Depths Untold

Welcome to your campaign!
A blog for your campaign

Wondering how to get started? Here are a few tips:

1. Invite your players

Invite them with either their email address or their Obsidian Portal username.

2. Edit your home page

Make a few changes to the home page and give people an idea of what your campaign is about. That will let people know you’re serious and not just playing with the system.

3. Choose a theme

If you want to set a specific mood for your campaign, we have several backgrounds to choose from. Accentuate it by creating a top banner image.

4. Create some NPCs

Characters form the core of every campaign, so take a few minutes to list out the major NPCs in your campaign.

A quick tip: The “+” icon in the top right of every section is how to add a new item, whether it’s a new character or adventure log post, or anything else.

5. Write your first Adventure Log post

The adventure log is where you list the sessions and adventures your party has been on, but for now, we suggest doing a very light “story so far” post. Just give a brief overview of what the party has done up to this point. After each future session, create a new post detailing that night’s adventures.

One final tip: Don’t stress about making your Obsidian Portal campaign look perfect. Instead, just make it work for you and your group. If everyone is having fun, then you’re using Obsidian Portal exactly as it was designed, even if your adventure log isn’t always up to date or your characters don’t all have portrait pictures.

That’s it! The rest is up to your and your players.

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Snake Eyes
After Action Report, Agent C. Veldrin

AFTER ACTION REPORT

REPUBLIC INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

KELOTH BRANCH

FROM: Agent C. Veldrin

SUBJECT: Nephilim Group F Combat Performance, Part I

  1. This After Action Report is completed in accordance with IAW 57322 standards.
  2. The following is information regarding the operation itself:
  • Deployed Location: Buzel, contested zone.
  • Deployed CCOs: Colonel Varley
  • Contingency Purpose: F.F. operation in support of reclamation of the key strategic point of Buzel.

REPORT FOLLOWS

The deployment occurred flawlessly, and the members of Group F simply disembarked from the train in their newly fashioned disguises. Agent Saskia and myself made our presence less than noticeable, tailing from nearby. Group F began by gathering information from civilians on the street and in various drinking establishments, while avoiding the black-banded enforcers of the local criminal who had established himself as the lord of the town. These enforcers were referred to as the Bats of Buzel, and the “lord” was known as Asp. Group F then made a unilateral decision to reconnoiter within the now defunct base of the Brass Bats, the gang which they worked with, which Asp was the leader of.

Once within, I lost line of sight. However, I am told by Saskia, who positioned herself outside a nearby window after climbing down, that Group F made contact with a high ranking member of Asp’s new social hierarchy(one founded on strength of arm, and little else) who was described as a very strong and large man, in the guise of some sort of street performer with heavy make-up, riding a leathery ball, and wielding a trident with a gladiator’s poise. In addition, he bore a prominent shadowy chain seemingly tattooed to his arm, which was perceived to move across his skin.

Through this contact, the group managed to use the cover of a business proposition to infiltrate the Spire, where Asp had made his headquarters. Agent Saskia and myself waited on a less occupied floor when the Group began their meeting, but apparently they were found out, and fighting broke out above us. We swiftly neutralized those who moved to get reinforcements, and began advancing to secure the Group. However, once we reached the meeting room, we found six corpses and one human arm, which was most likely female. None of the corpses belonged to Asp. There was a locked door with no handle on the inside which had been opened through the use of thieve’s tools, and a trapped room behind it.

Hordes of reinforcements were coming our way, despite our neutralization of any messengers. We made our way towards the commotion up the stairs, hypothesizing that Group F had followed the High Priority Target in order to neutralize him, despite orders to the contrary. We were, however, engaged by an overwhelming number of enemy combatants. When we managed to disengage, we reached the entrance to a saferoom. A large detonation had destroyed a number of corpses, as well as the door. The corpse of the enemy combatant from the abandoned warehouse, identifiable by his ball and strange makeup, was found, as well as the armless corpse of the woman, whose arm we found earlier. Her body was mangled beyond belief, likely by the weapon wielded by the clown. I believe the strange abilities of the Nephilim to have had a hand in this. Further study is likely to be beneficial, especially in comparison with REDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTED. Agent Saskia agrees with my concerns about REDACTEDREDACTED as well, and I believe that restraint should be shown.

Within the room, I witnessed a number of deceased enemy combatants, and a fairly wounded Group F, whose wounds seemed to tinge with a blue fire on occasion, as they seemed to be finishing a struggle between them and the HPT, Asp. Operative N used an electrical shock emitted from her hands via magical ability in order to cause death. The HPT was hung from the ceiling as an intimidation tactic, and it seemed as though we were now all surrounded by the large number of enemy reinforcements, however, something strange seemed to be occurring to their mental state upon the death of their leader.

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Old Fears
Red Claws

Blood dripped down his nose. The heat was unbearable. Fire poured out of the barrels sprouting from his arms and hands, and dozens of soldiers were eviscerated in front of his form. The lumbering beast from before, a mess of stitches and scars, easily fifteen or sixteen feet tall, dragged itself by its hands towards him. The empty sockets where eyes should have been flashed and flickered with icy malice, crystals of frost criss-crossing the wounds covering its body like cracked glass.

Click. The cannons should fire now, the flames should have already devoured the monstrosity before him.

Click. Sweat mingled with blood on his chin as he flashed back and forth between his second body, from fearful flesh to unyielding metal. The unnamed horror crawled closer, now accompanied by the burning corpses, whose faces seemed almost familiar, etched into his mind. Yet more corpses joined them, dragged on by hatred, blood dripping from bullet-holes in their chest, heads, necks. Clean jobs, artfully done, bags of coins traded for the lives of strangers.

The cannons would not fire, and the beast had reached the feet of his Mechanized Suit. The monstrous appendages that some may call hands grasped the cockpit, tearing it free. His own hands grabbed for his musket, but found nothing. He turned and looked for it, and saw his hands covered in blood, coins covering his seat. Quickly looking back, expecting a horrific death, he instead saw a familiar face.

“Brother!” His eyes flashed open, before being splashed with blood, as he watched the familiar face begin to unravel, rent apart by wicked claws, long as swords, slick with blood, and plunging for his face.

He awoke with a strangled scream, and grabbed his musket. It was next to him in his hammock. His breathing slowed. Calm. His shaking hand reached for a mug, and he poured the ale down his throat, staring at his reflection in the edges of the heady brew. An eye flaring with cobalt lines stared back.

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De Anima
Awakening

“Repair my craft as soon as possible.” She commanded, striding out the door, hoping to impart a sense of authority, despite the weakness in her legs, in her mind, in her soul. She felt as if she had lost something, been drained, but also… Reborn.

She leaned against the cold metal doorframe of the train car once out of sight of the various researchers and engineers. Her vision flashed blue once more, and the world distorted as her gloved hands covered the lenses on her mask.

The world shifted, and she heard a faint wailing, that of an uncountable horde. Voices filled the air around her. Laments of unfulfilled dreams, lost families, love forgotten, work unfinished. Her hands moved to her ears. She saw only corpses, and it appeared as though her own body was a rotting sack, impaled upon a broken bayonet. She tried to move, and found nothing worked, screams did not escape her mouth. She could only watch as a thick, black worm began devouring what remained of her midsection. Blue fire lapped at the edges of her vision.

“Is something troubling you?” She was back in her body. “To be honest, the other researchers and I are amazed that you’re still standing after using the suits that many times.” A young man in a labcoat stood beside her, stained with soot and oil, a small scratch decorated his cheek, just above a concerned mouth. “Almost anyone else who has been tested in them has died, you and your friends are abnormalities to the extreme.”

“I’m fine.” She pushed him to the side, and strode out. She adjusted her mask once more, and stepped onto the boarding ramp for the airship, noticing a few more burns streaked across the armored hull. Stepping past the sleeping forms of her comrades, she opened the wooden door to her laboratory. Arranging the philters, starting the burners, she began to test her newest theories. Her hand shook while holding the beaker. Her reflection was different, the tips of her hair had begun to shift and dance subtly, tinged with turquoise light. She tied up her hair beneath her mask.

As sleep began to tug at her eyelids, she poured another vial into the mixture. “My work is far more important than a paltry few lives.” She whispered.

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Cold Blood
Memories of Stone

His legs gave out, and his sword fell point first into the scorched rock. The stench of blood filled the air. Wounds stung all across his body. The headless corpse writhed in front of him, shadows pouring out of it, whistling a high pitched squeal.

“At least my wounds are too cold to bleed, eh?” He said with a smirk, looking back at the last standing soldier who had followed him, a man in his twenties, but he looked far younger. Robin, his name had been. Looking up, the man saw the Imperial forces retreating, and he spat upon the ground. Corpses as far as the eye can see, and some unholy beasts of magic not even a mile away. At least he whittled away a few more Imperials while he had the chance. What a fan-fucking-tastic time.

“Are you alright sir? We need to get someone to tend to your wounds, and quickly. I’d hate to sound alarming, but you got pretty damn fucked up.” Robin’s young face was twisted with concern, mixed with pain, he’d sustained a few injuries as well.

“Just a day in the life. I could use a hand though, and I definitely wouldn’t turn down a set of legs that I could still feel either. Maybe a drink as well?” Robin knelt down, helping the man up. He was clutching something around his neck, it looked like some kind of rock, tied together with simple cordage. Kept my promise one more time. He thought of a scene years ago, the memory dulled, barely even a spark anymore. Yet it served well enough to start a fire in his mind once more. He pulled himself to his feet with Robin’s help, and began walking across the bodies, ashes scattering among his feet, charred bones beneath his step.

The airship was landing in the distance, dust dancing up around it as various engineers yelled out instructions. A standard bearer wandered through the blasted rocks, shouting a name. As Robin helped carry him, his fingers instinctively traced the tank shell strapped to his wrist, following the rough marks carved there. Men like them hadn’t known how to write, but their marks showed their existence enough. At least, that’s what he hoped. The stories he’d told himself over the years all felt unreal at this point, like he’d been trapped in a dream for decades. What had it been like where he was born? What was his life before his service?

A jolt shuddered through his arms, and blood splashed from his mouth as he collapsed to the ground. Who was she? His veins pulsed, shining blue against the black ground.

“Sir!” Robin caught him as he collapsed.

“Just clearing my system a bit, who needs all this blood anyway!” A harsh, slow laugh crawled from his throat, like a rock scraped across rusted metal. It was quiet, and it was alone in the vastness of the battlefield. He looked up at Robin, then turned his eyes to the airship that they approached, seeing Vazi dash up the entry ramp.

I have others to protect now.

I’m sorry.

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Trapped
Mark of a Hand

Metal screeched and tore, and a drop of liquid metal fell on her face as she gasped for breath. She could deal with higher temperatures than most, but this was pushing it further than balmy, to say the least.

The escape hatch was jammed- No, that’s a bit too soft of a word. The thing was torn to shreds, and a massive spike was blocking her only exit. It felt like an afterthought, as though this massive beast had simply twitched a muscle, and pierced the armor that she, in a few minutes, had come to think invincible.

Death loomed in front of her. No escape. An image flashed in her mind, a memory from before. Hanging from two chains, her wrists raw, a figure entering the room, shadows licking its feet, before obscuring her vision. Join me.

Another memory,

Witch!

Devil child…

Call the priest! A consorter has been found! She trafficks with dark powers!

“I don’t even know when those things were said.” She whispered. “Or who said them.”

You’ll die here for this futile act of resistance.

“Did they hurt then?”

After what you’ve done, your soul is beyond redemption. Why you would struggle against me flies in the face of all logic that I know…

Regardless, all they are now is fuel. She thrust her arms into the control panels once more. Flames licked along her horns, and her tongue flicked out. Her eyes were that of her twisted and crippled metal form once more, and she tore herself off the spike, freeing herself as her crushed leg stung. She clutched her fist, and flared her remaining jet booster.

Save me!

“I’ve come this far, I won’t stop until I meet her once more, and force her to tell me what happened before she gave me these scars. No overgrown salamander will get in my way!”


She traced the scars on her forehead as she stared in the mirror, before idly tapping her right horn. She muttered the phrase of a cantrip as she turned, the small door on the mirror slamming shut. She noticed the journal on her bedside, papers covered with attempts at finding meaning within. Her scarf felt heavier today. She flipped it over her shoulder, and whispered once more.

The door flung open, lurid lamplight pouring across her face.

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Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin
Reformation

The horrifying fist sped towards my train car, and all I could do was stare, weakly. I know we’ve been researching the kind of technology to stand against the Empire’s creations, but what am I against something like that? Then, a flash of light blinded me. Blue wings, sharp as knives, shining like an angel, gifted from Aten. I swear, I’ve never been more grateful in my life.

It was a man, holding the meaty fist with a single, slender hand. Bandages covered his face, wisps of a beard poking between the stained rags, and a tattered cloak whipped in the wind, torn by the wings protruding from his back. They were composed of pure light, like a bolt of electricity managed to become solid.

“Picking on those smaller than you? Come now, not very good manners.” The strange man cackled out, whipping a handful of knives from his cloak, which shone with blue flame, before exploding in the monster’s chest in a shower of gore, splashing across his bandages, and melting them partially. A crooked smile was revealed, as his hands moved faster than I could imagine, fighting this beast, at least three times his height, and wider by far. The man was something beyond what we were, what we could hope to be. How could we hope to harness this power for the concerns of mere humans?


I fought for my people.

My companions.

My ideals.

I have a new reason to fight.

The light of the wings nearly blinded me, as shards of metal flew.

I’ll change this world, for you.

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Silent Night
Stumbling Hands

Ara smiled as he felt the nearly imperceptible click vibrate across his fingers, and the plug easily turned. He carefully stored the homemade rake in his leather satchel, and pushed open the window, lowering himself gracefully to the stone floor. He looked around the room, which was luckily empty. A small desk was beside him, and a utilitarian bed sat in one corner, with a modest trunk tucked beneath, the stone floor showing signs of being frequently worn on certain tracks from the extraction of said trunk on a regular basis. How anyone can subject themselves to these conditions, while merely serving others, is beyond me. Ara sighed, and promptly continued, leaning through the single door of the room into the hall beyond. The clack of soldier’s boots resounded down the hallway, a distant laugh drifted through the air, and the clinking of a glass traveled alongside it.

He waited until the sound of the boots grew distant, then slipped into the hall, keeping close to the walls as he passed under the effervescent orbs which lazily hovered inches beneath the ceiling, pouring bright light across the hallway as they roiled and churned with sigils. Ara reached into the leather bag at his waist once more as he walked, drawing out a torn page, and examined the text carefully once more, absorbing the layout of the manor interior. He stuffed the page into his pocket, and wrapped his hand around the brass doorknob to the kitchens, leaning his ear against it. Satisfied, he carefully turned the knob and put his weight against the door. In a single fluid motion, he moved to the other side of the door, pushed it shut behind him, and rolled over to the prep table, hiding behind it.

“I wouldn’t want to meet any lords slipping out for a late night snack…” Ara whispered to himself with a wry smile. It was the little things that made life bearable, and there was no reason to stress on a job like this one. Easy in, well-planned retrieval of the goods, and easy out. He’d been working on this mark for weeks, having tailed the heavily guarded goods all the way here from the day they arrived at the city perimeter. He thought contentedly of the possibilities for what he might find in the shipment, for whatever it was, it was valuable enough to be heavily guarded, and shipped from the recently conquered Bexelian territories, as well as small enough to be moved in a single case. He clambered into the massive oven, and realized for the first time since the conception of this plan, that he was about to get awfully sooty. Ah well, any clothes I ruin tonight, I can just buy replacements for, after I cash in on this…

The way up the chimney was slow, especially with the layers of accumulated ash. Ara’s small picks afforded him a somewhat reliable ascent, however, and he was used to this kind of work.

“eighty nine, ninety, ninety one, ninety two, ninety three, aaaand…” crack “ninety four!” Ara sighed with relief, before coughing as quietly as he could into his shoulder, soot filling the air around his cramped form. He quickly ran the cable from his belt to his right pick, securing his position, before drawing a second page from his pouch, a much more neatly folded one, with a number of sigils upon it, and green wax seal keeping it shut. If Pedegrain messed with this again, I’ll shove his attuning crystal so far up his… Ara’s thoughts were interrupted as he slid his finger across the seal, tearing it free, and saw the symbols beginning to glow more quickly.

“Clumsy bastard!” He yelped as he let go of both his picks and freed his feet from their precarious positions. Ara fell in a cloud of soot, wind whirring past him. Just as his cable pulled taut, snapping his back against the chimney wall, the explosion sounded from above, and bits of brick landed pelted his head and shoulders. Finesse, I tell him. This one needs to be quiet, I said. Ara scowled as he dragged himself up the cable, thanking any god he could think of that his right pick hadn’t been caught in the blast. He pulled himself through the gaping hole to see, contrary to his expectations, a study.

The craftsman he’d bribed had revealed to him that the walls had been reinforced with steel, and that the only entrance was a heavy door, enchanted with by the Crown’s contracted mages. However, he had also learned that a few corners had been cut in construction. The lord had wanted this clandestine room in a very specific spot, and refused to budge on it. However, it was directly above the kitchen. Three floors above, but still. This meant that there was a rather weak wall serving as a pillar in the center of the room, and that this wall contained the chimney, just barely wide enough for Ara’s thin form to slip up.

Thankfully, no one was in the study, and there didn’t seem to be signs that Pedegrain’s overenthusiastic annihilation sigil had drawn immediate attention. It was still unwise to waste time admiring the architecture, however. The room was dominated by a towering desk, made more imposing still by the stacks of thick, dusty tomes upon it. A small letter was beside them, with a note upon it, reading “To be delivered to the Black Door, posthaste.” The rest was in Old Tarean, however. All this was irrelevant to Ara, however, since smack in the center of the desk, he saw the case he came for. He rushed over gleefully, opening his satchel once more, and depositing the case inside of it.

Thud.

Ara whipped his head around just in time to see thick steel door swing open, and a number of crossbows aimed in his direction. Moving on instinct, he leapt to the side, tumbling through a jumble of scroll cases as a volley of bolts impacted behind him with an extremely menacing crack. Latching his bag shut, he scrambled to the central pillar, but the hole he had created was on the other side, unfortunately.

“There aren’t any other exits from this room, little rat, if you come easily now and tell me who sent you, I’ll ensure that you are processed fairly by the Queen’s laws!” An old, yet strong voice rang out.

“That’s a generous offer to somebody in my position, milord. Fine then, I’ll take it.” In your dreams. The Queen’s law would have me sitting on the streets with no hands or eyes, and that’s the best case scenario. Sweat dripped down Ara’s cheek, and his hands shook, despite his outwards bravado. “I’m standing up now. I’m going to walk out, take the case from my bag, and toss it over to you. Alright?”

“You’re pretty smart for a hired thug!” The same voice stated in a smug, self-assured tone. “Perhaps if you’re cooperative enough, we can work out a deal.”

“Sounds quite fine to me.” Ara said with a nervous smile as he slowly stood up, turning around the pillar, and walking out, bag in front of him. Six guards were in the doorway, and they were accompanied by a nobleman, with thick arms, graying hair, and a pair of tiny gemstone glasses. Ara watched the man carefully as he reached into his bag, sweat coating his fingers as he wrapped them around the cloak in his bag, and grasped the bottom of the case.

“Hurry it up now boy!” The nobleman had a severe look to his face. A soldier, perhaps, before he received his lordship of course. A small movement caught Ara’s eyes. The man had flicked two finger up on his left hand, and the guard beside him still had a bolt on his crossbow. Ara’s eyes widened, and he jerked his arm, throwing his cloak in the air, and bounding backwards, all the muscles in his legs pumping in a single burst. He twisted in the air, a curse forming on his lips, while a command escaped from the nobleman. I’m supposed to be the sneaky one, you cocksucker! Ara felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and yelped, before spotting a bloody blur snap into the wall. He slammed into the chimney as the result of his desperate leap, and began to plummet down the shaft he’d spent so long ascending. Ara desperately clawed at the walls, the bricks tearing his gloves to shreds, along with some of the skin beneath them. He finally managed to find a decently sized groove, coming to an abrupt, muscle wrenching halt amongst the dust and ash. A bolt clacked against the wall just above him, bounced down through the shaft, as the nobleman’s indistinct words pierced the pained haze hanging over Ara’s senses. They just couldn’t let me hang out in here, could they. He let go of his hand hold, curling around his bag and bracing for the last of the fall, as he slammed into the pile of ash and charred wood at the base of the chimney, rolling onto the floor in a cloud of dust.

Grimacing and pressing upon his ribs, Ara stumbled out of the kitchen, sprinting down the hallway towards the room he had entered the manor through. Unfortunately, a group of guards stormed around the corner in front of the room. He cursed, and dashed down an unfamiliar hall, much thinner than the one before, approaching a wooden door. A luxury in these parts, but not really the thing to be considering at the moment. Ara threw himself against it, bursting into an elegant ballroom, filled to the brim with nobleman in resplendent coats, and beautiful women in the latest fashion, sleek dresses, with those hideously bulbous shoulders. Partygoers, servants, soldiers, and the latest unwelcome guest, a bloodstained, soot covered thief.

Ara reacted before the guards, jumping onto one of the nearest tables, before leaping to the next, delicately arranged(and mostly untouched) meals were tossed to the ground. A shame… Ara thought with a grimace, hating to see food go to waste like that. He bounded from one after another, relying on the hordes of stunned partygoers to keep him safe from crossbow bolts this time.

KAF HALRI!” A voice boomed across the room, reverberating through the crystalline chandeliers. Ara looked back to see a bolt of crackling blue light streaking across the room towards him, cutting through the screams of the confused lords and ladies. Who in the hell would be trained in combat magic at a ball?! Ara pushed off the small round table with his left foot, and hook the right under the lip of the table as he fell, flipping it upwards as he slammed into the ground. The jagged spell tore the rim of the table apart before burning a small crater in the stone beside Ara, who began scrambling between the feet of the panicking lords, and beneath the next set of tables. Like a bolt of divine inspiration, Ara saw his escape route in the form of a large balcony, which offered a splendid view of the city below. “What in Aten have I gotten myself into!?” Ara shouted in frustration as he bolted from underneath the table towards the exit, and saw two more white streaks of light coming after him, as well as a sizable contingent of guards.

He swung his hands wildly, tossing cutlery, knocking over tables, and barreling through the rapidly thinning crowd. One of the spells caught another table, before burying itself in the folds of a shrieking lady’s puffy dress, who was otherwise unharmed. Though by her yelling, you’d think she’d lost an arm. The second was close behind him. Ara slid through the legs of a portly lord, before jumping into the air in a practiced form, hands forward, and landed on the next table with his hands, forcefully adapting a front handspring to launch himself over it. A blur of colors surrounded him as he landed, feet first, and kept running.

Ara burst onto the balcony, scanning his surroundings while running, and hesitated for a moment before remembering the spell closing in.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” He screamed as he pulled out the singed pick from his pocket, still hooked to his belt, and threw himself from the balcony, the sparkling city of Yarsberg before him.

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Crystalline Image of a Day

Eva awoke to the smell of Douza frying, and her stomach rumbled. Unfortunately, nobody was cooking for her, but the smell of spices wafting in from the street outside almost tempted her to spend the few coins on her bedside table.

Instead, she rolled off of her bed, and made her way to the small stone dresser containing her clothes. The room wasn’t luxurious, but it was a room of her own, something that most commoners never achieved. She thanked her parents for that, since they were relatively successful merchants, she had a chance to work on her own as well. Once dressed in her work slacks and shirt, she took out a few stalks of kressa from the jar she kept her food in, and began munching on them as she clambered down the ladder from her room to the central area downstairs.

Eva waved to the Jervichs, who were running the small general store downstairs, from which she rented the attic space to stay. As she stepped outside, the central square just up the street was lit up in shimmering blue. A figure towered above the nearby shops, made entirely of interlocking translucent blue plates, with wisps of light pouring off. The figure was that of a beautiful young woman, dressed in the garb of a Tarean patriot, with a snappy uniform rather reminiscent of the military.

“Heeeeello and good morning fellow citizens of -” A small, but perceptible, break was heard here as the voice slightly shifted. “34th block, Helmshin’s square!” Another slight break. “Another beautiful day has graced our peaceful section of the city, and the Empire has had yet more triumph. Yesterday, another section of the rebellious northern lands were pacified. The air currents are predicted to be mild today, and the city guard has reported that crime is at an all time low. In other news, a survey by the Western Imperial Magical Institute has found that citizens of the Tarean Empire are some of the happiest in the cave, with the greatest happiness index being found closest to our glorious capital. Now, I shall conclude today’s message with our powerful and proud anthem!” The figure began to sing, eyes shining and mouth smiling as Eva apathetically walked through the image, which was projected through a large device implanted in the courtyard, with a number of resonance gems in scattered pillars. The sight was a common one throughout the Empire, as it was a principal function of the Queen’s Mages, spreading the word of the Empress herself. The figure displayed was one of the symbols of the empire, supposedly loved across the country. Her name was Tarie(Ta-ree-ay), and her character was that of a young patriot who was imagecasted by the Queen’s Mages every morning, although it was commonly known that she was fictional, since she had been sixteen years old for the past few decades.

Considering her current job involved manufacturing resonance crystals, Eva knew a fair amount about the contraption, and it really was one of the most interesting magical achievements of their age. A simultaneously projected illusion, or, more specifically, hundreds of simultaneous illusions moving in sync, the aforementioned plates, which created an approximation of the subject’s figure, and projected sound through a carefully placed pillar of metal, known as the vocalizer, which was composed of a specific alloy of silver.

She was no mage, however, and it wasn’t particularly interesting to her. She began to hustle down the street as the Tarean anthem came to a close, knowing that her shift began soon. As she finished off the last of her kressa stalks, she pulled in the door, mouth full, and beamed at her companion, Galthet. He grunted back, in his fashion. She slipped on her gloves, and made her way to her station, as the crystals on the ceiling rang.

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Scrawled Poem

Yellow, BlAck, And Blue

Colors StAnd StArk

Strings WrAp Our World

Follow The Yellow ThreAd

The BlAck Crumbs

The Blue NAils

The Mind’s Door TrAnscends All Borders

FeAr Is The FinAl Night

-Archived copy of vandalism upon the walls of abandoned domiciles in several different northwestern cities. All capitalized A’s were presented upside down, for some reason.

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