#both guardian and ghost became like frozen in place?? ghost like fell to the ground?? it looked sorta gardney but wasn’t the garden

[planet4546b]

second time in the past few weeks i’ve had a banger dream about what’s gonna happen next in destiny. i should start writing these down

[hallothere]

Brave the Darkness

Previously titled “Blunt Force Ghost Trauma” but since no ghosts actually get served onscreen I changed it. Also because like Halros and the Very Bad Time it isn’t uhhh.... funny enough for that kind of title!

(warnings for Candaith Going Thru It but there’s no like blood or anything)

Somehow, the cold was coming from inside his bones. The chill was ice in his marrow. Radanir visibly shook next to him, as did some of the others. He was hard-pressed not to tremble. Halbarad, his companions, they would all have to stand strong together. They had been warned off once by the Oath-breakers in this cursed place. Candaith supposed these were not the sort of spirits to give a second warning. 

The frostbite within only sharpened as he continued further onto the Forsaken Road. With a glance over his shoulder, he wondered if Thurvi- his shadow in this lightless place- had ever felt such a chill in the Mountains of his homeland. The Guardian seldom spoke of the land of his birth, of the Dwarven city of Kechel, nor of Dwimorberg whose fell name lay like a shadow over their quest. Perhaps he hoped not to discourage his companions. Perhaps the dwarves did not venture near enough to these places to know them so well.

Candaith had become accustomed to the mask his friend had acquired in Lhanuch. The Grey Company’s enemies were Thurvi’s enemies as well-- and they knew his face. Though there were likely few Dwarves in Enedwaith, he sought to protect them with his anonymity. It was the same logic behind their ‘uniform’. Though a dwarf traveling with a bunch of Dunedain was going to stand out like a hobbit in Othrikar, Candaith appreciated every precaution. 

After all, his friend had kept the company from danger more than once. Though quiet, he was quick to action and sturdier than the rest of them. The last Candaith had seen of Thurvi before his summons, the dwarf had been preparing to head to Angmar with nothing but a large club and a scavenged shield. But the Grey Company’s odd companion out had returned from parts unknown with a dwarf-make axe of strange metal, and a shield with the unmistakable stylings of Khazad-dûm. 

It was only too bad there was no time to stop for a fire. If the Guardian could coax a spark from the bed of the Anduin, he would not be much surprised. Still, the Grey Company needed more than warmth to kindle their hopes. This was a desperate gamble, but one Candaith believed in. If they could gather this host of the dead on behalf of their Chieftain, if they could muster an army unhindered by death nor pain nor hunger-

Maybe it was not such a vain hope or a far-fetched plan! Surely the Oath-breakers tired of existing like this? Did they not long for peace? Candaith did. His kin yearned for it, as did the Eglain, the people he had spent so much time near. The heir of Isildur could bring it. He believed that. Surely the Dead- if not motivated by honor- could only see the release from their curse as gain! A swift, deathless army to bring peace to the world. An invincible host at Aragorn’s command…

“This seems to me a good sign, Thurvi!” he whispered, turning back to his companion. It was dimmer still here, but they could both carry on. “If the Oath-breakers will fulfill their oath to Isildur, we will command an army the like of which has never been seen in Middle-earth. Surely victory will not be far behind!” His comment was met with only a tight smile. This place weighed heavily on them all. 

But soon they would be free of it. Of this, he was certain. 

Another shade flickered into view before them. The Dead all appeared able to hide themselves from sight if they wished, and it was an effective intimidation tactic. Based on the temperature, this could be none other than Britou before them. Idly, he wondered if Dwarves were hardier to this fell atmosphere than Men. Candaith stopped and his Guardian friend came to stand beside him. 

If it was a show of force the Dead wanted, so be it. They acquitted themselves well, though Candaith found the glacial air sapped his strength and stiffened his limbs. He looked to Thurvi but could see no sign he was in any way affected. Britou was probing for weakness, but he would find none. There was strength in the Dunedain. Candaith would not fail his brothers. 

Back to back they fought on. Ghostly blades rang against their steel, but these Dead did not move with the same fell determination as others had. Doubt began to chip through the frost around Candaith’s heart. Was Britou toying with them? This test was little more than a farce for his amusement. What then? Did he desire proof? More learned foes than he had doubted the line of Kings remained unbroken. What would the Dead on the Forsaken Road know of the way Aragorn’s ancestors had endured?

They cared little for the living, that much was clear. They threw around insults, hurled belittling words without thought. The Dead had nothing but contempt for them. Indeed, with the bones of travelers and the plague of shades above ground, what evidence did they have that any of the Oath-breakers’ intentions were honest?

Hah. He was a fool for giving them the benefit of the doubt. But no longer! If they would not be swayed by words or arms, let them be swayed with power. 

“Hold!” He thrust his blade through yet another shade with a shout and commanded the attention of the leader of the Dead. Candaith was breathing hard. The doubt had wormed its way in deep, but he could not let it end like this. Greed was a powerful enough motivator for any Man, even those among the Dead. 

“I have the authority to command you and all your kind, Britou!” He straightened up, emboldened by a confidence he could not feel but must not let waver. "For I...I am the Heir of Isildur!"

He could feel Thurvi’s eyes upon him, as well as the attention of the Dead. The cold was like a rock in Candaith’s chest. As long as they were in peril, he could not falter, but every breath became heavier. It seemed the very air was hardening to stone and ice within him. 

Britou fell silent. For a long moment he stared, sizing Candaith up. Now was not the time for fear. More than ever, he was grateful for the mask. It was as much a shield as the one his Guardian wielded. Perhaps his and Thurvi’s uses for them were more alike than he had thought. 

"What evidence do you have that this be so?" 

Britou’s voice reverberated off the frozen walls. Now more than ever the cold pained him. Candaith tried not to wince as he drew the breath to answer. Taking a finger of his glove in his teeth, he slid it off without lowering his sword. "Only this: the Ring of Barahir, heirloom of Isildur's line!"

After all, they had been made for one purpose: to deceive the enemy. Why not use it now, as it had been intended, for their advantage? 

It was a long while still before Britou spoke again. “I see.” The cavern was still. “We will fulfill our oath at last, that the Heir may lift the curse. Tell your Men."

Candaith could not breathe a sigh of relief. The cold had taken him, and it was all he could do to nod, to turn around, to look for the relief that must be plain on Thurvi’s face. 

It was not there to greet him. Candaith saw only fear.

"But that is not the Ring of Barahir, and you are not the Heir of Isildur."

He did not have time to think. There was ice on his skin now, on his fingers. Cold pierced him. Thurvi was moving faster than Candaith had ever seen him go. There was a horrible rending of metal, and the ice splintered under his skin. Dust and rock rose up to meet him. 

There was a black and frozen pause. Trapped within a pincushion of ice, Candaith did not notice at first that he was being moved. He could clear little space in his lungs to cry out, and he could not coax his algid limbs to motion. Too many frosted shards had gathered themselves within him. They cut like glass, tore at his mind, and ate at his heart. He knew naught of what was transpiring, only that he had failed his kin. He had led them to this place of ruin, and now he was to join the miserable Dead. 

His whole body was jolted up and sideways. A single pauldron came into view. Thurvi! Candaith’s tears were surely frozen, but he felt the warmth of relief thaw them a little. It mingled with the heat of shame long enough to warm sensation back into him. There was new pain too. His back was taut and tearing as Thurvi hurried him away. With a final cry, his awareness too failed on the cursed road. 

Something was trying to crush him. A pressure bound him, constricted his thoughts. He could not will himself to move or to breathe. So Candaith struggled. The now-familiar cold had abated some, but it had not released its stranglehold on him. He had failed, but for now desperation overrode his shame. The others-- his brothers were nearby! If nothing else they needed a warning, they needed to know that no Dead would ride by their side save to run them down. 

Candatih fought to turn over. He had fallen flat before Britou in that frozen chamber, and now he must get up! He must get up or let his brothers be slaughtered for his reckless gambit--

“Fool! Be still, Candaith!” 

A hand, warm and living, reached him from the darkness. It held his shoulder with a gentle firmness that made him pause. There was no time for this! So far underground, they needed every moment to escape.

The crack of a log fire hoisted him up from the dark then flung him down into awareness. His waking senses hit him with force and the air was driven once more from his lungs. Suddenly Candaith discovered he could feel, only to wish desperately that he could not. What had once been solid ice had thawed, and his whole body burned in the spaces where it had been. He turned to push his face into whatever had been beneath his ear. Candaith was on the ground, and pain trampled him flat. 

The hand was joined by another on his other shoulder. He tried to smother a rising scream as the fire was stoked again by his squirming. 

“Candaith, listen to me.” The voice was familiar, but it was as full of uncertainty as he was. “We are out of there now, but you are lucky to be with us! Lie still if you can. If you are too stubborn to listen, it will be hard to bring you back to Lhanuch alive! We will give you…” Here the voice paused, and with more clarity came a growing certainty that Candaith had never heard Radanir more distressed. “We will give you something for the pain.”

“Radanir!” Halbarad’s voice cut through the fire and the relief was like a balm. More crushing a blow than the catastrophe he knew would have been the loss of their leader. Halbarad was the cord that held them together in Aragorn’s absence. They would follow him with the same loyalty and should he be lost grieve for him with the same sorrow. 

But Halbarad lived. It brought Candaith less comfort than he had hoped. 

“Hold him up. We must do something for the wound before we try moving again.” It was not at all what his leaden limbs wanted to hear. This time Candaith could not stifle a groan as Radanir hefted him like a sack of potatoes. 

“You could not… be more careful?” The words sounded strained to his own ears, but as his head was being rested over one of Radanir’s shoulders like a sickly infant’s, he would not get to see a reaction. 

That did not stop Radanir from having one. “And you could not stop from telling falsehoods to the undying shades of traitors!"

It brought down a deathly quiet. A popping ember rang as loud into the night as a thunderclap. Radanir had gone as stiff as a statue, and only after a long pause could Halbarad get things moving again. 

“It is a grave wound, but it might have been much worse.” Candaith could feel the sleeves of his tunic, but the back had been torn asunder. Now exposed to the night air, he wished for the blanket or cover that had seemed so smothering a moment ago. Halbarad was moving the fabric. Every pull jostled the nettles that had taken up residence in his limbs. He tried to push away, but Radanir held him up under his arms. 

“If we have to set you back down, there will be less firelight to work by.” The words were terse, but there was an undercurrent of concern nonetheless. Radanir was right, Candaith was a fool. It was becoming more and more obvious just how close he’d been to being a dead one. 

To his surprise, Thurvi stepped into his narrow field of vision. The dwarf offered out his hand. Weakly, Candaith took it.

“Distract him if you can, Thurvi.” Halbarad instructed. “We are lucky he is awake but we might have been luckier were he not- at least, not for this.”

Candaith was reluctant to meet the Guardian’s eye. It had been a rather poor performance on the Forsaken Road. He had shamed himself and shamed the entire Company. Only by a miracle was he out under the stars instead of rotting among the Dead. To his surprise, Thurvi did not attempt to make conversation just yet but began sliding up the metal mask that had long covered his face. 

Despite everything- or perhaps because of it- Candaith could not bite back a delirious laugh. “You have a line! Clear… right across your face from cheek to cheek, over the bridge of your nose-”

Halbarad chose that moment to strike. Something cold and stinging coursed down his open wounds. He gritted his teeth and tried to crush Thurvi’s hand and Radanir’s arm. The work had begun in earnest. Now, Halbarad would not stop until everything was dressed to his satisfaction. 

Thruvi pulled his hand down. Attention diverted, Candaith managed to look up. “Your cloak did not make it, I’m afraid.” The Guardian said in a solemn tone. “Alas, it was the first casualty. And my shield gave its life for yours. Cursed be the blades wielded against the craftsmanship of Khazad-dûm!”

Candaith could not laugh. Thurvi’s heart was not in the attempt at wounded pride. It was hardly the shield of his homeland, and besides that it called to attention a more glaring absence. 

Ignoring the agony behind him, he ground out a question. “The others…?” His mind flew to Linnor, his and Saeradan’s friend, to Calithil who he had last seen by Radanir’s side. Old Hodhon and Himeldir had been there as well, they who had been fraught with worry over Dagoras’ capture and thick as thieves again upon his return. 

Thurvi’s face was more exposed now than it had been underground. The mask was pushed into his hood on top of his head. Candaith did not know if his friend was old for a Dwarf, but he looked older than he had the last time his face was on display. 

“Scattered.” he said at last, “We lost all the torches as the Dead gave chase. You and I were tempting enough targets to allow the others space to run. If they were pursued to the road or to the bluffs, I do not know. We ran into Halbarad and then Radanir in the dark.”

Candaith tried to focus on the words instead of the pain. Whatever salve Halbarad had conjured burned as fiercely as his shame. Loath might he be to admit it under other circumstances, Radanir was right. Who was he to command the Oath-breakers? What right did he have to try!

There was little left of his strength. Candaith used it to first return Thurvi’s grip on his hand, and then to better support himself on Radanir’s arm. Neither he nor Halbarad had spoken again, and it was time for Candaith to acknowledge the disaster on all their minds. 

“I should never have-- I would give my life a thousand times... to be even the smallest help to Aragorn… That was all… all I-” Halbarad took his shoulders and started to tip him back. The movement clouded his vision so completely he could hardly be sure he was still awake. Numbness started to overpower him and Candaith did not have the strength to be alarmed by the empty wave. 

The void held him captive for a moment. But, vigilant Pain was quick to revive him as bandages met the raw edges of his wounds. He was slumped in a sitting position as Thurvi held him up and Halbarad finished wrapping the tender flesh. Candaith was given something bitter from a water flask, and then worked up the courage to try and speak again.

“I am… sorry-” he croaked from the ice-carved hollow in his chest. 

“If you are sorry, Candaith, I am doubly so.” Halbarad’s voice was thick with worry, and regret. “For had I not sought to make copies of the Ring of Barahir, had I been more focused on keeping us from danger, this never would have occurred.”

Halbarad finished tying off the bandages, and Candaith was surprised to find Radanir waiting there at his shoulder. He was without a cloak, as were the others, and did not waste time in guiding his dead-limbed companion to where the collected fabric was balled up into a makeshift bedroll. Far though they were from a suitable camp, he was going to see that Candaith had some small comfort. Not Thurvi, not Halbarad, but Radanir who was rightfully furious with him. 

Of all their companions, he was one of the least likely to shy away from saying what he meant. There was no quip too untimely, no sentiment best left unsaid. No doubt it was why he had taken on this task. Halbarad was too noble to scold a man on death’s porch if not it’s doorstep. And something about Thurvi’s tight-lipped expression had told him that the Guardian had seen the events transpire in an entirely different light.

Of one thing Candaith was sure: whatever reproach Radanir had ready for him would be well-deserved. Only, Candaith did not know if he could bear it. He had almost just gotten eight of their number killed in an ill-advised attempt to sway the Dead- the Dead who were known chiefly for their treachery! He feared the long night as he had been frightened of the long road underground. What if the others had not made it out? Their blood would be on his hands, and he would have to meet the rest of the Company alone with his shame.

No doubt his chief critic would be Radanir. Radanir who had been forced to flee with the others, who had stumbled across Thurvi in the dark, who must have been told the tale from the eyes of an observer- and the only one of them who could never have done the same in his place! 

Still he could not help but to look. Candaith turned his head to the side and found Radanir’s stare fixed on him. Guilt swept over him again before it was replaced by great confusion and worry. The firelight illuminated anger, yes, but also vivid fear that took a moment for Radanir to conceal. 

“I suppose I prefer you a living fool rather than a dead one.” The irritation in his tone was as empty as Candaith felt. “Still,” here an edge of something crept back in, “do not ever attempt such a thing again.”

As much as he wanted to assure Radanir that he would not dream of it- that he was shaken to find a lesson learned had nearly cost his and his kinsmen’s lives- Halbarad had designs of his own. Whatever herbs had been in the water were beginning to take effect. The pain of his wound was no distraction anymore. Already sensation was floating away. It felt as if he would dissolve if it began to rain, like dust on stonework. Candaith could no more keep his eyes open than he could leap up and begin the search for the rest of their group or to share the burden his decision placed on them. 

He could no longer see the light of the fire when Radanir’s hand came to rest carefully on his shoulder. Their companions were discussing something too quietly for him to hear. It would not be long now before Halbarad’s bitter potion forced him to rest. 

“That was a fear so cold I thought I would never be warm again.” Radanir’s voice was nearly lost to the cushioning effect of the medicine on his ears. “But I would prefer to never be rid of it than to lose even one of my brothers.”

The candor in Radanir’s words did not absolve him, but it was a balm to a hurt no healer could treat. Comforted beyond measure, Candaith could at last bear to face the night and any troubled dreams it could conjure.

[centarscommunity]

BLOOD

10

“This is it. This is the place.” The Hunter stood just ahead of her fireteam members. “This is the tower I see in my nightmares. It’s… smaller than I remember it.”

“Because you’re awake.” The Titan suggested. “Things look less real when you’re dreaming.”

Before them stood a large angular tower on a fragmented glacier. Black metallic panels glistened in the gloomy simulated sky. There was snow on the ground around them but it was not cold. Not in this scenario. They had cycled through a half dozen simulated environments each with different weather patterns and temperatures before finally finding this one.

“In your dreams, what happens exactly? You’ve said you’re trying to get to the tower but you keep getting killed. Do you know what’s in there?” The Warlock approached the nervous Hunter as she spoke.

“There’s always Vex. So many Vex. More Vex than you could ever imagine. And I don’t know what’s in the tower. I never make it…” The Hunter seemed disturbed as she spoke. It was clearly a bit uncomfortable for her to be awake in a place she had dreamed about every night for weeks.

The Titan approached and put a hand on her shoulder. “We will make it there this time. You are a Guardian and you have a fireteam.” She smiled a little and seemed slightly relieved.

“Alright… yeah. YEAH. We can do this. Keep your eyes peeled for an army of robots.” The Hunter jumped forward with nervous energy. The fireteam was well aware that even though this one of the Crypt’s simulations, it could hurt. Their bodies were safe in their pods but they did not know how safe their minds would be if they died too many times in the simulation.

As the three cautiously pressed forward towards the tower in the distance, the Hunter was the first to notice them. A handful of small scanner drones was flying curious circles around each other about a hundred yards ahead. As they walked closer it became clear that the drones were circling a simulated decaying corpse. It was Hive.

“Ohhhhhhh gross. There’s never hive in my dream.” The Hunter reeled back as she exclaimed. “What’s that it’s holding?”

The Titan stepped towards the bloody mess of a Hive Knight to get a closer look. Sure enough, its desiccated hand clutched a peculiar triangular key. It resembled an antique skeleton key but was made of the same polygons that the tower seemed to be.

“Seems like the key to the tower. Looks like the tower, anyway.” He reached down but the Warlock grabbed his arm just before he touched it

“Wait wait.. we are looking for an army that isn’t here and there’s an obvious key laying in a dead hive knight surrounded by vex drones, and we’re in a combat simulation. Check that your weapons are all loaded and be ready. I have a VERY strong feeling that touching that key will start something.” The Warlock’s wisdom was unending. She had a natural gift for foresight and intuition.

The Titan exhaled and spoke gently, “Valid assumption.”

As the Fireteam checked and re-checked their weapons, the hum of the scanner drones seemed to be more noticeable than before and the Hunter began to grow visibly uneasy.

“Guys… just promise me that we will make it out of this alive, alright..?” Her hands gently shook her rifle in small rhythmic motions.

The Titan flipped the safety on his shotgun and racked a round into the chamber for effect, “We can’t die anymore, remember? We’ve got you. Your blood will not spill in this fight, I promise.” He reached down and grasped the key with his other hand. The moment he did, the scanner drone’s lights turned a dark red and the Vex began to appear. At the edges of their vision around the impossible snowy field, Hundreds and Hundreds of Vex began to pixelate into existence. The Scanner Drones flew off and the air was filled with distant transmat sounds – the odd crackle of Vex teleportation and the static charges they created added an unearthly lighting to the low atmosphere.

“Finally.” The Titan stretched out his arms, shotgun in his left hand. “Warlock, let’s give them what they came for.” The Warlock gave a devious smile and nodded.

In a wonderfully choreographed display, the Titan, Warlock, and the Hunter all leapt into the air as high as their light could take them. The Titan summoned a protective ward of void light and slammed it down to the ground beneath them. The Warlock attuned her body to channel cosmic Arc energy into a blindingly bright beam of pure controlled lightning. The Hunter summoned hundreds of flaming knives at her body and propelled them away in a massive wall of jagged flames.

Wave after wave after wave of bronze carapace and radiolarian fluid was shatter, spilled, and destroyed. Each member of the fireteam took on well near a thousand of the Vex as their numbers slowly began to dwindle in the simulation. True to their word, the Titan and Warlock stood by the Hunter the whole fight, never letting their friend fall a single time. The Titan’s shotgun barrel glowing a dull orange from use and his helmet, though damaged from years of fighting, seemed to glow more brightly than usual. It was the largest battle that the three had ever faced together, and it wasn’t real.

Though the pain certainly was. The Titan and the Warlock fell dozens of times and the Hunter revived them both with the help of their Ghosts. Each time they rose, they slew a hundred more Vex, their bodies cleaned of their bloodied and broken armor, only to be injured and to bleed again, and again, and again.  Hours passed and the vex corpses had piled. Radiolaria had scorched the simulated snow away to show the barren, angular metal floor. Soon they realized that they were fighting at the base of the tower, though they had made no conscious effort to approach it. It had seemingly come to them during the chaos.

“We have to get inside!” The Titan yelled over the noise. “Hunter, take the key, we need to try it NOW!” He cast another ward of dawn at the door of the tower to protect the team. The door itself was at least 100 feet high and at a human arm’s height was a small triangular key-hole.

“ON IT!” The Hunter vaulted into the Ward and swiped the key from the Titan’s hip where he had secured it before the fighting. “This better work…” she said to herself as she slammed the key into the hole. In an instant, the Vex froze and the shooting stopped. No one moved for an uncomfortable amount of time. The Vex had frozen mid action, as if time had stopped on them and not on the Fireteam. They all slowly began to lower their weapons and turn to face the door, the key now seamlessly blended into its surface. A crack of light split from the floor and raced up the front of the door to the very top of its arch and faded out. Silently, and gently, it opened towards them.

Confused but relieved, the team stepped cautiously forward into the tower. A loud, otherworldly voice suddenly resounded through their heads and spoke only a single sentence.

“Welcome, and congratulations.”

-----

[battlebrooks14-archive]

I saw @scarletrebel and @mrpinstripesuit were making posts about Avia and Grier’s reactions to the warmind dlc so before I suffer through my 11 hour shift today I quickly wrote up Carver’s thoughts and reactions!

Once on mars and discovering the frozen hive, Carver immediately starts throwing theories to Grier as they move through the various tunnels, both why they were there in the first place but how long they could’ve been there.

Not to hold Grier and Avia up too much, he makes a note to come study the hive once they help the guardian that reached out to them. Soon discovering it was Ana. He’d heard much about her but never met her. He smiles as she reminds him of a mix between Avia and Carina.

He’s not sure how to feel about Rasputin. He’s sees both sides of the argument but doesn’t lean on one side or the other. He’s just being cautious though is confused by Zavala as he seemed to open up more during the red war but now is not open to listening to anything Ana has to say. He bites his tongue and makes no comment.

A worm god. On mars. What a wave of absolute terror and excitement for the old warlock. He’s seen the name Xol many times in his study of the hive, as well as Nokris though not as much. He agrees with drawing out Xol with the shard, knowing it won’t be able to resist its light.

He can practically feel Avia’s discomfort being this far down in the depths of the hive. Even more so after Grier's idea to pray when Xol doesn’t show right away. He gently places a hand on her shoulder.

“I know you won’t believe me, but we'll be alright. We’ve handled stuff like this before. We came all this way, let’s just try.”

But oh was he wrong.

He felt his chest tighten as Xol appeared. He was kneeling but even that was too much and had to hold himself up with his hands as well as he watched as the worm god slithered around them. His eyes were glued to it as his vision became unfocused, blurred, and could only see shades of green and gray. He couldn’t move, it was like his body was chained down. He tried to call to Grier and Avia, to see if they were alright but not a sound came from his mouth. And as Xol willed it, he felt like he was drowning and his vision went blank.

He woke to being in the warlock libraries, like he’d fallen asleep. He felt a hand on his shoulder, a voice asking if he was alright. He looked up and froze when he locked eyes with the individual.

Toland.

Carver couldn’t speak but instead reached out to touch him. The moment he did the two were just floating, like the world suddenly melted away. The only thing he could see was green and gray all around them. Toland grabbed his arm in a crushing grip, yelping in surprise, Carver tried to pull himself free. Toland only tightened his grip, Carver felt like his arm was going to break.

“We're going to finish the project we started oh so long ago,” Toland laughed as he took his free hand and shoved it into Carvers stomach, blood spilling everywhere. He pulled back, releasing Carver as he fell through the void. Carver fell, clutching his stomach as his head was all foggy and just couldn’t find anything think about to ground himself, it was if he were someone else, viewing though his eyes. He looked down only to barely see the tail of a hive worm before it buried itself into his body-

Carver was the first to wake in the ice tunnels, his ghost Luna having found him and worked to restore his light and strength. He groggily got up, finding Grier and Avia still unconscious. He helped their ghosts wake them and helped them up. All three had similar expressions as to what happened. He wondered what they saw a moment before hearing Ana and Zavala fill the unsettling quiet.

The story plays out. When they defeat Xol, he doesn’t have much to comment on it. He just wordlessly places a hand on its corpse before it disintegrates and the 3 guardians are left.

He isn’t terribly thrilled about what Rasputin does. He mirrors Zavala and almost fearfully asks “what have we done?”

After everything, he starts having nightmares about Toland, and knows eventually he’ll have to come clean to Avia, Grier, and even to Cornelia, Carina, and Pyxis about his past with Toland.

[luminenwalker]

Ascendancy: World (Notable Locations)

Agerra - A mythical land once held by humans of the first age, their civilization fell with the first gods of the land. It is said their descendants were wiped out by the Ray-Das save a few which found refuge within Ajivha and even later their within the Aetherial Collective and the Ajivhan Khanate, a few within them claiming their ancient blood. No one knows exactly where this land is but it's said to be to the West of Grand Ajivha. The Ajivhan Wastes - The ancient home of the Ajivhan people, the Ajivhan waste is a desert overrun with marauding bands of spirits and machines nearly devoid of life now as the sands and wild magics blow with the wind. Balaenic Archipelago - An archipelago once controlled by Aurora consisting of the isles of Balaena, Emico, Ferrum, Ovum, Pectora, Polus, and Salma. It's controlled by the Empire of Aurora, held together as a republic by tenuous treaties between the Auroran and Ray Das inhabitants. Cytundeb - A small island formed off the coast by the pactbreaker during the early days of the third age. It's Luug inhabitants swear loyalty to the Empire of Aurora. The Dead Isles - The Dead Isles are what were once the Auroran Archipelago, the center and glory of the Auroran Empire it is now a scarred and dead place populated only by the undead and immortals and their 'Dead Republic.' Hit first and hardest during the war and the subsequent cataclysms, it remains a cursed place where none but the cursed live. It is formed of the isle of Maia, the largest of the isles and the capital of old Aurora remembered as Nova Verde, the isle of Pesh, the isle of Samosa, the isle of Tian, the isle of Toro, the isle of Verde, and the Kaigarde and Kashim isles. Ekaki - A tall and ancient mountain which Ajivha was constructed around during the early days of the first or second age. Sacred and scarred the mountain sits in the center of the ruins of the grand and ancient city. The Ghost Marshes - The once home of the Yish and the Aetherial Collective, the Ghost Marshes are a strange land covered in a jungle-like swamp marsh that once housed the most technologically and magically advanced civilization of the third age. Fully under the sway of the spores and plants of Gangari, the Marsh from a distance would appear to be the most hospitable place in the world. Mow unfortunately if one were to enter it they would find it is home to aberrations and other strange creatures as well as highly corruptive wild magics. If one walked far enough in one would begin to find the ruins of the collective's cities relatively intact, massive and elegant structures formed of silvery living metals now having gone strange, rooting into the ground and sprouting branches and leaves, malfunctioning automated security systems firing off without cause. These cities, cursed as most believe, are filled with untouched magical treasures and artifacts, things that any sane person would go to war over to possess. Gokvahar - The ancient capital of the Aetherial Collective, Gokvahar was a metropolis capable of flying through the sky. Forged by the hands of both man and god, Gokvahar was a wonder of magic and technology and the height of the Aetherial Collective's efforts. During the cataclysms Gokvahar was irrevocably damaged and fell into the ocean to the south of the Ghost Marshes, sinking deep to the bottom where it now rests. Though it would hold vast amounts of priceless artifacts of magic and technology, few have tried to search for it's wealth. The danger of the sea is seen as too great a risk for most who would be capable. Grand Ajivha - The first city according to the Ajivhan People, the center of the Sammah Ajivha Tahna as well as the beliefs of the Ajivhan people. In it's time it was heavily fortified, ordered in society and construction, and Grand. Once a bastion of civilization it was sacked and burned five times during the third age and the events that caused and resulted from the fifth burning marked the end of the third age and the fall of both man and god in the world. The city now sits as a ruin and monument to the end of the world surrounding the mountain Ekaki, burning in endless fire as an eternal war is fought within between those trapped within the city by it's new strange nature. Surrounded by a wasteland patrolled by marauding hordes of decaying Zalya and maddened aberrations few have tried to plunder the riches of the city and none who have made it inside have returned, believed to have become one with the endless cycle of bloodshed within. Highcrag - The tunneled chambers at the center of the mountains the Luug call home and the old Capital of the Luug peoples. It is considered sacred to the Luug by those who remember the old ways as it is where the Pale One sacrificed himself to ensure unity. Isle of Avagarde - A mythical island formed by Lysei to protect lost and abused children, found by any who seek it. To children the island is a paradise where one never grows old and all seems beautiful and simple. To mortal adults and the particularly wicked the island is a nightmare, where one is tormented by visions of their fears until they die. The spirit guardians of the place are said to occasionally take pity upon those seeking a loved one, occasionally releasing them and their child from the enchantments of the place and returning them to shore. Isle of Lyseria - A small island once held by an order dedicated to Lysei, Lyseria was taken over during the latter days of the third age by Katalia and repurposed to her desires as a prison, something that was later destroyed by the cataclysms. It is again an island ruled over by Aurora and the reforged order of Lyseria. Isle of Xule - A small island off the coast once controlled by Aurora, and populated by diplomats of the various nations. Xule was a place supposedly of peace, run with the intent to standardize trade and find better methods of dealing with problems other than war. It is currently the capital of the Empire of Aurora. The Jugaan Mountain - The Jugaan mountain is said in myth to have been a Luug known as Juugan, cursed by Gangari with immortality, tortured, and bound in a pit for her part in Cyth'raul's treachery, Jugaan was left to go mad and grow as she aged. Now the size of a mountain it's said by some they can still hear her screams of anguish and moans, begging to die on the winds. Which mountain she is exactly in the range she was bound is a matter of some debate however amongst the Luug. Lot-Vos - The name of an ancient citadel constructed by the Ray-das during their brief attempt at forming a civilization during the third age. Lot-vos was sacked and burned by Aurora and repurposed as fortress to enforce their will upon the halflings. Little but rubble remains of it now, but it's said by some the halflings are trying again to rebuild it in some corner of the world. The Navasti Isles - The ancestral home of the modern Navasti League, the Navasti Isles were overrun by Aberrations over 700 years ago. The Northern Wastes - A frozen wasteland in the far north populated by few, aside from a few herds of Shrage. Nova Verde - The once capital of the Auroran empire and now the center of the Dead Republic. What remains is rubble and ruin, but a fleck of it's opulence perhaps remains in the artifacts within. Oileán Uisce - A circular island off the coast formed by Jashiki during the third age to act as his domain. Within the center is a village once held by his favoured, now a land cut off from the world by a malfunctioning enchantment upon it intended to keep those not blessed by him from entering. Onchesmos (New Ajivha) - Built through the combined efforts of the Driders, as well as Gangari and Lysei, Onchesmos was the capital of the Drider nation of Saranda. Constructed of flawless and unnaturally tough obsidian, Onchesmos became a center of conflict three times in it's history before the cataclysms. Twice burned in battle by Aurora the Driders were conquered and pressed into service against it's allies in the Aetherial Collective before being gassed and driven out in the opening of the great war. After the first of the cataclysms the nascent Ajivhan Khaganate was founded within it's walls and began to fortify it against the outside world in an attempt to weather the storm. After centuries as the Khaganate began to expand outwards it was renamed New Ajivha and became their capital. Qartog's Manor - A stony and Gothic Mansion constructed by the divine hand of Qartog during the early days of the third age. The Manor is thin spot in the veil between the Aetherial Sea and the Material Plane, within which the spirits of the dead can appear. During the cataclysms the thin spot was torn open and aberrations poured through into the lands surrounding it and further out as time went on. Though the hole remains still in the fifth age, few aberrations exist within the manor, most of it's occupants now being revenants from the dead republic looking for a way into the Aetherial Sea and shades acting as strangely as they always do. Silver-root - The ancient university of Grand Ajivha, Silver-root was a massive tree-like structure formed of polished silver living metal which housed and acted as a university for Ajivha and a temple for Gangari worshipers. Housing the largest library and runeworks in the known world Silver-root became the center of learning for most of the world in it's time. Little is known of it's fate by the fifth age aside from it being trapped in the endless war burning Ajivha since the end beginning of the fourth age. Silver-root was the first incarnation of the goddess know as Ashlif and it was through this building that she took human form and then divinity. The Temple of Khalorean - The first temple of the divinity Khalorean, once dedicated to Drya it was taken over by his priesthood and creations until it resembled a nest or hive. It was occupied by the Khaloric Swarm, functioning as a capital, before their leaving the world. It is now currently controlled by the Empire of Aurora. Valthee - The capital of the Empire of the Basalt Obelisk, formed over a thousand years ago around appropriately a massive Basalt Obelisk. The Silverplume Isle - The previous home of the Silverplume Confederacy, the Silverplume isle is a corrupt and now overrun land where its inhabitants fought for a living for hundreds of years with tooth and nail. The Whispering Forest - The forests of the Grat long ago took on an unnatural will during the third age. The plants have seemingly become intelligent, communicating with eachother, and through the strange and almost weaponized flora of the forests capable of fighting and killing those they decide threaten the forest. Aside from small pockets of wild magic little has changed in the whispering forest by 1900 AD.