Conversation in Zilch's Bunker

[ZILCH]

Slumped against the edge of his living space, the captive lunar primordian dreams. To this point his face was adorned with what must have been the most peaceful expression he's worn in years, despite his present circumstances. To the watchful eye, however, his dead sleep had grown increasingly plagued by fits of restlessness. Zilch’s breath hitches, brows twitching into a furrow as cold air swirls around him and moisture turns to frost upon his skin, its twinkle barely visible in this light. Now he fidgets and struggles against his restraints, humming and moaning out in discomfort as life filters back into his mended husk, his soul's journey back from the brink building to a crescendo.

Since collapsing in defeat at the towering gray monolith he'd come to haunt, the psychic echo of the sea resounded in his head more clearly than ever before, returning to him vivid flashes of his earliest days. Vibrant, idyllic visions of playing in the sand, his parents and others of their kind dancing with the tides as mere specks in his eyes, sun glaring high in the sky. The siren song that was mother's voice cooing his name with but a hint exasperation (for what only much later he understood would be the last time) as she coaxed the shy boy from his hiding place to meet with their dour visitors. His father stood idly by as the traveling monks with their frozen smiles guided their young son away, sent off with a hug and a kiss. The last light of dusk peeks back at him as he peered over his shoulder, somber rays bleary through his tears as the sun disappears.

He revisited harsh afternoons in rigorous training on the outskirts of Fenside to temper his body and mind with the other initiates at the monastery, many of whom were orphans not unlike himself, though he’d make any one of them swiftly regret insinuating as much. They were taught about each of those who reside in Mobius by enlightened warriors and learned from them the ways of battle in hopes that such knowledge would be unnecessary. He’d often feel pilgrims’ eyes on him as he went about his duties, gawking at his ghoulish pallor and tresses reminiscent of tar. Come evening, questions would fester inside him along with another implacable, hollow feeling. Whose plan was he a part of, if the gifts of Ars hadn’t been bestowed upon him? The gods hadn’t forgotten about him too, have they? Many of them were oddities in life, themselves, after all.…

“Geez, kid, I keep casting lines and you just don’t seem to bite.”

“This was a stupid idea.” he berated himself. They wouldn’t even know he was gone until morning, and he’d absconded after sundown having heard there were nearby sightings; hardly made it off the coast before getting himself dragged under glossy obsidian waves by a whirlpool of all things. Ears deafened by its thrumming roar, it wasn’t long before he lost strength in his body—his thrashing limbs swapped out for pins and needles—he wasn’t raised an Aquian despite his heritage. Faster and faster he spiraled down into cold, murky waters until the pressure felt like he was being pushed through a stone wall, forcing the remaining air from his lungs. All he could do now was gaze through visual snow into the rending eye of the vortex and do his best to resist the temptation to breath as his sight began to tunnel… surely he’d find safety once he touched down on the seabed.

It was then, amidst the abyssal darkness, a silvery glimmer caught his straining eyes and for some reason beyond his comprehension he found himself viscerally revolted, painfully gasping and recoiling in all-consuming disgust as metallic brambles shot across his world like lightning, additional veins branching out from each thorn. He squeezed his eyes shut and “Zilch” was no more.

Here in the crackling void, primitive designs similar to his tattoos swam with elegance like schools of fish around the borders of his static periphery. Hieroglyphs intermingle, depicting stories long past and those yet to pass in rigid canon: all that was and all that would be, could be… or so intuition informed. Reels of these sagas snaked together, overlapping strands in the weave of all causality. Ends and beginnings; the deaths and rebirths of countless realms converged here and unraveled there to sculpt the shifting tissue of what soon came into view as an imposing scaled face, belonging to what he could only describe as a great fanged "serpent" whose colossal, endlessly coiled and inconceivably twisted body spanned the strobing chasm in which it was nested. The Leviathan's titanic maw stretched around its tail of equal proportion, continuously swallowing in measured gulps to the same rate at which it grows, too preoccupied to pose a tangible threat to him—not that it seemed to pay him any mind. Nonetheless, this is how he imagined it would feel to be trapped, defenseless, in a dragon’s lair. As he gazed, transfixed, into the nearest of the bestial entity’s three black eyes, like holes in the glowing cosmos, something spoke to him, without voice, without words, and his own thoughts bubbled up to fill in the blanks: “Coward. You hunger, yet you lack the resolve to consume.”

Zilch opened his eyes the next instant to the scene of a majestic slate pyramid basking in the ambience of a purple aurora, moon perched at its tip in a sky devoid of stars. It took a moment for him to become cognizant of the fact that he was a part of this surreal painting, his body laid out face-up and pinned beneath the structure which sat atop his abdomen. Barely mustering movement he cranes his neck to assess the seabed only to find himself suspended far above a gray landscape awash with noxious dust and dotted with clusters of violet crystals as far as the eye can see. The universe was now screaming at him. His tingling, quivering flesh burned as if set aflame while his insides conversely frozen over. Realizing his predicament he returned to feebly grasp at the embedded tip of the obelisk with withering arms to dislodge himself but to no avail. After his concerted effort the primordian finally falls slack, resigning himself to his fate.

“Do you really wanna die playing the villain that bad?"

"..."

"Well, never let it be said there was no one lookin’ out for ya.”

No sooner than hearing this self-assured voice speak out again does he feel a force float up from beneath him, cradling his broken body and lifting him free from his perdition. Shining chrome branches creep out from the edges of his vision, joining at a single point overhead as he’s steadily pulled from the deep.

“It’s just like a net,” he caught himself thinking. “... Which means I know how this ends.”

He lifts his head in anticipation of breaking through his Stygian canopy.

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

The satyr props herself upright on an elbow and starts to stretch herself out. She already appears largely awake, probably used to sleeping in modest accommodations. Platinum locks sit askew, greasy and limp from being stuffed inside a protective helmet and not aided by the fact that it'd been a few days since she bathed. Her hair is parted by furred, ovine ears. They lift, twitch and swivel with attention at the slowly building activity of the room as people wake and start to move. Normally concealed by her veil, it's a sight seldom seen.

The skull of the half-elf is still perched on her lap from when she passed out. She belatedly realizes as she goes to extend her legs and catches it from toppling to the floor just in time. She turns the curiosity over in her hands a few times to see if she can glean anything else from it.

Stinky slides off the chair and pads her way across the room to the faintly stirring primordian captive, ignoring everyone else for now. Her gaze is involuntarily drawn to his stomach. Healed skin can be seen beneath the acid-holes burned into his clothes where once there was rended flesh and exposed viscera.

"H-hello, hello? Mr. Zilch, are you awake? Are you still evil?" She asks, likely seeming a very different person than her demeanour on the battlefield only a few hours prior. "Are you hurt at all? Are you hungry?" Before he could even attempt to answer the barrage of questions she breaks away to her belongings piled next to the armchair, fishes out a ration and loops back around. She closes in on him and starts trying to shove some hardtack against his mouth. "Here! I don't even know if you eat, but it's good!"

[UUSI]

Uusi wakes up in the bed in Zilch's room, rubbing her eyes and letting out a big yawn. She rises, walks to the desk and casts Druidcraft to light the small candle, illuminating the room.

She moves to pick up her bag at the base of the bed, rustling through it she picks out the Dryad Fruit wrapped in Ruined Parchment, carving off another quarter, wrapping the remaining half and popping the quarter in her gob. The taste fills her mouth, dancing on her tastebuds like popping candy, it is as fresh as the last slice. She lets out a hushed high-pitched "Mmm!"

Sitting on the bed she pulls out the grimoire she acquired from the coffer from under her pillow. The grimoire crackles with arcane energy as she runs her fingers along it and the scent of smoke and ozone fills her lungs as she draws in breath. Her eyes scan the text scrawled along the binder, written in Infernal, which while she does not speak, the attunement with the item has rendered it's secrets upon her and she instinctively speaks: "Fulminating Treatise, huh?" she relays in a muted whisper to herself.

Now laying down on the bed, her calves and feet in air, tail flat and dangling off the bed, she studies over the new spells revealed to her as well as the unique enchantments of the book itself. A short while passes as her concentration suddenly broken by the sounds of someone talking on the other side of the door. Unable to make out what is being spoken she gets and quietly presses the side of her head to the door in order to eavesdrop.

[ZILCH]

“I’ll be seeing her soon… I’ll be seeing-”

Two suns burn behind her eyes, the third rising betwixt her horns.

“-YOU!?” Zilch awakens from his long slumber with a start, face promptly filled with bland dry biscuit which triggers a bout of intense coughing.

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

His sudden, violent waking cuts through the relative serenity of the chamber and she reflexively hops back away from him, springing on her hooves in a manner that calls to mind a startled deer. Though she manages to keep the skull screwed under her arm, wedged between her bicep and ample chest, the remainder of the ration slips her already precarious grasp and shatters into useless powdery fragments on the floor.

She spares a moment to frown at the mess, but her attention is quickly on him again, "Me! It's me! Sorry! And I dropped your food!" She inclines her head and the motion is completely automatic, indicating this apology must be sincere. “You're finally awake, that's good... I was hoping you would, so we could talk, now that you can't fight us." She motions to his bindings.

[ZILCH]

"Y-you're... you..." he resumes his guttural cacophony, not quite finished hacking up a lung, pieces of cracker littering his face and chest. Crumbs can be spotted sticking to the dewy surface of his dark facial 'hair' "... from the Fenside cloister. A disciple of Denizen... Why? How?"

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

Only now that he's calling attention to it does she appear to remember something - the familiarity with which he had looked at her garb earlier. Dumbly following his line of thought, her eyes drift from him to looking down at her own body, then back up to him again. "Yes, I am? Have we met before?"

When he doesn't respond instantly, she leans in uncomfortably close to his face, narrowing her eyes in study. "Nooo... I've never seen you... I'm pretty sure…"

[ZILCH]

Body and mind still buzzing from his psychedelic experience, the primordian's eyes dart around the room. Taking in his surroundings, he quickly recognizes the place the party had taken him to as his own. He also takes note of the fact that he and Stavroula aren't alone, though he doesn't get far beyond drawing parallels between the wary elf and a certain bird-masked figure he'd seen loitering on the edge of the blight before the satyr's head butts into his vision, causing him to flinch as his personal space is invaded.

"N-no, not formally at any rate, but I know the robes and icon well because I was brought up at a monastery near there. I was to become a monk, you see...." A subtle mist of fine snowflakes disperses from his shoulders as he squirms against the ropes, "Don't you think this is a little bit unnecessary?" he complains.

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

She regards his bindings with some semblance of guilt but nevertheless seems resolute.

"It's the safest way to make sure you don't try anything like, running outside and digging up our seed, or..." Stinky makes gestures with her hands like she's casting a spell, undulating her fingers. "Anyway, anyway, nevermind, you're from the Fenside monastery! I've been there once! Or twice..." She falls quiet as she searches the reaches of her mind for any clues, but comes up short. "What would bring a monk out to a place like this?"

[ZILCH]

"Who even ties rope this well?" Zilch hisses under his breath, finding that, while he isn't given much wiggle room, he's not too uncomfortable either. His efforts seize with a grimace as the satyr makes mention of the damned seed that had been the bane of him in their last encounter, following up with an unconscious quirk of his brow at Stinky's spirit fingers.

His thoughts are left to wander as his captor's voice briefly trails off. Why did he hate that seed so much? He seemed to deem it necessary to remove as if it were a filthy thorn in his own side, but he didn't seem to feel its bite anymore now that he was limited to his own body and the Blight's hysterical "voice" was distant; on the outside. He can't help but scoff at the tiny nun's next inquiry, hanging his head with a shake, "That is the question, isn't it?"

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

Another non-answer. The satyr's already round cheeks swell as she sucks air into them, pouting at the man's reply. "Well... anyways... you should probably eat. Sorry I dropped your food, I got one more ration, should I get it out of my bag?"

[ZILCH]

"I appreciate your... kindness, but I'd spare yourselves the provisions. I haven't needed to eat for a very long time, not since she... no, I mean... not since the Mage Blight took over care of those needs for me."

He reflects on the mild saltiness of the hardtack lingering in his mouth and lifts his head somewhat to peer at Stavroula, "May I ask you something? Why do you seem so... concerned for me? Why didn't you just let me die back at the obelisk? I am the reason the pylons are struggling. You were right to treat me as your enemy: my very existence poses a threat to the outside world. Don't you think you're being too compassionate, even for a grave cleric... especially for a grave cleric?"

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

"Huuahh... ahh... you, um, don't seem all that bad!" The pointed question seems to have taken her by surprise. She flounders to verbalize her multitudinous, disconnected thoughts. Even though he's the one tied up, she feels she's the one being interrogated now. "It um, maybe it would have been the easy way, but when we were told to come here he just said 'fix the problem'. If there's a way to do that without killing you, I'd do that. And, y’know, mister monk, being a grave cleric means I return things to the grave, it's not my job to put people in graves..."

The satyr blanches, the sudden flush of pallor quite evident on her normally dun-toned cheeks, experiencing a revelation rare and terrifying - in her mercy, had she defied a direct order from her God?

She faces away from him before he can register anything about her expression beyond a small shock, trotting over to her pack of belongings only a reach away and bending down to root through it, taking the final ration for herself. She completes her thought without looking at him. When she speaks, her voice is completely devoid of its usual meandering lilt.

"But after this is over and we've taken you away, if you ever try to come back here, I will kill you.”

[TABITHA]

Tabitha catches a glimpse of bleached white from Stavroula's bag, her eyes narrowed to slits. "What's with the skull?"

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

"Mmgohh-" A spray of spittle and crumbs accompany the reaction to Tabitha's inquiry. The satyr hastens to swallow the ration jammed in her mouth and springs upright onto her hooves, hefting the skull aloft for everyone to see like a won prize. "Half-elf skull! I dunno. Uusi found it while going through Mr. Zilch's stuff. It's probably not whoever used to live here," showing a frankly impressive degree of deduction for her usual intelligence, she points to the Infernal writing above the doorways, "so it's probably someone who came later, someone like us, and maybe Mr. Zilch killed them..."

Feeling in charge of the situation again, she saunters over to him. This time, the skull isn't being nestled against her body but rather held out for his inspection in both hands, its empty eye sockets made to stare him down. "Right? Am I right? Hey, if we weren't so lucky in that fight, would've you kept us like this, too?"

[ZILCH]

Zilch's body seizes as though a dagger were thrust square into his gut, having found his answer in Tabitha's own question. His glossy 'hair' stands on end now, forming neat fluid spikes, and his stomach only twists further in upon itself with Stavroula's morbidly jubilant proclamation. Half-elf Skull.

"Wh-where did y—put it back!" Fighting back waves of nausea he lifts his head, and in the instant his eyes, wide with abject horror, met with those lifeless pits he recalled something his mind had been working hard to suppress and his heart plunged all the back down into the perdition he'd been extricated from mere minutes prior. "NO!" Zilch squeezes his eyes shut as he screams, voice escaping as more a whine than a roar. Pitch black residue bubbles up from his closed lids, "No... that's... that's not...." his voice grows shaky and weak as he opens them back up, averting his gaze from the remains and Stinky as if shamed. "It's... it's all I have left of her."

"The girl with fire in her eyes."

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

Stavroula had been just about jeering at their captive, thrusting the remains in his face as she'd asked the question, but now the satyr reflects the lunar primordian's own horror and shame. When he turns away from her and his expression is obscured by the curtain of inky water, she draws back and hugs the skull to her chest. Sloping chocolate eyes blink down at him, re-assessing the situation and knocked off-balance by the unexpected display of raw emotion.

"The girl with... um, you mean... is that the person you were trying to call out to? It was, um... 'Cassandra', wasn't it?" She holds the cranium out once more, this time facing it toward herself, regarding it with newfound understanding.

[ZILCH]

"I... tried calling out to her?" he peeks back at the woman who'd spoken 'her' name aloud for a moment before withdrawing back into himself, eyes appearing as though his makeup had run. "... I think part of me always has been, not that I have any right to after... everything... what I did to...." his speech becomes audibly choked just as another house guest makes her jarring entry from his very own private quarters.

[UUSI]

Uusi finds her self unconsciously leaning further and further into the door, focus intensifying, attempting to pick up every muffled word. A focus suddenly broken by a click. The door falls open and the kobold tumbles to the ground with a yip. Uusi springs back up almost as quickly as she fell, twirling gracefully, finding her footing and placing the one hand to her face with fingers parsed to see through.

“Ca-san-dra,” she says with deliberation, “your Queen appears nought for this world, and yet you claim she possesses, nay, is omnipotent? Nary the delusions of a man driven mad with loneliness?” she chides.

“Or mayhaps it really is she who exacerbates the Blight’s eternal growth from beyond the grave, related more to the Thrice Oculed Serpent than you realise?” pulling over a small chair, she swings the back end to face towards Zilch, climbing up to look into his face at equal height. She folds her arms upon the rim of it’s back. “So, tell me, what do you know of this Cassandra?”

[ZILCH]

Pitiful sobs riddle the diminutive wizard's unbroken line of questions and when she concludes there is a silence that hangs in the air as the kobold waits expectantly for answers, highlighting the noise of a grown man's sniffles and the brewing storm just outside, heard as distant crashing waves by his ears. Finally the lunar primordian responds, his voice cracking midway through a meager "What?" closely followed up with, "Is... is that my scarf?"

It takes him some moments to calm down and process what's been asked of him exactly but his mind hones in on the words 'thrice oculed serpent' in particular, "I... had a strange dream. A vision of a large snake... if one could even call it that. It had three pits for eyes, not unlike the symbol carved there on that spire she held such scholarly fascination with; the very same which awakened this fell power that lie dormant in my damned blood... clouded my sensibilities with such intoxicating promise it blinded me to her suffering until it was too late."

Fists clenched, Zilch trembles with what appears to be anger, but instead he breaks down into tears. "Oh, who am I kidding? I have nothing to blame but my own mindless self-indulgence... Cassandra, she saved my life, and I... I took it all from her-er-errrr..." the snotty primordian whimpers as he once again goes limp, hiding beneath a black shroud.

[STAVROULA “STINKY” KYARI]

The satyr listens passively to the exchange, eyes only flickering up to Uusi when Zilch dully recognizes his own pilfered scarf wrapped around the kobold's neck.

Stavroula turns the skull over in her hands once more, just as she'd done earlier when she sought to classify it. She's examining it from a new perspective - more spiritual than physical now. Nothing exudes from these remains and trips her finely-honed necromantic senses. There is no rage, no fear, no regret, no despair choking the air around it. This dead half-elf is as silent as can be.

Not that she could talk to it, anyway. Magic like that didn't exist in the world anymore. Such a thing took far more magic than it did previously and she knows she isn't strong enough.

For every answer the primordian provides, the pieces of the puzzle paradoxically becomes more scattered. The vague story Zilch sketches out for her eludes comprehension. But, one critical detail is clear to her now: this man did not kill anyone.

"Hnn... you came here with this girl... and then this weird place made some powers wake up - I know, it happened to me too - and then you went all crazy and she died." She litigates her understanding of the events outloud. "But you know nobody can live in here except you, that's why we need these... stuffy, hot suits. Why would anybody want to come here? It sucks in here."

There's a beat of silence as Stinky's gaze falls upon Tabitha idling nearby and the satyr's eyes glimmer with rare recognition. "So she must have been another researcher, right?"