From the portal, he was ejected into an appalling, sweltering hell. The sun glared down its ultraviolet punishment upon the magister’s flesh from above while stinging, salty air fettered his eyes and mouth from below.
His cloak, like an oven, seemed to concentrate and magnify the already oppressive heat and dampness, and didn’t do him any favors in keeping a low profile.
All around him, people dressed for the beach. Thin shirts or no shirts, short pants, bikinis, and other clothing designed to be flattering (or, as Magus was dismayed to realize, quite unflattering on certain people).
They gawked at him like he was some kind of drooling moron, standing there in his thick, heavy clothing. Admittedly, he felt a bit of the fool dressed as he was, and loathing every sticky, sweaty second of it.
Magus hefted the cloak over his head and let the heavy, scarlet cloth fumble to the ground, leaving him in only a sleeveless top, his pallid gray arms exposed to the glaring rays.
He stood on a gleaming concrete pathway which snaked between two lush, vibrant gardens, full of exotic and brightly-colored tropical flora. Past this, a bustling boardwalk abuzz with people stretched out up and down the beach at its back, and the vast, shimmering sea beyond.
The boardwalk itself was full of buildings crammed into the beautiful beachfront, turning an idyllic scene into a chaotic mess. Oddly shaped and all crowding onto one another, they resembled teeth in a mouth too small to accommodate them all.
The Fiendlord indulged in a haughty, dissatisfied scoff. He’d arguably ruined a landscape of his own by putting a huge, imposing castle on it, but at least his aesthetic was uniform. Bloody commoners and their incessant desire to make their mark; as if anyone would remember them – or care – twenty years after they’d gone.
As if a fucking coat of paint was going to make anyone take notice of them.
Magus observed a number of heavily-armored soldiers – robots, maybe – patrolling along the boardwalk. They wore polished, white composite armor and carried matching rifles. He then spotted actual, metal robots marching along, armed with similar weaponry, and concluded that the white-armored ones must have been flesh and blood beneath their clothing.
So, this was a martial town. Magus would do well to keep his head down and out of sight. That was a problem; as a tall, pale, purple-haired man with scarlet eyes, he was probably not going to do a good job of remaining inconspicuous for long.
This place wasn’t like Camelot, he reasoned. Too advanced. If his notoriety had spread through that realm, it was unlikely that it had spread this far. The people were simply too different. Even if he did stand out, it wouldn’t matter so long as he got what he needed and was gone before he ruffled anyone’s feathers.
The only person he wanted to aggravate was beyond the Void, after all.
That goal, finally tantalizingly in reach. Somewhere out there, accessed from somewhere in this tropical paradise, was the path he’d been looking for, the path he’d been walking since he arrived in the Omniverse.
Magus walked the path through the garden to the boardwalk, and turned toward the small cityscape he could see rising to the west. He followed a road which swept up in a curve, running parallel with the beach which ran in an identical curl, toward a great port, studded with an array of mismatched ships – an enormous, modern cargo ship sat in harbor alongside old sailing ships with cannons lining the sides.
Small airborne transports hummed along overhead, flying toward the core of the city, which, like the docks, was itself was a juxtaposition of old and new. Ornate, stone buildings and brick houses shared space with dazzling metal towers. Stone walls and cobblestone paths snaked through neighborhoods while neon lights and electronic video billboards splashed across projectors suspended above the earth along designated air travel corridors.
Magus smudged a gloved hand along his brow, wiping the sweat from his eyes. So hot. He screwed his face into a sour expression and plodded on toward the city. He searched for a tavern of some sort to get out of this miserable heat. If they’d mastered air travel here, they’d better have figured out air conditioning.
It was just the sort of place he was looking for. A dowdy, depressing dive of a place, languishing beneath other, more lavish edifices.
The bar was an old, squat building hewn from bricks and wood. It was crooked and disproportioned, with a dinged-up, metal chimney crooked out to one side. A hilariously out-of-place neon sign hung off the old Victorian rat hole, dim and flickering. It declared that the fine establishment before him was none other than The Lucky Old Lady.
Magus almost smirked. Seemed like luck would have kept the lady out of a place like this. He pushed the door open and stepped in. Though he had given up on it when he found the place, he was surprised when he was hit by a refreshing blast of frigid, dry air. Luckier than I thought…
Despite the welcome, air-conditioned surprise, the rest of the bar was exactly as Magus had envisioned: a crowded, smoky, dimly-lit bar, covered in filth and littered with human-shaped garbage all around. Some talked, some were passed out, and some stared blankly as they nursed their drinks. None seemed happy or healthy. Seemed like whatever ruling class presided here, they didn’t care much for poor people.
Magus made his way to the bar, noting that the interior of the Lucky Old Lady was needlessly tiered and separated by stairs up and down all over, dividing what could have been one room into a half-dozen, awkwardly height-separated spaces, which were probably perfect for a drunk to stumble on and lose his teeth. Maybe the bartender was also a dentist.
The wizard set his gloved hands on the bar top and leaned toward the mustachioed man on the other side. Almost stereotypically, he was cleaning a glass with a rag when he looked up at the imposing Demon King.
“You’re not one of my regulars. What can I getcha?” the man asked, finishing with his glass before setting it and the rag down. He was fairly well-dressed, especially compared to the slog that passed for patrons here. He wore a tan vest over a shirt in a different shade of the same hue, with little black bands around his upper arms. His brown pants hugged his legs, tailored well, and he wore his close-cropped hair well.
“Information, ideally,” Magus responded.
“Information?” the barkeep parroted and arched an eyebrow. “Well, just like the rest of the piss and poison, it ain’t free, friend. What are you looking for?”
“Where am I?”
The barkeep suppressed a chuckle. “Definitely not one of my regulars. Well, friend, that one is free. Welcome to the Vasty Deep. The begrudging jewel of the Empire.”
“Begrudging?”
“The Empire took this place. We didn’t have no say in it. Lotta folks lived better – freer – before the men in white armor showed up. Nothin’ doin’ now though, you won’t hear anything more on it from me. I’ve got a business to run and I won’t be doin’ much from inside a prison cell.”
“Not too different from where I’ve just been, then. Seems like much of the Omniverse are little more than pawns in Prime’s games.”
“Yeah, Primes. No quarrel with those folks, but it’s a bit of a raw deal for the rest of us, isn’t it? Unlimited potential for some, hard limits for the rest. Omni’s a right cock, you know that?”
“I think I do,” Magus replied. “Actually, that’s very much why I’m here.”
The bartender straightened up and looked Magus in his otherworldly eyes.
“I’m looking for a way to get to him. A... gate. A gate to the Void,” Magus leaned in toward the barkeep. “I’ve got very good information that suggests I should look for it here.”
“Aye, while I don’t doubt the validity of your information one bit, no sir, I dare say that this ain’t a place to go looking for any such things. This town hasn’t been much more than a tourist trap since the Empire took over in the days long before the Scramble.”
“No it’s here!” Magus hissed, his hand suddenly clamped down on the front of the barkeep’s shirt, pulling him in toward the wizard. A few of the more sober patrons were watching closely now, some of them in the limbo between sitting down minding their own business and standing up to help. “It’s in the Vasty Deep. It has to be in the Vasty Deep.”
“O-Okay. Well, maybe Vi could help? She kind of… calls a lot of the shots. She’s seen some serious combat. An adventurin’ type. She’d know about this ‘gate to the Void’, sure as anyone. Her or…”
“Or who, moustache?” Magus snarled, his eyes dazzling bright in the dim light. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
“…There’s a place I never been. A place I… don’t even know is real but I never want to go. Place for… intellectuals. People who push the limits of right and wrong. Experimenters. They’re animals with smarts, sir. They live in a place called Rapture.”
“Where?” Magus grip tightened on the barkeep’s shirt.
“Beneath the ocean.”
At this, Magus let go of the bartender and allowed him to regain some composure. This settled down the rabble, who seemed suddenly more willing to climb back into their cups. “What?”
“Rapture’s supposed to be at the bottom of the sea. Don’t know where you’d find it but Vi would. Dunno what this ‘Void’ you’re looking for is, but I bet that’s the place to look. Nothin’ told about that place but gods-forsaken things, sir.”
Gods-forsaken things and unspeakable experiments. That did seem like a good place to start.
His cloak, like an oven, seemed to concentrate and magnify the already oppressive heat and dampness, and didn’t do him any favors in keeping a low profile.
All around him, people dressed for the beach. Thin shirts or no shirts, short pants, bikinis, and other clothing designed to be flattering (or, as Magus was dismayed to realize, quite unflattering on certain people).
They gawked at him like he was some kind of drooling moron, standing there in his thick, heavy clothing. Admittedly, he felt a bit of the fool dressed as he was, and loathing every sticky, sweaty second of it.
Magus hefted the cloak over his head and let the heavy, scarlet cloth fumble to the ground, leaving him in only a sleeveless top, his pallid gray arms exposed to the glaring rays.
He stood on a gleaming concrete pathway which snaked between two lush, vibrant gardens, full of exotic and brightly-colored tropical flora. Past this, a bustling boardwalk abuzz with people stretched out up and down the beach at its back, and the vast, shimmering sea beyond.
The boardwalk itself was full of buildings crammed into the beautiful beachfront, turning an idyllic scene into a chaotic mess. Oddly shaped and all crowding onto one another, they resembled teeth in a mouth too small to accommodate them all.
The Fiendlord indulged in a haughty, dissatisfied scoff. He’d arguably ruined a landscape of his own by putting a huge, imposing castle on it, but at least his aesthetic was uniform. Bloody commoners and their incessant desire to make their mark; as if anyone would remember them – or care – twenty years after they’d gone.
As if a fucking coat of paint was going to make anyone take notice of them.
Magus observed a number of heavily-armored soldiers – robots, maybe – patrolling along the boardwalk. They wore polished, white composite armor and carried matching rifles. He then spotted actual, metal robots marching along, armed with similar weaponry, and concluded that the white-armored ones must have been flesh and blood beneath their clothing.
So, this was a martial town. Magus would do well to keep his head down and out of sight. That was a problem; as a tall, pale, purple-haired man with scarlet eyes, he was probably not going to do a good job of remaining inconspicuous for long.
This place wasn’t like Camelot, he reasoned. Too advanced. If his notoriety had spread through that realm, it was unlikely that it had spread this far. The people were simply too different. Even if he did stand out, it wouldn’t matter so long as he got what he needed and was gone before he ruffled anyone’s feathers.
The only person he wanted to aggravate was beyond the Void, after all.
That goal, finally tantalizingly in reach. Somewhere out there, accessed from somewhere in this tropical paradise, was the path he’d been looking for, the path he’d been walking since he arrived in the Omniverse.
Magus walked the path through the garden to the boardwalk, and turned toward the small cityscape he could see rising to the west. He followed a road which swept up in a curve, running parallel with the beach which ran in an identical curl, toward a great port, studded with an array of mismatched ships – an enormous, modern cargo ship sat in harbor alongside old sailing ships with cannons lining the sides.
Small airborne transports hummed along overhead, flying toward the core of the city, which, like the docks, was itself was a juxtaposition of old and new. Ornate, stone buildings and brick houses shared space with dazzling metal towers. Stone walls and cobblestone paths snaked through neighborhoods while neon lights and electronic video billboards splashed across projectors suspended above the earth along designated air travel corridors.
Magus smudged a gloved hand along his brow, wiping the sweat from his eyes. So hot. He screwed his face into a sour expression and plodded on toward the city. He searched for a tavern of some sort to get out of this miserable heat. If they’d mastered air travel here, they’d better have figured out air conditioning.
* * * *
It was just the sort of place he was looking for. A dowdy, depressing dive of a place, languishing beneath other, more lavish edifices.
The bar was an old, squat building hewn from bricks and wood. It was crooked and disproportioned, with a dinged-up, metal chimney crooked out to one side. A hilariously out-of-place neon sign hung off the old Victorian rat hole, dim and flickering. It declared that the fine establishment before him was none other than The Lucky Old Lady.
Magus almost smirked. Seemed like luck would have kept the lady out of a place like this. He pushed the door open and stepped in. Though he had given up on it when he found the place, he was surprised when he was hit by a refreshing blast of frigid, dry air. Luckier than I thought…
Despite the welcome, air-conditioned surprise, the rest of the bar was exactly as Magus had envisioned: a crowded, smoky, dimly-lit bar, covered in filth and littered with human-shaped garbage all around. Some talked, some were passed out, and some stared blankly as they nursed their drinks. None seemed happy or healthy. Seemed like whatever ruling class presided here, they didn’t care much for poor people.
Magus made his way to the bar, noting that the interior of the Lucky Old Lady was needlessly tiered and separated by stairs up and down all over, dividing what could have been one room into a half-dozen, awkwardly height-separated spaces, which were probably perfect for a drunk to stumble on and lose his teeth. Maybe the bartender was also a dentist.
The wizard set his gloved hands on the bar top and leaned toward the mustachioed man on the other side. Almost stereotypically, he was cleaning a glass with a rag when he looked up at the imposing Demon King.
“You’re not one of my regulars. What can I getcha?” the man asked, finishing with his glass before setting it and the rag down. He was fairly well-dressed, especially compared to the slog that passed for patrons here. He wore a tan vest over a shirt in a different shade of the same hue, with little black bands around his upper arms. His brown pants hugged his legs, tailored well, and he wore his close-cropped hair well.
“Information, ideally,” Magus responded.
“Information?” the barkeep parroted and arched an eyebrow. “Well, just like the rest of the piss and poison, it ain’t free, friend. What are you looking for?”
“Where am I?”
The barkeep suppressed a chuckle. “Definitely not one of my regulars. Well, friend, that one is free. Welcome to the Vasty Deep. The begrudging jewel of the Empire.”
“Begrudging?”
“The Empire took this place. We didn’t have no say in it. Lotta folks lived better – freer – before the men in white armor showed up. Nothin’ doin’ now though, you won’t hear anything more on it from me. I’ve got a business to run and I won’t be doin’ much from inside a prison cell.”
“Not too different from where I’ve just been, then. Seems like much of the Omniverse are little more than pawns in Prime’s games.”
“Yeah, Primes. No quarrel with those folks, but it’s a bit of a raw deal for the rest of us, isn’t it? Unlimited potential for some, hard limits for the rest. Omni’s a right cock, you know that?”
“I think I do,” Magus replied. “Actually, that’s very much why I’m here.”
The bartender straightened up and looked Magus in his otherworldly eyes.
“I’m looking for a way to get to him. A... gate. A gate to the Void,” Magus leaned in toward the barkeep. “I’ve got very good information that suggests I should look for it here.”
“Aye, while I don’t doubt the validity of your information one bit, no sir, I dare say that this ain’t a place to go looking for any such things. This town hasn’t been much more than a tourist trap since the Empire took over in the days long before the Scramble.”
“No it’s here!” Magus hissed, his hand suddenly clamped down on the front of the barkeep’s shirt, pulling him in toward the wizard. A few of the more sober patrons were watching closely now, some of them in the limbo between sitting down minding their own business and standing up to help. “It’s in the Vasty Deep. It has to be in the Vasty Deep.”
“O-Okay. Well, maybe Vi could help? She kind of… calls a lot of the shots. She’s seen some serious combat. An adventurin’ type. She’d know about this ‘gate to the Void’, sure as anyone. Her or…”
“Or who, moustache?” Magus snarled, his eyes dazzling bright in the dim light. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
“…There’s a place I never been. A place I… don’t even know is real but I never want to go. Place for… intellectuals. People who push the limits of right and wrong. Experimenters. They’re animals with smarts, sir. They live in a place called Rapture.”
“Where?” Magus grip tightened on the barkeep’s shirt.
“Beneath the ocean.”
At this, Magus let go of the bartender and allowed him to regain some composure. This settled down the rabble, who seemed suddenly more willing to climb back into their cups. “What?”
“Rapture’s supposed to be at the bottom of the sea. Don’t know where you’d find it but Vi would. Dunno what this ‘Void’ you’re looking for is, but I bet that’s the place to look. Nothin’ told about that place but gods-forsaken things, sir.”
Gods-forsaken things and unspeakable experiments. That did seem like a good place to start.
![[Image: Magus.jpg]](http://rpnexus.com/sig/miscsig/Magus.jpg)