III - The Moon | A Planeswalker's Descent.

[Gustando 1990]

 

“I had sought to venture into the stars, to find purchase to the questions that had been boggling in my mind. The astral planes have always been the answer, yet, this time - it was a mistake. This land is. . . vile, revolting. Upon my arrival, I was witness to horror; grotesque flesh and sinew littered all that was present. Corpses upon corpses festering cancerous tumors, pustules and blisters. The smell. . . the smell was unbearable, it made me sick. The contents of my stomach found themselves swiftly expelled” - An Alchemist’s log [2]

 

 

 

The Alchemist had been wandering the plane for what felt like days, maybe weeks—he had lost track of time. Each moment filled him with more fear and uncertainty, but he kept moving forward. There was something about this place that unsettled him deep inside. Suddenly, he gasped and fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Was it the infection? The stress? Or maybe it was the Shunter’s Sickness finally catching up to him? He knew he needed to find somewhere to rest, or he'd end up as part of the fleshy, tumor-ridden landscape. He quickly grabbed an injector filled with a cloudy liquid and stabbed it into his thigh. With his heart still racing, he stumbled through the blood-soaked fields, desperate for any kind of shelter.

 

Frantically, with a pained heart and haggard breath, he sauntered for hours, injecting himself once more as to alleviate the pain, and allow himself to continue and find a safe passage. At last, he found a semblance of a structure - a cave similarly wrought of flesh, bone, pustules, tumors and puss. It was the first thing he had discovered thus far where one could go inside. Without further thought, the alchemist made his way inside.

 

 

 

“Whilst in my own delusions and the brink of death, I found my salvation - a simple cave wherein I believe I can rest. The infection that has made this world, I am slowly growing accustomed to it. The smell, whilst still unbearable, is becoming slightly less noticeable – good thing I brought my respirator, alongside rations and elixirs. I do not know the cause of my body failing, yet I theorize it may be an accumulation of many things that I will have to research later on. For now, I believe I will go rest, and explore the rest of the cave at light’s break” - An Alchemist’s Log [3]

 

As the alchemist woke, he ate some of his rations and drank water. Revitalized, he was determined to see the nature of this cave. He slowly and cautiously began to stride across the narrow holes and pathways, lighting a lantern to illuminate his path in the increasingly darker innards of the cave. The cave’s passageways were far and varied, some wider, some narrower, though it appeared to be near endless. This traversal took the alchemist hours.

 

As the alchemist pressed onward, his gaze drifted to his hands—and what he saw froze him in place. His own flesh had begun to change, warping in ways he could scarcely comprehend. His fingers now mirrored the grotesque terrain around him, their surface slick with oozing tissue and studded with budding, cancerous growths. Panic gripped him as he quickly shoved the twisted hand into his cloak, hiding it from sight. "Out of sight, out of mind," he muttered to himself, though the growing dread gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

 

He descended to the next level and stopped, horrified by what he saw—a door covered in pulsing veins, alive and throbbing as if blood flowed through it. After a shaky breath, he pressed his hand against the slick surface and pushed it open. Darkness swallowed him as he stepped inside, the air thick and heavy. Lifting his lantern, he froze as dozens of eyes appeared on the fleshy walls, wet and glistening, all staring straight at him. Then, with a sickening ripple, more eyes opened across the room, their gaze unyielding. His hand moved to his dirk, but the eyes didn’t attack—they only watched, unnervingly alive.

 

 

 

 

The Alchemist didn’t hesitate, bolting down the steps, desperate to escape the countless, unblinking eyes that followed his every move. Behind him, the cavern rumbled deeply, its pulsating walls convulsing as the flesh around him shifted and sealed off his retreat. With no path back, he was forced to plunge deeper into the endless, grotesque hallway. As he ran, the walls became increasingly horrific—twisted bodies fused into the glistening sinew began to emerge, their lifeless arms twitching to grotesque life. One by one, they lunged, clawing at him with slick, fleshy fingers until they latched on, dragging him to a halt. Struggling in vain, the Alchemist found himself ensnared, trapped by the writhing, bio-organic mass, his fate no longer his own.

 

 

 

 

An Alchemist by the name of Jeffrey prepared a ritual. His hand dug into a pouch of salt, drawing a ring around himself, writing various alchemical signs and symbols between them and forming a network between the curious writings – a rite not unusual to the alchemist to traverse other worlds. He had felt a stir within him, a drive to return to the great work. For the journey, he prepared a backpack with rations, various elixirs and a respirator should the plane he was about to hop to required purification.

 

As he finalized his rite, the thoughts in his mind began to race - what if this was his end? Afterall, he had no idea where he would appear now, each traversal appeared to be a gamble, a gamble that might eventually be his grave. Nevertheless, it was not his first time, he believed that whatever was to come is destined, and should it be his death, so be it. Finally, as the rite was finished, his provisions, tools and respirator equipped he took a breath, citing the ancient symbolics. Before him the very matter of the world began to appear vivid, akin a keyhole in the fabric itself appeared. His hand swiftly shot forth, grasping and twisting the fabric, before entering the hole of the cosm’, the rift that he created.

 

 

 

Traversing planes was always strange, it felt like one was being shot forward and even though it was an instant, he could feel the vapor rise from his person; the force causing him to enter a three-point landing as he found himself in a new world. Leaving a crater in his wake, Jeffrey stood and looked about. Immediately, his first instinct was to put on his respirator, which muffled the rancid smell that permeated the whole plane. Secondly, he looked around for any danger, which there appeared to be none of. After making sure, he swiftly procured a glass vial, cutting some of the cancerous flesh from the very ground and stuffing it inside for future examination. Finally, he set out to explore what was destined.

 

“This world. . . it is extraordinary indeed. I do not know what occurred here, but I hope to find the root of it. I have taken a sample of the “soil” for an examination at home. For now, I will continue onward and search for anything significant.” - An Alchemist’s Log [1]
 

 

 

 

Jeffrey was trapped, his body bound tightly by the slick, sinewy tendrils of the living wall. He struggled, but it was useless; the plane itself, or whatever monstrous thing controlled it, held him fast. From the quivering mass of flesh, a malformed hand emerged, its gaunt thumb dripping with bile as it pressed firmly against his forehead. In an instant that stretched into hours, his mind was flooded with visions—symbols and horrors far more vivid than any alchemical dream. Veins slithered from the wall, piercing his skin and pumping sustenance into him, binding him fully to the pulsing, fleshy monstrosity. He fell into a dream.

 

With a gasp, his eyes opened as the limbs let him go, the veins that were affixed to him ripping away. How long had he been here? Days? Weeks? Or had it been mere moments? Time felt meaningless now, distorted, as if it had been stretched and torn along with everything else. His body ached, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the lingering touch of the plane or the exhaustion of waking up from something far worse. He stumbled to his feet, his mind spinning, but when he looked around, nothing seemed familiar. The exit, prior sealed, had now been open - the Alchemist now free to leave.

 

 

 

Spoiler

Character shelved until something something December as per gap theory.

 

[wowj 9747]

"Holy shit is that Jeffrey-De-Wees?" Asked a flesh abomination to another upon passing by the trapped Jeffrey.

[colovian fur 8360]

“Jeffrey De Wees, nice mullet.” Said an incomprehensible horror of guts and gore, the human hydra blinking hundreds of eyes in admiration of the alchemist’s style. 

[Benleft 2578]

"\u004a\u0065\u0066\u0066\u0072\u0065\u0079\u0020\u0044\u0065\u0020\u0057\u0065\u0065\u0073\u003f\u000d?" Asked a unicode horror. It was a being truly incomprehensible to the mortal mind, and its language was traumatic to Jeffrey's ears. Perhaps it reminded him of his relatives or some dreadful life experience he had suffered. Still, the incomprehensible shunting horror's tone was one of ADMIRATION.