Isolde's detective files (The Gifted)
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"It all began with Jenna - and by now, it's increasingly obvious why, for the brilliant inventor with the troubled past is indeed at the very heart of all the troubles since brewing. Not through any fault of her own, I believe, yet I expect I'll rue the day I opened that box more than a few times before this tale ends. But let me back up to the beginning.
Jenna, a recluse for some years, returned to the city to my great delight, some time back. Her initial awkwardness soon melted away at the topic she wished to broach - inventions, and all the great and powerful things she could potentially do, if only she had access to a few necessities. One of these was a power source, the orgins of which she could not recollect (for it was Miranda, not Jenna who utilized it), but that she had been able to trace by analyzing the remains of the old Balor Blaster. As she gushed on about all the things she could create if she had access to even a fraction of this power, I stopped listening and just watched her face, her eyes all lit up. So alive with dreaming. How could I deny her?
I didn't. Despite my own resolutely squashed down misgivings, alongside Aoth's frown and Rey's grousing, yes even added with Nenufar's energetic and overwhelming attempts to bribe us off the chosen path, I opened the box Jenna had given us and kept my party true on the path of the light which shot across the skies, due south and into the Rawlins."
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"She found us at the usual suspects table, a week or two later. Present were myself, Cormac, George, Tatyana and Eowiel, when Jenna presented us with a nifty new invention she believed would come in handy, if the place we were seeking should be blocked off as she suspected it might be. This invention being a bomb of sorts, which upon clasping two hinges together mixed two fluids into an especially potent explosive. The Seaforium, as she calls it, was her own invention and we accepted it before Cormac inevitably scared Jenna away with his grousing.
I was determined, despite the unease coiling deep in my gut, and told myself I wasn't going to disappoint Jenna like I had Aesso by choosing caution over belief in a friend. And so we made our way towards Cormac's longhouse, there to climb the turf roof and as the sun set, I picked the small box out of my pack and pressed the protrusion set into it. A whirr followed, a smooth and intrictate unfolding of many small gears, before a bright beam of light shot into the sky. Due south, in a long, perfect arch towards the distant Rawlinswoods.
Nenufar's messenger Balor (for the sake of laughs hereby referred to as 'Greg') appeared several times along our journey, offering higher and more improbable rewards each time for us to abandon the mission: 'She advices you that nothing you find there will bring you joy. She knows well that will not stop you, too. But she considers that the amount of resources spent in letting you know this is worth it for her. She suggests to buy the Box from you, at a reasonable price. She does not wish to impose, only offer.'
Naturally, we declined. How could we not, and indeed I'm certain Nenufar was entirely sure that we would. Instead we followed the light, into the hobgoblins woods and their caverns, where by the water's edge it finally stopped. Looking closely, Tatyana spied a small crack underneath a large, flat stone, shifted with considerable effort by our heavy lifters. The hole beyond it was small and narrow though, not large enough even for our traditional Roslyn-on-a-rope trick (we were also short a Roslyn at the time). Instead, George transformed into an Umberhulk and widened the tunnel enough for us all to clamber down.
A waft of rancid air rose from below, growing worse the closer we came. Upon reaching the bottom, we found what seems to be some sort of facility, long disused and in ruins after suffering some kind of calamity. In the first section, we spied a number of tools that might've once been used for holding, interrogating or punishing subjects. The ground was overground with vegetation, dust and rubble, as well as an alarming number of bones of several sizes and types. Most of them seemed humanoid. The central section looked like a hallway, simple and plain. But further up, there was a large library. The remains of the once lavish bookshelves were thrown down, broken and torn. Few books survived time and the calamity itself, though Eowiel was as ever excited at the prospect of long lost lore.
Scouring the ruins, I managed to find what seemed to be the remains of an old oaken desk, richer than the rest. It had been purposedly smashed down to bits. Searching through the splinters and overgrowth, a single surviving book resurfaced: 'Razuvius' Notes'. The cover was plain, with no title on it, more akin to a journal or perhaps research notes. A swift initial peruse revealed mention of "subjects", "tests" and "progress".
The next room looked like a battlefield, almost, with the wrecked remains of a large number of beds, all splintered and smashed to bits. By the far wall, there was a row of desks, also smashed and splintered. And bones, many bones. Remains difficult to date, in this secluded and dark place. But humanoid like the first, and even more disturbingly, distinctly on the 'small' size as though from adolescents or even children.
As we explored further, we realised some of the bone hands were still holding daggers. Others had the daggers still stuck in the skulls. Eowiel pried a dagger free from a wee hand to take a closer look, though the moment her slender hand touched the skeleton, a cold, terrifying feeling welled up inside us. As a shiver ran down our collective spines, a shadow extended from the bones, taking shape, raising, and holding onto the dagger that Eowiel was trying to pry off it. She was quick to let go, backing off a few steps but the dread intensified, downright paralyzing Tatyana and Cormac.
The creature approached us with strange, twisted movements. It seemed to move too fast, too brokenly, its shape snapping and reforming. In size it was that of a child approaching adolescence, with a female outline. We tried to communicate, uncertain whether it was really hearing us. There was no answer, but we each felt its eyes staring at us, predatory and hungering.
Dread formed an icy lump at the pit of my gut. Though as the baleful creature tried to approach us, it haltered, hindered. Its frustration was palpable as it pulled away, bound to some unseen anchor - the bones, perhaps. There were more bones at our feet, too. We hadn't touched any directly yet, and I felt an overwhelming urge to keep it that way.
The creature observed us, unblinkingly, eyes aglow in red amidst shadow. It did not give any sign or indication of what it wanted, but I think we all knew it in our bones - before us stood something powerful and wicked, beyond some mere paultry 'undead'. Something other, something wicked wishing to kill and to devour. Something I knew instinctively we couldn't defeat, let alone without a cleric onboard.
As Cormac lit his sword on fire, swooshing it to cover our slow, careful retreat, the creature slunk back to the far corner. In the dark, we heard a childish crying rising - a wretched, inconsolable sobbing, helpless and forlorn. Though it originated from the creature, the sound soon echoed all around, almost as if it was being broadcast through the whole facility. We continued on our way out, attempting to steel ourselves against the broken cries, growing more desperate the closer we got to the exit.
Suddenly, we heard a word. It echoed, meekly, needily.
"Help?"
"Help..."
"Help..."
The voice sounded childish, afraid. Disarmed and hopeful. Cormac, as it turns out, was the first to crack, turning about for the door and resolutely drinking a potion of Clarity. As we began to answer the voice, our own words echoed back to us, as though the creature behind it knew not their meaning, only the mimicking of them.
As we reentered the ruined sleeping hall, the creature took immediate notice and got up, moving towards us in that same broken doll motion.
"Help..."
"Girl!" called Cormac into the dark, holding his sword infront of him. "We're all here, stop crying and -- tch... come here, damn you."
"Come here?"
"Help..."
George noticed it first, the mimicking, like an angler fish dangling its bait.
"Come here... help..."
Cormac took position right on the edge between dark and light, responding: "Here I am."
"Come here..."
The creature extended its hand, kept calling as Cormac, brave yet unwise, took step by step closer, til shadow swallowed him.
He reached for its hand, teeth bared. "Here I am!"
Meanwhile, I searched my pack for a small gem, most handy for all things 'shadowy', preparing to unleash a Sunbeam if it all went badly. And it soon did. As Cormac touched the creature, that same paralyzing chill seemed to wash over him - though this time, at least, his mind was warded. His gut, however, was not. Against the seemingly small knife that now cut through him, his armour seemed little more than wet paper.
Stab, stab and stab - bleeding and reeling, he stumbled back out of the shadows, while I unleashed the brightest beam of daylight that place had ever seen - to absolutely no avail. The creature was entirely unphased and tried to chase Cormac, but again could not, bound in place.
"Help...?"
This time, no one felt like helping. We also began to hold our tongues increasingly, not keen on teaching the strange creature more words. The crying echoed, louder and more insistant. Rather than opting for a fight (in which we might step on more bones yet), we made a beeline towards the exit to hurry back, deeply perturbed.
"We need to cover this back up, guys", I insisted. "Hide it, seal it, ... we can't have witless hobgoblins wandering in to be fed, can we?" And though I tried, packing earth and stone tightly in umberhulk form, it was all in vain. Since then, the dark presence in that forsaken place has grown and flourished, consuming and building in power. The hobgoblins worship it as a god, and indeed that is just what Nenufar, later appearing in projected "person", called it. A god, or the makings of one."
