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Grimoires & Gunsmoke: The Ohio Incident Ch. 1
🕑 Added 2023-08-29 09:36:50 +0000 UTCIn the heart of the opulent palace, during the sun's zenith, a lone Lord dined amidst a banquet fit for kings. A vast array of dishes, each a testament to the far reaches of his sprawling empire, sat before him. To the casual observer, it was merely a grand feast for a person of importance. Yet, Luva, a blonde haired and pale skinned human servant with keen eyes and unwavering loyalty, noticed something amiss. This imposing humanoid dragon-like figure, adorned with feathers whiter than gold, seemed lost in thought, barely touching the delicacies before him.
"Your grace," Luva ventured cautiously, "is there an issue with the meal? Would you prefer a different dish?"
Drawing his gaze from the sprawling view beyond the window, the Lord met Luva’s concerned eyes and offered a tender smile. "Luva, my dear," he began, smoothing out a ruffled feather, "the meal is exquisite, as always. It's just that these earthly pleasures... they seem to have faded in their allure."
Luva felt a warm surge of emotion, touched that amidst his vast responsibilities and thoughts, he'd taken the moment to acknowledge her by name. It was a simple gesture, yet it reaffirmed the bond between a ruler and his trusted servant.
A nervous look flashed across Luva’s face for a moment as she opened her mouth to ask a question, but the servant hesitated for a moment, knowing it wasn’t her place to ask. However, her lord just offered her a magnanimous look and lifted his hand, gesturing for her to continue and speak her mind. “Y-Your grace,” she began softly, choosing her words with care, “p-perhaps… perhaps it is the weight of your glorious empire that’s diminishing your appetite?"
The Lord chuckled lightly at that, the sound deep and resonant, echoing through the grand hall. "Well, you’re not wrong." He said, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and appreciation. "At least not entirely.”
A blank flook clouded Luva’s face as she blinked in surprise. "M-My Grace, Varian!!” She yelped, bowing her head deeply “I didn't mean to presume," she started, but Varian waved her off.
"There’s no need to kowtow, Luva. You've hit the mark," he admitted with a gentle exhale. "Overseeing such a vast empire brings its own set of burdens, some of which are too profound for even those nearest to the throne to grasp."
Luva cautiously met Varian's eyes. His commanding presence, marked by a strong snout that was adorned with pristine white and gold feathers, hinted at an underlying vulnerability. This sense of fragility became even more pronounced when his gaze drifted to the imposing portrait that adorned the wall.
The masterpiece bore the ethereal likeness of his celestial mother, a deity of unrivaled elegance and might, alongside his true dragon sire, an embodiment of vast authority and majesty. Together, their visages stood as both a tribute to Varian's dual lineage and a resounding testament to the immense expectations laid before him. In their shadow, even Varian, with all his regality, felt dwarfed, forever grappling with the legacy they entrusted upon his feathered mantle.
He paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts as the weight of his dual heritage seemed to press down upon him. "To be born of both sky and earth, divine and draconic, is both a blessing and a bane. But to answer your question," Varian said, leaning slightly forward, his gaze intent upon Luva’s."
"Your Grace, might there be any way I, or any among your retinue, can lighten your load?" Luvafinally managed to squeak out after gathering the courage to speak.
Varian's eyes shifted back to his servant, the reflective depth in them momentarily giving way to the warmth that always seemed to surface whenever he interacted with any of them. "Ah, Luva," he began, his voice betraying a mix of fondness and gentle amusement. "Your own and all of the staff's steadfast loyalty and concern, even in matters that transcend the ordinary burdens of state, are truly heartening. "Simply the unwavering support of you and those around me, already does much to brighten the shadows of my lineage."
A loud scrap of a heavy wooden chair echoes out as Varian stands to his feet. “Everything I do, I do for you, your family and all who are under my care," Varian continued, his voice carrying throughout the room with conviction while he placed a gentle hand on the servant’s face.
In turn, Luva flushed deeply as she stood frozen within the gentle grasp of the emperor.
“Do you trust me, sweet Luva?” Varian whispered, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation.
Luva’s heartbeat quickened, the weight of the moment pressing upon her. She met his gaze head-on, the depth of her feelings clear in her shimmering eyes. "With my very life, Your Grace," she responded, her voice barely above a whisper. “As do all those who serve under your benevolent rule…”
A gentle and warm smile spread across Varian's face as he slowly brought his hand down and looked back to the painting of his mother and father. “Then believe me when I say that the next steps I am taking will make mother proud, father tremble in delight and all those who oppose us quake in fear.”
"The dawn of a new era will come to pass, and under my feathered arms I shall guide us to a future that none had ever dared to envision," Varian continued with fervor, his voice echoing with the certainty of a leader destined for greatness. "One of unity, power, and unparalleled prosperity for all."
The air seemed to thicken with anticipation as Luva’s gaze fixated on Varian intensely with eyes that shimmered, in an almost fanatical fashion. Every word he uttered only deepened her conviction. "Your grace…” She whispered, her voice quivering with emotion.
Varian paused for a moment, taking in the weight of his own words after seeing the reaction they elicited from his servant. Turning towards the table, the emperor then waved his hand dismissively towards the food and spoke magnanimous "Do with it as you see fit, Luva. Feed the staff, the guards, or the people of the streets. We shouldn’t waste such a wonderful meal."
Luva bowed deeply and curtsied with a radiant smile on her face. "It will be done, Your Grace. The food will not go to waste!" She said energetically before making off towards the kitchen.
“Oh, and Luva!” Varian called out, causing his servant to stop in her tracks and spin around. "I must retire to my quarters for contemplation. Please ensure that I am not disturbed." He ordered before turning.
The servant girl watched her emperor’s cloak flutter in the air as it trailed behind him. "Of course, Your Grace," Luva replied, bowing even deeper than before.
Closing his chamber door behind him, Varian walked through his private quarters that were dripping with opulence, and moved towards his grand window overlooking the bustling city below. The people of his emperor looked like ants as they went about their life, but he knew each and every soul was precious.
The emperor’s eyes were then drawn to a massive statue erected right next to his Mother and father, an ever-present reminder of his dominance and reign. His dragon-like maw remained motionless, but a keen observer might detect the slightest hint of a frown playing at its edges. He knew he had not yet deserved such an honor, but that was going to be remedied in due time.
Time... that ever-elusive, constant force was on his mind as his gaze was inexorably drawn to a massive hourglass in his room. Time that was soon coming to pass.
Just as those thoughts passed through his head, the chamber's fireplace roared ferociously, spewing dancing flames from its mouth and illuminating the room with their wild fervor.
"Ah, Alastor,” Varian's voice, rich and resonant, broke the room's stillness as he turned his head back to the window. "How wonderful it is that the herald of the hells graces my sanctuary once more." He said without even turning around. “You devils certainly know how to make an entrance.”
Clad in refined attire, a human possessing sharp and chiseled features walked from the flames and bow elegantly before the emperor. "When a being of such unparalleled splendor calls, even the infernal depths stand to attention," he declared, voice dripping with honey.
There was a palpable tension between the two powerhouses that filled the air, suggesting there were layers of intertwined and veiled agendas at play.
With a deliberate flourish, fiery sparks shot out from Alastor's hand as an ornate scroll slowly materialized. The parchment, aged yet pristine, was sealed with an emblem that combined both the regality of the empire and the infernal depths from whence he came. As it unfurled, the words etched upon it seemed to move and shift, not meant for just any eyes to decipher.
The scroll delineated their grand deal, an agreement to facilitate Varian’s ascension past the terrestrial boundaries of mortality and stand alongside the pantheon of gods. Varian, now a demigod but ever ambitious, sought the final pieces of power to fully solidify his divine stature.
"I have fulfilled my part," Alastor began, voice dripping with dark allure. "Now I ask you to fulfill yours." For a moment, a few sparks crackled from the Devil’s mouth and an intense blaze filled his eyes. “It is to my understanding you have The Banished One in your possession.”
“Give her to me.” Alastor demanded as he stood there staring at Varians back.
Varian's newly-divine eyes, resplendent with power as he slowly turned around and glanced at the scroll within the devil's hand and watched as it came to life and saw the scroll wasn't merely parchment; it was alive. A breathing testament to the promises and debts woven between these formidable beings.
As Alastor emphasized his demand, the scroll reacted in kind. From its ancient surface, blazing letters rose, hovering in mid-air, forming a mesmerizing holographic tableau that portrayed their binding agreement in infernal script.
"I am well aware of our arrangement, Alastor," Varian replied, his voice smooth yet laden with authority. Every syllable uttered caused the letters on the scroll to dance, as if responding to their master's voice. "And you will have her in due time… But tell me, why do you desire her so fervently? Surely you could wait another week or two."
Alastor's demeanor shifted ever so slightly, betraying a hint of impatience and outrage. The room seemed to grow hotter as his voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Every moment she remains out of my grasp, the chains of the infernal realm have on your soul pull tighter. Time, Varian, is a luxury you cannot afford." The devil squeezed his fist tighter.
Varian's gaze settled upon the devil, attempting to peer into the very depths of his infernal soul and smirked. “I have yet to break our agreement Alastor." He replied, eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and defiance. "I may have ascended beyond mere mortality, but I have not forgotten our pact. Nor do I take lightly the tether you hold over my soul."
The room shifted uneasily as flames around Alastor flickering wildly and his long and barbed demonic tail materialized. For the first time since entering the opulent chamber, a trace of doubt and uncertainty shadowed his elegant, but chiseled features. "Then tell me, Varian," he began, his voice eerily calm, "why this delay? What do you hope to achieve by withholding her from me?"
Varian's smirk grew wider, his majestic presence radiating confidence. "Did you truly believe my ambitions were limited to being merely a demigod?" He began spreading his arms out, causing the feathers on the back of his head to spread out regally. "While our agreement holds weight, I have been thorough in my reading. There is no time limit on when I have to deliver The Banished One, and her powers have purpose far beyond what has been told by the mortals."
Alastor's eyes narrowed as the scroll suddenly dematerialized and a scowl formed on his face. The Devil’s tail twitched irritably and the air grew thick with tension. “I do not know what you are planning Varion, but you tread on dangerous grounds.” Alastor said as his face grew dark, a stark contrast to his otherwise radiant features. “The powers you speak of are unpredictable, chaotic, and beyond comprehension.”
The feathered Emperor's eyes sparkled with excitement, the weight of his ambition evident in his gaze. "Risk is the price of ambition, Alastor. Did you think I would just be satisfied with such half measures?" Varion leaned forward, his voice dripping with both anticipation and a chilling resolve. "My scholars have felt it — a pulse, a whisper from the beyond. The Unclaimed. They believe we can create a bridge to this uncharted realm, teeming with untapped souls."
“MADNESS!” Alastor's roar echoed as the elegance he once wore contorted into a dark, true form. Deep obsidian skin stretched over formidable muscles, while jagged bone spires trailed his spine, culminating in expansive, leathery wings that unfurled with anger. A grotesque crown of horns adorned a face, which though sharply defined, now seemed more terrifying. Eyes ablaze with infernal fire pierced the room. “You gamble with the very fabric of existence, Varion! To meddle with such realities risks not just your empire or this world, but the balance of all realms!”
Varion, unfazed by Alastor's fearsome transformation, let out a patronizing chuckle. With a flick of his wrist, his own ornate scroll materialized, levitating between them. Glowing ethereal letters pulsed vividly, showcasing the clauses that bound them both. "Ah, Alastor, your memory seems a tad rusty. Might I remind you of this little stipulation?" He gestured toward a line on the contract that shimmered brighter than the rest. "As long as this contract stands, no harm shall befall me from the hands or will of the hells."
Drawing himself up to his full height, Varion's feathery mane fluttered with a newfound arrogance. "Your dire warnings and threats fall on deaf ears DEVIL. I will pursue the path to true godhood, and no devil, celestial or whatever comes crawling out will stand in my way." Dismissing Alastor's concerns with a wave of his hand, he added, "Should you be concerned about our agreement, I suggest you assist me in ensuring its success rather than mewling about prophetic magicks."
With a calculated glint in his eyes, Varion turned and gestured towards a large, ornate hourglass standing at the corner of the chamber. The golden sands within were on the verge of running out, a symbol of the imminent opening of the rift.
"See there, Alastor? Time is almost upon us," he mused, his voice dripping with pride. "My plan is already in motion. Beyond those borders," he continued, pointing to the vast map spread out on a table behind him, "There lands teeming with resources, and glory that await my legions, and unclaimed souls that are looking for a new god. A new world ripe for the taking." The dragonborn’s voice was merely a whisper at that point as his feathery, but clawed hand gently slid across the map and settled on the wild lands.
Varion’s fingers then traced the borders of his sprawling empire and lingered over certain marked regions, indicative of his contingency plans. "Here," he began, pointing to fortified castles and fortresses marked in gold, "my loyal vassals, ever ready to defend our honor and legacy." He then moved his hand over a wild, untamed area of the map. "And these wild lands... unpredictable, yes, but they serve as a buffer. If the worst comes to pass, they will be the first to face the wrath, the first line of defense, or, if need be, the first sacrifice."
Alastor's mind raced, thoughts swirling in a storm of dread and frustration. In the silence that hung in the air, his internal musings thundered, "It's the tragic paradox of mortalkind: Deny them their freedom, and they label you a despot. Grant them autonomy, and they often turn into the oppressors they once condemned."
Though bound by the iron-clad clauses of their contract, the devil's demeanor once again shifted from one of suppressed rage to earnest desperation. "Varion," he implored, his fiery gaze searching the emperor's. "Do not let pride and ambition blind you to the cataclysms that may unfold. Can't you see? Even as a spawn of the hells I warn you that your quest for power could unleash chaos on a scale you can't even fathom!"
The devil's voice lowered, a haunting whisper that filled the room, echoing off the walls with chilling memories of past tragedies. "Were you not taught of the events that led to The Banished One's imprisonment in the first place!? There were CATACLYSMS, Varion. Realms shattered, gods fallen! COUNTLESS SOULS LOST TO OBLIVION UNABLE TO EVER BE CLAIMED AGAIN!!"
Drawing closer, Alastor's infernal aura pulsated, his form ever-shifting between elegance and monstrous nature, a reflection of the internal conflict he felt. "Beyond whatever rift you make," he continued, eyes darkening, "would most likely not lie with realms of untapped potential but also abominations unknown even to us. Terrors that would make The Banished One seem like a mere petulant child. Do not let your avarice drive all to ruin, for even we devils do not want to rule over rubble and wastelands!"
A momentary flicker of doubt crossed Varion’s eyes, but it vanished almost as quickly as it came as he held the Alastors gaze.
Would he heed the devil's warning, or would his ambition prove too overpowering?
Varion cast a dismissive glance at the empty hourglass, his voice dripping with disdain. "Do you truly believe your fanciful tales of horror will deter me, Alastor? My empire is vast and my legions unmatched. Whatever challenges or 'abominations' lie beyond that rift, we are more than equipped to conquer."
Alastor snarls and his infernal form shuddered as a strange blend of anger and dread took him. "Your arrogance blinds you to the peril you beckon!"
But Varion's face was a mask of unwavering resolve. "Your words are nothing more than the desperate cries of a fool who fears change. My ascent is inevitable, devil." Turning towards the hourglass, Varion once more smiled as the final grains of sand finally sprinkled to the bottom of the hourglass.
It was at this very moment that Alaster felt the boundaries of the mortal realm ripple and distort. A pulse of energy, like a stone cast into still waters, spread outward, ripping apart the very fabric of time and space.
“What have you done…?” The devil whispered, his blazing gaze fixed on the now shimmering hourglass.
Unbeknownst to both Varion, the rift he had recklessly awakened went far beyond the edges of his comprehension, the shockwave from the rift reverberated, breaching through dimensions and tearing a gateway into another realm. And in the radiant evening skies of Cambridge, Ohio momentarily grew dark as if an eclipse was underway. Then, just as quickly, the sunlight returned, casting a shadow upon the terrain below.
As the evening sun dipped below the crest of the western hills, Bix, a scruffy, balding man with pale skin, characteristic of his Appalachian roots, drew a long and exaggerated snort before expelling it onto the tall, waving grass.
“C’mon Bix… We just need a small dab of ice, a’ight?” A long haired and nearly anorexic man said as he stepped forward a bit. “I knows yous got a little, so-”
“I ain't give two SHITS what any y’all peckerwoods need.” Bix snarled as a cluster of twitching and equally as scruffy people stood just outside his property line. “I’s has said, WE. AIN’T. DONE. COOKIN’. Now git before I put some buck into one a yous!”
Bix then pumped his shotgun eliciting a clear and intimidating sound that echoed through the silence. He then pointed the weapon towards the group, making his threat all the more real. At the movement, a yelp of fear broke from the throng of people as they scurried away, knowing full well the man was most likely not bluffing.
Another glob of mucus hit the dirt as Bix threw his shotgun over his shoulder and turned around. He lumbered his way back towards the dilapidated structure he called home, grumbling to himself, "God damn junkies, can't even wait a day to get they fix."
Turning around, Bix looked at his home to see it was a sorry sight; a rundown, one-story shack that seemed to have lost its battle with time and weather. Its former whitewash had given way to grayish streaks, the paint chipping and peeling off in several places, revealing the worn-out wooden skeleton beneath.
“I aint got no patience to deal with this shit…” Bix complained as he yanked on the front door eliciting a groan under its own weight of the pull.
With it now open, the doorway revealed a starkly contrasting interior. The inside was obsessively tidy compared to the derelict exterior; the floor and walls were lined with plastic sheets, neatly duct-taped at the corners. The air was pungent with the smell of chemicals, a stench that could burn nostrils and sting eyes.
At the center of it all, standing amidst an assortment of makeshift chemistry equipment, was Beau, Bix's younger brother. He was dressed in a hazmat suit, its bright yellow standing in sharp contrast with the dirty interior of the shack. His eyes, hidden behind the protective goggles, were focused on the boiling flask in front of him.
"Gettin' close, Beau?" Bix asked, shutting the door behind him and stepping further into the room. “God damn crackheads are already outside beggin’ for-” Bix was cut off by a large concussive force that rattled everything in the house
Beau was quick to react as his hand grabbed at the glass beakers and flasks to keep it all stead. “What in the name of the LORD was that!?” The gas masked brother shouted as he turned to bix.
Bix for all his efforts turned around and shrugged. “It’s the 4th, Beau.” He shrugged. “You know how folks be ‘round these parts, probably just some idjit." Bix finished nonchalantly, his gaze falling back on the desperate figures loitering at the boundary of their property. “Anyways, how much longer ya got on the cookin’?”
"Another couple of hours, at least," Beau replied, still holding onto the flasks as his eyes darted anxiously between his work, making sure nothing was damaged. "The yield won't be any good if I rush it, Bix."
A disgruntled groan was let out in response as Bix’s gaze flicked back towards the rickety screen door. He was just about to dismiss his brother's worries and go back to keeping watch when another explosion, this one much closer and much brighter, shook the ground beneath their feet.
All the beakers and flasks rattled even more violently, but luckily Beau was fast enough to grab the more volatile and dangerous bit before it went crashing to the floor. Glass and lab equipment scattered all along the floor as Beau turned to his shotgun wielding brother with the look of fury on his face.
“Bix! You best go out there and tell them god damn PECKERWOODS to stop and they owe us fuckin’ MONEY or you better kill ‘em!!” Beau shouted, his voice muffled by the gas mask and the reverberating rumbles that seemed to shake their entire world.
Bix rolled his eyes and gave a disgruntled sigh. "Always the money with you, ain't it Beau?" He threw his shotgun back over his shoulder before turning around towards the screen door. “A’ight, a’ight. I’ll go shoot some dipshits…” The brother grumbled as he opened the door.
But as he took a step off the porch, bix something incredibly odd and confusing. The land on the horizon seemed… not only a bit disjointed and warped but also completely different. Where once there was the familiar Appalachian hill forest, now there stood a vast, flat expanse of land covered in strange vegetation unlike any he had seen before. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, wondering if he'd inhaled some spilled product.
The sight was not the only thing that was off. A group of people, strangers, stood just outside his property line. They were gesturing wildly, talking in a language that Bix couldn't understand. They looked as confused as he felt.
"What in the hell...?" He mumbled under his breath, taking a moment to reassess the situation. His first thought was these were most likely some junkies and he was most definitely high. Shaking his head, Bix decided to address these strangers. "Hey! You! What the hell y’all just do!?" He yelled, pointing his shotgun at the group.
The strangers turned towards him, looking equally puzzled. They muttered amongst themselves in their strange language before one of them, a tall, thin man with, oddly enough, a full suit of strange armor stepped forward.
He began speaking, but the words were strange, foreign, nothing like the Appalachian drawl Bix was used to. Bix squinted at the man, annoyed at his lack of understanding, but then noticed the pointed ears of the person speaking and the folk around him. "I don't know what the hell you're saying, but y'all cosplayin’ dipshits owe us some god damn money for whatever the hell y’all just did! Understand!?" Bix demanded, but all he got were confused looks in return.
The figure in armor looked back at his colleagues, exchanged a few heated words before turning back to bow. Pulling out a strange sword, the pointed eared individual along with one of their campaign started swirling their hands causing a small ball of ice or fire from fingertips. The sight was utterly captivating yet completely out of the realm of Bix's comprehension. He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Aw hell no, I must be high as a kite.” Bix said pointing his shotgun at the armored fellow with ice forming on his fingertips and pulling the trigger.
A deafening crack rang out, dropping the armored figure, causing them to hit the ground. Their companions however, immediately sprang into action. The nearest individuals dragging their fallen comrade behind them as another group formed a defensive wall. Their arms rose in unison presenting a shield wall while a brilliant, almost impenetrable barrier of energy took form just in front of them.
Behind this shield, the fire-casting man didn't hesitate. His hand motions quickened and his chanting much harsher while the fireball in they’re hand grew brighter and larger.
Meanwhile, Beau shouted a string of profanities as he threw the screen door open, pointing directly at Bix. “GOD DAMNIT BIX! WHY’D YA KILL SOMEONE HERE! NOW WE GOTTA- …What the…?” Beau cut himself off as he stared at the strange sight in front of him. “Bix what the hell is that?”
“I dunno Beau, I thought I was high, but it looks like the cosplayers are-” Bix was cut off by the fire-caster launching the fireball directly towards the two brothers and in an instant, their world was engulfed in searing heat and blinding light. The last thing they saw was their shanty house being consumed by the massive fireball.
The crackling fire and screams soon faded, replaced by the steady hum of an aircraft engine.
“A la Verga… I thought exercises were supposed to be planned out in advance or something.” Corporal Luis Santiago, a Puerto Rican with a tanned complexion complained as he turned his head up to see his M2A4 Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicle chained to the cargo plane's floor and sighed.
