Session 13: My God, It’s Full of Stars

Picking up where we left off at the end of Session 12, the party walks through a dark stone hallway illuminated by an ethereal glow from above. The walls have alien patterns that glow like reflected starlight, a script they cannot read. The ceiling resembles the night sky, complete with constellations that twinkle and shift as if alive.   Zenscha tries to ascertain from her knowledge of astronomy what the star movement might be. Time seems to be moving quickly up there. The voice speaking to Rolandus through the sword reveals that the Essil, or first humans, are the children of the stars. This is more common in southern folklore, but the entity seems to know many things.   Zenscha checks to see if there is movement of the stars as if viewed from a planet in orbit. It seems the stars are viewed from a fixed point. They move forward in awed silence, wondering who made this place and why the early Chernayans built a crypt atop it.   Rolandus asks his sword, which helps him translate the glyphs on the wall. They are names, though their significance is lost to time.   They reach a grand chamber without an apparent ceiling. It seems to go up forever, although they know rationally they must be underground. A gate is atop a short stair, each step constructed of the same alien substance as everything else here. They seem almost grown, like crystals.   The gate intermittently shows faint, flickering images. The floor is made of cracked, weathered stone, and the air is heavy with the sadness of forgotten histories.   True to form, Orian charges ahead to inspect the gate with Zenscha and Tonibore trailing behind, inspecting the monolith-like stones that flank the stair. Within the gate, they see many strange things:  

A desolate wasteland with crumbling ruins of once-great cities. The sky is perpetually overcast, casting a corpse-like pallor over everything. Scavengers clad in ragged clothing and tribal masks pick through the debris, while twisted forms stalk the shadows. In the distance, a rusted, broken-down giant mech lies half-buried in the sand, a remnant of some long-forgotten war. Thousands of soldiers clash on a blood-soaked field, their black and gold banners flapping in the wind.   A grand castle burns, its towers crumbling under the assault of trebuchet stones. A scene from the War of the Five Kings a generation after Aryn Chernaya. A dark, foggy street lined with gas lamps. A strange city perched at the edge of a cliff so high above that only clouds are visible below.

  Perhaps it is the Great Divide, although they have never seen a city like this.  

Tall, narrow buildings loom over cobblestone streets, their windows darkened by heavy curtains. A figure in a long cloak and top hat walks swiftly, disappearing into the mist. A horse-drawn carriage clatters by, the driver glancing nervously at the shadows where unseen eyes seem to watch. Coal smoke darkens the sky.   A neon-lit urban sprawl near a large bay. Towering skyscrapers display giant holographic advertisements. Streets are crowded with people in bright, unfamiliar attire. Flying machines zoom between buildings, and vendors sell food and black-market tech from stalls.

  As Rolandus steps closer to the gate, his sword begins to hum with an eerie resonance. The blade glows faintly, and an ethereal figure starts to materialize from it, visible only to him. He sees the wisp in the shape of a man. At times, his face seems to be a skull, though it might be a mask. He is draped in dark, flowing robes that might also be smoke.   His voice is a cold whisper. “I am Volos, a name that perhaps carries little meaning in your fleeting mortal lives, but one that echoes through the ages among my kind. I neither trust nor particularly like humans, normally. Noisy meat. But I sense in you a restlessness and viciousness that I think I can respect. Yes... There is something within you, a spark of our thirst for knowledge, a drive that mirrors my own. That is why I choose to speak to you now, why I drew you to the sword.”   Rolandus begins questioning what Volos knows of this place and those who built it.   “This place you stand in is truly a new sight for eyes that have seen a thousand of your years come and go. A rarity. You stand in a place of forgotten power, among these portals that once bridged worlds. This is not Chernayan make, nor is it our work, those you call the Feyn. This was the creation of our elder cousins.”   Rolandus conveys what has been said to the others, realizing only he can see Volos. Looking at the pulsing stone in the sword’s blade, he wonders if it is a conduit Volos uses to impression his mind.   With Rolandus as a translator, the group probes further about the “elder cousins” of the Feyn. The Feyn are said to be spirits of the dead, who can take physical form. In other realms, such as our Cosmos, the Feyn are incorporeal.   “In your lorebooks, these entities are sometimes called the Old Fey. They did not perish as you might have been led to believe; they likely journeyed through these very gates, abandoning this realm for others as humans made a permanent home in the Second World. These silent sentinels now show mere glimpses of what was or will be, for without powerful Rituals to command them, they are little more than spectral memories.”   They spend some time pondering what all of this might mean. Orian throws a spider egg at the gate, and it bounces off, clearly a surface you can’t step through.   Tonibore nearly freezes his hand on its surface after bravely (or stupidly) touching it. He pulls it free fast enough to avoid it shattering like candy-glass.   As they watch the portal and contemplate this alien place, they see it shift periodically, passively switching from one location or time to another without a discernible pattern. There is no apparent means of controlling the portal from the room, no control mechanism. They conclude it will not react to most material engagements, but magic (Disciplines of any kind) will likely provoke a reaction.   Despite being severely wounded, Orian reaches out with his mind for any form of sentience beyond it. He effectively casts a flashlight into the eternal dark of the void, catching the attention of something. A flicker in the dark.   As Orian tries to make contact, he feels a chill run through his body as the portal turns inky black. A surge of magic overwhelms him, first pleasurable, then too much. Every cell in his body screams for release. A dark, swirling vortex forms within the gate. Tentacles as thick as tree trunks burst forth, tasting the air for flesh.   With a shout of terror, the group runs away from the eldritch horror. Orian feels a wave of madness from his proximity to this nightmare, which tries to repay his telepathic probing with some nightmares of its own.   Orian resists—barely—and begins running, though more hesitantly than the rest. Desmond is screaming the loudest, although all of them are forced to make Breaking Point rolls, as this is beyond even the experience of the Aberration Hunter, Tonibore. They all pass, but are nevertheless shaken from what they’ve seen.   The tentacles seem to give chase at first, but then hesitate. Tonibore later reflects they seemed to be reacting in pain. Perhaps this thing is not well-suited to this realm.   Desmond runs full speed to the surface and finds the goblins are no longer there. Most of the others catch up, assessing that several days have somehow passed, though they are unsure how much time exactly.   Orian comes out last, hesitantly. He has acquired an Obsession about the tentacle eldritch horror, its origin. He is obsessed with what lies beyond this world, now that the possibility has been presented.   They relock the “puzzle” that leads to the underground staircase, in case that thing is capable of giving chase. Volos remarks, “Your recklessness has brought forth a nightmare, but your resolve is commendable."   Sitting in the courtyard of the Chernayan ruins, the party decides their next course of action. They may seek more knowledge about the portals or find a way to seal or control them, beyond Volos’ admonition that the practitioner seeking to control the gaze of the Fey Gate must be extremely powerful.   The group decides to return to the hunting lodge.   Many hours later, as they arrive, Danyar runs out to them in tears. “Where were you?!” he exclaims. He confirms it was a full fortnight they were gone. One way or another, they lost a lot of time down there. After so many losses, Danyar was beginning to convince himself that his “protectors” were dead or had abandoned him.   They soon notice Danyar and Elara (Ren’s daughter) seem to be an “item.” Ren is surly but accepts their story. Ren tells them that Danyar convinced him not to leave after the group had not returned for several days.   Tashi seems to have hardly noticed their absence, and is quite enjoying being able to play music and write poetry in peace in the middle of nowhere.   Orian desperately wants to return to the ruins and learn more about the portal and the creature, but the others remind him he’s not well. He is still quite injured, both in body and mind, but his obsession drives him on. Tonibore goads his thoughts about controlling the gate—could they send those creatures after the Inquisitor? But this is empty conjecture as they lack the necessary knowledge (and likely magical power) to control the gate.   As they settle in for the final night at the hunting lodge, Rolandus confers more with Volos. Volos is reluctant to reveal much about himself, though he shares that he comes from what humans call the Shadow Forest, making him likely a Feyn of the Chatillian variety. Feyn are said to stitch together physical bodies in the Second World of Alterran but originate from the Land of the Dead.   Volos refers to himself as never having been alive.   Desmond and Tonibore have a slightly belligerent discussion about why Desmond can’t carry some of the money they’ve collected. Tonibore teases in a big-brotherly way, skeptical about letting a drug addict carry the company coffers.   They rest soundly; however, Orian has demented dreams where he is one of those alien creatures, a giant squid or octopus-like demon among others of its kind.   Upon awakening, he cannot remember the details of the dream, other than that it occurred.