”Trust me, I know how it sounds.” he says, shaking his head. “But it is what it is, and it’s my opinion that it shouldn’t have any bearing on our current objective. If Shiva feels compelled to explore this phenomenon more so be it, clearly there’s no stopping her. I have no inkling what it means for her to have fused but for all we know it could make her more stable in time. With confidence I can say the Others mean us no harm, they are us, in a way. Our Shiva is unstable, in part because of her Abyssal nature and in part because of… well I’ll let her share her traumas with you on her own accord. I would hope that the addition of another Shiva’s life and experiences would have the cumulative effect of making her more… mature.” He sighs. “I tend to forget how young she is, how young most of you are.”
"You've certainly right about that,"Astrid snorts in reply to Caio's assessment of their companion. "When that one gets a notion, there's nothing much that can sway her otherwise." There's a hint of admiration in the dwarf's statement. "She would probably fit in well with my people that way." She chuckles at the thought of Shivala running amok through the halls of Kazad Azgaraz.
"Oh... Uh, no. No one one else riding along here." Astrid says glancing up from her examination. "Just the occasional.. uh... haunting of my dreams by my grandmother."She looks back to his wounded and begins to mutter something in dwarvish, calling on Brightmantle's aid in finishing the mending process started by the clerics at Sunhold Bastion.
"Well, I think that should do it!" Astrid says rising to her feet. "If you're going to guide us, I need to make sure you can keep up. Now, you make sure to let me know if it starts to bothering you again."
"I'm no stranger to being haunted by family" Iskander says quietly and without mirth. The family he has in mind isn't one of blood but that didn't lessen their importance to him.
When Astrid is done, Iskander thanks her and rises from the chair. he slowly pushes his weight onto his leg, transitioning into slow stretches to test his range of movement. "There's no pain at all". It was enough of a marvel that it pulled his him back from dwelling on the past.
As Caio enters the teleportation chamber, the low thrum of arcane energy begins to ripple outward from the etched runes in the stone floor. Elias stands nearby, already weaving preparatory gestures, his long fingers move with deliberate precision as threads of magic begin to bind the coordinates of the Septem Mortale's destination. The blue glow of the teleportation circle intensifies, throwing stark shadows across the polished stone walls. The ceiling arches high above them, inscribed with protective glyphs and warding sigils that catch the light and glimmer like stars. As the last of the arcane locks click into place, the warden steps forward, addressing them all in his deep, resonant voice.
"Your destination is Beschcadik, within the Sarameian Empire," he says. "You will arrive in a sealed warding chamber connected to the old citadel quarter. Do not stray beyond the circle until the transfer completes. The city’s enchantments may interfere with the outermost bindings if you attempt to step out prematurely."
The air around the group begins to shimmer, the boundary between places thinning. A high-pitched hum builds into a crescendo and Elias lifts one hand in a final invocation.
"May the arc hold true. May the threads not fray."
With a flash of white-gold light and a thunderclap that echoes like a closing gate, the Septem Mortale vanish from the Sanctum of Rifts, leaving behind only silence and the fading glow of the runes.
The transition is not painless. Teleportation always comes with a wrenching of the senses. Light, space, sound and body disassemble and re-materialise in the span of a heartbeat.
The first sensation is pressure, like an unseen hand pressing inward inside the skull. Then, heat and a thick, stifling humidity that clings to the throat and seeps into clothing. The scent of iron and incense hangs in the air, mingling with the faint odour of aged stone and something faintly coppery, like old blood.
The five companions stand in a circular chamber of ochre stone. The teleportation circle beneath them flickers once, its runes dimming like coals at dusk. Braziers affixed to the walls emit a soft violet flame, illuminating geometric patterns of spirals, triangles, and looping sigils etched across the chamber. The walls are tall and close. There are no windows and only a narrow spiral staircase that leads upwards through the gloom.
The journey is profoundly jarring, as Shiva always finds it to be when it is at the behest of someone else's magic rather than her own. She feels her being simultaneously crushed and stretched, before her feet touch down in the chamber and she represses an instinct to retch.
Still human in appearance, she looks to the others.
"We should do what we can to disguise ourselves, we wouldn't want reports of us arriving in the city to reach Clarissa."
She gaze lingers on Iskander, considering what all of this likely means to him, how truly arduous the coming days will be.
"And Iskander, I'm sorry for being harsh with you earlier. Something...strange has happened to me and you ended up with a front row seat. What I said is true though, Clarissa is our only target in this city. We'll save as many as we can and spare as many as we can't."
Iskander is still reeling when Shiva speaks to him, unused to this means of transport as he is. He staggers like a drunk and then has to try and recall her words once the worst of it has passed.
He considers the woman in front of him; he now understands her mind is being torn apart. It's something that deserves sympathy, he decides, and if she was truly as a powder keg too close to a fire, then he'd need to be careful anyway. With that in mind, he replies to her.
"It's fine. Water under the bridge."
The residual effects of the teleportation make it sound anything but.
"Let's just get away from here. It would not do to linger"
With his innate abilities of teleportation and his increasing familiarity with the Warden’s much more advanced circle, Caio seems quite unphased as he braces through the experience. He nods to Shiva’s suggestion of discretion and pulls his wide brimmed hat low and a new silk scarf high up his face. He’s not sure how inconspicuous the look will be here in this foreign city, but at least it hides his features.
“Do you have a safe place to hide? An ally who could provide shelter?” he asks the local.
Caio throws his hands up in the air.
”Trust me, I know how it sounds.” he says, shaking his head. “But it is what it is, and it’s my opinion that it shouldn’t have any bearing on our current objective. If Shiva feels compelled to explore this phenomenon more so be it, clearly there’s no stopping her. I have no inkling what it means for her to have fused but for all we know it could make her more stable in time. With confidence I can say the Others mean us no harm, they are us, in a way. Our Shiva is unstable, in part because of her Abyssal nature and in part because of… well I’ll let her share her traumas with you on her own accord. I would hope that the addition of another Shiva’s life and experiences would have the cumulative effect of making her more… mature.” He sighs. “I tend to forget how young she is, how young most of you are.”
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
"Two lifetimes of knowledge without the slowness of age?" Iskander glances down at Astrid. "And you? You also have this echo too?"
One person saying this would obviously be disregarded as mad but a shared delusion was unlikely enough to make him entertain the idea.
"You've certainly right about that," Astrid snorts in reply to Caio's assessment of their companion. "When that one gets a notion, there's nothing much that can sway her otherwise." There's a hint of admiration in the dwarf's statement. "She would probably fit in well with my people that way." She chuckles at the thought of Shivala running amok through the halls of Kazad Azgaraz.
"Oh... Uh, no. No one one else riding along here." Astrid says glancing up from her examination. "Just the occasional.. uh... haunting of my dreams by my grandmother." She looks back to his wounded and begins to mutter something in dwarvish, calling on Brightmantle's aid in finishing the mending process started by the clerics at Sunhold Bastion.
"Well, I think that should do it!" Astrid says rising to her feet. "If you're going to guide us, I need to make sure you can keep up. Now, you make sure to let me know if it starts to bothering you again."
"I'm no stranger to being haunted by family" Iskander says quietly and without mirth. The family he has in mind isn't one of blood but that didn't lessen their importance to him.
When Astrid is done, Iskander thanks her and rises from the chair. he slowly pushes his weight onto his leg, transitioning into slow stretches to test his range of movement. "There's no pain at all". It was enough of a marvel that it pulled his him back from dwelling on the past.
Caio gives a nod of approval.
“Then we should dally no longer.” He rises from his seat and makes for the teleportation circle.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
As Caio enters the teleportation chamber, the low thrum of arcane energy begins to ripple outward from the etched runes in the stone floor. Elias stands nearby, already weaving preparatory gestures, his long fingers move with deliberate precision as threads of magic begin to bind the coordinates of the Septem Mortale's destination. The blue glow of the teleportation circle intensifies, throwing stark shadows across the polished stone walls. The ceiling arches high above them, inscribed with protective glyphs and warding sigils that catch the light and glimmer like stars. As the last of the arcane locks click into place, the warden steps forward, addressing them all in his deep, resonant voice.
"Your destination is Beschcadik, within the Sarameian Empire," he says. "You will arrive in a sealed warding chamber connected to the old citadel quarter. Do not stray beyond the circle until the transfer completes. The city’s enchantments may interfere with the outermost bindings if you attempt to step out prematurely."
The air around the group begins to shimmer, the boundary between places thinning. A high-pitched hum builds into a crescendo and Elias lifts one hand in a final invocation.
"May the arc hold true. May the threads not fray."
With a flash of white-gold light and a thunderclap that echoes like a closing gate, the Septem Mortale vanish from the Sanctum of Rifts, leaving behind only silence and the fading glow of the runes.
The transition is not painless. Teleportation always comes with a wrenching of the senses. Light, space, sound and body disassemble and re-materialise in the span of a heartbeat.
The first sensation is pressure, like an unseen hand pressing inward inside the skull. Then, heat and a thick, stifling humidity that clings to the throat and seeps into clothing. The scent of iron and incense hangs in the air, mingling with the faint odour of aged stone and something faintly coppery, like old blood.
The five companions stand in a circular chamber of ochre stone. The teleportation circle beneath them flickers once, its runes dimming like coals at dusk. Braziers affixed to the walls emit a soft violet flame, illuminating geometric patterns of spirals, triangles, and looping sigils etched across the chamber. The walls are tall and close. There are no windows and only a narrow spiral staircase that leads upwards through the gloom.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
The journey is profoundly jarring, as Shiva always finds it to be when it is at the behest of someone else's magic rather than her own. She feels her being simultaneously crushed and stretched, before her feet touch down in the chamber and she represses an instinct to retch.
Still human in appearance, she looks to the others.
"We should do what we can to disguise ourselves, we wouldn't want reports of us arriving in the city to reach Clarissa."
She gaze lingers on Iskander, considering what all of this likely means to him, how truly arduous the coming days will be.
"And Iskander, I'm sorry for being harsh with you earlier. Something...strange has happened to me and you ended up with a front row seat. What I said is true though, Clarissa is our only target in this city. We'll save as many as we can and spare as many as we can't."
Iskander is still reeling when Shiva speaks to him, unused to this means of transport as he is. He staggers like a drunk and then has to try and recall her words once the worst of it has passed.
He considers the woman in front of him; he now understands her mind is being torn apart. It's something that deserves sympathy, he decides, and if she was truly as a powder keg too close to a fire, then he'd need to be careful anyway. With that in mind, he replies to her.
"It's fine. Water under the bridge."
The residual effects of the teleportation make it sound anything but.
"Let's just get away from here. It would not do to linger"
With his innate abilities of teleportation and his increasing familiarity with the Warden’s much more advanced circle, Caio seems quite unphased as he braces through the experience. He nods to Shiva’s suggestion of discretion and pulls his wide brimmed hat low and a new silk scarf high up his face. He’s not sure how inconspicuous the look will be here in this foreign city, but at least it hides his features.
“Do you have a safe place to hide? An ally who could provide shelter?” he asks the local.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger