P A R A G O N
The mighty dragon swung his tail and sent a wave of the oncoming horde flying back. With a swipe of his claws, dozens were cut to ribbons making even some of the larger monstrosities tumble backwards. Fire continued to blast forth from the dragon’s mouth but even he was being forced to give up ground as the swell of the horde continued to surge forward.
Rickter’s gambit of gathering everyone up inside of a specially crafted barrier laced with Traversion magic seemed to work. The collective group was gathered up and levitated forward propelled through the dark caverns of the Deeps and into the tunnel that they had been speeding toward initially. As soon as they passed through the archway of the tunnel, they were plummeted into darkness and the sense of falling enveloped them. For a moment it felt as though the very world around them was shifting until the tunnel fell away to reveal the bleak landscape of the gloomy Haunted Reaches. They were spit out of a cavern entrance in the side of a rocky crag and sent spiraling into a dirt path ahead of them. Behind them, a rumbling sounded from the cavernous opening. Rock and debris began falling as the opening collapsed on itself. At the last minute, a figure flew out of the collapsing tunnel.
Aoren landed hard on the ground, bouncing and rolling until he came sliding to a stop. A handful of twisted creatures stumbled out of the cloud of debris even as the tunnel entrance fell in on itself. Bloody and still ravenously mad. Aoren lay motionless on the ground, back in his usual form of an Avialae. The handful of creatures were scrambling toward his body. Before they could reach him however, they were all speared by black arrows. As the arrows pierced the flesh of the shamblers the flesh of the creatures rapidly began to rot away until they fell to the ground, ashen.
Looking in the direction of where the arrows came from there stood a figure that could only be described as unnerving. Tattered black robes hung from the slim but vaguely humanoid shape. Multiple arms jutted out from its body. Two of those arms held open its robe and within the interior the form of other beings moving within the folds of its robe could be seen. Ghostly eyes stared at the group. Some with curiosity. Some with hunger. Some with malice. Some with excitement. The figure’s head was adorned with a decorative mask and headpiece. It spoke, the voice androgynous with an echo of other voices beneath it.
“Welcome, Travelers.”
“The Master is expecting you.”
“Please, come this way.”
C̶̜̐̌́̍͆͜ó̵̞̰̪̙̋̔̌͂͗m̷̟͕̻͖̣͖̣͂̐͒̈́̚͘ę̸͖̥̞̦͚̩͍͉̠͉͓̖͊̾̈́́̃̂̔̏͑̚ ̵̧̤͕̤̹̰͎̟̯̗̈́̓̍̑̔w̸̢͓̼̜̮͙̣͕̗͒̋̏̎͝i̸̧̦͖͎͉͑̉͊̆t̸̡͔̯̮̥͉͉̙̹͔̑̑͂̂̑̂̑͝͝ḩ̵̡̡̟̮̮̥͎͚͐̏̔̓͂̿̒͆̀́̽͊͐͘͜ ̸̺͓͇̈́̒̈̍̉͆̚͠u̸̟̺̐̀͆̐̎͌̓͗̈́̚͝ṡ̸̛̛̤͎̜̭͇̲̮͙̣̹̃̀͆̔̃̊̍̀̀͠͠.̴̨͓̞͙̲̫̲̙͇̤͊̃̏̔͝
Rickter’s gambit of gathering everyone up inside of a specially crafted barrier laced with Traversion magic seemed to work. The collective group was gathered up and levitated forward propelled through the dark caverns of the Deeps and into the tunnel that they had been speeding toward initially. As soon as they passed through the archway of the tunnel, they were plummeted into darkness and the sense of falling enveloped them. For a moment it felt as though the very world around them was shifting until the tunnel fell away to reveal the bleak landscape of the gloomy Haunted Reaches. They were spit out of a cavern entrance in the side of a rocky crag and sent spiraling into a dirt path ahead of them. Behind them, a rumbling sounded from the cavernous opening. Rock and debris began falling as the opening collapsed on itself. At the last minute, a figure flew out of the collapsing tunnel.
Aoren landed hard on the ground, bouncing and rolling until he came sliding to a stop. A handful of twisted creatures stumbled out of the cloud of debris even as the tunnel entrance fell in on itself. Bloody and still ravenously mad. Aoren lay motionless on the ground, back in his usual form of an Avialae. The handful of creatures were scrambling toward his body. Before they could reach him however, they were all speared by black arrows. As the arrows pierced the flesh of the shamblers the flesh of the creatures rapidly began to rot away until they fell to the ground, ashen.
Looking in the direction of where the arrows came from there stood a figure that could only be described as unnerving. Tattered black robes hung from the slim but vaguely humanoid shape. Multiple arms jutted out from its body. Two of those arms held open its robe and within the interior the form of other beings moving within the folds of its robe could be seen. Ghostly eyes stared at the group. Some with curiosity. Some with hunger. Some with malice. Some with excitement. The figure’s head was adorned with a decorative mask and headpiece. It spoke, the voice androgynous with an echo of other voices beneath it.
“Welcome, Travelers.”
W̸̢̬̥̣̥̝̭̙̽̆͒̓͘̕e̷̛͕̯͑̂͊̀̉́̓l̴̗͇͚͎͉͍̼̪̫͋͂̄̽͛̋̏̍̓͆̍̄͐͝c̴̳͌͒̇̀̈ǒ̶̜̲̘̟͖̺̯̘̜̄͒̂̀̕m̴͙͎͆̊͋̇͊̃͗̅̾̎̊͝͠͠ȇ̵̼̭̞͙̘̜͔̦̞̯̮̪̾̔̔̈́̄͜ͅ
Ĥ̷̡̡͙̜̠͙̳̹͇̥͋̔̏̋͗͠ẹ̷̅̿̈́̽̍͆̓̉́̉́͑̀̕̕l̸͇̭̟̍l̷͇̙͚̣̭͈͓̺̠̊̐̀́̍̈́̊̓͝͠ͅő̸̧͕̦̝̹̹̺̠͎̖̳̫͙̰̀̌̾͌̒͒̾̈́͋͠͠͝
G̷̨̱̜͍̜̒͑͂̀r̸̳͔̘͉̝̹̅̿̏̔̇͋̅́̈̋͊̚̕̚͠ę̸̞͇̘̙͕̪̠̔e̴̛̛̪͈̞̠̤̰̺͙͕͙͂̈́́͗̍̍͂͆͒͝͝t̵͕̱͈̜̦̪̉̀̊͛̑̇̾̇̃̿̚͝ï̸̘͔̭͙̌̈́͑̇̕n̴̫̜̫͕̻̿̍̀͆̑́͛͌̓̈́̾͋͝g̸̟̲͉̣̜̳̈́̇́̍̈́̎́̓͘ͅŝ̸̢̜̞̦̬̯͚̤̓͛̅̑̌
“The Master is expecting you.”
Ĥ̶̡̠̺͗̏̆̑̒e̶̢̛̲̥̬̱̻̥̩̟̪̝͙̹͊͆̌̀̔̓̽͊̀̀͘ ̵̛̠͇̬͋̒͋͋̌̏͛͒̿̚͠͝ͅį̴̢̛̘̎̎̀͒͒̽́̒́̎̈́͒̂̕s̴̨̥̼͜͝ ̷̢̡̖̫̮́͋̂͆̒͑̿͂͒̉͘̚ẅ̸͙͖̦̯́̈́̌͊́̓́̇̊̇͐͝à̴̡̹̹̮͚̞͕͉̼̺̟̻͈͎́̿͒̈́̎̃̈́͛͂͘̕̚̚͘͜į̷̛̠͉̹̪͎̞͇̗̲͖̮͋͂̓͊͋̈́̍͑ţ̶̧̜̣͖͎̳̞̟͓̱̞̤̖͗̇̉̄͊͒͛́̒̚͝͠í̴̤̝͓̤ͅn̸̰͉̩̟̤͖̖͖̪͙̯̯͓̬͇͗̐̍̽̆͗͐͛̀͑͊͊̕͠͝ǧ̵̩̮̞̘̭͔͇̞͙̰͎͌͊̉̈͜͝.̶̨̢̡̬̼̱̯̥͇̟͍͇̬̩̌̓̌
T̴̨̝̳̬̞̞̂h̴̨̫̮̗̰͎͕͕͇̞̦̐̓̈́̽̋̋̆̄ẻ̶̢̥̩̹̦̹̭̼͔͚̣̕̕ ̵̨̣̝̙̮͚̖̉̈́͐̐̍̔̈́͒͛̄̓͝M̷̛̥̀͆͑̋̀̈́̿̕ä̵̜͔̞͚̼̪͉̙̺̭̮́́̀͐͊͑͑͒̉͂̾͛̎́́͜ͅş̴͉̻͈̗̜̭̮̫͒̍͆̐̅̕t̸̡̧̹̳͕̯̂͑̈́̾̍͐̂̚e̸̮͂r̷̩̩̤̘̖̦̗̩̼̩̹͕͔͆̀̈́́̈́͌̅̾͛͆͘͝ͅ ̵̯́̑̀͒̂͗̉̂͑̒͆̔̕͝į̸͔͆̄̄̍́͗͊̉̃̐̾͛̚͝s̸̛͚̗͗͐͑̒̊̃ ̷̼̫̬͉͒̉͜ẁ̶̢̛̙̞̲̠̭̹͇͍̹̟̺͉̰̈́̏̽́͌̌͗̽̌à̵̡̤̙̬̣͖̞̲͙͈̽́̂̃͂̍̒̍͘̕͘͝i̷̛̥̞̠̞̩̖̼̹̥͐͊́̾́̿̎͒͘͠ͅt̸̨̨͈̯̠̪͚͚̄i̸̧͇̖͍͈͇̝̺̘̮͎̻͍̐͆͆̅͘͝n̴̨̨̺̝̘͚̜̭̘̫̳̈͊͐̈́͌́̽̋̂̑͋̀̾̚g̵̨̨̘̪̰͎̘̪͙̤̏͋ͅ.̸̧͉̥̦̺͉̖̬̤̻̘̝͛̾̉͝
D̷̢̗̙̞͛̽͗̍́̂́̕o̶̢̢̩̟͉͉̩͎̳̹̖̦̾͆͒̄̚͝ ̶̧̡̘̯̜̟̜̜̬͎͎̩̮̓̋̈ṇ̶̡͇̬̻͈̳͎̟̏̎̅̉̑̿̾̿͒̃͜͠ǫ̵͕̫͓̫͙̣̺̯͇̮͌͛̌̾͊̓̾̓̇͂͑̓̕͜͝t̶͇͎̦̫͕̱̍̐̈́̂̐̾̋̍͐̎͗͆̒͆͝ ̴̘̗͓̮͉͇̣̻̺͎͂͒̋̉͊̔̇̂͂̂̔̉̋̕̕k̵̨̝͉̮̰͇̙̘̳̝̦̝̪̏̏̋̂̇̀͝ͅe̶̢̧̟͕͕͙͎͈͐ę̴͕̗̮̰͙̥̳̱̫͎̥̺͉̟̂̀̋͗̽͗̇̕p̵͖̫̰̯̋̅̈́͒̈́̑͝ ̴̡̱̖̯̪̱̹͔͆̾̌̎͒̿̃́̿̈́̚͠͝͝ͅṱ̸̡̡̱̗͕̥͚̗̯̖͍͂̒̊͊͝h̵̨̢̢̞̹̥͙͙̤̹̺̏ͅͅȩ̴͇̻͕͚̻̹̑̋̍͂͂͑̋̄͂̇̀͌̏͝ ̵̦͈͚̰͛̏̆͗M̸͕̓̍͜a̸͖͙̤̜̥̮̘̹͓̒͌̔̊̋̈́̽̒̏̂̆͘͝͝ṥ̶̘̜̲̰͇̣̻̓͐̈́̑̃̚ͅt̸̠̰̥̱̹̉͒̒ͅe̴̡̡̢̡͓͙͔̣̱̲̦̙̒r̴͙̠̭̯̜̍̂̑͛̏̈͊̈́̈́͘͠ ̷̬͇̹̺͓̯͎͖̖̝̘͕̂̂̅̏̀̂̄̅̌̆̂͌ẇ̴͔̦̭ǎ̶̧͕̳͔̪̹͔̤̖͌̓̅́́̋̓̿͛̊͗̆̈͝į̴͔̦̲͓͓̲̾̉́͋̒̄̏͛̒̊͌̓͒̚t̴̨̰̥̲̙̻̺̭͍̗̰̰̂̆͛͑̈̀̌͝͝͝ͅǐ̷̡̛̭̺̂̄̒̾ǹ̸̰̳̤̪̮̟̭̱͈͇̲̍̉̈́̅͗͋̉̈́̚g̵̛̝̀.̵͓̤̓̓͌͂̎̿̔͛̓̊̀͘͘̚
“Please, come this way.”
T̸̰͖̣̰̹̦͛̓̒͂̎̈̕ͅh̴̢͇̟̰̻̹͇̩̭̦͓̙̐͆͌̄̄̇̀̀̿̈̌̐͘î̴͉̃s̴̨̖͙͔̣̝̘̖̱̥͍̥̘̗̿̓̐̿̓͆̈͘͜͝ ̶̳͑ẅ̵̨̢̻͚̹̬͙́͗͋̿̓̏̚͘͜͜͝͠ä̵̪̮́́͌̑͜y̷̡̡̛̛͔̹̼̣̗̳̥̹̟̖̣͖͐̄̄͗̾̆.̶̡̖͉̓͆̆̔̈́̿͋̽̊̎̀̎̕ ̵̰̭̹͙̬̥̠̇̽̆͑̏̐̀͝
C̶̜̐̌́̍͆͜ó̵̞̰̪̙̋̔̌͂͗m̷̟͕̻͖̣͖̣͂̐͒̈́̚͘ę̸͖̥̞̦͚̩͍͉̠͉͓̖͊̾̈́́̃̂̔̏͑̚ ̵̧̤͕̤̹̰͎̟̯̗̈́̓̍̑̔w̸̢͓̼̜̮͙̣͕̗͒̋̏̎͝i̸̧̦͖͎͉͑̉͊̆t̸̡͔̯̮̥͉͉̙̹͔̑̑͂̂̑̂̑͝͝ḩ̵̡̡̟̮̮̥͎͚͐̏̔̓͂̿̒͆̀́̽͊͐͘͜ ̸̺͓͇̈́̒̈̍̉͆̚͠u̸̟̺̐̀͆̐̎͌̓͗̈́̚͝ṡ̸̛̛̤͎̜̭͇̲̮͙̣̹̃̀͆̔̃̊̍̀̀͠͠.̴̨͓̞͙̲̫̲̙͇̤͊̃̏̔͝
F̷̨̹̥͎͌̀͝o̴̧̧̨͉̪̹͙̫̖̬͖͎͖̫̮͗̌̉̀͊͗̓̕͘͠͠ḷ̵̨̧̧̞͉͓̞̩͎̣͓͙̖̃̇̎̍́́͐͐̑͗͑̐̓̈́̚l̸̛͕͕̦̻͓͎̩̱͎̎̔̏͊͐͐͛̎͋̓̐͆͗͝ṍ̷̪͓̝̘̳̯̤̙͂̓͘͘͠w̸͎̰̝̻̻̺̆̈́.̴̨̙͓̺̦̱͎̩͓͎̥́̉́̑̀̿̓̂̑͒̈́̈̽̚͠
