Into The Wild Blue

[Imogen]

Imogen didn't pay much attention to the drama playing out betwixt Mr. Aoren and the Sentinel. Sure, he didn't seem eager to share what he'd given and she seemed strangely bitter about the subject, but it didn't strike her, really, as any of her business. She chose, instead, to take the moment to address Vergil and Hilana's offers:

"I'm all in favor of tearing them out, Mr. Vergil, but you'd best wait until we've found some place to sit unless you'd like to carry me after I faint from shock. And thank you, Ms. Hilana, much obliged." The elixir's taste wasn't familiar to Imogen, but the practice of taking such medicines after serious battles certainly was. It was probably in the better half of such admixtures, frankly; much as she loved her mother, the reduction she made had always been sickly sweet.

It wouldn't help with the worst side-effect of the broken Pact, though. Maybe there was a drug for that too; that was a matter for later.

She returned her attention to the construct. Lacking the Sentinel's eyes (or... well... her semblance, anyway) and also being Imogen Ward, she had essentially no chance of understanding how it worked- nonetheless, she took note of the fact that it paused, as if receiving instructions. That reminded her of nothing so much as the spirit-made puppet she'd watched burn to death a few months prior. Cheery thought.

"The Maelstrom?" Imogen inquired, baffled. Well, bugger all, it was much too early for that. "Mr. Servitor 117, why we are here is a pointless point of philosophy, but plainly you expected guests. What is the meaning of this setup?"

"Just a minute prior, we saw the ruined city, heard the sirens, saw the flash and the ghosts of the ghosts. Now you say this is a place standing within the Maelstrom? The connection is obvious, but the purpose of it, not so much."

While she framed her demand, Mr. Aoren seemed to be having a moment of personal crisis. She empathized; the first time you realized that something had been wiped from your mind and memory was a devastating blow. Exactly why she'd started keeping a journal. At least "Auravacis" was a nice name.

"Anyway, I would very much like some place to sit down before I lose too much of all of my blood."

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

Hector was, ostensibly, ignoring Vergil and Hilana as the slightly more altruistic vampyr endeavored to undo some of the harm she had endured. He did look from time to time out of curiosity, but his interest would wax and wane depending on whether or not Vergil was actively casting something, Instead, he found himself preoccupied with the words of those that stood nearby him.

In particular, he found it odd that it was Aoren who asked about that which had been requested from each of the group, but regarding himself, all he said on the subject was that he had ‘no regrets.’ The elf couldn’t even begin to guess, given the myriad options. Eyeing Aoren curiously, he was unable to voice his query prior to the clockwork machination's input. Hector would stand there, lips parted yet distracted, gaze momentarily on the strange automaton as the interaction played out. He would squint when the notion that Aoren was a returning guest had been brought up, but when eyes of lavender glanced back over at the half-dragon, he would see that the man was markedly confused by the suggestion, even further, he’d protest against it, claiming that he’d never been there before. How Fascinating! …but not so strange as to make Hector forget what he’d wanted to ask earlier.

As such, he would return his gaze back to the bewildered giant proper. “I do wonder what that voidcast shade requested from an Elder Red Dragon. I wouldn’t normally pry,” this was a bold faced lie, “...but it was you who asked all of us first– ‘tis only fair you share?” Though Hector was somewhat wary of irritating the man, Aoren had thus far been diplomatic, cordial and generally level-headed overall; he figured that even if the man ultimately refused to answer, he wouldn’t wax irrational and get bent out of shape about it.

While Hector was fixated on this little detail, Vergil had continued his work, passively listening in to what the others were saying in the background. Though to the notion that Imogen would temporarily abstain from medical care, he would nod. “We will get to you later, then.”

When Hilana mentioned that she, presumably an Elementalist from her prior attempts to reinforce their wayward shelter, could not in any way manipulate the obsidian, Vergil arched a brow. “Curious, but I suppose it makes sense that if one of our magics is completely inert, then both are. Would that I had the time to study this right now, but alas…” he trailed off, eyes fixated on his task.

When he completed the operation, the automaton was in the midst of speaking. Vergil smiled to Hilana when she offered him the vials. “Thank you. For now, I am…only a little fatigued, so I will hang onto these for a more pertinent time– wouldn’t want to waste them.” With that, he’d place the vials, as well as the tool, back into his bag, wicking the blood from the bonesaw into the Sanguinyte he wore alongside any extraneous blood that had spilt in the process- no need to waste precious vitality. But before he closed his bag, he'd pause, "Hilana, do you mind if I keep one of your hands? I...genuinely want to examine the properties of that obsidian when-- er, if...I return home." If she assented, he would collect whichever hand she'd allow.

Once he’d done that, however, the automaton had gotten to the point where he’d revealed their location– or at least the realm within which they stood, the Maelstrom. Being a fairly learned man, that knowledge made Vergil freeze, if only briefly. The part of him that was a scholar was immediately intrigued, finding great joy in this once in a life time opportunity. In sharp contrast, however, the more pragmatic part of him felt little else than immense concern; frankly, Hector's presence here was the biggest danger to them all, for the boy reveled in chaos and oft ignored even obvious dangers to sate his curiosity, or worse, his insatiable fascination with arcane power. Thus far, Vergil had been able to ward the boy away from mortal perils, but he was unsure he’d be able to do so here.

The chirurgeon, slipping his bag back onto his shoulders, moved back to Hector’s side, and once there, he noticed the curious new mark on the back of the lavender elf’s hand. Familiar as Vergil was with what runes the boy bore, this was…novel. There was little need to wonder, however, as with Vergil's approach, Hector's shadow expanded, the miasmatic darkness of his Aidolon wrapping 'round the other vampyr up to his ankles; he needn't expand much farther than that, as the spirit could communicate with those within its form. Al'Kassis, ancient as he was, recognized the mark for what it was: Entropy, and he would thusly inform both men the rune's name. Hector was quite chuffed by this confirmation. Vergil? Concerned, but...he couldn't deny the usefulness thereof, should Hector manage some semblance of control over it. He'd take the boy by the wrist, lifting his hand to get a better look at the prismatic rune.

However, in order for them to realize such possibilities, they'd have to make it through...whatever this was. After Imogen voiced her own query, Vergil, looking to the automaton, would thus ask: "Can you elucidate further upon what the 'First Gate' is?"

- - -

Aidolon Speech

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Hilana Chenzira]

Hilana listened to the Servitor, but she did not dare speak to address it. The answer to Valaera’s questions brought further questions. To join the endeavour, or attempt to thwart it. Blood or empowerment... likely more of what they had just experienced, at least. Immediately, the idea of splitting up did not appeal to her. Not after what had happened the last time. Inasmuch as Aoren and Daemon were friends of hers, the subject of Aoren being a dragon was still a sensitive subject, so Hilana had yet to be able to launch into one of her endless interrogations to try to find out more information about him and how he had come to be a dragon. She understood a bit about how that was possible, thanks to her repeated visits to the Museum Draconum, but apparently, to judge by Aoren’s expression and his tone, this was something that was entirely new to him, too. She did appreciate the fact that Hector asked Aoren what he had sacrificed, though, because she was, well... kind of curious, too. But since he apparently had a history with this place...

So for now, all she could do was listen and keep her mouth shut. She would take the empty vials back, and a second one would be passed to Valaera as she retrieved her obsidian hands. At Vergil’s question, though, Hilana extended the left one to him. It might not have been the wisest choice, giving the Imperial Vampyre one of her petrified obsidian hands, but he had crafted her new ones and vastly improved her situation. “Here,” she smiled up at him, and tucked the right one into her Featherlight satchel for safekeeping along with some of her other more... peculiar... items. She had a feeling that that was another one of those things that the Sentinels would be taking from her to examine thoroughly before it was allowed into the city. As Vergil had said, it was... something. And quite possibly it might be useful to the mages at home to study and examine as well.

When Valaera spoke to the Servitor in Vastian, Hilana glanced back at her, and at the Servitor, and then Imogen and Vergil raised good questions. What precisely was the First Gate? “Why don’t you sit down?” she suggested to Imogen. Where they were was as good a spot as any for the moment, because she did need treatment. If the larger Vampyre had been able to treat her hands like that, he would likely be able to treat the Orcana easily. But two of them could work quickly. That being said, the Servitor’s plans would have had the member of the group that was the worst off physically on her own, and that wouldn’t have boded well for her. “I think we should probably get to work on her,” she said to Vergil, looking over at the duo...well, trio, apparently, from the Imperium that were inspecting something on the smaller one’s hand.

From her backpack, she opened up her own medical kit. She had cleaners and potions that would also numb the area, if only to help conserve Vergil’s aether and focus it on other things. If Imogen was ready and willing, though, the Vastiana would get to work with the Vampyre on starting the excision of aetherite from the Sunsinger’s flesh. Perhaps this could also delay the separation of the group. “Which Rune is that one?” she inquired of Hector and Vergil, nodding at the younger’s wrist. “And... by the by... have you ever seen the Great Tortoise of Gel’Grandal?”

Distracting the little one from bouncing and wandering off was likely a good idea... if only because she knew of her own tendencies in that regard sometimes. But, well, touching things that weren't meant to be touched in places like this was only going to bring about further trouble while the group did need to recover and recuperate. Instigating trouble further before they were in the place to handle it was not likely to benefit the group, though considering he had happily given the shade what he had asked for...

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

“The Steward awaits all who wish to see them, beyond the First Gate.” The servitor responded to Valaera.

The servitor regarded Imogen for a moment before it responded.

“I am afraid that the answers to your questions are not within my parameters to provide. Only the Steward can give you the answers you seek.” The whirring tick of its mechanisms filled the air as it turned its attention to Aoren, who flexed his jaw in response to Hector’s question. The red haired man considered being silent before sighing.

“A thread of my destiny. A choice. One that when the time comes, will be made for me.” Outwardly, Aoren appeared resolute in his decision. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his shoulders. The feathers of his wings fluffed then settled, perhaps hinting at his agitated mood. He looked as the servitor responded to Hector’s question.

“Come. I shall show you.” The servitor made a pivot on its heel and began walking toward the spiral staircase. Aoren looked to the others for a moment before taking the hint and began following the automaton.

For those that followed, the nearer they drew to the pillar of amber crystal containing that crackling spire of energy, the more their skin tingled with aetheric power. Like the brush of a thousand ants crawling over their flesh, the power infused them just as much as it whispered to them to throw themselves at the mercy of that radiant pillar of energy. It was a point of chaos amidst the manufactured order that surrounded them, one that, at any moment, appeared as though it could shatter and unleash the doom of the world all over again. And yet, upon close inspection, again those small intricate runic pictographs were etched upon every square inch of the amber crystal containing the pillar of raw chaos.

Upon reaching the second floor, those that followed would see three paths. The way ahead and a corridor to the right and the left. Ahead of them stood an obsidian gateway that was limned with arcane runic markings. Much like everything else, amber crystal lined the doorway. The door was sealed shut but as the servitor stepped up, the runic markings glowed brightly. The doors clicked and silently slid open.

“Through the First Gate, there is the path to the Steward. Upon the road, there shall be the monuments to your ambition and the memorials to your failures. If you seek blood, blood will find you. If you seek Light, be wary of becoming blinded by it. If you seek darkness, be careful you are not consumed by it. And if you seek power, power will be required of you.” The servitor righted himself and stood still. Ahead of them was the path to the Steward along with a corridor both to the right and left. Aoren turned to take stock of those that had followed.

“I am not the scholar that my husband is, but I would hazard a guess that walking through this First Gate will not be an easy feat. I suggest we not proceed until we are ready.”

[Pharaoh]

Valæra took in the words exchanged as well as the breadth of what surrounded them. It was easier now that Aoren's influence and Hilana's tincture were assuaging symptoms that had hitherto demanded energy and focus which could now be devoted to assessment. Having lost one of her mundane senses, the arcane became that much more important.

She would follow the servitor as it ascended the staircase, cognizant of the pillar, but not overly focused upon it. What was important was that it was powerful and it was entropic. A Sembler of Valæra's experience knew better than to scrutinise that level of chaotic energy. Semblance was about making sense of things and chaos, by definition, did not make sense. To focus too much upon was to flirt with madness. She could feel it refreshing what was depleted of her formidable æther reserves, and that was enough.

Reaching the upper level, the Sentinel would regard the doorway said to lead to the Steward, and would turn her attentions to the corridors on either side to seek what may lie beyond the view of those who still had eyes. At the servitor's warning, she would nod once resolutely and reply in Common.

"My aims here are not so solipsistic as the examples you proffer and, for the nonce, all I seek is an audience with your Steward." Valæra cogitated that she was, after a fashion, not unlike this automaton. A Sentinel was a Servitor of sorts, when wearing their uniform. They abandoned all titles and functions beyond that of a Sentinel and were trained to be singularly focused upon the aims of the Order. Theirs were collective ambitions made greater by their unity. The mission upon which she embarked today had been set forth by the Draconic Crown, liege lords and sponsors of the Vigilia Argenti. When she stepped through that portal to initiate it, she'd left herself in Solunarium. If she was successful, her reward would be to reclaim what was left of her upon returning.

Unless she gleaned anything from the corridors on either side that warranted adjusting her path, Valæra was poised to trudge forward. She would nod at Aoren's warning.

"Indeed. And I stand ready."

[Imogen]

"Well, I don't." The Orkhan witch sat, just as Hilana bade, and explained: "I've a mind to nap first, if this Steward's in no rush."

Imogen was not a servitor of any sort; the Sunsingers prized courage in the face of death, of course, but not when that death was caused by foolhardy haste. The Servitor had made clear that he wasn't going to explain their purpose here. Fair enough. But a certain corollary was that she saw no reason to press onward in the face of wounds and Overstepping when the construct had offered a chance to rest first.

To Hilana's eye, Imogen's flesh, though cut up and burnt throughout, remained largely healthy. Her skin was pale green, and dotted with patches of small, opalescent scales; thankfully, it didn't seem as though any of the deposits of crystal had formed beneath those. The damage from the shattered Pact--or the blast, or perhaps both things were as one--was spread evenly across her body, but much of her chest had been spared around three Cardinal Runes. Save, of course, for the Rune of Reaving, which on Imogen was an enormous pattern centered on her heart and the stylized image of a burning sword. On its outer rim, a wound gaped where once it had borne the mark of a round shield.

(There were other tattoos, marks of the Commonwealth, depicting figures holding burning swords together underneath a great city, a burning deer, and a stage with a ballet dancer. Nothing which seemed immediately relevant or remarkable.)

The Ork closed her eyes as Hilana pulled shards out, but otherwise gave no outward indication of the pain. That was one of the first things a Reaver had to learn, after all, and Imogen Ward was used to a bit of casual agony in her day.

"No talk of trials- no further of fate. Such weighty affairs will just have to wait."

Obviously she wasn't going to try to stop the "Sentinel", but it seemed self-evident that to proceed piecemeal was a poor plan.

"Anyway... I don't suppose any of you can read this scrivening all over? It's well beyond me."

[Hector]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

Vergil’s gaze would shift from the servitor and back to Hector’s newly granted rune to glance at it, however briefly, before letting him go and then cycling his attention between both the automaton and Hilana. In contrast, Hector’s attention was directed to Aoren whence the other vampyr let his wrist go.

The elf’s eyes would narrow slightly at the red dragon’s answer. “Comparatively, what I’d been asked for seems far less valuable than that which was requested from all else,” he’d tilt his head, pursing his lips in thought. “Perhaps giving my blood might’ve given more than I yet to realize.” He sounded far more thoughtful than what might be considered normal for him.

He’d blink, then shrug, “...whatever the case, I’ve no mind for regret,” he smiled, adding blithely.

But then came queries from Hilana, drawing Hector’s focus in her direction. He’d look to her, then lift his newly marked hand slightly; his gaze shifted to it briefly before letting his hand fall once more and then looked back to her in turn.

“Entropy,” he’d say with a cheerful smile and voice to match.

“But of the turtle? Yes! The Emperor loves that creature… that ol’ guy is enormous and might as well be the Imperium’s true leader,” Hector said this as seriously as he could manage, but from his expression, one could tell he was trying not to laugh.

“Anyways, during his birthday this past year, his shell was painted rather beautifully, gilded at the edges; he was also given a crown, and from looking at it, I can only assume the Emperor did deign to make that headpiece as expensive as possibly could– grander than even his own, though I hear the hat’s different every year. I’ve not lived there long, but there’s supposedly lots of meaning to whatever the Emperor sticks atop the tortoise’s head, so I’ve heard? It crawled ‘round Gel’Grandal like that for three days; the whole city was just…closed for it.” Hector sounded half enthused, half bewildered that this was a thing- for it was patently ridiculous pageantry; from the way his voice rang, however, it was clear the whole affair amused him deeply.

By this point, Vergil had busied himself with Imogen, insistent as Hilana was with helping the Orkhan right away. While Hector was explaining the tortoise to the Vastiana, the other vampyr would morph his hands altogether for this endeavor. There were some things, like amputations, for which he preferred to use other tools; the sharpened metal Hector could conjure served that purpose best along with the fact that lopping things off didn’t require much in terms of fine motor skills. But for excisions like this? His approach was different. The skin of his fingertips would thin until bone emerged, and as his nails fused with the bone, his fingers themselves would reshape. In assisting Hilana, his bones would take adaptive form depending on what was necessary. At points he’d sharpen the bones to a knife-like degree, parting flesh from crystal as delicately as he could. At others, he’d blunt and thicken the edges resulting in more wedge-like shapes used to create leverage, prying and lifting out the crystals. And given the innate enhancements of his vampirism alongside years of reinforcing himself further with careful, layered uses of Vicissitude, the density and resilience of his bones was starkly greater than a standard man’s– the ‘tools’ he used for this therefore possessed exceptional durability.

Working like this, he was remarkably dextrous and each shift of his ‘tools’ was seamless; in the Imperium, he’d been given the ability to actually operate with free utilization of Vitalis, either alone or alongside the select few who had the clearance to know, and by now, he’d fluidly adapted Vitalis into his already large repertoire of existing surgical skills. And while he did do this with his bare hands, there was little risk for infection, either back in the Imperium or here. A vampyr’s Innervate was an interesting skill; the concentrated vitality upon which the spell functioned invigorated the body in such a way that the affected cells thus functioned well beyond what would normally be considered peak, allowing fantastical feats like the regrowth and regeneration of even lost body parts, such as Hilana's hands. As such, any would-be infection would be snuffed out upon the innervation of a patient’s immune system.

The chirurgeon would work largely in silence, assisting Hilana directly if asked and making use of what sundries she provided when applicable. Were the witch to bleed, he’d stop the flow with Thaumaturgy or staunch it altogether when the aetheryte was cleared from the way by innervating the wound closed, striving to keep as much of her blood in her body as he could. Without having to constantly wipe away endlessly seeping blood, their task would be ever the swifter, too. And out of politeness, he'd endeavor to keep all of her tattoos intact should any crystal have split them.

Imogen’s experience as a Sunsinger resulted in Vergil assuming she didn’t need as much hand-holding through a procedure like this as perhaps others would, though skilled Reavers in general were all of resilient stock. He’d tap her or give gentle commands to move parts of her party so he’d have better angles or leverage when necessary. Compared to how long this might have taken in less capable hands or with one healer alone, they’d completed the excision process quite quickly.

As the vampyre stood, his fingers would begin to morph back to their natural state. Looking to Imogen, “...do you feel alright? If there’s ought else amiss, I insist you let me know before we continue on.”

And though he’d intended to wait on her answer, Vergil’s next move was to request the servitor explain the First Gate further. But rather than doing that, the clockwork automaton's answer indicated it would rather just show them. Seeing that Hector was eager to trail after the machination and it was headed in the direction of that crackling amber crystal, Vergil’s vigilance bade that he follow suit, too.

Up the spiral staircase, they would arrive before three paths. Ever the ominous one, the servitor’s words explained little else than yet more nebulous portents. Next, Aoren would speak, suggesting that the group gather their strength before proceeding. The sentinel, in contrast, stated that she stood ready to advance. Imogen’s voice was in agreement with Aoren.

Both Hector and Vergil felt fine. Rather, Hector felt more than fine and ever eager. The static aether dancing across his flesh was invigorating, nigh bewitching, and when the boy did move to approach it upon Imogen’s mentioning of the scrivened marks, he’d feel a large, familiar hand at the nape of his neck and he was then pulled back; Vergil restrained the elf like a mother cat would her kitten. His grip wasn’t something Hector could break without violence– so he wouldn’t, irritated as he was about not being able to examine the crystal more closely. He’d press his lips into a hard line, clearly quite nonplussed, but he’d say nothing.

Vergil looked over the others present briefly before he spoke. “Bit of a fool’s gambit to ignore an elder dragon’s wisdom– and that of Imogen,” the second part of that statement was said half-jokingly…or was it?

He continued, “...that aside, far be it from me to insist anyone else push forward unprepared. If even one desires rest, I think we ought to wait.”

If the decision was made to rest, the Imperials and spirit would do so until they were called upon to advance once more.

- - -

Aidolon Speech

"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"

[Hilana Chenzira]

Aoren’s answer to the younger Vampyre’s question about what he had given up made Hilana feel more than a twinge of concern... especially since the Servitor had said he had previously been a welcomed friend in these halls before. All the same, the decision was made and there was nothing they could do about it but prepare to deal with the consequences thereof. She wasn’t about to speak critically of her friend; the way his feathers ruffled and settled suggested he might be harbouring some concern... but what would be, would be. They’d face the results when the time came.

With the Orcana sitting, Hilana settled on her knees beside her and got to work with Vergil. The liquids that she used over the skin helped to numb the Sunsinger’s skin to lessen the pain, and while she didn’t have the option of using customized tools the way Vergil was, her own surgical tools were familiar enough to carefully work on separating skin from aetherite. Normally she might have chattered away at a patient in order to distract them from the work that she was doing and give them something else to focus on, but the Orcana sat like a stone. And because she sat like a stone, and Vergil was steadily working away on her other side, Hilana settled down and focused on her own craft. “Entropy?” she repeated in askance at Hector’s answer. That surprised her. Rare as it was, she didn’t think there were any such mages in Solunarium. Chaos was the opposite of the order than the Founders had encouraged, and she had seen first hand what dangers the dreadmists that came from such legendary powers came from. “Be mindful. Chaos hardly ever works the way we want it to,” the girl was mild. Far be it for her to tell another what to do, because if they were like her, well, who listened anyway?

His recollections and renditions about the Fest der Schildkrote pleased her, and she was all but beaming like the sunshine that had been missing through the great darkness of the ever-present Eclipse. “It was his Centennial birthday this year, I understand. I heard stories at ports that the whole of Gel’Grandal was shut down for the celebration, but that he wore very grand crowns and was paraded everywhere... delightful,” she was tickled, grinning away. It was nice to have an official account that the Great Tortoise did genuinely exist and she hadn’t been imagining it a few seasons ago when she had had a birthday party for it. The story he told her pleased her, and it did provide some balming and pleasant thoughts to counter what the voidshade had shown and told her. Nothing to forget it... but it was something nice to think about while she worked away with nimble fingers. The much larger Vampyre had been right; her hands were as they had ever been.

She let Vergil work with his Vitalis abilities over the decorated areas to make sure that her tattoos were not marred by the excisions, and since he could bring Imogen’s skin together cleanly, she didn’t worry too much about suturing. The Orcani may be her people’s ancestral enemies, but as it was, they had a common cause for now and it was in the interest of all of their survival that each member of the group was in the best shape that they could be. “I cannot read or decipher it all either. I see some of it, I understand some of it... but the overall work? Far too advanced for my knowledge and training. I wouldn’t mind having time to study it... but if we survive this, I’ll put it in a lorestone when I get home.” The Vastiana was matter-of-fact. She wasn’t about to pester Valaera for information, she knew better than to irritate the Vigilia.

They finished their work on the warrior, and Hilana sluiced down her tools and wiped them before putting them back in their case until she needed them again later. Hopefully she wouldn’t, but if it came to it, she would be ready. If Imogen was not going to take the aetherite, Hilana would gather it up in a sack to put in her featherlight satchel. With her rucksack back in place, she followed the group, watching the Servitor and the paths he highlighted. Whatever it was that the crystal was emitting did help her feel like she’d drunk a whole flask of her star thistle draught, not just a vial, but she wondered if that was meant to deceive them and make them overconfident. Valaera seemed confident enough, and she was in far better command of her senses than most.

Perhaps staying here a bit longer might be ideal. She didn’t want the group to split up as the Servitor had encouraged. But she felt better from her draught and the magma blooms... but her own energy was fairly different from others that she had met, and this place was no exception. She reached into her rucksack and plucked a few more of the large orange petals off, offering the tangy, faintly spicy petals to the others. Aoren and Valaera were likely familiar with them, but the petals had a nice scent of florals and citrus. They could, however, provide a boost of energy. “They’re for eating,” she advised those who were not familiar.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Servitor 117 stood still but at the ready beside the archway. Aoren nodded as Imogen took up a position to get a little bit of rest. He folded his arms over his chest, having no objection to anyone taking some time to catch their breath. There was no telling what awaited them beyond this so-called First Gate. His mind was already reeling, trying to sort through vaguely remembered things or grasping at things that simply weren’t there. At the Orkhan’s question, Aoren shook his head.

“It is well beyond anything I can comprehend. Were the Lady of Whispers here, I am certain she would be able to grasp it, if not marvel at it.” He could only imagine how Lyra would salivate at being present in such a place. To be able to study the magic that went into constructing the Godspire was the dream of many mages. His eyes drifted over to Hector as the young man seemed mesmerised by the glinting amber crystal that stood at the center of the spiral staircase. He was about to intercede when Vergil placed a hand on the young man’s neck to restrain him. In part, Aoren could not blame him. Even he could feel the pull of that crystal. Like the gravitic pull of a kinetic well, it wanted to draw his attention, his power, his every thought, but he pushed it aside.

“Entropy?” He blinked. Aoren’s eyes zeroed in on the mark upon Hector’s hand. He did not know anything about it.

“Entropy. The Discipline of Chaos. Curious.” Servitor 117’s mechanical voice provided some small clarification. “Many a Chaonite were born and died in the wake of His Clockwork Majesty’s machinations. You are perhaps the first Chaonite to be granted entry into the tower in nearly three hundred years.”

The automaton was staring at Hector with a slight tilt to its head. After a beat, it spoke.

“Any who are ready may pass through the First Gate. The Steward awaits.”

Aoren considered what was ahead of them. There was no telling. Still, he felt steady enough on his feet. On the one hand, he did not want to leave any behind. On the other, he was feeling somewhat anxious. When Hilana presented him with a magma bloom petal, he gave her a grateful nod and chewed on it thoughtfully. After a period of waiting, and after he had finished his bloom petal, he stood up straighter and walked up to the archway. As he did, the runic markings over the archway flared to life. Amber gold light illuminated the corridor, creating a blinding silhouette of Aoren as he stood before it.

“Well…” He looked back at the group. “It’s now or never.”

He gave a lopsided smirk before nodding to Valaera and then stepped through the archway, vanishing into the light. Immediately thereafter, the light blinked out and Aoren was nowhere to be found. The runic markings cooled in their intensity, though still glowed softly.

Off Topic

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[Pharaoh]

Ignoring the oddly timed exchange about a revered Imperial testudine, the Sentinel’s full focus appeared to be on the Servitor.

“‘The Discipline of Chaos...’” Valæra repeated the Servitor’s words with an amused smirk almost audible despite her facial covering.

“Such a queer phrase, that.” But her mild amusement was short lived as it was not worth lingering upon to her singularly focused mind.

The Sentinel was wholly unconcerned with the plights and pleas of the orcana. She would regard the markings arrayed around them, assessing what her Craft allowed, and remaining mum about whatever she gleaned despite the direct query posed by Imogen. Valæra did not begrudge the creature a desire for rest given the state of her, but while others seemed to find wisdom in remaining together, she increasingly regarded these little known variables as liabilities to her purpose. She had come with Aoren to serve the interests of her realm with the Vastiana. These others had their own agendas, some clearly unaligned with her own. She would turn to Hector and Vergil and in a honey sweet voice that dripped into their very Symphonies, she would urge the elder and more stolid of the two:

“Surely the lad is old enough to render his own decisions… If the child’s Ambitions pull him to Power, that is a Hunger well indulged…” Her veiled face shifted toward Hector and one felt as though if she had eyes she might have winked one, as she turned back toward the gate and followed Aoren through it. If others were set on sticking together, it was theirs to pursue, not hers to remain.

She hadn’t even invited her own countrywoman to join her. The girl was Ambitious, to be sure, but she was no Sentinel to be ordered to action. Her choices were her own to make and whatever they were, would speak to her due in the estimation of the Founders. At least if she survived or Sacrificed herself to Their keeping.