The guards shift their weight, spears leveled, as a figure cloaked in tattered charcoal wool steps from the shadows of the warehouse. The air hums with the scent of ozone and rotting ether. He ignores the shouting guards, his gaze burning like coals toward the sword held by the puppet-like body of the host.
Draelik
Your vessel is hollow, little god. You think yourself a jailer, but you are merely the latch keeping the dark locked away.
Arion Touvengard
The audacity of this creature. He smells of the void. He knows of the containment, yet he speaks as if he understands the weight of my ancient duty.
Arion Touvengard
You speak of things you do not comprehend, mortal. Stand aside, or test the edge of the key you claim to know so well.
ID
Stand down, stranger! This is an official detainment by order of the Mesthelia Council. Do not make us force your compliance.
Draelik
They are blind to the rot beneath the skin. Let them play their parts until the blade bleeds them dry.
“Lettimg the situation be handled by the gaurds Arion hopefully for descalition, though he subtly prepares his body in case the stranger makes hostile moves.”
SUCCESS (Legendary Willpower, rolled +1)
Arion remains still, his posture rigid and doll-like as he lets the weight of his ancient blade rest against his palm. He offers the guards a slow, deliberate nod, allowing their steel to form the primary barrier between him and the stranger.
ID
Drop the blade, outsider. Now. We have enough blood on this pier tonight without adding yours to the tally.
Arion Touvengard
My life is not mine to trade, Captain. But I suggest you keep your eyes on the shadows. Your enemy is not the one standing in the light.
Draelik
A hollow vessel preaching caution. How quaint.
Arion Touvengard
He is preparing to strike, yet he mocks me. I will let the guards force his hand. If he moves, this host will find the strength to cleave him in two before he finishes his next breath.
The Captain steps forward, her polearm dipping toward the cloaked man, effectively shielding Arion. The tension thickens, the air vibrating with the hum of restrained magic.
“Arion eyes the stranger, "I dont know what sort of being you are, but we are in Mesthelia, unless you wish to invoke the wrath if the eight. Then it would better to leave this matter be, atleast till we are in a location with less chance of interuption...Unless you are a fan of being chastised by Archon."”
SUCCESS (Legendary Willpower, rolled -3)
Arion Touvengard
I do not know what sort of being you are, but we are in Mesthelia. Unless you wish to invoke the wrath of the Eight, it would be better to leave this matter be. At least until we are in a location with less chance of interruption. Unless, of course, you are a fan of being chastised by Archon Elendesil.
Draelik
The Archon? This puppet knows the name, but does he truly grasp the reach of his master?
The stranger pauses, the cowl of his cloak shifting as he tilts his head. The air around him grows frigid, and the merchant ship’s hull groans in sympathy, the wood warping under an unseen, crushing pressure.
ID
He is stalling, outsider. If he makes a move, we cut him down.
Arion Touvengard
He hesitates. The threat of the Council is a weight even he cannot easily discard. If he strikes, he reveals his hand. If he retreats, I survive to reach the temple.
The stranger begins to raise a gloved hand, fingers curling as if to grasp the very fabric of the air itself.
+ Scene Quest Added
Force the stranger to retreat and secure the pier
“Is the stranger onenof the 8”
YES (Unlikely, rolled 35)
As the stranger’s fingers curl, the mirror-like finish of his mask catches the ambient light, revealing a subtle, etched sigil that matches the secret seal of the Council of Eight. Arion realizes with chilling clarity that this is no mere rogue, but a member of the governing body itself, hiding in plain sight to orchestrate the chaos.
Arion Touvengard
A member of the Eight, here on the docks, acting against the very city he swore to protect. The arrogance of this one is absolute, and he clearly believes his station grants him immunity from the consequences of his treachery.
“Upon realizing the identity of the stranger Arion turns to him as the strangers slips in and out of the shadows. "What is it that you want of me? Is this some official business or do I have something that you need or is it something you need done?"”
SUCCESS (Legendary Willpower, rolled -1)
Arion Touvengard
What is it that you want of me? Is this some official business, or do I have something that you need, or is it something you need done?
Draelik
The sword speaks. Such a hollow vessel for such a grand design.
The stranger’s voice rasps like dry parchment. He does not stop his rhythmic shifting, his silhouette flickering in the air like a candle flame fighting a gale. The pier beneath him begins to buckle as the wood rots instantaneously, grey rot spreading outward from his boots toward the City Guard Captain.
Arion Touvengard
He avoids a direct answer. He is waiting for the corruption to reach the Captain. He expects me to choose between the girl or the truth.
ID
Stand down! I won't warn you again!
ID
Why does the air taste like ozone and decay? I should have called for reinforcements at the first sign of this madness.
“Arion subtly casts a warding spell to hold back the corrupting influence spreading over him, the gaurds, and the rest of the pier.”
SUCCESS (Superb Arcana, rolled +1)
Arion’s hand twitches. Teal energy spills from the pommel of his blade, flowing down his arm like liquid fire. He thrusts his palm toward the rapidly creeping rot. A shimmering, geometric barrier of translucent light snaps into existence, rippling outward like a stone dropped in a pond. The black decay slams into the ward and hisses, churning into harmless steam.
Arion Touvengard
The wood holds. The corruption is dense, but it lacks the weight of a true curse. He is merely testing the resilience of this shell.
Draelik
A parlor trick, construct? You hide behind barriers while the city rots from beneath your feet. The Council does not tolerate parlor tricks.
ID
My boots... the rot stopped. You, what are you?
ID
That light. It feels ancient, colder than the grave. I cannot trust this man, but I cannot deny his shield saved my legs from turning to mulch.
“"Enough toying with us Draelik, what is that you desire? I would think it unlike you to throw your weight around simply for fun."”
SUCCESS (Legendary Willpower, rolled +0)
Arion Touvengard
Enough toying with us, Draelik. What is that you desire? I would think it unlike you to throw your weight around simply for fun.
Draelik
The antique speaks. How charming. It remembers the stench of power, yet fails to see the rot is the least of what I bring to this harbor.
The Cloaked Stranger stops mid-stride. He tilts his head, the mirror-finish mask reflecting Arion’s own teal-lit form back at him with distorted, jagged precision. The violet mist around his feet coils upward, forming claw-like tendrils that scrape against the air itself.
Arion Touvengard
He is not merely rotting the wood. He is anchoring his presence here, tethering this pier to whatever void he crawled from. If he continues, the pier will be consumed, and the City Guard will be the first casualties of his grand unveiling.
ID
Draelik? The Councilman?
The Captain’s polearm trembles in her grip. Her eyes widen as the realization of her target sinks in, leaving her paralyzed between duty and the overwhelming aura of a god-tier threat.
“"The longer you draw this out, the more likely another of the eight, or someone looking to take your spot will take notice" Arion says while eyeing Draelik for any signs of weakness or opening.”
SUCCESS (Legendary Willpower, rolled +0)
Arion Touvengard
The longer you draw this out, the more likely another of the Eight, or someone looking to take your seat, will take notice. Is the risk to your precious tenure really worth a petty display for a captive entity?
Arion Touvengard
He is rigid, his stance overly calculated. Even a master of masks leaves chinks in the armor when the ego is stoked. He wants me to lash out, but the moment his focus shifts, I will tear his tethering ritual apart.
Draelik pauses. The violet mist ripples, momentarily thinning to reveal the faint, frantic glow of a runic circle etched into the damp wood of the pier beneath his boots. He turns his head slightly, his mirror mask catching the harsh light of the harbor lanterns, and for a fleeting second, the smug reflection wavers.
Draelik
You overestimate their vigilance, sword-bound. They are blind to the rot, and they would welcome a new architect to clear the debris.
The wooden planks groan as the violet tendrils pulse, drawing the pier tighter into a snare of shadow.
“Upon seeing the binding circle holding Draeliks spell of rot and corruption, Arion quickly casts a spell of disenchantment to rid the pier of the threat.”
SUCCESS (Superb Arcana, rolled -1)
Arion Touvengard
You rely on the stability of the wood, Draelik. A poor foundation for a Council member.
Teal energy surges from the ancient blade, flowing through the host’s arm like liquid starlight. Arion slams his free hand against the rotted planks. The air shivers as a wave of pure, archaic order ripples outward. Where the violet corruption touches the pulse of teal, it screams and dissolves into harmless grey vapor. The runic sigil fractures, the etched lines glowing white-hot before shattering into fine crystalline dust that drifts away on the sea breeze.
Arion Touvengard
The anchor is severed. Now he is exposed.
Draelik
You dare interfere with my design?
The violet tendrils retract instantly, snapping back toward Draelik’s mirror mask like frayed nerves. The pier shudders, settling back onto the stone, though the wood remains scorched where the void magic once clung. Draelik recoils, his mirror mask turning to face Arion with predatory intensity, the polished surface reflecting not Arion's face, but a distorted, swirling abyss.
Quest Complete
Force the stranger to retreat and secure the pier