The Gate

The Gate is a strange contraption. Seemingly composed of simple stone, it's animated by unclear forces—many of the mechanisms inside of it are inaccessible, and those you've managed to inspect seem to have long since stopped working. And yet, whenever its guts are out of sight, the Gate still works just as it always had. A large stone pedestal set into a hilly glade just south of Osivyver, it's more ancient than you could know. Enshrined in moss and scaled by morning glories and tangled ivy, two large pillars cut into six sections each stand tall over the pedestal, and five empty wells sit equidistant around these. From these wells sprawl channels that wind themselves into gorgeous detail consisting of unrecognizable runes and symbols, all leading to the center basin.

If the right steps are taken, the right sacrifices are made and the right person stands before the Gate, it will open to anyone's Black Path so long as that Path exists.

What the Path asks of you, each time, is entirely different.

One night, it proves to be a gentle dance! Twisting and prancing just at the threshold, each nimble step urges the black fluid out of the wells. But as the dance goes and you find the steps that jolt the fluid the most, it changes from a simple and carefree jaunt to a cautious tango. The pattern grows clearer and clearer until you're no longer dancing for yourself under the shadow of the gate, but rather dancing elegantly with the red thread that binds your hand to whatever lies beyond it.

You throw yourself into it, hungry for a chance to dance. Now that you know the rhythm, your footsteps become sure and sharp, and your whole body moves with music you can only just barely hear now. Your graceful legs carry you all along the perimeter of the pedestal and your crest flares in a brilliant display of light as you land the last step, slamming your foot down onto the stone and seeing the Gate surge with the concoction! In a final gesture, drawn by whatever music calls from beyond the Veils, you unsheathe your sword in the blink of an eye, arcing it over your head in a wide sweep and twirling it in your hand before sheathing it again, the Gate now wide open with a perfect black circle, each section of the pillars spinning steadily.

Gently panting, you come out of the light trance into which you'd so eagerly danced, made lucid again by the sudden realization that the music you were hearing now plays loud and clear throughout the glade. The gushing breeze sways the trees with the rhythm of a heavy drum beat... laced with violin and flutes. The pounding of the drums alone suggests they are war drums, but they seem... pacified, restrained by the elegance of the rest of the ensemble.

With a little smile playing on your face, you now feel sure you're on the right track. Stepping over the designs in the stone, you plant your hand on your sword, take a deep breath, and cross the Gate into the Black Path.

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The demand will come, just as it does each time, when you are done. You kneel at the last of the five wells, carefully pouring a measured amount of the sickly dark admixture into it until it fills to the top. On cue, a gate on one side of each well clicks open, and the fluid begins to move, seeping through channels in the detailing that covers the entire gate. Though you'd think the glowering summer sun would loosen it just a bit, the viscous fluid flows like tar just as ever.

And just as soon as those gates clicked open, your demand was immediate and clear. In your mind, a word burns: BLOOD. A basin rises from a gap in the detailwork, held aloft by a stark and plain stone rod.

...

Hand twitching, you take a deep breath. The last drops of blood fill the small basin, and you calmly wipe your blade clean on your cloak. You draw a finger across your wrist, binding it in glowing red fabric that will have to serve as a bandage for now, though a physical one would surely be preferable. The column holding the basin aloft sinks once more into one of the many hidden mechanisms of the Gate, and immediately it begins to spark to life with a ripple of raucous laughter from beyond. The pillars break apart, the sections hanging in the air in the shape of a triangle, and a similarly shaped portal opens.

Your lips pull tight into a sneer, and you cast your gaze at your feet. Blade still drawn, you stride into the portal.

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And again, the wells each fill, and the gates each click away, but this time... there's no immediate demand. The fluid seems to move slower than ever, though with a careful eye you spot that it is indeed moving. Suspiciously, you step over to the plain path set directly in front of the gate and sit down, looking up at it in silence.

After all, what else can you do? If the fluid flows, then surely it shall in time reach its destination. If all it wants is for you to wait, then so be it. It would not be the first time.

As the flow crawls towards the heart of the Gate, you wonder about the Path. Who built this gate? You'd thought to ask before, but it seemed that the Grasp themselves had that very same question. No matter who you asked, the answer was always the same: they wished they knew, too. The runes that so thoroughly decorate it are of completely alien tongue; no scholar who has glimpsed them could relate them to anything else that they'd ever observed.

You found that with each sojourn into the Path, your voice dulled just a bit. It is but a whisper now, and you wonder why. It's a known thing—the Path claims things from those who walk it. From some it claims little things, and from others it claims everything. For you, it seems to have chosen your voice. You had always been quiet, but you miss when it was by choice.

Supposedly, the Path dims those who visit it. Perhaps it is the pull towards the end, or perhaps instead it's the dreamlike nature of the place. Being at once a real and physical place, and entirely figment, each 'reflection' of its occupants steadily weakens and warps them until, given enough time, they would fade entirely. For the occupants, they will eventually lose everything—but for an interloper such as yourself, you merely give up a part of yourself at a time.

Looking up from the ground, you see at first that the fluid nearly reaches the center, much quicker than you expected. More important, though, you look further up... and see a young girl, standing across from you. Though her ghostly figure is hard to make out, you think you see a smile on her face as she looks at you. She reaches out a hand for you, and warily, you stand, reaching out yours as well...

The fluid strikes the heart of the Gate, and all at once the portal is open before you can even react. A simple rectangle like a doorway, the pillars stay perfectly still.

Though taken aback for a moment, you know what you have to do. With a quick breath and a nod to yourself, you march through the Gate.

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You finish decanting the fluid again. No sooner than the last drop hits the well, the entire set of channels is completely full, and the center is as well! Your eyes go wide and you step back, staring between the pillars as the space between them begins to shudder and crack, two sets of fingers starting to break through. They throw the Gate wide, causing even the pillars to recoil from the shockwave, and a pair of bright white eyes stare out at you from within.

"NO RITUAL. WASTE OF TIME. SAVE. ME."

Dropping into a battle stance, you nod.

"YES - MA'AM." signs the halo behind your head. Without a second thought, poised for battle, you leap through the Gate, drawing your blade.