Eldritch Guidance-Chapter 103 – Hospital Visit
“The Obsidian Towers University stands as Gix's response to the esteemed Graheel University of the Union States. Positioned as the second-largest magical institution on the western continent, it served as one of beacons of arcane education and innovation. This grand establishment, with its towering spires of dark stone that seemed to pierce the heavens, symbolizes Gix's commitment to fostering a new generation of exceptional mages. Within its hallowed halls, aspiring spellcasters delved deep into the mysteries of magic, honing their craft under the tutelage of some of the most accomplished wizards and scholars in the nation. The university not only rivaled Graheel in prestige, but also sought to surpass it, reflecting Gix's ambition to dominate the field of magical study on a continental scale.
“But, the origin of the Obsidian Towers is considered less than savory amongst the scholarly community. The university’s foundation traced back to the now-defunct nation of Obsidia, a once-powerful Magocracy infamous for its horrific legacy. During its era as an independent nation, Obsidia was notorious for perpetrating egregious crimes against humanity, driven by an insatiable quest for arcane supremacy. Its ruling mage elite orchestrated inhumane experiments on non-mages, exploiting them as unwilling subjects to push the boundaries of magical advancement. These experiments birthed many of the generational mutants now native to Gix, individuals forever marked by Obsidia's dark history.
“Obsidia’s atrocities did not end with experimentation. The nation’s economy and society thrived on some of the cruelest forms of slavery recorded in history. Its leaders frequently raided neighboring territories, capturing slaves and harvesting what they called ‘experimental material.’ These practices were underpinned by an ideology of extreme racial and magical supremacy, wherein only mages were deemed fully human. Non-mages were considered subhuman, unworthy of rights or consideration. Such beliefs cemented Obsidia’s status as a pariah state among the western continent's nations, isolating it diplomatically and morally.
“The Magocracy’s reign of terror came to an end when the Gix Empire launched an invasion into their territory. The campaign, heralded as a liberation effort, dismantled Obsidia’s oppressive regime. The Gix forces freed countless slaves and eradicated much of the ruling mage aristocracy, delivering justice for years of unchecked cruelty, and placating the now freed slaves. From the ashes of Obsidia, now fully under the control of Gix, the Obsidian Towers arose. Built on the foundation of the former Obsidian Palace—a deliberate reclamation of the region’s dark past. While the university embodied Gix's aspiration to transform a place of infamy into a beacon of progress, the shadows of its origins remained ever-present, a haunting reminder of the atrocities that had forged its foundations.”
—“The History of Obsidia ” By Luciana Brynhildr
Joe and Mike strolled down the clean, sterile halls of Graheel Hospital, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished tiles. Ahead of them, a nurse briskly led the way, her clipboard tucked under one arm as she navigated the labyrinthine corridors toward their destination.
The assignment had come to them only hours earlier—a survivor of a Pursuer Slime attack had been admitted here. It was an unusual case, to say the least. No one has survived encountering these things besides Alan and Jafar so far. And, those two were not likely the target of the creature, unlike the person they were about to meet. The higher-ups had specifically requested someone from the Sleuth-Hawks division to interview the survivor.
Normally, Joe wouldn’t have been the first choice for the leadership. However, the department was stretched thin, with most of the other Sleuth-Hawks already out and busy with the Jixi investigation. It was only because Joe’s schedule seemed "free" that he got tapped for the job. But in reality, Joe was anything but free. His desk at headquarters was buried under a mountain of paperwork, a continued fallout from the recent incident involving Alan, Jafar, and yet another Pursuer Slime. The aftermath had been a bureaucratic nightmare, with forms to fill, reports to file, and questions from upper management to answer.
Yet, despite the backlog awaiting him, Joe had eagerly looked forward to this. Interviewing a survivor was a rare opportunity, not to mention a convenient excuse to escape the oppressive monotony of desk work. Even if this only gave him a brief reprieve, Joe was more than happy to trade paperwork for the sterile corridors of a hospital.
They turned a corner, their footsteps muffled by the softer flooring, and passed through a secure door that required the nurse to swipe her key card. Moments later, they arrived at a private room. The small, dimly lit space exuded an air of somber quiet, the faint beeping of medical monitors the only sound punctuating the stillness.
Inside, a man lay on the bed, his left leg heavily bandaged and suspended in a sling. This was the survivor they’d come to see—Larrs. His pale complexion and the dark circles under his eyes hinted at the trauma he had endured. He stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, until the soft creak of the opening door caught his attention.
Joe’s sharp eyes quickly scanned the room, taking in every detail. The standard hospital equipment was present—an IV stand, a heart monitor, and a small bedside table cluttered with a cup of water and a few personal effects. But what truly caught his attention was something he had never seen in a hospital before: beneath the bed, drawn onto the floor, was an arcane circle.
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Joe furrowed his brow as he studied it. The sigils and runes were complex, forming a protective ward-like barrier completely encircling the bed. But, what it was protecting from Joe couldn’t tell.
Joe: “What’s with an arcane circle under the bed?” he asked the nurse.
Nurse: “I’m not sure. Some sort of priest came in here and drew this circle. Said it was important.”
It was clear that she didn’t fully understand the significance of the arcane circle either, offering only a vague description of its purpose. Her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced herself, which only added to the mystery surrounding the situation.
Turning his attention back to Larrs, Joe shifted his focus.
Joe: “Larrs, I’m Officer Joe, and this beside me is Officer Mike. We’re from the police and wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Larrs: “Of course,” he said, expecting the police to eventually come by to talk to him.
Joe: “Could you tell us what happened? From the beginning, if possible,” he asked as he pulled out a small notebook to take notes.
Larrs began recounting his unsettling experience to the police officers, his voice trembling as he spoke. He described a creeping sensation that had haunted him for the past few weeks—an inexplicable feeling of being watched. At first, it was faint—like a fleeting shadow just at the edge of his perception. But as days turned into weeks, the feeling intensified, growing more oppressive with each passing night. It reached the point where he could no longer sleep, his mind plagued by the unshakable certainty that someone—or something—was always watching him, lurking just out of sight.
"The timing of this strange feeling matches when Jixi disappeared," Joe silently reflected as Larrs continued his account. "Guss's journal also mentioned the eerie sensation of being watched. That means these feelings must be a precursor to a pursuer slime attack."
The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together in Joe’s mind, but he kept his thoughts to himself, his expression calm and attentive as he listened to Larrs.
Larrs continued his account, detailing how he had sought help from doctors and various experts. They had examined him thoroughly, running tests and asking questions, only to conclude that nothing appeared to be physically wrong. Their advice stung: they suggested he see a specialist in mental health, subtly implying that the strange feelings he described were products of his imagination or a psychological condition.
But Larrs refused to accept their assessment. Deep down, he was convinced that what he experienced was no mere figment of his mind. Desperation pushed him to explore other explanations. He began to recall an old tale he had heard—whispers of nameless gods who could curse mortals, afflicting them with a sense of dread and paranoia. The idea burrowed into his thoughts, and he started to believe he might have been cursed.
Clinging to this idea, Larrs turned to the church for help. He approached the priest, pleading for a ritual to lift the supposed curse. At first, the priest resisted, insisting that nothing supernatural plagued Larrs and that his troubles lay elsewhere. But Larrs was relentless, adamant that his experiences were real and not imagined. Eventually, the priest gave in and performed a purifying ritual, invoking sacred magic to cleanse him of any potential curse.
Yet, even after the ritual, the oppressive feeling lingered, unchanged and unrelenting. It gnawed at him more fiercely than ever. After that day, he found himself unable to sleep for five nights straight. He couldn’t explain how, but an unshakable certainty gripped him—a belief that if he let himself drift off, something terrible would happen. The sheer exhaustion of his sleeplessness merged with his fear, leaving him teetering on the edge of despair.
"Both Larry's and Guss's bedrooms were the presumed locations of their attacks—rooms where people go to sleep," Joe mused silently, his mind piecing together the grim theory. "That means these creatures might prefer to strike when their target is asleep."
Afterward, Larrs resolved to seek out Crowley, the former Hand of Light. Larrs reasoned that the priest who had performed the earlier ritual might not have been powerful enough to lift the curse. Crowley, as the former Hand of Light, would surely possess a far greater connection to divine power and the ability to channel the light more effectively than anyone else.
Determined, Larrs made his way to Crowley's secluded dwelling. The retired priest of the Light, though hesitant at first, agreed to help after listening to Larrs' story. Crowley performed a complex ritual. At its climax, Crowley extracted something from Larrs—an intangible presence, dark and writhing. Whatever it was, its removal brought an immediate sense of relief, as though a great weight had been lifted from Larrs' soul. The oppressive feeling that had haunted him was finally gone.
Crowley insisted that Larrs remain with him so he could examine what he extracted further. Grateful and exhausted, Larrs agreed and stayed under Crowley's protection. But peace was fleeting.
Larrs woke up to a horrifying sight: a gelatinous red slime creature was slowly engulfing his leg, its corrosive surface burning his skin as it inched upward.
Crowley, drawn by Larrs’ cries, burst into the room. Without hesitation, he unleashed a torrent of sacred magic, light cascading from his hands in brilliant waves, and managed to destroy the creature.
Joe: “I… see,” he said as the detective scribbled Larrs' account into a notebook. “You said something was extracted from you, did you ever learn what?”
Larrs: “No, Crowley didn’t say. He didn’t have time with everything that was happening.”
Joe: “Hmm, could you tell me where Crowley lives so that I may go talk to him?”
Nurse: “Um, Father Crowley is actually here in the hospital,” the nurse chimed in. “He was waiting for you to show up so that he could talk to you. He’s actually the one who drew this circle under Larrs bed for some reason.”
Joe: “Hmm, that makes things easier. We’ll go talk to him after. Anyway, do you by chance work for the university at all?”
Larrs: “No. I work as an accountant and bookkeeper for a small business here in the city called Bob’s Brewers.”
Joe: “Did you have any relationship with any of the faculty at the university?”
Larrs: “No.”
Mike: “What about family members? Do any of them go to university or have some connection with them?” Joe’s partner chimed in.
Larrs: “Um, maybe? Possibly some distant cousins. But, no one in my immediate family. We’re not mages. No one in my family can attend the university.”
Joe let out a long, weary sigh as he steeled himself to ask his next question. He already suspected what the answer would be, but it was a question he had to ask, nonetheless.
Joe: “By chance, did you go to St. Trollis High School?”
Larrs: “Um, yeah. How’d you know that?”
The answer Larrs gave was exactly what Joe had suspected all along. While it didn’t seem immediately useful in solving the mystery, it was enough to satisfy Joe’s need to validate his theory. And, naturally, he couldn’t resist the urge to needle Mike about it.
Joe: “See? Told you digging into those connections with the other missing people would pay off,” he said, his smile growing even cockier as he leaned back slightly, folding his arms in satisfaction.
Mike rolled his eyes, a subtle gesture of exasperation and defiance. He refused to give Joe even a shred of validation, still harboring a quiet grudge over the mountain of paperwork Joe had conveniently offloaded onto him in recent days.
Mike: “Yeah, yeah. Do you by chance know someone by the name of Ricky Corva?” asking about the man that Alan and Jarfa tried to save from the purser slime.
Larrs fell silent, his brow furrowing as he mulled over Mike's question. The room was heavy with anticipation, with Joe and Mike exchanging a brief glance while waiting for his response. Then, as if a light had been switched on in his mind, Larrs’s eyes widened in sudden realization.
Larrs: “Ricky Crova…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze snapped back to the officers. “Oh, Light above, I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”
Joe and Mike exchanged a quick, knowing glance, the unspoken understanding passing between them like a spark. Larrs’s reaction was unmistakable—this wasn’t just a passing connection.
For the first time in weeks, it felt like they were finally peeling back another layer of the mystery surrounding Jixi's disappearance. The tension in the room shifted, a subtle blend of urgency and cautious optimism. Whatever Larrs had to say about Ricky Crova could be the lead they desperately needed to unravel the tangled threads of the case.
Joe: “You know who that is. What’s your connection to him?”
Larrs: “Yeah. We used to be friends in high school back in the day. But, I haven’t talked to him in over a decade since we graduated. We just kind of drifted apart after school. I have no idea what he's doing now if you're going to ask me about him.”
Mike: “So you didn’t hear about him.”
Larrs: “No, but I also had a lot going on recently, so it might’ve not gotten to me. What happened?”
Joe: “Ricky got attacked by a red slime creature like you did. Except, he didn’t make it out alive like you.”
Larrs: “By the light,” he gasped.
Joe: “Also, these other people went missing,” he said as he named off the missing people who attended St. Trollis High School in the past.
As Joe methodically listed off the names of the missing individuals, Larrs's expression shifted dramatically. At first, shock registered on his face as he recognized each name, his mind racing to connect the dots. But as the weight of Joe's words settled in, his features contorted into a mask of growing horror. The implication was clear: the people he knew, people he might have once spoken to or crossed paths with, could have fallen victim to the same monstrous fate he had narrowly escaped.
Larrs: “M-Most of those are all my former and current friends from high school. And, at least two of those people you mention I didn’t know well, but had interacted with back then. Are all those people…” he said, unable to finish the sentence.
Mike: “Calm down. We don’t know for sure. They're only missing,” he said, trying to keep the situation calm.
The grim reality was that, given the terrifying lethality of these pursuer slimes, both Mike and Joe were almost certain that the missing individuals had likely fallen victim to the creatures—devoured before anyone could intervene. However, they chose not to voice their suspicions to Larrs. The man had already been through enough, and revealing such a horrifying possibility would only serve to heighten his panic and despair. For now, they decided it was best to keep him calm and focused.
Mike: “Do you have any idea why you or any of these people we mention would be targeted by these creatures?”
Larrs: “I-I don’t know.”
Joe: “What about enemies? Do you have any suspicion of anyone that might want you dead?”
Larrs: “I mean… There are people that don’t like me. But, that’s normal. I can’t imagine anyone that hated me enough to want me dead. I’ve never done anything to anyone that bad. And, are you suggesting a person was involved in this, with such a horrifying creature?”
Mike: “That is what we’re currently looking into.”
Larrs: “Then that leaves only one kind of person that I think could be involved in something like this. And I can assure you, officers, I have no association with any cult.”
Mike: “None at all. Never even interacted with people you suspected?”
Larrs: “No. I’m from a very religious family. We wouldn’t even associate with the druidic faith, let alone nameless gods.”
Joe: “Hmm,” he mumbled as he crossed his arms and entered a deep state of thought.
In Joe's mind, Larrs’s lack of connection to any cult ultimately didn’t matter—Larrs’s involvement in a cult wasn’t necessary for him to be targeted. Joe was already certain that Jixi was behind the creation and deployment of these horrific creatures. The real question, the one that eluded him, was why Larrs and the others were being hunted.
As Joe wrestled with his thoughts, a fragment of memory surfaced, Jafar’s ominous words about the conditions for summoning these monsters: “It has to be a willing sacrifice full of deep resentment.”
“The person being sacrificed has to harbor deep resentment…” Joe mused. His mind churned as he revisited the connections—or lack thereof—between the victims. “And the only link we have so far is that some of these missing people went to the same high school... and may have all known each other.”
A cold chill swept over him as a strange possibility began to form. “High school, deep resentment, and a willing sacrifice…” His eyes widened as he realized something.
“Oh, Burning Abyss,” Joe thought, the pieces clicking together in his mind. “It couldn’t be… Could it?”
Joe: “Larrs, did you ever bully someone in high school?”
