“Do you really think there’s a city out here in the middle of this place?” Wren asks Demy as the group walk through the foggy forest, continuing to follow the path set out by Addy’s strange little device. Specifically, following the directions left by Engel two mornings prior.
“Back home, it wouldn’t be too weird to find a town or even a city in the middle of nowhere, like this,” Demy replies with a shrug. “The Fen was kind of like this. Just muck and fog and dead trees until suddenly you walked into the side of the tavern or tripped into the mine.”
The previous day saw a break in the rain, much to everyone’s relief. While the trek was still a bit muddy, it was far more comfortable without the constant deluge beating down from above. With the rain gone, a heavy fog has settled over the forest, obscuring visibility considerably–which has put everyone on high alert, to avoid accidentally walking into a collective of Failures (Wren’s suggestion for the group term has caught on, much to their amusement).
Or, even worse, to avoid being ambushed.
However, it seems that after skirting around the initial large group, thanks to Addy’s first conversation with the mysterious Engel, there haven’t been any stray Failures ambling about the path.
Which has been far too coincidental for some of the group.
“Friend Addy, I do not trust this invisible person that lives inside your mind-eyes,” Dahlia says quietly, not wanting to be too loud and stand out in the strangely quiet void of mist.
“Engel?” Addy asks, earning a nod from her little friend. “I mean, it’s a little strange, but she helped us avoid that big group of meanie-heads. And she’s giving us sight-seeing locations on our way to whatever!”
“I think we’re missing the bigger picture issue,” Cashew interjects, moving up to flank Addy on the opposite side of Dahlia.
“‘Big picture issue?’” Addy repeats, confused.
From just ahead, Kaz turns her head to the side and speaks back at the trio: “He means that the Failures were in a giant group in our path, specifically to stop us. That seems even more convenient than some random person telling us to avoid them.”
Dahlia nods in agreement. “Small Friend Cashew and Shiny Friend Kaz are correct. If someone is helping us, then someone else is trying to stop us,” she explains.
“That’s true, but isn’t that a good thing, kind of?” Addy asks. “That means this is important somehow!”
“Maybe,” Dahlia mutters. “I do not like that we are not sure who is helping us and who is not.”
“‘Shiny Friend?’” Kaz repeats with a smile.
“‘Short Friend?’” Cashew also repeats, except with a frown. Though it is easy to see that he has to try to hold said frown, lest it slowly turn to a smile.
“Wait, wait,” Demy says from nearby, overhearing the discussion. “Kaz is ‘Shiny Friend,’ Addy is just ‘Friend,’ Cash is ‘Small Friend,’ you called me ‘Wolf Friend’ the other day. What about Red over here?”
Wren looks over curiously, a little worried that Dahlia has not decreed them to be worthy of such a title. Yet, their fears are assuaged as she answers:
“Soft Friend Wren.”
Wren’s face reddens enough that it almost glows in the fog, as the others crack up laughing, even Cashew, who forgets all about trying to be offended.
They elbow Demy, who keeps chuckling in spite of the bone-jointed reprisal.
“Sorry Red, Dahlia’s too wise,” Demy gets out between his laughter.
“I mean, she’s right, it’s just–I didn’t expect it,” Wren faux-complains in a manner similar to Cashew, secretly pleased at the little Goblin’s words.
Off to the side, Felix rolls his eyes. He could be annoyed to the point of telling them to shut up, as it makes the group a sitting duck against whatever might be lurking in the fog. Yet, that is just why he holds his tongue: If something is stalking them, it will likely go for the source of the noise, which is the chortling gaggle of incompetents and decidedly not Felix.
Which is what I am paying them for, realistically, he figures.
“Wait,” Dahlia says suddenly, causing everyone to freeze in place. There is no sound in the dense nothingness, no movement. The moment stretches longer and longer.
“What is it?” Addy asks quietly.
Dahlia, in response, lifts one foot up and stomps down with a hollow thud.
There is confusion at first, but Felix is the first to notice:
“We’re not in the mud anymore. This is solid ground,” he says.
Dahlia shakes her head as she kneels down, placing a small hand upon the cold, smooth surface beneath her. “This isn’t natural ground. It’s not stone, either,” she says.
Addy drops to her hands and knees despite the fact that, whatever it is the group are walking upon, it is still wet. “Professor! This is it!” she says excitedly, if a bit too loudly.
The others inspect the ground, seeing that it is vaguely stone-colored, but entirely smooth, unnaturally so, and unblemished. The trees no longer sprout randomly, but grow out of carefully-constructed square patches of ground left bare. In the distance, just barely visible as outlines in the fog, towering structures can be seen.
“What in Kel’s name…” Kaz mutters in awe, staring at the looming silhouettes.
“Monteith ruins are often barely intact due to their age. Almost all of them have patches of ground like this, which Professor Rhys has affectionately dubbed–” Felix begins.
Addy excitedly cuts him off, shouting, “Monteith Streets!” She scrambles to her feet and takes off into the fog.
“It seems we’ve found the ‘City Limits,’” Felix muses.
The others shout after Addy to wait and begin moving after her, trying to keep up with the enamored Elf.
From within the fog, the eyes of the soulless watch, seeing all.
~~~~~~~~~~
As the fog thins ever so slightly, the city that greets the members of the expedition is unlike anything that any of them have ever seen, even Addy, who has at least seen the barebones remnants of places that once were like this.
It is, at least, recognizable as a city, or some form of large settlement. Concepts like streets, intersections, walking paths, buildings, and even specific districts can be gleaned at a glance. But the familiarity ends there, due to just how other and alien this place feels.
Firstly, everything is so smooth. Whatever the construction materials that make up this place are, they are more refined, more processed than anything available to the world of Vale currently. There is no obvious presence of wood, or stone, or even metal: The surfaces are sleek, durable, and even shiny, as they glisten wetly in the overcast afternoon grayscale.
The material that comes to their minds is “glass,” and there are certainly clear, thin panes of glass-like material, but the buildings are made up of some other smooth, reflective material that seems metallic, but lacks the burnished qualities that the likes of iron or steel have. It is smooth and lustrous, beyond even silver or gold. The entire city could very well be made of platinum, or even some form of magical metal; it certainly feels sturdy enough to the touch, though there is a malleable quality to it that dances under gaze and palm, like quicksilver that has taken temporary form.
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“This is amazing,” Addy says, in complete awe.
“Do you think this place was so… cold, back when people lived here?” Wren asks, looking around curiously. There are a few buildings close by that Addy is moving toward to check; Kaz and Demy follow after her, ever watchful for signs of danger.
“I don’t think anything ever lived here in the first place,” Dahlia mutters, her dislike of this place apparent in her tone and the scathing glare she surveys the city with.
“Well someone had to have built all this,” Cashew argues, though his attention never wavers from the dark alleys where danger could be lurking. “The layout is really efficient, from the look of it.”
Dahlia hums in disapproval, then says, “Something built all this. But nothing natural did.”
“What makes you say that?” Wren asks.
“The patterns aren’t natural. Nature has a lot of symmetry because it is usually most efficient,” she answers, eyes unblinking as they stare out into the fog. “Nothing here is symmetrical.”
Cashew and Wren both frown, realizing that Dahlia is right. The streets, the size of things, the building dimensions–everything is just ever so slightly off. Whoever, or whatever, made this place didn’t care about completeness or symmetry, only about getting things to a functional point.
“I kind of fucking hate it,” Cashew grumbles, to which Wren can only silently agree.
“Why would an advanced civilization, which presumably had plenty of resources, time, and effort to expend, cut corners in such odd ways?” Felix asks, joining in on the conversation.
“I already told you,” Dahlia says, her tone having but the faintest hint of irritation creeping in. “This place was not meant to be lived in. There is no joy here–no pride was taken in its creation.”
Nearby, Addy slides her gloves and visor on as she approaches one of the buildings. Kaz and Demy follow behind her, noting that apart from the occasional window, there doesn’t seem to be any actual entry or exit point to the structure.
“Balgon’s Balls!” Demy exclaims softly, looking the building up and down. “How are you supposed to even get in?”
“Language,” Kaz whispers harshly. “How is it that someone so ignorant of the Nine still knows every curse in their name?”
“I know the important stuff,” Demy grumbles in response.
Addy lowers her visor, seeing an overlay of icons in her field of vision, attached to various aspects of the city around her. Unlike the rest of Vale, this city is built upon the assumption that all things would be linked technologically.
“The doors are controlled remotely, but they form part of the wall when not open,” she says, somewhat absently as she looks over every icon carefully, trying to parse all the strange terms and information that her visor translates for her. She has never been able to get the device to translate physical written text, but the virtual information seems to automatically convert on its own.
“Cool, cool,” Demy repeats a few times, kind of understanding what ‘controlled remotely’ means. “So, you what, yell at it?”
“Nope! It requires an interface device, like my glovies!” Addy explains, moving her hands to tap at the icons. “There are all kinds of invisible buttons I can press with them!”
“Great. ‘Invisible buttons’ that somehow impact reality,” Kaz mutters under her breath.
“Isn’t that just faith with less steps?” Demy wonders aloud.
Kaz looks over at him sternly. “So, that’s what you want to do, today? Have an argument? Because it sounds like that’s what you want: To have an argument.”
Demy looks away, pouting as he says, “Just sayin’, damn.”
Addy pecks the air with her fingers, frowning when nothing happens. Her eyes scan the air in front of her, through her visor, as she reads aloud: “Auxiliary power reserves depleted, insufficient for use of menial tasks. Remaining energy routed to GIX, per protocol.”
“And what does that mean, Addy?” Kaz asks, quickly adding, “Short version.”
“Basically that this place ran out of energy at some point, and what little is left is powering something called the GIX,” she explains.
“Isn’t that whatever your little tracker thing is taking us to?” Demy asks.
“That’s right! If only… let’s see,” Addy mumbles. Curiously, she reaches out and pokes the word “GIX,” which is underlined within the message bubble floating in front of her eyes.
Another message pops up and her eyes widen.
“GIX,” she says, excitement in her voice. “Or, the Grave of Inviolate Xeniality.”
Silence.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Demy asks, sounding irritated.
“I have no idea!” Addy answers.
“Did you find something, Professor Rhys?” Felix asks, as the other four finally venture over, having heard Addy’s excited chattering.
“I think so, but I’m not sure what it means, yet! But we–”
Addy turns away from the building, looking back at Felix. She pauses, her eyes widening behind the opaque visor. It takes the others a few seconds to realize that she isn’t staring at them, but instead past them.
Out into the fog.
All six turn quickly to face whatever has taken the very ability to speak from their talkative companion–and see a tall, looming figure standing a short distance away, lightly obscured by the lingering fog.
Most of the group do not recognize this person, but a few do.
“Giant Friend Kem!” Dahlia calls out in greeting.
The remainder of the group see for the first time a man that is far too tall, far too lanky. Simple clothes in simple colors that fit the exaggerated frame surprisingly well seem otherwise out of place, upon one so otherwise unique. Long hair trails down and gathers around his feet, reminiscent of vines or the leaves of a willow tree in color, length, and the fact that there are vines mixed in with the long strands, like kudzu. His eyes are devoid of pupils and are merely icy blue orbs, empty of soul but not of life.
“Dahlia, hello,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble, like the trickle of rocks down a ravine. His teeth, triangular and pointed, with multiple rows, remind the seafarers among the group of a shark. Even his eyes, solid of color and lacking in emotion, are shark-like.
Like a doll’s eyes.
“We didn’t, uh, expect to see you here,” Wren says hesitantly.
“Are you here to greet us?” Dahlia asks.
Kem considers this as he takes a long stride toward the group, his features more defined as he comes closer. The flesh visible on his face and hands are smooth, unnaturally so, and without blemish. Much like the city that the expedition has found itself in.
“Yes, but not to invite you further,” he says. “I greet you as a kindness, to tell you to leave.”
“We’ve spent the better part of a week walking through mud and avoiding those Failures, as you call them,” Kaz speaks up, stepping in front of the others protectively. “I believe you at least owe us an explanation, if you know anything about what this land is–or, at least to tell us why we should leave.”
Kem tilts his head and leans down, down, to stare Kaz in the face, his own merely a foot or so away.
From here, she can see just how deep the voids of his eyes are. Part of her is afraid that she is going to fall into the calm waters within and drown, silently. His lips part and past the many rows of teeth, she can see mandibles deep within that shiver and twitch eagerly, a contrast from the comatose pace and barren visage of the Kem that is displayed.
“No,” he says simply. When he sees a spark of defiance flare up in those before him, he elaborates, but only just barely, “What is here is to remain unknown.”
Felix bristles as Kem’s words strike a nerve deep within. He thinks of his brother, and far too many others who would converge upon this place, if they heard these words.
“No,” Felix says, gritting his teeth. “Leaving it to be found by someone foolish is not an option.”
“The others agreed. It is ours, and ours alone,” Kem says simply. “Leave.”
“Making us leave will only make more arrive,” Felix manages to say, shrinking back from the monster’s cold, dead eyes.
Despite the shudder running through them, everyone stands their ground.
“If it’s that important, it should not be ignored,” Kaz says.
“Someone will find it, if it’s that valuable,” Wren says.
“It is unnatural and must be dealt with,” Dahlia says.
“Running away solves nothing,” Demy says.
“You aren’t the fucking police of me,” Cashew says.
Addy says nothing.
“My companions are right. We are not leaving,” Felix agrees, his resolve bolstered as he stands firm.
Kem straightens himself, glaring down at the seven in front of him as if they are but foolish, greedy children.
He turns slowly, and begins striding into the fog.
“Then perish.”
From all across the city, the crackling screech of the Failures echo. Two, four, a dozen–enough that the inhuman cries meld together into a single deafening scream.
The members of the expedition back toward the building, drawing weapons and casting spells, preparing for the onslaught that they all feared would come, sooner or later.
All except Addy, who still stares at the point in the fog that Kem disappeared into.
At the icon that has yet to disappear, the indicator that her visor detects, which has hovered above him since his appearance, that made her freeze in her tracks.
The one that simply reads:
Kemartirh.