[SWE] The Core and the Voice

the
CORE

At the very, very top of the Spire is a large, domed chamber. The air is stale and smells of ozone. Indeed, the static here is likely to cause hair to stand on end, and pulses of light ripple through obsidian stone in foreign patterns. It looks like a language, almost, but there is neither time nor inclination to try to decipher it. The chamber is empty but for a large, raised platform at its centre.

Things wind down from the inside of the dome - wires, perhaps, or cord, or chains, or all three - to hold the figure upon the platform suspended.

She has been strung up here for over three centuries.

Her naked body, once lithe and youthful, little more than a child, has all but mummified. Skin like paper hugs muscle that has long atrophied. The wires (they, too, pulse with light, now that you look closer) do not just hold her up - they are inside her as well as without, wrapping about would-be organs and veins to keep her in place. To keep her powered.

Her chest has been bisected. Within, where a heart should be, sits a softly glowing sphere. Her core. Eyes like static stare blankly out into the chamber. Seeing nothing, seeing all.

"Enter," she says without moving her lips. "Behold."

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Zariah felt like crap – lets be clear. She had been smooshed by rocks. She had her energy drained and had been zapped by lightning; though that did help numb things a bit. The best part by far had been putting her life literally on the line to accomplish their task. But now the door was opened and she would be damned before she let anyone see what the hell was up there before her. Besides. A healer was coming. If he got finicky about helping her she would just remind him that she had risked her life for his pretty little assassin. So Zariah climbed the stairs, ignoring her pain and exhaustion. She still had her dexterity enhancing cartilage cuff stored up in case she needed it anyways. Eyes narrowed as the final platform came into view. Zariah had no idea what she was looking at, except for a very morbidly hung mummified girl. Or woman. She supposed if in a similar position Zariah herself with her lithe frame may have looked similar. The voice spoke but Zariah did not startle, instead crossing her arms as she tried to make sense of what she was looking at – what she had put her life on the line to get to. This was where all of her watching came in handy, the image of the projected young woman above the mob coming to her mind. ”So this is where you have been.” she said quietly. A physical body did accompany this Voice it seemed. Kalt (thanks Sage) is on his way, telling a few folks of the occurrence per Ashetta's request via their connection. Ash, Zariah, and Sam proceed up the stairs. zariah If my strength intimidates you, I hope you realize that is a weakness of yours.

Did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?

To say that Sam was overwhelmed would massively undersell the sheer panic and disassociation coursing through his mind. The walls seemed far away and too close, crushing, closing in, oh god why could no one else feel the pressure--

He wasn't aware of his high pitched, desperate breathing, only seeing the flashbacks and images in his mind, the pain in the side of his head (he was on his knees now, the effort to stand just too much). Why oh why had he agreed to do this? He wasn't like these people, brave and capable and strong. He was weak, weak little Sam Wordy who couldn't do anything.

Vaguely he saw the figure appear before them, could hardly take in the horror of the ruined body with his own circus of nightmares blocking out any more possible trauma.

For the moment he just watched between fingers over his face, whole body shivers wracking him as he tried to process the sounds of The Cores voice into actual words in his head.

Samuel

Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

108 To go on is to go through. At last, even the seer is cremated. Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises. The call is given and immediately I set off. I know what this means. It is what I have waited for for centuries now. My legs cannot move fast enough and for the first time in eons I feel joy. It feels almost tangible in my chest as I take the winding stairs two at a time. Even as the muscles begin to tempt me to yield to my fatigue I do not. I press onward. Upward. As I enter the room and take in the sight, I gasp. It is an entirely human thing to do given that I have not needed to breathe in several hundred years, and yet I am rocked back down to my foundation. To my humanity. To see her like that. "After all this time—" I say, stepping forward, edging a hand out towards the sphere. "—to finally be in your presence."

Are

Even after the stars had faded he remained in the dirt. Blood slowly seeping from the cracked bump on the back of his head. Any sensible idiot had made his way to the infirmary. Gotten what little he kept inside the thick skull checked for permanent damage, but nah, that wouldn't have been like him. With a groan and a sigh at the returning stars he again found the footing lost a... While? Probably a good while ago if the sun was to trust.

Everything was a blur, but enough shattered images remained to piece together that the excursion into the spire hadn't transpired as planned. Hero after hero emerging hurt and worried voices, orders, shouts or hissed whispers he had heard through the haze. Or it could all had been a figment of his imagination. An overloaded mind collapsing under the weight and making a fitting story up to patch the holes, keeping what little sanity remained inside.

Inside.

Inside he went, there was a calling, something familiar drawing him into the darkened halls and corridors. As the Voice beckons, he answers. Soft-soled shoes against black stone, and an echoing thump as he fell to the ground again. Exhausted, dizzy. All the steps a memory only his aching body remembered as he laid curled up, gazing into infinity.

"Gods..."

Only once he had fed, napped and properly recovered did Lucas brave stepping into that giant black dick again. But once his senses had cleared - even if he did feel sluggish as all hell from feeding - he recognised the call. That siren song that had been dormant within the Spire all this time... and it was up that it took him, rather than down. That, too, was infinitely better in his opinion. He was not the first to arrive in the obsidian chamber, the dome stiflingly quiet, like a held breath. Lucas stepped inside, recognising in the grotesque figure suspended from the ceiling the vague features of the Voice. "Hell's bells," he whispered. LUCAS don't you know there ain't no devil it's just god when he's drunk

KALT RAVENSHIRE As long as my blood runs red Racing through my veins    Ashetta had used the bond during her venture within the Spire, and when the time came, he was atop Kysma’s bare back and galloping towards it. He had felt her pain in the challenge to kill those she loved, but he didn’t know the extent that it affected her. Bottom line, he knew he had to reach her.    He ran up the Spire, having informed several others in passing of the situation at hand, and one hand held his bag of medical supplies against his hip to avoid it from bouncing annoyingly.    Reaching the domed chamber, the man’s brows drew together at what he found upon entering. Needless to say, it wasn’t what he was expecting, but that wasn’t the point. “Hey,” he said quietly, joining Ashe with a flickered smile. Kalt ridded his hands of the gloves he wore and would carefully touch the raven-haired girl, letting his healing magic flow through her.    “Whoever’s injured, find a healer,” he directed to whatever ears were listening. “Myself and others will be circulating, but make sure you’re seen if something’s wrong. Don’t brush it off.” He turned to Ashe with a quirked brow, knowing she would’ve been the first to say that she was fine even if she was missing a fucking limb. And my heart still beating, I will fight til the end

ASHE They may say, "You're too small, you're too young to do it all," But you're a giant on the inside. They may say, "It's not enough, leave your dreams collecting dust," But there's a fire that you can't hide.     Ashe was reeling, she was bleeding, she was exhausted, but up she climbed. Kalt was coming, she knew, but she couldn't resist the pull upwards. She had to keep moving, couldn't stop. Her chest ached and bled and burned, but if she stopped the far worse pain would overtake her: the look on Ronin's face as she plunged her sword into his heart. Her wound was hardly enough penance. She wasn't sure if it was shock that made her hands shake and her fingers go cold or the bloodloss - maybe both.    Still with ragged breath she climbed. All she had lost for this, and it was this that would bring it all back. Failure was not an option: she would get free of this place, and she would find the keeper of souls, and she would be bringing one back with her.    The wolf girl leaned aganst the wall briefly as she made it up, her brilliant eyes locking upon the sight before her. Some distant part of her felt fascination, wonder even at whatever this was. The source of the Voice? The key to freedom? Ashe was in too much pain and too focused to submit to her awe, to care about how truly incredible this was.    With a half snarl and a grit of her teeth, Ashe pushed off of the wall and moved to stand unsteadily before the mummified body at the mysterious sphere, studiously ignoring the way her head spun or the way every breath felt like a handful of glass in her chest. "We have entered, and we behold," she growled roughly, a wolf's fangs flashing behind her lips. "Now how do we bring down that fucking barrier?"    It was then that he arrived at her side. She glanced up at him at his smile, and she managed a weak one for a fraction of a second until his hand was on her. She let out a breath and leaned against him, grounding herself with the realness of him, turning her eyes back to the being before them. She knew his magic handled minor wounds well, so at the least he was able to slow her bleeding, keep her on her feet. "Zariah," she directed quietly. "She's hurt too." Break through the barricade You gotta keep on fighting facing giants, unafraid Born to move these mountains out of your way

He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he heard the need for healing! And...at the Spire... Alright, that’s fine... Totally not completely unnerving.    Desmond made his way to the top of the Spire, the direction everyone seemed to be going, with his bag of supplies and a nervous flutter to his heart. He put a cloth over his face and scrunched his nose at the stale smell, but it was to be expected when entering a room that hadn’t been disturbed since gods know when.    The sight he was greeted with wasn’t comforting in the least, seeing a naked woman (that sight in and of itself wasn’t his favorite) with cables or whatever stringing her up and a dried out, mummified look to her. Because why not.    Desmond walked over to Zariah with a gentle smile. “Do you need anything?” He asked, giving her a once over to see if she had any visible injuries. DESMOND to watch the dawn

As soon as The Ascended can ascertain that Amalia and Rory are in far more knowledgeable and capable hands than her own, surrounded by people who care, Wessex looks down at the blonde man before a fit of coughing wracks his lungs and her eyes say it all. A familiar big guy came through (that fucker from Ludo’s festival) and said the top part had managed to get through. Which means she’s going in. “I’ll be back,” she says quietly and  confidently, before placing his hand gingerly down on his chest. “You rest.” And then she’s off, choosing not to think about Kristopher’s head, how shitty Lucas looked, or the fact that she hasn’t seen Aedion or Samuel. Caught a glimpse of 108, but that’s all it was - a glimpse. The warrior bounds up the stairs and when she gets to the top, almost comes to a full stop. She drinks in the sight, half fascinated, half vaguely repulsed by the practically mummified woman hanging from the ceiling like some kind of gruesome art deco chandelier. So Wessex beholds her Maker. And she is silent, though she does push up through the small group to stand beside 108. Whatever is going to happen, she wants a front row seat. WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here

Edy #nofilter Does Edy go into the Spire? ..... sure. Why not. Besides, Zariah is up there, and watching Wessex run up all those stares is bound to be a great thing to behold from behind. And so she does. Unlike the others, Edy isn't filled with any sort of sense or wonder or purpose. She wants this fucking thing down, and though she hasn't been privy to any of the back and forth and actual effort that has gone into getting them to this point, she actually doesn't care much. She just wants to get this shitshow on the road. With a wink towards Lucas, Edy trails her fingertips lightly across Wessex's shoulders. However as she spies the look of in tense fascination on the ascended's face, the not-teenager judges that for as much chemistry as she and the blonde have, now is probably not the time. And so, like the good little Launceleyn-soldier she is, Edy takes up a position next to Zariah, merely nodding silently to the family head.

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Curiosity and the flames of acrimony led him to the spire, to the ramparts, to the fortifications. The beast hadn’t participated in the quests, sojourns, or campaigns nestled in the den of malice, menace, and the gaping unknown. Instead, he’d bowed his head to ignorance and melded into more information, grasping at threads he couldn’t unravel, at inclinations he couldn’t devise, at words and phrases foreign, concepts unfamiliar, until he’d arrived here. He’d been amidst the hostility brewing and overflowing when the war party had come to attack the demon guarding the obsidian steeple, but hadn’t been any closer since, hadn’t tread where a life had fallen, hadn’t proceeded where he wasn’t wanted. The warrior had always been a stoic listener, a reticent scholar; pressing an ear closer to the infernos before deciding how he’d launch himself into the assault. His eyes watched as more and more individuals managed to rampage their way into the opened sanction with little thought or hesitation. Perhaps some had been a part of the previous missions, hadn’t cared about what others had to say, had bombarded, stomped, and stampeded until everything else gave way. Maybe some had been simply contorted into the same eager intrigue as him, wondering what the lines of iron held, pondering why it’d taken so long to become conquered, why now, and what would unravel the moment it came apart. He stood on the outskirts for some time before the stillness caught at him and begged him for some portion of release, his calculating eyes turning from one shadow to another, from one stranger to the recognized creatures wasting no time in pressing themselves to the top. His gaze finally snagged on Kiada, nearby, and only then did he surface out of the hushed air, head nodding towards the spire. “What do you think?” Should they go up? Should they stay? master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

KIADA curl your hands into fists, and sharpen your nails. The noise at the Spire draws her in. She leaves Auni at home, however, much to his dismay – but she doesn’t know what to expect and she feasibly can’t imagine losing him to something quite possibly as dangerous as Longnight. And off she goes, shifting into her vulture form and flying toward the noise all while scarlet eyes survey from a birds eye view what they have done, the wounded and the worried, and others filtering into the dark building that Kiada had almost touched once before. She shudders slightly, circling around the grounds until she lands and shifts back into herself – looking toward the opening of the Spire with curious eyes. She has come prepared with little things, the two knives strapped to her sides, and nothing else aside from wit and her vulture form. But it doesn’t bother her, as she glances around the Spire to notice a tall man approach her. She gives him a wolfish grin as he addresses her, asking what was on her mind in that very instant. Turning her head to Deimos, she keeps the wolfish smile as she gestures with a gloved hand. “I say we go in.” She announces, not giving him much time to decide before she moves toward the Spire and slips through the group of people coughing and some lying around the ground, she sees nothing but the opportunity of the removal of the barrier. And in that moment, she wants to know what has orchestrated it, what has made this world feel like a strange purgatory from the beginning. How else to do that other than seeing it with your own eyes? The Harpy hopes that Deimos follows her as she breezes over the stairs and eventually ends up with the rest of the group – eyes drifting toward the mummified girl hooked up and appearing to have been built with wires. Her face is expressionless, emotionless, but she looks to Deimos if he’s followed her with a steel in her icy gaze at what has happened, and what might come next. the next time a man tells you to smile, show him bloodstained teeth.

They had been three and now they were two, but they had been that before and would be again as they made their slow, painful way up the steps of the Spire. Jigano leaned on Rory, and let Rory lean on him as they coughed and paused for rests as often as either (or both) needed, after the onslaught of the poisoned air below. The bard was made of sturdy stuff, but his expression was still grim as he continued to cough, eyes and nose running and placing him in a state he didn't really want to think about. Ludo's mask seemed like a better and better alternative to arriving with himself in such a state...

But he had Rory to support him, making sure he didn't jostle his injured shoulder, and eventually they reached the top of the Spire, which so many others had breached before them. Samuel was there, and Jigano breathed a prayer of thanks as he saw the red-haired Ascended looking... well. Not much better than he was, but whole and alive. Then he looked past to the rest, and he knew them all, he realized with weary amusement. Some friends, some enemies, many merely acquaintances... but he raised the hand that wasn't in a sling to wave to Kalt with a ghost of a wry grin. He could really use the help of his adventuring companion, and the medical skills the man had learned in a far-off world.

But eventually he let himself gaze upon the centerpiece of the room, a woman who had abandoned her humanity to step beyond it and into...

It wasn't exactly godhood after all, was it? But it was certainly beyond the merely mortal. He had seen worse displays in his travels, and though he winced but briefly at the way the wires pierced her and her chest was open to the world, it was the voice in his head that made him flinch back into Rory's grip, his expression turning stony and blank at the mental intrusion from someone who was most certainly not a friend, whatever her true history was.