There is absolute silence, total stillness. The dancers are frozen mid-step; the daemons, fangs bared, paused in the moment of their charge. Blood and perfume hangs suspended in the air.
Something knocks at reality's gate, the still world set a-quiver.
And from nowhere, a dark spot appears before you. It grows like spilled ink, pouring over the world; the absolute over the temporary. You heart is in your throat as you see, for the first time, true void – what every temple apes, but cannot reproduce.
A swirling darkness, a perfect noir, the final threshold.
And you step towards it, pulled inexorably, iron to magnet, sea to shore.
You reach inside.
It is cold beyond ice; it is heat beyond flame; it is sensation beyond feeling; your flesh and bone flayed, your soul bared to winds fiercer than a maelstrom.
But you do your duty and outstretch.
You hit cool steel.
And pull.
Your hand does not come out of the portal.
No mortal flesh may.
It is but spirit on bone; a twilit glow around the remains that remain. And in your phantom hand, in your translucent palm, there is a key.
And you know what you can do.
You grab it, cold iron that you know if you touched to your heart it would stop it instant.
You turn your key in the air.
And Morr shuts the door.
ARTEFACT GAINED:
LIMINAL KEY
A gift to a daughter, so a gift to a son
Closes the Portal, and thus, any link between real and Aethyr.
When the God of Death averts his gaze, there is no end but oblivion.
The lights go out immediately, fueled by mysticism rather than fuel. The whole building shudders as century old enchantments fail, and tiles and dust fall from the ceiling. The fountains stop, and so does the music – there is just the smell of blood and ruin.
Only the peek of dawn offers any radiance – and what you See is grey.
The mists in the hallway fade, as do the brands of Tyelus the Free. But so do the Daemons. They choke, suddenly, having to, for the first time, breathe. Crab-armed ladies fall sideways, mundane physics applying to their grossly disbalanced forms. The lither creatures simply collapse under their own weight, bones snapping, the fiends pitifully screeching as impossible anatomies simply fail. Men and women fall to the floor; the enchantment broken, but subject to hours of stress and exhaustion.
And so, you wander into the screaming, heaving crowd, and draw your sword. With your left, however awkward – your right hand is just bone now, bleeding slightly, clutched like vise around that key. As you unsheathe your blade, there's no frisson this time; no laugh or shiver of energy up your spine. But it remains good steel. You put it to purpose.
The minions of the Dark Prince die like anybody else.
And there is nowhere for them to run.
…
Only when your robes are fully spattered by daemon gore, where the smell of rancid meat that emanates from the two-dozen beheaded corpses in the hall, do you turn to the terrified guests in the corner. You still hold the Key tight. There is work to be done.
You stare at them, and you realize how pathetic they look. There is no enchanted gleam on their jewels; no illusions woven into their clothes. They look like the peasants you served in the country; dirty rags and meat. One – you think it's Rackius Felbus, but his face is so smeared with vomit, you can hardly tell – burbles:
"My thanks, my lord Raven!" He retches a little, but gathers himself "Praise be! Praise be to Xenophon!"
"Praise to Morr" you reply. "Not I.". He blanches. You press on. "Who did this?"
He points at a crab-woman, her body neatly bisected, behind you.
"Morgannis introduced me. My wife, you see, is an awful shrew and-"
Gods forbid. You don't care. You turn, and hearing Rackius vomit again behind you, run up the stairs of the disenchanted Casino.
...
You rush up towards the playing rooms, and stop dead, because where there used to be a foyer, there is a giant hole. Something must have exploded – the tiles are cracked, the ceiling open to sky. You have to skirt around the edge, grabbing on to the bottom of shattered wall-lamps and the broken ends of side-tables before you get to the door to the rooms leading to the balcony where Morgannis was, and even they're a wreck – the paintings have been smashed off the walls, water is leaking out of pipes in the ceiling, the plants in the hall are wilted and dead. Were the Cities so reliant on enchantment?
You don't have time to consider, because you pull open the door, and see Morgannis, sitting in a fetal position, sobbing, beside him, the Lady Tophania, doing much the same. Above him is – well, you nearly leap back out of the room, because it's a dragon. Ten feet long, its scales are dull and grey, its wings so thin to be transparent, covered in thousands of faded runes not half-different from those of the Spring. It is bleeding from multiple points, great black bruises evident – it is snarling, bearing down on the two on the floor. The only person between them is Ambrose, who's eyes, you realize now, are gold, pupil and iris and all. He has his sword drawn, but is panting heavy himself, and you see blood dripping from his mouth.
"PEACE!" you shout, and all eyes in the room turn to you.
The Lady Tophania is screaming "NOT YET! NOT YET!". She turns, and puts her hands around Morgannis' neck, strangling him. She keeps screaming. "NETHU! NETHU! WHERE ARE-"
"YOU!" says the dragon, which you realize is speaking in the voice of Nivet. When he roars, smoke pours out of his mouth, and as it does, he seems to get ever more translucent. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! WHERE IS THE WIND?"
Ambrose takes the opportunity, and swings, and as you see a warrior fight a dragon, you remember a relief of Tyleus's victory over a beast, a long time ago.
As his blade connects, cutting another gash down Nivet's (?) side, he turns and grins. "A pity" he says, "you were no priest of mine."
You step forward, sword in hand. Who do you go for?
I like that the portal fucked us up even as it helps us. The proper gods should be terrible in their majesty.
I'll not vote because I don't know what the references in the second part are about. With luck, some bigger nerds will come along to help out with that.
A gift to a daughter, so a gift to a son
Closes the Portal, and thus, any link between real and Aethyr.
When the God of Death averts his gaze, there is no end but oblivion.
You don't have time to consider, because you pull open the door, and see Morgannis, sitting in a fetal position, sobbing, beside him, the Lady Tophania, doing much the same. Above him is – well, you nearly leap back out of the room, because it's a dragon. Ten feet long, its scales are dull and grey, its wings so thin to be transparent, covered in thousands of faded runes not half-different from those of the Spring. It is bleeding from multiple points, great black bruises evident – it is snarling, bearing down on the two on the floor.
AHA! So that's Nivet's trick: He's a Dragon that's attached himself to the Wind of Shadows! He says "Hysh makes one unberarable", and that even he'd flee from it. So he's bound his body to the magical antithesis to it. When we enter the tower, his arm is "inhumanly thick", and holding Necoho's sword makes us see his horns.
"YOU!" says the dragon, which you realize is speaking in the voice of Nivet. When he roars, smoke pours out of his mouth, and as it does, he seems to get ever more translucent. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! WHERE IS THE WIND?"
Here's the rub though: Nivet is dying. Every bit of energy he exerts is energy he's not getting back from the Realm of Magic. He's going to disappear and fade on the wind soon.
The Lady Tophania is screaming "NOT YET! NOT YET!". She turns, and puts her hands around Morgannis' neck, strangling him. She keeps screaming. "NETHU! NETHU! WHERE ARE-"
The only person between them is Ambrose, who's eyes, you realize now, are gold, pupil and iris and all. He has his sword drawn, but is panting heavy himself, and you see blood dripping from his mouth.
I want to make sure our buddy doesn't die. Tophania is about to kill the Slaanesh-worshipper, Tophania herself is probably about to die shortly after now that her contract is both up and metaphysically nuked, and the dragon is probably going to get a good swing or two in before he goes poof.
Edit: Upon further reading this is explicitly a choice of who we attack. So please vote for the dragon.
Ambrose takes the opportunity, and swings, and as you see a warrior fight a dragon, you remember a relief of Tyleus's victory over a beast, a long time ago.
As his blade connects, cutting another gash down Nivet's (?) side, he turns and grins. "A pity" he says, "you were no priest of mine."
I don't think this is Ambrose? Or at least, someone (thing?) else is puppeting his form right now. I don't know enough to make a guess of what diety could be symbolized by the gold eyes. Also makes me wonder how this could be, when Morr's key has seemingly torn the winds of magic away from this place and is keeping them at bay for who knows how long.
Morr's key has shut all divine influence and all of the Winds. Whatever Ambrose has got, it's powered either by himself or by some gear that somehow has its own store of power it can run off of without external winds for a time.
Also hah, just outNecohoed Necoho, gotta love that More grindset.
I am also mildly surprised by how many people want to stab Ambrose right now.
I think it might be a case where, "who do you go for," is sufficiently vague that it could mean we go for someone to help or go for someone with the intent of some good old fashioned ultraviolence.
I think it might be a case where, "who do you go for," is sufficiently vague that it could mean we go for someone to help or go for someone with the intent of some good old fashioned ultraviolence.
He's not done anything (as far as we're aware) but some people find how quickly Xenophon's attraction to him came about suspicious, along with how his eyes keep changing colour. He also provided us with the Necoho blade. And he's not actually explained why he wants the Princeps dead.
It's a lot of small things that could be harmless, but this is also Warhammer Fantasy. Seemingly harmless is not exactly a comforting statement.
I didn't realize the action needed clarification, if I'm bring perfectly honest. Ambrose needs some stabbing by the Necoho blade to free him from whatever is going on.
I didn't realize the action needed clarification, if I'm bring perfectly honest. Ambrose needs some stabbing by the Necoho blade to free him from whatever is going on.
