along with his motions like a large pendant. However, had even his cloak not been enough to fully conceal it, the mist and darkness hovering in the nook were too thick for it to be discernible. Indeed, little of what was under his mantle was visible at all; his face was a vague inky blotch between the drapings of a cowl.

Soft, yet audible steps sounded from behind him, and three other indistinct figures emerged from the fog some steps away. Either hearing their approach or detecting it by some other means - someone observing him closely would have noticed he had begun to move his head an instant before the shuffling sounds preceding the newcomers had come - the adept turned to exchange a glance with them, then motioned shortly with his hand, and the shapes withdrew back out of sight. With a slight nod, he returned his attention to the discussion before him, and spoke.

"Let us not descend into discord, my friends." his voice was low and slightly grating, as though his throat were dry and parched. He continued, raising his bent, bony fingers, unpleasantly similar to the legs of the crab on his emblem, "Our strength lies in our unity, do not forget it. The forces of false gods would fain prey on us like worms, and only if we hold onto each other in a strong bundle will we be safe from their vexations."

''You, new man, can't delude me into thinking that the Red Pantheon is anything but solitary. Our cause is not yours -- or even 'hers'.'' The Axohar nods towards the Ephemite. ''So who are you even? Garments as yours have been recurring in this district of late. Which faceless deity has you ensnared?'' spoke the devil-masked cleric to the vexed browncloak.

"I?" A whistling sound, like a low tatter of laughter, came from under the cowl. "I serve no one god. I am but a keeper of a universal force, as old as the world. A force that has always sought to bring together what was divided, and mend what was broken."

The hooded cleric drew his cloak slightly apart, revealing the sigil underneath. "This seal you see embodies life, strength, vigour, all the things our time so sorely lacks. Things we must work to restore."

The Axohar grunts. ''Your tone is the same as that of the Old Man. Gibberish over universal power. Some minds must have been slowly warped by the proximity of Azagôde. There's something foul in the air of these suburbs. I have no interest in any of these delusional prophecies.''

"Power and unity are one and the same. But come," the figure gestured broadly towards the mist where his companions had vanished. "I see you, as many others, are not convinced by words alone. And it is well you should not be. Come with me, then, and I will show you that which is worth more than words."

''Clever. I see we've learned our tricks from the same old book. That much we have in common. I recall telling a witless tourist or another that I would escort her to a holy site, which I did. But more specifically it was a sacrificial altar!'' He says, following with nonchalant laughter.
''I am not your fool, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.''

The cloaked priest nodded. "In times and places as those, it is well to be wary. But your mistrust strikes blindly at the hand that reaches out to support you. See then..."

With a swift motion, he produced from the folds of his robe a long, recurve knife with a strangely jagged blade. Drawing back the edge of his garment to expose the back of his right hand. Holding the dagger in the left, he drew a long, thin line across his skin, and blood was not slow to well from under it.

"By the power I serve and the flesh I thus mar, nor I nor my kin shall spill your blood, tonight or evermore." His voice was unchanged, as rasping and even as before. He lifted his dripping fingers in a beckoning gesture.

The devil-masked cleric turns to silence. His face might be amused, or unsettled, or with a raised eyebrow to this cultist. He gives reply with a shrug. ''Such vows are sacred. I won't get much divine inspiration hearing the Old Man's murmuring. So I might as well give ear to yours, instead. It is all the same -- so grant me insight to the universal power you claim to herald.''

''Umm.. Right.'' The Ephemite says, putting up an effort to conceal her discomfort. ''As the only representative of the Goddess of Witches, I must glean intel to your new cult and its practises, likewise.''

Without as much as another word, the hooded man turned towards one of the streets running into the thick of the slanted houses and walked forth into the mist, leading the way through the twists and turns. After but a few steps, the group was joined by the three acolytes who had briefly appeared earlier, and seemingly stood waiting in a nearby nook. Up close, they seemed even more similar to the one that had spoken. They wore the same old cloaks, watched from the shadows of the same cowls, strode with the same slightly shuffling gait. More so - it might have been a trick of the faint reverberations between the overhanging walls, but they sounded as though all the four of them were walking precisely in tact with each other.

They moved on, delving into the penumbra under the old buildings, street by street. It seemed already that they had come quite far, but nothing in their surroundings hinted at this. The walls, pavement, windows, air were equally dim and worn. If anything, the stench was growing faintly stronger, and the houses more hoary and battered by time. Stone gave way to putrid wood, and the puddles became rarer, but denser and wider.

At last, the leading cultist stopped before a door in no way different from the dozens they had passed before, set in a wall as foul and ungainly as any other. He cast a rapid glance to both sides, then scraped the panels with his nails, unafraid of any splinters or insects that might be caught under them. There was a moment of silence, then, from the other side, echoed a similar scratching, and the door creaked open. Beyond the threshold, nothing was visible but looming, almost solid darkness.

The three silent adherents were the first to file into it without making a sound. The one with the wounded hand took a step, then stopped in the doorway to motion for his companions to follow, and disappeared as well.

''Why the secrecy? Surely you understand there is religious freedom in Göl Kasabi. What practises could be ill and so depraved enough that your kin are compelled to hide them from common eyes?'' The Ephemite speaks up after a long and eerie quiet, her hushed voice disrupting the smothering silence and darkness inside the building.

From the dark interior ahead came a response in a voice somewhat alike, yet unmistakeably different from that of the first priest. It clearly belonged to another person, yet it was veined with the same low, hoarse tones.

"Our mysteries are such that they must be held in the deep, near the heart of the world and far from the light and the sky. Come, and you shall see why it is so."
The three of them tread further, though for those unfamiliar with the Cult the decision came only after a moment of hesitation. Under their feet, they could feel hard, though roughly chiselled stone stairs, leading downwards. Somewhere far, far below, a point of red-brownish light flickered faintly, appearing and vanishing at intervals. Behind them, the door slammed shut, and only that spot remained visible in the pitch blackness. Shuffling steps moving away indicated that the guide was descending into the unseen abyss.

The way down could not have been long, yet it seemed that their progress between unseen walls of humid, breathing earth was excruciatingly slow. Ages could have passed in the silent blackness that surrounded them like the depths of a stygian ocean, and the distant light, a lone island in the smothering shadow, did not seem to draw any closer. While the night they had come from had itself been dark, this subterranean realm was another world altogether - a world of cold stillness and unspoken menace lurking close by.

Yet, strangely deep though it might have been, the bottom of the pit approached. The point of light grew larger and larger, reaching first the size and strength of a torch, then a brazier, then a bonfire, until it pushed back the encroaching dark. Through the subterranean quiet came faint echoes of far-off sounds, soon becoming whispers and rustling motions. Then, the steps gave way to even, hard ground, and, following the now visible guide into the luminescence, they saw.

Beyond the stairs lay a large vaulted chamber dug out of the soil. Its converging walls were slightly crumbling here and there, yet oddly smooth, as though whoever had carved them had been a master of their craft. Most astounding, however, was the fact that it was not lit by torches or braziers, but by large stains of glowing, living matter spread over the earthen surfaces. It was akin to some of the curious efflorescences spotted by daring seafarers who reached the far shores in the east, yet, at the same time, any who had seen both would have known these growths were different. It was nothing that could be seen, or even felt; but their lurid, charnel light spoke in accents not hoary and mystical, but dim and feral.

Gathered in the dungeon were about a score of acolytes, all draped in worn cloaks and brown robes. When the group emerged from the shadows of the stairway, they interrupted their hushed conversations and turned upon the newcomers their unnervingly faceless stares. Each of them donned under their cowl a mask that concealed their features. Among that crowd, there were crude, nondescript veils of stitched cloth mingled with more elaborate wooden visages and even some animal skulls; no two of them were alike. The guide threw a backwards glance at his guests, revealing that he as well had covered what little was visible of his head with a visor of hardened leather.

Presently, a low, metallic sound, akin to the strike of a gong, came from the further end of the chamber, and the masked figures' gazes swung thither. Across the circle of the floor, a tunnel opened into the room directly opposite the end of the stairs, gaping in the dimly lit wall like the mouth of a tremendous worm. Before it, there stood a low stone altar, almost crude in its simplicity. Upon the altar rested something that appeared to be a large square tablet of black rock, but the etchings on it could not be distinguished from that distance.

A wave of whispers coursed over the acolytes, and a large form issued from the mouth of the tunnel. It was another of the cloaked priests, but as unlike the others as they were different from the followers of other gods. The figure's cloak was quite clearly a funereal shroud, frayed at the edges and covered in patches of mold; yet the robes under it were clean and opulent, adorned with what might have been either jewels or sparse pieces of ceremonial armour. Its hands were covered in some sort of bizarre claw-like gauntlets, and the mask under its cowl was not of cloth or wood, but metal exquisitely fashined into the likeness of the head of an insect, with dully glittering gemstones as its eyes.

At the sight of this apparition, the assembled cultists bowed down as one, then rose in similar unison. The high priest, if such it was, stopped behind the altar, then abruptly raised both hands. All fell silent. The insect-headed figure lifted the tablet from the altar, held it up high, and intoned a chant. Its voice was only rasping and hissing; it could not even be said whether it was a man or a woman.

The two visitors, all the while, had not spoken a word. The both of them were unnerved, while normally they shouldn't be. They are certainly familiar with rites as these, or even more extravagant and sinister. Yet despite it the Axohar and Ephemite still felt not in their element. The best they could do was keep up a smug facade that this shoddy ritual was insufficient to have any self-respecting, veteran Red Pantheonist impressed.

The chant rose still, growing in intensity. It was not formed of any discernible words, or even what could have been sounds of another language, but a medley of clicks, screeches and snaps that barely seemed to come from a human mouth. For all its chaotic discordancy, there distinctly was a rhythm to it. The bestial cacophony wove itself into cadenced patterns, the same snaps and clacks recurring at the end of what might have been abhorrent verses.

The moment in which the other acolytes joined the litany was so rapid that anyone not expecting it would have failed to notice it. Many voices rose as one in perfect synchrony, welling up to the vaulted ceiling and carrying the monstrous hymn as an overflowing river. The impression was not that of a choir, however large, chanting in unison; it seemed as though a single monstrous being were droning out its unnatural song without a mouth. A forest of gnarled hands rose from the gathered crowd towards the tablet, and their limbs did not appear to be hands at all.

The high priest lowered the stone upon the altar and fell silent, though this could barely be noticed amid the cultists' uninterrupted chanting. They continued even as their leader stepped aside from the entrance of the tunnel, revealing a group of three figures that had approached unheard and stood waiting for an unknown time. Two of them were masked priests, faces concealed by metallic visors; the third, held between them, was little more than a bundle of rags loosely wrapped around a starved, battered body. Their head was covered with a sack, and their whole frame seemed to tremble slightly, only ceasing for a moment upon being roughly prodded by one of the masked guards.

At a gesture from the leader, the two dragged their weakly stumbling captive before the altar and withdrew to its two sides, leaving their charge to collapse to its knees. No one saw how they were produced, but suddenly the insect-headed prelate was holding two recurve daggers like the one with which the first cultist had sealed his oath in its hands. Then, with preternatural agility, it plunged the blades into the prisoner's chest from two sides, as though they had been the extremities of a pincer. The violence of the strikes was such that the victim's entire body was lifted from the ground and flung onto the altar, steel crushing bone with a sickening sound. The dying gurgling from under the sack was drowned out by the hymn, which rose higher than ever as the carnifex screeched out some unintelligible words in an altered voice. The rag-draped limbs twitched a few times, then fell still.

The high priest tore out the daggers from the body, and once again its strength was such that the corpse was cast to the ground as the serrated edges turned its ribcage into bloody tatters. A dark, thick pool covered the altar; yet, inexplicably, it was growing smaller and smaller, though little of it dripped to the ground. A sharper look revealed the astounding cause of this marvel: the blood appeared to be seeping into the dark stone of the tablet, which drank it in hungrily as though it were alive.

Suddenly, the chanting ebbed and ceased, and the chamber feel eerily silent. There had been no visible signal, yet every cultist had stopped intoning the strange words at once, even as they had begun. The leader cast away the bloodied daggers and motioned with a hand, and four of the cloaked figures stepped forward. The first withdrew the folds of their clothing from one of their arms, and the wrist was revealed to be a handless stump; the other three stopped behind their comrade's back.

The insect mask nodded, then a gauntleted hand darted forward, and a brief burst of sharp, scrreching words rang through the air. A shadow seemed to pass over the dim light of the subterranean growths, engulfing all in the room for an invisible fragment of an instant. It was certain no time had passed, and, indeed, there had truly been no darknening; yet, when the guests regained their bearings, the scene before them had become unrecognisable.

Five figures still stood at the center of the chamber, but a nameless change had come over them. The high priest appeared to stand as tall and immobile as before, but the body under their robe seemed to have unnaturally swollen and struck by spasms. Something pulsing and amorphous beat beneath the clothing around the figure's stomach, and occasionally the outline of a sharp edge or spike could be seen through the fabric. Two of the supplicants who had stood behind were now on their knees, where they remained motionless. The third was nowhere to be seen, but a small cloud of yellow-grey smoke coiled and hovered where they had stood. One could have sworn that now and then the dim outlines of something much too large to be hidden by that fog emerged from it.

Yet the gazes of all were gathered upon the one who had held forward the mutilated wrist. The figure was now standing in its former place, and seemed slightly taller than before. It slowly turned away from the center and towards the stairs, as though it knew the visitors were there, and held up what had been a flat stump.

Now it was no more. Up until the wrist, the arm was that of a human; yet upwards from it began something hideous. A hairy, viciously sharp pincer had appeared in the stead of the missing appendage. It was covered in some sort of foul-seeming carapace, and black ichor oozed from it. But worst of all, it clearly was alive. It twitched and snapped at the air, gnashing and grinding with a horrid noise. Its bearer kept it aloft for a few moments, then lowered it and stepped aside without a sound.

The gathering seemed to be finished. The insect-priest and the cultists with the iron masks disappeared into the tunnel, and the others began to file away up the stairs, the one healed by that abominable miracle among them, without exchanging as much as a word. The strange cloud and the uncertain shapes within it had vanished.

Last of his kin left in the chamber, the acolyte who had guided the Axohar and Ephememite into this den of horrors looked at his guests through his inexpressive wooden visage, as though he were expecting something due to him.
The Axohar gives prompt reply:
''That was fun.''

''...What exactly were we just witness to?''

"The heart of the world has beaten" came the voice from behind the mask.

The cloaked figure turned in silence and was gone in the shadows of the stairway.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

That's a lot of fragments. Mournful is the fate of a God of Death who could not arrange a proper burial for himself...