Re: The Wretched Rite - Pre-Round
07-10-2011, 01:27 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.
“An ‘event’, in Multiversal terms, is a much different occurrence than what it is depicted as in the majority of stable universes. In these universes, causality is closely interlinked with time. Whether time operates linearly, circularly, in parallel, or in any other number of observed projections, every occurrence must be linked to a moment in that universes’ time. A Multiversal event, however, takes place outside the realm of any timeline. The causality of such occurrences remain unbound to a time system, until of course, they either enter a universe where a time system is imposed or such a system is forced upon them by an outside observer. Thus it is subjectivity which defines the placement of an event in a Multiversal system, and thus was this ‘event subjectively observed.”
-- The Wordsmith, Erstwhile Origins, Date Unknown
The Unborn, in its first convulsion, ripped through the Multiverse to summon its eight sacrifices. Ethereal tendrils, beckoned by some instinct or fate, shot blindly toward their targets. The Unborn lacked the finesse possessed by other Grandmasters in gingerly plucking their chosen from their respective homeworlds. The eight tendrils held no regard for the borders and barriers between themselves and the sacrifices. Like fissures in a faultline, the tendrils cracked, shattered, and collapsed the fractions of the realities they bore through.
Had Barabbas been more calculating, or more cunning, he perhaps could have refined The Unborn’s first act. Perhaps he could have even prevented many of the Grandmasters from sensing the ritual's initiation. As it was, however, The Unborn had brought destruction onto the Grandmasters’ realms. The damage was repairable, in many ways minor, but the Grandmasters would notice none the less. The Unborn could not hide itself.
At that moment of the contestant's selection, however, Barabbas was far more concerned with the rules in play. Should The Unborn, a entity following only the basest blueprints of its construction, stay true to the path set in place, the Wretched Rite would be a very short one indeed. The sacrifices would be torn from their realities with no regard for their survival. They would arrive on a plane composed of nothing, no substances or matter to sustain them. The Rite would begin with all eight contestants perishing instantaneously. The Unborn would gaze on their deceased forms and the ritual would end, the contestants undone, and their orchestrator born a being of death.
Sustenance.
Barabbas had entered himself into the ritual the moment he had arrived. In this uninhabitable plane, Barabbas survived off rules and solely rules. The fundamental rules did not require a being there to guide the contestants and provide them with an explanation, but Barabbas had found the precedent and amplified it. The enforced rule stated his presence and survival was mandatory, that his demise here was not allowable. He provided a similar rule for the contestants.
The tendrils reached their marks. They wrapped around each contestant, engulfing them in an unseen field. The rule demanded the contestants remain intact, undamaged and unchanged until their proper time. Thus, heartbeats stopped, thoughts ceased, and bodies and spirits froze in unwilling stasis as the tendrils traveled back towards their origin.
Structure.
The strength of the rule relied on the strength of the ritual. With The Unborn, a being of massive potential and simplistic will, fueling the Rite, Barabbas found the rules he enforced taking form in ways he had never fathomed. Around The Unborn, flat metallic rings began to materialize. Reality manifested itself into massive pillars situated on orbiting disks. The pillars collected light dispersed from The Unborn and scattered it around the rings. The once-void was illuminated. As the structure completed, the contestants appeared before Barabbas - a result of another rule enforced. Both Barabbas and the eight stood on the edge of the farthest ring, slowly orbiting around the turbulence of The Unborn.
Sustenance had protected the eight on their journey and continued to prevent their destruction amidst the void. Having reached their destination, however, they were no longer frozen. Their thoughts and perceptions were restored, as well as their freedom to move. A few attempted to shriek, but there was no medium to carry the sound.
Restraint.
The rule bound the contestants in place. Barabbas had hoped to not use it, but there was a violence in the eyes of some, and a few had begun to drift away from the slowly orbiting ring. The eight's faces froze in whatever minute emotion passed over them right after being transported and facing the coiling, flowing mass of The Unborn. Some betrayed fear, some exposed anger. In all of their faces, though, Barabbas could read confusion, and that called for explanation. It would be difficult to perform and perform well, though it was necessary.
To start, Barabbas extended to the contestants a few simple rules that he carried on his person. Gravity. Atmosphere. Language. These rules were more subjective in nature. They relied more on the experience of the individual than the precedents of the contest. Using them Barabbas had been able to stand and breathe comfortably when entering the void. They kept his feet firmly set on the base of the silver ring even though there was hardly enough mass to justify such an adhesion.
Gravity and Atmosphere tugged and wrapped gingerly around the contestants. Despite the alien sight of The Unborn, the eight began to experience familiar sensations. Gently, they landed on the surface of the disk. Air or water or soil like that of their homes appeared and covered them in bittersweet familiarity. Like a warm blanket, it served as a shelter. If the sensation did not drive the panic from their minds, it at least restored some clarity.
Language, like its companions, affected each being differently. For Barabbas, for whom an affinity and understanding of the mandates of dialect came naturally, the rule granted him an ease of communication with most knowledgeable beings. For the selected eight, some of whom had never uttered a spoken word in their existence, comprehension would be more gradual. Eventually, as the rule took hold, each member would understand and learn each other's dialect in their own time. Barabbas hoped that the rule would act quickly enough to allow a proper explanation.
With Atmosphere in place, sound was restored and Barabbas’ voice could reach the frozen contestants. The vibrant swishing energy of The Unborn raged behind him, and would have been ample distraction, but given their distance from the turbulence and the rule of Language, Barabbas was certain the eight should garner at least the basic meaning and significance of his words. With a careful purposefulness, the aged man crossed his wrinkled hands and addressed the sacrifices.
“Salutations,” he began, “I wish this meeting could have happened under more pleasant circumstances. I had hoped even more that it would not have happened at all. However, some events are unavoidable.” He glanced solemnly at the group before him. “My name is Barabbas Poe. I have been called here, much like yourselves, by the designs of destiny. Each of us here has a role to play in a ritual that has been repeated numerous times, but few times with consequences as great as these. The entity which we orbit around is presently unformed. It is known only as ‘The Unborn’, but its final name and nature has yet to be seen.”
“The ritual we have been selected to enact is commonly known as a Grand Battle. My role shall be to serve as an arbiter between yourselves and the driving force of this rite. Your roles, I am afraid, are more somber.” He paused for a moment, to re-examine the still frozen faces. “Most of you are destined to perish. Each time one of you falls, the rest will be transported to a new location. As there are eight of you, this means seven locations, seven rounds, and seven deaths. You may fight one another, or you may seek to ally yourselves, regardless, your fate remains.”
Barabbas considered revealing the destiny of the eighth contestant, the one to survive. Doing so was within his powers and there was precedent enough to ensure the safety of the one who survived. The contestants, however, were not all amicable, and he did not wish to encourage the actions of a murderer. Thus, he chose to emphasize the more significant point.
“The Unborn,” he coughed, “has chosen you all, by no hand other than its own, to partake in this wretched rite. Each of you shall in the end be responsible for The Unborn’s creation and formation, as frightening this fate may be. Know that this churning mass of pure energy you see before you ultimately has your life in its tendrils. Its choice of you was destined, and your end of destiny is inescapable. However, remember this, while your deaths will progress the ritual, your actions will determine the nature of this being. It will watch and study and learn from your every moves and thoughts and actions. While I cannot say exactly how or to what extent you will affect this being, I do know that its final nature will reflect your own choices as much as it will reflect those who placed its seed.”
Though the blinding silver light of the whirling mass was harsh to the contestant’s eyes, at once The Unborn seemed to drift out of focus, allowing a clearer view of their fellow victims to The Unborn’s whim.
“Uncustomary to tradition, I would like to speak with each of you before the round begins. I am certain that you have questions, and there is no need to rush into what destiny has set aside. First, allow me to learn your names.”
With this Barabbas loosened Restraint, allowing the eight freedom to speak. However, at the same moment, Barabbas enacted a simple rule, one which would allow him a glimpse of their characters through The Unborn.
Introduction.
In that instant a tendril from the multiversal tempest struck Barabbas like a bolt. The wrinkled man toppled to the ground. His elderly form crumpled on the metallic surface of the disc.
For a moment, the contestants conversed. Barabbas did not know for how long or of what it was they spoke. He was flooded with the knowledge, images, and emotions garnered from The Unborn’s strike. The similarity of its presence to the fear that haunted his mind had unnerved him from the moment of The Unborn’s conception, but to have been suddenly and completely overwhelmed with that presence terrified the aged man. Even at this point, when this being was supposedly a blank slate, it projected such a horrific aura.
When Barabbas awoke, he tightened Restraint, once again locking the contestants in place. His countenance had shifted to one of urgency and frustration. He sifted through the information and knowledge garnered from The Unborn’s outburst. He had learned the contestants names, their origins, and, most importantly, he had discovered that The Unborn was not patient.
“Questions will not be necessary. Your facial expression, such as applicable to your kind, can on its own already serve as a splendid gauge of character. Still, the rules which I have set in place to limit The Unborn’s strength demand your mutual introduction to one another. We begin at once, for even though time stands still for you, not much of it is left.”
Barabbas began to walk, the high, sweet sound of his footsteps on the silver ring piercing through the droning buzz of pure, cold energy. His pace stopped next to a small creature, well-dressed and well-equipped. Though his face was difficult to read, the confusion of being entered was still plastered over his snout.
“Nempolio Poran kala-sun is the first of eight. A Leskrin born to the planet of Rozan, he has the appearance of a mouse with bug-like wings. This young creature is trained in the ways of poetry and music. His verses are known to evoke illusions as well as moving people’s hearts. Though he has once been able to escape a battle by means of his songs, it shall be up to him to find a way to elude and confuse the others of you.”
Barabbas continued in a circle, stopping next at a young woman who in the eerie light of The Unborn seemed as good as human. She seemed to be perfectly at ease, almost eager to face the competition.
“Vera Hawthorne shall be the second. She is a Tsote, beings that can sense fate as easily as sound. From the start of her young life she had been blessed, her predicted path nothing but victory and glory. She is fated to overthrow a destined enemy, one she might even encounter here in this contest.”
Barabbas had arrived at the next contestant, but he got interrupted by a sudden outburst of The Unborn. Worriedly he spun towards the luminous ball when the snap of a wire and an uncanny roar blew through the black expanse. Regaining his composure, he continued with held breath, hoping a second growl would not follow.
“Moving right along, the third of you is Olivia Reindana. This woman has met an unfortunate fate, colliding on an expedition with a parasitic plant. As she slowly grew weaker while the plant gained control over her body, she was forcibly returned home, living the life on an outcast. Her cloak covers her affliction well enough, but underneath it lecherous ivy crawls over her skin.”
Barabbas continued as solemnly as he could muster, but as he proceeded to the next contestant, he threw a quick glance towards The Unborn, clearly still distraught at the sudden groan. Next to him, as he stopped, hung a woman in a breathtaking blue gown.
“Next is Fiorella Gucci. This woman is fashion given form, with the ability of changing that form to whatever she deems stylish. She possesses some control over clothes, but has less of an effect on rags.”
Now Barabbas completed half of the arc he had formed. His footsteps, considerably faster than at the start, showed signs of hurry. He stopped the impatient pace at what seemed to be both a plant and a beast, with the shape of a prowling feline but at the same time bearing fruit.
“Malus mancinella is the fifth. It is an apple tree, made motive by both a complex process of science and a resident feral spirit, and possessing the instinct of a mighty predator. Its fruit had been modified by either influence to something far too tart to even consider it edible. The apples it grows will most likely melt through anything they touch.
Barabbas continued, already introducing the next contestant in the circle before he even got next to him. The blue draconian beast bore no facial expression, but it appeared deeply disturbed none the less.
“Alluvion is the protector spirit of the flora and fauna around his home, and his corporeal form is drawn from its waters. Though he has the inquisitiveness and innocence of a newborn, tame animal, do not be fooled into believing he isn’t a potent foe when provoked.”
Finally, as if Barabbas had intentionally left the strangest of contestants for last, the man arrived at the woman on whom most of the combatants would focus firstly. Her lower half was entirely drenched in the blackness around them, though it was not really black at all rather than true emptiness. It seemed as if she simply lacked a lower half. Ripples around her betrayed to contestants more attentive to the introduction that her fist instinct was to push herself away from anyone else present, her worried gaze betraying it to the rest.
“In counterpoint to Alluvion, the seventh of you is Adelaide Margaret Sheats. She is a being of the waters as well, but her domain is death rather than life. She has the interesting ability of being able to warp herself from any body of water to the next. To her, all water is one, and for you, none are safe.”
The introduction of the contestants finally ran to an end as Barabbas approached the last in order. It was a young woman, considerably mature for the youth her body portrayed. Her face bore true marks of worry and fright, but strangely her mouth was shut, clenched as if something compelled her to grit her teeth.
“Finally we have Taelia Omanguard, a serious young girl with a grim affliction. Sealed within her is a demon, The Omen, that has made her ancestral duty much more literal. That demon is fixated on decimating Taelia’s mind and soul, so as to take control of her body entirely, without she herself fighting the possession.”
Even as the final syllable of this final introduction entered each of the minds arrayed around it, the Unborn was whipping out tentacles of light. They wrapped around the pillars, absorbing them back into the Unborn’s writhing energy. Barabbas spun towards the pulsating cosmic fetus, just beginning to yell out “No!” as the eight chosen contestants fell into its light, and were gone.
----
In his study, worlds and realities away, a man pursues his collection of books.
----
The eight contestants fell into the burbling heart of the Unborn, and time began to slow down. Each instant was longer than the last, building towards eternity, and the silvery light around them grew dim. Finally, time itself seemed to snap apart like an elastic band stretched beyond breaking, and each of them shredded their way into the vicinity of sleepy hamlet.
So sleepy, that it seemed almost sepulchral. Elsewhere, Barabbas wove his constraints upon the Unborn, forcing from it Communication, and his voice came once again into the contestants’ minds.
“I apologize for the rough treatment, but to be frank it will probably get worse from here. For now you have been deposited in a formerly bustling village, full of diverse folk going about their lives. Now it stands abandoned, for reasons outside my knowledge. A unique aura suffuses this place, and it may influence each of you in strange ways. I cannot be more specific, as that is the way of things. Remember, the Unborn is watching. One of you will die here, but the right death may be the salvation of untold multitudes.”
-- The Wordsmith, Erstwhile Origins, Date Unknown
The Unborn, in its first convulsion, ripped through the Multiverse to summon its eight sacrifices. Ethereal tendrils, beckoned by some instinct or fate, shot blindly toward their targets. The Unborn lacked the finesse possessed by other Grandmasters in gingerly plucking their chosen from their respective homeworlds. The eight tendrils held no regard for the borders and barriers between themselves and the sacrifices. Like fissures in a faultline, the tendrils cracked, shattered, and collapsed the fractions of the realities they bore through.
Had Barabbas been more calculating, or more cunning, he perhaps could have refined The Unborn’s first act. Perhaps he could have even prevented many of the Grandmasters from sensing the ritual's initiation. As it was, however, The Unborn had brought destruction onto the Grandmasters’ realms. The damage was repairable, in many ways minor, but the Grandmasters would notice none the less. The Unborn could not hide itself.
At that moment of the contestant's selection, however, Barabbas was far more concerned with the rules in play. Should The Unborn, a entity following only the basest blueprints of its construction, stay true to the path set in place, the Wretched Rite would be a very short one indeed. The sacrifices would be torn from their realities with no regard for their survival. They would arrive on a plane composed of nothing, no substances or matter to sustain them. The Rite would begin with all eight contestants perishing instantaneously. The Unborn would gaze on their deceased forms and the ritual would end, the contestants undone, and their orchestrator born a being of death.
Sustenance.
Barabbas had entered himself into the ritual the moment he had arrived. In this uninhabitable plane, Barabbas survived off rules and solely rules. The fundamental rules did not require a being there to guide the contestants and provide them with an explanation, but Barabbas had found the precedent and amplified it. The enforced rule stated his presence and survival was mandatory, that his demise here was not allowable. He provided a similar rule for the contestants.
The tendrils reached their marks. They wrapped around each contestant, engulfing them in an unseen field. The rule demanded the contestants remain intact, undamaged and unchanged until their proper time. Thus, heartbeats stopped, thoughts ceased, and bodies and spirits froze in unwilling stasis as the tendrils traveled back towards their origin.
Structure.
The strength of the rule relied on the strength of the ritual. With The Unborn, a being of massive potential and simplistic will, fueling the Rite, Barabbas found the rules he enforced taking form in ways he had never fathomed. Around The Unborn, flat metallic rings began to materialize. Reality manifested itself into massive pillars situated on orbiting disks. The pillars collected light dispersed from The Unborn and scattered it around the rings. The once-void was illuminated. As the structure completed, the contestants appeared before Barabbas - a result of another rule enforced. Both Barabbas and the eight stood on the edge of the farthest ring, slowly orbiting around the turbulence of The Unborn.
Sustenance had protected the eight on their journey and continued to prevent their destruction amidst the void. Having reached their destination, however, they were no longer frozen. Their thoughts and perceptions were restored, as well as their freedom to move. A few attempted to shriek, but there was no medium to carry the sound.
Restraint.
The rule bound the contestants in place. Barabbas had hoped to not use it, but there was a violence in the eyes of some, and a few had begun to drift away from the slowly orbiting ring. The eight's faces froze in whatever minute emotion passed over them right after being transported and facing the coiling, flowing mass of The Unborn. Some betrayed fear, some exposed anger. In all of their faces, though, Barabbas could read confusion, and that called for explanation. It would be difficult to perform and perform well, though it was necessary.
To start, Barabbas extended to the contestants a few simple rules that he carried on his person. Gravity. Atmosphere. Language. These rules were more subjective in nature. They relied more on the experience of the individual than the precedents of the contest. Using them Barabbas had been able to stand and breathe comfortably when entering the void. They kept his feet firmly set on the base of the silver ring even though there was hardly enough mass to justify such an adhesion.
Gravity and Atmosphere tugged and wrapped gingerly around the contestants. Despite the alien sight of The Unborn, the eight began to experience familiar sensations. Gently, they landed on the surface of the disk. Air or water or soil like that of their homes appeared and covered them in bittersweet familiarity. Like a warm blanket, it served as a shelter. If the sensation did not drive the panic from their minds, it at least restored some clarity.
Language, like its companions, affected each being differently. For Barabbas, for whom an affinity and understanding of the mandates of dialect came naturally, the rule granted him an ease of communication with most knowledgeable beings. For the selected eight, some of whom had never uttered a spoken word in their existence, comprehension would be more gradual. Eventually, as the rule took hold, each member would understand and learn each other's dialect in their own time. Barabbas hoped that the rule would act quickly enough to allow a proper explanation.
With Atmosphere in place, sound was restored and Barabbas’ voice could reach the frozen contestants. The vibrant swishing energy of The Unborn raged behind him, and would have been ample distraction, but given their distance from the turbulence and the rule of Language, Barabbas was certain the eight should garner at least the basic meaning and significance of his words. With a careful purposefulness, the aged man crossed his wrinkled hands and addressed the sacrifices.
“Salutations,” he began, “I wish this meeting could have happened under more pleasant circumstances. I had hoped even more that it would not have happened at all. However, some events are unavoidable.” He glanced solemnly at the group before him. “My name is Barabbas Poe. I have been called here, much like yourselves, by the designs of destiny. Each of us here has a role to play in a ritual that has been repeated numerous times, but few times with consequences as great as these. The entity which we orbit around is presently unformed. It is known only as ‘The Unborn’, but its final name and nature has yet to be seen.”
“The ritual we have been selected to enact is commonly known as a Grand Battle. My role shall be to serve as an arbiter between yourselves and the driving force of this rite. Your roles, I am afraid, are more somber.” He paused for a moment, to re-examine the still frozen faces. “Most of you are destined to perish. Each time one of you falls, the rest will be transported to a new location. As there are eight of you, this means seven locations, seven rounds, and seven deaths. You may fight one another, or you may seek to ally yourselves, regardless, your fate remains.”
Barabbas considered revealing the destiny of the eighth contestant, the one to survive. Doing so was within his powers and there was precedent enough to ensure the safety of the one who survived. The contestants, however, were not all amicable, and he did not wish to encourage the actions of a murderer. Thus, he chose to emphasize the more significant point.
“The Unborn,” he coughed, “has chosen you all, by no hand other than its own, to partake in this wretched rite. Each of you shall in the end be responsible for The Unborn’s creation and formation, as frightening this fate may be. Know that this churning mass of pure energy you see before you ultimately has your life in its tendrils. Its choice of you was destined, and your end of destiny is inescapable. However, remember this, while your deaths will progress the ritual, your actions will determine the nature of this being. It will watch and study and learn from your every moves and thoughts and actions. While I cannot say exactly how or to what extent you will affect this being, I do know that its final nature will reflect your own choices as much as it will reflect those who placed its seed.”
Though the blinding silver light of the whirling mass was harsh to the contestant’s eyes, at once The Unborn seemed to drift out of focus, allowing a clearer view of their fellow victims to The Unborn’s whim.
“Uncustomary to tradition, I would like to speak with each of you before the round begins. I am certain that you have questions, and there is no need to rush into what destiny has set aside. First, allow me to learn your names.”
With this Barabbas loosened Restraint, allowing the eight freedom to speak. However, at the same moment, Barabbas enacted a simple rule, one which would allow him a glimpse of their characters through The Unborn.
Introduction.
In that instant a tendril from the multiversal tempest struck Barabbas like a bolt. The wrinkled man toppled to the ground. His elderly form crumpled on the metallic surface of the disc.
For a moment, the contestants conversed. Barabbas did not know for how long or of what it was they spoke. He was flooded with the knowledge, images, and emotions garnered from The Unborn’s strike. The similarity of its presence to the fear that haunted his mind had unnerved him from the moment of The Unborn’s conception, but to have been suddenly and completely overwhelmed with that presence terrified the aged man. Even at this point, when this being was supposedly a blank slate, it projected such a horrific aura.
When Barabbas awoke, he tightened Restraint, once again locking the contestants in place. His countenance had shifted to one of urgency and frustration. He sifted through the information and knowledge garnered from The Unborn’s outburst. He had learned the contestants names, their origins, and, most importantly, he had discovered that The Unborn was not patient.
“Questions will not be necessary. Your facial expression, such as applicable to your kind, can on its own already serve as a splendid gauge of character. Still, the rules which I have set in place to limit The Unborn’s strength demand your mutual introduction to one another. We begin at once, for even though time stands still for you, not much of it is left.”
Barabbas began to walk, the high, sweet sound of his footsteps on the silver ring piercing through the droning buzz of pure, cold energy. His pace stopped next to a small creature, well-dressed and well-equipped. Though his face was difficult to read, the confusion of being entered was still plastered over his snout.
“Nempolio Poran kala-sun is the first of eight. A Leskrin born to the planet of Rozan, he has the appearance of a mouse with bug-like wings. This young creature is trained in the ways of poetry and music. His verses are known to evoke illusions as well as moving people’s hearts. Though he has once been able to escape a battle by means of his songs, it shall be up to him to find a way to elude and confuse the others of you.”
Barabbas continued in a circle, stopping next at a young woman who in the eerie light of The Unborn seemed as good as human. She seemed to be perfectly at ease, almost eager to face the competition.
“Vera Hawthorne shall be the second. She is a Tsote, beings that can sense fate as easily as sound. From the start of her young life she had been blessed, her predicted path nothing but victory and glory. She is fated to overthrow a destined enemy, one she might even encounter here in this contest.”
Barabbas had arrived at the next contestant, but he got interrupted by a sudden outburst of The Unborn. Worriedly he spun towards the luminous ball when the snap of a wire and an uncanny roar blew through the black expanse. Regaining his composure, he continued with held breath, hoping a second growl would not follow.
“Moving right along, the third of you is Olivia Reindana. This woman has met an unfortunate fate, colliding on an expedition with a parasitic plant. As she slowly grew weaker while the plant gained control over her body, she was forcibly returned home, living the life on an outcast. Her cloak covers her affliction well enough, but underneath it lecherous ivy crawls over her skin.”
Barabbas continued as solemnly as he could muster, but as he proceeded to the next contestant, he threw a quick glance towards The Unborn, clearly still distraught at the sudden groan. Next to him, as he stopped, hung a woman in a breathtaking blue gown.
“Next is Fiorella Gucci. This woman is fashion given form, with the ability of changing that form to whatever she deems stylish. She possesses some control over clothes, but has less of an effect on rags.”
Now Barabbas completed half of the arc he had formed. His footsteps, considerably faster than at the start, showed signs of hurry. He stopped the impatient pace at what seemed to be both a plant and a beast, with the shape of a prowling feline but at the same time bearing fruit.
“Malus mancinella is the fifth. It is an apple tree, made motive by both a complex process of science and a resident feral spirit, and possessing the instinct of a mighty predator. Its fruit had been modified by either influence to something far too tart to even consider it edible. The apples it grows will most likely melt through anything they touch.
Barabbas continued, already introducing the next contestant in the circle before he even got next to him. The blue draconian beast bore no facial expression, but it appeared deeply disturbed none the less.
“Alluvion is the protector spirit of the flora and fauna around his home, and his corporeal form is drawn from its waters. Though he has the inquisitiveness and innocence of a newborn, tame animal, do not be fooled into believing he isn’t a potent foe when provoked.”
Finally, as if Barabbas had intentionally left the strangest of contestants for last, the man arrived at the woman on whom most of the combatants would focus firstly. Her lower half was entirely drenched in the blackness around them, though it was not really black at all rather than true emptiness. It seemed as if she simply lacked a lower half. Ripples around her betrayed to contestants more attentive to the introduction that her fist instinct was to push herself away from anyone else present, her worried gaze betraying it to the rest.
“In counterpoint to Alluvion, the seventh of you is Adelaide Margaret Sheats. She is a being of the waters as well, but her domain is death rather than life. She has the interesting ability of being able to warp herself from any body of water to the next. To her, all water is one, and for you, none are safe.”
The introduction of the contestants finally ran to an end as Barabbas approached the last in order. It was a young woman, considerably mature for the youth her body portrayed. Her face bore true marks of worry and fright, but strangely her mouth was shut, clenched as if something compelled her to grit her teeth.
“Finally we have Taelia Omanguard, a serious young girl with a grim affliction. Sealed within her is a demon, The Omen, that has made her ancestral duty much more literal. That demon is fixated on decimating Taelia’s mind and soul, so as to take control of her body entirely, without she herself fighting the possession.”
Even as the final syllable of this final introduction entered each of the minds arrayed around it, the Unborn was whipping out tentacles of light. They wrapped around the pillars, absorbing them back into the Unborn’s writhing energy. Barabbas spun towards the pulsating cosmic fetus, just beginning to yell out “No!” as the eight chosen contestants fell into its light, and were gone.
----
In his study, worlds and realities away, a man pursues his collection of books.
----
The eight contestants fell into the burbling heart of the Unborn, and time began to slow down. Each instant was longer than the last, building towards eternity, and the silvery light around them grew dim. Finally, time itself seemed to snap apart like an elastic band stretched beyond breaking, and each of them shredded their way into the vicinity of sleepy hamlet.
So sleepy, that it seemed almost sepulchral. Elsewhere, Barabbas wove his constraints upon the Unborn, forcing from it Communication, and his voice came once again into the contestants’ minds.
“I apologize for the rough treatment, but to be frank it will probably get worse from here. For now you have been deposited in a formerly bustling village, full of diverse folk going about their lives. Now it stands abandoned, for reasons outside my knowledge. A unique aura suffuses this place, and it may influence each of you in strange ways. I cannot be more specific, as that is the way of things. Remember, the Unborn is watching. One of you will die here, but the right death may be the salvation of untold multitudes.”