It had become readily apparent that no mortal could outrun or ignore the threat that had grown on the fringes of the comparatively mundane plane in which they resided. This hard truth Sebastian had embraced at last, ceasing his endless wandering to converge with the defenders in Jasumin.
The Mystic's Autumn gaze beheld Autumnal vistas before it, intensifying the tapestries of color beneath a knit brow of concern. These plains, however, were unmarred by the ravaging assault from the Void. There was no lake present; only endless, rolling plains covered by perpetually-transitioning trees and desolate ruins. He had come to the lake well before the attack began, feeling the compelling pull of the energy. He only hoped this would not be a L'appel du Vide…Call of the Void, as it were. He had come to fight - not to die. Given his complicated history in dealing with Eldritch beings and the great mysteries as a whole, Sebastian was, perhaps, more confident than most in stemming the tide and preventing the world's consumption. He did have his reservations, however.
Given that he had been an unwilling conduit for terrible powers before, Sebastian wondered what may become of him if he were to succumb to the whispy and skittering things from Beyond. What would become of the Pantheon? They had already lost one to the madness. It was hard to fathom a brand of malevolence so…pure. These beings, unlike those he had once encountered, not only desired to consume all things, but to bend, break, and possess them first. Seasoning the meat, he thought morbidly.
Predictably, his thoughts were a scattered mess. Ponderings and predilections were muddled by matters of the heart. He thought of Bryony, and his daughter Hazel, whom he never had the opportunity to see grow to maturity - a combination of cruel fate and due in part to his own stupidity and stubbornness. He thought of the many interesting connections he had made in the previous months, the lives he had touched, and the ways they had touched his. He decided in that moment that none of this would ever fade from him if he didn't allow it. Come Hell or high water. Whether victory was achieved, or it was merely the fading fever dreams of a rambling madman whilste his form was being slowly dissolved in the belly of some celestial leviathan.
Consciousness gradually returning post-projection, Sebastian stirred, inhaling sharply.
He stood slowly in a far room at the back of Jasumin Lake's wheelhouse. Wiping away the frost that had accumulated in his dark hair and beard. The hood of his long, black coat was drawn, obscuring a look of grim determination as he made his way onto the lake paths, where engagements had already begun. Corrupted beings and shades of all manner rose from the once-beautiful water, now turned an indescribably sickly hue. Portals violently tore open in the air, and Stalkers and their ilk poured forth.
Beasts all over the shop, his thoughts spoke, vaguely in his father's voice.
Sebastian had gone by like a fly on the wall to most of the creatures at first, until he withdrew the strange ornate bell from an inner coat pocket.
It was crafted of gold and onyx, with blasphemous, though assuaging symbols etched in crystal upon the surface. Calmly "ringing" the clapperless chime, no sound emitted, but the creatures nearest to him screeched and writhed in agony, clearly affected by the forces woven into the object. One skittered towards him rapidly, trying to endure the pain long enough to strike. As it rose on forelimbs, the Mystic focused all of his anger and disgust into a tempestuous telekinetic blast, knocking the creature back. Raising the bell before him, he saw himself as a young lad in his mind's eye, practicing with a bow after chopping wood for the stove. Memories of split peas, roast poatoes, spices, and loving laughter fortified his spirit. Rippling, cymatic tones came from the bell. The form of a great ethereal bow manifested itself, using the bell as a catalyst, and his own energy as the source. Being drawn with both physical and metaphysical effort, an arrow took shape as well, nocking, shining brightly, then hurdling into the creature like lightning, striking it betwixt where its eyes should have been. It screamed, fell, and ceased to move.
Several more arrows sailed into its compatriots, and Sebastian approached the last, which had not fully perished. He put his boot forcefully upon its grotesque head, and let loose another arrow into its neck.
To his horror, these actions, though leisured and precise, left him reeling and panting for breath. Though implementation of these powers in such a way was innate to him, it was not something he regularly put into practice. He was no warrior.
Pure resolve would be what saw him through this uphill battle. Strange eyes that reflected the locale emitting an unsettling glow, Bash let his energy surge wildly as he put himself to use on the battlefield, finding and saving those he was able…
