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You are here - lucky you! Postcards are not available in the giftshop. Magnets are. Only joking, just inexplicably bouncy balls.</div>
</div><br/><b>Region:</b>Eisen-Einöde, Süd-Reik.<br/><b>Location:</b>Extremely classified.<br/><b>Time: </b>Noon, almost dead on.<br/><b>Weather: </b>Extremely dry and warm.<br/><b>Chance of getting past the guards and fleeing:</b>Snowball in a live blast-furnace.<br/><b>Chance of Lovecraftian horrors in the basement:</b>Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">***​</div><br/>To say that the hall housing the portal was vast would have been something of a gross understatement. The architects had taken every element from the Reik building manual and thrown it with gusto at their plans. It was as long as an airship and ribbed with huge support pillars of smooth concrete. They rose to the shadowed ceiling many meters above and bore only the most functional of decorative mouldings, slight angles at the corners that helped add a cursory amount of personality.<br/><br/>Up on high a myriad of catwalks criss-crossed in neat metal lines. They were draped with looping bands of wiring and lined with small lamps that did precious little to chase away the gloom that cling limpet-like to the vaulted ceiling. Dim outlines of armed elves on patrol could just about be seen amidst the half-light.<br/><br/>The use of concrete was entirely pervasive. The walls, floor and roof were all crafted from the same flecked material, uniformly oppressive in the way that only military construction could be. The sides of the hall were, of course, lined with enormous flags that hung down from the height of the catwalks. Each one was emblazoned with the symbol of the Reik, the Teutari rune for Dominion. It sat squarely at the centre of each standard, bold white in a sea of imperial purple. Each pennant hung in perfect height and union with its peers. Still more banners hung limply from the gantries as though longing for a breeze that would never come. All were lit from above or below by a single hazy amber spotlight, making it impossible to get the wrong impression of who had built the facility.<br/><br/>A broad path had been painted in thick and hard wearing yellow upon the floor. It led to the main focal point of the enormous hall like a great, fat arrow, for it was tough to miss the portal itself, silent and menacing. It bore all of the typical hallmarks of Reik machinery and in spite of not being engaged, seemed to hum with sinister malevolence. Runes, some ancient Teutari and others more geometrical and mathematical lined the metalwork around the empty archway. They bled with blue-green light and seemed to swim and shift, although that was patently ridiculous.<br/><br/>Cables as thick as tree trunks fed their way into the intricate machinery. Other smaller wires weaved in a serpentine manner around them and created a tangled mess that looked just about impossible to decipher. Where they originated from was anyone’s guess, for the cables of all breadths vanished through metal gratings into the floor. A thrum of power flowed over everything. It grew stronger closer to the portal, but seemed to suffuse the entire hanger. It made hairs stand up and left a slight buzz in the ears of all who strayed near. Somewhere a dangerous amount of energy was being stored and it seeped into the atmosphere with sly abundance.<br/><br/>Surrounding the portal at varying distances and intervals were a large number of blast shields and heavy weapon emplacements. Not a single one was directed outwards, the focus was on the blank space beneath the runed gateway. The positions were manned by elves standing rigidly at attention. By their armament and heavy armour it was easy to tell that these were not run of the mill soldiery. Rifles and ‘room-cleansers’ were clutched by countless hands that definitely knew how to use them. The only sound the troopers made was the slow click as their gasmasks cycled.<br/><br/>At a first glance it might have seemed as though everything were well. The uniforms were immaculate and bore elite runes on shoulder patches and collars. Equipment and armour were second to none. Thick metal gorgets protected vulnerable elven throats, while protective sheets of metal draped themselves like scale across the soldier’s chests and arms. There was no shine to any of the materiel. The elves were combat-ready, not parade ground toy soldiers.<br/><br/>Yet if one looked past the Reik’s elite and began to take stock of the rest of what was within sight, the initial pomp and precision began to wear thin. The imposing flags were threadbare and the concrete walls stained by damp and seepage. The painted floor was chipped and no one had apparently swabbed the deck in a long time, for dirty smears and stains covered it like a Felinyashae’s stripes. Faded grandeur was the byword for the gate project. No amount of soldiery or lab-coated elves was going to hide the fact that the portal had been left to languish.<br/><br/>Above the gate, fastened to the wall by fat rusted bolts was an enormous clock with a series of yellow illuminated panels beneath it. Cracked and stained enamel sat beneath thick black hands as tall as an elf, but there was no maker’s mark upon the glinting surface to indicate who was responsible for the mighty piece of clockwork. The panels directly under the face displayed in typically blunt Teutari script<i>32.15.1168</i>, the correct date. No movement came from the hands of the clock however, giving no actual indication of the time. It didn’t even tick-tock in a satisfying manner.<br/><br/>Below the impressive clock in stark black stencilled Teutari was the following phrase:<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><i>‘<b>Travel far into the unknown, brave soldiers. Bring back only glory to the Reik.’</b></i>​</div><br/>Then there was the smell that filled the hanger. Warm oil and weapon grease, plus the more mechanical scents of frequently used heavy machinery. There was something else too which evaded true description. It was a smell magisters had come to associate with magic being abused, but rarely was it present in such a pervasive quantity. It was strongest closest to the large banks of unidentifiable devices that occupied the walls immediately either side of the portal over which a series of savvy looking elves in neat white uniforms fussed.<br/><br/>Presently everyone’s attention, save for the scientists, was focused upon one point. Additional guards had been lined up at the back of a diverse group of individuals. The provosts had their weapons ready, but seemed relaxed for Reik elves. All stood before a temporary stage that had been hastily set up. Someone had managed to find the time to pin small purple Reik flags to it, although they looked sad and lacked the precision of position that one usually came to expect from elven pageantry. A single lectern was the only occupant of the stage. There were no chairs and certainly no people upon it. Yet still there seemed to be some sort of collective held breath. Everyone was waiting for something, anything, to happen. There wasn’t even a glass of water.<br/><br/>Then the music began.<br/><br/>It pumped into the hall through tinny speakers mounted throughout. The guards in one unison movement came to attention. Boots clicked together and rifles were raised to the exactly regulation height. If it was possible to believe, they even straightened up further as the Reik’s anthem beat out. It played with thin scratchiness and echoed around the hanger. There was no denying the pomp and majesty that might have been present if the piece had been performed in the flesh by an orchestra, but this sounded more like a record that had been stored incorrectly. It apparently had the desired effect on the elves present however, regardless of audio quality.<br/><br/>After several minutes of stirring strings and thunderous brass filtered through an aquarium, the music faded away. Not a single Reik elf moved from the rigid attention they had adopted. Silence descended, save for the ever-present hum of arcane machinery.<br/><br/>From a side passage came a new sound. Sharp clicks with an immediate jangle following in their wake. They got louder and louder until Rittmeister Emlin Katarina Agnethe Hermine Bertha Amsel von Umbarmherzigstadt emerged into the hall.<br/><br/>The elf strode with short, neat steps. The click of her metalled boots and the jaunty jingle of spurs seemed less impressive in the vastness of the portal hall without the corridor to amplify them. More attention could perhaps have been directed to the impeccable way in which Emlin presented herself. A longsword with purple tassels and looping swaggered at her side and swayed with each stride of her shapely leg. Her black uniform looked like it had been lifted from a pamphlet on<i>How an officer should dress</i>, for there was not one element that looked even remotely askew.<br/><br/>Emlin snapped her head to one side, displaying the fullness of her severely decorated peaked cap sat atop a white gasmask. The features of the mask were artful, yet morbid, for the material had been painted to resemble a skull bedecked in roses and ivy leaves. Emerald green glass filled in the spaces where the eye-sockets rested, leaving the skull vacant of any sort of mortal expression. All that remained was the grinning face of death. It wasn’t a particularly friendly look.<br/><br/>Emlin climbed the small set of steps to the stage and positioned herself at the lectern. Someone had thoughtfully left a small box at the base of the stand to give the diminutive woman something of a more imposing stature when behind it. The elf’s leather gloves creaked as she adjusted some papers that had been left atop the carved position. Then she paused and the ominous silence returned. Her gasmask clicked at alarmingly slow intervals.<br/><br/>Scant few medals dotted her breast, but the marks of rank were clear enough. An NCO amidst the provosts barked an order in Teutari and as one, the guards saluted. Emlin went utterly rigid and returned the salutes with terrifying exactitude. She snapped her hand away as though trying to slice the air and with that, the guards also let their salutes fall.<br/><br/>Then the Rittmeister reached up to her mask, hooked her fingers behind her bladed ears and in one practiced movement took it off. She placed the mask down upon the lectern and rolled her head to stretch. The face that was revealed could have been rightly called beautiful, if judged by elven standards. Emlin’s features were finely chiselled and delicate-looking, even though her complexion was perhaps a little on the pale side. Cold eyes regarded the assembled team and the rigid guards with the directness of a warship’s searchlight. She seemed to take a moment to half-admire, half-glare at just about everyone.<br/><br/><b>[Teutari]</b><i>‘At ease!’</i><br/><br/>At Emlin’s command the guards immediately dropped into what must have been considered a less attentive pose. The change was almost unperceivable. The Rittmeister cleared her throat with a small, likely unneeded cough before basking in a long silence.<br/><br/>‘I greet you all today as a<i>proud</i>woman.’ said Emlin suddenly in deliciously accented common for the benefit of the group before her. ‘<i>I am proud</i>that you will be shown one of the Reik’s greatest creations.<i>I am proud</i>that I will have the honour of leading you through it and into the true unknown<i>. I am proud</i>that there are those of the Reik with me as we traverse the places between worlds. I am proud that those of less…other races will bear witness to all this. I am proud that you all<i>volunteered</i>to join me on this grand adventure.<br/><br/>You will all have the honour of going where precious few or none of your kin has ever been before and to see sights that even your wildest imaginations couldn’t begin to envisage. You are explorers and visionaries. You are those that seek something more from this plane of existence. Those that answered the call to greatness and wish to experience all that this universe has to offer. You are heroes, all of you,<i>even</i>the unterelfes.’<br/><br/>Emlin leant forwards and grasped the edges of the lectern in her hands. She loomed the spitting image of a hellfire preacher and her vivid eyes danced with furious passion. That some of the assembled didn’t actually have much of a choice about being present didn’t seem to have entered her head. Her expression teetered somewhere between passionate and crazed. It could easily have tipped over in either direction.<br/><br/>‘We take this step into the unknown to further the glory of the Reik, and I ask you could there truly be a more worthwhile and noble cause? No! Of course not! For the Reik is the mother who nurtures and clothes the people of this world. It is the father we all need when its children are disobedient and must be disciplined. The Reik is all of our parents and seeks only for us all to flourish. What greater purpose could one have than to please one’s parents? Those who have set you upon your path in this world? To return to them the love they have shown us? None! None I say!<br/><br/>There will be danger, yes, but are our lives not fraught with danger at all times? It is highly likely that this experience will change you all in some way. However, I can assure you that the Reik does not let its children go unrewarded. You will be suitably recompensed for your service, providing that you do not disappoint me. Land, gold, respect and knowledge, all of this awaits you. Yes, even the unterelfes whose obedient service is so very important to the Reik.<br/><br/>I for one cannot wait to see what wonders lie upon the other side of this magnificent device and I thank you for joining me on this glorious, glorious undertaking. Through our blood, sweat and toil we shall bring glory to the Reik. You shall be accepted. Praised! Adored!’<br/><br/>The Rittmeister shrank back, her passion apparently spent. She smiled in what was an approximation of a friendly gesture. It needed work.<br/><br/>‘I will now give you some time to introduce yourselves to one another while I see to it that your barracks is made fit for use. It is only fair that you get to know your allies in this endeavour. Remember, my<i>friends</i>, that we are only as strong as our weakest link. We must all be strong and understand that we can trust one another without fear of that link breaking. If that chain should break the consequences do not bear thinking about.<br/><br/>The portal opens tomorrow and we,<i>my friends</i>, will be the ones to make history. Glory to the Reik!’<br/><br/>Emlin saluted snappily once again and then took up her gasmask. She marched off the stage only the pause at the bottom of the small flight of steps.<br/><br/><b>[Teutari]</b><i>‘Stabsunteroffizier Varichsen 51, you are to come to my office immediately. There is a matter of much importance to be discussed before you are permitted to introduce yourself to the others.’</i><br/><br/>Without looking to see if the Hound had heard her or was even obeying, Emlin strode off the way she had come and vanished into the badly lit corridor.<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">***​</div><br/><br/>Emlin’s office was a notably stark affair that looked as though it needed a great deal more furniture in it. The most notable feature was an old, ornately carved desk piled with papers and files. The in-tray looked as though it were having a particularly bad day. A fairly large lidded cardboard box also sat atop the desk’s pitted green leather surface.<br/><br/>In one corner of the office there was a neatly made camp bed with a single pillow and a small plush elf doll with silver hair and an unblinking stare. The other furniture comprised of a few battered looking cabinets sat against one wall and a chair before and behind the desk. Beyond that the office was bare, with only a faded stencil on the wall that might have once said something patriotic. The elf’s only real idea of decoration appeared to be a well-stocked drinks trolley and a clock near the open door that ticked slightly too loudly.<br/><br/>The Rittmeister was stood in the amber light of a false window, complete with a painted countryside scene when the Hound arrived. She already held in her hand a glass of something clear and alcoholic and sipped at it while staring at the idyllic, simulated scene of Reikland. It was a stark contrast to the real environment outside the gate project building.<br/><br/>Unsurprisingly, Emlin barely registered the presence of Anje until the unterelfe announced herself.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>