The decision is made, and a team of the finest Rome can offer is assembled. Veteran Athantopouloi as well as Fonias are called together, meeting with Waylon and Bacchus to plan out this horrifically dangerous adventure.
Also attending the gathering is Victorinus. A fresh young man whom survived the Iroikos process and came out as nigh-divine in physique as his late brethren, providing whatever input he can, but mostly listening to his more experienced elders.
They concoct plans based on the stars, strange scryings that reveal shapes in the colossal branches and trees suggesting omens and battles yet to come. Waylon has to be resuscitated twice as he experiences a severe bout of sudden weakness after prolonged scrying, but returns with a general map of the route, warning that it is quite shoddy.
Later on, the Albanian contingent arrives, smaller but no less powerful than the Roman one. Gjon himself a force that cannot be reckoned with by any force known and the Daughter, an ethereal presence that Stolas seems to gravitate towards and Waylon keeps a wary eye on.
She adds to the discussion with disturbing prescience, as well as offering a way to the edge of the forest without overland travel. All these factors are brought together to concoct a method of travel, exploration and execution.
The plan is to ride the particles of moonlight to the edge of the forest, upon which they will translate into travel via root and vine, supported by Bacchus and his methods. When that becomes untenable, they will begin a foot march, aided by Gjon, Muji and the Athanatopouloi tearing down every tree, and hill, in sight to grant Bacchus and the Daughter sight of the sky.
With that handled, they enact the plan.
————————————————————————
We fall into flesh after what felt like days of travel rendered down into seconds, splashing onto the ground stumbling. The others manage it much better than me, dropping to a knee and nearly heaving their guts out.
It takes me a bit to recover, standing up with the vigour of a man afraid. I can feel the wind shift, the absolute power in the air and earth and trees, enough to shake the world if released. And that's exactly what you plan to do.
The demon comes near, a sibylline voice nearly whispering "Are you quite alright friend?" The care and worry in its voice are convincing enough to be almost pleasant and comforting.
However, a monster that speaks sweet things is still a monster. "Perfectly fine, much appreciated, Master Alchemist." Standing up with a groan I refocus, reading my copy of the route and comparing it to what lies ahead. The strange space of this place is difficult to perceive, much less understand.
After approximately twenty seconds of staring at the same forest path, I give up that attempt and simply follow the directions listed on the map made by the demon. "Are you certain of our path forward, Master Attaliates?" The thickly accented Greek of Gjon reverberates out, even the quietest whisper being audible at a distance. The disguised being smiles a confident grin and nods assuredly, "I am entrusting my life to it! That should count for something."
A clever response, one that sets everyone else at ease. The auxiliaries spread out, Kukudh and Athanatopouloi providing a solid wall of flesh and metal whilst Fonias range ahead, complex signalling techniques they developed the night before arrival here allowing them to communicate silently at vast distances. A useful skill seeing as there may be enemies with similar intellect to them in this forest.
Nevertheless, I continue with the group, keeping focus on everything as senses spread beyond my body with a whispered word and a drop of gold powder on my tongue. Total awareness, however, has its costs. A small dribble of blood starts flowing out of my nose and down my face, prompting me to sup on a potion promised to settle and loosen my mind, whatever that means.
The mystically active ingredients seep into me, making their way into my blood and brain, a process I can follow with great accuracy, easing some of the worries that drinking an unknown substance has. After that, we follow the demon towards a tree and watch as the thing opens it up like a particularly stiff door and drops into it, falling downwards.
Following him in, we are transported in a tight, damp, cold space with no light whatsoever. Not too much of an obstacle for me, but worrying for the others. We journey for hours in this state, avoiding much of the monstrous above ground, seeing corpses of a hundred different types of warriors directed by the rotting corpses of Fonias, distinguishable by their equipment as their bodies show the signs of advanced decay.
But even this has its limits. The ground grows hard and stony, unable to be pierced and trees die and turn to wretched hulks, bereft of leaves or life and as such outside the demon's control. Emerging into the open air I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling my body react and get used to the exterior temperature, much colder than expected.
Around us is a patch of thin dirt over solid stone, the husks of trees surrounding the open valley that we are in. The feeling of power is apparent here, even to the unaware among the group. Gjon, his heroic ally of disturbingly larger stature that I gathered is called Muji and their complement of revenants all stiffening in response to it whilst my more mortal companions simply grumble.
It's palpable here, the power is in the air and earth and all things in between. It indescribably bolsters me, bubbling my soul to vast, bright heights I haven't managed in all my time in Creation. "What is this place?" Asked Gjon, gritted teeth letting that sound alone past them. I respond, "The source of our ills, what caused all of this." As the location of the Source becomes clear. A small puddle of what appears to be water, crystal clear yet somehow it is endless. From it springs strength, power, might enough to shake the world, perhaps shake all worlds. Of course, the ringing of a rifle shot screaming past my face and gently removing the spinal column of an Athanatopouloi becomes the primary focus immediately.
The Fonias react first, screaming out locations and returning fire with pinpoint accuracy as they exchange blood with whatever lies in the woods.
Deathly Genius
Roll=33-50 (Faster than Thought) -25 (Has Planned For Every Occasion)=-32
Vs
Roman Genius
Roll=33-50 (Faster than Thought) -25 (Has Planned For Every Occasion)=-32
Source Guardians win the exchange via superior baseline stats.
Both sides fire on each other. Lethal heart, spine and headshots are the only impacts visible in the brutal exchange, blood spraying onto the field as the rest of us much slower beings are only beginning to react. The monstrously transformed Fonias at the edge of the wood, however, pull a victory from what seems to be an even exchange.
Whilst mortals fall when their hearts are pierced, these monsters seem to regard it as an injury to be overcome, only repeated shots bringing them down, allowing them to return fire continuously before they are slain. Their mortal originators fall in droves, exchanging poorly but providing the first reaction to the assault.
This is promptly followed by all the magicians in this mess doing the same.
Mystical Response
Mortal Sorcery=1(Really)-(Doesn't Matter)=Critical Success
Demonic Might=66-120 (Owl Prince)-60(Bolstered By the Source)=-114
Celestial Glory=66-160 (Demigoddess)-60 (Bolstered By the Source)=-154
Vs
The Means of Monsters
Roll=45-130(Borne of Power)=Doesn't Matter.
My staff ignites into ice-blue traceries along ancient scribed runes as I channel the tremendous power available to me here into a trusted evocation. My intent was a rather simple effect, reaching into the spirits of our enemies and settling them to sleep. Instead, it nearly bucked out of my control, reaching towards the opponents with hundreds of twisting strands of invisible power and winking out their minds, leaving nothing but empty bodies, breathing by instinct alone that collapse without the strength to hold themselves.
Hundreds of shapes drop out from trees, rustling branches as they impact the ground hard. The noises of creatures in the distance nearing at a rapid speed, thundering hooves breaching the treeline as knightly corpses charge upon undead steeds and promptly slam into prepared thorn roots, thick around as a human torso and perfectly grown to break a charge. The undead knights go flying off their mounts, shattering bone in high-velocity impacts with the stony earth, allowing the Athanatopouloi to annihilate them with powerful sword strokes.
The Daughter raises, towering over many of the others here as she straightens out, bathing in the intensified moonlight that appeared from no particular source, drenching the entire field in a cool blue glow, before a point of gleaming light forms in front of her, barely the size of a coin.
With the thunder continuing, a deep shuddering in the earth resounds. Step by step, something colossal nears until finally, the shape of a giant clears the tree line, rising to its full height of pustulent glory and vicious undead strength. The Daughter then releases her mote. It lazily drifts up towards the gargantuan creature as its mouth opens to deliver a bellow of rage.
As soon as it makes contact with the monster, its entire body ignites into silver flames, putrefacting rather than burning until nothing but dust falls away and coats the clearing with a thin film. In the span of a breath, the battle is won. Turning myself away from the distance to focus on the group as we ascertain casualties, I only have a moment to consider the situation.
The Source itself is fairly obviously straight ahead. The pool of power, quite literally a pool at that, sitting placid and undisturbed by the events of the last few seconds. Now, with a first-hand view of it, the power is more terrifying than I ever imagined. The air tears invisibly at its presence, and the world buckles as it pours more strength into it.
There is no limit to what one could do with this, given enough time. Glancing at your compatriots, it seems they are having similar realizations, the Demon's eyes gleaming with greed whilst the Daughter watches the vibrancy of moonlight around her with almost childish glee.
A pregnant silence stands as everyone considers their position and the trustworthiness of their allies, something even the less mystically gifted amongst us are catching on to. This building feeling is crushed by the sudden appearance of a man in dented plate-mail that has a thick layer of gore and viscera on it. A sword that seems blunted with blood is held low on one side of him whilst the other hand holds something tight to his chest.
He falls to a knee as he enters the clearing, strength nearly leaving his body, but with an effort of will, the man pulls his helmet off, revealing aged and tired features similarly drenched with a film of blood that appears to be his own. Matthias Corvinus, former King of ruined Hungary, a realm of corpses and blood, kneels before the group, tired and nearly dead.
A stunning surprise keeps us all silent, allowing him to get the first words in. "I know of your intent, of your goals and I come here not with the desire to do battle, brothers and sisters, but with earnest pleas to your spirit and humanity." A charismatic timbre is clear in his voice even with the shake of exhaustion. "I stand no glimpse of a chance against any one of you, much less all of you together." Giving a shaky laugh that accentuates the severe frown marks on his face between words, "It is only by the grace of God that I made it this far when so many did not."
Corvinus's face softens after those words, "Please, do not unleash this power, do not curse our Earth with its presence any further. If not for the sake of the world, then do it for your families, your sons and daughters that will have to live in what will come." He stands up as best he can, still somewhat bent over due to injury, "Do not force them to live in fear of the coming monsters, in terror of what will happen to them should their protectors not arrive in time."
His voice is steady but raw, "I beg of you, do not risk what befell my people happening to any other. Let the blood rest, let us return to the past of regular conflicts, of a petty lordling here or there. Leave behind this tide of darkness and return to the light of Creation, as it should be." Matthias, an old, wounded man stands before a gathering of sorcerers, demigods and demons, pleading for the world and its fate. Gjon's face twists at the words, but his resolve is firm enough to withstand it, on the other hand, many of the Athanatopouloi and even Victorinus are frowning heavily at his words.
How Do You Respond?
[X] Ignore him, continue the process of securing and constructing a stable pathway to the Source.
[X] Something Else?
————————————————————————
Roman Forces
Waylon, The Mortal Sorcerer
Stolas, The Owl Prince
Victorinus Acropolita, Iroikos.
30 Fonias
89 Athanatopouloi
Allied Forces
Gjon Kastrioti II, A Legends Son
The Daughter of Sun and Moon
Muji, The Failed Brother
20 Kukudh, Revenant Heroes
?Enemy? Forces
Matthias Corvinus, The Broken Faithful
————————————————————————
There is no easy way to agree with the man, not this far and not with the people present. Unless you can think of something, the only way through is forward.
