The Consortium: Chaos Erupts

The Consortium: The Grand Corridor

Neth (November) 7, 4722: 10:15 am

Word spreads like wildfire through the Consortium’s halls.

“—heard explosions from Wriedt’s office—”

“—summoned creatures, shadow things that shouldn’t exist—”

“—assassination attempt, they’re saying—”

Dr. Wilhelm Kass emerges from the Planar Studies wing, his face pale. He clutches a leather case to his chest and moves quickly toward the rear exit. A graduate student calls after him, questioning, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look back. His shoes click rapidly against marble floors as he flees.

Those who knew him whisper—wasn’t he working on Ritalsin’s dimensional resonance project? The one with the sealed lab and the screaming that maintenance reported?

In the Alchemical Theory department, Adeline Frost frantically stuffs papers into a satchel. Her hands tremble so badly she drops half of them. Professor Adalwin Hess stands in the doorway, blocking her exit.

“Adeline. Where are you going?”

“I—I have a family emergency. I need to—”

“You were Ritalsin’s primary alchemical consultant. The one who prepared his ‘specialized reagents’ for the Gatewalker studies.”

Frost’s face crumbles. She shoves past Hess and runs, the satchel spilling papers behind her like a trail of incriminating breadcrumbs. Someone picks one up, reads it, goes white.

“These are dosage calculations for black sand exposure on living subjects…”

The Consortium: The Artifact Vault

Neth (November) 7, 4722: 10:30 am

In the basement, three researchers loyal to Ritalsin work with desperate speed. Dr. Ernst Kellerman and two security guards find them attempting to open Vault Seven—the secure storage for black sand samples and corrupted artifacts.

“Step away from the vault,” Kellerman commands, but his voice wavers. These are colleagues. Were colleagues. How long have they been corrupted?

The lead researcher, Dr. Isabelle Moreau, turns. Her eyes hold something that isn’t quite human anymore—a flicker of black sand’s influence deep in the iris.

“This research is too important to be suppressed. Dr. Ritalsin’s work will save—”

“Ritalsin experimented on living people!” One of the guards levels his crossbow. “He tortured Gatewalkers. Killed them on operating tables.”

Moreau’s hand moves toward a vial. The guards react. The confrontation turns violent in seconds—alchemical explosions, shouted spells, the clang of weapons. When it ends, Moreau and one of her associates lie unconscious, but the third escapes into the utility tunnels carrying a sealed container of black sand.

Kellerman stares at the unconscious researchers—people he’d worked alongside for years—and feels the foundation of everything he believed crack beneath him.

The Consortium: The Research Wing
Neth (November) 7, 4722: 10:45 am

Doors slam throughout the building as factions form. Some researchers barricade themselves in laboratories, afraid of being falsely accused. Others gather in clusters, trying to determine who can be trusted.

In the Dream Theory section, Professor Lena Ashford discovers that half her research team has vanished. Their desks are empty, files missing, personal effects gone as if they never existed. How many worked for Ritalsin? How many of her own students reported to him?

She finds a note pinned to her door with a silver knife:

“We preserve what must be preserved. Some truths transcend ethics. —The Faithful”

The Faithful. Ritalsin has a cult within the Consortium itself.