Rise of the Spires

[Kobra]

The earth hitches a breath. Within her flesh, the worms burrow their insipid homes. Within her flesh, the dead rest and rot; many graves lie open, like the pock-marks left by boils burst or lanced, their pustulant gifts rejected to walk the world again. Yet through her now whispers something else; a tremor, a knowledge, a need.

The sweet mother has become a maggot-infested corpse. Parasites feed upon her innards.

Myrken Wood is cursed.

So goes the rumor, that has spread upon the lips of frightened peasants and hardened mercenaries alike; quivered from the jowls of mercantile men, and babbled in the voices of gossiping barmaids coming home for the night from that centrifugal cess-pit they call the Broken Dagger.

The Spires have risen.

Veni, veni, malus excidium

One morn there had been a tremor to the north; a rumbling as though the earth herself were forewarning her children of Disaster. But none within the tavern had heeded such a minor annoyance, that sent pots and pans trembling with a subtle vibration, a deep, bassic boom cast through the belly of the rotting Mother.

But the animals had known, far more canny to the wrongness that pervaded this place now. Bird and beast had fled the northern section of the woods, leaving scrub and canopy rustling in their wake.

Then the heartbeats stopped, and the Spire rose.

Flesh, and bone, and pumping pistons and whirring gears and pipes - or veins - flesh and machine, not a combination, both the same, both the same ...

The sky of Myrken Wood is tainted by the vomitous black smoke now belched constantly from the Spire to the north. Worse, its effects have begun to spread across the ground from which it thrusts like a poisoned knife; the grass has died, the rock is blackened with crusted, oily pollution, and a ring of death and decay is slowly spreading out from the point of contact.

Worse still - the coming of the second spire, to the northeast, within but a few days of the first...

[Kobra]

This thread is quite open. Please feel free to post any in-character reactions to the Spires, ESPECIALLY if your character is interested in investigating them. Kudos.

[Kobra]

A night of blood. A night of terrors.

Blood sprayed on the floorboards. Messes that may once have been bodies tossed amid the mangled furniature.

Rumors of fearsome wolf-beasts doing battle with nameless, terrible Things.

As always, the events themselves are clouded in speculation; few walked away from what was left to clean up in the morning.

But enough is clear; there is a new threat to Myrken Wood, one somehow tied to the Spires.

Or, perhaps, a very old one; something that has been here all along...

[Khalika]

New... Old..When the tale is told in years to come those words will undoubtable be lost in the translations... What will be recalled one would gather is this.. Spire were birthed from the earth. To loam over the forest of Mryken. Their creator having yet to show his face, yet his soilders made their presence know. Silent arrivals to the Tavern on a quiet night...garbed in robes their faces hidden....Though when an amulet is recognized the battle begun... She though did not see the tale end... Was dragged from the frey as her attacker fell.....

But as the night was quiet once more...She returned to look upon the aftermath...A discret exit when eyes of family and friends had most likely fallen to slumber. And sleep would not come to her..til her mind was settled..and fire cooled..So she returned..to drag the robed carcusses to the foot of the nearest twisting black Spire.. A horrorific proverb to loam over Mryken Proper.. No Psalm or biblical warning fortold of this travesty...Did that mean that Father... Son... And Holy Ghost were not listening to the cries of the Mryken Populace?...Was the area truly cursed?..

The Gypsy cared not...She was never one to spend time on her knees...and she didn't pray either.. No, No thoughts pressed her mind of begging for help from above, as she nailed those corpse five in total to the spire itself...breaking through the crusted surface with long heavy spikes....soon they would be line shoulder to shoulder... The crusifiction of the dead.. A sign, no more like a rude gesture to whoever brought them her way. But there they hung..like the puppets they were, and their amulets ripped from lifeless necks coiled about her fingers...She has never been a true collector...never had the patients for it...But it seems she has found a hobbie at last, and will in the coming days weeks months...track down every last one..and then when her collection is finally...will droped then at HIS feet....

But she leaves the spires now, with there honor guard in place, lifeless form to remain till their master...the puppeteur himself or time removes them.....

Yes, a new evil has come to lay seige upon Mryken, or perhaps and old face finally showing itself true...but either way old, new...It mattered not..for as always..there would be someone to greet them at the gates....

[Jirai]

The spires. The blood. The rumors.

She had seen. And heard. And eventually, curiosity would get the better of her. It was not long after Khalika had payed her visit that this tiny cloaked and hooded figure was ghosting along towards the base of the spires, circling around them, taking note of what was to be seen. Gloved fingers trailed across the skeletal remains of a tree bested by the poison from the construction as dark eyes gazed upwards.

Then she would turn, slipping away as silently as she had come, one shadow lost in the darkness.

[Vanidor]

Once this place, Myrkenwood, had been a place of peace and quiet grandure. Silent and uncompromising purity. One had but to breath in deeply, and they would feel renewed by the ambient energies that rippled through the landscape. True, even in those days, there were troubles and problems. But one could always find these quiet spots to seclude themselves and feel the peace of the provience named Myrken. These days, it seemed that even those places were becoming rarer and rarer. As if the eldrich magic which had sustained those places of repose was failing. Their dewomer loosing potency in the intervening years and centuries. That which had once kept the darkness at bay was crumbling, like walls left to neglect.

A single eyed of crystalline green focused upon the spire in the distance. Distaste was wrapped through features that bore the weight of leadership and command. Of loss and return, and very little remaining joy. Around him were assembled the remainder of his command staff. Marshal-General Wilhelm Dross had led the bulk of the remaining soldiery home.To Thessilane. Eight-thousand men and their horses no longer to strain the already broken economy of Myrken. All that remained was the eighty remaining Companions, and Sub-Captain Jaryll's five hundred men. Kerrak, of the Companions, and Jaryll sat their horses uneasily. Burel sat like the stoic warrior he was.

"One malady after another, here in the glorious provincal territory of Myrkenwood. First clouds of spiders shield the ground from Adon's precious light. Then hordes of the undead arise from the grave and slander the sanctity of life, and of death. And now this. Another mockery against the order of things." The singular eye in his head narrowed a small bit. Focusing upon the Spire in the near distance. His horse pawed at the slowly dying grass at his side. "And one thing which -I- cannot fight. I leave this task to you two gentlemen. I no longer have the strength." The two officers glanced at one another. Kerrak with his rough and tempered gaze, a commoners face topping garments made for the noble-born. Jaryll of common-stock, who looked as handsom as any scion of a noble line, was on the rise in Thessilane's military machine. Burel hoped that he would survive these trials.

"My Lord," the grizzled veteran set his chocolate-brown eyes upon the Duke, "what must we do? Ride at that monstrosity and assault it with mere steel and flesh? With iron and blood?" A pause, the Duke parsed a glance backwards at the duo. Vermillion and alabaster finery twitched in the chilly wind. "Put your faith in Adon, and in the bravery of the men. As you always have. Do not worry, Kerrak... Jaryll. Something will come, and you will know what to do."

The crimson lord tugged on the gilt-studded reins, battle-breed stallion twisting in it's location. "Trust that you are the best of Thessilane, and you are doing your duty... as we have always done. We are strong, and the weak shall not suffer while we are about." A pause, as if a moment of reflection. "Now, Captain, let us go... I have some papers to fill out with that barrister." Noble-born commoner, and common-born noble turned eyes towards their Duke, simply noding their heads in assent. Then towards each other they glanced. Both knew the reason behind their Duke's dark melancholia. And they both hoped, ardently, that something bright would occur in -that- union... and that this meeting with the law-spinner was just a whim that Burel needed fulfilled...

[Elfling]

It was too early.

As dawn rose over Myrken and the Broken Dagger, a tiny form stood out on the porch of the tavern. The brilliant hues of morning were mired by the dual belching of unholy towers. Yet, she could not draw her gaze away from them, for they brought the promises of the Cathedral -- only countless times worse.

We have taken away her protection. This will not do.

The drive to be involved waned as the days passed. There was pleasant enough company to be found, sitting up late some nights in idle conversation with Altias. Other times, assisting him with the masses of paperwork he had to deal with, so that he could get a proper rest. Lamai was finding out more about Myrken politics than she wanted to know, simply to keep the company of a friend.

What do you propose we do about it, then?

Memories of past and present life filtered in and out of her mind, through dreams that only brought the amusement of disbelief. Yet, now, as she stood in the early morning's chill, she could only wonder if dreams were more reality than she realized. Out there within the Myrken forests, the Spires dared her to do something about it.

We will simply have to postpone our punishment. She is little use to us dead.

Breath froze into a misty cloud as she sighed. Whereas she had been stubborn in assuring that Altias get sleep, especially after Nathanial's killing, she hadn't been so easy to sleep herself, as of late. There were dark patches under pale blue eyes. Yet, she was turning from the grisley sight in order to move back inside.

Until this threat is over. She simply has to have the strength of a guardian until then.

Sleep would do her good.

[Pipkin]

The face of Luna shone in the sky..gibbus, and pregnant with rage.

Blue eyes peered upon this image, reflecting the sister of the earth mother across their feral surface.

The air stank.

Hackles rose as a soft vibrating in the beast's chest began to rumble forth out of it's throat in a low growl. The spirits echoed across the earth. Babbling in the creek, and singing through the trees.

Myrken Wood? She was screaming.

Luna's light shone down upon white fur, casting a silver glow upon the upright beast as it stepped into the small forest clearing on two hind legs. Massive paws touched the earth, dark claws digging into the soil as a white tail swished back and forth behind them. Copper rings jingle within a braided mane of fur as the werewolf lifts it's black-nosed muzzle to the sky.

Throughout Myrken Wood, a long, eerie howl bellows across the winds.

[Kaz]

The minotaur drew in a breath. It carried the scent of something... something foul. Something rank. Something tasted before. It drew the mahogany-pelted warrior through the trees, pausing here and there, to cock the heavy, bestial head and listen. To lift the broad, scarred muzzle and sniff. To cast a solitary brown gaze about. It did not take long for sight to reveal, and less time afterwards to approach the site of the spires, where they rose like fingers to clutch at the sky, roots deep in the ground.

Kaz imagined the hum of what went on below could be felt, traveling through rock and soil to cloven hooves. No, no imagining, that. Like death-eaters at work, below the surface of a carcass, it was there. The furred brows pulled sharply together, and bovine lips tightened over white fangs in displeasure.

"I have seen you. I have seen you before, beneath wave and foam. Do you now dare a more open campaign, here beneath cloud and sky, in plain sight? I recognize this work. I recognize this hand. I know you, rose and smoke. I will descend again if need be."

Grim were the words, spoken quietly to the air in deep, rumbling voice. Whether or not there were any that listened, they were spoken.

The past held some meaning, after all. Fair warning given, the minotaur turned, limping away. Wounds still needed to be healed from before more could be garnered.

[Sherazade]

Dreams of horror , a trail of wrongness that had grown thicker stronger as she had followed it had drawn her here and now the tiny figure stood in the snow gazing at the twin monstrosities , folds of her dark blue kimono dancing in the breeze strands of raven wing being tugged free from tidy bun,gripped in chilly embrace. hand rested on her hip fingers flexing as if they wished to grip a blade hilt yet none could be seen. Gaze of indigo swept over the evidence of the creeping taint ancient malestrom given birth in ageless depths the balance ws upset overturned perhaps even shattered yet it must be restored.

Earthbound souls of restless dead had called out and she had come answered as she was bound by oath and honor

Beneath her booted feet she felt the restless stirring the perpetual motion of unnatural design fingers slid between to folds in her kimono wrapping around the hilt of the tanto she knew to be glowing.

"Soon my old friend... soon shall the restless taste your steel , shall they know the peace of final rest."

It was a promise whispered in her native tongue a vow made now she was thrice bound to stay. Even in the face of her end she was bound to stay, to stand against the tide of what may rise in the shadows of the towers.

The waiting came now the stillness before the moment of action and such would not be spent in the open in the cold. no turning on her heel she would be moving towards the dagger to its shelter and the warm promise of its hearth

[Grimnyr]

Many had come, and many gone. Retribution, exhaltation for terrors reaved, and blood spilt. But what of the one come and fought? The scarcely known face, now self inserted into this terror for simply aiding another living creature?


He stood, amongst the trees.. Beneath lunas spilt tears, tangled in the drooping and pained boughs.. casting shadow and illumination across woven fire, and warm snowy flesh. Collasal were the abomination fangs.. one before, and one not far off. Scented like death and corruption, pain and ill-intent. The thoughts passed, like did so many.. memory of carnage, and the joy it created deep within the Northern sons heart.


Until a sunrise, never to be forgotten did he stand.. in contenplation, in wonderment.. in wait. One cry, from his mind to Asgard.. By the standing stone, and the twisted tree.. by the cross of the Spear god, and the Hammer of justice.. this scourge would be met. Alone or in good company, the mother would not fall without a fight.


A vauge grin, half seeded madness.. a weapon of surpassing efficieny that in times past have driven the few to greatness, left to beckon the darkness.. he felt its eyes, all over the doomed land. His back to the spires, the forest would consume the titan Einherjar destined..

Until we meet again twisted screamer..

[Seranos]

He felt the chill of the night air more poignantly than he had in the past few nights. Dark circles had crept upon the palid hue of his flesh, beneath eyes of polished quicksilver - be it for lack of sleep, or constant worries was little consequence - their mere presence enough of a reminder of to what he had become....

A gloved hand drew the heavy wool and foxfur cloak tighter about his broad shoulders as he peered curiously up at a great spire. He had gone to take a closer look - to inspect this gruesome dagger - ripped from the earth itself, but he had stopped just beyond the growing circle of ash and corruption that spread from it seethingly.

Another trial for this wretched little town?
Or perhaps.....
Perhaps this was no trial.
Merely the culmination of uncounted ages of work?
The Beginning of the End, so to speak?

A vague memory had arisen, of a Doomsayer upon the street corner of Old Babylon, preaching the Word of his God.

"The End is upon you", he had cried.

Those words seemed to ring true in the Once-Demon's mind, as his pale gaze followed the suffocating bile that was vomitted from the top of those spires, up into the air - blocking out the stars and the Moon.

Events from weeks previous came to mind. In the struggle that had brought about his mortality a host of Hellspawn'd horror's had been woken - and slain - by some unknown, and no doubt malignant presence. Perhaps that was a catalyst...a trigger? Who could say.

One thing was for certain, however.

If Seranos had the presence of mind to look into this new cancer....
The Demon would most certainly have noticed as well.
And that, in a way, was good news. The closer he could come to taking back the essence, rightfully his, the happier he would be.

He would make sure he was strong enough to meet this cancer.....be it as friend, or foe....he would be ready.

[Kobra]

The light of the Spires burns at night, a blood-red glow spilling from the upper frames of each great tower. As if some work of infernal furnaces were being undertaken within.

It comes just after dusk.

Beat. The heartbeat of the earth, more laboured each time.

Then the fierce squelch and crack of the world's flesh breaking, and - above the treeline to the south of the inn, the Third Spire thrusts into the air, an obscene symbol of a nameless power.

Or perhaps it did have a name.

For each Spire now lines up with the others; forming a perfect equilateral triangle with the general area of the Dagger as its centre.

The Third begins its vomitous work almost immediately. Three boiling suns, atop three pronged towers.

Tick, tock, tick...

[Matthias]

The werewolf had long been occupied by his own troubles to pay much attention to the spires rising from the earth, eventually he could ignore them no more. As the new moon approached, the raven black wolf left his family rest as he strode out in the cover of darkness to investigate one of the few things that could truly threaten them.

The smell of death hung thick in the air to him and the forest itself seemed to be screaming out for aid. He would not linger long around the spires before returning to the safe confines of his home...a chill settled over him as he decided that there were those in Myrken that he still cared about, regardless of what had led him to leave...there was one especially that deserved his attention.

[Kobra]

The wolf's keen senses may well have been offended by the hideous presence of the Spires, but perhaps it was the intense feeling of hateful eyes watching that drove him at last to leave. For there are many eyes about that place where the monstrous artifice sprouted from the earth like a thorn pushed through broken skin.

As he leaves, he brushes past an ugly lump of dead wood that may once have been a tree, crushed against the base of another. But it is only once he is gone that the 'branches' move, unfolding into a shape like a gargantuan grasshopper, with long, blood-slicked legs.

The thing unfurls, hooks its long arms into the canopy, and pulls itself up. Red blood drips from its knife-like abdominal tip.

They are well aware of the attention.