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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ I'm late with starbucks: hit me up via PM or here! ]

"Based on past experience, a god of any kind who has been chained starting to awaken seems an unpleasant prospect."

Wrathion looks up at the temple, considering their options, then sideways at Anduin. Normally he wouldn't entertain dragging him into any espionage, but Anduin is a priest after all. If anyone can help them infiltrate to learn more, he is the man for it. Wrathion can play at devout, to a point, but Anduin would be better placed to give it the touch of realism they need.

"The rumour is, the Chained God is underneath this temple. I'd like to take a look, see if there's any truth in it."

He does have experience with ancient, violent entities after all. Surely he's well placed to make an assessment on the danger they might be in?

Assuming they can talk their way through.

Talking should be minimal, here. The important thing is that they look like they belong here. Luckily Anduin comes by that bearing naturally, though he is trying at the moment not to breathe too deeply.

That smoke is causing him to feel a little floaty. Never a good sign to start.

"It certainly makes me wonder if this might be the source of our seismic disturbances. At least in part," he murmurs in turn, keeping his voice low enough for only Wrathion to pick up as they proceed. One hand reaches to adjust the pallium draped around his shoulders. "Just follow my lead, keep your eyes low, and try to look...contemplative."

Not that he doesn't trust Wrathion's silver tongue to work its charms if needed, but better they not need to weave a particularly complex web, here.

Follow his lead?

Well, Wrathion... supposes he can do that. He hesitates a second but nods all the same, lowers his eyes and falls into step with Anduin. Looking contemplative, at least, is no challenge. Wrathion's mind is always working, always calculating new variables.

The incense, for example, has the potential to be a problem. He can feel it pulling at him, making his body... slower. He doesn't like it, but can do little more than try not to inhale too much.

The milling priests pay them little attention, the soft background murmurs of prayer every so often the only real sound. As they move through the space, Wrathion spots what looks like stairs downward guarded by two figures. He subtly directs Anduin, and silently hopes that 'walking with intent' will get them straight past.

Well. If it doesn't.

As they draw nearer, the guards turn their focus towards the approaching figures. Their eyes narrow, as if they already suspect, or simply retain their focus in spite of the haze of intoxicating smoke. How, he can't imagine. It is taking more and more of his own focus to simply forge ahead with the task at hand, and he pauses briefly in front of the guards. Waiting for Wrathion to do the same.

"We must make our way through. The call must be answered."

There, for just a moment, it looks as if the plan might come apart. Or so it seems to his eye, perceiving a fraction of doubt in the face of the guard nearest. No. No, they can't be turned back now, they cannot fail.

It comes too easily. That slither of something violet behind Anduin's eyes, a soft echo in his voice as he pushes the thought into the mind of the guard, weaving it in as if it were his very own idea.

"You will let us pass."

Did he just ---

Oh, he did. Wrathion is, of course, aware that Anduin Wrynn is capable of wielding the void. Seeing him do it, however, is a particular kind of thrill. He has to control the smirk that threatens, to keep himself in his pose of contemplation. In this sense, the drug does help a little. Much as he'd prefer to be alert, the way it steals his focus is preventing him from darting his eyes in search of threats.

He senses the guards move aside, and waits until Anduin begins to move again to fall into step. Wrathion waits until they're a few steps past, moving down the stairwell, to offer a whispered question:

"No negotiations, then?"

It's too easy not to, honestly.

He doubts you. Just as he always has. Just as they all do.

The whisper in his mind melds too readily with the doubts already present, but he pushes it away, his eyes cutting towards Wrathion's smirk as they move past, descending into the halls below. "Something's in the air. The longer we stand talking, the more likely it is to affect us," he replies tightly, jaw tensing defensively for a moment.

"I can't say I'm a fan of the incense."

What use is he, after all, with his mind impaired? Anduin is doing just fine without him. He needn't be here at all. Perhaps the priest even wishes he wasn't.

"We'll head down quickly," he says, trying to focus on the task instead. The stairs down are narrow, the space increasingly close. "If they do have an old god chained here, it may be best not to linger in its presence."

Which means they should leave quickly too.

On that, at least, they can agree.

Anduin simply nods tensely, as the two descend into halls that are more and more reminiscent of a cave. As if the temple itself were carved up out of the stone, and these tunnels had been here long before any worshipers had ever set foot here.

There's a gust of heat, and it brings to mind the caverns and crannies of Onyxia's lair. He can still remember the sound of the massive dragon's breath, the pounding of his heart as he crammed himself into a rocky crevice while her whelps snapped and snarled after him, trying to wriggle in--

And now he walks side-by-side by a young black dragon. Strange, the circles their journeys take them in.

The warm air, at least, doesn't bother Wrathion. He's spent much of his time in hot caverns, in the deep places of the earth. Anduin has gone quiet, and that's... fine. He's likely focused, trying to be sure they get in and out as quickly as possible. Focus is good, although a niggling doubt questions of Anduin is upset with him. Perhaps his remark was unfunny before. Perhaps he wishes he could just be getting this over without Wrathion here. Is he overbearing? Is his affection too obvious? Is he bothering Anduin by escorting him everywhere? He's overestimated his welcome before, he may be doing so again. Perhaps Anduin is tired of him. For that matter, perhaps Anduin is tired of the trouble he causes. Even here, he's leading him into trouble.

What if they get hurt? What if --

Wrathion catches himself, feet slowing, and takes a moment to... still his mind. To sort through his mind.

"It isn't just the incense," he murmurs, the chill of understanding shivering through him. "Whatever is down here, I can feel its presence."

The shadows teasing at his mind, making him question.

"Chaos."

That's a good definition for the thoughts gathering in his mind. His limbs feel slowed, his mind a haze, fleeting whispers coursing through every now and then to pluck at his thoughts like stray threads being unraveled. It's unnerving, yes.

But Wrathion isn't wrong. The sooner they find what they can and leave, the better. Whatever it takes to see that goal through, they have to be prepared for. He must be prepared for. Doubt has to be pushed from his mind, or they risk succumbing to this place.

"That does seem to be the Chained God's domain, chaos. A creature said to birth, consume, and birth the world again. A creature of war and violence."

Of chaos.

He moves further down the narrow halls, fingers flexing as he tries to close out the intrusion. They have no time for this, no time for whatever games this creature plays. Irritation runs over his skin, prickles at him. Has he not slain an Old God before? Who is this Chained God compared to N'Zoth the Corruptor? Wrathion is, surely, well versed on this topic. He should --

The narrow hallways turn again, ever heading downwards, and in the distance Wrathion spots something now: a doorway, of some description, seemingly covered in chains. He supposes they do have a theme.

The dragon glances back and upwards, listening for any followers, but it's just the two of them for now.

"Here," he prompts, and moves towards it. This must be what they seek, after all, there's no other path to take.

Anduin regards the chains, thick and heavy. He finds himself reminded, oddly, of those moments in Garrosh's cell, watching the massive orc regard him from under their weight, feeling his heart beating in his ears with fear. With anger.

He tries to reach for the Light, for some semblance of calm, but at the last moment he hesitates. Instead his gaze follows Wrathion as he approaches the door, before rising to the inscription above. The Sleeper awakes.

"That's not ominous in the least," he murmurs, before stepping closer to join the dragon. Of course it couldn't be as simple a thing as pushing the door open and stepping inside. This is the resting place of a god, pilgrims gather themselves to attend, and surely there is some sort of test or trial to accompany such a journey.

What would the Chained God ask, for entrance?

"On that we are agreed."

Wrathion cannot help but be reminded of N'Zoth, of Ny'alotha. A sleeping city of numberless crimes.

What, then, is the other side of this door? What is the Chained God? What consequence will they have from trying to see?

He doesn't trust you, his mind whispers, and Wrathion looks over at Anduin thoughtfully. At the way he watches him. Does he not? It's possible. His family has fallen to Old Gods before, to a lust for power.

Focus, though.

"This says it requires 'sacrifice' and 'proof of chaos.' If our arrival here isn't chaotic enough, I'm not sure what else will be."

The infiltration, then mind control. What more chaos is required? He supposes he could start throwing fire around.

There's something else, too. He knows what must be done, though how he knows he cannot quite say. It's like a restless presence stirring in his mind, eyes opening slowly to the truth.

Is this what Wrathion felt, he thinks, staring at the back of the dragon's head. Did he take pleasure in the act of betrayal, of successfully fooling his only friend? Or was there any remorse in him at the time?

Anduin's lips thin. He supposes he'll learn.

The blow comes while Wrathion's focus is elsewhere, a surprisingly strong strike to the back of the dragon's head, only meant to stun him long enough to do...to do what was necessary here.

He will betray you, the voice insists, and Wrathion irritably tries to shut it out. Is that the Chained God itself? Irritating. As if he, a Black Dragon, could fall for this routine after having outwitted it once already!

(Yet is it wrong? Will he be betrayed? Anduin has every reason to doubt him --)

Wrathion is so busy staring at the door, contemplating the nature of his potential betrayal, that he doesn't sense Anduin coming. The blow hits, and he staggers. Reels a long few moments in surprise, hands lifted to his head.

"Anduin, what --"

What is he doing? Why?

Edited 2023-11-21 19:36 (UTC)

There isn't much time. There's no time at all, and this needs to be quick. He knows that, more than he understands why he's doing what he's doing.

His hands gesture, and the chains glow with the brilliance of the Light for a moment, before snaking upwards to loop themselves around Wrathion's arms and pulling taut. He'll pull free eventually, of that there's no doubt. But it will hold him for now, long enough to follow the pull he can feel even now.

"You were right, you know. When you said it was not yet in me to suspect treachery. Not from you." His voice is surprisingly cold for its softness, and though his eyes hold a peculiar haze, the gaze within them is unflinching.

"But I learned many things from you that day."

"What? Anduin, what are you talking about? What are you doing?"

The chains catch at his arms and Wrathion begins to struggle violently, feeling the burn of the Light in the shackles holding him. The panic in his eyes is immediate, is wild.

It isn't, exactly, fear of this betrayal. It's fear of -- something else.

"Anduin?" he prompts again, "Anduin, release me. Do not leave me here!"

Yet he's going to, isn't he? He's going to leave him. He's going to leave him again, and Titans know what is beyond that door. What might happen to him, away from Wrathion's ability to protect him. Not that he's done a good job of that, in truth.

(You failed him, the voices whisper, you always fail him.)

For a moment, it almost seems as if he might reconsider, as though the king's gentle nature and goodwill towards his friend might change this course of his that is, admittedly, very unlike himself.

Something conflicted flickers briefly in those pale blue eyes, before the sharp focus it brought seems to fade. The edges of his face tighten, and he turns instead to place a pale hand to the door.

Dust flies from the edges as airflow stirs, the entrance cracking open. He can hear the chains jingling as he steps through into the sweltering heat of the tunnel beyond, can hear Wrathion's desperate pleading fading behind him as the door closes.

Hopefully, the Chained God can hear him too.

"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.

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.

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?

Wrathion | Warcraft

INCENSE > ANDUIN

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