Catalysts (A Tumblr Opt-In Storyline)

((Alright, so I opted Z in for a storyline from tumblr, but I figured I would post any posts and developments here as well for those that don't use tumblr, because it looks like it'll be a wild ride. And, anyone who would like to, they're continuously taking new people who want to hop in on it, so if you'd like to join it for yourself, their tumblr is http://the-catalysts.tumblr.com. I believe they're able to work through email as well if you would rather do that than tumblr. Anyways, this first part is the public intro to the storyline, and then I will post the intro that Z got specifically for his introduction after.))

A deep, resonating hum of energy seemed to pulse from your very core. The world around you began to blur into obscurity until everything had faded into a dull gray. A soft ambiance of low, distorted whispers began to flow around you–their words incoherent. Soon, a dark figure seemed to manifest into your vision. A wicked grin formed over its lips as its words seemed to manifest into your mind–never spoken, never delivered. You just…knew, what it wanted to say.

The figure’s smile never faded, the impression of laughter seeping into your mind despite its absence. With a light shake of its head, the entity’s words continued to manifest into your memory.

“T͟óơ ̶b͟ád. ́W̡e̕ ̷aŕe͢ ḑisap͢pòin̵te̶d͡ ͟i̢n͟ ̕t͟his͘ itérat͠ion. ͘Your wo̸r͝ld i̶s facing͘ t̢h̵e t͠hr͘eat̛ o͝f destru͢ction̨.͟ This͢ i̵ş detr̛im̷én͠t̵al̴ to ͜ou̵r̡ ̀g̛oals͡.̵. We͞ ͠co͟úld ̛not ̀d͟e̛cid͠e͘ how͠ ͢to ha͟n҉d̵le͏ ̧t͏h̕ís͢.̷ Begi͢n ͝t҉h͞e ͘n͠ext i͢tera̡ti͟on?͝ Ass̨i̡m̶i͘l̷ate t̀hé ̀ma̴sşes? ͡G̴iv̨e u͜p?”

Once again, the sensation of laughter seemed to emanate from the being’s motionless stare.

“No.̛ In̢ or͝deŗ ̶t̢ò cónt̵i͞nue our̢ work̕, i̡t se͜ems̶ ͏in̛terv̀en͘ti̴on is ͝ņòw͢ requir͢ed. ̷But͝ ͏we ͝a͠re͟ ̨n͝ot ͢a cḩari͞ty. T͏h̸e Other͞ h͟as̢ a͏lr̴eady ͝ma͡d̶e̡ hi̸s͡ ̕ m͞o͜v̵e͡. ͏N͞ow i͜t ́i̸s ̡oưrs̶.”

A shadowed finger slowly pointed towards you.

“W̧e̛lc̀o͞m̸e,̢ ͡my c͘h̶o̡s̢e͡n, ͟to͘ ̡t͟h̨e ̸f͏irst ̕ro̡und͠.͘ We w͢ill̴ ͡be ̀in ͘t͝o͝ùch.̕”

With a sharp, ear-piercing burst of audible laughter, everything returned to normal in an instant–a fresh trail of blood trickling from your nose.

Let the games begin.

(And this is Z's personal intro.)

((M's intro, not my writing.))

The world seemed to freeze in place. The gnome’s surroundings began to blur out of focus–shapes melding into one another while colors faded away. Soon, all that remained was an empty, grey void–M stranded alone within, immobilized by an unseen force. Soft whispers began to circle from all directions, their words incoherent despite their clarity. Was the inhibitor malfunctioning? In this empty space of broken time, it certainly seemed to stop working–frozen with everything else. But that wasn’t it–this was different. A dark figure slowly rose into the gnome’s view, a sinister grin plastered over its lips.

“͡H̷e͢l͜lo͜ agàin, ̀M͢. M͡ind̴s͏p͞an͝neŕ. ̶Swe̶et li͟ttle ̨gno̢me̵-̨-T̸h͠e G͠a͞me͡ ̛n̕ęv͢e̢r̶ ̨t̢a̵kes ͜enou̶gh of̢ y̧ou͟. Wé ͟th́a̵n͝k yo͘ư ͡for ̴keep͡i͡ng͜ su͢c̶h͢ ͟an ̨op̡e͠n m͞in̷d–̶w̵e co͠ul͠d ́a͢l͞w̷ays ͏u̧s̶e̶ ͘ḿo̵rę f̶rìen̵ds̛ in ̛the̷ da̧r͡k͞.̧”

The whispers soon shifted to dark laughter as the being shrugged, moving closer towards the gnome.

“͘A ̀sĺave̡ ̨o̕f͘ ͢D̷ar̛k ͠Ír̵o̶ǹ. ̧D̸ar̛k̀ m͏ag̨i̕cs͠ ́l͘ǫs͟t͠ t͠o̵ the̶ ̕S̨y̛śte̴m҉.͏ ̢If̀ yo͠u̧ c̶an’t ̵c͟o͟ntro̡l̴ th́e ̧sh̴adow,͟ th͡ęn y̧o͜u m̛ús͝t walk w͢ith̀ i̸t..̷ ͠A box ̴gi͏f̛ted͘ b͡ỳ T͜h͡e̛ L͞ucid ͞Dr͟ea̕m-̢-̢such a̛ ͞curiosit̀y͏ y͠ou h̶ad̶ fo͢r t̴h̕o̸s͢e̡ ̴ta̧in͜t̴e͞d͝ ́B͠e̕a̛st̨s ͡of̴ t҉he ̨S͞ys͞teḿ. ͠S͡o̧ ̷m͘an͞y ̶f̧r͝ìen̕d͠s͡ i͡n͝ dar͢k̸ plące̴ś-҉-t͝h̨ou̷g̵h ̴o͝ne l̡o͘st ͞b̷y ͟y҉o̡ur͡ ow͝n ҉haņd.”

A dark finger lifter to waggle slowly in mock disappointment, the whispers laughing along once again before they were silenced by the beings ‘words’.

“Co҉u̢ļd̡n͢'̡t̸ ̸b͏are̛ the b͞u̡rde̶n͝?͟ No͠–ho͟w c͝oul͘d ̢you͜?̶ ͜P͏oor ̷litt͢lè ̢t̕h̡in͜g,̵̀sl̢a̛i̴n ҉b̨y yo̴u̢r o̡w̢n ḩa̶nd҉. H̴òw p̶a͟the͞tíc.“́

The dark figure clapped its hands together–taunting her with the action, though no sound was heard. The whispers parroted his words in a cascade of overlapping murmurs. "Pathetic”, “Betrayed”, “Poor thing.” Silence fell within the void once again as the figure continued.

“Bu̸t se͘c̴ond ̛chąn͞c̕es͘ ̶co̸me o͠fte͞n.͟ Y͞o͘u ̧ro͡s̨e,̕ and ̧l͢e͏a͝rne̴d̛ ͝f̛r̡om͜ m͢i̴śta̷kes҉. ̢Y̢ou͜ fo̕r̕ced͏ th̢e ́w҉hispe͞rs͝ o͘ut͞,̛ ̀fo͘ưnd lov̧e̴-́-͝c͝h̡il͝dren.̨S͝u̶ch̶ ͠a shame͠ yòư ͡al̕l͏ ̕d̡ie ̨s̸oo̢ņ.”

The being shook its head in an exaggerated manner, though its grin never faltered. “Such a shame.” the whispers parroted back before it ‘spoke’ again.

“Y͘óu ͜di͘d҉n͜'҉t pl҉an ͜t̛o̶ ͘ig̡nor̸e ̧i͢t̶,́ di̴d y̨ou?̛ ̢The ́'͘d҉em͞ons͝'̸?̨ ̵De͠s͟p͜i̛te̷ thǫs̢e wh͘o̴ f͏ight no̸w̵–̵th͏i̛s͏ ͠wo͡r̷l͢d'̷s͜ p̕ąth o̴nl͞y̷ ͏leads̶ to̷ des͏tru̸ct͡ion.͞M̕or̵e ͠i͡s̕ ręqu̷ired̵, ͝an͟d we ̢w͢iļl provi̧de ̛th̛e ͝m͏ea͜n͞s.̡ ͟T͞h̛in̛g̵s ͝h̵ave̛ o̶nly ͏j̶u͡s҉t ̢s̵ta͟rte̶d́ g̡e̸tt̢i̵n͘g go̕od͢ f̨ór̕ y̶o̷u–yoù'̷re͜ ͠not ҉g̨o͜i͜n̴g to̡ ̕lo̶se it̛ n̵ow͝, ̀a̕r̵e you̕?̵ No͠-̧-y͜o̷u ̢w̛o̷n’t.͝ I ̸w̛él̶comę ́y͜ou͟ t̛o T̢h͝e ͡S͡a͝c͞r̕il̕eg̵e. ̡T͢h̵e ͟M̴án͢i̸c͝ ̸sh͟al͏l̛ g͡u̢i̡de y̶ou͘ ̛s҉af̀el͘y in̷to th͘e ͟d̡ark. ͘A͡wa͜įt i͝t̛s̸ ̸c͞a͘ll͢.̡"͟

The whispers chuckled darkly, their volume steadily increasing as the being began to fade from the void. Just when their screeching laughter was almost too much to take–it stopped. The world had instantly returned to normal, M’s body mobile once more–the inhibitor still functioning properly. Droplets of blood began to trickle from her nose–her parting gift from the encounter.

((And M's reaction, zalgo'd text is still not mine.))

The library was quiet, until it was not there anymore. As soon as the words on the page began to shift and meld with the paper itself, M had stilled in quiet resignation. She expected to hear the howling wind and feel the cold of Northwind. It did not come. The world continued to fade, blurring until all that was left was a grey expanse. That was when she tried to turn.

She could not.

Ah.

That was when the voices began, those soft but unintelligible whispers that, despite straining her ears, she could not translate. So, instead, M waited, passive and resigned. Once these things began, she knew from long experience, they did not end until whatever was to be done was done. It was not a long wait.

That dark figure that arose from the grey beyond had not been in the shape she had anticipated; it was far too humanoid, without either unnaturally long and shaped limbs or tentacles. That meant this was new, or at the very least, a new angle of approach. In the frozen, timeless expanse, she felt. It was curiosity.

...ah.

Its voice was unnatural, somehow, yet she could not put a finger on how, exactly, it was off, or try to describe it.

“͡H̷e͢l͜lo͜ agàin, ̀M͢. M͡ind̴s͏p͞an͝neŕ. ̶Swe̶et li͟ttle ̨gno̢me̵-̨-T̸h͠e G͠a͞me͡ ̛n̕ęv͢e̢r̶ ̨t̢a̵kes ͜enou̶gh of̢ y̧ou͟. Wé ͟th́a̵n͝k yo͘ư ͡for ̴keep͡i͡ng͜ su͢c̶h͢ ͟an ̨op̡e͠n m͞in̷d–̶w̵e co͠ul͠d ́a͢l͞w̷ays ͏u̧s̶e̶ ͘ḿo̵rę f̶rìen̵ds̛ in ̛the̷ da̧r͡k͞.̧”

A job offer; as unnecessarily grimdark as it was, M knew an offer the moment it began. And, due to both the effort of finding her and the intensity of the experience, it would not be any normal sort of mercenary or even assassination work. Now, her resignation was merged with a professional sort of interest. And so she listened.

“͘A ̀sĺave̡ ̨o̕f͘ ͢D̷ar̛k ͠Ír̵o̶ǹ. ̧D̸ar̛k̀ m͏ag̨i̕cs͠ ́l͘ǫs͟t͠ t͠o̵ the̶ ̕S̨y̛śte̴m҉.͏ ̢If̀ yo͠u̧ c̶an’t ̵c͟o͟ntro̡l̴ th́e ̧sh̴adow,͟ th͡ęn y̧o͜u m̛ús͝t walk w͢ith̀ i̸t..̷ ͠A box ̴gi͏f̛ted͘ b͡ỳ T͜h͡e̛ L͞ucid ͞Dr͟ea̕m-̢-̢such a̛ ͞curiosit̀y͏ y͠ou h̶ad̶ fo͢r t̴h̕o̸s͢e̡ ̴ta̧in͜t̴e͞d͝ ́B͠e̕a̛st̨s ͡of̴ t҉he ̨S͞ys͞teḿ. ͠S͡o̧ ̷m͘an͞y ̶f̧r͝ìen̕d͠s͡ i͡n͝ dar͢k̸ plące̴ś-҉-t͝h̨ou̷g̵h ̴o͝ne l̡o͘st ͞b̷y ͟y҉o̡ur͡ ow͝n ҉haņd.”

It knew. It knew more than it should. She could count the number of people who knew precisely the origins of the Puzzle Box on one hand, and gnomes only had four fingers. None of them would have told, and yet it knew.

Gifted.

It knew.

This was not blackmail, not direct at least, but M's resigned interest only grew. She knew her answer already – mysterious transportations do not end, she'd found, until you do whatever they want – and now simply wished to get to the point of the matter. The jab at her greatest regret only solidified that grim resolve.

“Co҉u̢ļd̡n͢'̡t̸ ̸b͏are̛ the b͞u̡rde̶n͝?͟ No͠–ho͟w c͝oul͘d ̢you͜?̶ ͜P͏oor ̷litt͢lè ̢t̕h̡in͜g,̵ ̀sl̢a̛i̴n ҉b̨y yo̴u̢r o̡w̢n ḩa̶nd҉. H̴òw p̶a͟the͞tíc."́

The figure clapped at her, and its taunting was echoed in the voices around. It did not bother her. The names they called her she'd often called herself. There was little they could say she did not already know. She died so she would not become a burden on another's conscience; that was a surety no words from shadows could erase. M listened, impassive, and waited.

“Bu̸t se͘c̴ond ̛chąn͞c̕es͘ ̶co̸me o͠fte͞n.͟ Y͞o͘u ̧ro͡s̨e,̕ and ̧l͢e͏a͝rne̴d̛ ͝f̛r̡om͜ m͢i̴śta̷kes҉. ̢Y̢ou͜ fo̕r̕ced͏ th̢e ́w҉hispe͞rs͝ o͘ut͞,̛ ̀fo͘ưnd lov̧e̴-́-͝c͝h̡il͝dren. ̨S͝u̶ch̶ ͠a shame͠ yòư ͡al̕l͏ ̕d̡ie ̨s̸oo̢ņ.”

This, M thought, was finally nearing the point. Whatever the figure knew about this death would be, in part, revealed, and then instructions would be given. Approaching demise was not a new, or a particularly startling, concept. She'd been sure the invasion would do it, and would do it still. The fact that Azeroth had survived this long with the invasion ongoing, that was the only thing she counted as surprising.

“Y͘óu ͜di͘d҉n͜'҉t pl҉an ͜t̛o̶ ͘ig̡nor̸e ̧i͢t̶,́ di̴d y̨ou?̛ ̢The ́'͘d҉em͞ons͝'̸?̨ ̵De͠s͟p͜i̛te̷ thǫs̢e wh͘o̴ f͏ight no̸w̵–̵th͏i̛s͏ ͠wo͡r̷l͢d'̷s͜ p̕ąth o̴nl͞y̷ ͏leads̶ to̷ des͏tru̸ct͡ion.͞ M̕or̵e ͠i͡s̕ ręqu̷ired̵, ͝an͟d we ̢w͢iļl provi̧de ̛th̛e ͝m͏ea͜n͞s.̡ ͟T͞h̛in̛g̵s ͝h̵ave̛ o̶nly ͏j̶u͡s҉t ̢s̵ta͟rte̶d́ g̡e̸tt̢i̵n͘g go̕od͢ f̨ór̕ y̶o̷u–yoù'̷re͜ ͠not ҉g̨o͜i͜n̴g to̡ ̕lo̶se it̛ n̵ow͝, ̀a̕r̵e you̕?̵ No͠-̧-y͜o̷u ̢w̛o̷n’t.͝ I ̸w̛él̶comę ́y͜ou͟ t̛o T̢h͝e ͡S͡a͝c͞r̕il̕eg̵e. ̡T͢h̵e ͟M̴án͢i̸c͝ ̸sh͟al͏l̛ g͡u̢i̡de y̶ou͘ ̛s҉af̀el͘y in̷to th͘e ͟d̡ark. ͘A͡wa͜įt i͝t̛s̸ ̸c͞a͘ll͢.̡"͟

There it was, the long awaited job offer. M was unsure she liked the name of her guide, nor did she believe she required guidance in darkness, but it was acceptable. If this was the Old Ones starting Their own war against the Legion, she found even then she did not truly care. Doors, once opened, never close.

As the dark figure's laughter rose to become almost ear shattering, she was suddenly in the library again, book still in hand. Existence was dull, detached, and back to normal.

The Sacrilege. How grimdark.

She turned the page in her book. The Manic would come when it came; her role now, as she saw it, was to wait and watch for a sign.

The first task was assigned to the group yesterday, the post can be found here.