temple of leaves | to be perfect is to be hollow

[sumptus]

WHO: Everybooooody (yeeeeah)
WHAT: A group of Riftwatch agents take a field trip back into the Temple of Zazikel, to do a more thorough examination of the Gate now that they're not distracted by half the team disappearing. OOC post here.
WHEN: Right now
WHERE: Temple of Zazikel, in the Grand Necropolis, Nevarra
NOTES: CW: fire, implied drowning in ESCAPE, non-descriptive mention of a baby crying in ENTERING. Please use content warnings in your subject lines, especially for child and animal-related stuff.

1. ENTERING THE TEMPLE
They've been here before. Some of them, anyway. Through the towering stone halls of the Grand Necropolis and winding canyon paths beyond, down, down to something more ancient beneath. An elven site that serves as entrance to an Old God structure between the two.

Their Mortalitasi guides lead them to the entrance to the Temple of Zazikel, and those who have been there before might remember the way forward, though known, is not simple. A labyrinth of narrow hallways roll out before them, mirrored black onyx walls that slice their torchlight into a thousand wrong turns. The sound of their own footsteps bounces behind them, in front, around this corner or that, their own voices echoing and distorting as if taking on new shapes.

—is that a baby crying? It can't be. This far underground? Must be an animal. It doesn't sound like an animal. It brightens around a bend and fades before you can reach it.

A low hum drones out around them to replace it, the further they go, constant and unshakable as if it's coming from inside their own heads, or perhaps radiating from the stone ceiling above them. Not a song, but— bees? Lightning bees? (Some Rifters may know it.)

The deeper they go, the more they find that isn't quite what they remember. Loose rocks and broken pottery underfoot are abruptly interrupted by a bone— no, a tree root the size of Barrow's forearm that catches someone's boot. Stumbling past it causes a snick-crack of glass beneath someone's foot, and on the rough-hewn wall beyond is a steel shelf, screwed directly into the rock and filled with neatly-arranged bottles, baring clean little labels and a sharp, antiseptic smell.

And then there's an aravel. One minute, they're walking through a tunnel narrow enough to touch both sides at once, and the next veilfire torchlight is bouncing off wooden planks as long as a house. Sails stretch up fifteen feet to flat stone ceilings that seem to swallow masts and fabric alike. The chamber is barely wide enough to contain it, and at its other end the passage narrows back down so far they'll need to turn sideways to get through. A ship in a bottle.

If it's a remnant of the elvhen structure, why are its boards so fresh? If it isn't, how did it get here? Why is it here?

They've been here before, haven't they? How could they have missed this? What else have they missed?


2. THE GATE
Eventually, they do find the Gate. It takes longer than it should, but not quite long enough for anyone to reconsider the mission. There's important work to be done, after all, and a few strange occurrences don't amount to much in the face of what happens if Corypheus succeeds.

Maybe the whole world looks like this room. An open, lifeless expanse below a pulsing void. Blight twists in a perfect circle around the Gate. The channels in the floor have dried brown with old blood.

They know something about how the other Gate behave, and the time Riftwatch had spent on this Gate last time weren't wasted -- but they had other priorities, like half the team disappearing. This time, the equipment is set up, the notebooks come out, and it's down to business. 


3. ESCAPE
Supplies packed, notebooks stowed, they're well into the tunnels again before they see anything odd. Which is, in itself, odd. They'd discovered the aravel not long before the tunnels widened out into their main chamber, but on the way back, it's nowhere near as close. Neither is anything else. They walk for thirty minutes, an hour, in hallways so dark they seem to suck the light from their torches, passing nothing but cold black stone and oppressive silence.

Then there's a crackle. A soft pop, fizzle. Metal clanks heavy against metal in the distance, the jostling of armor and heavy boots rushing at them, and when the party rounds the corner to face the oncoming noise they find the aravel ablaze.

Flames engulf the room. Heat buffets the group, smoke billowing across the ceiling and descending lower every moment, forcing Riftwatch to run along a wall that suddenly contains not one exit, but infinite.

Fleeing down one leads to a smooth tunnel that slips beneath your feet, the ground freezing despite the blistering wind at your back. An icy lake spools out in front of you, and underneath there's something moving — someone still alive under there.

Down another hole, gnarled roots bend up to tangle feet. Their sturdy trunks stretch impossibly tall into the dark, and where their limbs split it almost looks like human arms, hands, fingers — faces locked in the bark, their jaws twisting wide in silent screams.

Tunnels seal up to split groups. Walls close in. Floors fall out from underfoot. Riftwatch is scattered, and as their fears begin to sculpt the walls around them, time stretches. Do they have enough water? Enough food? How long have they been down here? Do the hours pass with no sun to mark them? If you fall asleep, who's to say it isn't forever?


4. AFTERMATH
Whether it feels like hours, days, or years, eventually the temple releases them. Those who threw off the shackles of their inner demons may find themselves crawling up through fistfuls of sand and gravel, beaching themselves on the open ground beneath a bright blue sky.

Those who didn't free themselves from anything in particular may not find so easy an exit, but exit they do. A wall gives way into the bottom of a crevice, and while there's no easy path to freedom, there is a sliver of daylight, and walls close together enough to shimmy up. Thankfully, neither exit is far from the other, and those too exhausted to climb may get help from those who escaped first.

The Mortalitasi will need to be notified. Something will need to be done about the spirit who caused this. But first, everyone finally has a moment to breathe.

Comments

lost

[magike]

No one should have let her out alone. Rowena had been exploring a small section of the temple, a slight passageway, but on her return had taken a wrong turn. She assumed that it was a wrong turn, given that it didn't lead into the open of the cavern that she'd been in, but into other winding corridors.

And then she saw the light bouncing off the walls from his flame, letting it lead her towards him, which was how she'd come to follow him through the next tunnel, both of them trying to escape.

"I assume magic is changing it?" How she couldn't answer, but magic was the only answer she had. The only answer to most things.

"What kind of marks?"

[portalling]

“A combination of chalk and magical glyphs,” Strange says, “in case conditions wore away at one or the other. Instead, they both seem to have vanished, or maybe these aren’t even the same hallways. More fool me for thinking the Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbs thing would work. Still, had to try.”

He pauses to check the wall, a thumb brushing at the dirt, but there’s no sign that this is where they’d walked on the way down.

For all that the two of them hadn’t started off on the right foot, his irritation with Rowena MacLeod hadn’t lingered, and he addresses her now like any other colleague; his temper was usually a mercurial thing, quick to flare but then quick to subside as the moment passed. No one’s at their best when they’re still recovering from a stab wound.

“The last time we investigated this temple, half of our number vanished and seemed to be transported elsewhere in a winding labyrinth. Magic’s certainly involved. We’re not literally in the Fade, not like Yvoire,” he knew she’d been there too, had seen the woman’s red hair in the distance (although it’d also made him double-take, thinking her to be Wanda for a moment), “but conditions remain… odd, down here.”

[magike]

"Is this the labyrinth?" She tries to keep her tone neutral, to ask the question honestly rather than make it an expectation. Though when they were continually becoming lost it certainly seemed likely that this could be a labyrinth.

Rowena sighs, a release of breath rather than any frustration, even though she feels it at these trapping walls.

"The next watery surface we see, I'd like to try something." She doubted the man carried a mirror.

[portalling]

“Who can say? It might be. Anything’s possible.” It’s wishy-washy and not exactly a firm answer, but that was the blessing and curse of magic to begin with; what Strange loved about it, and what could make it so frustrating to deal with at times.

At Rowena’s suggestion, he absentmindedly pats down his pockets and coat just to be on the safe side, wondering if he’s carrying a reflective surface. He has poultices and potions tucked away in a belt, but no mirror; sadly, he’s not vain enough to carry a hand-mirror into the field. If he was trapped down here for days again, the beard would just have to grow more unkempt.

“There ought to be some subterranean sources of water nearby; there was some last time, so we didn’t dehydrate to death. What are you going to try? Would a bottle of liquid work?”

[magike]

She thinks about it for a moment. "Perhaps." It was a little small, though if it were their only option, it would have to do. They couldn't afford to be selective about it when the other option was being stuck for longer.

"I have a spell that will allow us to locate someone or something, a divination of a kind. We can use that location to help us navigate a path out."

[portalling]

“Like scrying?” Strange asks, then, wistful: “I miss being able to scry. Alright. C’mon, let’s search for an actual source before I give up any of my own drinking reserves, since we might need those later.”

And they start walking again through the dark and winding passages; he keeps up a glint of magical light to guide them, gallantly taking on the energy since Rowena will need hers later for whatever spell she’s trying. And he’s eager to see it, always thrilled to witness new magic, the way you might perk up for show-and-tell day at school.

Following a clammy dampness in the air eventually wins out and leads them to dripping stalactites and a pool of murky cave water. It doesn’t exactly look safe to drink, but:

“Will this do?”

[magike]

Rowena looks a little impressed at his words. She's certainly doubted how much he knew about magic, given their early conversations, though she was open to having her mind changed. Maybe he wasn't so hopeless.

Not that she adds as such, waiting until they stop again, keeping her steps close to his so she doesn't become separated in these winding caverns. She's a little relieved when they find a large pool of water, even if it isn't so appealing, but she's worked with worse.

"A better source than a bottle." And she's certainly used far worse before, even if water wouldn't be her go-to source.

Rowena crouches close to the pool, keeping her hands waist height above it. Her eyes close for a brief moment as she centers herself, thinking of the camp location that she recalls-- vague as it is. She doesn't know where it is, but it's only a feeling that she needs. Opening her eyes again, Rowena's head dips to look at the pool, her fingers slowly working as she focuses her magic, slight movements as if she's weaving an invisible force.

As her spell casts, the colour of the pool changes-- glows. It's still murky, but with a light beneath it, her magic working across the surface. Except, in this realm, and how this place works, her spell is slower to retrieve anything.

It gives Stephen a chance to question, slow minutes frustratingly passing, before Rowena finally lowers her hands, the glow of the pool fading as she stands. "I know where to go."

Unfortunately for him, he won't have seen a picture. She didn't either, but it's a directional sense, magic pulling her where they need to go.

[portalling]

This is the aggravating thing about being trapped underground: there’s no real way to intuit their way. The direction of moss on trees, a breeze, the scent of the ocean, sunrise and sunset, there’s absolutely none of the usual directional clues to orient them and help find their bearings. Presumably there’s some way to navigate down here, since the dwarves and darkspawn get around well enough, but Riftwatch are for the most part stranded.

So it’s a relief unspooling in his chest, when Rowena finally straightens with brisk confidence and something seems to have happened and clued her in, some metaphorical red thread rolling out through the hallways to lead them towards the exit. He falls in beside her again, a slight step behind, to follow as she starts to lead the way.

“Handy,” Strange says, his voice warm and approving. “I wasn’t exactly enthused about the prospect of becoming some sun-starved goblin down here.”

Not that they’re out yet, nothing to show that she really does know where to go, but: he trusts her in this. He figures Rowena’s got just enough arrogant condescension that she probably knows her stuff.

[magike]

The confidence fills her as she leads them out, believing wholly in her magic and what she's capable of; it never fails her.

It doesn't here either, though as Rowena slowly leads them through paths into another room, one on their path to freedom, they run into something unexpected. It's quick, almost the minute they step into the room, both the entrance and exit to the cavern bursting into a wall of flame. It makes Rowena freeze, terror running through her. They're trapped.

[portalling]

Strange practically runs right into Rowena from behind, chest colliding with the woman’s spine, a startled oof as his hand catches her shoulder so he can peer over her and check what awaits them ahead.

It sprang up out of nowhere. The fire’s hot, blazing. The path is narrow enough that he can’t squeeze past without her assistance. And yet he doesn’t bat an eye at this particular peril, even with that roaring heat radiating from ahead and behind them, their skin feeling dry and stretched from the heat.

Fire and water, he thinks. It was a frozen lake that had immobilised him with terror and memory, down below.

“Rowena,” he says, but there’s no indication that the woman heard him. He has to repeat it again, leaning in close with his mouth at her ear, a shout: “Rowena. You need to keep moving.”

There’s things he can do, shields he can employ to safeguard them both, but he can’t move as long as she stays trapped on the path like this.

[magike]

The shout of her name drags part of her senses back to her, and her nails press into her palms as she gasps, dragging a breath into her again. Her heart hammers, and she has to tell herself to keep breathing.

And then he tells her they need to move.

The fire's so close ahead, but she can feel the heat surrounding them too, enclosing quickly in the small space. How can she walk into it when she can't move?

Her head shakes. Rowena doesn't want to die here, death by fire once was enough experience, but she doesn't know that she can do anything else.

"How can we stop it?"

[portalling]

Strange wonders, distantly, if she’s pyrophobic.

“We can shield ourselves from it.” He says we, charitably, even if the truth is: “I can shield you from it, if you’ll allow.”

They’re going to have to get far more up-close and personal than they’ve been before, and more than he strictly prefers for a professional colleague with an attitude problem. (He has the exact same attitude problem. It was, perhaps, what had ground their nerves against each other the first time they met.)

Rowena’s still motionless and it’s hot enough that it’s a little hard to breathe. Like standing too close to a campfire, your lungs labouring. They have to keep moving. So he takes that hand on her shoulder and uses it to gently nudge her out of the way, maneuvering the woman slightly so he can go ahead and squeeze past on the path; it’s a narrow fit, their bodies pressed uncomfortably close (ugh), Strange practically inhaling her hair for a second before he manages to reorient and he’s finally standing in front of her. He raises his hands, and a golden mandala shimmers into place like a tower shield held in front of him, enough to protect both of them— if she stays very, very close.

“The heat will be uncomfortable,” he says, brisk as always, not bothering to gild his words with warm sympathy or comfort, “but it won’t touch you. Come on. Let’s go.”

[magike]

Rowena watches the magic, though she doesn't have enough mind to study it, to think of how he may have cast it. That's a conversation for the future, when they're distinctly out of danger.

But she does listen, appreciating how descriptive he's being. It helps to balance her, even if she's still afraid, and eventually, he'll feel her hand against him, a light touch to nudge him along. She's ready.

The hand stays on him as they walk, a grounding piece of contact for her, and a sign that she's still close behind him. Her eyes close as they pass closer to the fire, unable to watch it as they step through it, and the heat threatens to swallow her. But she doesn't stop, uses him to anchor her to continue, and eventually, they pass it.

Its only when Stephen stops that she does, and only when he lowers the shield does she take her hand from him, keeping them by her side again.

"We should keep moving." She still has the direction, at least. And Rowena has no plan to talk about what just happened.

maybe 🎀? and they can follow up on this later >)

[portalling]

They walk through the flames, step by laborious step, before they’re eventually all the way through and walking into a cool, dark passage and can breathe properly again. He lets the shield snap back out of existence, his palms throbbing with the heat that had partially seeped through the protective barrier.

And this isn’t what he’d expected from her at all. The witch had been so coolly capable and professional this entire time, even when they were trapped even further underground. Something had gone awry, and had shaken Rowena MacLeod so badly that she had to latch onto him, fingers digging into his back and not letting go until the fire was gone.

Stephen opens his mouth, perhaps on the verge of asking — he’s incorrigibly curious, always wanting to know more — but then he wisely snaps it shut again, and keeps the questions to himself. This isn’t the time nor the place; they still need to survive and get out first.

“To the exit, then,” he says, optimistically, as if it’s as simple as following a brightly-lit neon sign. Exit, stage right.

But with Rowena’s scrying to lead the way, a magical compass needle pointing due north, they’re able to navigate towards the real surface, and finally emerge blinking and disoriented in the sun. The doctor’s gratitude is quick but sincere — he makes sure to stop and thank her — but then he’s almost instantly pulled away at the sight of others clawing their way out of the ground in more haphazard fashion, colleagues with potential injuries, people to check up on and help dig them out of the very earth itself.

The task distracts them for a while, and any questions of what they faced underground fall away.