WitL 2018 - Epilogue Part One

The Saturday of this past event, PCs discovered information regarding events that occurred after the death of the blood witch vampire Zaharima.

Everyone who was on WitL's final main mod, or otherwise has a close affinity with Alok Malagan will have this same vision.
You can choose how to experience it within reason, such as in sleeping or waking dreams, during meditation, while washing dishes, anything that lets your "thinking" brain wander. It is clear enough to share it in exact detail with others that may not have experienced it directly. If you were not at the event or on the mod, it is entirely reasonable to assume that someone has told it to you verbatim.

The vision opens up on a rundown kitchen. You can tell by the layout that the house must be rather sizable but looks like it hasn’t been in good repair for some time. A dark haired girl comes into view, waltzing around the space and singing quietly under her breath. Unable to help herself, she matches her voice to the whistle of the kettle and someone out of sight begins to scream. She smiles pleasantly in the direction of the noise and returns to preparing a single cup of tea. Every now and then she lifts her volume to match the emotion of her aria and the pained shrieking seems to harmonize with her. Placing the cup and saucer on a silver tray alongside a bowl of ...what you really hope is broth, she nudges the door to the hallway open with her foot. With one final, dramatic trill she finishes her song, grin splitting her face ear to ear at the sounds of agony that follow.

The vision follows along behind her as she skips lightly down the corridor. This must have been a grand place once, but now its a picture of crumbling decrepitude. She is halfway down the passage when an ear shattering cacophony cleaves the silence. Pain, rage, fear, and triumph screech in unison from a dozen inhuman throats, echoing throughout the mansion.

The tray drops from Anabelle’s fingers in slow motion. The focus of the vision shifts to the tray as it hits the floor, the delicate porcelain shattering in the foreground as Ana’s black high button boots rush away.

The vision shifts again, and now you’re inside a stone walled chamber. There is just enough time to register the change of location before the wooden door explodes inward with such force that you swear you can feel splinters brush past your ears. It’s so real you could almost choke on the dust. Anabelle rushes into the room, curls bobbing coquettishly in stark contrast to the alarm on her face. She takes no more than two steps before freezing in place, and the vision shifts away from her to your right.

A slight, pale young woman sits up, gently settling her back against the heavy wooden headboard. The meticulously maintained four poster bed and spotless, crisp, richly decorated sheets are a startling contrast to the filth you’ve seen so far. Esmeralda Malagan’s dark eyes snap open, and she coughs several times before she can find her voice. When she finally speaks, it is in a raspy, crackling tone.

“Did you feel it? When they destroyed her? Can you too feel her revenge?” A fit of violent coughing overtakes her, bloody sputum flying from her thin lips. It takes several moments for her to catch her breath again. “When she cast herself into the blood, she removed the worst of my father’s legacy. I can feel them again. All of them,” she pauses, eyes losing focus and roaming in their sockets. “They are awake, and I can feel them burning like so many stars in my head.” Anabelle makes as if to move towards her mistress, but a raised hand stills her. “Pack our things. It’s time to go home.”

The vision twists and spins until you stand as one among many. Over the shoulders of the vast numbers in front of you, you see Esmeralda standing tall and unaided. The familiar stonework of the once beautiful Alok Malagan towers above her. The war was not kind. Pieces of rubble fall even as you stand and wait, although for what you don’t know. Esmeralda turns towards the crowd, her face a mask, unreadable. Her voice is a caressing whisper that carries to every ear. “This is not our home.” Her father’s flair is evident in the fast, uncaring snap of her fingers. When the dust clears, there is nothing but a sunken pit and a tumble of stones. Alok Malagan is no more.

Another shift and you find yourself soaring above the ocean, rushing closer to a black miasma bobbing up and down on the waves. Once you pass within its borders, a wicked looking frigate comes into focus beneath you. The sheer size of it is staggering and everything about it fills you with a deep sense of dread. Passing over the decks, you are able to clearly identify all visible crew as vampires. You’re swept along by the wind, pushing you towards the ship’s wake as a single ray of sunlight breaks through the protective shield. The vessel lies low in the water, speaking volumes as to the number of passengers aboard.

As the vision begins to fade two things come into very sharp focus. The first is the clear sight of land on the horizon. The second is the name on the stern, picked out in crisp, gold letters.

Pes’Mer’ga.


Author’s Note: The events at the mansion took place in the hours after the PCs killed the blood witch vampire Zaharima in June of this year. By the end of July, Alok Malagan had fallen and the voyage had begun. The final part of the vision can be assumed to be roughly 10 days prior to the date of this posting (9/27/18).