wildestlogs | A Very Dank Side Quest

It is in a peaceful and unassuming moment when the invasion strikes, like venom to the bloodstream. From the corners and dark cracks of the walls, white tree roots begin to overtake the room and doors around. Once the roots touch skin or cloth or armor, one finds themselves whisked away.

The abyss that follows is bitterly cold and pitch black, utterly devoid of either sunlight or any lamps and torches. Nausea may wrack the senses from the sudden hop to the new location, nearly opposite in every way to the castle they'd been staying in before. After adjustments to the dark surroundings, the white glow of tree roots appears to create something of a path ahead.

The only source of light is sparse, streaking accross the ceiling in thin rays, but providing a small glimpse of the world nonetheless. The floors and walls were made of smooth marble and concrete, dusted and cracked with age. Greek-style columns and winged statues litter the dark, coming together to form broken and long-abandoned colonnades. Flecks of gold occasionally glittered on the otherwise pale stone architecture. The vague shapes of shrunken, leathery corpses are strewn liberally across the floor.

The space around them was empty, with no immediate avenues of escape through this new labyrinth. An air of bleak dread and death seems to hang heavy like a miasma, the psychic imprint of those living before. Where was one to go next?

Edited 2022-04-23 22:18 (UTC)

Guts jerks up from the ground on alert as he gathers his bearings. One moment he'd been suited up to start training for the day, and the next he finds himself in some pit unfamiliar and alien.

He grips the handle of his sword, straining to see what was in front of him. He didn't recognize the statues or any of the architecture, but he did sense one thing: the faint burn of the brand on his neck, promising nothing good waiting out in the desolate wastes.

"What the hell is this place...?"

"What in the goddamn - " Saturday retches, disoriented from the jump. She'd fought the roots, cutting in deep, but they'd sprouted more, and more, twining around her and over her mouth -

The sense of immediate danger is gone. She can feel Guts beside her, solid as a bulwark. Elder Brother's hilt drops into her palm as she turns, angling to give him her back and cover his. Nothing seems to be moving or alive except them - but that doesn't mean they're alone.

"Guts? You okay?"

Perception
Guts: 23 (Pass)
Saturday: 49 (Pass)

As the two of them gather their bearings back-to-back, there is little to greet them beyond cold gusts of air and floating motes of dust. They weren't in immediate danger, but closer inspection reveals that they weren't alone.

Saturday catches the faint vibrations of something skittering in the roof above them, a wispy little man-sized creature that would be easily missed. Lining up with its placement is a small hole in the ceiling, where it is staring down with a bulbous, black eye.

Guts' brand reacts in kind, the sharp sting guiding him upward. Whatever was lurking in the ruins was solidly inhuman.

"Just feelin' a little sick..."

Guts responds, his gaze drifting to where the brand tugged him. He has the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

"Somethin's here, and it ain't human."

"Feels humanoid, though. On the small side. Nothing else is moving."

She speaks quietly, barely moving her lips.

"Do you recognize this place at all?"

“Never been to this place before, but whatever it is feels familiar. Like them.”

Even after all this time, that unmistakable trace of demon makes his body tense on instinct.

Saturday can't resist. "Which them?" she asks, dry as the bones under their feet. "I can name half a dozen we might find in a place like this, just off the top 'a my head."

She's not relaxed, for all she's cracking wise. The familiar tension sings in her veins, waking up the parts of her that - never really sleep, but doze when they're not needed. Banked embers stir into flame. Her grip tightens around her sword hilt, then relaxes.

"Whatever it is, I don't think it knows we know it's there. How you wanna play this?"

Trace it and kill it is what his answer would have been a long time ago. There wasn't any other business he had mingling with the hellish creatures he knew. But he pauses to consider his options here, remembering his last encounter with Zodd. Could it be similar? Business of Griffith's that had nothing to do with him?

"We've got bigger problems. Let's keep moving."

Simple and straightforward. He knew Saturday would be ready if they needed to fight.

"I'll keep an eye one it. See if it follows us."

She sniffs the air, experimentally. "Smells weird in here. You got anything we can use for a torch? I have some matches, but they won't last long. Maybe there's something..."

She looks around, hoping for a stick and some scraps of fabric. Maybe some pitch. Pitch is what you use, right?

Light has its drawbacks, chiefly that it'd be painting a big fucking target on them. On the other hand, they're not gonna get far if they can't figure out where the fuck they are, and her sixth sense can only tell how things are shaped, and how they move. It can't tell her what they are, or what they mean, or if they're hostile.

Edited 2022-04-26 03:00 (UTC)

"I can tear up some of my cloak for fabric," he offers.

Guts always had a firestarter on him with his prosthetic limb and some flint he kept on him. Now they just needed a stick. He strains his eye in the dark, shuffling some rubble aside with the tip of his sabatons, looking for any wood that might have been dislodged from the structure around them.

The ruins around them are ancient, so old that any fabric that might have been on the corpses had all but dissolved to dust. Wood is nowhere to be found. Nothing but dust and stone. The weathered skins of the strewn corpses are bizarrely preserved, as if whatever method of death befell them had blighted them from fully decomposing to nothing.

Although there's no wood, there is a welcome sight waiting for them in the room: Need lying flat on the ground, illuminated at just the right angle by a stray root encircling a column.

Need had been with Ange, exploring the castle, when the roots appeared and started reaching. Soon enough it had become apparent that they couldn't escape or destroy them at that time, and that they were much more interested in Need than the troubled heiress. She'd urged the girl to draw her and get some space between them, but pulling a sword from its sheath belted to one's body is a skill and one the child has had little practice with. So Need had just assumed control, drawing and casting herself away in one motion, and through Ange's eyes had seen the roots curve after the sword she's sealed inside, and wrap about her... and then that connection was lost as rapidly as if cut.

Sensory deprivation is very familiar to her, something she had hated and feared once and now regards as an annoyance. Patiently, warily, Need starts to extend her attenuated magical senses. She has no way of measuring how long it takes before she picks up on the empathic hit of someone seeing and recognizing her, and follows it back to its source-

:Hello, boy,: she grumbles into the space between his ears. Just because Need's used Guts' name once in a mindscape to a part of him doesn't mean she's just going to use it all the time. A bit reluctantly - Need is far too fond of private conversations within a group - she cuts Saturday in too. :Isn't this cheerful. And you've brought your friend; hello, girl. One of you should come pick me up. I don't think you've got any better idea about what's going on than I do but we might as well start working it out together.:

She'll start a sight-enhancement on whoever comes and gets her, making the darkness less and less obfuscating, but isn't going to say that yet.

Perception
Need: 67 (Fail)

The trip must have been quite bumpy on the metaphysical level, as the colonnade looks just as barren to Need as it did to them, even borrowing their eyes.

:Hey.:

Guts hears Need's voice in his head before he properly recognizes her in the dark, and squats next to the blade after being given her greeting. He is happy to see her, despite his typically dour expression adorning his face.

"You got some kinda glowing spell in there?" he asks, tapping the metal blade, "We're low on torches."

Edited 2022-04-28 04:45 (UTC)

She can’t see his expression but she can guess, and the slight lift in Guts’ mood is more important anyway. Need restrains herself from probing after the wretched thing that she knows lives in the bottom of his heart. Not a helpful impulse, especially here and now. Just because she hasn’t picked up on threats doesn’t mean there are none.

:I would love to say yes, children, I can cast Magelight for you, but the powers that be decided otherwise,: she grouses. :My inscription won’t do much good either, it’s not that kind of light. But I can do you one better and it won’t draw attention. Pick me up, boy. We’re going to have to figure out a way to carry me, my belt and scabbard are back with the others.:

A lot of magic in Velgarth involves describing what the mage wants from matter and energy, and Need knows how to do this very precisely. One contact is established she can speak more clearly to a body. You are much more sensitive to light, she tells Guts’ eye, and then starts going into detail. As she does, everything starts to brighten. Not quite as if the light of day is shining on the rubble and withered corpses, there’s little color and distant resolution is a but blurry, but visibility improves markedly. His dilated pupil, seen from just the right angle, also reflects an iridescent green.

:Don’t look directly at those roots,: she says. They’ll seem dazzling, brilliant. :Right now I can only do this to someone in contact, I can cover the girl too but if we’re attacked that’s going to be a problem. Now look around and up, won’t you?:

Edited 2022-04-28 06:58 (UTC)

:'Sup, sword-lady: Saturday thinks back at the voice in her head. Sixth World telepathy requires a degree of focus and intent for what you mean to send; to Need, she's probably shouting a bit. :Can you keep us linked up like this, for comms? Something's watching us and we don't know why yet. Better not to give anything away for free:

She is crouched by one of the withered corpses, squinting speculatively through the gloom at its thigh bone.

:Also, would anyone here be super upset if I mildly desecrated a corpse?:

Need gives Saturday a sense like a wince, though also a suggestion of amusement. 'Swordlady', something she hears a lot more in Velgarth than in the Wilderlands. :If you'll stop yelling, I'll see what I can do. First you children want a light, then private telesons... you're fortunate I have experience in coordinating people.: It's not hard to tell that her complaining is a cover for serious concern about the entire situation.

A full mind-to-mind link and the associated rapport between two people without normal Mindspeech, she judges, would be distracting at best for some time. As the center of the link she'd also have her own thoughts and emotions more accessible than she likes. That's all assuming she's capable of making that kind of connection right now. But Saturday and Guts are both practiced in forming their thoughts in a clear, usable way. For now, Need tries something closer to relaying words from one to the other. It takes some multitasking, though she's not too close to her limit yet. She just hopes there's nothing here that can pick up on private Mindspeech. Those entities are very rare in her experience, but they have existed.

Need not-shrugs at the question. It would not bother her, she has little sense for certain taboos anymore. :For what, the marrow? Poor bastards, I suppose they'd object less than those roots might if hacked at.:

:Sorry. This better?: She's now thinking very quietly, but it's still understandable.

:I was more thinking we could use the bones for the, uh, stick part of the torch. Guts said we could rip up the cloak for cloth. If there's any fat left we can use that, if not I guess we hope we find some - but since we can't guarantee we'll stay together, it seems smart to work on alternate light sources. And it's not like we have any other resources around.:

Need is a little late on the advice, as Guts winces slightly from the flare of light up above the roots. Once too dim, now they were overwhelmingly bright if he stared into them too long.

"Could'a used the warning beforehand," he grumbles, strapping Need to his belt. Guts quickly gets to work cutting a strip of cloth off his cloak to provide to Saturday. Dagger was always handy.

:Too bad those twigs probably ain't too flammable.: he remarks, looking up at the roots. He raises his hand in front of his eyes as if to avoid the rays of the sun. This'll take some getting used to.

Edited 2022-04-28 20:14 (UTC)

:I'm also willing to bet that whatever's down here is adapted to the dark. Which means fire will daze it, blind it if we're lucky. Better to have an edge and not need it then need it and not have it:

She starts to butcher as she 'speaks.' It's quick work, rather like carving a very weird chicken: sever the joints, give a little yank, so on and so forth. It helps that the withered body doesn't really look like a person any more.

The skin is withered and dry, and slides off easily. By the end of it, she has two mostly-clean thighbones and a pile of... assorted other stuff. :I wonder if any of it's flammable...:

Investigation (INT)
Saturday: 13 (Success)

Saturday carves up the corpse easily, as time had weathered the body to almost nothing. In the process of doing this, secrets begin to unveil.

Not all the corpses were fully human. Adjusted from its position on the ground, the head tilts to hang limply to the side, a tug or so away from crumbling entirely off the neck. This parts the thin hair remaining on the skull, revealing the shriveled remnant of a long, elven ear.

At the center of the body's face was a rune - the carved brand identical to the one on Guts' neck. A dry scar on even drier, weathered skin.

Contrasting the grisly details was the dusty remains of a necklace with a vine-like design, silvery and unmarred compared to the abyss that surrounded them.

"Huh." She's startled enough to forget to speak quietly. Saturday shakes her head, irritated at herself, and tries again. :Guts, get over here. This looks like that scar on your neck.:

He'd never said much about it, other than something about sacrifice and that it could detect demons. It was related to whatever had happened to his old crew, she knew that much.

Reunion in the Abyss

Library (Loken + Kerrigan)

Basilica (Guts + Saturday)

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Guts

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Guts

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