Runing the Wish Machine [8/27] Rune Mastery

[22:23] It's a small trek away from the tower and center area of the mountain. The Ultovexian floats, crossing a bridge to a small clearing on the northern tundras. As they arrive, a pale green and purple light would begin to shine, a rift rending the life stream, larger then most he operated. It would take several moments for the Nethradin to start pouring out, each one pulling a large chain as an object was pulled from the rift.

It was a strange thing. It was crafted from wood and stone, and there were several slots covering it that looked as if items were to be placed into it. In addition it was covered in various grooves, shaped like channels as if to direct power from one portion of it to the next.

"I will not giv' ya tha' name o' this creation. Only it's function."

"This object, upon completion, will grant wishes, fer a price."

It was an odd object, some sort of orb or catalyst that would be turned into something more.
(Despair)
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[22:28] Ardith trods along behind, not quite the fashionable floating of the Ultovex. She does a much less graceful slog through the snow, leaving hoofprints behind her.

The rifts at the Lord's beck and call are still impressive, but less jarring as his servants from the world beyond haul out his goods.

Without being bid she scans over it already and begins taking mental notes of the structure.

"I'll give it a name myself if I gotta. But right now a name's irrelevant."

It's alien, it's strange, and if she hadn't been told what it was supposed to do? She's not sure she could've ever guessed except by sheer luck.

"On completion. But it ain't done yet. I mean, it sure ain't look done."
(Ardith)
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[22:28] Ardith says, "I see channels for powerflow...I know that much. Ain't see much else."
[22:36] The Ultovexian scowled.

"It has a name. But fer tha' sake o' not confusin' it wit' it's prototype, I ain't gon get too inta it. Fer now, it's a wishgranter. Tha's all tha' needs ta b said. I could get inta the intricates o' it, but I ain't sur' how much ya moral compass is."

Lord Ultovex floated forwards. His hand would run across a channel. Occultism could be felt building up around the center of his clawed palm, around his dull talons. Void energy would intermix with it, something that would feel like absolute madness and corruption as he would raise it to the channel. The pale green light began to flow across it, moving deeper into the construct.

"Ya. It ain't done yet. It'll require tha' artifacts when I finish wit' it. An' mor' then one power source. O' which, I hav' only one today."

A rift would tear in front of the Ultovexian. He would reach inside, and pull out from within some sort of box. In it there were lines of books. Necromancy, Rift, wayfinding, journals. The dull talon removed itself from the construct, the pale green glow of the channels still remaining curving inwards, before he would pull out a certain book.

"It's known as Illyotha Rising. A tome writin' 'bout N'lok an' many o' the parts o' Illyothan information. It is believed ta b possessed by the soul o' Lygonqi Alazauq. Unfortunate, it ain't."

His gaze would look up towards Ardith.

"There is power entombed in this book. Power tha's goin' ta waste. I would like ya ta create runes tha' remain tha' vestiges o' the books shard power an' transfer it ta the Wishgranter. Wit' the channels as they are, the power should remain locked inside until I'm prepared ta fully power it up."

"I've read from tha' book an' gotten all I need out o' it beside tha' power."
(Despair)
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[22:43] "Wishgranter. Works for me."

The less she knew the better it might be. If asked she'd not be culpable. But on the other hand...another part of her was curious. Dying to know. Good thing she's not a Nagual, because of she had been it would've killed her ten times over.

A sensation washes over her that sets the hairs on her skin on end. The whispers that lurk in the ring redouble and it takes a concerted effort to not let them overwhelm her. Whatever afflicts the Accursed is not entirely quiet in the presence of that eldritch magic.

"Well, Zariel was fuckin' full of shit," she curses, spitting off to the side.

"So...you want me to do a transfer of power, with runes, from that book to the wishgranter? Making the book pretty much useless?"

Not entirely useless. The writings would still be there, but it makes it that less of a prize. It's the Accursed's turn to scowl. Surely thecontents could still further her research, and yet...
(Ardith)
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[22:50] The orb itself seemed to resonate with something of the Ultovex. There was a ring on his darkened hand topped by a black stone. At first, it would be easy to look over and ignore but as the Void energy flowed into the channels of the massive orb, the ring seemed almost to amplify the power that was generated, as well as the claw the Ultovexian bore, green mana able to be seen running up and down his arms in lines.

Being close to it began to taint what was around. Voices cold be heard in the hearts of the living, speaking of betrayal everywhere, and it would feel like the shadows under the trees moved like people were hiding.

He turns once more to face Ardith, illuminated by the glow of the Wish granter.

"No. Tha' book will still function as intentioned. It acts similar ta an arcanium staff, an' still will hold tha' knowledge o' N'lok within. But, ya see, rite now it has a power within it tha's jus' goin' ta waste. I wish ta utilize tha' powa elsewhere."

"If tha' power is tha' only thang ya lookin' fer in tha' book? Then ya, it'll b useless. But it still has everything else." His arms crossed, watching Ardith scowl.

"Will ya do it?"
(Despair)
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[22:56] As unfinished as the orb looks, plain and alien, it responds to the Ultovex's touch. She begins her mental notes again. The lines on the wishgranter, the flow of power to his arm, the ring...

Oh. A ring?

Her note-taking, such as it is, falls short as the whispers do more than redouble. They surge into her mind, preying on her thoughts, her doubts, her worries.

Which are plentiful, contrary to the presence she projects. Given what she is, what she has seen, it shouldn't be any wonder.

What if they found out where she'd been? Who she'd been helping? Those ties would mean nothing, no matter how hard she tried to explain them. All they need is one excuse, one tiny reason to tie the noose around her neck, or worse- to chain her.

The voices become harder to shake, crawling into where they are most effective.

"I can...yeah. I can do that. Shouldn't be a problem, I just..."

Ardith does her best to regather her scattered marbles, reaching for little phials and sets of brushes that are attached to her belt. She never walks anywhere without that much.

"I need to know the base materials of...of what this thing's made of. I ain't want the ink I use having a bad reaction. Then I'll need to draw the runes on the book and the...the thing."

Focusing is immensely difficult.
(Ardith)
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[22:57]
{LOAD GAME}

[23:03] Other orbs opened around the Ultovex, these ones being pale green eyes that illuminated the darkness. At the same time, they were not limited to the air around him. The eyes would open on the ground, on the trees, on any non-living surface as his the blue eye of his staff would take on the same hue.

There must have been a number of void artifacts already with Sors, much harder to notice without the lines constantly illuminating them. Slowly he would turn around to again face the Accursed.

"Tha' orb itself is composed o' stone an' wood. In it's current state, it lacks tha' ability ta do much but b inert. It is through ma own powers tha' the wish granter will b granted form. But fer tha' ta happen, I require tha' runes an' outside power."

"Tha' energy will b stored within' before I input tha' instructions. An' once I fit in tha' pieces it'll roar ta life."

The floating man would step away from the orb, floating closer to Ardith. As he did the whispers would start to grow louder, but also more strange. There was the paranoia that lingered but also something much more. The Whispers of Despair could crawl into the minds of many.

His hands firmly would hold the book. Invisible chains latched onto it, lifting it up and carrying it in front of Ardith. He wouldn't let go of the object, but he would let her draw the runes on it as required.

"Do wha' ya need?"
(Despair)
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[23:13] Those whispers latch on like leeches, gaining purchase on the Accursed's thoughts. Normally the ones within her own ring drive her impulses, push her onward. Given a different direction they all come crashing down on the same train of thought.

That despair, distress, despondency becomes a weight on her shoulders.

When the day comes, he'll stand beside his brother.

Ardith's face grows pale and, with a trembling hand, she takes the brush and phial of ink in hand. She begins to draw the great, swooping, eldritch runes on the surface of the Archon's tome.

You are nothing to them.

Wherever the ink passes over the book it sizzles, bubbles and roils. Due to its nature it soaks in the magic readily, a pathway lain for the transit of power, runes she knows by heart.

You'll never be one of them.

Had it been the normal breed of chatter, she could've ignore it far more easily, but the sigils on the book are completed.

"...L-let me at the wishmaker. I'll finish and power it up."

You can share a home, you can share a name, but in the end it won't matter.
(Ardith)
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[23:14] Ardith says, "The runes, I mean..."
[23:20] The Dusk and Pale green eye in the Ultovexian's head watch as Ardith's face grew pale. The brush and ink slowly began to paint the runes onto the surface of the tome. During this time, he waited by the sidelines. It is until the last of the lines are painted over that he waits. The runes mesh well together as the whispers tunnel deeper and deeper.

"Of course."

Sors stepped closer to Ardith. But he didn't let her step to it right away. The whispers of despair would only grow stronger as the distance between them shrank. He would be inches away, the dulled talon of his claw rising and touching the Accursed on her forehead. The whispers would quiet, if only a little, while he would then move to the tomb. The claw would move on top of it.

Green lines would form on the other side of the tome then the runes. They made a symbol, one which Ardith would be unfarmilar with, that of the void being left on the book and connecting it to the artifactfurther as he turned to face the Accursed.

"Power it up wit' the energy."

His darkened hand moved, settling onto Ardith's shoulder.

"An' tell it ya wish."
(Despair)
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[23:33] Those notions of Despair burrow into her mind as if through freshly churned loam. She can't shake it. No matter how she tries. Their hooks are in deep.

There is no place for you on this miserable rock. When they know what you've done they'll make sure of it.

Ardith doesn't even know fully what she's done yet, but she starts to believe it. It's a notion that's already been lurking large in the back of her mind. The places she is accepted in grow fewer and fewer. The 'heroes' leave the real monsters to roam and oppress.

The tip of his claw touches her forehead and, for a few blessed seconds, the voices swarm her less. It's enough to hone her focus for the final few drawings and the transfer of power.

You will be alone. The only one of your kind. No more.

He moves aside and she moves in to continue her task. She tugs off her left glove, showcasing her own ring with its stunning spireshard setting. Another series of runes is painted on the surface of the machine that correspond to those on the eldritch tome.

A dead breed, not fit for life where the divine is worshipped.

Then, like all good machines and bombs, all it needs is a spark.

The Accursed brushes the runed metal of her pact ring against the sigils on the machine, giving it just enough energy to coax the transfer to life. Each one flares and glows a sickly shade of green edged with fell purple.

A wish. She knows what she wants, and she's known it all along. A single thought to encompass all her desires at once. Power, knowledge, all things she can get with one key. The charging Accursed needs only a single thing.

"...I wish to be unstoppable."
(Ardith)
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[23:42] While she works, the whispers of Despair were lighter, set to make sure they wouldn't interfere with the progress that was being created there. The Void eyes watched her as she continued with her task, removed her glove, set her ring across the sigils that covered the orb. Each one flared, mixing the green with fell purpose.

And as she questioned herself, there would be one more thing to question.

As her hand moved to brush the orb, there was a strange sensation for a few seconds. It was as if when she made her wish time stopped. The feeling of something monsterous inside the orb would resound within her mind, as if there would be a slight tugging on her soul. It doesn't lay claim to it, nor attempt to, but there is that sparse tug as the feeling of the eyes all watched her at once.

"A wish for power."

The voice wasn't Sors, nor any that Ardith would recognize. And just as soon as it would seem tospeak to her, it would be gone. Along side the runes, something he didn't write would also etch itself upon the orb in sigils unknown. Void Sigils.

And then it's gone. The presence, the oddity. The power drains from the tome in the Ultovexian's hands, flowing into the orb. The book itself is closed and reset onto the library before he slides it into the rift.

"Perfect response. Ya wish is acknowledged."
(Despair)
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[23:50] The feeling of the whispers abates, replaced by the sensation of being watched a hundredfold. That kind of pressure she can deal with, the presence of eyes. The former less so.

Her runed ring brushes against the ink and everything slows to a crawl. She looks up and the sea has stopped churning, the snow stopped falling, even the icy, frigid wind doesn't so much as stir the air. The Accursed's heart leaps into her throat. There's a visceral tug as if her organs, but something that's not her organs at all, is about to be pulled free of her mortal shell.

All other voices, from her own ring and the Ultovex's go quiet as a single one echoes in her mind.

"My...My what now?"

Time resumes. Her understanding of what's just happened struggles to keep pace with it as life marches on, continuing its cycle. It doesn't even wat for her to catch up.

How rude.
(Ardith)
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[23:56] "Did I not tell ya? It's a Wish granter. Somethang tha' hears wishes. An' 'fore I launch it, it needs ta hear wishes. This is part o' it's creation."

The feeling of time slowing had stopped, perhaps just a trick of the void. The Void that no longer moved the same way. The eyes on the ground had closed, and the pale green lights had all vanished or been sucked into the orb. The energy could still be felt in the core of the orb as the chains of the Nethradin began to pull on it again.

The rift opened. With the task complete, the Nethradin began to once more haul it back into storage as the Ultovexian floats in the opposite direction.

"An object o' grantin' wishes, s'long as a method through which the wish can b imagined is formulated."
(Despair)
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