The Witch And The Wardrobe (Moon)

[Imogen]

Ash, 9 122

The witch walked along the lonely road, humming to herself as the wheels creaked behind her.

For once, she was going to get somewhere before the person she was meeting, and she knew that because she'd asked Moon to come at noon, and at this pace she would arrive midmorning. There were a lot of risks, doing this out in the open, but she judged the risks of doing it in a populated area to be much, much worse. Perhaps if she were a master at every craft involved, she'd have simply rented a hall. As it was, she preferred to keep a mountain between herself and the nearest town.

”Not that you're in danger.” she confided to the draft horse pulling the wagon, ”On account of how everything is bound to go fine.”

The horse gave her an unreadable equine look. Well, what did he know, anyway? Horses were famously terrible at spatial magic.

~~~

Once Imogen reached the field she had in mind, she got to work immediately. It was a wide, rocky opening, with little in the way of grass and patches of weeds, but she still spent a full hour removing inconvenient vegetation and flattening the earth. As she worked, she continually stole glances at the sky, worrying a bit at every passing bank of clouds. Even a light drizzle had the potential to totally ruin the spell, and even if nothing blew up as a result, the components of this ritual were expensive.

The ground properly levelled, Imogen walked over to the small wagon hitched to the draft horse, ruffling his mane with one hand. The beast huffed but did not whinny, plainly a little uncomfortable. To keep it calm, she put on blinders and hooked up the feed bag she'd brought from the city, patting the horse until he seemed thoroughly distracted from his surrounds. Only then did she unhitch the wagon and laboriously pull the heavy object in the tarp off.

Imogen puffed as she carried the thing with wide, halting steps. Orkhan physiology and Animus could give her strength beyond that of most humans, but that only took you so far. Her feet ached as she tromped towards the middle of the field, the heavy burden wobbling from side-to-side in precarious fashion. By the time she'd gotten it to the center, her muscles burned and her instincts begged her to drop the thing. The witch ignored those little primal voices, knees bending as she set it carefully on the ground, making sure not to tip it over.

With that done, the Ork sat for a few minutes, rubbing her arms and knees until the ache dulled. It would have been better, perhaps, to unload the fucking wagon a little closer to the site.

Once all circulation had returned to her extremities, Imogen carefully read the sky again, breathing a sigh of relief that there was still no rain inclement. Her worries temporarily assuaged, she pulled from her pocket the diagram provided to her a year prior.

The vessel was prepared with markings already--she had the good sense to pay a professional to do those markings and install the dragonshard rather than doing that herself--but the shift required its own markings. She had notes on what to do, but her own abilities with Scrivening were... not... not great. If there was going to be any issue with the spell, it would come from the magic being used to perform the initial sending.

That's where her letter to Moon came in.

So it was that by the time Moon arrived, Imogen had nearly finished the concentric circles of Sorcerer's Sand, lining the interior of each with the simple runes. For the most part, the scrivening was only meant to help focus and sustain the work which would be done by her Cardinal Runes, with which she was much more comfortable. He found her testing the connection of each layer of the scrivened circle separately by tapping each circle with the Dawnstone embedded on the staff she'd first been traveling with when they met, watching as the sunlight flowed out of that stone and across each symbol, checking for breaks or irregularities and comparing the work against the diagrams she'd bought.

The large object in the center--it must have been almost ten feet tall--remained hidden underneath the tarp.

[Moon Jae-Seong]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

When it was that Imogen requested his assistance with an endeavor involving Traversion, Jae-Seong was not quite sure what to expect. The mercenary was no Traverser himself; his pool of knowledge was purely academic and even then, it was not exceptionally deep. She described to him the principle concept of what it was she was trying to accomplish, but he'd looked at her with an expression of only half understanding in turn. To that, he'd responded by saying he'd be better served hearing the explanation during the process– or right before– as he learned far better through seeing or doing. He also was not quite sure she herself understood the bits involving Scrivening fully.

Still, Jae-Seong didn't much care that he was as yet ignorant of the particulars involved with whatever it was he'd be helping his new friend with. Conceptually, messing about in Slipspace sounded fascinating, albeit dangerous (though danger was never something he was wont to shy away from). Indeed, he was quite keen to see for himself what eccentricities awaited them in such an arcane place.

Imogen had given him two things in advance: a time and a place. The time being midday and the location, to his understanding, was arbitrary and had been selected mostly due to how remote it was. The Orkhan had expressed some concern about things going wrong, stating she wanted to be far from civilians merely as a precaution. Mayhaps a bit foreboding, but then, what did it matter if nought went awry? Surely, the two of them together would be just fine.

The Rathari liked to be punctual and his innate navigational skills weren't half bad. Sometimes, he wondered if his more avian aspects might serve to help with that at all, but he couldn't quite say– there were other mortals quite good at that by default, too, so it was hard to say what aspects exactly were contributing factors. And then there were others still, such as the person he was going to meet, that felt almost hopeless in that regard.

To speed up the process, he'd spent the latter part of the journey flying by the wings of his Zoan form. Every time he flew since gaining Elementalism had him cursing himself for not getting the rune sooner, too, because being able to guide the wind beneath one's wings was, truly, a blessing for any flier. Alas, he had been so…stubborn, in the past.

Finally, he arrived– what keyed him into the fact that he'd found the right place was the sight of Imogen and…whatever it was she had beneath a tarp on the ground below. This was curious, but rather than pondering the sight from the air, he would descend and end up landing about ten feet away from where Imogen was setting up, ah…the thing.

It was possible for him to speak in this shape. Possible, however, did not mean pleasant nor particularly decipherable, so the first thing he did after he landed was start the process of rescinding wing and feather. It wasn't the most elegant sight, but there was no need to hide it; Imogen was an Animus mage– he very much doubted a Rathari shifting shape would cause her to balk. The sight of this also made it ever the more obvious that all of his clothing had been tailored for him specifically, as clearly the designs were made with these two shapes in mind. There was infinite convenience in having accommodations made for his wings.

Once his beak had melted back into his softer features, Jae-Seong would blink, adjust his shoulders now that he was once more wingless and then approach the busy bee that was Imogen.

“What, pray tell, is this exactly?” He'd ask with a brow slightly raised and an inquisitive tilt to his head.

- - -

"Synskrit"

"Common"

"Inandoth"

[Imogen]

The ork didn't turn to look at her rathari guest descended, nor did she stop to watch as Moon shrugged off the clothes of the bird and assumed a new form. She remained focused on her task, testing each circle and each rune to certify aetheric conductivity. There were a lot of ways even a simple spell could go disastrously wrong, and the worst of those ways started with a mis-drawn sigil. Uncontrolled and misshapen, there was no telling what would happen; it could range from a minor annoyance to death, or even much worse than death.

As the last circle lit, unbroken, Imogen breathed a sigh of relief and turned to her guest.

"Good afternoon," she said, grinning, "Thanks for coming, even though I was characteristically vague about the object of this rite. Pray, be careful not to step on the Sorcerer's Sand, nor sweep it with your clothing. We will seriously regret any breaks, I think."

That said, she chose to answer his question by deed, stepping carefully across the concentric circles of sand with large, exaggerated motions, and leaning over the final one. Imogen reached across the gulf of air over the final sigil with her staff, carefully hooking it underneath the tarp and pulling it upward and away to reveal...



...a large wooden armoire, sitting out in the middle of nowhere. It was ornately carved, stained a beautiful sky-blue and gilt on the scrolls and decorations. It was far outside the styles preferred in Kalzasi--probably it had been purchased at a steep discount from some Kathalan family fleeing Zaichaer who had been forced to liquidate their manor--but it was a very solid piece of furniture and looked like it could probably last another three generations if it were kept inside some appropriate bedchamber.

It was, of course, utterly inappropriate as decor for the middle of a field, ten miles away from the nearest village.

The witch carefully stepped back over the outer circles of Sorcerer's Sand, depositing the tarp on the ground. Then, thinking perhaps of the off-chance of a breeze blowing the tarp into the ritual circle, she instead balled it up and tossed it into the small wagon. She'd only rented that, and was going to have to return it and the horse by tomorrow morn.

"Solid maple," she said, matter-of-factly, "Previously owned by Captain Huber of the Zaichaeri Aerospace forces. He's either dead or still in Haqs with the army, and his family decided to move west, towards Gelerand. Frankly, I wish them ill luck with that endeavor, but it meant they were prepared to part with this beauty for a couple of gold avens."

It hadn't been much of a discount, but the ork wasn't hurting for money and she liked the colors on this huge, bulky thing. It reminded her of the bright blue skies before the Eclipse had stained them.

"More expensive is the interior, actually. Not because of clothes--it's empty, for the nonce--but because I had a dragonshard installed, along with tracking glyphs. Those won't matter during the ritual, but are important later."

The Ork tapped the earth next to one of the lines of Sorcerer's Sand with a toe. "These are basic designs to amplify and continue a Traversioning. Once each stage of the magic is finished, they should repeat the flows of energy and keep the rifts open long enough to complete the entire sequence. In essence, I am going to open a portal to Slipspace and lower this wardrobe inside, realigning it so that it doesn't get ejected, and then slowly close up the rift so that we return to reality and it doesn't, dumping this fine piece of furniture into another dimension. Now, the issue is that this is going to take my complete concentration, and Slipspace, as you may not be aware, is actually not empty. In fact, it is filled with numerous beasts and isn'ts and abominations unleashed by the Hytori in the elder days."

Imogen pointed a finger at Jae. "So I'd like you to chase them off if any come sniffing."

[Moon Jae-Seong]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

Imogen Ward was, if nothing else, a woman of focus when such a thing was required of her. Jae-Seong was almost unnoticed– perhaps actually unnoticed?– when he'd landed and shifted shape. To some degree, he thought this was an admirable amount of focus…but it was also concerning. Was it force of will or, perhaps, was she so singularly devoted to her task that she was oblivious? The patrician could not, for the moment, make an accurate guess; not enough information.

Nevertheless, when she finished whatever was left of the strange ritual she was setting up she turned to address his query.

“Afternoon to you as well,” he'd respond with a wan–but warm– smile and a nod.

Her ‘I think’ at the end of that initial sentiment was only mildly concerning. Surely, it would be fine if he simply heeded her advice. Easy enough! Right?

The patrician knew Scrivening when he saw it and he knew that breaking the drawings, sigils or the like, ruined whatever magic rite or circuit the Scrivener had scribed. So the bit about not interrupting the sand was important…but the thing about Scrivening was that it was a medium for aetheric conduction, generally, meaning the exact mechanics and scale of what she was doing were entirely lost upon him.

He was puzzled a bit more when she removed the tarp as the piece of furniture beneath it served to elucidate nought beside the fact that the hidden object was, indeed, a piece of furniture. A lovely piece of furniture, but still.

After tossing the tarp back into the wagon she must've carried the thing here with, Imogen did opt to continue verbally, and she informed him that the piece had once belonged to a captain of the Zaichaeri Aerospace forces.

“Hm. It is of fine craftsmanship; particularly so for that price,” he started– the thing was nothing if not pretty. “I admit I know…next to nothing about those in the Zaichaeri military, as I was often…out of the loop on foreign affairs. Did you know whomever that is or merely of him?”

He knew Imogen was a coven witch, and so he sort of doubted she'd met the man she mentioned. That is, unless he was way off regarding his assessment of the degree to which the witches associated with the Zaichaeri military forces, but still, he was curious.

Imogen would then continue, proceeding to explain a basic outline of what it was they were actually supposed to be doing with the armoire out here, all the way…in the middle of nowhere.

Jae-Seong would then try his level best not to look concerned, and for the most part, he succeeded. He knew Slipspace wasn't an empty void because he'd heard many strange tales over the course of his travels about many strange things, Slipspace included. But not being a Traverser himself, he'd never bothered to confirm or deny any of the tales that had been spun to him. And per her explanation, some of those stories were nonsense, some not. This part wasn't surprising, though it was nothing less than foreboding. Even so, it sounded like a thrilling endeavor; fighting strange creatures was dangerous, sure, but it was also, to the swordsman, fun.

“I see…I'm happy to help, but, ah…any advice on the sort of thing that might come crawling out? I've illumite and Elementalism on top of bladework, but if any particular element might serve as a vice to whatever I may face, let me know.” It was worth a shot to ask, he thought.

He had half a mind to ask her why she was doing this, but honestly, he'd rather hear that explanation after they were done. It'd make more sense when she could show him the finished product, he thought, and he doubted Imogen was asking for his help to do anything truly nefarious. He certainly didn't peg her as the type to do so, at least. Strange, bizarre, maybe, but not morally repugnant or wantonly destructive.

- - -

"Synskrit"

"Common"

"Inandoth"

[Imogen]

"I know no more of Captain Huber than his name and rank," the witch said, circling the spell site one last time. "I heard his wife was liquidating assets, so I approached her in human guise- I think she'd have sold either way, but you can imagine that Orkhan heritage inspires some in the south to charge a premium. Anyway, she told me a few stories of Captain Huber's bravery, his dashing feats in the north, although as my understanding is that the Overmann campaign barely had time to fight a few battles before the High City's destruction, I suspect either he or she was exaggerating the stories of daring-do."

She had been in Ecith when the war broke out, of course, and by the time she'd returned it had all but ceased to be a true campaign. That was probably for the best, from her perspective. Certainly she'd had no inclination to fight and die for the government which she'd fought for five years, but the thing about war was that it forced unlikely alliances. When the innocent casualties began to pile up, there was simply no amount of good intention which could keep you neutral.

Well, what was done, was done. Captain Huber, alive or dead, no longer owned a fancy wardrobe--or at least, not this one--and his wife and their daughter had probably crossed the mountains by now with as many gold Avens as they could beg, borrow, or steal. Probably it would be enough to set them up somewhere in eastern Gelerand, unless they fell prey to the ever-present threat of bandits on the borders.

They would live, or not. They would prosper, or not. She had neither the time nor the inclination to worry about it any more.

"I did actually know quite a few Zaichaeri officers in my former life, though I doubt they could put a name to my face. As a people, the Zaichaeri are unduly concerned with matters of status and rank; in theory, the whole system was meritocratic, where performance brought promotion rather than name and birthright. In practice...? Eeh." Imogen tapped the wardrobe lightly with the end of her staff. "Huber didn't buy all this nice furniture on a Captain's salary and awards, that's what I'll say. Somehow, the most meritorious officers all tend to be those with rich fathers."

The witch returned her gaze to Jae-Song, planting her staff on the ground (though, crucially, not in any of the drawn circles or glyphs) and leaning on it.

It was perfectly natural that he'd want information about what they were facing. It's the question she'd have asked, in his position. But the answer was complicated and unsatisfying, so she took a few moments to seriously consider just how to deliver it. In the end, she decided to use a prop to demonstrate.

"You're a mage yourself, and a learned man, so I assume you know some of the theoretics of Slipspace, but I'll give you the short of it anyway, just to be sure we're on the same page."

Imogen gestured at the air behind her, and her pact shield silently materialized. The instrument was massive, a great silvery circle with a diameter nearly the size of the Ork herself. The shield was rounded, but the center of it was featureless and polished to a mirror-sheen, such that Jae could immediately make out his own reflection in it. Interestingly, the entire thing was shot through with golden cracks, like a pot which had been mended by kintsugi.

The witch rapped the center of the shield with two knuckles, and cracks began to form in the reflection. One by one, they fell away, until it appeared that the surface of the mirror-shield was nothing but a portal into a vast, featureless nothing. It was... one wanted to say it was white, but only because that's what the mind jumped to when confronted with nothing. In truth, there was no color, nor even the suggestion thereof.

Yet, somehow, there were things there. In the distance, Moon could make out floating rock, ruins, segments of impossibly huge buildings, and even floating bits of landscape. In the distance (though... what distance?) a hill floated by, a waterfall running endlessly, impossibly off into nothing. The upside-down top of a great golden dome floated into view, flashes of rainbow-dyed glass or crystal visible for just a moment.

"Slipspace is what separates everything from everything else, and it does not correspond to real positions or distances. The basic uses of Traversion all involve moving from reality into slipspace, where--if you know how--you can return to any point in the world in a single step. Of course, the mechanics of this simple trick can be extraordinarily difficult, and for various reasons which we need not get into right now, it's much easier to travel shorter real distances."

"It is possible, however, to do other things with the Slipspace. One of my favorite tricks involves holding myself between this world and Slipspace, such that I do not actually move but am no longer corporeal. Dodge just about anything without moving, see? But there's some risk; if I did that wrong, I would risk falling into Slipspace with no connection established to any point in the real world, and from there I might never be able to escape."

"In the old days, it's said that the great empires of the past unleashed nameless horrors from beyond the world, which the Gods disposed of by sealing them up in Slipspace, from which they cannot escape. As a result, the monsters in Slipspace defy easy categorization. They could, literally, be impossible beasts never dreamed of by the very Gods. So... unfortunately, what shows up could be anything."

"But the good news is that we're only going to be partially present, between worlds, while the ritual finishes. Whatever monsters do show up should be... ghostly, unable to bring their full might to bear. Sword or firebolt; any material aether ought to be enough to disperse them. I just need you to keep them out of the circle for a minute or two. In theory, that dimensional instability will mean that nothing which shows up should be a really serious threat."

This was a lot of caveats, but the narrative was sound. She'd spoken to a lot of Railrunners about the permanent Junctions they'd established, ranging from gates to safe-houses to the great Marketplace itself. Imogen was nowhere near good enough to construct a large and livable space inside Slipspace, but this...? Well, it could work.

[Moon Jae-Seong]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

While it was that Imogen spoke of the wayward Zaichaeri captain and whatever it was that may have become of him and his family, Jae-Seong watched her circle her work once more. He himself wouldn't have been able to tell if something had been drawn incorrectly, either by shape or placement, but he did also look over what of it he could see as he listened. He was, at least, fully capable of noticing if a line, intentionally drawn, had been broken– per his own observations, her meticulous setup looked fine.

Jae-Seong wondered, when Imogen had mentioned having opted to take on a human guise, how Zaichaer actually viewed Orkhan. He'd heard mixed accounts over the years such that he wasn't surprised by her precaution, but he still found the fact that she deemed it necessary to be a bit silly. He did know that humans were by far the most common mortal race, so it figured that in insular communities thereof that they might then shun that which they deemed too foreign.

However, her words about Zaichaer's supposed meritocracy pulled a short chuckle– almost a snort– from the usual stoicism of the Kalzasern noble. His nose scrunched and his face, if ever briefly, showed disgust; more specifically, one might have recognized scorn in the moment before his visage neutralized again.

“I am far from surprised. Their ‘meritocracy’ always sounded like thinly veiled nepotism to me. A noble goal, but wishful thinking and poorly applied.” Jae-Seong would sigh slightly as the end of the sentiment.

“Those with power are wont to want to keep it. That much is evident here, too, any time more egalitarian philosophies or notions of equity are suggested than what we already have. The politicians talk in circles, saying things to placate those beneath them, acquiescing only in the smallest of ways– but I digress; I shouldn't throw stones perched atop a glass house of my own.” From the words he used and the way he delivered them both, it would be clear enough that the endless prattling of politicians exhausted him immensely.

His query regarding the nature of his soon-to-be foes was met with an explanation more elaborate than he had initially expected, but such a thing was more welcome than not. He appreciated the visual on principle, but also watched the pacted shield with a genuine interest and curiosity– anything broken and repaired like that always carried with it the most fascinating of stories; he'd have to ask about that at some point when it wouldn't be a massive derailment to the task at hand.

The shield was a polished mirror outside of the sprawling gold cracks– until it wasn't. Abruptly, the reflective surface turned into a void? No, that word was wrong; rather it was space beyond, devoid of anything as opposed to the wasteland that was the actual void. If he stared long enough, the swordsman would see flickers of landscapes, interiors, other locations. Every description of Slipsace he'd thus far heard had been an abstraction– he didn't understand until now how they could all be so different, but yet somehow, completely accurate to what he was presently staring into.

Imogen's demonstration ran tandem to a verbal explanation wherein she extrapolated upon exactly what it was she was showing him. Her words were concise when one considered how complex both Slipspace and the magic one wielded to traverse it were. And while the answer to his question was ultimately a nonanswer since it came with the admission that one can never properly predict that which will crawl out of this in-between realm, that did still tell him what he needed to know: expect the unexpected, but that the monsters ought not to be invincible or horribly overpowering…well, he hoped, at least, that they weren't about to release some haunting eldritch abomination into this otherwise peaceful clearing.

At the end of the narrative she painted about their present circumstance, he would nod. “Hm. Well, I'm far from being one to balk at exploring the unknown– I am ready when you are, then.”

And then his eyes would flit to the horse and back, “...just make sure your cart is secured enough so the horse doesn't get scared and bolt.” That would be unfortunate, though minor, he supposed, compared to other potential fumbles.

- - -

"Synskrit"

"Common"

"Inandoth"

[Imogen]

Once Jae-Song had acknowledged the risks, the witch's mind turned to the rite itself. She'd already secured the horse--perhaps it would have been best to take it even further away, but she'd needed it close enough to actually carry the damn wardrobe--and she aimed to strike before some unseen flaw could reveal itself. A gust of wind, a curious frog; the sorts of things which were beneath notice in the day-to-day were nevertheless enough to throw a working like this into chaos. The runes and circles wouldn't care whether it was your fault that they broke.

"Then let's get started. I'm not entirely sure what this is going to look like, but it may get a bit odd. Don't let it bother you."

Imogen stepped over one of the circles of sorcerer's sand, and then another, eyes fixed firmly on them to ensure that her heel did not brush any. Then, from the center, she leaned forward to touch the dragonshard on the cap of her staff to the furthest ring. The witch closed her eyes, opening the channels of aether within her soul and willing it to flow into the prepared channels of sorcerer's sand which she'd drawn in accordance with the scholar Avamande's instructions.

The circle lit, slowly. Lines of energy split away from the tip of the dawnstone, crackling with minute lightnings, and spread slowly away from the staff, describing a great circuit around the field. Once the entire circle had lit, the ork slowly withdrew her instrument, the pact weapon trailing blue light. She twirled the radiance like a ribbon, deftly tapping each of the glyphic marks between the two outmost circles, bringing the staff away as each symbol began to glow in turn.

Once the first circle was lit, Imogen began to incant:

"The gates of every realm are closed;
The road is open wide.
O Aedrin, let your earth now spurn
All that await inside."

The light from the outer circle seemed to intensify, radiance rising into the air as the witch pressed her staff into the second circle. As with the first, light began to run the length of the shape, the crackling energies now sufficiently intense to be heard, like static on the wind. The witch felt her hair rise as the energies built inside the circle, seeking escape. They would find it momentarily. Again, once the second circle was lit, she dragged a glowing streamer of aether therefrom and lit each interior rune. Then she spoke again, saying:

"The gates of hell are barred therefrom;
The outer planes grow far.
Thiovan's realm is distant now
As shadow is from star."

As the second circle was lit, the ritual site began to change. To Moon's vision, the entire site within the outer circle began to sink smoothly into the earth, and then the area within the second outermost circle began to sink further still. Seen from the side, these revealed not walls of dirt, rock or any other kind of earth, but instead seemed to open up into the lightless and shadowless unlight of Slipspace, the not-white void yawning beneath the witch's working. The strips of ground on which the ritual was wrought seemed infinitely thin, as though spun from spidersilk, but the witch continued to walk confidently on the site as she withdrew to light the third ring.

Beneath the ritual site, Jae-Song saw movement, as indiscernable and distant things were drawn to the sudden rupture in the Veil.

Paying them no heed, utterly focused on her spell, Imogen moved on to the third circle, resting her staff upon it to slowly light it as she had the prior two. Once again, she waited until the entire circuit had completed itself before dragging a ribbon of light out of the design and touching it lightly to each glyph in turn. A third time, she spoke:

"The gates of heaven are fearsome gates;
The Virtues turn their gaze.
Raella, pray sustain us
As we wander in the maze."

The earth beneath Imogen began to sink faster as the third circle lit, forming a set of shallow steps deeper into Slipspace. By Jae's count, there were seven such circles, which, it seemed, were to serve as some sort of metaphysical crane, lowering the middle symbol (and the fancy Zaichaeri wardrobe sitting upon it) into the void, at which point the spell would presumably have achieved success. But as the circles descended, the gaps between them grew larger and larger- and it had become apparent that they'd been noticed.

Dark, irregular shapes swirled around and below Imogen's circle, like clouds, but made of angular, spikey shapes. A wind rushed out of Slipspace, a warm, moist exhalation, as though the realm were sighing, and distant sounds echoed below. As the witch moved inward again and moved to touch her staff to the fourth circle, a distinctly humanoid arm lunged out of the space between circles and grabbed hold of the pact staff.

Well... human, except that it bore no skin whatsoever.

[Moon Jae-Seong]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

Jae-Seong still held some mild concern about the proximity of the horse to whatever mysterious monsters might emerge from Imogen's arcane machinations. Only a little because of the chance that it might be strong enough to pull free of its bindings, rather, his concerns were mostly because if he wanted to utilize projectiles of any sort he'd have to make sure to take the animal's location into account. In any case, he was otherwise ready to follow her lead.

“Most ventures worth taking end up being at least a little bit strange,” the swordsman responded as he followed her past two of the lines of sand.

He was exactly as careful as she was when it came to making sure not to disrupt any of the sorcerer's sand; his steps were light and as he moved, he'd also quickly scan again for signs of imperfection. The witch did not seem like the type to be melodramatic about something of this nature and all of his prior knowledge on the subject only served to reinforce their need for precaution.

It was then through the dawnstone in her staff that she channeled her ritual's requisite aether, setting all of the sorcerer's sand within the first two rings alight with a gentle, lightly crackling glow. She followed this step with an incantation, and then repeated it moving inwards once the ground seemingly began to melt away. Jae-Seong could only guess at what the ultimate purpose of this was, but at this point he had to assume the armoire was to be lowered into Slipspace and then presumably anchored somewhere within.

As the witch repeated these steps moving inward, Jae-Seong continued to follow her at a distance, though he did try to stay within the same or within one ring of her. The longer he stared into Slipspace, into kaleidoscopic nothing, the more he would end up seeing. Flickers of myriad locations and then, eventually, movement of things more sentient. It was at that point where his posture would shift slightly as well as his frame of mind; he'd been watching along with curiosity, but once he saw signs of life (at least of a sort), he knew such nebulous sights were portents that, indeed, something wicked this way comes.

Then came a gust of air as if they were standing above the yawning maw of some beast and thereafter, something attempted to disrupt Imogen's work. A bony hand– not unlike those utilized by most mortal races– crossed over the threshold and attempted to grab at the witch.

Jae-Seong, though still a fledgling mage by all accounts, had at least been taught to work smarter as opposed to harder when it came to wielding his aether. Utilizing small amounts of aether for each element, he called upon both air and water to weaken the invading appendage in a suitably subtle fashion; he wicked away both heat and moisture to make the tissue significantly more brittle before moving forward to stomp at the arm.

It was likely a fleeting dream to think that whatever manner of monster this was would give up its ingress entirely from this, but he assumed it at least would be less potent with its arm shattered to splinters.

- - -

"Synskrit"

"Common"

"Inandoth"

[Imogen]

Imogen largely ignored the sounds and sights about herself. She'd been in Slipspace many times now, and seen a lot of weird shit there- by and large, the biggest threat to the Traverser were of their own making. Once any spell was begun, the safest path to closure was to finish the formula through. To break off now would at best prolong the casting time and at worst see her torn out of the veil of reality.

Thankfully, this wasn't her first go round. Certainly it was the most difficult rite of Traversion she'd ever performed alone, but she'd participated in more exotic rites during her time with the Railrunners and even in the safehouses (though her own coven's rites had stuck largely to purification and negation). Unlike some teenaged noviate trying out a casting she wasn't prepared for, none of the shadows of Slipspace were likely to move her to tears or terror.

When her pact staff was grabbed, the witch waited, calmly, for her companion to intervene, not wishing to disrupt the spellwork. Moon stomped it a moment later, his heel sending bits of viscera squelching outward, only to disintegrate into shadows and smoke. She pulled the staff upward and began lighting runes once again, looking totally serene.

There was more going on under the surface, however. The runes and circles were glyphic matrices which amplified and repeated aetheric movement, but each had to be set off in turn by the Rune of Traversion. As she'd explained a moment prior, the rupture between slipspace and the material realm was the most basic act of Traversion; even a rank novice could muster the power and focus to skip in and out of the nullity, Blinking from place to place. The veil between worlds, however, refused to remain sundered. The larger and more efficacious the portal you were trying to bore betwixt worlds, the more power and focus you required.

The design Imogen had commissioned ultimately just created a portal into Slipspace, but it did so in stages in order to trick the veil into remaining open. The space between the first two circles was hardly different from the material plane at all; but as the spell repeated, it dug more and more deeply, until at last the final circle would rest absolutely in the void, depositing her nice wardrobe in the spaceless nothingness beyond.

This, naturally, meant that the closer one got to the last circle, the more the things trapped by Malgar in forgotten aeons past could affect you.

"The elemental gates I spurn;
The seasons fade to grey.
Wraeden, let your bell ring clear
To guide me on the way."

The fourth circle began to turn as the ritual site bore deeper into the earth, revealing more of the Slipspace beyond. Indistinct entities had gathered around the narrowing cone of power like piranhas, pressing themselves against the veil. Thankfully, few had the power to make themselves manifest, even halfway between space and slipspace--after all, very few Traversions were ended by the things locked up in this gaol--and so they accomplished little more than pressing hideous faces against the invisible barrier between themselves and the witch's working.

But this was not a perfect constant.

The first direct attack which Imogen suffered was not a physical one at all, for most of the tendrils and claws which were pressing through the veil couldn't reach her. Instead, as she turned to step over the next circle, she found herself face-to-face with a huge yellow eye, just beyond the spinning vortices of reality she was weaving. At once, her mind and body felt limp and heavy as it began to press at the edges of her mind.

The witch felt her body moving by itself, as if in a trance. She stepped over the line of the fifth circle and bent to touch it with her staff- but felt an overpowering urge to dash it, to cut the line. Imogen trembled violently as she resisted the insistent voice within herself, and the end of her staff described a minute zig-zag through the sorcerer's sand... but the circuit of light began to complete itself unbroken, as spittle dripped from the edge of the Ork's mouth. She intoned, in a shaky voice:

"The gates of outer realms relent;
But still I turn away.
Keela, grant me steady feet
To find the latter day."

The fifth circle lit, and only two remained before the rite could be completed. Unfortunately, as the ritual site elongated even further, the baleful yellow eye glaring at Imogen also grew stronger, and she felt herself stumbling as she moved in towards the sixth. Even if she lit the circle, she'd be unable to speak the chant. So instead, she shouted:

"Moon! Blind that damn thing!"

[Moon Jae-Seong]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

The bones of the dehydrated arm broke with a satisfying sort of crunch to them when the swordsman's foot connected. The pieces on their side of the portal blackened and turned into wisps of shadow before fading while the rest of the appendage itself retracted back into Slipspace, much to both his satisfaction and relief. Jae-Seong couldn't say with any certainty whether or not that particular creature’s intrusion was a fluke or not, but he would soon find himself hoping it was.

As Imogen proceeded apace, all manner of mischievous monstrosity seemed to find themselves attracted to the witch's rite– but luckily, the two mortals were not immediately met with the brunt of this impending onslaught. Rather, most of the monsters were left to claw at, press against, or beat upon the barrier between worlds as if it were a pane of glass. Desperate, they appeared, to cross over; whether any of them had any particularly nefarious plans or if it was that they simply wanted freedom, however, the mercenary couldn't quite say.

The fourth circle was completed without further incident.

Alas, their tentative tranquility broke as soon as Imogen turned to begin the process of enlivening the fifth– she found herself staring into a large yellow eye. The incipience of its effect on Imogen was not immediately apparent to Jae-Seong; his companion did continue to try and go about her rite despite its presence, but she did slow as if fatigued. It didn't take long to connect her abrupt impairment with the creature's baleful gaze– though what manner of spell or effect this was remained unclear.

For a second, Jae-Seong hesitated; the element that came easiest to him by and large was air but he wasn't wont to use much by way of wind when there was such a concern with regards to disturbing the sorcerer's sand– thus was he forced to quickly pluck up a suitable and subtle use of it for dealing with this strange eye. He also wasn't sure if the eye was corporeal enough to care about the metal of his blade; from where he stood it appeared of an almost variable solidity. That was the biggest danger with unknown and esoteric enemies– the resultant hesitation or trial and error.

Upon the completion of the fifth circle, Imogen, her voice sounding restrained yet still emphatic, called for help, successfully forcing him to make a snap decision between the several things that had crossed his mind.

Water made manifest, solidified from vapor, around the wayward ocular organ, quickly encasing it. He then wicked away what warmth there was, freezing it solid. Maintaining control of the ice itself, he directed the frozen sphere a reasonable distance away from himself, Imogen, and the horse she brought before launching it into a tree at high speeds, shattering it into innumerable crystalline shards; the way its remains glistened in the sunlight before melting away was almost pretty.

But with the demise of the eye, the swordsman returned his attentions to his companion while she continued her incantations. The tension in the air was hard to ignore the closer the witch came to the wardrobe; the mix of anticipation for the rite's completion, the heightened sense of vigilance, and the overall mystique of this endeavor created a heavy, if exhilarating atmosphere.

And given the descending nature of the ritual, he could only imagine that each circle completed made the danger they were in multiply- what manner of malformed miscreation might assail them next?

- - -

"Synskrit"

"Common"

"Inandoth"