The Cog - Darkest Timeline's page

Actually, I spotted Dan his first round a$$beating in order to activate magic item and not full attack him on round one.

*shrug* Let it loose, hoss. Don't hold back on my account. Tough luck for me for being so close when you decided to unload. Also, if I go down right away, saves me from having to actually stat up a 13/5 PC for two rounds of combat.

"Borodin, did you not hear what I just said. This is not your fight. You will depart with the pathfinders. If you refuse to attend them, then all I have done, all we have worked for, will be for naught. I thought you more disciplined than to let battle-lust cloud your mind. Yours is the greater quest, for our time here is done. This entire time is done. You go to aid in the creation of a better future. Now, LEAVE! Do NOT disobey me aGAIN!"

The Cog then turns to the Dragon Lord. "Nikolai, your faithless and hateful soul is not capable of grasping what is happening here. All we have done has led to this moment, it is the only outcome. What was built was a lie; a parasitic vine strangling the great tree of time, a pebble in the perfect clockwork meta-machine built by the Master to keep the Great Cogs turning and ticking. It must be destroyed, and to do so is the apotheosis of all our existences. It is exACTly what Verik and I have fought for, not this barbarous mockery you insist on parading before us as "the lands" or "civilization". What you rule over is a burned-out husk, a poor facsimile, the ruined memory of an empty promise."

Everything the Cog says is stated as an utter fact, and spoken with the sureness of the truly faithful. "The lands will not go to Choral, because the lands will not exist. Choral will not exist. And as for being damned, well..." he looks around the room, his gazing sweeping over Jemini and Verik and stopping on the Dragon Lord himself, "...that happened a long time ago. For what were these last decades, Nikolai, if not Hell?"

Whoops. Forgot to do this: Initiative - 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

I'm NOT dead! Didn't expect that. Crap. Now I have to actually finish statting out 13/5 Taisper. >_< That'll teach me to procrastinate.

"Verik. Brother. I can see the Vault from where I stand astride the planes. Here and yet everywhere at once. It is beyond everything we ever hoped. For the Master's glory, we fight. With love, and with honor, we fight." Taisper is speaking somehow in both Celestial and Common at the same time.

With that, he brandishes his morningstar and shield, joining Borodin interposing himself between the Dragon Lord and his men, and the Travelers. "Borodin." He says, not caring who else hears him speak. "You must go. Remember all I told you. This is not your fight. Leave with the Pathfinders. It is the Master's will, and therefore mine." The tone of Taisper's voice leaves no room for argument, especially bolstered as it is by what sounds like an endless choir of celestial servants. Truly he has become a vessel of the Vault and the Lawgiver, an ultimate fulfillment of the only thing he ever wanted in life, made bittersweet by its arrival at his -- and this branch of existence's -- merciful end.

I'm...not dead? 0_0

The Cog's senses of touch and sound and smell, heightened by years of blindness, detect the increase in The Dragon Lord's pulse, hear his feet slide into a combat stance, hear the wet ripping of flesh as it is torn from Borodin's body, and then what he has most eagerly been awaiting; the distinct whistling of steel through the air. Ah. It is time. I am blessed. Thank you, Master.

With a speed scarcely to be believed given his broken appearance, The Cog leaps in the air towards Nikolai and Borodin. His aim is not quite perfect, but it is good enough -- the blade lands with an enormous thud deep in the Abadarian's infection-ridden body, cleaving him from shoulder to hip before Nikolai pulls it out with disgust and drops the wounded but still-living Borodin in a heap on the ground.

Those with the courage to look see that as his last breath leaves his body, the Cog is smiling hideously, his face a terrible parody of pious rest.

It's to be expected. I'm trying to give all the players the opportunity to run free and wild. Once it's all said and done, or we reach a certain point, I will step in. For now, I'm happy to give a long leash to all involved.

I'm outta ammo for the Darkest Timeline, honestly. I thought I'd get us there and Abadar (or "Abadar") would take care of the rest. I don't think the Cog would see much point in arguing with Nikolai, or grandstanding or anything else. It's a done deal as far as he's concerned, and nothing anyone says will change anything.

His face still, The Cog listens intently to the exchange between Nikolai and Elsir. It wouldn't be long, now...

The Cog has not stopped smiling the same irritating, utterly daft and beatific smile since they encountered the guards. In response to the guard's demands, he speaks, and his voice is clarion and calm; "I kneel to no one, especially not traitors with blood-soaked skin like your so-called dragon lord. Besides! We've no time to stand on ceremony; I have brought guests! Honored guests from far, far a-when, who needs must take counsel with the Stag Lord." Inclining his head slightly towards the two pathfinders and Borodin, the Cog says "Gentlemen I give you Nikolai Rogarvia, whose treason and faithlessness brought ruin to this land. Remember him well when next you meet him, you three. Remember him well." The Cog then turns his voice back on Nikolai. "So mighty you claim yourself to be, yet for all these years I've eluded you, harried your supply trains, destroyed guards and their barracks, and kept morale low for your soldiers and kept travel unsafe. And it will continue, Stag Lord, for as I destroyed you once, so I will destroy you again, and again, and again, as many times as necessary."

The Cog shakes his head in casual disdain. "LEADER?! Hahahahaa! You will never catch our leader, fool. But no matter. After I speak with your Lord, no more of your tomorrows will mean anything anyway." He smiles beatifically.

"..."
"..."
"...no? I confess I am surprised, but to leave the sword where it is is perhaps the most sensible attitude to have. come, we'll continue."

The Cog and Borordin continue to guide you all through the swamp until you reach its edge and enter a somewhat marshy field. The sky is mostly blue, you are almost surprised to see, with high and wispy clouds dulling the sun's force somewhat, and a few grayish clouds scudding along closer to the ground. There is something ominous in their appearance, though it's tough to tell exactly what. A well-fortified city is in the near distance. You appear to be headed right for it.

As you get closer to the city, it's clear the guards have spotted you. "Be strong, pathfinders, and don't y'all worry, for we are going to visit an old friend of mine! He is someone with whom you will be happy to converse! And then, after that, there will be a short journey for you, and much to consider before you take your next step. Before we go, I ask only one thing. Here, stop for a moment. Look at me."

The Cog brings the party to a stop and steps back from the broad-shouldered Borodin. He holds his arms out, and then opens his tunic a bit to show his scarred and still-bloody chest. Reaching up, he pulls the bandages from his eyes. Before the three hale warriors and scholars stands what is clearly the shattered shell of a man; his hair is thin and falling out, his forehead and face grimy and creased and scarred. His eyes have both been -- it looks like -- gouged out, probably by something blunt, and the wounds are infected and running with viscous yellow pus. Veiny red lines run out from each socket. His neck has cuts all over it, his chest is still lined with a thousand cuts from whatever self-flagellation he earlier underwent. His clothes are filthy and worn and threadbare, with mud and blood and other grime patching their hand-hewn roughness. He is a testament to a ruined life, to madness and defeat and despair. He is the cog.

"Remember me when you meet me, pathfinders, Borodin; remember me when you meet me." With that, the cog replaces his bandages and pulls his shirt tight once again, and drapes himself in his cloak.

The guards are almost upon you.

After walking the group through the swamp for a bit, The Cog stops at the edge of a small lake, indistinguishable to Elsir and Willas from any other of the seemingly infinite lily-choked bodies of water in this drenched and gods-forsaken place. He signals Borodin to stop.

"You asked about the sword, Pathfinders; it is here. I took it from my cousin's place of safe-keeping as the building burned to the ground in the fires that took our city, as one world gave way to another. Instead of risking that blade falling into the wrong hands, I brought it back here, where its original owner lay dead at the hands of my cousin and I, and plunged into the same watery grave. If you want it, you are welcome to seek it, but I will warn you; swords and corpses aren't all that lurk in these waters." He smiles mirthlessly. He knows Borodin is not afraid of the Things in the water, and suspects the Pathfinders won't be frightened off, either, but he is interested to see which wins out in Elsir's heart; the desire for knowledge, or the desire to keep going to get to their still-unknown destination.

What, don't you trust me? ;-)

"I did. Borodin, these are Elsir and Willas, Pathfinders from long, long away. You will go with them. When next you see me, you will not know me. Pathfinders, this is Borodin. He is sometimes mirthful, but is a good warrior all the same. I trust him, which says more than any of you here know. Now. The three of you will wait outside. Borodin, leave me your pack." As the three men exit, The Cog places his hand gently on Borodin's shoulder, knowing that to startle a warrior such as him could be bad for one's health, even here in his sanctum.

With Elsir, Willas, and Borodin waiting outside, The Cog rings for another young assistant. After they have assisted him in a certain task, he prays. Then, steeling himself, he walks out to meet the Pathfinders and his soldier. The young assistant hands Borodin his pack.

"Gentlemen. Let us go for a stroll. It is time I spoke with an old friend."

"Enough." The Cog wearily holds up his hand, signalling for Elsir to stop. He places his hand back in his lap and hangs his head. I see why you have been sent here, Elsir and Willas of the past. I have been given one more chance. One final grasp at forgiveness, that I may again hope to be placed in the Vault, and exist in the golden light of the Master for all eternity. The ultimate sacrifice. I understand. It is good.

"I have told you all that is important. I have given you sufficient information to stop this calamity. These other things you ask...I am well-acquainted with the Pathfinders' thirst for knowledge, but in this case that thirst must go unslaked, for the good of us all. Please, step outside and wait. I will be out after I speak with some of my soldiers." The cog rings a small bell, and a child of no more than 12 steps in from a side room.

"Yes, Cog?" the boy asks

"Go to Borodin's hut. Tell him to pack. Tell him to come to me."

"Right away, sir."

I will send them back, the three of them. But I cannot trust this Elsir to do what needs doing. I can only trust myself. Borodin I can at least trust to deliver a message. He will not fail me.

"I can." The quiet reply comes so swiftly it was almost as if The Cog had been waiting for the question, or one much like it. "There are three things: the first is the death of Berrin while fighting Nyrissa in 4725. The second, and possibly most obvious, is when our erstwhile Stag Lord, Nikolai, went against all he was supposed to have become and threw his lot in with Choral the Conqueror. The third, and perhaps most immediately relevant to you, master Elsir...is your death in 4713 while fighting the lich, Vordekai."

this is also my chance, this is also when i can tell him to turn me aside from my foolish path, from my Mistake. but can i trust him i most likely cannot. i should send someone else back with him. i should ensure my own future. oh ilyana i am so sorry i knew i was wrong. i love you. but i was so wrong. by the master's perfect Hand I must be steered from my greatest happiness.

the Cog makes a small, strangled cough, but his face is dry.

The Cog holds up his hand. "Taisper Stozs is dead." he says in a flat hiss. "He died with his family, as he should have. I am but a humble cog, spinning out the last of my days in service of the Master's divine plan from whose glorious and golden path I never should have deviated." He feels his way over to a chair, groping for its back with his right hand, though not clumsily. It is clear he knows this room well. Sitting, he lets out a slow sigh of relief. "I believe I understand you, and if I do, then this is a blessed turn of events. Truly the Master himself must have sent you to me, for only He would recognize the severe imperfections in this timeline, and the need for it to be destroyed such that others which more perfectly reflect his glory may flourish." A pause, then; "Tell me of this Aevum Crux, it sounds like the typical sort of baroque arcanist's machinations that might cause this sort of trouble..."

There is a pause, then the glow surrounding The Cog fades back to a dull halation. "I do not know anything about chronomancy, but I know you are not lying." he says. "You say you came by accident, but now that you are here, will you aid in our struggle? Have you brought knowledge of the past here into the future so we may best the evil that devours our kingdom?"

"i can hear your heart" the Cog whispers, though it is not clear to whom this cryptic statement is being addressed.

He is stripped to the waist and covered in hundreds of tiny cuts, and blood is trickling freely down his chest and arms. Without moving, he addresses Maegar and Alaina. "we are alone here. in this place we are the lone perfection of His great clockwork that is society. by the Grace of the Master do we continue His good work. if a clock is fourteen minutes off, you correct it. thus you will be corrected. you will each do fourteen days in the mire pits farming stirge venom, for as those days will stretch out before you, so have these minutes stretched for me. go.

as the two young freedom fighters file glumly out, The Cog speaks to Elsir and Willas; "i can hear your heart." he says again, and he becomes sheathed in a golden glow that is almost painful to gaze upon, so strong is his faith as he calls upon the powers Abadar has granted him, powers that let him know men's minds and motivations better than they may know themselves. "tell me who you are, and why you are here, and do not lie to me because i will know."

There is a place in the old swamp. In that place is a terrible building, the entrance to which can only be gained by navigating a deranged series of traps. Many who seek it die before finding it. It is a place of glory and light. It is entirely possible that it is also a place of hope. In the building is a room and in the room is a man. The man is a place in the old swamp and in his head is a terrible structure, the entrance to which can only be gained by navigating an insane series of traps, etc. Currently, the man is waiting for two of his soldiers. He is fighting a war, is he not? He remembers something about a war.

0201
They are one minute late. I will give them precisely fourteen more minutes before I send Extractors. I have warned them and I have Warned them and they are aware of the need for punctuality we cannot waste one second any more than we can waste one life the timetable is fixed and we all must pay for the sins of the one it is for my sins we have come to this my Clockwork Kingdom my House of Gears and Traps my Tiny Sanctuary hahahahahaa that was a waste I have wasted forty-two seconds on this line of thought I will give them precisely thirteen minutes and eighteen -- SEVENTEEN -- seconds now before I send Extractors. The Extractors will be awake and they will be ready estimated time of arrival is FIFTEEN minutes putting total MINIMUM waste at thirty minutes potential MAXIMUM waste at sixty minutes depending on what they encounter perhaps I should go I could aid and I should know, I cannot trust any of them, I cannot have others be my eyes I must be my own eyes though they lead me to darkness hahahahahahaaa that was another waste I have wasted
0202
twenty-one more seconds on this line of thought I will be punished I will do Exercises over the Broken Gears to know Penance and to know Pain every single second is pain in ev-.
0203-0210
(pushups)
0211
The man is somewhat old. Tattered and infected bandages cover his eyes and wrap around his head, like a blindfold. He has many small cuts and scars most of the time. He was likely handsome, once. There is a place in the city now where the House was the HOUSE it was WAS and now NINE buildings north-northeast from there is a building with 12 of HIS secret troops they are all just men and the compound will be fast the nerves will go first and then they will rot alive they will know pain which is every second simultaneously the garrison by the lake must
0212
be terminated the timbers have been sawed slowly out and dry wood placed deep in its center by wildshapers and a wildcaster will use FIRE she will use FIRE and they will all BURN in the purifying light and heat and in the From somewhere in the near distance there is the sound of a large metal trap slamming shut on something and a hideous shriek of pain. The shriek drops off to pleas for help, then gasps as the poison does its quick work. The man who was once Taisper Stozs gives no indication he heard any of this. He is waiting for two of his soldiers.