u/Khorde_the_Harbinger

(Ive invited a friend, he is great at fixing these kinds of things.)

Three agents from realm wizardposting walk in and see all this bullshit. It isn't long before the gate shuts behind them from their side, short circuit closing the gate with the sound of a gunshot. The walls are blue and covered in spore giving foliage, zombies, and beings affected by nurgle shit roam around tending to what has become a garden. There's ritualistic writings on all the surfaces not covered in blue rot... written in unidentifiable filth.

The sound of music can be heard in every direction. Mayhem and gardening are all over this place. There is radio to tap into. Apparently, it seems the agents have arrived on the chaos floors....

The string density here is ridiculously high, and it seems the payers go unheard... as if a critical connection has.theres probably survivors on other floors who could help you find your target if you ask.

Meat packing employees have given up on the chaos floors! The chaos floors now expand and the garden grows. Having been left unimpeded, the faction has spread to 25 floors in both the basement and the meat packing corporation each. This is a total of 50 floors. In such enclosed spaces as the basement, the vile garden has found it easy to bloom and frolic with impunity.

Soon, all will grow in the garden, and joyous poxes and filth shall fill the basement.

LET NO FLOOR GO UNGARDENED!

LET SURFACE GO UNGIFTED

LET ALL SHARE IN THE GIFTS OF THE GARDEN!!

Deep in the Chaos lands where the Meat Packing Corporation lay dormant, and decayed, stands an altar that reaches halfway to the ceiling. space and time have switched places. More and more souls of the damned flow to it from across the infected. From atop this spire like altar, a wire set leading to nowhere suspends in the air. The souls electrify it. and somehow, a current of souls and energy flows enough to Hold open what looks like the Gates of Guff itself. standing atop this altar is a man in a mask. he wears no shirt. he holds many strings in one hand, plays six with the other, and wears strings that seemingly lead to nowhere. This man Plays loud enough to be heard across all of the basement. For many, the song is a splendid soft one, but songs are meant to end so a new one can start. the radios of the altar began singing in unison, as the Guitar riffed, and the souls of the mercied are conducted away to a place outside the Basement.

The fields are growing. soon, the gates shall remain open permanently, and the horrors of the basement shall be added to more intensely. The Basement shall bend to the whim of the harbinger and the one it serves. this altar is surrounded by tens of thousands, while tens of thousands more plant further gardens and spread the gifts of the blue rot amongst other concoctions.

War has descended upon the realm. Where there's war, there's death, the more death the more fertilizer for the garden of the grandfather!

LET NO CORNER GO UNFILTHED,

LET NO GIFT BE UNGIVEN

LET NO ONE STOP YOU

SHOW ALL OF THEM THE BEAUTY OF THE GARDEN AND THE PLEASURE OF THE ROT!

*WAR NOISES AS THIS SONG PLAYS FROM DEEP WITHIN THE CHAOS FLOOR, ALL STRINGS LEADING TO OR FROM HIM THE WAR BAND MAKES MOVES TO TAKE MORE OF THE BASEMENT. EVERYTHING THEY TOUCH ROTS AND RUSTS, EVERYONE THEY TOUCH IS GIVEN 34 GIFTS*

Day: 4

Realm: Lensebasement

Report:

Contact with Victory industries yeilds disappointing results. Current away party consisting of former Mass Co personnel remains stranded. Camp has been picked up and packed. Compasses have proven useless as they just spin wildly. The weave is dense enough in this realm to have a severe effect on the magnetic field and the local realm's cosmic background mana field. It appears the walls are solid and dense enough to harbor around 1 G of force. Cinnamon found herself flipping nonstop for an hour before landing on the ceiling. Current hypothesis, the realm consists of nothing but "basement" as the locals call it.

Locals here vary in species and realm of origin. Multiple corporations have been identified, and none were mass co registered banners. However, string levels indicate this is a 100% match to the realm Roanoke colony of Mass Co was lost in. Pluck readings indicate the presence of a Harbinger or a Khorde. Current directive remains. Motive has changed. If Khorde is present, and the presence of daemons and abject chaos is evidence on top of pluck readings; this realm is in grave danger.

Every now and again, a corner dweller appears. Furthermore, predatory staircases have been found using people as bait. So far, this party has seen no combat. The walls write messages to people who wander the basement. The entity has been dubbed Wall Thing, the living graffiti. It keeps Warning of our "inability to escape." Current hypothesis, this graffiti is living and sapient. Further testing will consist of writing insulting things about it. followed by writing flirtatious messages. These two messages are prefaced by a neutral message "hello wall thing"

If the wall thing (living graffiti) is sapient, it will display appropriate responses to each message.

As I finish this entry, I have cumin and Soma setting up camp here in what looks like a boiler room. Luckily, the room rot of the demonic forces has yet to reach it.

Whether or not we have gotten closer to our first lead, " the meat packing corporation" is uncertain.

Directive priorities by order of importance:

1. Find Roanoke

2. Neutralize the threat to the realm

3. BUILD energy infrastructure and pulse converters capable of forcing a hole back to realm wizardposting.

4. Evacuate away party from the basement and gathered intelligence. Report findings at debrief.

Slide 3 :cumin

Slide 4: cinnamon

Slide5: Soma.

(Edit, butt posted draft )

The realm distorts as plucking around the basement intensifies. The breachway is blinding and frankly, beautiful. Sunlight, genuine sunlight arrives in the basement. The breachway fritz and shut violently, almost as soon as these three individuals enter.

"Dammit, something in this realm triggered a breachway shutdown."

"Soma, weapons hot, security protocol deacon 1

______________________________________

Grandmother Cumin's Log

Day one:

Inventory:

Geiger counter, one 50 cal handheld autocaster, two 50 cal autocaster leg prosthesis. 1500 rounds of 50 cal hollowpoint, conductive ammunition in purse of holding.

Two enchanted swords, Boom Doomer antimaterial caster rifle, two cesium rods for the nuclear powered litch mech. 250 APHEFSDSHEATHECBC caster rounds in magazine of holding

Vermensk Mauser 45 cal ap semiautomatic caster pistol. 500 rounds in purse of holding.

Enough rations to last the two living about 7 days.

Combat knifes, Field lab kits, Field medical kits, Survival kit. Two sleeping bags, two rucksacks of holding...

Report:

Fifth wall breachway successfully opened. Problem occurred when orbnet controlled drones lost comms with victory industries. There was no money in the budget to lose a full squad of victory mercs, so the team working on the breachway was sent in to retrieve the drone. The aforementioned drone is not present. Furthermore, it appears the breachway closed behind this party of three, stranding us in a random realm. Current environment is made of concrete, rebar, and sturdy industrial materials given this 16 ton litchmech is not falling through the ground. After some testing with our field test kit, standard laws of physics config 3 is in effect. "Magic" fuckery is afoot. Furthermore, backgroynd pluck signatures display eldritch and anomalous signatures. One such signature is a 100% match to an "elder-plant" simply referred to as khorde.

It is safe to say that my granddaughter, litchmech "soma" , and I are not alone here.

Camp is being set up.

(What's it tempting you into itself with?)

Now that the forces of chaos have established their filthy existence.... the call can be heard on every floor. Various things draw different crowds. Worrying enough, the cultists have conjured a tank out of the walls and steel of the basement itself. Gunfire rings out in the meat packing floors, and spells are flying, demons rampaging.

This fellow nurglite firing his shot bolter in the second image from the rusty turret of the hovering marble tank is named Roger. Roger loves the grandfather and actively wishes to spread the grandfather's gifts thru out the basement.

It's been about.... 2 days since he stumbled thru the chaos gate out of the garden. Already, the plague father seems to have chosen him after he placed the fetid seeds of a fungus bloom on a bunch of meat on floor 11.

The gifts are spreading with dermal shrooms, spore cysts, barfing, coughing, and flesh peeling off like black bannanas.

Meat packing employees either fi d themselves dead or infecting others with the gifts of nurgle at Roger's command. And Roger is pleased.

In the neighboring quadrant of this floor, the berzerkir clans were at it again... probably over how best to harvest an employees skull.

Meanwhile, in the other neighboring sector, a pleasure cult had formed.

There was a truce meeting tomorrow as all sides were at each other's throats. And this filled Roger with dread.

The hoard of daemons and chaos possessed now rampage beyond just the meat packing group. All because someone summoned daemons and stuffed em in cores. Some scream for blood, others for pleasure or gifts of a generous grandfather... all are mad. Entire hallways are filled with the foul stench of corruption... the location itself seems to be changing shape into some sort of cavern with all sorts of profane iconography and the skulls of the sacrificed hang from the hooks... the location is a maze of chains, hooks, daemons, and madmen.

It's rumored there is music emanating constantly from a man who's strings lead seemingly nowhere.

This the birth of the halls of chaos.

*spy is toilet mimic rn cos I am having a hard time finding a changeling that will print right. Still works cos prop hunt logic. Furthermore, its a bash of tf2, mlp, and Warhammer 40k*