Into The Wild Blue

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: Glade 80 123
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

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Since Ash, the Eclipse had hung in the sky; an omnipresent phantom, darkening the horizon, with no end in sight. And as the days rolled on, that same horizon became decorated with structures altogether eldritch at the start of Frost. One in each cardinal direction, only two visible at a time; what was their origin? Their purpose? The mortals of the realm could only wonder, curious as it was. And now it's Glade. Little has changed. Those who sought to 'wait it out' were rapidly losing sway with those who sought to do something about this conundrum.

The Gelerian Imperium in particular is a pragmatic nation, though prone to falling for the sins of avarice, of pride, of zealous ambition– so to ignore so mysterious a phenomenon? Never.

The first question, then, was where to start, and the simplest answer was simple reconnaissance. However, whomever they dispatched in the direction of any of these strange pillars would essentially be commanded to walk boldly into the unknown. As such, they needed agents that were both durable and adaptable, and who better to send than a pair of vampyres? Hector and Vergil were unique within the Inquisition; they weren't the only vampyres, no, but as a pair, they worked well together and Vergil's speciality with Necromancy resulted in experimentation that had made them…unusually durable, even by standards of vampirism.

Their orders were vague: "Go west."

Almost entirely unhelpful, that, but when dealing with matters more cosmic, one couldn't really complain. With Vergil carrying their survival essentials in a featherlight bag, the two headed west from the capital, starting their path when the pillar was visible in the distance. The funny thing is that "west" from Gel'Grandel was the ocean…and they were sent by foot. It was hard to tell if their superiors knew something they did not or if they were guessing and hoping something would happen, but neither party were really in a place to question such orders, wete they?

At least the westerly roads were scenic. Trees gave way to rocky shores; the sea breeze as they neared the coastline was refreshing, too– yet for a while, the tower did not appear to change despite their movement.

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Hilana Chenzira]

When she and Æros had made the trip north towards the frozen, crystalline tree, Hilana had noticed out of the corner of her eye that there had been a strange-looking tower to the west. She had only seen it for a moment, a flash if there was, and she had had to wonder if her mind had been playing tricks on her. Even though she had gone home to Solunarium Proper, she was thinking about it. She wanted to go and investigate that, too, and now that she had gone west from Tertium, her easiest way to get to the great darkness was a long trip west, or north from there... but considering the tower had been west, it made the most logical sense to approach the border of the dreaded Respublica Ecithianae. If they went north from the city, and turned West once they got into the Great Darkness... That would do it. Hilana knew it would take too long on Hayima’el, even if they went full-speed, so she was going to need something a lot faster.

This meant getting permission from the Silver Sentinels to cross the border in order to investigate, and she could report what had happened when she had gone North to approach the crystalline tree. After the debriefing and an assessment, her trip was cleared. With permission granted, and an escort with a wyvern arranged, the girl made her plans and headed home to her apartment to get ready for the next trip. This had to be done. This needed to be ended, solved, fixed, somehow. And if there was something she could complete, then she had better get it done.

The next morning, she had packed her rucksack once more full of supplies from the kitchen and Sweet Remedies before grabbing her Mask, her map, and her illumite pendant and met the Sentinels at the Aerie outside of the city. After bowing and getting the name of the Wyvern as she was wont to do with every single one she had met thus far, they had taken off for the border. The girl was content to be a passenger and let the Sentinels steer, while she soaked up their methods of aerial riding. She didn’t know what to expect, besides to expect anything and everything.

Once they had approached the border and the great darkness was visible, the Sentinel decreased their altitude until the wyvern landed. It flattened a bit in order to allow the girl to slide off and down. Her black ruffled wrap skirt, edged and hemmed in silver, flounced when she hit the ground, her rucksack too well-packed to be jarred by the impact. “Gratias,” she told the Sentinel, who nodded to her as Hilana put her mask on, willing herself to vanish from the eyes of others for the time being to hopefully keep herself protected from the voidspawn until she got to the tower.

With that, she walked into the darkness, her hands on the straps of her bag, and determination singing in her soul. Her Wildness hummed, and when she looked to the West, she could see it. And now that she could focus on it, it was breathtaking. The Vastiana headed right for it, looking around as she did to check for others. She had already found one person at the Northern Tree when she took Æros out of Tertium, and now... Maybe she would find someone here, too.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Go west.

Westward bound they went…and the West welcomed them, just as it did all who chose to embark upon the path toward walking, sailing or flying to that tower. No matter their method of travel, the further they went, the more it seemed that the rest of the world began to fade away. So long as they stood within the shadow of the Eclipse, their westward journey was not impeded provided they remained focused on the tower. The shadow of other things joined them in their journey. Other pilgrims making their way toward the western tower that stood on the horizon, lingering there in a moment of rose gold twilight. There on that twilight road, some shapes were familiar, some were not. Soon enough however, the draw of that tower would continue to coerce the travelers toward its embrace.

Come. It said.

I am waiting. It whispered.

Their journey pushed onward, taking them past the shores of the western banks until they were in the open sea. The waters of the sea were at first peaceful but as time progressed and their sojourn continued, that began to change. In the distance, the twilight tower continued to loom, rising high into the skies, always visible as long as they remained in the shadow of the Eclipse. But around them the skies began to darken. Storm clouds gathered but these were not the clouds of a natural storm. They ripped and tore at the heavens, sending out javelins of prismatic lightning that crashed into the waters of the sea below. Where this lightning slammed into the waters, waves roiled. Some of those waves turned into crystalline glass that was soon shattered by the force of other, greater and more violent roiling tidal waves that collapsed ontop of each other. Some of those waves began twisted and gnarled trees that were soon splintered by the waves or set ablaze by this errant storm of terrible force.

A hurricane screamed all around them. Some of the pilgrims that ventured toward the tower were consumed by the storm. Some ships were obliterated. Some flyers were swept away by the ferocity of this unstoppable maelstrom. But others…others pressed on. For the way was open for them. The twilight tower beckoned.

Do not falter. It said.

I am here. It whispered.

The violence of the storm only grew worse but through it all, the tower never moved. It continued to stand there, a beacon amid the chaos.

Until the storm abated.

And there they stood, for better or worse, upon the hilltop of some distant land with only the storm clouds of the entropic maelstrom behind them for as far as the eye could see. Ahead of them in a ruined and blasted valley, surrounded by what must have once been a vast lake, were the ruins of a vast and crumbling metropolis. Ahead of them were the ruined edges of that once great and wondrous city. Broken spires that must have once brushed the skies, stood shattered and crumbling. The rust of time caked every surface and dust was brushed up from cracked streets to blow in a wind that smelled of oil and forge fires. The sprawling metropolis was empty, its bronzed buildings left to rot. At the center of the city stood the twilight tower and around it were glowing lines of volcanic energy that intensified and then abated in intensity. It stood upon a raised platform that seemed to have been formed from obsidian rock. Around it was a cracked and broken landscape that seemed scarred as if by some great cataclysm.

Whatever this great clockwork city might once have been, it was now inhabited only by the ghosts of long forgotten memories…and the looming spire that jutted out from its center in an oddly beautiful contrast to the devastation that surrounded it.

The way had opened to them. The tower had beckoned. Whether or not there would be a way back? That remained to be seen. But there they were, on the rusted shores of some obsidian land with the skies still lingering in a mix of sunlight and twilight.

Off Topic

This will be my one and only warning. In your next post, you may choose to follow the beckoning of the tower or you may choose to turn back. If you choose to proceed, it is at your own peril. Nothing ahead of you will be easy. Survive or don't. If you choose to turn back, you will return safely to the shores of where you left.

[Pharaoh]

After Hilana dismounted, two of the other Sentinel Passengers slid down to gracefully land on booted feet. Only the driver remained mounted, practising Mesmer to abate the Wyvern’s anxieties about the storms ahead.

One of the Sentinels assumed a stance and lowered his veiled head, muttering unintelligible Vallenor verse. The empty air before him seemed to warp, but the strange energies emanating from the storm seemed to cause him to strain against some unseen obstacle. The other veiled Sentinel placed a hand against the cloaked back of the first, using her æther to guide his toward the slipstream.

By and by a portal opened, revealing a plot to which Hilana had not been privy when she’d been permitted an escort from the Vigilia Argenti.

A diminutive figure in sleek, black armour accented in silver stepped forth. Or perhaps the Sentinel was not small, and it was only that the figure was dwarfed by the far greater mass of the one who walked behind her- a winged hulking man Hilana would recognise as Talon’s husband, Aoren.

The smaller figure doffed a helm to reveal long, raven hair which whipped in the strong winds that assailed them. The other two Sentinels hailed,

“Ave, Vigilia Valæra!” They barked in unison, before falling into position flanking the striking Moonborn in her heavily warded armour.

“Reinforcements from His Exalted Highness.” She announced, tucking the helm under her arm. Whether this was an afterthought on the part of the Umbrian Crown or a pre-established plan for a valuable asset to save the time and potential risk of travel by wyvern would remain a mystery for the nonce as Valæra regarded Hilana and her current companions. The Grandmaster Sembler and heir presumptive to the Princeps Sibylla assessed the unfamiliar variables in Hilana’s party, before turning her potent gaze upon the mælstrom ahead. Her eyes widened slightly.

She looked to Aoren and softly spoke,

“Long have the scholars of my Order desired to regard this salient place. It is with harrowing honour and humbling dread that I find I am the first.”

[Imogen]

There are any number of salient explanations for Imogen's sudden appearance.

Obviously many pilgrims had simply seen the tower and decided to set off towards it, spirits captive to the strange and cosmic phenomenon. Though the Orkhan witch was not known for wandering around at random, she was a witch of Zaichaer, and therefore at risk for deciding to do weird and mystical stuff at any time. So she might simply have decided to wander westward like most of the bedraggled souls visible yon.

Or- perhaps she had been following Hector and Vergil. She'd spent time in Frost in their company, and while she seemed generally insensible to the pair's dark connections, it was reasonable to think that she'd eventually put certain things together. Certainly she'd demonstrated both the capacity and willingness to travel with considerable speed when pressed; with neither Imperial agent taking pains to conceal themselves, she could easily have caught up with them.

Also plausible was that she'd come to the edge of the tower's domain to investigate but found the aura of menace sufficient to deter her from proceeding alone- though that would require a confluence of traits and behaviors never previously in evidence. Still, this tower's dangerous nature was palpable. If the myriad pilgrims disintegrating in the chaos storm was not enough to give any warrior pause, then surely nothing on the mortal plane ever would.

(The truth, for those interested in such pointless details, is that she was tricked there--a juvenile act of retaliation--but awoke too soon to stumble to her certain death. This is of no further relevance, and no additional details are worth imparting.)

In any event, as Vergil and Hector approached the city, they found Imogen waiting by the side of the road, scribbling in a notebook as she sought to take down all of the details of the strange and mysterious land. This was common practice for the witch, who took pride in the detail and completeness of her reports to her superiors.

"...rust of time caked every surface and dust was brushed up from cracked streets to blow in a wind that smelled of- oh, good morning." Her pen ceased scratching.

It wasn't a very firm statement. Even in ordinary surrounds, the Eclipse made telling time difficult. Here, in the middle of this swirling prismatic storm? It could be last week, for all the witch knew. She looked up at Vergil and Hector with a calm, unreadable face, as though it was no surprise to her to see the two ex-Kindred witches once more.

"Fancy running into the two of you here. I don't suppose you're in need of a bodyguard or the like...?" Imogen hooked a thumb towards the city at her back. "Though I'm not sure how much I can promise in that regard here."

The Sunsinger did not wait for their reply, but flipped through her notes until the cover was safely back on them and secreted the pad away somewhere on her person. With her observations safely stowed, she planted her hands to either side of her back and pushed herself up to her feet, as though executing the world's least ambitious kip-up. She took a moment to knock the dust off her trousers and arms, then returned her attention to the other witches.

"I was giving serious thought to going back, but it does seem a shame not to check around in that city." Imogen leaned in towards Hector and raised one hand to her mouth, as though divulging some secret, "I know a number of dealers in antiquities who pay well for remnants of the old Empire. Novel remnants, anyway. What do you say?

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
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The vague nature of this endeavor had given them zero inherent expectations, but the eldritch ambiguity of the tower itself had made them wary from the start that this mission might be quite arcane in nature. And as they walked, they noticed the world around them shifting, reality beginning to fall away. At first, they thought it a trick of the void; unknowns of the Eclipse; and it was, but the extent that these changes would go was something that they could not predict. The maelstrom that they soon found themselves in, however, was jarring for them both; incipient as they neared the water on the horizon, it had begun in full force and soon, they didn't recognize their surroundings at all.

The mysterious voice juxtaposed to the other pilgrims dying all 'round them was a great curiosity. Was it projected to all westward bound as a means to beckon travelers onwards, but an empty promise, wholly void of meaning? Hollow words to draw pilgrims forward? Or, mayhap it was targeted by the speaker towards specific travelers, ones it had chosen? Perhaps the selection method was random? Was the storm meant to cull the weak? Did anyone really await them?

Those thoughts belonged to Vergil; Hector was, by all accounts, mesmerized by their newfound surroundings, by the magic of the maelstrom, and his largest focus was his own avoidance of peril– that, and the young elf simply did not care at all about the voice. It meant nothing to him and he'd continue his ingress regardless; always a reveler in chaos, that boy was.

And whether it was serendipity or meant to be, neither party could tell, but they managed to avoid interaction with the water, with the electric, with all that had been pernicious thus far. The way the lightning affected the waves, especially, had been a concern, but reality had continued to warp as they'd made their way along the beach and they'd found themselves in a different location entirely in short order. No more Imperium beaches, no more was the vast ocean– only an ancient city lying in ruin stretched out before them now. Vergil immediately recognized the architecture that surrounded them.

"The clockwork empire…" he muttered; a bit in awe.

"Wait, what…? But that's–" the opposite direction from which they walked, although Hector did cut himself off, realizing that whatever strange magics had transported them here would obviously have negated that fact.

Although before they could continue this conversation, the pair clapped eyes on a familiar figure: Imogen, the Zaichaeri witch they’d worked with in Frost. Having arrived in a thoroughly unknown location, it would be passing wise to work with her. When they'd approached, she was lost in her thoughts, pen scratching away in a logbook of sorts, but for a brief beat, she did not notice them.

Upon properly recognizing she was not alone, she did look up, addressing them with the offer of a 'bodyguard,' and then further, to Hector more directly,

Vergil looked at the Orkhan girl inquisitively, but he didn't interfere.

"I- well…I want for little, but…" Hector paused, however briefly. "...the empire's antiquities themselves are a source of great intrigue. Riches or no, I…I want to go further if there's any chance of happening upon any of the empire's more arcane secrets."

He didn't really want to turn back, out of both curiosity and avarice, though given the danger, the wisest decision might be to request further assistance from the Inquisition itself. The problem with that is that it would take time to mobilize, and Hector was not a patient person– but luckily for them, this option wasn't actually necessary, for further reinforcements did arrive on their own, only they were most certainly not of Imperium ilk. Three more would arrive to this harrowing, hallowed land; an equally mismatched group in terms of appearances. An armored elf, a young human, and a large Avialae; though while little united them aesthetically, it was abundantly clear that the three all shared some sort of association. And given the fact that all three had appeared as miraculously as Hector, Vergil and presumably Imogen, they, too, must have been transported here for a similar reason. With that assumption in mind, Vergil called out to the three strangers.

"I assume you lot bore witness to the destruction wrought by that maelstrom on your journey here? Given how many other travelers perished in that, might it be wise that we who've survived join together for whatever lies ahead within that tower?" For the most part, Vergil's affect was flat and his tone level– he sounded cordial, matter-of-fact, but he did suffuse his words with appropriate urgency given the circumstance.

The vampyre knew not their affiliation, nor would they be able to recognize his or his companion's. Both he and Hector did not bear robes or colors of the Inquisition; if they were sent to foreign lands, they rarely ever did, and this strange tower counted as something similar. Hector preferred the freedom of movement of standard, light clothing and Vergil wore studded leather armor, dyed black as night.

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Aidolon Speech

'Thoughts'

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Hilana Chenzira]

Hilana hadn’t expected the portal, but she was certainly pleased about it. Then again, she’d asked for the Wyvern ride, which suited her just fine. Long hours on the backs of beasts all of her life served her well, and now was no exception. She bounced easily on her toes and stretched, watching as two figures came through the portal. When she recognized the bigger man, she slipped her mask back into her bag for now. Vigilia Valaera and Aoren! That tickled her, and she bowed in greeting to them, smiling with delight. She couldn’t have hoped for more, especially with what was looming on the horizon. “Salve, Vigilia, Aoren.” Arvaelyn had sent the power players, and for that, Hilana was thankful.

Sometimes the only way out was through, and this was going to be true again today. For a girl who had been born in a storm, the Maelstrom didn’t scare her like it perhaps should have. Storms were rare in the desert, rarer still on the coast around Tertrium as Elementalists ensured that the waters stayed calm and smooth. But out here, there was no such interference. There was a terrible beauty to the destruction and resounding strength, and when they started walking, and the words of whatever or whomever it was that spoke were echoed by her wildness, encouraging her on. It reminded her of one of the songs that her grandmother taught her that her mother loved to sing, and as she walked, she hummed the melody to herself. Perhaps it was drowned out from the senses of the others, but at least the girl was not outright singing.

When the storm had cleared, Hilana surveyed where they were with interest. She had never seen anything like it. This was new for something so old, and she had to imagine that it was an artificer’s dream. “Glories,” she murmured in Common for Aoren’s sake. It was clear that Valaera had more of an idea of what they were looking at than she did, but her best guess would have been to do with the Clockwork Wastes. There was a section in her book about the plants there. The tower, though… that was what they needed to explore, and the girl was all too happy to pick her way down the hill with her party and head for the city and the tower. There was work to do. Fortune favoured the bold.

But when she saw the figures up ahead, from slight to large to… green.“Orcana,” the girl murmured grimly, still holding onto the straps of her rucksack. She looked quite solemn, but considering the Vigilia she was with outranked her, and both she and Aoren, not to mention the Sentinels that accompanied them, had far more experience than the nomadic Vastiana. If they were inclined to cooperate with the foreign trio that showed some familiarity and friendship with an Orcana, then Hilana would keep her mouth shut and behave herself. “Si Zaichaer alias gentes oderit, cur amicae sunt Orcana?” She murmured in Vastian, glancing deferentially at the shorter elf. Hilana was hardly armoured, but after her last foray into things in the great darkness, her torso was at least covered with a hooded, sleeveless shirt that matched her skirt, and fingerless leather gloves.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Stepping through the portal, Aoren was a figure dressed and ready for war. The vestments he wore were a combination of leather and cloth with ebony plating. Within the folds of the cowl upon his head, his eyes burned with a volcanic fire that was reminiscent of hellfires. He lowered the cowl as they stepped onto the lands that were so blasted by waste and destruction. His long red hair was drawn back into a ponytail. He wore two earrings on his left ear, one a simple silver, the other appeared to be a simple illumite gemstone. A silver circlet adorned his brow. On his belt were a few pouches, he otherwise carried no obvious weaponry. As soon as his plated leather boots touched the earth, Aoren flinched and turned his head as though he had smelled something foul.

“The air is tainted here. If you do not possess the power to purify the air around you, I suggest you stay close to me.” The fire in his eyes burned a little hotter. The air around him rippled. With a sweep of his wings there came a billowing of air currents. A dome of dust kicked up briefly before dissipating. All gathered would immediately notice a shift in smell as the air lost that burnt edge to it in a radius that extended outward of only about 30 ft. from Aoren himself. He observed the assembled briefly before inclining his head to Valaera. His eyes trailed over the ruinous landscape before settling on the ominous tower that loomed in the distance.

“Let us hope that it is not our final venture. Hail, friends! I agree. If your path is toward the tower, joining forces in this land is a wiser path to take!” He inclined his head toward Vergil then assessed the architecture of the city. Grim was the look that passed his features. For a moment he looked as though he was reliving a memory, his eyes growing unfocused before he blinked away whatever it was that crossed his thoughts. As he moved further into the landscape, he felt a shiver go up his spine. The air was practically teeming with raw power. It was in everything all around them. Despite the barren looking landscape, the world around them was alight with aetheric energy. He found that he could feel the elements more strongly. He could see the lines of power coursing through the very earth itself, drenched in a staggering level of potency that was unparalleled. It made his skin tingle but it also felt raw. It felt dangerous.

“Do you sense it?” He looked to Valaera, Hilana, and the others. “There is power here. Vast power. Raw. Unrestrained.”

To those gifted with the power to either perceive the flow of aether or could sense the elements, it was as though they had stepped into one of the raw elemental planes. This space was utterly saturated with aetheric energy. It made magic come more easily…but it would undoubtedly make controlling that magic that much harder.



“We should--” He was interrupted by the sound of a siren alarm wailing in the distance. It blared within the city emitting a cacophony that echoed across the landscape. It was followed by a rumbling growl and the thud of footsteps in the earth. In the distance, the ebony tower began to pulse. The skies overhead began to crack and roil. Aoren’s eyes went wide. The wild aether that coalesced all around them began to be drawn toward the tower in the distance. The siren was joined by another and as it joined the wailing of the first, a lumbering clockwork form could be seen walking among the cracked buildings of the city. First one. Then more. All of them blaring sirens in a chorus of ominous warning.

“Shelter. Shelter now. Move!” The nearest edge of the city was hundreds of yards away. They were all in open terrain. An arc of prismatic lightning coiled up the tower, shooting into the air.

Whatever was about to happen…it was clearly going to happen soon.

Off Topic

Note One: This landscape has been saturated and irradiated with a colossal amount of aetheric energy. As a result, magic is not impeded in this place in any fashion. However, utilizing any magic that is below the rank of Master is going to be exceedingly dangerous as focusing control over your powers will require the discipline and focus that only a Master can achieve. Every use of magic will be successful but any magic below the rank of Master will have a 100% chance of causing the Dread Mists to manifest to some degree. It will also produce a random effect that falls in line with the scope of the intended magic’s powers but outside the control of the mage who conjured it (i.e. summoning a fireball will be successful but it may also produce an earthquake).

Note Two: Due to the severe amount of aetheric radiation in this area, only those capable of communing with the elements and coercing them to purify the air and soil around them are moderately safe from radiation poisoning. If you possess equipment that is capable of insulating you from radiation poisoning (i.e. a Negation ward of some sort) it should be listed. If you possess magic that is capable of altering your physical body (i.e. Vitalis) and you venture beyond the elemental protections being implemented, you will have to regenerate or otherwise purify your own body every hour or become debilitatingly ill. I will notify all players when an hour has passed.

Note Three: Beware the sirens.

[Pharaoh]

Valæra turned her scrutinising gaze from what lay in the distance to those in her immediate vicinity. Imperials. Solunarium had never been disinterested in the affairs of the Gelerian Imperium, but it wasn't until recently that the distant realm committed a hostile action. Sending Arcas to Solunarium, whatever the Emperor's reasoning, was a clear threat to the stability of the region and an affront to their compulsory Faith. In point of fact, it had destabilised the region and, though Valæra's house was able to turn that to their advantage, that had surely not been the intention of the Imperium. Her eyes grazed over the Ork, before snapping to Hilana at her utterance.

"Mores septentrionales sunt extranei." She shrugged one of her shoulders, the spikes on its pauldron rising with the gesture. "Communem causam habemus, ergo fastidium teneamus. ..." She nodded toward the Imperials and pursed her lips as she lowered her voice. "Tamen, cave cum Imperialibus. Sunt lamia."

With that caveat espoused, she nodded to Aoren.

"Solunariani, mane prope me et Aoren." She said, poised to contribute her ætheric energies to augment Aoren's Craft, if he faltered or strayed from their immediate proximity.

As one of the Gelerians suggested they collaborate, she parted her lips to speak but Aoren spoke up first.

"So be it." She inclined her head as she replied in Common, before turning the bulk of her attentions back to assessing what lay ahead. She nodded to Aoren in answer to his question. She certainly could sense it... It was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. Valæra had always been fascinated by Kaitos Dirægon's exploits. What devout Varværyn could possibly dismiss the breadth of such Ambition? What Aværys worshipper could downplay such Power? Such Hunger?

Her internal musings were interrupted as her ears perked the moment before a klaxon sounded, and she turned her attentions toward the endeavour of assessing the source of the sound and what lay ahead. With Aoren calling for them to rush to shelter, she sharply snapped to her attendant Traverser who was starting to manipulate the slipstream to bring them closer to the city's edge.

"Non! Nimis periculosum est! Curre! Curre!" And with that, she donned her helm once more and started rushing across the open landscape with the agility of an acrobat. If her armour was heavy, one would never know, and if it was metal it didn't clank or make any noise at all. As she darted past the range of Aoren's purifying field, she lifted her hands to engender her own, which encompassed any who kept within thirty feet of her person.

[Imogen]

Imogen raised a brow at Hector's reply, looking skeptically around the landscape.

"Not sure I'd say the Empire's lost secrets worked out well for anybody the last time around..."

If she had anything else to add, it flew from her mind as portals opened and disgorged... three soldiers, dressed in unrecognizable livery, a diminutive woman, and Prince Aoren? Yes, that was certainly him. The witch wasn't any good with faces, but she'd seen his up-close twice, and you didn't just forget a man built like a grain silo.

Things only got stranger when the strangers began speaking, talking amongst themselves in a dialect which was virtually unrecognizable. Imogen had traveled throughout the whole of Karnor south of the clan territories, south as far as Sangen and across half of Ecith and never once heard the like- just where in blazes had they come from, and why was a Kalzasaern prince with them?

Frustratingly mysterious, if you weren't Imogen Ward, who was perfectly capable of ignoring such incongruity. As Aoren spoke--and aye, that was his voice, too--Imogen considered the landscape. She had noticed that this land felt strange, but lacking any particular sensitivity to aetheric disruption, had apparently failed to apprehend the severity of it. As the prince walked past, Imogen pressed the palms of her hands firmly together, then drew them apart; as her palms passed through the air, her pact-stave materialized piecemeal between them, finally completing its manifestation as she spread her arms to the fullest. She let her left hand drop to the side and caught the weapon in the other before it could fall, spinning it upright to rest on the ground next to her.

Performing this simple magic, Imogen could at last feel the dangerous fluctuations in the ambient aether. It felt like the sea pressing in on her, straining to be let through the surface of her Cardinal Rune, to give rise to some new and dramatic manifestation. Thankfully, such a simple and familiar magic required very little effort from the witch to safely conclude.

Just as worrying, the nimbus of nova-fire which licked about the contours of her staff seemed... restless. Perturbed, perhaps. She kept it contained with another act of will, forbidding it from flaring. She hadn't felt such behavior from the Sunsinger magic since the strange mist-storms which had wracked Ecith a year past, on the day which marked Zaichaer's doom. Imogen did not think this was a coincidence.

That behavior, in fact, was why she'd procured the large dawnstone shard decorating the top of the staff. Imogen fed the argent fire into the illumite, connecting to the talisman effortlessly after so many sleepless nights of practice during the Eclipse, and bid the stone glow to distribute its purifying influence around herself. Frankly, she wasn't sure how effective such a protection would prove in a city haunted for so long by entropy, but there was no harm in keeping a weapon to hand.

Having completed her spell, Imogen opened her mouth again to say something stupid- but was interrupted by the sudden howling of the sirens. The Orkhan woman watched with utter bafflement as clockwork giants began stomping around the city beyond, screaming their wordless alarum to the heavens.

What was the meaning of that? Could it possibly be the case that some ancient system of the Clockwork Empire had survived this impossible suffusion of aether for so long? Or were they twisted abominations of the Mists, like the Theatergoers or the strange plants of inner Zaichaer? It took her only a few seconds to decide that she wasn't going to solve that mystery by standing around gawping. Instead, Imogen summoned up the agility and stamina of the horse she'd stolen six months ago through catabolism, infusing her body with superior stamina and speed. The invisible sea of roiling power sought entry to this spell also, but the Sunsinger's control of her own body and soul was exacting, and she permitted no change to the spell.

Imogen took off after the fleeing sentry with her incomprehensible language and livery, keeping pace with an easy lope. She could, perhaps, have summoned up the speed to overtake the fleeing elves, but she saw little point to being the first to reach the city.