Location: Sweden Mission Objective: Gather information on fabled swords Hrunting and Unnamed giant’s sword from the Tale of Beowulf, possible Class A Artifacts Operatives: Alexei Jamil
OOC
DICE MECHS:
Navigate Tower - ROLL 1d100
1-20: You leave the room you are currently in; an ante-chamber filled with portraits whose eyes seem to follow you, many precious treasures, and various other riches. Obviously some pretty wealthy people lived here. You enter the same room.
21-50: The room you are in is full of nothing. There are walls, but they are empty. There are doors leading to chambers, but they are also empty. There are no benches, no ornate paintings. Is that the whispering of gossip you hear, or just the wind filtering through the cracked ceiling?
51-75: You have entered the library. In front of you is a podium, with a heavy tome, open, sitting in front of you. You are compelled to read the open pages; they are about other Hunters, and their great deeds. You flip through the book, searching for your own name. It is nowhere.
76-95: You enter another room of portraits, all menacing and proud. Every bust is featured with a white coat and a scarf; you eventually recognize them all as Hunters you are close to - but greater, magnificent.. As with the library, your portrait is nowhere to be seen.
95-100: You enter the armory you saw upon first entering the tower. In a locked glass case in the center of the room sit a ragged blade, well spent and rusted, and the hilt of what looks like a sword wielded by giants, encrusted with opal and gems, but damaged with water spots. A power resonates from them, calling you forward. As you approach, everything collapses around you - you are now face to face with the tower’s master, a large Desire Demon with a twisted smile and sword like teeth. He whispers something in a language you do not understand.
BOSS ENCOUNTER - Phase 1
The Desire Demon stands in front of you, a mocking smile smeared across its face. He asks you a series of questions, each one prying further into your psyche and tearing you down. You cannot help but answer truthfully, despite any valiant efforts. He will continue to ask the questions until satisfied with the answer you give.
ROLL 1d6 three times!
1. “Why did you come here?” 2. “What are your regrets?” 3. “Why are you alone?” 4. “Who will rescue you?” 5. “What are you worth?” 6. “How would you like to be remembered?”
PHASE 2
The Desire Demon laughs cruelly, and purple FEAR washes over his talons. He swipes at you, gashing your fear shield. You begin to hallucinate, a steady stream of all that you ever wanted, everything you have thought of achieving, slipping through your fingers. The people you wanted to know and love, leaving you. The life you wanted, the objects you thought would make your life better, gone and broken. You cannot stop this. In the end, there is only one thing left - you. You, standing alone, and the Demon.
> ENGAGE?
Desire’s Stats: 100 HP -5 AD
Success: The illusion breaks, and the Demon has fled. You are triumphant, but there are no artifacts, and you are standing inside the dilapidated courtyard of the rubble-bound tower. You need to return home.
Failure: The illusion continues, and you are forced to watch a multitude of realities in which you lose everything you desired. Your prolonged absence does not go unnoted, and a Hunter team is eventually sent to rescue you.
Or, perhaps, they’ve already forgotten about you.
Posted: Sat Nov 07, 2015 11:15 pm
The mission was supposed to be a simple one, they'd told Lex. They'd opened him a portal that would drop him off a few miles from the small fishing village he'd be staying in for the night, and in the morning he would ask the locals about anything regarding the ancient tales. If anything turned up that was off the records, he would jot it down and tell the Doctor about it later. Then, he'd stow away at night a few miles south, where the village had once been before the tides rose. At low tide, the ruins of a derelict tower, once a part of a larger outpost, could be entered.
Lex enjoyed that, for once, he was flying solo. No nagging from Claudia, no babysitting Leslie or Abbi, no constantly fretting for Oliver's heart rate. He would have preferred another companion, but he didn't deserve to have her here. He didn't deserve to think of her. Regal let him know at least three times a day.
Piping hot coffee in his hands, coat and gear set out and folded away into the small dresser the little inn on the shore had provided him, Lex sat on the edge of the full size bed provided. And for the first time in the last two months, he contemplated his life choices.
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Posted: Wed Nov 11, 2015 10:44 am
He'd been up before the sun, eyes red and joints creaking with each step and small movement. An old man at a mere 27 years old, staring into his hot black sludge with a mix of disdain and dread. It was freezing in the inn - the manager had informed him last night that the internal heating tended to have a mind of its own - and he doubted the showers would be very warm.
Lex set the mug of coffee on his bedside table, and pulled his trousers on after discarding his pajamas. Reaching into his pockets he felt around for a pen, pulling it out and setting it next to the coffee, then procuring a journal out from under his folded coat. The journal was new, unsullied, inkless. It was bought for recording mission details, possible runes or technology to look in to. Lex had ignored it ever since he first began his Hunter career, but now was as good a time as ever to start actually acting like a functioning member of Deus Ex.
Quote:
Location: ??? - Sweden (Coordinates to be retrieved at portals) Mission Objective: Investigate possible Class A Artifacts
Tuesday, Nov. 10th.
I miss you.
Entered village (I can't pronounce the name. I'm lucky the innkeeper speaks minimal English. Why didn't I learn modern Swede?) last night, set up at inn. Payed for four night's stay, will only be here twice.
Personal artifacts are located under the bed of Room 3. If I am unable to do so myself, please give them all to Claudia Morgan, except this journal. This journal will be given to Amalie Raine, should she be alive. If she is unable or unwilling to receive this journal, it is to be given to Claudia Morgan. If Ms. Morgan cannot or will not accept this journal, or other personal belongings, burn them all.
Waiting for low tide, then I'll set out to what I'm dubbing "Hrothgar's Keep." I doubt it is the actual keep of the King, but I doubt we will ever find that old hall. The village is quaint, a nice place to retire. No signs of abnormal FEAR activity, yet.
He set the journal down and pulled on a shirt, then a sweater, and then a coat, followed by leather gloves and a red wool scarf. There were interviews to conduct; the fishermen would be back now that the sun was rising.
Posted: Sat Nov 14, 2015 12:36 am
Somehow, Lex had been roped into helping the local fishermen haul their nets in, full to the brim with silver scales reflecting the rising sun. The brine was refreshing, in the way that wasabi is - excruciating, burning, but cleansing. Sea salt and ocean water soaked him to the bone, hard work scrubbed his pores.
Perhaps, he could escape to a place like this. Deus didn't need him; they wouldn't look for him. He could do honest work, for once in his life. Maybe he'd even fake his own death - again. They'd done it once; and it was damn near convincing, had Claudia not opened the damn coffin.
Ah, but Claudia. He couldn't just leave his baby sister on the island, by herself, to live a short life and die in some awful tragedy. Perhaps, then, his honest work would be Claudia, and extending her life. It was his fault she was there, anyway.
One of the men shouted something to him in Swede, what Lex could only think of as a "Stop daydreaming!", and he continued to tug the rough and blistering ropes of the nets.
---
A few hours later, they were settled in a pub and drinking beer, eating smoked fish and buckwheat pancakes with sour cream and dill. Lex had went on a limb and asked if the men knew any English, in the very broken and little Swede he had learned from all the days translating for Ami. One or two of them did, and they decided to spare him after laughing at his terrible accent and pronunciation of their native tongue.
"Delightful." Lex smiled, pulling his bound leather journal from his coat. "Now, gentlemen, I'm here to do a bit of reporting for National Geographic." Lex sipped on his beer, trying not to make a face at the swill. "I'm doing a piece of lesser-known, ah, supernatural occurrences. Folk tales and such, you know? Could you tell me anything about your local legends?"
Quote:
Location: Gammelstad, Sweden Mission Objective: Investigate possible Class A Artifacts
Tuesday, Nov. 10th, 3:25 PM
The fishermen have told me much the same of what we already knew; the tower to the east is fabled to be a great place of magic, Beowulf was said to have fought his last battle there, and that any boats that get too close are not seen from again. One man, Rorick, made mention of "The Grendel," the apparent guardian of the tower. Legend says this creature does not venture into town, for it also knows the tales of old and fears the spirit of Beowulf will return and strike it down. However, this does not keep The Grendel from capturing any who wander near the tower and crunching on their bones.
This could all just be superstition, but I am going into Hrothgar's Keep with caution and a drawn weapon. The other fishermen told me not to pay too much attention to the tale; that it is what mothers tell children to keep them from lingering in the ruins and getting caught in high tide. I hope they are right.
I could use your pragmatic logic, right around now. I will not lie; my fears have been escalated. If there really is a relic of Grendel living in that tower, I fear I won't leave this country alive.
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Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2015 5:43 pm
It was very early morning now; the fishermen had left him alone in the pub and gone to their homes hours ago, resting before they woke before the sun, when the fish were most active. Lex had lingered a few hours longer, drowning his fears in mead and whiskey, paying his tab an hour before closing. He returned to the inn briefly, gathering up his runic supplies, Artemis' Arrowhead, and changing out of his briney clothes into more cold weather gear, and his Hunter coat. He dozed for half an hour, then woke and slipped out into the morning's private hours.
The plan was to leave the village when the tides were high, and hike the ten miles to the cliffs above Hrothgar's keep, then wait until low tide and slip in through the battered, washed away, lower entrance. From Lex' vantage poin on the cliffs, though, it was clear that not enough recon was done - there was no lower entrance. All the tides and years of salt water beating on stone had left an eroded edifice, what could have once been a grand gate, but now a testimony to time and the withering nature of things. He watched a wave crash onto the shoreline, the sea rolling through what had once been the entry corridor, seafoam kissing a rusted and rotted iron barred door.
There would be no danger from the tides, at least, once he got through the door and into what he could only guess would be a relic of a barracks, or perhaps an antechamber. No one knew what this tower once was, if it were for sentries, a show of power, or perhaps a holding space for amassed treasures. Or, perhaps, it had been a prison and a tomb.
Lex snorted, pulling his journal and pen out. That would be apt.
Quote:
Location: Outskirts of Gammelstad, Sweden. Outside Hrothgar's Keep. Mission Objective: Investigate Possible Class A Artifacts
Wednesday, Nov. 11th, 2:23 AM
Arrived to the ruined tower to find it in more disrepair than we had realized. There is no threat of drowning once I am behind the first entryway, thankfully. This seems less malicious than other locations we have found artifacts in before, but I have yet to enter the tower. Something about it feels off, though it is more than likely my nerves.
The tides are still blocking my entrance to the first door. I will camp on the cliffs until dawn.
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
- Alfred Lord Tennyson
Posted: Thu Nov 19, 2015 3:15 pm
His stomach rumbled right around 6AM, but Lex hadn't thought to bring any sort of smoked fish from the village, or even a protein bar from Deus. Lex grimaced, but bore it - they were all used to short rationing and hunger, by now. Even him, with his small mission experience and relatively easy island life.
It was still a wonder why they kept him around, some days. All he'd done of significance was be canon fodder, and maybe pursue the FEAR candy distribution. But that went well off course, and awry as hell. Maybe he should have run his ideas by Ami first; maybe he shouldn't have gone so far into the deep end of isolation that he thought human experimentation was a good idea. He probably shouldn't have even tried to go through with that whole "let's be the island psychiatrist" shtick, either. Lex's degree was in Business, not mental health.
The tides had gotten low enough to where even his wool socks wouldn't get wet, so Lex began his quick descent down the cliffs, made fortunately easy by picks and stakes left by other explorers and photographers. He nearly slipped once or twice, the salty sea air making the rocks sweat treacherously. Lex made it down with only slightly bloodied and blistered palms, wiping them off on the rocks and summoning Regal to the small of his back. Long strides took him to the entrance quickly, and a perimeter check ensured he was clear to enter.
Opening the door and stepping forward, the whole world seemed to rebuild itself in fractals, reaching into times before and bringing them to the present. It was enough to give Lex a migraine, but when it was all over with, he was standing in a hall infinitely more grand than the sandblasted rubble of the present day.
Starstruck was hardly enough of a word to describe Lex's face, but now was a convenient time to sit and log what he'd found.
Quote:
Location: Hrothgar's Keep, Sweden Mission Objective: Investigate Possible Class A Artifacts
Wednesday, Nov. 11th, 6:24 AM
Stepping through the front gate has revealed something I don't believe any of us were prepared to find. What looks to be a pile of ruin and rubble on the outside is actually a full palace on the inside. Plush velvet carpets, large looming paintings, bookcases filled with dusted tomes and chandeliers. The opulence is astonishing.
And very much nothing like the Vikings. I fear this is a trap, I'm almost certain of it. If Hrunting and the Giant's Blade actually are here, I suspect they're being held by a hostile force.
Don't cry for me. I don't deserve your tears. Make sure my body's burned.
Of course it was a library. It had to be a ******** library, of all the rooms in the keep. A heavy shame shackled his feet to the floor, tethering Lex to the polished oak boards. He'd been avoiding the libraries at Deus for some time now, even the possibility of running into her and Stormy enough to make him feel worse than a morning after a night full of binge drinking - which he had sworn off, for the time being (just the binge part, though.) Yet, now that he was facing something far worse than the awkward tension of passing Amalie by, he was presented with just what reminded him most of her.
Images of lace and teacups, a cozy armchair, an array of ribbons and bows in a pastel rainbow, all came to mind the longer Lex stood in shamed statue.
Move, idiot.
A scarred finger ran along a pine banister that lead to the center of the library, no dust kicking up despite the supposed age of the hall. Suspicious, but swept away when Lex reached the middle of the room, forcibly stopped by a great podium hewn in ore and wood, more opulent than anything else in the library. The base was carved with wild boar, hunters, horses, and a few notable krakens whose tentacles grasped at the tree trunk that was the rest of the pedestal, leafy branches composing the flat surface that supported a thick book with pages trimmed in gold. It wasn't as big as the Codex Gigas, nor was it as thick, but it held a sort of dominance that couldn't be shook.
Curiosity sparked, Lex moved to the other side of the podium, using a finger to guide his eyes through the small script of the tome. At first it seemed to be the typical Norse tales of heroism and bravery, with all the glitz and pomp of the day, sacrifices, treasures, named weapons. Then the names appeared, written in calligraphy that just screamed the importance. Noemi, Wilson, Robert, Clarice, Jack. Under each of their names was written a short ballad, blowing their heroics (or lack thereof) out of proportion - classic Norse - and recounting their lives as if they had passed long ago, and their legacies. Curiosity grew, and Lex leafed through the pages with a tamed fervor. There was Rep, Harrison, Jordan, Mimsy, Solia, Abbi, Kostya, Gale, Claudia, Oliver, H, Caelius, Maebe. His brows knitted as he kept turning, scanning for anything starting with an "L" or an "A."
What felt like an eternity of flipping later, Lex ended up in the next section of the book - an almanac. He leafed back through, just to make sure. It wasn't in alphabetical order, or any sort of order for that matter. He flipped through once more, cursing under his breath as he went. No Alexei, no Lex, not even the mention of Jamil or, God forbid, Lexi.
Lex slammed the tome shut, moving on. It was all just a trick, a part of this elaborate trap. This place was just trying to get into his head.
Carhop Cavalier rolled xx 100-sided dice:
Total: 0 (xx-0)
Lex could have sworn he'd just blinked, but already he was in a seemingly entirely different wing of the keep. What could have led to the battlement, or a guard tower; perhaps a general's quarters. The walls were gray, the ceiling was gray, the windows gave glimpses of pure gray sky with little sunlight breaching through the dense fog. Glimmers of muted red and purple breached every now and then, lighting the corridor in strange ways, ethereal almost. Was it already the next morning? He'd entered the keep at sunrise, and had been exploring for what he thought was only a matter of hours...
Everything Lex touched felt too real to be fake. The bricks scraped and at one point stabbed, much like the cliffs surrounding the keep. The wind blowing through the windows and the massive hole in the ceiling sent a terrible shiver through his body, chilling the bones and tickling his ears. The tapping of his boots echoed through the hall, bringing back the familiar sound of wood on rock, but something else - words? Half uttered sentences, broken whispers in snide tones, hushed and vicious mutterings. The words kept following him, prompting Regal's appearance in Lex's hand.
"If you're a Ghost, give it up." Lex hissed, weapon swinging wildly in random directions. The whispers continued, but there was no malevolent force to be felt in the area. Lex even fired a test shot, but the muttering continued.
The ruined hall did not cease, even as Lex kept walking. The scene repeated itself again and again, like a hacked security camera. Every hundred yards the same gaping hole in the ceiling let a breeze in, and the whispering began anew. He started to learn to ignore the trickery of the wind, far more concerned about the repeating hallway. This confirmed his fears; Lex had fallen straight into a trap. Deus probably knew the location was bait, too.
So this was how they'd dispose of him. Alone. Unnoticed and forgotten in a month. Someone would have to come clean his body up, of course, and ensure he didn't become a Ghost or a zombie of some sort. Lex snorted, digging his hands in his pockets and shrugging with as much contempt as he could muster, through the apathy.
"The hell is your game?" Lex uttered, a low growl accompanying his words. The hallway still continued on, infinite until whatever was holding him here decided to play some new trick on the soon to be dead Hunter. "Walking forever isn't exactly scary, you know."
Except it was. The solitude, the howling wind, the fact that no one knew he was there save the creature behind all this, and his superiors. Shivers came with every hollowly echoed footfall, goosebumps with every whispered 'a*****e.' The lines on Lex's forehead ran deeper as he passed the giant hole in the roof yet again, the prevalent gray sky seemingly mocking the man with its never changing countenance, the same shades of pastel always breaking through in the same places.
Lex remembered the hall in his mother's house, a long and dark affair full of rooms, much like this corridor. Even during the day, that hallway was darker than the rest of the house, with no windows to let the sun in. That hallway was home to his worst nights - the ones where he refused to look over his shoulder, where he walked with long and fast strides (******** all if he woke mother up; Martha's fury was nothing) to his room, where he'd lock the door immediately and sleep with all the lights on. Lex never saw the pursuer, he never wanted to, but he knew something was in that hallway. Something vicious with sharp claws and blood soaked fangs.
But the corridor he was in now had no malevolent presence, and that was even more terrifying.
Again with the damn library. Lex's eyes fell on the book, even though he tried to steer his vision clear of it, and his strides took him there all too quickly for his brain's liking. In fact, it seemed like Lex couldn't even go anywhere else in the library, even though he willed his legs turn in all other directions. This was an all too powerful illusion for Lex's liking.
He didn't want to read the tome, but manicured fingers turned through gilded pages regardless, alighting on a particular name from the Life Hunters. Lex tore the page out after a brief scanning, or at least he tried - whatever damage was done to the book repaired itself seamlessly. He tried again, then a different page, then a whole section. When all else failed, Lex attempted to lift the book, but found that it wouldn't come off the pedestal.
Lex huffed, running a hand through his hair and staring the book down. Maybe he could will himself into its pages.
For the longest time, Alexei simply stared at the book with a snarl befitting a hungry coyote, back hunched and fists curled into tight balls. Why wasn't he in the book? Had he really done nothing worth noting in his time at Deus?
Of course he hadn't. Lex had done a whole bunch of half-assed nothing. But God, he wanted to be in that book, even if it were a lie made by the illusion he'd been trapped in. Lex would force himself into its pages, if necessary, and rip ink from parchment to make his own space.
The library was left with a deft stride, a light growl.
The hall Lex entered was the grandest yet, full of ornate, sterling silver busts, polished brass statues, glistening coats of arms and suits of armor, all made to look scant and dilapidated by the vast portraits that hung into the infinite horizon, all framed in hammered and embossed gold. The portraits were the kind you'd seen in period pieces on television, exaggerated and imposing, intimidating glares that made the observer shake a bit in their boots.
A bench had been provided, a little affair of a deep velvet cushion and oak legs, puffy as could be. Lex sat, more in an attempt to clear his mind than out of awe of the paintings - he'd never been much for the classical arts. He pretended to be, for the sake of it being one of those things that uppity and high brow men were supposed to be versed in, but he'd always found it to just be a dull waste of his time. You couldn't drink a Rembrandt, after all. Think, Alexei, think. What kind of monster would set this sort of trap for him? What sort of illusion was this? Complete immersion, sensory override, he couldn't tell what was true and what was false. This had to be something powerful, something with so much FEAR and deeply imbued in the hearts of the locals.
Perhaps Grendel was not just a myth.
Lex had put his head in his hands without realizing it, a terrible habit that would lead to breakouts and clogged pores. He lifted his haggard face, a cursory glance given to the portraits. Boring, but something was off about them. The Life trainee glared at the paintings for a few moments longer, realization hitting him like a truck.
White coats emblazoned with gold, scarves, thousand-yard stares. They were all of Hunters, and he knew every last face that he could see. Chelsea, Noemi, Oliver, Amalie, Nevada (he was angry now, if he weren't before. The illusion craftsman dared?), Dakota, Leslie, Kostya, H, Marcus, Caelius. All glaring down at him, predatory smirks smeared their lips. Lex turned his head away, looking further down the hall.
More white coats, more familiar faces. Lex groaned, sitting up and keeping his head low. It was just like the damned library, but this time he couldn't just walk away. Every part of the hall was plastered with Hunters, with mockery, with irrelevance. Lex needn't look - he knew his portrait wouldn't be found.
A quick turn into one of the many doors that lined the hall of portraits led into yet another room full of opulence, packed with cushions and benches, sterling knickknacks and bronze baubles. There were bookshelves and plush armchairs, stools for your feet, even a teaset or two. It was obviously supposed to be some form of socializing parlor, but there was no socialization to be had.
It was just Lex and the crippling feeling of his inadequacy, as well as a very silent Regal.
<< Squawker, are you even here? >> It was a redundant question - The gryphon was always there, like it or not. He could feel the great bird nesting in his mind, preening most of the time. But today, the beast felt on edge - terrified. << This is your home turf, shouldn't you be reveling? >>
< No, Alexei. This is not home. This is... Home is not full of such pleasantries. > The beast snarled, wings rustling and tail whipping every which way. < Tread carefully. >
Lex threw another door open, intent now on finding a way out of this illusion - there was always a way out. It often involved violence (San Zhi, the Isle de Muercas), but there was always a way out of illusions. Lex just had to find the one casting it. He prowled through the next hall, blindly passing the tea sets and cushions, and threw yet another door open. Third time being the charm, Lex finally noticed that he was in the same hall he'd been in.
