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A Plot Most Foul


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[Art by Isabella Mazanti]

 

The following is a public letter scattered across the land of Almaris

It begins as an ordinary paper, mundane and likely to be the rambling of some random fool in the continent; however, something gnaws at you to read further. . .

 

–Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ–

Home.  It is defined as a place familiar to us, a place that we are meant to be, or perhaps it isn’t a place at all.  Home could be found in friends, family, or within bonds found most unlikely.  There are people we meet in our lives, in which we discover through our conversation that their personality is like a set of rooms in which we already know and find home within.  A flutter is felt within our hearts as we enter into momentous environments to our souls, a place we are tied to.  There are places that we have never been where we already belong.

 

I found this in Woldzmir, the castle of Dobrov.  A home in which I was swept away from in my infant years; stolen in the night by dark forces.  I had known little of what my fate was meant to be, if I would have been sold off, smothered, or sacrificed in a dark ritual.  Whatever dark plan was concocted, it was disrupted when I was discovered and rescued by my foster family.  Thus, I was kept and raised with the traditions of a scholarly Vasoyevi and for sixteen years I lived my life in ignorance of what my true identity was.

 

When I came to know my origins, life changed quickly.  I reunited with my family in the Empire, though chose not to cast aside my roots with the Vasoyevi.  Despite the rapid and ever changing chaos around me, I would not let the truth of my identity warp the person I was already raised to be; I had come to respect the meaning of principles well in this period.

 

Once the title of Woldzmir and the Kremlin of Dobrov was restored to me, little peace was had within my home.  Long before I had even come to know of my ties to the County, rumors of the oddities that surrounded it were something I was already well familiar with.  I would have dismissed such tales quickly, had it not been for the dozens of disturbing incidents within the walls and woodlands surrounding the castle and the eventual truth of my grandfather’s nature revealed to me.

 

Ostromir Carrion-Tuvyic, The late Count of Dobrov, was known as a scholar and alchemist, with a great influence over the Imperial Court.  An air of mystery clung to him, and followed him in death.  Such would be expected, perhaps, given the various wonders and possibilities achievable through the use of the Material Alphabet in alchemy.  I describe it as the Language of Creation, for its symbols can be found, hidden, in all things.  I regard it as God’s gift to the descendants, so that we may explore His world more efficiently and make beauty with His tools.

 

It is a tool, much like a shovel is one in the hands of a gardener.  Treasure could be dug up, seeds sown, saplings planted, a body may be buried with it, or it can be used as an informal weapon;  An alchemist’s tools are used for growth and nurturing, or for pushing the boundaries of our science to encounter new discoveries.  Many wonders could be achieved by the virtuous, and many atrocities by the cruel.


 

On the Nature of Ostromir. . .

Ostromir Carrion-Tuvyic was no virtuous man.  He was selfish in his pursuit for power through use of the Material Alphabet and dabbled in darker practices such as Necromancy to strengthen his abilities and expand his findings, even managing to achieve immortality in undeath.  I have paid witness to the effects of his malignant spells and how he manipulates the energy of life, as a false mimicry of God’s might.  Further findings have been acquired through the diligent investigating of the Lectors of Owyn.

 

I had believed him to have vanished from society for good, but I was mistaken.  Hints of the presence of Ostromir and his corrupted son, the removed Vladislav Carrion-Tuvyic, continued lurking within Woldzmir and the forests surrounding it.

 

A foul creature stalks the woods, mimicking voices of people familiar to potential victims in hopes of luring them away from the safety of the hamlet and roads.  Efforts have been made on my part to thwart the fiend from the woodlands, yet it remains elusive and continues to take lives of those unaware of its lurking threat.  I think of it to be a horrendous spawn of Necromancy, sent out to collect sacrifices; signs of wicked intruders had been found within the crawl spaces around the castle, movement even being heard in the small hours of the night, scratches and bootprints found where no animal may leave them.  Cackling echoes in the halls, and eyeslits have been discovered in the older paintings;  acts had even been committed, through the terrorizing of Kremlin guests during social gatherings: the dropping of severed eyeballs over their heads; dark strangers have approached the castle in search of my undead grandfather and accursed relics.

 

One of the most recent incidents is when Ostromir finally revealed himself.  He first came to me in disguise, during Imperial Court and attempted to insert his influence over my thoughts through his foul sorcery.  I demanded he confront me with honor so that I may finally see what monster my grandfather had become.

 

He ordered me to leave the throne room and I obeyed - though not before warning my husband of the incident.  Elimar watched over me, where we encountered Fyodor Carrion-Tuvyic. Within his grasp was a human skull, which was the source of that wicked voice invading my mind.

 

Again, Ostromir demanded that I succumb to him and accept his skull that Fyodor ushered for me to take.  Yet I refused, for I knew if I were to brush my fingers against the Lich’s bone I would risk corruption myself.  Ostromir was enraged and promised that I would regret my foolishness in denying his might.  Fyodor then carried the wretched husk of my grandfather away before passersby would begin to notice.

 

In the following months, my uncle Fyodor became more absent around the castle and the ominous events only increased by the day.  My grandfather was hellbent on making me bend my knee to him, but I would not falter.  I remained true to my principles and duties as a Peer of the Empire, to advise the Imperial Throne during these turbulent years - which only seemed to infuriate my undead grandfather more.

 

He made this known to me, coming to Woldzmir in the days following the Crown’s banishment of myself.  A final request was made for me to succumb to his will and serve him, promising me protection against those that would see my destruction.  Again, I refused him.  And in return, Ostromir promised me that he would rip the very foundations of Woldzmir away from me and have my family sacrificed to a being he described only as The Palebeast.

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

On the Nature of Woldzmir. . .

That very night, a gathering formed before the castle.  The group was comprised of cloaked men, with hoods that obscured their faces in an unnatural shadow despite the light of the lanterns shining on them; whatever flesh of theirs that I caught a glimpse of was deathly pale. Ostromir headed them, his features like a man’s skin thinly wrapped over a skull with a perpetual look of malice in his eyes.  He had caught sight of me on the battlements and I thought I might have seen him grin, before turning to draw shapes into the soil.

 

I felt my heart sink and I bolted to gather my family within the castle. My cause for panic was the familiarity of my grandfather’s display in front of the Kremlin; he was conducting a ritual of the Blood Arts - an ancient and near-forgotten power capable of committing cataclysmic atrocities, should its power fall into the wrong hands.  How I had come to recognize this is due to previous encounters in my travels and studies, where I had managed to witness and hear of how these sort of rituals are conducted.

 

 Instead of fleeing, I chose to make a final stand against the dark creatures that would try to forcefully tear my home away from me.  I knew how delicate and precise their ritual was meant to be, I knew how fickle their power was and sought hope on its possible failure.

 

Ostromir and his flock stood in a circle with their bloodied hands joined.  They murmured a low incantation which encouraged a crimson glow to rise up from the ritual circle at their feet, with flickers of bright red sparks of energy dancing within.  I hardly recall having loaded the crossbow and aiming upon the warlocks.

 

My finger pressed the trigger and I heard the whistle of the bolt, before a deafening peal of thunder consumed me.  A bright flash of red was followed by a still and cold darkness. My body felt numb for many moments before another flash of energy blinded and deafened me, and then a rush of cold air swept over me and I collided into snow.

 

It took me a moment to gather my senses, when I realized I stood in the heart of a snowy tundra.   I thought myself stranded, meant to die alone and be lost to those snowy wastes, but a familiar sight stood before me: The castle of Woldzmir.

 

My aim must have been true, in some sense, to have disrupted my grandfather’s plan.  In his ritual’s failure, the castle was still ripped away – with me in it – and brought to a random space on the continent.  I knew myself to still be in Almaris once dawn arrived, and the star of the morning, Luceafăru, showed itself to me in the sky. A blessing made known.

 

Signed,

 

Her Ladyship, Anna “Moliana” Elizaveta Luceafăru, Baroness of Woldzmir

 

Elimar Koen Luceafăru

Spoiler

Thanks to Kujo for helping out with some edits and making this easier to read, even bigger thanks to myself for being so cool.

 

 

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A Leal Wyrmstalker would frown, soon setting off in shifting guise - for she had a couple to check up on, and hunts to prosecute anon... 

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An Illatian of anomalous repute allows his orbs to trace over the missive, a foul revelation indeed which had reached him at this misfortunate hour - with this he raised the horrid cigarette he'd been chewing upon for several minutes and allowed a series of smoke and ash to release from his maw and fall to the wood. "You will 'a not make a fool of me, falsi altoparlanti.

Should he have spoken to only one of the aforementioned parties, his opinion would be clear- but no, he had the sense to hear them both, and now all that remained was a state of conflicting minds deep with himself. "No, No. . . It wouldn't be fair to jump to a' conclusion boy." He lectured.

 

And with that, he began to put quill to parchment and draft.

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"Fake news." commented a meat-faced Lector as he read the missive. He looked to a  hefty document titled the TSUTENKAKU REPORT which asserted that it was not the Lich who transported Dobrov, but was instead the result of a deal made with evil vampires! Perhaps he would publish it early...

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A dead agent of Ostromir vouches to eviscerate the author of this slander from this very plane, be it even to the ends of this earth.

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A haggard thing rutted in the dirt - the creature plied itself in the dirt in a moment of extravagant pressure from what things it could not know. A thousand senses came to it. A thousand voices. A thousand ideas flooded it's head. A thousand reverbrations. Each contradicted the other, and yet, each were right. 

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Ostromir reads the notice with evident amusement, for the horror that has become. So it reaches towards its chessboard, and moves a black pawn forward.

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The names of Ostromir and son, which were revealed to him by this letter, cause Vaevictis to reach for his candlelight portent.

 

The small flame burns beneath his hands, reignitung that ancient Sign of Calling... wherever its tethered Seven may be.

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A woman could be seen reading the missive in her dimly lit chamber, her eyes mirroring the sky above, scanning line after line, paragraph after paragraph, until she came to a standstill, her eyes expanded at the names listed. She elevated a dark brow before parting her lips to speak. "My child, what have you done. . ."

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"May he haunt you no longer, my darling Moliana," Charlotte spoke as the revelations were revealed to the world. The aged Imperial was glad that her children and grandchildren might now have support, in their attempts to be rid of this shadow-dwelling menace that had seemed intent upon tormenting them.

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She had grown up in Dobrov, that dour town which felt as though it was at the edges of the known world. And yet... Josephine had been, and remained, a naive girl unversed in the true darkness of this plane.

 

The revelation of such evil that had lingered so close by for years, decades... it sent an icy trickle spider-walking down her spine. She huddled close to the hearth within the Kremlin of Woldzmir's main hall, ignorant to what forces had caused the very stones and foundations to shift. Ignorant to what forces remained steeped in the very fabric of the castle, even now.

 

"Oh, sister. I pray you will know what to do."

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