14882/Ex Umbra: Weightless

Ex Umbra: Weightless
Date of Scene:	09 May 2023
Location:	Belize
Synopsis:	Blackagar's searches don't turn out as expected.
Cast of Characters:	Blackagar Boltagon, Jane Foster

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Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The ruins showed evidence of crumbling ruin and overgrowth of vines and nature. Research, pressure of influence, and overall history of knowledge had led him to this location. The possibility of an entrance to the underworld had been rumored to long exist in the realms of the Mayans; although the translations had left some interpretation. The Underworld, or the World Within. Either he was on the path to a gateway to Hel or the discovery of a passage to the Interior World. Only one was Blackagar interested in at the moment.

It was mid-day when he had found the temple, long destroyed and only remnants of the foundation remaining where he had pressed in, immediately greeted by a blade slicing at him from a hidden trap that had cut through his garments. That it was sharp enough to pierce his skin was a warning. One that brought a shocked look. Examination of the trap had led to a conclusion that he simply was not prepared for, nor was expecting. That conclusion was reaffirmed within the next few minutes in the temple.

Kree writings. Kree blades.

This supposed gateway to Hel was at the least an abandoned laboratory.

Jane Foster has posed:
Xibalba is, by no means, a pleasant place to reach. What Mayan stories enshrined in stone or passed down in bastardized versions to Spanish priests and explorers tell, the torturous route ends in trials to reach the realm of the death gods and their sacred charges. Mosquitoes and vicious rainforest insects flying around in clouds are the very least of it, and the cunning designs buried in the heavy overgrowth that would dull a machete in minutes concealing their prizes. Aged bones haven't been preserved in the intervening centuries, at least not visible, though they certainly lie somewhere nearby. Whole walls of the ruined temple structure are built on femurs, vertebrae, radii, and ulnas. No skulls, though, or rib bones, these being conspicuously absent from the gap punched in a smooth tiled facade that once probably held an impressive glazed finish. Honouring the gods of death?

Well, yes, if one considers the overly tall blue people wearing skins and immensely interesting feathered headdresses or metal bands around their wrists and winged feet to be 'gods.' Other features betray them to a knowing eye as something quite different, and their malicious handiwork woven throughout the squared arches that lie atop a structure of passages worming into the karst landscape of the Yucatan. Holes bored smooth and wide by water or alien hands, does it matter? Where they lead is more concerning, sloping downward.

But that was ever and always a given.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The indications of Kree's handiwork were so evident to a trained eye, so much looking similar to elements of Attilan in areas that it was an astounding familiarity that certainly raised his concern. Despite that, he had entered the temple further, passing under the stoned archway set in the jungle to descend quickly into the Earth itself, the smell of must and dampness of underground permeating. As he moved, the searching began in earnest. Examinations of symbols that could barely be made out in the weathered stone, seeking any clue or hint to the evidence of this place being what he was searching for. The slope downward was followed, pursued with a step lacking the usually measured gait of caution. Moving deeper into the temple, navigating the twisting passages with ease, his eyes scanned the walls and ceilings, searching for any sign of a gateway to the afterlife realm of Hel. He could feel the weight of Jane's absence pressing down on him, driving him forward with a fierce determination.

Jane Foster has posed:
The Mayan homelands lie on rock permeated by countless small holes, barely large enough to see but sufficient for water to trickle through. Over time the great paths hewn out have widened to be large enough to accommodate a jaguar, maybe even a man. The initially uniform passages shaped by humanoid hands leave their grotesque images, faces staring with leering eyes where the ransacked violence of one brave Spaniard or a host of Mayan enemies -- client tribes freed the yoke, survivors of their victims perhaps -- laid waste to the beautifully set ceramic and stonework friezes with clubs, fire, and anything edged they could find. Pottery shards lie on the ground, grooves slashed in the walls so old the rock has slowly begun to heal under a patina of slippery, slurried calcium. The route is treacherous from therein, the scowling faces and prostrate figures caught in twisted 'vines' subjected to the wrath of a blue-mantled warrior. The gods of the Mayans in death are no more beautiful or friendly than their living deities -- furious, fierce, and contentious shapes of snakes and worse. The fusion of Kree to Mesoamerican beliefs is altogether wrong here, and every step taking him further from the light bearing its own risks. Whether the porcelain smooth cavern floor or the low ceiling, the razor-sharp fléchettes winging out from some hidden compartment buried behind a still-intact serpent god twisting around to glare at the interloper. For they are all interlopers here, who could be harmed.

Blackagar might not have to fear the tarry compound on the metal blades, but they're still precious and sharp all the same. Any sudden turn invites the effect of a water slide minus the water, or careening into razor-edged shards here and there

Jane Foster has posed:
Where no light lies, the senses may play tricks. Bringing light is one thing, but the caverns offer none, this deep into the ground.

And beyond the persistent drip of water, the echoing sounds of even his breathing, Blackagar might detect something like a dull drip.

Plink.

Splash, seconds later.

Repeat, as it has for hundreds of years.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Chill pierces with the dark, and the absence of sound is almost comforting to someone of the silence. Until it is pierced with the dripping sound of water, the inching of it down the rocks before breaking free and landing. Pooling somewhere.

Frustration is pushed aside, instead it is refocused and intended towards new purpose. Further he walks, looking to investigate just how much depth may exist in the temple system. The more extensive it is, the more likely he returns with technology to map it rather than wandering; the time taken to scout himself weighted against departing and returning with the tools he needs.