In the Southern trespasses of Whorrl, a hundred miles from the nearest population center, there stretches a desolate section of high desert — referred to by hidden tribes and those who revere it as The Abyssal Mouth.
Above ground, around The Abyssal Mouth, there is only tireless desolation that stretches outward for tens of miles. The infertile desert land being a grim reminder to the wary of the chasm therein, which drained and ate all life away. Some might say it had a twisted sense of personality. The lands themselves were welcoming and unshy about sharing the rarities that could be found there, at least at first. It seemed to draw people further in, ease them, placate them with treasures, and the promise of more until greed took hold and brought them deeper and deeper inside.
Most who went there never returned; the secrets of The Abyssal Mouth remaining, largely its own to keep. But of course, some were well aware and profited greatly because of it.
A robed man stood at those unknowable depths within the chasm. He took one last long and piercing look around the place where the Summoning Ritual had just occurred. He was at the center of a diagram surrounded by seven corpses that wore similar robes to his.
Soon, he languidly thought, I will return.
The others awaited his return, but for now, he wanted to savor this moment. The work of tens of years, even if ultimately a failure, was worth every setback to witness the eternal majesty of the Ritual.
Solmotti knew that very soon he would have to explain what had happened to - what he could clearly see - his very annoyed fellows. Part of him hoped the camp would be a decimated ruin upon his return. Attacked by [Fell-Lurkers] or perhaps even driven insane when a protective ward malfunctioned. Of course, he didn't really want that to happen; after all, his fellows were instrumental to the next part of his plans.
"So it is to be Calamity then?" the emotionless statement carried before he continued, "let it come and wash away these pieces."
He smirked in the afterglow of the Ritual and began to walk away, back toward the small encampment he and his fellows had set up.
Solmotti could see them now, robed men and women, all a part of his cult The Order of Solemn Entreaty. He huffed a slight sigh of relief, mostly from the weary journey of hours with seemingly no end. His second wind kicked in and, with new invigoration, swiftly made his way towards the brightest point made up of five orbs of light in the central position of the campsite.
An unnerving few moments passed as people noted his appearance and stared in his direction. Some wore excited expressions. Others were more noticeably worried. His passage through the tents was met with nervous greetings and silent followers behind. By the time he reached the center of the camp, everyone was present and waiting. The gathering wouldn't be complete without Duggan, who was also the first to speak up.
"Hells, Solmotti, what're ya' waitin' on? Show us this treasure yir precious Tableau spoke of." He was a gaunt man at the best of times, who now excitedly gestured around at those gathered. It was as if to say, 'don't leave us in suspense,' by passively indicating the different facial expressions and all very much obvious to Solmotti.
Solmotti had learned long ago that anything aside from the facts would only start a fight with this particular Elder. He was a long-suffering [Magician] who also cared little for the realities of what was spoken and translated, only success or failure. Solmotti rolled his eyes and sighed tiredly.
"Pardon me for keeping you all in suspense. I'll speak plainly here now that everyone has gathered — there were no treasures this time," a brief pause followed before he spoke once again, "As I'm very certain you all must know there were never any guarantees, and so, also deadly sure you all know what that means."
He readied his jaw for the abrupt panic that his words might draw out. It wasn't so much panic as It was more of a collective murmuration — akin to what he imagined as a bunch of ululating chicken heads that squawked out their language of uncertainty and fear.
Duggan, in all his unbridled whining, lashed out with contempt. "This is unacceptable! Did our seven [Grand Elders] sacrifice their lives in vain? Did they not do so with the hope of a treasure that would rekindle our Order and bring us into an age of glorious rebirth! Yir' the one who argued the most for this, so where's our damn treasure?!"
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The man had a point, a point he surely didn't mean to make, but a point none-the-less. Many of their [Grand Elders] did disregard the other side of the coin, all in the name of treasure. In the end though, the most vocal and fervently for it now laid dead at the ritual site, whose sacrifice now seemed to herald death and destruction.
With a sigh, he raised both hands in a placating gesture while his face remained unaffected. Everyone quietened down and looked to him again.
"Duggan, we all knew this was a possibility. Don't confuse a lack of treasure and our assembled agreement on the matter. I admit that the prospect of a [Calamity] befalling Whorrl is worrisome, but do not forget we prepared for this outcome as well. We are all strong and more than capable of taking our fair share of benefits from even this. If we were not ready, then the talk of [Calamity] would've drowned out any talk of treasure. Don't you agree?"
He looked at Duggan as if begging him to continue squawking. With a grunt, Duggan seemed to hunch even lower, cursed, and strode off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
After the initial buzz and a reminder of their deeper plans, everyone seemed to reclaim their former state of neutral. Solmotti was determined and spoke slowly to those still gathered, now that the major obstacle Duggan had left.
"We need to get our informants and spies moving more aggressively. Our network of surveillance and disruption in those three Kingdoms needs to be more engaged. We need all the information we can get coming back to headquarters, whether big or small matters. Lastly, Gennie, start the preparations for [Mass Teleportation]; we'll be leaving here soon enough."
The darkness loomed ever-forboding within the background of this ill-fated place. Men and Women were now getting to work. Messages reached out to the four corners of Whorrl. People began to sweat —
nervousness was the new flavor inside The Abyssal Mouth.
+***+
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Time seems to shape us, starting so sweetly, innocently, yet the ending is bitter-sweet. The ultimate betrayal of a family member we never think about and have no choice in.
Quintin did descend sweetly and innocently down the side of the Mountain for a time. He found the stability granted by the [Intruder Wolf] claws remarkable, and he was even enjoying his steady downward journey. He was already halfway down, from his platform to the valley interior, when he was brought back to earth by whistle-like snarling that came from further below.
He braced his feet and looked down to see two [Intruder Wolves] quickly making their way up to meet him. One was a little further behind the first, but it was still closing in at a remarkable pace.
[Intruder Wolves Lv.5]
HP: 100/100 MP: 0/0 SP: 1000/1000
This could be bad. It all depends on how well my projectile attack works.
After he had unceremoniously created the skill [Breath of Sudden Calamity], he found out that by cracking a finger associated with the accompanying nodule, he could send out a projectile attack. Of course, he had lost one more claw in the process and now only had eighteen — with ten inserted and eight held in his blood-stained pants.
He had also figured out that [Pressure Points] or [PP] recharged, albeit at a very slow rate. Which was fine at the time as he had needed to regain his [HP].
Quintin lowered his left arm down and took aim at the wolves that were coming closer and closer. He cracked his index finger while taking careful aim at the lead wolf, which sent a projectile sailing miserably long over its head. He knew he needed practice, but as the wolves closed the distance, he had to take a steadying breath to focus.
Shake it off. Surely I can send the next one straight.
The second wolf had caught up to the first and was right behind it when Quintin cracked his middle finger and sent the next on target.
[Breath of Sudden Calamity] x2 used. -20PP PP: 80/250
{Critical Damage}!
-150[HP] Damage Dealt!
+{Bleeding}
A string of values and confirmations rattled through his left eye even as the lead wolf let out a sharp, guttural whine. It Lost hold on the mountain wall, beginning to plummet downward off the side, and smashed into the second wolf who was also stripped from the mountain by the impact.
Quintin followed their descent with cold eyes, eventually losing their forms below the trees and remaining mist.
He took a moment to replace the projectiles he used and hung there regarding his left hand; pleased at the damage and thankful he had a tool to rely on to see him safely down the mountain.
15-20 meters seems to be the maximum range for me. If I was better, I'm sure it could go further.
[Intruder Wolves x2 Lv.5] defeated. 1600exp. granted. *[Class Level Up]!
+5[AP] gained.
[Nameless Grappler Lv.2]
He began to descend once again carefully. The sounds from the valley were becoming cleaner as he was in thought about his [Level Up].
[AP] is Attribute Points, so it seems I can apply them at any time. Since I can't use [Magic], my [Stat] allocation should be pretty simple. [HP] and movement speed both need the support of devastating attacks. Otherwise, I'll turn into a paper Cheetah or a mâchéd Tortoise. But I'll worry about that once I get off this mountain.