"I think it's time
"Not yet ....let's see if this will work
The Grand Arbor, an enormous building made of living trees, was filled with the gentle energy of the elven meeting. Sunlight came through the leaves, making patterns on the elves gathered below. The air smelled of the sea and sweet flowers, showing how Port Azure mixed nature and city life.
Elas Caigwyn, a general in the elven army, sat with the others, feeling tense. He looked at the faces around him. The discussion had been going on for hours, and people were disagreeing more and more.
"We can't ignore the towns by the sea!" Lady Aranis, a Rekra healer, said, her voice full of worry. "The Obsidian Tide is a bad thing, a corruption that threatens everyone. We have to help!"
"Help?" Lord Iratris, one of the elders, said, sounding doubtful. "We are good at what we do, but we can't risk our city and our people for other people's problems."
"This isn't just 'problems,' Iratris," Elas said, his voice strong. "This is a big problem. The Void Rekra is spreading, making everything wrong. We can't just stay here and do nothing."
He pointed to the glowing Rekra lines that ran through the building. "Even our own Rekra is acting strange. The Azure Current is troubled. The Silent Weaver is reaching even here."
People started whispering. The Azure Current, the Rekra lines that connected Port Azure to the sea and the world, was very important to the city. If it was troubled, it was a big worry.
"The Empire is to blame," Lord Iratris said, his eyes narrow. "They use too many crystals and want too much power. They caused this trouble."
"The Empire isn't perfect," Elas said. "But the Silent Weaver is something else, someone who uses the Empire's mistakes. We can't mix them up."
"So what do you want us to do, General?" Lady Aranis asked, looking hopeful but worried. "Do you want us to send our soldiers to fight with the Empire?"
"Not exactly," Elas said. "But we can't just sit here. We have to find out what the Silent Weaver is doing. We have to find a way to stop them, to protect our city and the world."
He looked at everyone. "We are elves. We are Rekra masters. We have to use our skills to keep the world safe."
"But what will it cost us?" Lord Iratris asked, his voice sharp. "We can't risk our people's lives. We can't put Port Azure in danger."
"We are already in danger," Elas said, his voice low. "The Obsidian Tide is a threat to our shores. The Silent Weaver is making our Rekra bad. We can't wait until it's too late."
"Then we have to make our defenses stronger," Lady Aranis said. "We have to make our Rekra shields better, make our wards stronger. We have to protect ourselves from the bad things."
"We have to do more than that," Elas said, looking determined. "We have to find where the bad things are coming from. We have to stop the Silent Weaver."
Everyone became quiet. The elves, looking worried, thought about what Elas said. The discussion wasn't over, but it was clear that something had to be done. The future of Port Azure, and maybe the world, was uncertain.
Alright, let's shift to Arel's journey and introduce the unsettling encounter with the clown entities and the pocket dimension.
_____________________
The Jester's Gate
Arel's journey had become a strange, winding path through a landscape that seemed to shift and change with every step. The ticking gear in his hand hummed with a restless energy, pulling him forward, deeper into unfamiliar territory. The sky was an unsettling shade of twilight, and the trees twisted into grotesque shapes, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.
Suddenly, the path ahead was blocked by three figures, their forms illuminated by an eerie, pulsating glow. They were clowns, but not the jovial kind. Their faces were painted in stark, exaggerated patterns, their smiles wide and unsettling. Their movements were jerky, almost puppet-like, and their laughter echoed with a hollow, mocking tone.
"Well, well, well," one of the clowns rasped, his voice a grating whisper. "What have we here? A lost traveler, wandering in the twilight?"
"You wish to pass?" another clown chirped, his voice high-pitched and unsettlingly cheerful. "Then you must pass our test!"
The third clown, his face painted with a single, oversized tear, stepped forward. "We are the Gatekeepers of the Riddle. Answer correctly, and you may proceed. Fail, and… well, you wouldn't like to fail."
Arel, feeling a sense of unease creeping up his spine, hesitated. "What riddle?"
The clowns exchanged unsettling glances, then burst into a chorus of discordant laughter. "The riddle," the first clown said, his eyes glinting with malice, "is this: What has an eye, but cannot see? What has a mouth, but cannot speak? What has a wing, but cannot fly?"
Arel frowned, his mind racing. The riddle was cryptic, unsettling. He tried to think of anything that fit the description, but his thoughts were scattered, overwhelmed by the clowns' unsettling presence.
"A needle?" he ventured, his voice uncertain.
The clowns erupted in laughter, their voices echoing through the twisted trees. "Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!"
The ground beneath Arel's feet began to tremble, and a swirling vortex of darkness opened up before him, its edges shimmering with an unnatural light. The clowns, their painted smiles widening, gestured towards the vortex.
"Into the darkness you go!" the clown with the tear painted on his face said, his voice now a chilling whisper.
Arel, his heart pounding, tried to step back, but he was too late. The vortex pulled him in, the swirling darkness engulfing him. He felt himself falling, tumbling through an endless void.
Then, he landed. Not on solid ground, but on something cold and brittle. He reached out, his fingers brushing against rough, jagged surfaces. Bones. Skulls. He was surrounded by them, a sea of skeletal remains in a place where there was no light, only the chilling feeling of death. He was trapped, lost in a pocket dimension, a place of silent, bone-chilling darkness.
The stench of rotten flesh and decay hung heavy in the air, a nauseating smell that clung to Arel's throat, making him puke. The darkness was deafening, a type of void that made it impossible to see even the hand in front of his face. The only sensations were the chilling touch of bone and skull beneath his feet and the overwhelming, bad odor.
He stumbled forward, his hands outstretched, trying to find some sense of direction in the abyss but each step only crunched on the skeletal fragments. The air was thick, and the taste of decay coated his tongue.
This is horror.
Just as he was growing weary, the gear in his pocket began to vibrate with seirous intensity. The vibrations grew faster, stronger. A wave of heat emanated from the gear, spreading through his body, warming him against the chilling darkness.
The heat intensified, the gear glowing a deep, angry red. The red glow pulsed, then flared, casting a brilliant, crimson light into the surrounding darkness. The light, though intense, did not burn him. It was a comforting warmth, a beacon in the desolate void.
He held the gear aloft, the red light cutting through the darkness, revealing the grotesque landscape of his prison. The bones and skulls stretched out in every direction, an endless sea of skeletal remains. The gear's crimson glow, highlighted the morbid details of his surroundings.
With the gear held high, Arel began to walk, the red light guiding him through the sea of bones.
As Arel trudged through the endless sea of bones, the silence was shattered by whispers, cold and insidious, that seemed to slither into his ears.
"You'll be like the others," a clown's voice hissed, close and breathy. "Just bones and dust."
"No hope here," another voice chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "Only darkness."
"You're the least of them," a third voice whispered, laced with contempt. "Not even a spark of Rekra. Your bones will stay here, forever."
The whispers swirled around him, a chorus of despair, each word a venomous dart aimed at his heart. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through him. He felt small, insignificant, utterly powerless. The darkness pressed in, the whispers amplified, the bones a chilling reminder of his potential fate.
He started to run, stumbling over the skeletal terrain, his breath ragged, his heart pounding. The whispers chased him, relentless, mocking, amplifying his terror. He ran blindly, desperate to escape the voices, the darkness, the overwhelming sense of dread.
He ran until his lungs burned, until his legs ached, until he could run no more. He stopped, his chest heaving, his body trembling. The whispers still echoed, but they seemed distant now, fading into the suffocating silence.
He stood there, surrounded by the cold, skeletal remains, the red glow of the gear his only companion. The fear was still there, a knot in his stomach, but something else was stirring within him, a flicker of defiance.
He looked down at the bones beneath his feet, at the endless expanse of darkness that stretched out before him. He thought of the clowns, their mocking laughter, their chilling whispers. He thought of the gear, its warm, defiant glow.
And then, he spoke, his voice hoarse but firm, cutting through the silence like a blade.
"No."
___________________
The air in the dwarven mines of Fer Ael Dor was thick with the scent of rock dust and the low hum of resonating crystals. Maja, accompanied by Kael and their crew, stood before a gruff-looking dwarven merchant, his beard speckled with crystal fragments. The merchant's eyes, sharp and calculating, assessed her with a practiced gaze.
"So, you want Resonance Crystals," the dwarf rumbled, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. "And a decent amount, I hear."
"That's right," Maja replied, her voice firm. "Ten crystals. One for each of us."
The dwarf stroked his beard, his eyes glinting. "That'll be a thousand Aeth. One hundred Aeth per crystal. Fair price, for the quality you're getting."
Maja nodded, pulling a pouch from her belt and counting out the Aeth. The dwarf's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the coins, but he maintained his stoic expression. He handed over the crystals, each one glowing with a soft, internal light.
As the crew dispersed, securing their newly acquired crystals, Maja turned back to the dwarf, "Tell me," she said, her voice curious, "about your people's connection to Rekra."
The dwarf grinned widely "Extra 5 Aeth for that ma'am hagssst"
"Anything for the info" said Maja as she tossed 5 Aeths at him.
He nodded slowly, cleared his throat,"We dwarves have always been attuned to the earth and the crystals within it. Our connection to Rekra is deep, woven into the very fabric of our existence. We have mined and worked with Resonance Crystals for centuries, long before the end of the ancient Aethelian Empire."
"Ancient Aethelian Empire?" Maja asked, her brow furrowed, she knows this, however she just wanted a tiny bit of information she probably haven't heard before, now that it's coming from the mouth of a dwarf.
"Aye," Gorim said. "A powerful empire that once ruled Aetherium. They were masters of Rekra, using it to build magnificent cities and create wonders beyond imagining. But they grew arrogant, their ambition exceeding their wisdom. They sought to control the very essence of Rekra, and in their hubris, hence the empire fell."
"And you dwarves remember this?" Maja asked.
"We remember," Gorim said, his voice heavy. "We remember the rise and fall of empires, the ebb and flow of Rekra. We remember the lessons of the past."
Maja nodded, absorbing the information.She turned to Kael, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Kael, what day is it?"
Kael pulled out a small, worn calendar and checked the date. "It's the 899th day of the year 1800 AE captain."
Maja's expression turned slightly wistful. "The 899th day… that means we've missed the yearly Galzadur Play in Sliverstream." She sighed. "It's been so long since I've had a good laugh. If not for this job, I'd have given you all a break to go enjoy yourselves." She looked at Kael and her crew, "But we have a job to do."
"Buuutttttt ...why don't we join the dwarfs in their party today just asking?" Kael said.
"The dwarfs are hosting a party?"
"Yes captain they are.....ummm where's that paper"
Rummaging through his bag he pulled out a paper
"Aha .....it reads UgrusstbanRagssst stout men and women of ironforge, had a roughy toughy mining ? can't move za legs ? did miss pebblegrog cheat on you ? well then come to Grussiserd and drink all the pain and sorrows away with the finest and well aged ale and rum, no crankybones allowed"
"What in the name of The Architects is that invitation" she said chuckling
"No idea captain but it sure sounds like fun"
"Alright ... we'll all leave early tomorrow, we can rest to-"
She wasn't done speaking but Kael had gone to gather the other crew members as they ran ahead seeking for the venue.
"-day, these boys, well i should better get some rest."
________________________
The clowns' taunts continued, a relentless hit of whispers and jeers. But Arel stood firm, his body still, his gaze fixed below on the endless expanse of bones. His heart pounded, his blood surged, and a strange lightness filled his head. Then, with a roar that echoed through insignificant dimensions, he shouted, "I SAID NOOOOO!"
A surge of vibrant, purple Rekra erupted from him with a cosmic force,he began levitating, his eyes glowed of purple, his clothes began shredding, his hair spiked, a radiant purple aura that pulsed with raw power. The pocket dimension, the very wall, began to crack like fragile glass, intense dust, intense pebbles, intense heat, intense wind, intense lightening, intense thunder claps, spreading across the darkness.
The clowns, their painted smiles twisted into expressions of terror, tried to flee, their jerky movements frantic. But Arel's Rekra was like a black hole, a gravitational pull that drew everything towards him.
He spoke, his voice a layered cacophony, a chorus of voices from countless timelines, "∴₸𝙹 ᖋ∷ᒷ ॥𝙹⚍ ᒣ𝙹 ⌥ᒷ⎓॥ ᒲᒷ." (Who are you to defy me). The clowns froze, their eyes wide with shock. They understood. He was speaking Géir, the ancient language of time itself.
The purple Rekra intensified, swirling around Arel like a tempest, and he moved, a whirlwind moved. He seized the first clown, and with a surge of Rekra, he tore the clown's form into nothingness, the painted face dissolving into wisps of dark energy. The second clown, his eyes filled with horror, tried to lash out with a crude, bone-like scythe coated with Rekra, but Arel intercepted the blow, shattering the dagger with a burst of Rekra. He then grabbed the clown's head, and focused an enormous amount of Rekra on it, overloading it and it burst into shreds, the clown's form collapsing into a heap of fractured bones.
The final clown, with the tear-stained face, tried to plead, his voice a trembling whimper. But with blitzing speed Arel just moved past the clown and barely touched him, but with such irregular speed he unleashed a torrent of purple energy, consuming the clown's form, leaving nothing.
With the clowns vanquished, Arel's Rekra pulsed, drawing the dimension towards him, the bones, the darkness, the very essence of the pocket dimension collapsing inwards. Arel became a singularity, a black hole of Rekra, absorbing everything into himself. The dimension vanished, swallowed whole, and Arel, now filled with the absorbed energy, was flung back into reality.
He materialized in the same spot where he had encountered the clowns, the twisted trees and eerie twilight surrounding him. There was no trace of the pocket dimension, no sign of the clowns. But Arel's head banged, a searing pain that pulsed with every heartbeat. He stumbled, his vision blurring, and then, he collapsed, unconscious, falling into a deep, deep sleep.