PARTIKEL CRISIS
The first sensation the Forge grants you isn’t a vision as all: it is a scent, salt and moisture and faint tinges of fish and kelp. One by one, your other senses awaken: first a cool breeze on your skin, then the gentle, rhythmic murmur of the tides. Finally, the darkness that has held your vision recedes and you see a vast ocean stretching in all directions. You soar over it for a time, then dive downward, toward and then into the waters. You descend past schools of exotic fish the likes of which you’ve never seen, past aquatic cities fashioned of coral and abalone, and still deeper. The light that penetrated the surface of the water begins to fade, then vanishes entirely. You are once again shrouded in darkness. This time, however, you are not alone.
You feel rather than see motion below you. Something is stirring, something massive and sinister. The Forge shudders as a wave of foul magic washes over you. You get the distinct impression of some sort of creature waking up, stretching its limbs, and preparing to kill.
***********************
As the vision from the Forge shifts and blurs again, it comes to a stop showing a Mundanian building with large grounds and several small groups of young adults walking about. They appear to be college students, as a white building to the side of the path has University of Maryland inscribed on it. Two in particular are walking toward the edge of a forest on the campus. One is dressed in a Grateful Dead shirt, a leather jacket adorned with gold trim, and a large stag on the back. The other has long silver hair, a Queen shirt, and jeans with combat boots. They are both holding a thick blue book titled ASL At Work.
A green light erupts around them as they cross the brush of the forest edge and then quickly disappears, leaving the students none the wiser. Suddenly, their appearances morph into Herne and Freyja, as their travel path turns into an Underworld portal.
“I’ve found another lead, on those strange souls escaping from the river. Should only take me a few days to survey their path and potentially find a culprit,” Herne informs Freyja, turning his walk into a jog as they move down the strange stone tunnel.
Freyja nods then turns back. “At least keep in contact a little more frequently, hunter. I know you posses the Pride sin but we cannot risk anything happening to you in the war. After Hightower…” she starts before Herne replies.
“Very well, very well. I’ll be sure to check in at least once a day, Freyja. Keep your sending stone on you. And tell the Champions I'll be in touch as well. I can't let William and his Voices have all the fun,” he adds, a grin on his face. Freyja smiles back before their paths split. Herne crosses an opening in the dark, stone-riddled tunnel and is suddenly in a forest deep in the Dreaming. He closes his eyes for a moment and feels the ground and leaves beneath him, and a path of green flames flickers to life in front of him. It winds through the forest like a snake before Herne opens his eyes and readies his spear.
“Now...Let me find out who's responsible for this mess.” He races off through the roots and trees after the green flame trail. Before the vision changes, it feels strange and heavy. Like eyes are watching the Hunter from all around. A deep laugh is heard before the Hunter is gone from sight.
***********************
The Forge shifts again and turns like a twisting lens, finally focusing onto the southern edge of the new Discordian empire. A fleet of fully grown ships litter the coastline. The multicolored legions of Lady Chaos work about carrying crates, supplies, ammunition, and weapons. Through the treeline, an array of colors swirl about into a blur of energy as Chaos herself steps onto the beach.
“Our queen!” a commanding Chromite calls out, his voice stoic and deep, calling attention to her arrival. The others nearby halt for a moment to welcome Chaos to the front.
Her heels crack the stone and sand as she strides forward, approaching a massive ship loaded with various armaments. Chaos’ normally cheery demeanor is quickly replaced by a sneer as she raises a hand toward the galleon.
“This. This is one will be mine.” The colorful appearance and merry jingle of her skirt begin to morph and twist. Her hair streaks in pitch black and a set of horns sprout back from her head. They shimmered and glowed with iridescent colors as they morphed. Her hands began to flood with black scales, from fingertip to forearm. Her skirt flared about as the fabrics rippled and a dark red nebula wrapped around her, splitting off at the ends like long spacey tendrils.
As she moved closer to the edge of the water, her steps climbed upward, like invisible stairs leading to the ship’s deck. Each click of her heels revealed a small display of colorful magic to lift her up. As she stepped onto the bow, her magic seeped through the boards and compartments, slowly spreading across the ship with dark colors and black spikes along the port and starboard panels. Chaos flicked her wrist through the air, and a ripple of black tendrils near the bow of the ship carved out a name on the side.
K I L L E R Q U E E N
Flagship of the Discordian Fleet and personal vessel of Lady Chaos.
“Come aboard, dearies! Time to set sail for Oceanhold!” she cried out, her voice warped and dark as it carried across the fleet.
***********************
The Soulforge shows you more. You can see an old dusty road winding through hills covered in sparse but colorful vegetation somewhere in Discordia. The sun is fading from the sky as a figure makes their way down the road. He has a massive axe over one shoulder, his hair is slicked up with highlights that resemble a fin, and the back of his shirt reads ‘Mako.’ On his other shoulder he is wearing a large case tied up tight and hanging like a make-shift backpack.
He stops and looks down at a humanoid shadow that stretches across the road, then turns his head up to the source with an amused glare. The shadow belongs to another man who was sitting, perched really, in a tree that overlooks their descent into the valley below. This man has narrow green eyes that caught every detail ahead of them, even the flickering wings of insects and the field mice scurrying along.
You can hear a scraping sound of metal on metal as he grips the club on his waist to remind himself he was a survivor. He releases the club abruptly and raises his “loser’s prize” to admire its craftsmanship in the setting sun. Skin was slowly creeping over its metal frame; day by day, week by week, it had grown. His brow furrows into a scowl as he thinks of how he got to be in such a state. His face began to spit and ooze green, and his radiation scars tore at their seams with pulsating anger. You can hear the voice in his head like a warning of his mental prowess. ‘Strength, it is a force derived from blood, and desperation...’
“Good,” he rasps as he looks at the ooze splattered metal of his arm. “The path is clear, and nothing can stop us.”
Mako spits on the side of the road in response. He sits the box down and opens it to check the contents. A violet light illuminates his face and highlighting every freckle or radiation burn. He growls, “Hawke, this deal better be a good one. I don’t know how much longer this thing’s gonna last.” He was thinking about the chain of events that put them here and heaves a tired breath as he closes the case again. The glint in his eyes betrays his wariness - last time they were here, they were dreaming, so it was safe. This time was different. This time, it counted. He rubbed his thumb against his neck - not to check his pulse, but to make sure the digit was still there.
Hawke jumps down from the tree and they continue their journey across the colorful landscape.
***********************
Finally, the notes left by Dreamwalkers in the War Room appear in your vision. A new one has been added that is written in red marker.
Near the end of your next dream we will strike the work camps in Atavasi to free the locals and start a revolt. Any supplies we find will be sent to Durrinheim to help the refugees, and if we are lucky this will further demand resources and troops that Oceanhold won't have to spare by the time Chaos is done with them.
-Wrath
You feel rather than see motion below you. Something is stirring, something massive and sinister. The Forge shudders as a wave of foul magic washes over you. You get the distinct impression of some sort of creature waking up, stretching its limbs, and preparing to kill.
***********************
As the vision from the Forge shifts and blurs again, it comes to a stop showing a Mundanian building with large grounds and several small groups of young adults walking about. They appear to be college students, as a white building to the side of the path has University of Maryland inscribed on it. Two in particular are walking toward the edge of a forest on the campus. One is dressed in a Grateful Dead shirt, a leather jacket adorned with gold trim, and a large stag on the back. The other has long silver hair, a Queen shirt, and jeans with combat boots. They are both holding a thick blue book titled ASL At Work.
A green light erupts around them as they cross the brush of the forest edge and then quickly disappears, leaving the students none the wiser. Suddenly, their appearances morph into Herne and Freyja, as their travel path turns into an Underworld portal.
“I’ve found another lead, on those strange souls escaping from the river. Should only take me a few days to survey their path and potentially find a culprit,” Herne informs Freyja, turning his walk into a jog as they move down the strange stone tunnel.
Freyja nods then turns back. “At least keep in contact a little more frequently, hunter. I know you posses the Pride sin but we cannot risk anything happening to you in the war. After Hightower…” she starts before Herne replies.
“Very well, very well. I’ll be sure to check in at least once a day, Freyja. Keep your sending stone on you. And tell the Champions I'll be in touch as well. I can't let William and his Voices have all the fun,” he adds, a grin on his face. Freyja smiles back before their paths split. Herne crosses an opening in the dark, stone-riddled tunnel and is suddenly in a forest deep in the Dreaming. He closes his eyes for a moment and feels the ground and leaves beneath him, and a path of green flames flickers to life in front of him. It winds through the forest like a snake before Herne opens his eyes and readies his spear.
“Now...Let me find out who's responsible for this mess.” He races off through the roots and trees after the green flame trail. Before the vision changes, it feels strange and heavy. Like eyes are watching the Hunter from all around. A deep laugh is heard before the Hunter is gone from sight.
***********************
The Forge shifts again and turns like a twisting lens, finally focusing onto the southern edge of the new Discordian empire. A fleet of fully grown ships litter the coastline. The multicolored legions of Lady Chaos work about carrying crates, supplies, ammunition, and weapons. Through the treeline, an array of colors swirl about into a blur of energy as Chaos herself steps onto the beach.
“Our queen!” a commanding Chromite calls out, his voice stoic and deep, calling attention to her arrival. The others nearby halt for a moment to welcome Chaos to the front.
Her heels crack the stone and sand as she strides forward, approaching a massive ship loaded with various armaments. Chaos’ normally cheery demeanor is quickly replaced by a sneer as she raises a hand toward the galleon.
“This. This is one will be mine.” The colorful appearance and merry jingle of her skirt begin to morph and twist. Her hair streaks in pitch black and a set of horns sprout back from her head. They shimmered and glowed with iridescent colors as they morphed. Her hands began to flood with black scales, from fingertip to forearm. Her skirt flared about as the fabrics rippled and a dark red nebula wrapped around her, splitting off at the ends like long spacey tendrils.
As she moved closer to the edge of the water, her steps climbed upward, like invisible stairs leading to the ship’s deck. Each click of her heels revealed a small display of colorful magic to lift her up. As she stepped onto the bow, her magic seeped through the boards and compartments, slowly spreading across the ship with dark colors and black spikes along the port and starboard panels. Chaos flicked her wrist through the air, and a ripple of black tendrils near the bow of the ship carved out a name on the side.
K I L L E R Q U E E N
Flagship of the Discordian Fleet and personal vessel of Lady Chaos.
“Come aboard, dearies! Time to set sail for Oceanhold!” she cried out, her voice warped and dark as it carried across the fleet.
***********************
The Soulforge shows you more. You can see an old dusty road winding through hills covered in sparse but colorful vegetation somewhere in Discordia. The sun is fading from the sky as a figure makes their way down the road. He has a massive axe over one shoulder, his hair is slicked up with highlights that resemble a fin, and the back of his shirt reads ‘Mako.’ On his other shoulder he is wearing a large case tied up tight and hanging like a make-shift backpack.
He stops and looks down at a humanoid shadow that stretches across the road, then turns his head up to the source with an amused glare. The shadow belongs to another man who was sitting, perched really, in a tree that overlooks their descent into the valley below. This man has narrow green eyes that caught every detail ahead of them, even the flickering wings of insects and the field mice scurrying along.
You can hear a scraping sound of metal on metal as he grips the club on his waist to remind himself he was a survivor. He releases the club abruptly and raises his “loser’s prize” to admire its craftsmanship in the setting sun. Skin was slowly creeping over its metal frame; day by day, week by week, it had grown. His brow furrows into a scowl as he thinks of how he got to be in such a state. His face began to spit and ooze green, and his radiation scars tore at their seams with pulsating anger. You can hear the voice in his head like a warning of his mental prowess. ‘Strength, it is a force derived from blood, and desperation...’
“Good,” he rasps as he looks at the ooze splattered metal of his arm. “The path is clear, and nothing can stop us.”
Mako spits on the side of the road in response. He sits the box down and opens it to check the contents. A violet light illuminates his face and highlighting every freckle or radiation burn. He growls, “Hawke, this deal better be a good one. I don’t know how much longer this thing’s gonna last.” He was thinking about the chain of events that put them here and heaves a tired breath as he closes the case again. The glint in his eyes betrays his wariness - last time they were here, they were dreaming, so it was safe. This time was different. This time, it counted. He rubbed his thumb against his neck - not to check his pulse, but to make sure the digit was still there.
Hawke jumps down from the tree and they continue their journey across the colorful landscape.
***********************
Finally, the notes left by Dreamwalkers in the War Room appear in your vision. A new one has been added that is written in red marker.
Near the end of your next dream we will strike the work camps in Atavasi to free the locals and start a revolt. Any supplies we find will be sent to Durrinheim to help the refugees, and if we are lucky this will further demand resources and troops that Oceanhold won't have to spare by the time Chaos is done with them.
-Wrath
