Legend of Ransera

Posted: **Mon Dec 19, 2022 9:22 am**

Frost 1st, 122

Franky was in his office, staring out the window at the darkened, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. It was terribly weak, due to the rationing he'd put into place at the Knob. The world had gone crazy since he helped to get the Rift sealed. He watched as the darkness of the night was fading, replacing itself with shadow, a strange phenomenon that had been going on for nearly thirty days now.

Arms draped over Franky's shoulders, the warmth of his wife's body pressing against his back. She kissed the back of his neck. It was strange, to be allowed these moments of normalcy in this beyond unprecedented times. Dalma and the rest of the staff of the Gobbler had come back after the mages from Kalzasi managed to stabilize the rift. Franky was housing them all in the Gobbler itself, for their own safety. Every room was now shared by as many could sleep upon the floors.

And it truly was the safest place in the Knob. The Gobbler hid those within her from the horrors outside, and the very few that managed to be brought in by curiosity or intent found themselves quite gobbled up. Franky sipped once more at the piss poor coffee that Mimsy had tried her hardest to make more palatable, but supplies were too thin for even her best efforts.

"Where are you going out to today?"

It was a good question. Franky, and a handful of others, had been slowly working to secure the upper portion of the Knob, acquiring supplies, locating survivors, fortifying their positions. Between the monsters from the Mists, the creatures coming out of the mines, and these shadow creatures now, Zaichaer was in all out war with all that was not people. Franky's brow furrowed, his face showing his age and the stress from these recent seasons. He took in a deep breath and sighed.

"Northway, I saw a warehouse with its doors still secured yesterday."

He drained his terrible coffee. It was the only luxury he'd allowed himself to have, at Mimsy's insistence. He was the one leading these efforts, the one keeping everyone here safe and alive. Even with rationing in place, they were burning through the Gobbler's reserves. Thankfully, the beer and ale and wine that Franky did have in large supply were nutritious enough to keep people from wasting away. The strongest alcohols were put in reserve for cleaning wounds and as painkillers.

The Gobbler was still operating, but it wasn't refusing any who could pay. Rather, it operated on barter, on favours, on labor.

Dalma unwrapped herself, moving to sit atop his desk. She looked at him, shaking her head, "Everytime I venture into the Astral Sea, I see nothing but unending Darkness. I know not if this is because its all that Galetira is focused on or if that's all there is to See."

Franky nodded.

"I'm not sure what anyone is able to do these days. The gods won't fix it and us mere mortals can't fathom it." He set his mug down on the window sill, "We just have to survive it." He felt his inner self, his true demon form smile at that, even though the mouth his wife could see remained in its perpetual frown. Survival was Suffering, Franky knew this to be true more than most. Franky dressed, woolen trousers and shirt, a thick woolen cloak to overlay it. He grabbed his sword from beside their bed, and his shield from where it laid upon his desk. He leaned in, touching noses with Dalma, then kissing her softly. Picking up the shield, he looked at the small pocket she'd sown into the leather strap, for keeping Talon's feather safe. It was a powerful relic and it helped protect him while he was in the field.

Still, even with a literal symbol of hope with him, Franky found that saving Zaichaer felt hopeless. It was a war on too many fronts. And by spring, half the surviving population will have died to starvation or exposure, he was sure of it. He pulled the longer strap of his shield over his chest, carrying it upon his back, his sword kept in hand. There was simply too much for mortals to handle, and he couldn't help but wonder how the other parts of the world were faring. Were his children and grandchildren alive in the Imperium? Was Yeva safe in Ecith?

How could he look to the future with so much chaos?

One problem at a time, that was his soldier's discipline talking. Supplies for winter. They had a small, safe stronghold, and if they could continue to grow it and hold it, they could reclaim the Knob, possibly the city. Franky squeezed Dalma's hand, giving her a nod, before stepping out of his office. He could hear many of his staff downstairs working already. They were tireless and all of them were stepping up.

Except for Millie.

She was the only one that didn't come back. He'd been told that she had continued onward to the Imperium. And something about that cut him deeper than he'd expected. She was the first one to join him at the Gobbler and now she was gone. They had had their goodbyes that day he sent everyone out on Vanessa's ship, but part of him always expected her return. Franky was careful in his footsteps, navigating around the displaced Zaichaer refugees, of all race and wealth. Most that were bunked here were from the Knob and Grungeworks, but there were others too, former soldiers without a leader, lesser nobility that had to flee West End. Chaos was the great equalizer.

Slipping into the kitchen, Franky was pleased to hear the familiar arguing and threatening with knives of his kitchen staff. They'd been integral at determining what was safe to eat from the monsters that were brought back by Franky and Weston and the few others out helping to fight back against the world. And Mimsy was a delightful addition, as well, ever pleasant and positive. Chestnut was busy cooking a stew, whistling. He watched as she put some pieces of wood into the water. Without even looking up to acknowledge him, "It's for Hobbie. She's hungry."

Franky's eyes narrowed. Chestnut shouldn't know about the Gobbler being alive. Only himself and Lyra knew this. Yet ever since Chestnut had returned, she'd nicknamed the tavern 'Hobbie' and had been feeding her through the hearth. And Hobbie had come to quite enjoy this, purring to Franky whenever she did. How Chestnut knew, he'd never know. Giving straight answers to any questions was not something Chestnut ever bothered with, and Franky doubted she'd start now.

Moving through the kitchen, he stepped out into the transformed barroom. As the only point of entry left unbarred, the barroom had been made into a defensive stronghold. Traps laid all throughout the entry way, and one had to navigate furniture and barrels and crates nailed down to get to any other part of the Gobbler. Weston was there, keeping a meticulous checklist of supplies. Franky nodded at him when the man spoke, "Cloth." Franky nodded. Some supplies like food, medicine, weapons, were always needed, but Weston had been good about communicating the less noticeable needs.

Franky wove through the defensive maze, peeking into the theatre, where many were still sleeping. The stage had been turned into the impromptu clinic, the audience a sleeping area. The casino and fight pit both were filling up as well. It would be a long winter with this many mouths to feed. Approaching the door he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Then Hobbie opened her maw and Franky stepped out into the streets once more.

He cast his gaze around, seeing all the neighboring buildings were fortified just as the Gobbler was. They'd managed to secure several blocks in this fashion. They had enough space, but not enough bodies yet to defend it. As Franky went northward, he nodded at the few that looked down at him from the rooftops, they all knew that none of them would be here if it weren't for Franky achieving the impossible of warning them and protecting this end from the worst of the blast.

Franky reached the first barricade, seeing Glasha, Oaky, and others posted there. This barricade marked the line of territory that they had the manpower to defend. There was another on the south side road as well. There was a second barrier beyond both, indicating buildings that had been swept of supplies and survivors, but had not yet been secured. Each day, they worked to expand their efforts a bit more. Franky nodded at Glasha, who just whapped Oaky on the back of the head for some comment he surely just made, as the guards moved the wagons of sand used as a gate. An investment in a war against Kalzasi now served as gates. Franky found something funny in that.

Between Gate 1 and 2, the buildings were open, their windows broken out, the doors clanging in the wind. Franky pulled the shield from his back at this point, and held his sword readied. These buildings were empty husks, but that didn't mean that monsters couldn't spawn. He continued his march along the skeleton that was once Zaichaer, reaching Gate 2. He climbed the stairs of crates and made his way down to the other side, an area some had begun calling the Dreads. The fog was thicker here, shadow creatures more abundant, horrors unknown from the Warrens wandered freely.

Franky wished he had a cigarette. He bit the craving by squeezing the hilt of his sword, marching into the Dreads, in search of food, medicine and weapons. And cloth, of course.

Posted: **Mon Dec 19, 2022 10:45 am**

1 Frost 122

Rounding a corner, Franky would be treated to the grim but common sight that had become the grizzly norm of Zaichaer’s blast zone. The gory refuse left behind by monstrosities and abominations that had preyed upon a poor victim or perhaps victims. It was difficult to tell where the entrails of one person ended and another began with most of it being nothing more than red splatter upon a brick wall. A wall that was so close to what might have been a safe haven if they had but made it around the corner. Terrible as that might have been, there was only so much the small group holed up in the Hobbled Gobbler could do. Even if it was a hard thing to do. The strike of a match announced the presence of a watcher. A man leaning against the brick building. His figure silhouetted in shadow. The flame of the match did little to illuminate his face but as he brought it up to light the cigarette in his mouth, a hint of his eyes could be seen.

Inhuman. That was the only way to describe them. He flicked the match, extinguishing the flame and took a draw from the cigarette. As he did, he leaned back and blew out the smoke. He was clearly looking at Franky. Fishing into one of his pockets he withdrew what was clearly a pack of the smokes and flipped it open, extending it toward the Hobgoblin.

“You look like you could use one of these.” Whoever and whatever he was, he clearly was not there to do any harm. To Franky’s eyes, it was abundantly clear that this man was not human or anything remotely close to it. The shadows clung to him like a cloak. At the edges of those shadows was a hint of infernal light that burned to look at, reminiscent of the very edges of the light that hung around the rim of the eclipse in the sky. Beyond that however, the darkness was far too thick to truly penetrate, even with his gaze. On the peripheral of Franky's thoughts, emotions would stir at the very sight of this man. The gnawing press of bone deep and chilling Fear. The claw of a sinking Darkness that was inescapable and all consuming, vast and unknowable and...something else.

Posted: **Mon Dec 19, 2022 11:27 am**

Franky had grown used to the sight of bodies mangled and bloodied, torn apart and scattered long before he'd ever come to Zaichaer. But what he could never quite get past was the smell. A wave of nausea built up within him as the salty copper of the blood, the stench of bowels, and the heat of newly rotting flesh assaulted him. He refused to close his eyes, it was too dangerous too do so, but he couldn't help but pull his nose away from the smell. He could see that whoever these remains belonged to, that they were so close to shelter. That was the place Franky felt Zaichaer was perpetually stuck in these days. Almost out, only to be ravaged by the next crisis.

Kchhhhih.

Franky looked up, knowing that sound well, his body tensing, coiling, inherently drawing his shield and sword up defensively, his body weight shifting down and away from the sound. He looked across the way, a man, it seemed, had struck a match and lit a cigarette. Darkness obscuring a face, eyes glinting briefly, Franky knew this to not be a person. Not like the rest of the people in Zaichaer. Not like he himself had once been.

And so far, everyone he'd met that was not a person but in the shape of a person had been a god. Or Lyra. Who could possibly be a god, but he wasn't sure. He relaxed his grips but not his guard as he walked over to the man, who offered a cigarette upon his arrival. Franky almost smiled. That was his own greeting, used many a time. At the offered smokes, Franky nodded, loosening his shield to have an available hand, reaching up to take one, plucking it carefully so as to not pinch it shut and spill the tobacco within.

"You have no idea."

Franky pulled out his own smoke box, empty of cigarettes, grabbing the small flint striker within, ignoring the few matches left. Those he saved for emergencies, lit up his cigarette and pulled a stiff draft through to send it burning.

"Thank you, stranger. The name's Franky."

As Franky looked at the man, it seemed to him that this person, this being, whoever they might be, was made of darkness, not shrouded in it. And as he looked, he felt his heart beat faster. He felt perspiration building in his palms. There was the taste of adrenaline in his mouth. He was no stranger to fear but this was building quicker within him than it should've been. It reminded him of the time Malgar had come to see him. His emotions and experiences had gone against the norm then too. He squeezed his hands tighter, to try and stave off this growing dread, his thumb pressing into the hidden feather in the strap of his shield, trying to squeeze out any bit of hope from it that he could.

Darkness before him and darkness around the sun, a god yet again making their presence known to the Hobgoblin, and the tiredness of one toiling, constantly, against the impossible led to a most uncharacteristic utterance from the worldweary man. "What is it you want from me? I don't know why so many of you gods seem to deem me worthy of your attention, but I have a lot on my plate these days." He pointed his sword up at the shadow in the sky, "This you? The latest in the line of shit I'm having to deal with?" The agitated Hobgoblin pulled on the smoke, savoring the flavour, the heat in his lungs, knowing that his rudeness might well get him killed. But these days, anything could kill him and everything he cared about, and he was well past caring about threats leveled at him.

Posted: **Mon Dec 19, 2022 12:13 pm**

“You are welcome.” The figure waited politely for Franky to take his first drag on the cigarette before touching the tips of his fingers to his forehead and offering a gentlemanly salute. That small greeting given, he took another drag on his own cigarette. Drawing upon that silver feather, a relic tied to the very embodiment of Hope itself, was a powerful thing. It was not a wave of relief but an easing of the fear and dread crawling its way through Franky’s skin ease. Resolve blossomed inside of him and the impenetrable darkness in front of him no longer seemed so dark. The man’s head was cocked to the side and the sense that he was staring directly at the compartment where the feather was kept was strong. After a pause, he spoke.

“Shaeoth.” The man shrugged a shoulder. “Or Killian. Whichever you prefer.”

He tipped his head back, looking up into the skies at the shadows that were cast upon much of everything.

“Yes.” That was the only thing he offered in terms of an answer to Franky’s question. But what an answer it was. With that single utterance, he had confessed to being the very force behind the darkness that was enshrouding the world. He laughed at Franky’s words.

“A leader in a storm of uncertainty. A rock that remains unbroken before the crash of tides.” With a nod of his head, he gestured back toward the Hobbled Gobbler. “A beacon of Hope amid the horrors that unfold.”

Shaeoth took another pull on his cigarette. As he exhaled, the sense that he was grinning followed by a chuckle filled the air.

“And he wonders why gods and men are drawn to him.” Shaeoth made himself more comfortable against the wall he leaned against.

“You have something I want.” He cocked his head to the side. “A man of business such as yourself might be willing to make a deal? One that might make yours and the lives of everyone here just a little easier?”

He let the prospect of a deal with him linger in the air for a moment. It went without saying that making a bargain with him could carry any number of costs. The question was, what was Franky willing to pay? What manner of negotiations was he willing to engage in?

“You were given a cup.” Shaeoth brought his cigarette to his lips. “I want it.”

Posted: **Mon Dec 19, 2022 1:05 pm**

Of course this Shaeoth, the god responsible for the latest bout of fuckery, would decide to meet with Franky. He was cursed with being known now it seemed. Long gone was the desire to retire in obscurity as a bartender. That Franky died in the rift, it seemed. This was his burden now. A leader and bringer of hope, as Shaeoth put it. Well, taking responsibility was not an area Franky found himself lacking.

Franky put his shield over his back, taking the cigarette from his scarred lips, letting it breath a bit. He looked up and down the street, habit formed in this times. He listened quietly, always listening when he wasn't speaking as the man made his intentions clear. A trade. A deal. Now he was in Franky's arena. And if he knew about the Cup, he must know not just who Franky was, but what Franky was, as well.

But that didn't leave the Archdemon without power. Franky was never one for feeling or being powerless, and he was tired of being indebted to these petty gods and their various machinations. A teasing grin grew upon his face, one where the inner demon and the outer mask matched. "And how might Malgar feel if I give you that which was given to me?"

He pulled the cigarette to his lips, taking a soft drag on it, casting his eyes onto the man of darkness, "That's not to say I won't consider the offer..." His eyes sidled up to a nearby rooftop, seeing one of the many shadow creatures that had been plaguing the area peering over at them. It was soon joined by dozens of others. "I am curious as to why you would want it though, and sating that curiosity is the price for me to even consider this further."

He blew some smoke up in the general direction of the shadow creatures, "After all, you, like all the others, came to me. And if you could force it from me, you," Franky's eyes slid back to match Shaeoth's, his fingers holding the cigarette brought up to point at the God of Darkness, "Who has cast a shadow over the world, would. I suspect that for some reason, you can't. Perhaps by protection of He who I'm indebted to, or more likely, fear of him. I've seen first hand what he can do to shadows. And myself. Or is it fear of who he answers to? I've met the King, and I know that all of you bend the knee to him." Franky brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking a long drag on it, before ashing it on the ground, grinding them out with the practiced habit of a soldier.

"So if you can't or won't take it from me by force, you need me to give it freely. So if you want me to truly consider this, give me what I ask. After all, whatever your goals might be with darkening the sky, with coming to me, I can only imagine they came at a cost, one that increases the longer it takes." One final drag on the cigarette until there wasn't enough left to salvage. He flicked it off to the side, sending the ember straight through another shadow creature, "So give up that piece of information to bring me to the table," and as Franky spoke, holding his gaze on Shaeoth, he pushed the boundaries of his domain of Sacrifice, searching for what this god may have given up, "Or we may as well part ways now. I'm a very busy demon, after all."

Posted: **Mon Dec 19, 2022 11:49 pm**

“Intrigued, I imagine. Just as he is intrigued with most things. But, he cannot hear us. Nor can he see us. None of them can. Not directly, at least.” The statement, while vague, provided greater insight into perhaps machinations that were not immediately obvious. Machinations that none might have even considered. As Franky went on, Shaeoth remained quiet and relaxed.

“Everyone is right to fear Malgar.” At the mention of the Dragon King, there came a welling of emotion from the Darkness. The seething rage that burned at the edges of the world grew hotter. The shadows pressed more firmly upon Shaeoth and even the shadow creatures that gathered at the rooftops hunched down sending all but the bravest or most foolish of them scattering. After a pause, Shaeoth spoke.

“You know not what you ask.” The darkness and fire burning at the edges of the world abated slightly. Shaeoth lifted one arm and extended a hand. “But I will give it to you anyways.”

When Franky took the offered hand, he was uprooted from the world that was immediately around him. Dimly he would be aware of the fact that he was still holding Shaeoth’s hand but, guided by his dominion over Sacrifice, he was drawn to that which he sought.

---

Thunder cracked overhead. No. Not thunder. The very stones that formed the bones of the earth were being torn asunder by titans of vast and ancient power. Fire and lightning crashed against the side of a colossal…mountain? No. It was not a mountain. A roar split the air and the mountain moved revealing a beast that defied all explanation. Its towering bulk rose higher than any tsunami and with it came a wave of darkness, fire and malice. A gargantuan head swung around and with it opened a dozen reptilian eyes. The creature’s maw opened revealing row after row after row of teeth.

Franky was suddenly yanked back and clutched tightly by a woman whose face was recognizable. He had seen it. Somewhere in the Aetherium. She was staring at him and there was fear in her eyes. She gripped his shoulders. Before she could speak, Franky was shouting.

“I can fight! I will not leave Father! I will not abandon him!” But it was not Franky’s voice. It was the voice of a boy. Little older than a teenager. The woman cupped his face.

“Listen to me.” Franky struggled, trying to draw back but the woman held him tightly in a desperate grip.

“Seon! My son! Listen! Take your brother!” Franky looked down and saw a boy beside him. A boy who was clutching his hand tightly. The boy was scraped and had blood running down the side of his face.

“Take your brother and go!” The creature roared and lurched forward but was suddenly hit with a barrage of golden flames and lightning. As smoke and darkness rose from its form it cried out in pain. Overhead, a blazing form bolted down from the skies and slammed into the massive monster pushing it back. Thunder cracked overhead once more and bits of rock and stone broke away from an actual mountain. He was pulled back to the woman’s attention.

“Go! You have to--” The woman’s voice was cut off by a gasp. Jutting out of her chest was suddenly a dark blade. A figure rose out of the smoke and shadow from behind her as her body went limp. Franky was suddenly launching himself at the dark figure only to be smacked aside, landing hard in the dirt. The world spun.

“Mother!” His brother’s young voice cried out in anguish at the now still body of their mother on the ground. A figure that seemed comprised of shadow and crooked angles was advancing on Franky’s younger brother. The boy did not back down and suddenly launched himself at the shadow. His body was suddenly alight with silver-white fire as he lunged for the shadow man. The crooked shadow raised a hand lazily only to stumble back as the flames ate away at the shadows. It stumbled back, seemingly shocked before more darkness gathered becoming tendrils that grabbed the boy and yanked him toward the ground. The shadow began melting into the ground, the shadow spreading. The silver-white flames around the boy continued to burn but…the darkness was spreading over him.

“Brother!” Franky’s head was spinning. He was trying to get his bearings. “Brother help!”

He had to move. He had to get up. Father…Mother…his little brother…

“Seon! Please! Help me!” He snapped back to the moment, hyper focused on what was in front of him. The roar of the creature fighting his father rang in his ears. His mother’s limp body. He zeroed in on his little brother. Shadows were pulling at him. Drawing him into the darkness. Tears were streaming down his face and fear was evident in his eyes.

Memories played through his head. Memories of the two of them hunting together. The two of them exploring with mother and father. Memories of his family.

“Brother, please!” Franky moved and sprinted forward. He reached for something. He reached for a strength he did not know he had. He reached for the Fear that was inside of his brother. They had to have strength. They had to survive. They had to have hope. He grabbed his little brother’s hand. As soon as they touched, he yanked his little brother out of the dark with all of his might…and was taken by the Darkness in his stead.

Stay strong, Little Brother. For all of us.

Shadows closed around him.

---

He was screaming. He was screaming in agony. He was screaming in rage. He was screaming in grief. He was screaming so hard he thought his vocal chords were bleeding. Maybe they were. Everything had been dark. Everything had been twisted and with every ounce of strength he had he had been fighting. His eyes were blurred with tears as he clutched an armored body to his own. Rocking back and forth he sobbed, holding this body tightly to him. Even as the skies cracked open and poured forth searing divine wrath, he cried and he screamed. Even as godly fire burned his skin and seared every inch of him with blistering agony, he continued to hold the limp armored body in his arms.

Let him burn. Maybe it would be the freedom he sought.

Darkness took him.

And of course it was never that easy. He was on his knees, tendrils of darkness binding his wrists and holding him to the floor of a black space. Though there was nothing but darkness, he could still see. A crooked man crawled out of the dark and he looked furious.

Good.

Clawed tendrils of darkness lurched forward from the crooked man’s fingers and pierced his flesh. He felt the pain. He refused to scream. Not for him.

Your defiance cosssst usss for the lassst time. When will you give up thisss pointless ssstruggle?

The crooked man had no mouth. He had no face. He was nothing. He would always be nothing.

“N-never.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

Then we will consssssume you.

He felt a gnawing agony pour through him but instead of cowering before this attempt to hollow out his very soul, all he felt was rage. A rage beyond rage that was so all consuming that it was almost pure. He grit his teeth and called upon this rage. The dark tendrils piercing him were burned away with a shriek from the crooked man. He sagged and panted.

He could not break free. But as he glared at the crooked man he knew one thing. He would never stop fighting.

The crooked man pierced his flesh again.

---

It was a rare lucid moment. A moment when he had managed to wrest control back and be more than a passenger in his own body. He was staring into her eyes. The pale Lysanrin woman who was looking at him so skeptically. She had every reason to distrust him.

“You know what this will do.” It was not a question. Of course he knew. He extended the gemstone to her. Placed it in her hand and closed her fingers around it. “But we must. For the greater good--”

“Good?” He cut her off with a sharp tone. “There is nothing good about this. Do not delude yourself. They will die. This world will die. But at least in dying it will burn them all with it.”

She held the gemstone tightly.

“What did you give up, to ensure this reached my hands?” This time she was staring at him with all the intensity that she was known for. It did not matter. Even her gaze could not look into his soul. The dark clung to it too closely. He tensed but forced himself to relax.

“More than you will ever know.”

---

“You will be weakened but Cuvyr has been contained. For a time.” The face of Venetia Childs was staring back at him. She was withdrawing her hands, the fading presence of aethereal magic evident beneath her fingers.

“You know there is only one way.” The witch looked stern for a moment. He adjusted the sleeves of his shirt.

“I know.”

---

“I am so tired.” The weariness in Talon’s voice cut through him. He knew, oh how he knew, how tired the young man was. After all, he had set in motion so many of the things to push him to that point. He had pushed so many things just to get to this point. But it was almost over. Bleak silver eyes stared at him with an exhaustion that was so deep it almost made him falter.

It did make him falter. For even now, in this moment, all he could see, all he could hear, were the pleas of that boy so many lifetimes ago, begging him to help. But he could not stop. Not now. He had not sacrificed so many lives, given in to his darker nature, and fostered his rage to stop now. The Crooked Man could never be allowed to win. Never again. He had hesitated before and it had unleashed a plague upon this world.

“Brother?” Brother!

“Yes?” Talon looked at him with such weary eyes and he could see just how badly the empire had broken him. In that gaze there was more than just the empire’s torture. There was a life, many lifetimes, of being forced to play the bitter games between mortals and gods. The weariness of constantly being forced to play the hero only to be spat at by those whom he struggled so hard to save. He knew. He knew because he had watched it all and had been just as much of a pawn for just as long.

No more.

“Help.” Help me! Please!

“Of course.”

Hope had asked for Vengeance and with that, he could finally, finally find the strength to have hope at all. Hope for freedom. Hope for something different. Hope for a change from the cycle between fighting, Light versus Dark, Justice versus Vengeance, Hope versus Fear. Finally…he could break it all.

---

With a jolt, Franky returned to the present moment. Shaeoth was withdrawing his hand and was lighting another cigarette. He took a drag on the cigarette before shaking the match to extinguish it. As he blew out the smoke, the brief flash of those inhuman eyes settled upon Franky before they were lost to darkness once more.

“Did you see everything you needed to see?”

Posted: **Tue Dec 20, 2022 1:49 am**

Interesting. The other Gods were cut off from the world, or at least limited by it. Perhaps that was why Dalma could only find Darkness when she ventured into the Astral Sea. It seemed Shaeoth was speaking the truth. That was good, Franky might be a demon now but he still had little tolerance for liars. And the bristling that grew at the mention of the King seemed a response that Franky suspected many a god shared. Everyone had a problem with whoever was the ruler.

Franky took the hand that was freely given and once more was pulled from the mortal world that he feared he might never get to enjoy to its fullest ever again.

And he found himself thrust into a world of primordial violence. Impossibly large beings whose blows created cataclysms. Franky could feel that he was a passenger in this, trapped, unable to move his arms in the way his mind wished his eyes moving in the way that they had back then but not one inch beyond what was carved in the past. So he sat back and he watched and listened. If this is what he was to see from Shaeoth, he would pay the respect required.

Suria?

That was interesting. The woman who had guided Franky to the King was here as well, and she looked afraid. Terrified. It didn't take long for Franky to realize that this was the fear of a mother worried for her children, and for her love. Suria was Shaeoth's mother. In that moment of fear, Franky attempted to push his domain of Sacrifice further, extending beyond simply Shaeoth, to include Suria. He had no idea if it would work, but his gut instinct was suggesting she would be important in what would come next. Franky's eyes were pulled upward as golden fire rocked the great monsters and in his mind, he knew, he absolutely Knew that the King was here.

Shaeoth was the son of the King and Suria.

And then Suria was struck down by a crooked shadow of a being. He felt himself lunge forward as the Crooked Shadow took ahold of his little brother, and Franky began wondering who this familiar feeling child was. And he watched as Shaeoth sacrificed himself to the darkness. Then the world changed.

Stiflng darkness and unending pain and a fight with no end. Those were the days that Franky often tried to forget in the bottom of a cup following the dropping of gas upon the battlefield, until he woke up in that capital hospital. How long had Shaeoth been fighting like this.

The sight of a Lysanrin woman tore open that same old wound in Franky. He felt himself sneering inwardly, agreeing with Shaeoth. The greater good was never good. They were in agreement with this. He found himself wondering what this gemstones was, that which would be used to burn the world in order to free himself of this shadow.

Cuvyr? That was not a name Franky knew. But he would find out. And now he could see the Imperial Inquisitor he knew as Veronica had involved herself in helping Shaeoth. This was getting convoluted and Franky was not enjoying the idea of getting potentially entangled with her again, not just yet at least. That would be inevitable, he was sure of it. After all, he’d betrayed the Empire, on her watch.

Then he heard Talon's voice. That same voice that had cut through the world to tell Franky and others that he was still with them. Ah, Talon was the brother of Shaeoth, and also the son of the King, it would seem. The two working together to free Shaeoth of the Shadow. Of Cuvyr.

And then Franky was back, and Shaeoth was finishing his cigarette. At his question, Franky nodded quietly. This pair of men that were no longer men shared more than he could've ever guessed. They'd both sacrificed so much, for those who were unknowing or ungrateful or outright hostile for it. Both had made great mistakes in their attempts to escape or to atone or to do what they needed.

And they both loved deeply. That was their flaw.

This man wished to change the fundamental system of the world. To tear down the wheel that most knew not even existed. He had the power to diminish the strength and influence of the other gods, the power to affect change on a global scale. These were not inherently bad desires, although change was always dangerous. And it was always necessary. Franky knew more closely what Suffering truly meant for this world, he knew that while people railed and cried and screamed out against it, Suffering was one of the greatest gifts.

Suffering made mortals stronger so they can survive and become better, both personally and through the generations. But as always, those that sat higher upon the mountain Suffered far less than those below. Suffering was never doled out equally, and that inequality made mortals weaker for it.

And the corner of Franky's mouth twisted a bit into a teasing grin, his eyes darkening, the demon inside leering through the facade of the old bartender. Franky reached into his Coinpurse, pulling the Wine of Suffering from it, holding it up carefully. "You and I have Suffered far too much for those deemed more powerful. For you, it was Cuvyr, for me it started as the Imperium, but it is actually at the hands for those who view lives as lesser than their own." Franky reached out with a hand, daring to place it upon Shaeoth's shoulder in comfort, in empathy. "But there are many of those, both mortal and Divine who have not known their fair share of Suffering. And the world is in pain for it."

Franky did not forget about his agreement with Malgar, "If you would like this Cup, then you must also take the debt that is attached to it. I was tasked with feeding this wine to Talon. And I honor my debts, so for you to have this, you must agree to pay that debt, before you can set to your own machinations with this Wine." Franky knew, somehow, that the Wine would hold Shaeoth to this should he agree to it. And Franky had originally thought that Talon drinking it would be a curse, but these days he was beginning to think it might be for the best.

"As for my own price, it is one that is steep." There was a glint in his eyes, then a soft tinkling from within the goblet. Franky reached in, pulling out a coin with his face upon it, "First, you must give up something of you to me, so that I may aid you. This is non-negotiable. This will bind us in our agreement. I ask not for anything specific, it is up to you to decide. Second, your forces," Franky looked over at the shadow creatures that were still hiding but watching on curiously, "They will hear my requests and act to fulfill them, within the realm of Zaichaer." He cast his eyes back to the man of Darkness.

"And finally, I ask that you use the wine to make those in power, those who have long avoided their fair share of Suffering, mortal and Divine, to Suffer greater than they've ever known." His mind thought back to the Emperor, to his military leaders in the Imperium, to the ruling noble class of Zaichaer, to the Gods that toyed with this world. To him, Shaeoth was a man first and a god second. And a man who had Suffered greatly. A man who had Sacrificed much. He would know to whom and how to dole this out.

And Franky did not need the Wine any longer. After all, he was just as much an Agent of Suffering as well.

"What say you?"

Posted: **Tue Dec 20, 2022 1:43 pm**

Shaeoth allowed himself to be touched but not for long. After a brief moment of grasping his solid shoulder, Shaeoth shrugged it off. He listened to Franky’s proposal quietly. When he had finished, the man did not respond for a moment.

“You are going to receive a visitor, Franky. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe months from now. But one day, he will find you.” He brought his new cigarette to his mouth and breathed in. “A young man broken by the empire you once served. A young man who craves vengeance but because of his better nature, is fighting to find a way to make peace.”

“During that meeting you will be compelled to serve him the Wine of Suffering. You no longer have a choice in the matter. You are as much Malgar's thrall as you are his Archdemon.” In the smoke that swirled around him, figures took shape. A winged man bringing a cup to his lips while the silhouette of a Hobgoblin looked on.

“From the moment the wine leaves your hands and touches his lips, you are all doomed. For it will unleash the darkness that has built up inside of him. The Suffering that has become a brand upon his soul. It will work to do what it always does, to take that Suffering and transform it. Just as it did with the Orkhan. Just as it has always done.” The white smoke was joined by a misty shadow that split away from the winged figure. The two forms began battling.

“He will fight his Darkness.” The two forms clashed and the white smoke was soon scattered. “He will lose. Justice. Light. Hope. It will die. Only to be replaced by something far darker. Far more twisted. Driven by an emptiness that hungers only for wrath and destruction.”

Waving his hand, Shaeoth dismissed the smokey apparitions. His eyes glowed softly. Pools of infernal orange hellfire that burned in the all-consuming dark.

“You, the people you love, the city you are fighting to save, all of you will be destroyed. Body and soul. The rift you are working to close? It will crack open and consume the rest of the world with it. Everything you have built will be for nothing. What might have been a quest to find peace will become an all-consuming quest to eradicate everything and everyone connected to the pain and suffering he experienced.” Shaeoth pointed to the skies. “And they will not be around to step in and stop it this time.”

He let that all sink in.

“If I am given the Wine of Suffering however, if I am the one to deliver it to him, I have it within my power to help him battle his inner darkness and in so doing, avert certain destruction.” He gestured at Zaichaer vaguely, at the death and carnage all around them. “All of this? Believe it or not, was done in a quest for revenge. That man got his vengeance on the city and people he so hated. Suffering will come in abundance in the days ahead but for there to be anything gained from that Suffering, they must also survive. Continue as you are…and nobody will.”

He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his shoe, dousing the embers. Folding his arms over his chest he looked at Franky steadily.

“You have seen what I have suffered and sacrificed. If you think I will not let you and the world burn, you already know the answer to that.” He leaned forward. “So, Franky, if you are going to negotiate, I suggest you be more reasonable in your demands. I will bargain with you but I will not be swindled by you.”

Posted: **Wed Dec 28, 2022 1:55 am**

Franky listened quietly, listened intently, but his mind, the one that was always working, always planning, always looking for the next best thing finally stopped. He found himself not trying to pull one over on a negotiation, to try and best a god, to try and defy fate, to do the impossible. He found himself wondering just what he'd become and what he was becoming. Something about him was still that young soldier, still that runt of a thirteenth child, still trying to prove he can be more, do more.

Franky saw the smoke swirl, to show his shape feeding the Wine to Talon and he knew it to be true. He knew that he would want to do what he felt was right, but you can only fall on the sword one time. And he did that when he drank the Wine himself. He watched and he listened and he knew it all to be truth. He was so focused on saving his small slice of world, that he nearly sacrificed the forest for the trees.

Franky cocked his head, that somehow all of this was Talon's revenge, that this was payment for what Franky could assume to be the Black Wedding. The hobgoblin wasn't exactly sure how that came about, but it could be true. He had no idea what truly caused all this, nor how it came about. He just slowed the mess down and was now responsible for cleaning it up.

And that meant negotiating in good faith.

Franky opened his hands, "Apologies, you came in good faith and I attempted to take advantage."

The Hobgoblin then stuck the Wine of Suffering out, "Take it. It serves me no purpose and it clears the task I was given. You'd be doing me a favor." Franky waited for Shaeoth to take the profferred goblet. He sighed deeply, then offered out a tendril of Sacrifice to Shaeoth, not one to be requested or taken, but rather, a memory. Many memories. "Hopefully you can do more good than I. I'm not sure if that's anything I'm capable of anymore."

The memories were a fog, extending out from Franky's core. Memories that haunted his dreams and his mind at all times. They were the Sacrifices the survivors of this cataclysm had paid, and Franky was aware of them all, all of the time. "I have no bargaining chips, I have no real power to trade here. Take the Goblet, see to your brother, do what's best." The tendril of Sacrifice, if accepted would begin conveying the memories. An elvan mother choosing to leave behind her eldest son to the monsters of the mists so that she might save the younger sister. An elderly goblin returning to the home he'd chosen to abandon to help his neighbor, to find everything burned. A young human girl rubbing the spot where her arm ended in bloodied bandages where she had stepped in the way of a shadow beast preying upon a stray dog. Each memory flowed into the next for as long as one wished to watch.

"Save your brother, save the world, do what you must. But surely you know the pain that comes with revenge, and that those responsible have paid and will continue to pay it. Though you need to know that innocents are paying it. They always do. Every war waged, every attack made, creates more and more innocents damaged, furthering a cycle of revenge and pain and suffering. Maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's what makes us stronger."

Franky shrugged, "You know that I would do anything to help these people. You know that I have done anything to save these people." A soft pause, "But I'm a monster now, and I know I'm becoming more and more of one with each choice I make for myself and for them. That is the path I chose, the curse I requested." A chuckling smile, "If you manage to help your brother, to save him, maybe you could try to do the same for me, one day."

He shook his head, rolled his shoulders, preparing to turn to depart, "But could you do something about the shadows that answer to you? They do not prey upon those responsible, they devour child and adult, innocent and guilt ridden indiscriminately. These people were sacrificing far too much long before I became what I am, and are continuing to do so.

He looked to the skies, remembering the presence of the God King, "Those who can look on and do nothing are awarded titles of Kings, Emperors, Gods." He sneered, "I've no desire for that, and I suspect you don't either. Help or don't help, it doesn't matter here in what is left of Zaichaer. For so many of these people, the world has already ended. And if you continue to salt their wounds than I will continue to do what I have always done, what I am doing against these monsters of mist, creatures of the world beyond, of the beings of death, of those of shadow, of the worst of men coming forth." He looked Shaeoth in his glowing eyes, "I will do whatever it takes to make you stop." Glancing back to the sky, "All of you."

There was a scream down the street, Franky's eyes snapping in that direction, not able to see the source. It sounded like a woman, "Take the wine and go to your brother. I have work to do."

And with that, Franky turned, the soldier coming forth once more, shield and sword at the ready, Franky paying not one more thought to the man of shadows. Franky never liked the idea of sacrificing the few for the many when he was commander. It was a dangerous and slippery slope. And he would fight it every single moment of his accursed existence.

Even if he had to pay each sacrifice himself.

Posted: **Wed Dec 28, 2022 9:07 am**

He reached out for the goblet, hand hovering over it for a moment as though hesitating. Then he took it, gently grasping it from Franky. He rubbed a thumb over the rim, staring at the goblet intently for a second before nodding.

“Good?” He chuckled. “I have been called many things. But that is a first.”

He listened as Franky explained the cost of revenge and the collateral damage caused by it. He had no reply to give. He knew the cost of vengeance. He knew it beyond any shadow of doubts far better than any that yet lived. As Franky offered his Sacrifice, it was accepted. In return, he tossed a pouch in Franky’s direction. It was no larger than the coin purse that Franky carried on his hip. Opening it would reveal a multitude of black diamonds that glittered as they practically soaked in any light that shone upon them.

“If you wish to keep them out, keep one in the shadows of the place you would make safe from them.” He began to blend in more heavily with the shadows of the wall he leaned against. As Franky turned to carry out his business, Shaeoth’s gaze remained fixed on him and his voice followed the demon Hobgoblin as he walked.

“If you wish to go unseen, carry one with you into the shadows of the world.” Shaeoth faded completely into the darkness, his form vanishing.

“And if you wish to control them, accept my Ċ̶̺̪͍̩̐́͋̀̚̕u̷̢̞̩͍̻̻̺͇̣͛͋̉̅̇̐͛̉̈́̂̈̒ŗ̵̛̤̩̝͉̣̦͕̠͎̜̉̿̏̉͆̔̏͑̐͝͝s̵̼̠̃̈̓ę̵̨͕̫͚̬̙̩̂ͅ and be feared by them.”

Off Topic

R E W A R D S

Name: Franky
XP: +15
Requested Lore: +8 Lore

Note(s): Franky has received a small pouch containing exactly (10) black diamonds. They are always slightly cold to the touch and seem to absorb light around them. They have been given to Franky along with the instructions above.

“If you wish to keep them out, keep one in the shadows of the place you would make safe from them.”

“If you wish to go unseen, carry one with you into the shadows of the world.”

“And if you wish to control them, accept my curse and be feared by them.”

If at any time Franky wishes to explore the "curse" that Shaeoth mentioned, please get with me directly.

Legend of Ransera

Winter is Here

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