Concepts, Lore, & New Developments.
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Post by Aeros » Fri Nov 09, 2018 11:59 pm

The last thing he remembered was the eclipse of darkness as the coma slowly overtook his consciousness. He'd been knocked out before; Brock knew that he was either going to wake up in the same bed, or...

...well, he didn't know what the afterlife looked like, but he hoped it was nice.

Nicolas had put him under, at LaVerne's own request. There was talks of him and Magnetar both going out to space in order to sort out the situation regarding the Binaries. Him being out of the fight wasn't an entire loss, seeing as, well— the results of the fight spoke for themselves. He was just a man, after all, and he had been brutally reminded of that when his hand and ankle snapped in two from whatever the alien had done to him.

He hoped, by the time he woke up, that Pendragon had designed something to help him, or cure him, better yet.

Only he didn't wake up in his bed. He woke up on polished stone, a decidedly uncomfortable material to lie supine upon. With a gasp, Brock sat upright, hands grasping at the small cracks inbetween bricks and pushing him upward.

Wait— wait, his hand. LaVerne cautiously lifted up his previously amputated limb and examined it; the appendage in its entirety was present, yes, but its outline had an odd ethereal glow, a slight mauve hue that emanated from the area which had been cut off. A quick once-over confirmed that his ankle had undergone the same process, and Atlas shifted from his own body to the room he was in.

A dungeon. At least, that's what it appeared to be. A torch in the corner of the room flickered, casting orange light intermittently over the edges of Brock's suit, which had itself become a similar color to the stones he sat upon from the dried blood that had soaked its threads. He let out a cough from the musty air and stood up, moving to the iron door at the corner of the room and shoving it open.

It looked to be a prison block, almost, save the regal-looking red carpet that lined the main hallway. LaVerne stepped out onto it and decided to go in the direction to his right, with each end of the hall being obscured by darkness.

Maybe he was in hell. Maybe he was captured. God knows, with the track record of events he'd been a part of over the past few months. Everything felt like a fever dream.

Eventually, the stone brick walls cut and sloped away in either direction from Brock, the hallway widening out into a grand, singular room as torches spontaneously lit themselves upon the expanding edges of the chamber. They formed a circular area, with the portion of the wall opposite LaVerne lighting up last to reveal a very, very large throne.

To the right of the chair was Höllenfeuer, its red, white and blue painting scorched off to reveal the true underlying metal. To its left, a spear.

The throne was notably absent of any figures. Atlas took a step towards the chair to receive his shield before the room began to shake.

"HA-HA! I SEE YOU ARE FINALLY AWAKE, MY ANACHRONISTIC FRIEND!" The figure boomed, his voice reverberating along the circular wall of the chamber in a clarion tone. Stones rattled in place from the sheer volume.

"Where— where am I?" LaVerne called out, flinching slightly at the booming voice from seemingly thin air.

A chuckle, this time, though the volume was noticeably lower.

"YOU, MY FRIEND, ARE IN THE REALM OF VOLKSGEIST!" The disembodied voice boomed once more, followed by a hearty laugh; in contrast, Brock's eyes went wide and he reflexively took a step backward, nearly stumbling over himself.


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Awakening, II

Post by Aeros » Sun Nov 11, 2018 10:03 pm


"This place... it's a prison, you know."


Brock's echoing footsteps only served to emphasize the sheer size of the chamber. The voice in his head which called itself Volksgeist had guided him down here, back through the line of cells in which he'd awakened to a lone iron door at the end of the hall. From there, it was only a matter of going down.

And he [or they] went, a spiral staircase born from the same stone as the rest of the castle leading Atlas further and further into this madness. It felt too real to be a dream. He could hear the sharp clicking of his boots upon the steps as clear as day, smell the mustiness which permeated the depths of the decrepit manor, feel the oppressive cold and thick air around him.

Eventually, the steps plateaued into the same red carpet which was laid upon the earlier hallway. It, too, led to a sizable room; there were no torches, however, no fanfare of illumination. No, the sight of two staircases and a raised platform were already illuminated to LaVerne's tired eyes, as were the imposing statues of two robed women, identical in both appearance and pose. With a sword each, they stood guard upon a single object placed equidistant between them both. A crystal of sorts, a light purple in appearance. The ground beneath it, an inscribed circle adorned with geometric shapes and symbols, glowed softly with a light the same hue as the crystal above it.

"Pretty nice prison, if you ask me. Especially for a guy like you."

"What is it with you mortals and your grudges, my dear friend? Has the ancient Greek value of Xenia been lost upon your mind? I've given you asylum in this place, and through my hospitality, you continue to live. I'd have expected thanks for at least that by now."

LaVerne recoiled slightly at the ever-consistent clarion tone that the voice carried.

"See, the thing is, you haven't even told me what this place is, yet, or even told me why I'm here." LaVerne protested. The ground beneath him quavered as the entire chamber began to tremble from some unseen force, the sheer force of Volksgeist's emotion managing to have a monumental effect upon the corporeal plane.

"I've TOLD you, this place is a PRISON! YOU'D DO WELL TO LISTEN TO ME, YOU FOOLISH MAN!" The voice roared, dust and dislodged rocks falling from the ceiling and walls as the words served to practically deafen Atlas, lowering him onto one knee as he dropped the spear and shield he was carrying in favor of covering his ears.

A moment of calm, of quiet came soon after. Brock breathed out a shaky exhale and stood back up once more, grasping the spear and shield with either hand and looking around.

" apologies," Volksgeist eventually murmured, the volume relatively normal given the past track record. "I'm just quite vexed at this situation. I've been trapped, held here by some unforeseen force."

Brock furrowed his brow.

"How are you trapped if I saw you months ago?"

"That's quite impossible. For eons— or what has felt like eons, I've sat here with only my thoughts, my physical body banished to some other plane while my consciousness lie dormant in... this horribly garish manor. Do you know of the story of the Eldest, my dear friend? Their fall from grace? More specifically, the story of Volksgeist?"

LaVerne signed.

"No, but I'm not entirely busy at the moment, so if you want to tell me, tell me. Maybe it could give me some damn background."

"Oh, of COURSE! THE STORY IS AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM, AS OLD AS TIME ITSELF." The voice thundered in return, coaxing another flinch from Brock.

"That shard in the center of the room. Approach it. Stand within its aura."

Atlas, skeptical as to the truth of Volksgeist's words, nevertheless stepped forward and narrowed his eyes at the brightness of the geometric shape. The light from its body cast a mauve glow over Brock's body, his legs, chest, arms and head now fully enveloped in the purple light that had only been present upon his previously amputated limbs.

"And what is this, exactly?"

A chuckle, this time, rather than another booming response. LaVerne didn't know how to feel about that.

"That, my mortal friend, is the essence of Volksgeist. It is the story of the Nation-Spirit, and it is your last hope."

The mauve light crescendoed into a blinding white, and Brock felt himself enveloped by an unseen force before the world faded away into oblivion, the last thing he'd heard being the joyous, uncontained laughter of an ecstatic Volksgeist.

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