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 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?

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.

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."

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.

"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.

His shoulders sink. That's fair enough, he thinks, before his eyes flicker to the priests nearby. One still has blood oozing from a wound Wrathion had doubtlessly inflicted in his rage.

Swallowing, the priest extends a hand, closing his eyes. A warm, soothing trickle of light creeps down the wound, slowly sealing the edges of torn flesh. Maybe they won't appreciated it, in their bloody fervor...

But it's what should be done, regardless.

Wrathion's eyes drift to watch the soothing wash of healing magic, considering that. It is a reassurance, is something he would categorise as in character for the man. Is it enough to prove that he's himself? He doesn't know.

Better than nothing, perhaps.

He will betray you, the priest whispers, and Wrathion realises he isn't sure which of them he's talking to now. Both, maybe, to try and turn them against each other. It makes a shiver of unease pass over him, and he reaches to touch a hand to Anduin's arm.

"You can answer outside."

An allowance, since he's not certain he's comfortable lingering here himself.

It's enough. They need to leave this place behind, clear their heads. He nods, exhaling quietly in relief, before nodding back the way they had come.

He spares the priests another glance, wondering how long they've been here. How long they've been whispered to. Do they even remember why they came, who they were before they did? The potential answers offer nothing but disquiet as he turns, leading the way.

the channeling

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