Downtime, Project: The Darkening

Adric closed over the book he was reading and rubbed at his shadowed, tired eyes in frustration, resting his head in his hands a moment. He parted his fingers to glance over at his journal, laid open with all the notes he'd gathered in his research. Questions leading to analyses of texts, leading to the formation of hypotheses, which only leave more questions and few concrete answers. Adric sighed and shoved the book he'd been reading aside, dragging his journal over in its place to add further commentary.

In conclusion, while I know more than I did before, it's not nearly enough to answer all my questions. I now know that the Maw of the Void is an ancient Forgotten God that was split apart and lost in the Cataclysm, but I don't know what this entity represents or what purpose it serves. I also understand that the purpose of the Ritual of the Unrending of the Void is to make the Maw whole again; however, without further context regarding the Maw, I cannot even speculate why Erdrad would wish to perform it. Neither do I understand the role Erdrad intended for myself or Maya. He needs us for something, but I don't know precisely what.

There are other questions that remain unanswered as well. What became of the two First Prophets of the Maw who, according to my research, survived the Cataclysm and took the remaining parts of the Maw into themselves? The intent was for them to join their spirits with those fragments, allowing them to grow inside both Prophets. But what happened to those Prophets and the fragments they carried? What were the two ritual implements that were lost by the Cult of the Maw and has Erdrad recovered them somehow? I have questions still, and I have exhausted all avenues of research that are readily available to me. There are only a few routes I can think of that might lead to the truth I seek, none of which are safe to investigate. I might not be able to do this alone, as I have tried thus far to do. It might be time to ask the others for help.

He winced and set the pen down as he finished. He had hoped that involving the others would not be necessary, but that had been foolish of him. But he hadn't known if he could really trust them in the beginning, and he still had doubts. The matter of the Wraiths still haunted him. Was he just being naive, thinking they could have honestly tried to mend bridges with the Wraiths and forge an alliance instead of pitting them against the Billhooks and watching them slaughter one another?

The explosions and cries of dying men and women came back to him. The smell of smoke. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw Quellyn's staring back at him. Shocked and surprised. Betrayed? Frightened? At least one of those had to be true, and he couldn't blame her for either. Even though they'd been rivals as long as he'd known her, he hated himself for going along with the plan as soon as the others promised him they’d keep her safe.

And he was scared of himself too; the ideas that popped into his head, the methods he was willing to consider to protect those he cared about. He flicked through his journal, scanning the notes he'd made on developing his own version of spirit finish and a method for extracting the 'materials' needed for the process. By the Void Sea, he'd even used that word - materials - as if he were talking about some herbs or elements instead of a human soul. Other ideas were scrawled inside there, written in terms just as clinical, and seeming just as vile to him as he looked upon them anew. He slammed the book shut in disgust, before picking it up and throwing it against the far wall of the workshop. It hit the wall and landed on the floor with a thud as Adric cradled his face in his hands and held back the tears that threatened to burst forth. No matter what he was feeling, he couldn’t allow himself to cry, he had to be stronger than that...

-

Far above, in the skies over the lair's underground location, clouds swirled and roiled as if to mirror the stormy emotions running through young Adric's mind, and a bolt of lightning struck a weathervane atop the structure that was once known as Tremont Station.

Downtime, Indulging Vice: The Water Nymph

The brush moved gently across the canvas for the last time and Nightingale stood back to critique their work. A painting was never truly complete in their opinion, but the trick was to understand when to leave it, when was it as complete as it could be without going to far and risk ruining it. They were pleased.

Nightingale considered their last interaction with Jackdaw, they had been practicing Cosimo at the time. He was a persona which was still a work in progress and perhaps they had been a little too artsy and silly. Cosimo would need to be altered, more honed before their inevitable encounter with Rafello.

Their attention shifted back to the canvas. Mixing Leviathan blood into the paint was inspired, it gave the water a strangely luminescent quality and served to give the work a feeling of otherworldliness.

The sound of footfalls brought Nightingale out of their fugue. Jackdaw stood at the arched entrance to their chamber, The Water Nymph plainly in sight.

Downtime: Adric's Studies

"So? Are you going to buy this?" Ojak tapped the tome he'd been trying to sell Adric before impatiently. Adric rolled his eyes and nodded, "A deal's a deal, right? Anyway, it just so happens I'm in the mood for some reading material today."
Ojak perked up when Adric said that and was no doubt about to make some recommendations when Adric cut in, pulling out a folded note, "I have a list of research materials I require, and of course I thought of you."
He slipped the paper across the stall front to Ojak, who narrowed his eyes at Adric before scanning the list with his eyes. He muttered grumpily at a few, though Adric noted that he also nodded and made pleased sounds in his throat at other items. When he was done, Ojak grunted and nodded, "I believe I do have some of these texts in stock, give me a moment."
Ojak vanished behind his stall and Adric heard him muttering to himself as he rooted through his stocks. Eventually Ojak reappeared with a stack of tomes, which he set on the counter next to 'Bindings, Releases, and Eldritch Bondage', which he then set on top of the stack rather pointedly. Adric sighed, having to stand on tip toe as he inspected the stack to see what was there. Satisfied that Ojak wasn't trying to slip in something else in which he had no interest - although most likely, these were mostly the texts Ojak himself would have liked Adric to buy - he slipped his backpack off his shoulders in order to pack the items away and asked, "Okay, how much?"

Upon his return to the lair, Adric set the backpack on top of his desk in the workshop and opened it up, setting each book down in a pile there, except for 'Bindings, Releases, and Eldritch Bondage'. That one he eyed distrustfully and set to the side, away from the rest of the tomes. He then took off his cloak and set it over his chair. He stepped out and headed to his sleeping area, where he pulled out his personal research journal from its hiding place there. With the journal in hand, he returned to the workshop, retrieved some writing implements, and sat down to crack open the first book.

Downtime, Indulging Vice: Life's Lessons

Mother Narya hurriedly rounded the corridor of the bunkhouse and almost lost her footing. She'd heard that Nightingale was back and their services were required. Mother Narya tolerated Nightingale's presence, more than welcomed it. She was a kindly old matron, who cared for the welfare of those in her care above all else. She was ignorant of what Nightingale offered to ease the burden of those in her care, but if it helped, she'd let it go on until it no longer did.

"There you are! Javik's been asking for you. He doesn't have much time before the bells ring and word is spreading about how you've helped others here."

"I'll go at once Mother, and rest assured there's nothing underhand going on, cross my heart. Those facing the black just need to have someone listen to them. No one wants to die on their own and folk who end up here alone and scared, just want to be remembered by someone, doesn't really matter who."

Suspicion lingered in Mother Narya's eyes, but she nodded and pointed down the corridor to where Javik lay dying in his narrow bunk.

Nightingale could smell the rot as they entered the room. Javik had been placed in the Garden, a chamber filled with scented flowers and pine cones. The place served a number of functions; giving the nearly departed a modicum of privacy, whilst keeping them away from the other 'residents' of the Arms of the Weeping Lady. The scent of the flowers was said to be a calming influence to those facing death, but in reality, they were present to help stave off the stink. A concealed door was nestled at the rear of the room, leading directly to the streets below. This served to allow the Spirit Wardens to enter the bunkhouse discreetly to perform their civic duties when the bells inevitably chimed.

Nightingale had duties of their own. It was time to hear Javik's tales and help lift the burden of a life filled with treachery and deceit. Nightingale could learn a lesson or two from a man like Javik, a man who had murdered his way to the top of a crew, only to be betrayed when his usefulness ran dry. With each telling they consumed and for every drawing they rendered, Nightingale's empty vessel filled a morsel. It would never be enough to repair their shattered existence, but it was something.

In the distance the bells rang, a signal for Nightingale to Leave the Arms of the Weeping Lady and let the Wardens take their shift. Javik lay dead in his cot a faint smile touching his thin lips, it wouldn't be long before his spirit rose if left unattended.

Nightingale turned to leave the room, but hesitated for a brief moment. They could have sworn they saw something by the window. Nothing. Must have been a trick of the light generated by the electroplasmic lamps outside. Yes, just a trick of the light.

Downtime: Adric's First Spirit Finish

Adric drew his cloak tight around himself as the gondola drifted along the canal, not because of any chill wind, but a discomfort arising from how out of place he was in the area. The gondolier cast the occasional doubtful glance back at his young passenger, and Adric affected an unconcerned smile whenever he felt the man's eyes upon him. This wasn't his first visit to Silkshore, but he hadn't quite learned to be at ease with the place. Perhaps that was for the best, given its reputation. Certainly, he noted as he passed by on the gondola, both residents and other visitors cast wary glances about themselves every now and then.

Before too long, the gondola slowed as it approached the Ridgewater Jetty, and Adric sat a little straighter as he prepared to disembark. The gondolier gave him one more worried glance as he tethered the vessel. Adric just gave him his most charming smile again, paying the fare for the journey as he stood up, then stepped off. He scanned the rooftops with his eyes and picked out the distinctively patterned silk hanging that indicated his destination before making his way for that building.

Climbing the exterior steps to the rooftop, he found the marketplace and wove his way through the crowd, keeping his eyes peeled for Ojak's stand. The vendor wasn't hard to pick out; Tycherosi were a minority in Duskvol, and many had a distinctive feature which indicated their rumored demonic heritage. In Ojak’s case, his skin was red and he had purple eyes. Adric would have found him unsettling even without those unusual traits. The man was unshaven, with a pointy face and goatee beard, and he was always scratching himself and sniffing, eyes darting constantly as if he were always on edge.

“Ah, uh, Wren, my boy!” Ojak greeted Adric in his usual nervous manner.

Adric tried to hide the twitch of irritation he felt at being called ‘boy’ as he stepped up to the vendor’s stall. Instead, he sighed and forced himself to smile pleasantly, “Hello Ojak.”

“What, uh, do you seek today?”

“Well, I could use another vial of electro or two for starters.”

“Of course, of course.” Ojak nodded, pulling out a couple vials from his stocks and slipping them onto the stall counter just out of reach and keeping them hidden within his palm. Adric slid what he knew to be the expected amount of slugs onto the counter, and Ojak slid the vials within reach, before making the silver slugs vanish in one fluid motion. Adric grabbed and pocketed the vials, then turned his attention to what was on display at the stall.

“And what else do you desire? Perhaps knowledge? Yes, knowledge is good for one in your trade, no?”

Adric sighed again. This was the other thing that irritated him about Ojak. He always had in mind something particular he wanted to sell, always some musty old book or other in which Adric had no real interest. Even as he scanned the stall’s wares, he could spy the vendor out the corner of his eye, pulling a tome out and setting it on the counter with a pointed thud. Instead of rising to the bait, Adric traced a finger along the bottles on display, stopping and backtracking as he caught sight of a label that interested him. He smiled, this time in true satisfaction at finding something of interest.

“Yes. Knowledge is good.” Adric agreed, tapping the bottle. “How much for this?”

“Hmm?” Ojak glanced up, scratching himself distractedly as he peered round at what Adric was indicating. Then he immediately shook his head in disinterest, “Oh no. No no no. That is no way to learn, boy. Better to do the work yourself, yes?” He thumped the cover of the book for emphasis. Adric continued to ignore the tome.

“Not everything that can be learned can be learned by reading, Ojak. How much?”

The vendor let out an explosive sigh, sullenly rattling off the price for the bottle. Adric had to haggle a bit, and he was sure the vendor hiked the price to make it less attractive than the book, for which he offered what he promised was a ‘tiny’ sum for such a rare and valuable volume. Adric eventually humoured the vendor by bothering to look at the title on the front page: ‘Bindings, Releases, and Eldritch Bondage.’

Adric suppressed a shudder of disquiet as he closed the cover and gave a tight smile, “I think I’ll just take the Spirit Finish, Ojak. Thanks.”

The vendor glared at him and drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter, scratching himself with the other hand before throwing up his arms melodramatically in defeat, “Fine, I will sell the Finish at a discount, if you promise to come back for this next time.”

Adric narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Ojak’s insistence. Eventually, he shrugged. Even if he bought the book, that didn’t mean he had to read it. “Okay, deal.”

Upon returning to the lair, Adric ducked into the alcove that contained his sleeping space, and pulled shut the curtain around himself before setting his satchel down on the floor. He opened it up and pulled out the bottle he had eventually managed to acquire from Ojak. The label read, ‘Spirit Finish: Essence of Combat Prowess’.

Spirit Finish was a product Adric had learned of recently, and when he saw it in Ojak’s stall he knew he had to try it. It was a form of spirit essence, the distilled memories and experiences of a captured spirit. This particular brand was specifically intended to allow the user to gain the skills of the deceased by imparting their life experiences. Although Adric had no desire to kill anyone again if he could help it, he knew he needed to learn how to defend himself, and perhaps if he were more skilled he would even be able to do so without killing. But he wasn’t learning fast enough through normal training. He needed a little something extra, and this seemed like just the thing.

Adric sat down and stared down at the bottle in his hand for a moment, hesitating. Whose experiences might these be? What might it cost him, to take another being’s experiences into himself? He scowled, shoving these thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. Dr Erdrad would find him and Mara eventually, and he needed whatever edge he could get to keep himself and his sister safe. He didn’t care what it cost him.

He popped the cork and a wisp of misty light curled from the top. He put his lips to the bottletop and inhaled before he could hesitate further. The essence rushed through him, finding its way to his nervous system and he fell backwards in his cot, spasming as if he were being electrocuted, which, in a strange way, he was…

He had infiltrated the manor on the upper floor, and made his way into the study. One guard was patrolling along the bannister overlooking the lower level of the study, and he heard another coughing below. He crept up behind the one near the bannister, kicked his feet out from under him and drove the point of his blade straight through the man’s eye and into his brain, killing him instantly.

As the other guard raced up the stairs, the assassin stood his ground and held his sword ready. The guard rounded the corner and, weapon already drawn, lashed out towards him…

Adric parried his sister’s swing clumsily, his body not yet able to match the experience his mind had absorbed from the essence of the dead assassin. In one of the many visions he’d had of that man’s exploits, the guard had been staggered long enough for a killing blow. But in this instance, Adric himself was the one staggered, and his sister capitalised with a swing that drew just shy of his own neck. She was slightly shorter than him, but as always she managed to make it seem like she were the one looking down. Despite this, she smirked and nodded approvingly, “Well, I s’pose you did okay this time.”

“Thanks.” Adric smiled back.

His sister gave him a stern look, “Don’t get cocky, you still got a way to go.”

Adric sighed, “I know.”

Her expression softened and she shook her head, “Whatever it is you and these ‘Night Feathers’ get up to, you can’t afford to hold back. Not out there.”

Adric winced as his mind drifted back into the recent past...

Alex had dropped the vial of trance powder down the stairs, but it proved a poor delivery method. One of the Lampblacks was stunned, but the other still charged towards them. Adric brought up his lightning hook in a moment of panic and slammed it into the man's chest. There was a pop, a flash of light, and a smell of burnt ozone and flesh as the man flew back down the stairs…

Adric recalled the empty staring eyes of the man's face and shook his head to banish the image. It wouldn't go away.

“I… uh… I need to go… work on something.” He said, turning away and leaving his sister, who watched his retreat with a look of concerned confusion.

Adric sat down in the workshop and got out his journal. He considered continuing his research into Erdrad’s ritual and the Eternal Maw, but his stomach revolted at the notion for some reason.

He had been such an idiot. The death on his own hands was quite enough to haunt his dreams, and now he had given himself the memories of a murderer as well. Not to mention the nightmares of that… thing he encountered in the ghost field.

Still, the Spirit Finish seemed to have worked. His body didn't have the training yet to match what he'd gained from the assassin’s spiritual essence, but the instincts were there now, somewhere deep within in his mind. And, as unsettling as the method was, he did find himself morbidly intrigued and wondering about how it worked.

Obviously a spirit with the proper background and skillset was necessary. It also seemed logical that the spirit should be freshly released from its body, since a spirit's sense of self erodes over time as it is slowly consumed by madness.

As these thoughts raced through his mind, Adric took up a pen and started to scribble down notes in his journal. As he became lost in his observations and theories about how the Spirit Finish might be developed, he was able to forget his fears, if only for a short while.