In a realm tucked between the corners of space and time, an old soul gazes upon the world.
Surrounded by eight others, they pull their fingers across delicate, ethereal strings.
Minds and bodies shift and swirl as dreams coalesce, consciousnesses mingle.
A sudden brawl in a lonely tavern.
A dark manor in a sleepy town.
A shared vision. An inscrutable test.
A set of unlikely heroes with the weight of the world upon their shoulders.
· · ·
Ben Amicitia feels like a corpse. Though he’s used to waking up to the chilling embrace of damp, cold concrete, and even the feeling of iron shackles around his limbs, something about his current situation froze him down to his bones. He knew he wasn't meant to be here. Didn't he finish escaping some sort of haunted house? Blinking rapidly, he strains to look around, his eyes slowly acclimatizing to the near darkness. He’s in a prison cell, in some sort of strange windowless dungeon the likes of which he had never seen nor heard of before. The room outside his cell extends upwards out of sight, with a barely visible light seeming to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once. A set of heavy iron doors sit at one side of the circular room, with a crank-like device on the adjacent wall. A massive assortment of weapons is piled in the center of the room. Lining the walls are several other prison cells, each containing strange individuals in a similar predicament to him. A man who had the build of a swordfighter, with fair skin and brown hair. A dark-skinned man who seemed to be a practitioner of magic. Two dragonborn men; one with amber scales and plate armor, and the other with blue scales in clerical robes. Lastly, a dark-haired, fair-skinned dwarven woman with white and gold robes and silver armor. Ben seems to recognize the warlock and the swordfighter... though perhaps it was in a dream? His memory is too foggy to remember.
"Who are you people?" Ben shouts as he ran up to his cell bars.
The amber dragonborn clutches his head. "...Huh? What happened...? I remember being in a... house..."
The blue dragonborn raises an eye at Ben. "We would like to ask you the same-- though perhaps I should introduce myself first. My name is Norixus Tarhun. What about you?"
"Name's Ben. That's all you're gonna get from me. If you want my last name, you'll have to beat me in a fight."
"...alright, Ben. Good to meet you."
The warlock strides up to the bars of his cell. "My name's Rognalad Dogshit."
"Dogshit? What...?" Norixus shakes his head at the strange name. "Good to meet you, Rognalad."
"My name's Valse," The dwarven woman says, looking inquisitively at the others.
"Criollo." The amber dragonborn says, deep in thought.
"I'm James," the swordfighter says, haphazardly. "By the way, I call first dibs on any of the loot I--"
Suddenly, the party is interrupted by strange visions flashing through their minds.
A winged male humanoid, wreathed in a halo of light around its head, white and golden robes flowing behind...
A strange forge-like creation, gears twisting and turning as it roars...
A pale disembodied face with black sclerae, gruesome tentacles swarming out from behind it...
A great tree, with roots and flowers springing up at its base...
A strange ball of light, morphing and changing form in unnatural ways...
A sickening mass of warped flesh, consuming everything...
A white wolf with raven wings and a snake tail...
A shimmering construct composed of broken pieces of reflections...
And an empty void that absorbs all...
A chorus of nine voices rings in their ears. "You have all been chosen. The strings of your fates are intertwined, alongside that of this world."
"What... what is this?" Valse says, bewildered. "I swear I saw the gods just a moment ago..."
"These voices... feel familiar...?" Criollo blinks, trying to process what just happened. "They said something about intertwining fates... are we supposed to know each other or something?"
"Well we all know some people here, it seems," Norixus begins. "Don't know about the others."
"You there." Ben glances over at Valse. "Did you see what I just saw? Somethin' like a void consuming everything?"
"I saw nine visions, yeah. I recognized a few of them. The white chimera was Alabus, the tree was Mykhori, the winged human was Firmaren, and the fleshy creature was the Devourer. I don't know the others... but I presume they must also be gods."
Rognalad raises an eyebrow. "Why do you know this?"
"I'm somewhat well-read in religion. Long story..."
"Who gives a damn about these visions?" James shouts. "Can't you see we're all chained up? Let's find a way to get out of here first."
Norixus nods. "Yeah. Let's do that."
The prisoners spend the next several minutes straining to break free of their bindings, making small talk all the while. The cuffs are nearly crumbling with age and break with some effort. The cell bars also show the same wear and tear. Valse bends an opening in her cell bars just wide enough to slip out. Running to the pile of weapons in the center, she picks up a battleaxe, using it to break open the locks to the cell doors. Each of the others retrieves weapons from the center: James, a greatsword; Criollo, a warhammer, shield, and handaxe; Ben, a shortsword and hand crossbow.
Valse smiles. It was lucky that she was small enough to fit through the gaps between the bars and free the others. "Y'know, sometimes being a dwarf is alright, despite the short jokes."
"I bet," Ben says, slyly. "How's the air down there, by the way?"
"Aaaaand there it is..."
Ben lets loose a cacophony of laughter. "I'm fuckin' with ya. Don't take it personally."
"Right, right..." Valse says, rubbing the back of her neck. "Just not used to being with this many people all the time."
"I am." Rognalad says, a faraway look upon his face. "I miss our broom ally."
"A what now?" Criollo stares at Rognalad. "Brooms?"
Memories of Ben's dream flood back to him. It seems that, somehow, that James and Rognalad had the same dream as him-- and remembered the same events. "Yep. A talking broom. There was also a rogue, a cleric, a schizo, and a feminine mage..."
Valse shakes her head, trying to ignore the absurdity of what she was hearing. "Let's just move. I don't like the feel of this place..."
Valse grasps the crank next to the door of the room and begins to turn. The iron doors open slowly with a squeal, revealing a hall leading to another room. Circular like the last, its walls are lined with nine locked chests, each with an ornate inscription on its top. In the center is a pedestal with an open book mounted on it.
The party walks up to each of the chests and begins to read their inscriptions…
Chest 1: “Blessed are those who walk the path of the good and lawful. His grace, Firmaren, bestows them with these gifts.”
“Woman!” James shouts, waving at Valse. “Woman with the holy gear and massive spiritual power! This chest looks like your deal!”
Chest 2: “Good and evil are delusions, excuses for the mighty to tread on the weak. Only peace and balance matter. Those who ally with the Machine will enforce that peace through superior firepower.”
Chest 3: “Those who are weak deserve no place in this world. They bring strife and suffering to all. Gaze into the eyes of the Gorgon, and these treasures will be your sword to cull the herd.”
“Hmm…” James rubs his chin, gazing at the third chest. “This one looks like Ben’s sorta thing, except he prefers to punch.”
Ben walks over and smirks at the description of the third chest. “Yeah… this definitely sounds like my type of thing.”
Chest 4: “All creatures deserve a place in this world. Only through unity can we derive the strength to protect them. Those who follow the way of Mykhori will find protection themselves with this gift.”
“These inscriptions…” Criollo says, quizzically. “What could be their meaning…?”
“Pledges, probably,” James responds.
Chest 5 is covered in strange warping text that hurts to look at. In the middle is inscribed the words: “The Great One knows all. Have faith.”
Rognalad grins. “Now this is my cup of tea!”
Chest 6: “This world is full of plentiful bounty. We are borne of flesh. Flesh is life. Flesh is power. Feed the Devourer, and let these gifts help you feast on your enemies.”
Criollo scowls at the sixth chest. “Ugh, that thing.” The thought brings up memories he’d rather forget…
Chest 7: “The purifying alabaster flames will rend all who stand against the will of justice. Alabus blesses all who take up arms against evil. The gifts within will aid you in your crusade.”
Chest 8: “Only those who take themselves lightly are truly free in life. The Formless One will gladly aid those who live for freedom and chaos. Or he won’t. Who knows?”
Chest 9: “Everything is finite. All marches steadily towards the void. Only in death is there salvation. Null will help you usher this world towards the endless finality.”
The party examines the book in the center of the room. Within it is inscribed the following: “The gods wish to test the will of those who find this place. Each chest contains a journey. Each chest must be opened, in time. Your conduct shall be judged. Only after all nine shall the verdict be handed down.”
The whine of magic fills the room. A door appears on the opposite side of the room of the entrance. On it, inscribed in silver letters, is a single word—Altium.
Criollo strides up to the door, rubbing his chin. “…Anyone know what that means?”
“Hmm…” Valse begins. “I’ve heard rumors… the name is mentioned in some ancient manuscripts regarding the Ennead—the nine most powerful gods of the world. It is said that those who travel to Altium first meet through a shared dream…”
Valse blinks, a thought sparking through her brain. “Wait… where do you guys last remember being before this?”
“A… house,” Criollo says.
Rognalad rolls his eyes. “I was in a mansion with a group of mentally crippled monkeys.”
“Some wack fuckin’ house in the middle of the woods, three stories, filled with dust and other horrible entities,” Ben replies.
Valse furrows her brow. “Was it some sort of three-story house surrounded by fog?”
“Yep,” Ben raises an eyebrow. “How’d you know, actually?”
“Criollo, Norixus and I were just there ourselves. Or at least, it seems we shared the same dream…”
“Why would a god be doing this to us?” Norixus questions.
“Either way,” Valse walks about the room, inspecting the chests, “we should probably do as the book says. Looks like we have to pick a chest to open.”
“This must mean I’m some sort of chosen one,” Rognalad smirks. “That’s perfectly fitting. Onwards to the fifth chest!”
“Maybe we should all decide as a group first…” Valse says.
“I say we go in order, honestly,” Ben begins. “Never was one for skipping around.”
“Sixth...” Criollo says with faraway eyes. “I need some… closure.”
“James!” Rognalad shouts. “Say fifth!”
“Fifth? Okay, sure—I like eldritch horrors.”
“Good, two for fifth.” Rognalad gestures at Criollo. “Join us, orange one.”
“Hm… so we’re tied for fifth and first, then?” Valse says. “Might as well try luck.”
Valse takes out a coin and flips it. “First it is.”
James groans. “But that one sounds so fucking boooring…”
“The book says we’ll have to open all of them eventually anyway…”
Suddenly, the eight other chests disappear. The locks off the first one fall off, crumbling to ash upon the stone floor. Ben walks over and pops it open, looking inside—he finds a white tome, embroidered in intricate gold filigree. Before he can open it, James runs over and yanks it from his hands.
Ben scowls. “It’s just a book, don’t fuck it up James.”
James flips open the book to its first page. It contains only one sentence: “Go through the door.”
Criollo reads over James’s shoulder. “…Well, seems straightforward enough.”
Rognalad runs to the door and pulls it open. “You heard the paper, it’s go time!”
