V M [Unmaking] The Haven Hauntings

[Aster]

FALL​

Aster's body trembled and struggled just to remain half-upright, the blue radiance drifting off the massive sword planted in the ground the only thing keeping her from buckling entirely, she was sure of it. She had been tired before, trudging and trekking down through the tunnels and fighting off the clown, but now...she was beyond exhausted. She wasn't a fighter, or used to this kind of drawn-out and intensive exertion, and it had set her everything to aching, her head to spinning and wheeling crazily. She wasn't sure how she was even still breathing, given how difficult it was and how much it hurt, like sucking in huge lungfulls of powdered glass with every breath.

When Pennywise had fallen, for one single brief moment she had felt relief. Sure that it was finally done and over with, against all odds. Then the Lich had emerged, and more than the monstrous presence of the creature, more than its seemingly unassailable and unstoppable might...it was the fact that they still weren't done that was the most damning blow she was struggling to overcome.

What was even the point of struggling, at this point? If mister big shot, high dark king fuckass of smoldering asshole mountain could just airdrop in a new boss for them to fight after they barely dealt with the last one, what was stopping him from doing it again? And again? And again and again and again and again and...

Rise​

Aster bowed her head, resting it wearily against the crossguard of the immense sword of the abbey's hero. Still couldn't explain how she'd even managed to find this thing, or where or when....but it probably would've done better in someone else's hands. Someone who was an actual warrior, capable of actually wielding it properly. No sense letting someone like her hang onto it, and just waste what might be their best shot at this...

Rise​

Her eyes drifted slowly closed. No...she was done. She'd done her best already -- hell, more than her best. She'd always thought it was bullshit, the way people kept talking about 'going past your limits'. You could only push yourself so far before those limits formed a very physical and impassible wall, that you couldn't get around. She had been rapidly drawing in on her own limits when they first stepped down into the tunnels beneath the old widow's house, and now...

RISE​

She felt something on her shoulder. A firm, reassuring hand, as of someone almost violently shaking her.

Her eyes snapped open, and in her startled state she almost thought she witnessed something, or someone, reflected among the swirling stars and motes of light dancing across the length of the blade. A vague shadow, gleaming and resplendent among the haze of green and blue light, humanoid and towering, as if wrapped in layers of silver and steel. A solid, unflinching presence looming over her. Just as quickly as she thought she saw it, she blinked and it was gone. Flickering pinpoints and motes of silver light streaked through the constellations swirling along the blade, and in her weary, half-delusional state...

...it spoke to her, after a fashion.

A hero is not made by who they are...

With a deep breath, Aster grit her teeth.

A hero is made by what they do.

In spite of every fiber of her being telling her not to do it, and struggling against her, she slowly forced herself upright again. Slowly, still visibly trembling and shaking, she rose up to stand, and hefted the blade from the ground. Shimmering in a haze of exhaustion before her, she could almost see it, like a physical wall hovering in front of her: common sense, normal biology, and her body's physical limits.

She swung the glowing blade in a wide arc sideways, cleaving through the hallucination, and it crumbled away to scattered bits, melting away into the hazy green-blue light radiating off of the moonlight wreathed blade.

Steam and mist drifted from between her clenched teeth as she staggered forward, nearly dragging the massive blade across the ground behind her. With a ragged breath, she dropped to a knee as she crested a mound of amalgamated earth, junk, and mangled body parts. Propping herself up with the sword and her free arm, she scanned the scene before her, doing her best to take everything in and get a picture of how hopeless things actually were.

Her vision had started to go dark, blackness tinging the edges of her sight now, making it hard to keep track of things that weren't directly in front of her. Luckily, though...that was all she needed. Because she could see it now. The newcomer that had decided it would be a good idea to crash their party. The giant skeletal fucker, thinking he was the hottest shit this side of Crossroads. The monster at the end of the book.

The Lich.

"Do you think that what you do here will actually amount to anything, in the end?" the Lich spoke, voice reverberating through the entire cavern with a force that belied the actual volume behind the words. "All your efforts, all your spilt blood and desperate struggles...meaningless. Even if you did defeat me, what then? You have spared one little corner of one insignificant world. Staved off a new seed of decay being from taking root, even as it is planted." The Lich's eyes blazed with sickly green fire, as did its clawed hands.

"Does this guy ever shut up?!" Aster growled as she stepped forward, lifting the sword in shaking hands. The Lich's head snapped in her direction.

"That weapon may have served you well against that miserable clown, but—"

"No, seriously, shut up already!" the wolf snarled, and practically threw herself forward, sword raised high and poised to deliver the mightiest blow she could.

She was snatched out of the air by her face, the Lich's bony fingers closing around her head, and her entire body was engulfed in billowing green flame before she was promptly tossed over his shoulder, like a mere annoyance.

The burning heap that was Aster tumbled over the chamber floor, rolling into the filthy water partially flooding the chamber and slipping out of sight with a steaming, hissing plorp.

"Fool." The Lich spat, almost dismissively, as he turned his attention back to other matters. Trifling as they were, some of the other so-called investigators here were more genuine threats.

Through the gloom and void that had blanketed the chamber, a lone beam of moonlight shone down. Weak and almost pitiful, barely filtering and flickering through the rings of floating garbage and the haze of doom and gloom over the entire cavern, it shone down, alighting on and illuminating a single point. The murky, bloodied water Aster had sunk into.

Within the filthy pool, something stirred. Blue and green light guttered and flickered, as a shadowy shape shifted and pushed up, breaking the surface slowly, almost noiselessly.

Pale green flames still somehow clinging to her fur, still burning in spite of her submersion, Aster struggled up to stand again. Her breathing was desperately ragged, heavy and heaving, and yet almost silent. She couldn't hear anything except a shrill, piercing ringing and the crackling of ethereal flames burning on a level she didn't know existed and could scarcely comprehend. The black tinging the edges of her vision had deepened and worsened, leaving only a scant, narrow red-tinged tunnel with the Lich as the only other thing in her world.

Aster's eyes gleamed bright, piercing red among the green flame, as the sword slowly rose out of the water along with her. The green blade pulsed and flashed, countless stars and constellations streaking and racing across it in dizzying, gleaming trails as the blue light around it, and her, glowed like iridescent flame.

She stepped forward once, up out of the water, and hefted the blade up.

Another step forward, and the blade rose up over her head. Blue radiance lit up the ground around her, shining and gleaming like pure moonlight.

The Lich slowly turned around, the green flames in his eyes sockets narrowing to mere pinpricks of green flame. Aster couldn't tell if it was surprise, confusion, fear, anger or indignation she wasn't actually dead already.

She didn't fucking care, either.

The Lich threw out a clawed hand, billowing sheets of arcane might and sickly green flame sweeping out. Aster lurched forward, heedlessly storming through the wall of fire, the massive sword cleaving through the shimmering and crackling force of semi-solid magic and colliding with the monster's claws in a shower of sparks.

Against all odds, it was the Lich that recoiled, his arm flung wide with shards and splinters of bony claw flying in all directions. With a stomp forward to ground herself, she took one hand off the sword's hilt and with a noise not entirely dissimilar to the piercing hunting howl of an actual wolf, she lunged forward, clawed fingers tearing and digging into the billowing cloak and robes of the Lich, grasping at the bone and fire beneath.

Something burst and snapped, as she scowled and snarled, and with a violent wrenching motion she ripped her arm out one side. A shower of shredded scraps of cloth, splinters and shards of bone, and something black and viscous, all alight with flickering green flame, erupted out to one side of the Lich's body. With a mangled, strangled noise of surprise, the towering beast staggered, slumping toward his injured side.

Aster's striking arm hung useless, broken fingers twitching and jerking, covered in thick black ichor and scorched almost beyond recognition.

The only noise that she actually heard in her ears was a rushing sound, somewhere between roaring wind and rushing blood, as she stepped forward, raising the holy moonlight sword over her head in her remaining hand. She couldn't even hear her own voice at this point, but she turned the Lich's own arrogant demands back at him.

FALL​

And the sword of the abbey's hero was suddenly bathed in a brilliant plume of blue light, shining like pure moonlight, briefly banishing the pall of gloom and darkness over the cavern. She brought it down with everything she had left, a massive burst of shadowy light erupted forward, a slicing wave of energy that sparkled and shone with countless swirling stars and astral bodies beyond count.

Using a Focus to do badass things. Push through exhaustion/injuries and deliver a solid fuck you to the Lich.

That's 0/2 Focus left. That's all I got left in the tank, folks!

 

[Shallan Davar]

The swell of relief and energy washed over Shallan in a wave. Even so she wasn’t sure she could manage to fight further.

If you lack the strength, then let me go in your stead. Radiant’s spoke without sympathy or judgment, You put the image of me there to fight, so let me fight.

But I can’t- Shallan was struggling to even form coherent thoughts. She was so tired…

Then we’ll pick up your slack. Veil’s voice was a bit more derisive, Like we agreed. Give us a turn, and we’ll handle this.

Together then? Radiant asked Veil.

I’ve got an idea, yeah. The spy replied.

Veil rose from the pool of muck, finding fresh strength waiting in the stone that Shallan had been so sure was depleted. Now that the lich was not suppressing its power, Veil breathed in stormlight, assessing the battle. The wolf-girl Aster had torn several rents in the Lich’s form, and as Veil watched the specter crumpled to smoke under the injuries. Her relief was short-lived as the smoke reformed elsewhere in the room, its injuries not gone, but also less prominent than she would have preferred. The Lich giving a passionless laugh as a torrent of darkness swept towards the seeming reincarnation of the Abbey’s hero. There was much still to be done in this fight.

Veil breathed out stormlight, coating herself in a motley of gray and black, not invisible, but easily missed in the chaos and the shadows. A stormlight image of Shallan was placed where Veil had been laying a moment before. She could stay there in the mud if she really believed herself unable to fight. Veil’s silhouette picked up the discarded spear of a dead parademon, then stepped up beside the image of Radiant that had stood defiant and still against the Lich’s wrath. With fresh stormlight Radiant now stepped into motion, advancing towards the nearest parademon with intent. Veil followed a few steps behind, watching as Radiant’s image wove around the unmade monster’s assault with an almost inhuman skill. Her shardblade came round in three rapid strikes, blurring as it impacted the parademon’s body. The beast wasn’t really hurt, but it staggered back in surprise, as though trying to figure out why it wasn’t dead. Veil put its confusion to rest by impaling it from behind with the spear.

Radiant moved on to the next member of the drove. They were an efficient team. Radiant’s image deceived the eyes, blocking and evading the unmade strikes that assailed her with the effortless ease of a being that was only light to begin with. Pattern deceived the ears, mimicking the sounds of blade upon armor, and the splash of Radiant’s feet as she stepped through the water that was not disturbed by her illusory tread. Veil provided the reality, seizing upon the confusion of their foes to deliver devastating blows from the shadows. Whenever there was no real foe to be faced, Veil created one from stormlight, allowing Radiant to inflict devastating wounds as the imaginary foe fell away. If the unmade could even know fear, Veil and Radiant would make them feel it!

Radiant’s image hacked her way through the unmade to stand beside the other defenders, Veil’s silhouette crouching nearby. The silent ninja Shinku gave a nod as Radiant fell into stance between him and Minala. Facing down the Lich’s minions. This wasn’t a place she could stay for long, too many things moving at once would be harder to keep her illusion reacting to.

“We must cut off the head of the snake.” Radiant’s image spoke. Veil hoped she was close enough that the voice wouldn’t sound too out of place.

“If you’ve ideas, darlin’, I’m all ears!” Mollymauk barked with a short laugh as he fought like a peacock devil despite his numerous injuries.

“My well of tricks is far from bottomed out.” Radiant spoke, her tone slightly displeased at the words Veil had chosen. “I cannot deal him serious harm, he will see through the ruses more swiftly than the clown. But I believe I can gain his attention, perhaps provide an opening.”

Dr. McNinja glanced her direction, then flipped a leaping monster over his head with a well-practiced throw.

“If you can take that kind of heat, go for it! That guy’s packing some real bad juju though!”

“A Knight Radiant is resilient to the last.” Radiant’s image gave a nod, then separated from the group again.

The illusory knight wove through the battlefield in great leaps, Veil’s silhouetted figure following as best she could over the uneven ground. With three great leaps, Radiant stood tall at the top of one of the spires of trash and debris, her blade extended towards the Lich with a look of judgment.

“Feel the wrath of the living and return to the earth where you belong, dead thing!” Radiant commanded. As she finished the challenge, golden lights began to swirl and shine around her, forming sigils and sparking stars of brightness in the dark.

Veil crouched at the base of the spire, spinning whatever she could think of to make Radiant look like she was preparing something powerful to attack with. This kind of power did not exist in Roshar, but she had seen many of the others here in the crossroads whose power had needed so much visual flair, and it certainly drew attention in the dismal cavern. Sparks arched off of her like tiny fireworks. Beams of light shot out at random, streaking out from walls to collect into a globe of golden energy forming above Radiant’s perch.

“I am dead, little knight.” The Lich spoke with neither rage nor fear as it turned its attention upon Radiant in full now, “Join me. Know what it is to be unmade….”

A black mist emanated from the Lich’s mouth, moving with intent towards Radiant’s spire. As it reached the base of the debris pile, the rock and trash began to melt away near instantly. Veil scrambled away from the attack, desperately considering her options. To have Radiant’s attack hold after this disruption would be improbable. She would likely be falling in a matter of seconds, and if she could fly she would not have moved so up to now. The better lie was to take the fall. As soon as she’d made the decision the image of Radiant faltered, the illusionary spell she had been preparing sputtering and failing. The Radiant image fell away from the mist. As Veil turned to look she realized with very real concern that the mist had actually ate away at parts of the stormlight illusion. She quickly filled the gaps of light with scorches and scars as Radiant’s image fell to the ground and rolled.

I can’t fight him directly. Radiant’s voice spoke to Veil in her mind. Use the method that will work, I don’t care what it is!

The important thing was to keep the lich’s attention. More tricks, more cards played, until she was out of ideas.

“Do not believe that you know all!” Radiant and Veil spoke together, “To make, to unmake, to reform! It does not end with one choice! The only end is not to choose!”

Veil poured stormlight into the image of Radiant. She grew in size, bent over on elbows and knees. At first Veil borrowed elements from Ezster, the tale, the talons, the glowing eyes of rage and pride, then she kept growing the image, morphing and mashing it until the illusion resembled Smaug the golden. Pattern let loose a terrible roar, and the dragon’s illusion seemed all but ready to incinerate the lich with its fiery breath.

Using focus and the Adderstone to exceed the normal size limits of Shallan's illusions for big dramatics! I've had a blast writing with everyone for this event, you guys rock!

 

[Arbiter]

CHAPTER XIV. OUT​

"Gah!"

The Lich reeled back, his skeletal frame splintering and creaking from the onslaught, his tattered brown robes rippling in a nonexistent breeze.

His inhuman, horned skull, once adorned with a diadem of death, was now bare and broken—a frigid disdain radiating from his ragged skeletal countenance as the force of his dark magic collided with the steadfast courage of the thirteen warriors.

"You merely postpone the inescapable..." the frosty resonance of an unearthly hiss issued from between his smiling skull's teeth to sweep across the desolate battlefield, a grim omen piercing through the very core of the stoutest hearts. But even still, the fighters stood firm—unbending against the wicked force that threatened to undo them all.

The thick, cloying scent of burning sulfur hung heavy in the shadowy chasm, assaulting the senses of the weary but resolute warriors. It blended with the metallic, coppery tang of spilled blood and ichor that coated the rocky terrain, the corpses of parademons and Pennywise's discarded meals marring the subterranean grotto in streaks of iridescent green and rotted crimson. Every hero tasted the bitter taste of dread rising within them, yet they swallowed it down with a bravery steeled by desperation and unyielding defiance against evil.

As the Lich's cavernous eye sockets flared a hellish emerald, wisps of otherworldly flame slithered through the air, serpentine trails of fire coiling and twisting hungrily, engulfing shadows and light alike in their sinister grasp. The slick stone underfoot shattered, cracking and groaning as if in agony—a symphony of rupturing earth that resonated all throughout the chamber, whilst above them, sinister and ancient sigils burst into dazzling and terrible radiance, their eldritch light casting an eerie glow upon the jagged rock walls.

Just as the Lich's ghastly incantation reached its final crescendo, a blazing inferno erupted from within his rib cage, devouring his frail, hunched form in a swirling vortex of virescent flames.

His bones cracked and crumbled, what little tissue clung to his ghastly visage dripping into a heap of molten slag from his greyed skull, until all that remained was a swirling cloud of ash that rose with eerie glee towards the shattered ceiling of the sanctum. The air sizzled with sinister magicks as the Lich's essence dispersed into the ether, leaving behind a trail of destruction in its wake.

Scattered about the destroyed, moonlit chamber in a living diorama of exhaustion and resilience, everyone watched in helpless fascination as the ashes traced and swirled ever upwards—dancing in eddies of black cinders, as if in mocking salute to their victory.

Green-tinged shadows flickered maniacally against the cavern's undulating walls as the ghost of the Lich's laughter, spectral and cold, etched itself into the stone alongside the eldritch sigils. And suddenly, the immense cavern trembled and shook, as if enraged by the mere presence of the victorious few below. The ceiling threatened to collapse, a deathly weight ready to entomb them in their fleeting triumph.

It was as if the very bones of the earth creaked and moaned in agony as the relentless avalanche of decay surged forth, eager to envelop the battle-weary warriors in a suffocating shroud of soil and stone.

Loud thuds of rock and earth rained down from above. Dust, thick as the wool of sheep, filled their mouths with the dry tang of ruin, and the breath wrenched from within their lungs was laden down with the weight of generations of decayed dirt.

Shattered stone, severed limbs, and entire corpses pelted over them as the Lich's final invocation sought to bury them alive, creating a harrowing drumbeat of splashing and crunching against the vile water below. The din of destruction filled their ears, clouded their eyes, and absorbed their senses, choking and impenetrably jet black. Survival—raw, primeval, unbidden—carved its wordless cry into their sinews as they scrambled, some sheltering beneath the edges of the various tunnel entrances scattered throughout the grotto, others simply using magic to keep the immense weight of the crumbling cavern ceiling from grinding them down to dust.

Yet, as suddenly as it had commenced, the torrent stilled, and an encompassing silence enveloped the collapsed chamber.

Cautiously, like the first green shoots piercing through winter's blanket at springtime, each warrior wriggled free from the leaden embrace of the rubble, emerging into the stark twilight of a battle concluded.

Lifting their heads, they gazed through the gaping wound of the abbey’s catacombs to witness the starlit sky unveiled above them, the heavens punctuated by the distant golden glimmer of early dawn’s first light—the ethereal, pale form of the moon waning into the vast indigo canvas above, a delicate thread woven back into the tapestry of the night.

Amidst the ruins, a multitude of clamoring voices rose and fell from the heights above, pitching wildly from concern and fright alike. The chorus of gasps and whispers belonged to the abbey’s shocked inhabitants, rapidly gathering at the chasm’s edge to peer down into the deep gash of churned earth stretching across their lawn, each face a portrait of horror commingled with hope.

From between the mingling abbey inhabitants appeared a familiar figure, her salt and pepper hair blowing slightly in the early morning breeze as she peered down at the warriors through the slowly clearing dust. It was the Abbess Oriole—her silhouette outlined by the steadily lightening sky, her kind eyes shining with a mixture of anxiety and clear admiration.

Her head turned slowly, surveying the destruction. The woman nervously reached up to adjust her spectacles, the lenses glinting like half-moons in the dim morning glow.

"Well," her voice descended, the words hesitant and trembling just slightly, but hinting at a bit of wry humor. "It seems you are all... just in time for breakfast."

It was done.

The remnants of the night's terrors lay buried beneath their feet, a searing finality etched in stone, soil, and blood—a testament to the end of a chilling chapter, and the sanctity of the dawn that now cradled them in its nascent embrace.

|| END CREDITS ||​

Concluding Thoughts: And that’s all she wrote, friends!

You each have until the 25th to write your character leaving the abbey/a conclusion post. Basically, the Lich tore a gigantic hole in the abbey lawn, so you can stick around a little and enjoy many celebratory feasts and help rebuild/heal others/do whatever for a while. Or you can simply DIP.

After the 25th, I’m going to lock the thread, sit down and try to tally up final bonus essence counts and sort rewards in a day or two. You’re not stuck in the thread until the 25th, it’s literally just up to you how fast you get out of here and move on to other things.

Sometime in the new year, I hope to draft up a series of connected quests, exclusive for Haven Hauntings people and those they might allow to join them, that will involve pursuing the Lich across Erde Nona and eventually, defeating him. So, maybe look forward to that.

Thanks so much, to each and every one of you, for joining me for this wild ride. I’ll be doing Q&A stuff in the Discord channel for Haven, tag me if you have questions or thoughts.

 

[Shinku]

The thirteen warriors, battered and bruised, stood amidst the ruins of the catacombs, their eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions—from exhaustion to relief, from sorrow to triumph. The eerie quiet that followed the cataclysmic events hung heavy in the air, as if the very walls of the abbey were mourning the passing of a malevolent force.

The Abbess Oriole descended the uneven terrain, her gaze moving from one hero to another. Her steps were steady, though concern etched lines on her weathered face. As she drew closer, the warriors gathered around her, their attire marred by the remnants of battle and their spirits hardened by the trials they had faced together.

"Our sanctuary owes its safety to all of you,” the Abbess spoke, her voice a gentle cadence that carried both gratitude and recognition. "I didn’t know whatever you all faced there, but I guess we’re all safe now because of your sacrifice."

Mollymauk, still bearing the wounds of the encounter, grinned through his exhaustion. "Well, darlin', if this is the welcome we get, I might consider saving the world more often."

A chuckle rippled through the group, a shared camaraderie forged in the crucible of battle. The warriors exchanged glances, their unspoken bond strengthening in the aftermath of the struggle.

Dr. McNinja, a streak of dried blood across his cheek, stepped forward. "I don’t think it’s over yet but well, I guess for now, we did save the day."

Brass, meanwhile let out a heavy sigh, her face streaked with dirt and her hands trembling slightly. Her eyes carried the weight of the battle, a mix of exhaustion and a glimmer of newfound strength. Despite her petite frame, there was a resilience in her demeanor that spoke volumes.

"By the Gods," she muttered, surveying the aftermath. "I never thought we'd face something like that. But we did win. Somehow," she continued, a hint of amazement in her voice. "I never imagined we'd be part of something so... otherworldly."

But amidst the collective sighs of relief and expressions of gratitude, Shinku found a moment of solitude within the crowd. His dark attire blended seamlessly with the shadows, and his stoic demeanor remained unchanged. The battle had been won, but within him, a torrent of thoughts and emotions swirled.

He cast his gaze towards the horizon, where the ascending sun painted the sky with hues of gold and amber. In the tranquil aftermath of the conflict, he allowed his mind to wander, reflecting on the moments that had led them to this point.

The memories of the FALL command and his helplessness against it remained in the recesses of his consciousness. The Lich's malevolent magic had sought to shackle his will, and for a time, he stood frozen, a puppet ensnared by invisible strings.

A bitter taste lingered in his mouth, a metaphorical residue of the commands that had threatened to reshape his actions. The frustration in his eyes spoke volumes—an internal struggle etched on his face, a testament to the Lich’s distant taunting against him.

His eyes, usually sharp and focused, now carried a subtle hint of vulnerability. Shinku's mind replayed the battle, not the clash of steel against bone, but the silent war waged within his own psyche. The Lich's voice, a sinister whisper in the corridors of his consciousness, still lingered.

Despite the victory, a haunting question persisted: How close had he come to being a pawn, a mere instrument in the Lich's symphony of chaos? The taste of powerlessness left a lingering bitterness, one that clung to the recesses of his pride.

Shinku's hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword, seeking reassurance in the familiar weight. His gaze remained fixed on the rising sun, its warmth gradually dispelling the shadows that clung to the Abbey's stones.

In the solitude of the aftermath, a resolve stirred within him. The struggle against the Lich's dominion had forged a deeper understanding of his own strength and vulnerability. Shinku, the assassin of shadows, vowed to strengthen the walls of his mental fortress, to fortify himself against similar powers.

The scars, both seen and unseen, would serve as a reminder—a testament to the resilience that emerged from the crucible of adversity. As the day unfolded, Shinku knew that the battles ahead would demand not only physical prowess but an unyielding spirit, one that had weathered the storm and emerged unbroken.