westwhere | the channeling

the channeling

THE CHANNELING

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WEALTH WHISPERS

Assignment: the Merchant fears that Matthias, alleged father of the undead Brotherhood, might be the ‘merchant’ who was due to receive dark water-infused grains by sea from the Hand. Chasing information, the Merchant routes party members towards the docks-side underworld district of Tibras, in the outskirts of Ephes. The Hand keeps grain warehouses nearby.

In Tibras, short and decayed houses are like parasitic growths toppling each other, plaster peels falling into rivulets of bloodshed. Tension thrives. Petrified, natives overwhelmingly number beggars, pleasure workers, crude bounty hunters and thieves, who look to cut throats or purse strings. Occasional bodies drift by the docks.

■ Just outside of Tibras is the abode of the merchants’ syndicate — a ring of warehouses, private clubs and houses of currency. Merchants here are protected via steep fees and travel freely. Inside the syndicate house, doorways are barred by inextinguishable living fire — which you can cross unharmed, if you rearrange the runes marked N, W, S, E on a nearby wall in a cardinal-point formation. You can also pretend to be a servant, a merchant or quality inspector to get to the Hand warehouses. Ask a clue.

Alternatively, the Merchant forewarns that a notable guest will join the syndicate for three nights: Captain Maximilian Hawk of the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company, which deals in magical artefacts. Hold him at knifepoint, seduce him, do your worst for knowledge!

■ By the entrance to Tibras is the shop of Apollonius, noted collector of supernatural artefacts and information broker. Crafty and sly, he will cooperate, in exchange for a pair of ‘eyes’ from the ghost Tykhe, who haunts the nearby anonymous burial grounds. Come midnight, Tykhe’s spirit — whose sight was gouged — appears and picks out and bewitches a pair of marbles, buttons or stones to act as her ‘eyes.’ With them in hand, she searches the graveyard for her dead sister, Cassandra. You can steal the orbs, or she’ll give them freely, if you escort her from tomb to tomb to reunite with the mute ghost of Cassandra. Return to Apollonius.

■ Deeper within Tibras is a gambling nest of sailors who were cursed by a scorned sea witch to assume the appearance of sea creatures. Led by the giant octopus Crassus, they charge protection fees from commercial merchant ships and even intimidate pirates, gleaning information from sailors and recovering drowned bodies. This illustrious group adores games of chance — as long as you can cover your losses.

You can decide or RNG how many tries it takes for your character to win — submit a finished thread to get a question! The higher the stakes, the better the information.

— a scantly informed junior goldfish throws dice. Lose, and you must share a highly embarrassing secret.

— a moderately informed catfish, offering Baccarat. Lose, and he steals your good luck for 24 hours.

— a composed, well-informed whale plays roulette. Lose, and you must share one of your most precious memories.

— a highly-knowledgeable shark, Aurelius Longus, plays a mean hand of poker. Lose, and he asks blood or a pledge to save his life one day.

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THE FLOORS

Senate leader Caius Justus exits his seclusion, ending weeks of prayer to convey the message of Ephes’ divine patron, the Chained God of chaos. And he says in a public speech:

Friends, Ephesians, countrymen…

”Friends, Ephesians, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to speak for the Chained Father, not to praise him. The victory men reap lives after them; but cowardice is often buried with their bones. So let it be with Ephes. The noble Senate tells you, the Chained Father wishes only Ephes’ destruction. If it were so, it is a grievous fault, and grievously has the Father answered for it. Here, under leave of Messalina and the Senate – for Messalina is an honourable speaker; so they are all, all honourable speakers – come I to speak of the Chained Father’s wishes. He was my maker, faithful and just to us: but Messalina says, turn away from him. And Messalina is an honourable speaker. He has brought many territories under the heel of Ephes. In his name did the Hand rise: did this in the Chained Father seem unworthy? When now you weep asking empire, the Chained Father answers: tells you to be made of sterner stuff. Yet Messalina says the Father is unworthy. And Messalina is an honourable speaker. You all did see that I withdrew to his temple, where he spoke to me: Ephes, seize your path alone — was that unworthy? Yet Messalina says to turn away from him. And sure, Messalina is an honourable speak. I speak not to disprove what Messalina spoke, but here I am to speak what I do know: you are all children of Chaos, not without cause. What cause withholds you, then, to use the Hand yourselves? O, ambition! You have fled to brutish citadels. And men have lost their courage. Bear with me: my heart is in the temple, there with the Chained God, and I must pause and beg the Senate to vote against Messalina, til it comes back to me. ”

Returning to public life, Caius Justus advises the Senate to refuse Messalina’s proposal, but defers to a vote. Citing recent civil unrest, he imposes citadel-wide 10 p.m. curfews, bans congregations of more than eight people in the streets and sends the Hand to confiscate any visible weapons and to quiet or pre-empt unrest. Hand members — forced to present in large numbers — appear erratic, prone to violent outbursts and to taking out their anger on civilians. Hand leader Narula is excessively smug.

Newscasters are careful with their words, speeches decrying Messalina abound, and senators are‘escorted’ by Hand delegations, also for their protection. Caius Justus announces he will run again for Senate leadership — to begrudged murmurs among Senators, given his previous pledge to retire.

Assignment: lure Senators toward the position that the party supports. After Caius Justus’ return:

■ 51 Senators back Caius Justus to refuse Messalina’s proposal.

■ Maximus Faustus convinces 53 Senators to accept Messalina’s proposal

■ Caelius Silvanus persuades 47 Senators to vote to postpone a decision on Messalina’s proposal for another season.

Following the party’s previous interventions, Senators are open to considering Messalina’s cause. Many are skittish, fearing their careers or lives will end with disobeying Caius Justus. Optionally, party members previously assigned a political role might receive threats from Caius Justus’ supporters.

■ Persuade, bribe, threaten or blackmail a minor Senator to switch votes. Perhaps you can offer coin or rally supporters in the marketplace for their next election, or heal their donkey or get rid of that pesky boy mooning after their daughter. Or maybe prove their corruption streak, or place a polite knife at their throats. Hold the whole Senate floor hostage, if you want, of blockade Senators from entering the Senate on voting day!

■ Ask for a RNGed Senator if you want or submit threads of swaying votes. A final tally will be taken on 19 November

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INCENSE

Priests of the Chained God whisper that the god shows signs of awakening to trigger an apocalypse. Chained and warded twelve times to prevent the end of the world, the Chained God allegedly rests in the Halls of the Sleeper, in the underground belly of his main temple in Ephes. Above ground, the temple is silent, rife with milling priests, hummed prayers and cloying hallucinogenic incense that encourages lethargy. Access is unrestricted, but monitored.

To progress downstairs, you may need to convince guards that you are one of the groups of ferociously devout pilgrim worshippers, or a priest. Below, you feel overcome by creeping, paralysing dread.

■ You are haunted by sinister, saccharine voices murmuring intrusive thoughts only you hear, diminishing your worth and paranoically asking if your companion means you harm. You are more irritable and prone to violence.

■ The halls increasingly resemble narrow subterranean corridors with limited and overheated air reserves. You reach locked stone gates, covered in loose chains and crudely carved with the inscription, the Sleeper awakes. Instructions state the Chained God demands sacrifice and proof of chaos.

■ To enter the Sleeper’s Hall, instructions say, you must commit an act of betrayal, by: drawing your companion’s blood and smearing it over the inscription (lean into the corruption!), which prevents them from entering the halls with you; or chaining them to the door with the gate shackles, condemning them to watch as you enter; or pushing your companion away, verbally eviscerating or attacking them until they flee. With player approval, your character could get a sense of what theirs is emotionally or physically vulnerable to, then exploit it. Acts of betrayal cannot be faked.

■ The Sleeper’s Hall is narrow, nearly spherical and lit by thin rivers of flowing magma that cross cracked floors. Amid swelter, you hear the periodic gulps and quakes of stone trembling around you. The supernaturally sensitive feel the presence of great, if constrained power.

■ The black water previously associated with the undead also gushes from rifts in the ground. It has a cold, sinister aura.

■ Search the room for clues — and leave urgently, before corruption consumes you.

■ Towards the middle of the room is a large, nebulously shaped creature, fully fettered and covered in magical wards, chains and blood-painted runes. Anyone in the Chained God’s presence may feel overcome by emotional or physical agony, claustrophobia and bloodlust — but the divinity only speaks with the RNG winner.

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NOTES:

■ Some players have asked about potentially ~~stabbing~~ ousting Caius Justus and Narula in a coup — everyone can plot and participate in that, and a plotting post will go up on 16 November.

■ NPC inbox, if you need anyone!

■ QUESTIONS

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"Anduin," Wrathion shouts and as the door begins to open his struggles redouble. No, no, no he will not be left behind again. He will not. "Anduin," he continues, "release me --"

The door swings closed, and Wrathion is left alone.

For a moment, he feels shock reel through his body. A sense of unreality. This... this cannot be happening. A dream, an illusion perhaps?

Yet, no, the burn of Anduin's chains is real.

(You weren't worth his time, the shadows whisper. You mean nothing to him, he doesn't need you.)

That isn't true. That isn't true. None of this is true, and it's -- it's doing something to him, to Anduin. That must be it. His violent flailing begins anew, and all of a sudden he tears free of the chains. They burn his skin, but the burn fades away to only a shadow under his visage.

Then, he begins to attack the door. He doesn't care what this Chained God might do in retaliation, he's going after Anduin. Someone in the temple must have a way in, must they not? If he cannot break down this door, then he'll have to head up the stairs and find who can let him in.

[ ... Well.

After all they've been through together, and all Licyn has seen, the disclaimer is rather necessary, isn't it? Her penchant for fury and violence is well-known among the group by now. Today, however, the goal is to seem as offended as possible.

She thinks she can pull it off.

Her hand reaches out to stop his from advancing, fingers wrapping around his wrist. Firm, not too tight. A warning. ]

You have a great deal of nerve coming to me after all you've done. The promises you've broken! I say, I should never like to see your face again! [ Emilia raises her voice loud enough to be heard, and if that isn't enough, she ... throws her drink at him.

Yes, there is a drink. Let's jot that down. ]

[Elayne covers her nose with the edge of her sleeve, trying to be polite while avoiding breathing in the incense.

You don't know her. What sort of person would even think such a thing as wanting the world to end?]

You're certain you don't hear that?

[These voices... she wish she could escape them, but walking faster does nothing to make them sound more distant. It's hard to think, with such things being whispered in her ear, even if she has no reason to believe their mistrusting words have merit.]

[A normal familial relationship, Elayne assumes, would involve spending time together and getting to know one another. So, even though they're undercover in a hostile place and she's posing as Moraine's servant, Elayne is delighted by the opportunity to do just that.]

Yes, of course.

[She does, at least, get her expression under control and stop smiling as they pass by a doorway, should anyone inside the room notice them.]

Have you done this sort of thing before? [The answer is almost assuredly yes, and she wants to hear all about it.]

( The reason was vanity, he does not say, because dozens of lines of lace rim his own robes, and he who was never chosen fine silks for mundane bearing must throw the first stone.

But then, she passes, and the subterfuge need be only small. Better she attempts it than Lan Wangji struggles with the renown limitations of his appetite for falsehood. He nods, then — all at once, falls into step, and their deception, their attempt to sneak in is ended.

They are legitimate now, a merchant and her bodyguard. He directs them down the corridors — )

Speak little. ( ...just as a guard, inevitably, pauses them — at first, with an absurdity of patience and the wave of a hand, asking who they are and where they are gone. )

There is a weight to this chamber, like a giant hand of stone crushing around his body, but he steps forward. The warmth of the channels of magma hums against his skin, the light catching on the shimmer of the same dark water he and Wrathion had encountered earlier...

Yet he moves forward, unafraid. Moving towards the massive figure he can see in the center of the chamber. Even now the walls hum and shiver with an unseen force, as if barely able to contain the power of the being chained here.

Had it really been him, this whole time? The earthquakes, the water...

He starts to open his mouth to speak, but a wave of pain shoots through his body, and Anduin's steps finally falter for a moment. It burns through him, down to his Light-scarred bones, and he has to try to steady himself against the agony of it.

A good thing, then, that Wrathion wasn't here with him.

( natasha stares at him for a second, before dropping her gaze pointedly to the boring tunic and plain skirt she’s stolen off the clothesline. )

And I won’t? Come on, Barnes. Sacrifice fashion for stealth like I know you can.

The door does not give way, and Wrathion turns. He tries to exert his will, first, on the walls around him. The earth trembles, but the door does not give way.

He turns, begins to move up the stairs.

Here, he begins a new wave of destruction. Statues are toppled, walls are smashed into. He is overcome by chaos, they whisper, and leave him be. Wrathion's voice lifts in anger, demanding answers from them. The door, he wants it open, they must open it. He needs to see their Chained God --

One of the priest intercepts him, and the violence turns.

Sweat drips from his brow.

Gritting his teeth through the pain has gotten him nothing. The room is a blur in his eyes, able to percept no one thing in particular that would be of use, and approaching the figure in the room's center has already brought him to his knee once already.

If there is something to be gleaned here, it won't be by him. Not in this condition. The bitter taste of failure after all this settles unpleasantly into the back of his throat, but he's aware enough to know he needs to retreat. Now. While he's still able to, on his own.

The stone door is eased open with a harsh grating noise, but the chains are empty. Something cold drops into the pit of his stomach.

Then? He hears the noise from above.

Rage always simmers in Wrathion's chest, coiled, controlled but ready to overboil through his veins at any moment. The incense pulls at him, slows him, but here and now it isn't enough to stop him. Not when the hallucinogenic are doing their work too. He hears whispers, laughter.

His adrenaline is up, and Wrathion is angry.

Several of the priests descend on him, and Wrathion throws one clear across the temple. It is the Chained God's will, they insist. He is overcome by the chaos.

"Release him," he's growling. "You will let me in to see your Chained God, or you will release him."

He could rip them apart. He should rip them apart, in fact, for this insolence. For laughing at him. Wrathion's hands twist and elongate, sharpen to claws as he takes a swing at the priests.

He still feels the ache echoing in his limbs as he climbs his way through the tunnel, back to the temple's upper levels. One hand rests against the stone for balance as he ascends, until he sees what's been happening in his absence...

"Wrathion!" Anduin's voice cuts through the air, hoping to seize the Black Prince's attention before he harms anyone too grievously.

This is, perhaps, not unexpected as a result of him leaving the dragon behind. But is this the dragon acting of his own mind, or the terrible sway of the force that dwells deep below?

He doesn't hear him, at first. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, the whispers, the shouts of the priests -- and Anduin's voice is surely only a hallucination.

How could it be anything else? He saw him enter the Chained God's space, leaving him in chains. Titans only know what is happening to him.

His claws lash out, drawing blood from a priest.

"Release him!" he demands. "You will release him!"

The priests egg him on, seemingly unperturbed by the attack, their eyes wild. Take your revenge. Give in to the chaos.

He hasn't seen this fury in him for years. It's all too easy to imagine the creature he is in his place, spitting fire and beating dread wings. For a moment, he feels that creeping chill of the sound of a dozen little wings, tooth-filled maws snapping after him.

The memory of Onyxia's lair pushed aside, he finds his feet scraping against the stone floor, hauling him forward as quickly as he can given the miasma of incense and the echoing ache from below. None of it matters.

So long as he can lay a hand on his arm, draw his attention, apologize, do something before Wrathion inflicts harm that cannot be mended.

"Wrathion."

Wrathion whirls around, a snarl of rage in his expression and blood in the air. Blood on the claws of one hand.

For a second, it seems like he'll turn on Anduin too. Like he's out of control, won't even recognise him through the haze.

Then, recognition lights in his eyes.

He stumbles, dumbfounded, and stares at the priest.

"Anduin?"

Is it him? Can it be him? How? He saw him -- saw him leave, leaving him chained outside.

Abandoned. Discarded. He doesn't trust you, he never has.

His anger seems to be well back up, but there's something else in it now. A different energy to it.

"What is this?" he asks, low, hurt. "Is this a game to you, now?"

For a second, he thinks he might well strike him with those claws, in the feverish grip of the rage that's consumed him. But Anduin doesn't back away, doesn't so much as flinch.

He stares back, as remorse creeps up his throat and threatens to choke out any reconciliatory words.

It had to be real, he wants to explain.

If you're going to take it out on someone, I'm the one you're angry at.

But none of those words come out of his mouth. He just sees pain and smoldering fury in the dragon's face, and his first instinct shouldn't be to reach up and press his palm to his cheek.

It shouldn't be to feel the tension that's been strung taut between them for weeks now finally snap, and leaning forward to press his mouth against his, the air thick with smoke and blood.

But they've never gone about any of this the right way, why start now?

The hand to his face gentles his anger, makes a flicker of confusion momentarily cross Wrathion's face.

Their lips press together, and Wrathion feels his ability to stand falter.

One clawed hand grips down into Anduin's shoulder, the other slides around his waist and pulls him in tight. He doesn't know why they're kissing, here and now, and his hurt flutters anxiously. Is this a trick? A ploy by the Chained God? Has Anduin been taken from here, possessed, sent back here to seduce him?

He doesn't want to have to hurt him. Titans, he doesn't have the energy to do so. If that is what this is, then let him be seduced. Let him rain down whatever terrors the Chained God wants, if only he can be with Anduin a moment longer and be safe.

We have options. [ Nami rolls her shoulder, adjusting the spot where her bag's strap sits while she narrows her eyes and considers. ] We can avoid running into people, check the rooms down this corridor, and get out with what we can carry, or we can track that guy down and see what he has in his room - but we're going to have to distract him.

[ If there are two of them it'll be easier to knock him out once he's not on alert anymore, and Nami's willing to bet between the two of them they can find a way to get this guy to relax. ] Men are stupid, and we're pretty. We can get a leg up on him if we give him a good first impression. After that we just– [ She balls a fist loosely and mimes bopping someone on the top of the head, looking back to Wen Qing with raised eyebrows, fighting a smile she's not sure she understands the cause of. ]

He's uncertain what he expected, but the way Wrathion grips him tightly, drags him in, says so much all without words. And this isn't any more fair of him than chaining him up down in that tunnel had been, his senses spinning as he pulls back just far enough to breathe.

As first kisses go, this is...kind of ridiculous, he has to admit.

Focus.

"We need to leave," he utters softly, now that he has the dragon's complete and utter focus. Because the priests are still watching, still ready to feed Wrathion's need to lash out and invoke the spirit of the sleeping god below, and they can't stay here. He can feel his grip on his own reason slipping with each moment.

"Wrathion. Come with me. Please."

( ugh. )

Fine. Close your eyes and let me change.

( no peeking. )

[ It's nice to be in a busy kitchen again, tending to several things at once while the pressure is on in the dining room. The pace is much different than in the galley or feeding his own crew, so it's easy to get lost in it, going down the mental checklist of what needs refilling and what's ready to go out. Nami being out there helps with a different level of distraction that his meticulous pastries and colorful desserts don't quite sate. Who can refuse an adorable face like hers?

Sanji looks up from his work with a tilt of his head and a smile, considering. Normally, he wouldn't drink while he was doing something so time-consuming, saving it for afterward, but it would certainly help sate the craving for a cigarette until after. They may be at this a bit longer and since he's the only one in the kitchen, there's not really much time to disappear outside. ]

Not usually, but how can I resist such a request? [ He has a few minutes to spare, so he slings the rag he'd been using over his shoulder so he can lean his hip against the table Nami sits at. He waves his hand back and forth in a so-so motion. ]

It's nice to be back in a kitchen like this, but it's not my kitchen, you know? It's not the galley cooking for my crew.

[You know, in retrospect, he should have suspected the most clever Straw Hat would have some cunning plan up her sleeve. He just hadn't expected it to be a view of her breasts, you know? Clearly, he'd been sleeping on her chest when he put all his focus on her ass.

Both are spectacular, as it turns out.

At least the surprise that registers on his face is pretty genuine. A good cover up to what she's doing with his leg underneath the table.

Don't worry. He knows a thing or two about lying and tricking, himself. On top of it, he's good at bluffing and coming up with plans on the spot, so when his leg reattaches and he's slapping an obnoxious smile on his face, finding discreet ways to secure the cards he's been slipped.]

I can think of far less pleasant disruptions, actually. [He jokes, and at least no one seems to be any the wiser for waht their play is.]

Wrathion keeps hold of Anduin, breathing hard as he studies his face. Anduin sounds himself, but he's hardly said much.

He feels trapped by the man's gaze, as if he's gripped him with a new spell. One that leaves him struggling to breathe, dangling over an abyss of darkness.

"How do I know you're in control of yourself?"

A question he doesn't want to ask, but he does. What if he isn't? What if this chained god is using him as a tool?

It wouldn't be the first time.

"You left me."

He went inside that room, alone. Wrathion had no visibility of what happened. Now, he returns, and the first thing he does is kiss him?

It feels too close to his fantasies for him to trust easily.

[ A slight shift and Wen Qing holds up a few needles, flashing Nami a grin. ] I have a much easier way of knocking him out. It should keep him asleep for a few hours if not days. [ Depending on well he can fight anything off. Wen Qing suspects he has no immunity to such things. ]

But a distraction before I stab him is useful. Such men are easily swayed by pretty smiles and flirtatious interest, even if the interest is feigned. [ A more roundabout way of agreeing with the idea that men are stupid.

She grins at Nami, suddenly happy to be doing this, for some reason. ] Come, let us track him down.

"I did. I'm sorry, but I had to."

There's a pause, his eyes closing against the oppressive air here, the sweltering need to...lash out. To cause more harm than he already has, and he will not. Light help him, but he's done enough for today.

"Wrathion." There's an urgent undertone to his voice as he opens his eyes again, all but pleading.

He hasn't answered his question.

He hasn't answered the question of how he knows this is Anduin, in his right mind, asking him this. Of how he knows he isn't being lured away, so much as he longs for that. Longs for the touch of Anduin's hand, the softness of his smile.

Wrathion's eyes dart around the temple, breathing still heavy from the rush of adrenaline. One priest is still laid on the ground, a hand clutched to his side to stem bleeding. You cannot trust him, he whispers, and Wrathion thinks that sounds all too much like the whispers he heard down below --

But is it wrong?

His eyes lift to Anduin, wary.

"You will answer my questions," he presses. "No games."

Rich coming from him, he's sure, but this is important.

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