Cale Velric's Story

The tomb held a dreary fascination over Sven from the very second the ancient doors had cracked open like the maw of some forgotten Eldrich beast. Laying in a helpless wait for the first to stir it from a slumber in unknown realms of consciousness. The rush of chilled air had ushered from it's initial opening like the breath of a daemon and wrapped itself around each member of the party. Especially Sven who noticed things weren't as they should have been from the start. Cold air, yes but crisp as a fresh apple, not the dank, damp muck-like air a sealed cypt usually carried. He'd idly wondered if anyone else had noticed, a historian and a necromancer did travel with them after all, but such thought was quickly drained from him with each step into the old construct they took.

A myriad of interesting things assailed him with each step he took further and further into the abyssal place in the most literal sense. Their footsteps, each of them from each member of the party echoed oddly, to dense a sound for your average building, even a crypt. As if that wasn't enough to set an air of apprehension into him the tomb contained obvious signs of being built twice. The first time was a simple project, hewn from the very earth's skin with what seemed to be common tools, and then once again in a more advanced manner it was established, though signs of work came from the opposite direction as if it were built form the inside out. As it were both builds seemed to be a little wrong historically. For this region the type of architecture, the placement of different hollows and bodies and even where the long-drained torches rested in their crumbling holsters were out of place. The age of this beast was immeasurable to him. The first construct could easily be in the realm of eight or nine hundred years old, likely more due to how aged yet well preserved it was. The second build though, that escaped him completely. It looked as though it had to be only two-hundred years at most, the cynical smile of a lying child in historical terms. It simply didn't add up, magic was at work here, but the most tell tale sign however was the hieroglyphs.

Pictographs danced about, clinging to each and every wall like a scarred and foreign second skin. Never before had he seen the likes of such glyphs on this side of the world, let alone any such detail in the alleged time period of the initial crypt. At first the carvings progressed in a chronological manner, a simple progression and though he couldn't read them each wall and the ceiling told a story in a linear progression. The tid-bits he could translate seemed to be harmless enough at the start but began to take grave twists. It wasn't long after their decent however things became a jumbled mess. Glyphs atop glyphs, regional styles and time-styles overlapping. Stories going forwards and back and entirely new directions all at once, entirely new stories in some places. Markings looking older than the tomb's suggested age and some looking as new as a decade ago. Wasn't this supposed to be sealed? It had felt sealed when they first entered but now it felt...Violated. It felt like someone or something was watching, maybe the very stone itself. More than once he stopped to stare at a wall or bit of ceiling as the group pressed on. Fascinating, but increasingly deadly he thought. Whatever was at work here was no friend it seemed, a fact made clear by the many, often hidden entrances he found, and not a single exit.

When the group had reached the room with some sort of block Sven had decidedly not taken interest in it. Cryptic doors with a story strewn about them and some 'press-here-to-die-horrifically-or-progress' button were sort of commonplace. Someone would eventually figure that nonsense out. It was the left wall that had captured his attention, and he'd been starring at it for a good five minutes now, in utter silence.

"There once was a man from the seas of Azear.." His low, gravely voice bounced around the chamber perfectly, it's unnatural grace resounding more on each reverberation due to his cloak. "Dressed like a seer, with eyes like a mirror.." If you listened closely you'd notice a hiccup in the echo, as if it split off in another direction. Stepping closer to the wall he unsheathed his proud scimitar and tapped the hilt of it against the center of the wall. The sound moved both through the chamber the group stood in and down what sounded like a hall on the other side of what was supposed to be a solid wall. Common practice in crypts and mines alike, once you dig your way into your final chamber you dig a way back out, this he knew. But he also knew you usually dug all the way back out, not stopped in some sort of random chamber. Still, the whole place was peculiar and it could come in handy if they needed a quick out up ahead.

Their blocked passage finally opening brought his attention back to the group just in time to hear the necromancer offer their much loved rogue up to the darkness of an unknown passage, a sentiment that made him chuckle.

"Aye," He said, his ton of voice dropping as low as it could while his glowing blue orb-like eyes narrowed into slits and fixated on his the target of jest. "Don't you rogue-likes enjoy traipsing off alone ahead of the group to grab yourselves a bunch of loot because we even see it, then come reporting back about all the danger you masterfully sidestepped?"

Lacuna had kept a brisk pace with the group as they made their way through the ancient crypt. He was relieved with how well they had managed to dispatch the small groups of undead that attempted to end their quest. None of them had sustained injuries and they had at least proven in the meantime, that his services as a healer would only be use when an actual threat came to challenge them.

If that challenge ever came…

The bulk of Lacuna’s body was hidden by a cloak he had outfitted himself before setting out to join with the rest of the team, unlike the lavender and nigh-obsidian that adorned the rest of his garments and armour, this cloak was a deep oak brown. The gentle ambience that emitted from the series of ageless torches did well to hide his features as he walked. He hadn’t spoken to the group as of yet, the only sounds coming from his mouth being the slight grunts of combat made as he fought off the undead that had shambled toward his direction. Strikes from his powerful punches had broken the assault of a few of the undead while his tail was used quickly and acrobatically to smash into the chest cavities of a couple more, the impact sending their bones splintering in many directions and their undead skulls still chomping and gnashing in their eternal unrest. Lacuna had made sure to pay close attention to the focus of his allies when he revealed his tail, not fearing any of them or any sort of reprise but just as a sub-conscious habit formed from years of exploration of peoples un-open to the concept of foreign looks.

He knelt to pick up a short sword that still had the decomposing hand of a restless dead attached to it as the group made their halt in the chamber. The blade was still in stable condition, his fingers running slowly along the edge of the blade to test his theory. Meanwhile his eyes alongside everyone else’s in the party scanned over the myriad of runes, carvings…stories and glyphs that echoed their silent stories and passages. He hadn’t worried when the path before them appeared stalled, as the one in their group who had finally made use of one of his many rings revealed the way before them. Indeed this group was at the least competent, and prepared for a host of situations by looks of their current appearance.

When the door opened, and the party scattered themselves to decide who would be the first to trek through, Lacuna decided that at this moment he would reveal some of the uses that he held. He slowly removed the cloak that had hidden the bulk of his features and allowed the brilliant craft of his armor work radiate within the gloom of the crypt. The tri-peace insignia upon his chest gave off a gentle glow before him as he neared the entrance to the newly opened chamber, one hand resting along the hilt of the blade that he sheathed upon his belt, and the other hand firmly gripping Adastra his trusted staff. He stepped forward, silent graceful steps contradicting the size that he his body held as a light slowly began to form around the hand that held his staff.

With a shallow incantation the light split into tendrils and began to travel languidly along the walls of the passage, Lacuna’s eyes closed in a subtle meditation as he felt the energy and force of the path that they traveled. His now hidden face gave the appearance of a newborn wraith as his eyes were now the only visible part of his head . The energy that crept along the walls served as his new eyes as he navigated their course. Though he could not see what lay ahead of the group, this magick was allowing his body to feel what lay before their path. He was able to discern the stories of spiders as the energy circled over their ancient webs. Ripples of water that the energy cascaded over told their tales of undisturbed ages. But then there were the runes….

He could feel their grooved carvings cast from an unknown maker. He could sense their omens, their purpose, but what they defined was eluding him. As much use as this ability was, it was limited and he had not enough experience in his mental bank to be able to decipher the lore. Such would take some time and unfortunately that was a commodity that they did not have an abundance of. Thus he shook his head and attempted to force his energy onward but then his body was violently shaken out of its meditation. One of the runes that were ahead drew his energies like a magnet and scattered it like an egg fallen from a great height. Before he would come to, his real eyes saw the image of a horrifying Geist, formless yet staring back at Lacuna for that brief moment before his vision cleared and he once again found himself within the confines of the chamber, scanning over his temporary allies before clearing his voice to speak.

His eyes met with those first of Cale before moving back and forth through all that were gathered. If one’s senses were especially sharp, they would notice, albeit just for a second that the colour of the skin upon his arm had a different tone growing from his hands to his arms as he spoke out. The natural caramel tone that was reflected in the light changing match that of the man who was before him.

“ I know not of the dangers that may await us and our prize, however I feel that for the while, our group’s passage is clear until a certain ways….half a league if mercy smiles upon us.”

He then arced his hands towards the group, drawing out a new sphere of energy and letting it disperse over their feet. The glow would surround their boots as long as they held no natural resistances and or were unwilling to have foreign magick envelop them. He stomped his foot hard to demonstrate the padding effect that his spell was currently placing on their feet. While it would not offer complete silence for stealth, for a group of their size the added quite could come in handy. "My name is Lacuna", he bowed solemnly before continuing "this shall be a boon to our quest. May we find what we are searching for in good fortune."

“Come” he then spoke out before quickly taking off into the passage at a brisk pace. While he was far from a rogue or scout, Lacuna’s natural body was well adapted to such places and climates. His eyes were trying their best to scan what he had felt before. He knew that he would eventually be surpassed by one of his group, perhaps the rogue would even get deeper into the crypt than he but at the least progress was being made.

Lacuna was no stranger to meeting the unknown head on, thus he moved ahead with only a small moment’s anxiety before the adventure settled within his mind. His concentration could not afford to deal with such emotions while he tried his best to make sure that his allies’ sounds weren’t heightened as they went forward.