《Archives of an Invasive System - COMPLETE》
Elven Encounter
To whoever is reading this. First off, thank you! At least I can rest easy knowing my work is being appreciated. Second, my name is Benjamin Caddock. I am, was, a museum archivist. Before the system crashed down, and words floated above everyone¡¯s head. Super strength, magic, all real.
Such power would have gone to people¡¯s heads if it weren¡¯t for our new neighbor¡¯s intervention. Throughout history, great power brought war alongside it. This time was no different. However, for once, we aren¡¯t fighting ourselves. No. We have new threats.
Elves, Dwarves, Beastkin.
No one thinks about Tolkien with those names anymore, do they? A depressing thought. They were good books. I wish the government had named them something else, anything else. But they didn¡¯t, and it stuck. Thanks, Mainstream Media.
Anyway, you aren¡¯t here for my ramblings. You¡¯re here for the history these pages contain. My life work. I found stories from soldiers, civilians, a government employee or two. Not sure my experiences will make it in, probably not.
This is it for me. Our first story comes from a soldier. A recon team found his diary.
Please.
Please remember them. Sometimes I think it¡¯s all we have left.
Day 10, Outback, Unit 412
Those fuckers got Jenkins.
We¡¯d been out in the Gibson Desert for days now. Rough place, hot. No shit, I know, it¡¯s a desert. But still. Hotter than a Brisbane sidewalk, as my dad used to say. We have an aboriginal guide with us, a good bloke. Had some kind of tracking-based class? He was LVL 5, pretty respectable. Don¡¯t talk to any of us. I don¡¯t know his name. He spent the majority of his time in murmured discussion with Sarge.
Sarge is a good man. LVL 9 - Tactician. Not combat-focused, some kind of mental-based analysis class. He told me once on patrol; he had the highest mental stats out of anyone in the squad. Higher than mine, without a doubt. As an LVL 6 Pyromancer, I pumped all my points into Magic. God, I loved this basic three stat system. No need for complicated, ya know?
We followed him to one of those new Elven forests. Frederick, our resident nerd, went on about how the assortment of trees grew in a perfect circle. Giant, big enough to cast a shadow for miles. We were all grateful for that one.
Healthy too, and each a species you¡¯d find in various biomes on earth. Except for the size, of course. None of them should play nice. Conflicting root systems, need for sunlight, different desires for space. Yet, here they were, together in harmony. All of us gave him shit for his tree facts, didn¡¯t stop him. Jenkins asked him about the roots, how they were still alive.
He was a good man, Jenkins. Never joined in the shit talk.
According to Frederick, they sunk deep into the earth, getting water from some underground reserves. That and some magic absorbing bullshit. God, magic is a blessing and a pain. I mean, I love being able to shoot fire out of my hands. Who wouldn¡¯t?
But all the other uncontrollable things? Especially the Fauna and Flora gaining random mutations, or being transformed at the whim of random mages? Yeah. Fuck Magic. Not worth it.
Once we set up a rough camp on the perimeter, our guide left, slinking off into the sand and shrubs. Quiet as a mouse. Never a good sign when the native guide vanishes early. Sarge selected Jenkins, Smith, and Campbell as our forward scouts. LVL 10 Recon Mages, our highest in the squad.
All could see magic, a specialized mage power.
Sarge sent them in, equipped with the usual rifles and radios. For a quick look around, ya know? In and out. We¡¯d all done it on a mission at some point. They cast a spell that let them see in the dark and walked towards the trees.
All of us pretended not to eavesdrop on the communications tent as we patrolled the camp. Sarge knew, though. Don¡¯t think he blamed us or was content to keep quiet at least. No one had gotten visual on the Elves, and their report would be our first chance. Hell, they got the name more for the forest-dwelling than anything else.
I was close to the tent when the screaming started. Nobody looked at my entrance or cared about my skulking up behind the operator. Sarge fixated on the equipment like it would show him what was going on. It wouldn¡¯t. Video didn¡¯t work in that place. Multiple drones had died to teach us that lesson.
Jenkins yelled for the others to retreat. We heard gunfire. Quick bursts. Controlled. Footsteps smashing through the undergrowth. Something screamed. High Pitched. Inhuman. It reminded me of cicada, but louder.
Uncontrolled gunfire. More screaming. More running. Smith yelled out for Jenkins, but Campbell screamed for her to keep going. Another radio nearby blared to life. A member of the patrol closest to the forest. Smith and Campbell were running towards the camp.
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Not Jenkins.
That much was obvious at the crunching sounds we could hear over the radio.
The operator vomited into a nearby bin. Sarge didn¡¯t say a word, instead gesturing for me to follow him out. My mouth remained shut, but Sarge didn¡¯t yell. Got on comms and told us to secure the camp.
No one was to get close to the mass of trees.
We all saw them as they entered the camp. Staggering and riddled with arrows. Crude wood and bone. Primitive, but deadly. What would they be like with rifles in their domain? Christ, I hoped they didn¡¯t understand what it was. Or that Jenkins used up his ammo.
Doc had his work cut out for him.
I slept poorly that night. Dreams filled with screaming, Jenkins begging for help, nightmarish monsters. Hopefully, someone has a plan for this.
Day 13, Outback, Unit 412
Three days since we lost him.
Two days since we learned what those so-called Elves looked like. Smith was the one to deliver the report, and later on the gossip. Campbell was still with the shrink we¡¯d brought with us. He was going to get sent home. Everyone knew it.
So here¡¯s what we now know about what we¡¯re calling Elves. Humanoid, but incredibly thin. Stick-like Smith mumbled. Wearing rags that showed off skin stretched tight over bone. Speaking of the skin, a mottled brown, and they have dark green hair, though Smith claimed both changed as they moved. Some kind of camouflage. Red hues when passing redwoods, darker greens when closer to the upper foliage. Not that she got a perfect chance to study them. Too busy running.
Two legs like us, but four arms. They didn¡¯t move along the ground, instead, stalking them through the trees. Leaping between branches, stopping to fire bows they tossed from hand to hand.
If Jenkins hadn¡¯t glanced up in time to spot their original ambush? Dead. All of them. One descended as they neared the edge. Neared escape. Weird bug eyes glowed as it bared pointed teeth. Jenkins had shot it, bullets ripping one of its arms right off.
Smith started giggling. The sound made my stomach curl, especially as she stopped making eye contact. Turns out the appendage grew back. It had bared its pointed teeth and started making that cicada noise. Distracted, they didn¡¯t react in time as the others caught up.
When she turned at the noise of them dropping to the Forrest floor, Jenkins waved her on. One hand covered his eyes as the others wrapped his torso. She wanted to go back. She repeated that for a while. It took some time for her to finish. Once calm, her tale ended swiftly.
Campbell grabbed her arm and pushed past the Elf Jenkins had shot. Not that it had tried to stop them. Several arrows hit them on the way out, fired from others hiding in the trees. They hadn¡¯t registered during the run, though Doc voiced surprise at how deep they¡¯d penetrated.
She apologized for Jenkins, and I told her we got it. This was war. Shit happened.
The crate was delivered by air the next day, which distracted us. It was a sizable box, holding the supplies we¡¯d need for a prolonged siege. Another box came with it, this one smaller, and stamped confidential, in 5 different languages.
Sarge checked the attached note, and before we started unpacking, told us to form a line with a hand outstretched. Phillips asked if they had caught us stealing and if he should go grab a sword. His comment got a round of chuckles, that even Smith joined.
Sarge told him not to worry, and to shut up. More laughs. He started at the end of the line, farthest from me. Like always. I know! Unfair. But the wait was worth it, sort of. As he drew closer, he pulled a copper ring from the box. Gasps of shock from the recipient from the line ahead of me made me excited. We¡¯d all heard about magic items.
The Army employed whatever artificers and crafters they could get their hands on. Finally, they pulled through. A magical power-up perhaps? I imagined a fire sword forming in my hand as the ring-shaped my magic. Yeah, shut up. That would have been cool. It wasn¡¯t a fire sword, but it was still useful.
Sarge smiled as he handed me my ring. I slipped it on, and the pop-up signaling the equipping of magical items snapped into view.
{Ring of Camping
Contains the following spells:
Digger: Dig a 1.5 meter square hole, evaporating the dirt.
Clean: Target 1 object, clean it of all debris and dirt.
Lighter: Make a small flame, the size of an average palm
Minor Decontaminate: purify a 1L container of water
Magically locked to target}
Wish I could say my expression remained stoic, but Sarge¡¯s laughter told me I¡¯d failed. Come on, can you blame me? Sure, the spells were useful, but I wanted something cool. Or, at least, something that would protect me from the nightmarish monsters Smith described.
Sarge remained quiet until he finished handing out the boxes¡¯ cargo. Then explained the plan.
Moats. One of the water mages would fill it, and a summoner would fill it in with some creatures. Another line of defense, until the big wigs gave us permission for another scouting mission. Not that the Elves had poked their heads a centimeter from the Forrest. None of us complained.
I slept better, lulled by the sound of the nearby water. But not by much.
Day 20, Outback, Unit 412
Sorry for writing at the start of the day, poor etiquette, I know. But I have news!
Sarge called me, Perkins, and Hudson in. We were the new scouting team. The thing we all had in common? Fire Magic. Apparently, the plan was to smoke the bastards out. Get them in the open where we could take them down with superior firepower.
Hudson asked why we didn¡¯t just napalm them. He had always been pretty outspoken, but this time I was thankful.
Sarge¡¯s reply made my blood cool. They had tried. It didn¡¯t stick. Magical fire might, but no one was sure. Which meant we were going to be the test subjects. Joy. He didn¡¯t apologize for sending us into what we all knew was a death trap. We didn¡¯t expect him to.
He gave us leave from our patrols, time to get a meal, get our supplies in order. I¡¯m planning on taking as many grenades as they let me. If I do go out, I want it to be big!
Anyway, we¡¯re leaving in an hour. They want us inside at midday, on the off chance they¡¯re nocturnal.
And, well, hey! Look on the bright side, right? Two of them made it back last time. All I have to do is outrun Perkins.
See ya soon.
Dwarven Encounter
Forward
Welcome back, dear reader. Benjamin Caddock, back again, with a different tale for you this week. This was an interview recorded by a police sergeant told by an amateur explorer who had gone into the nearby mountains.
Harold Smit was our first contact, as far as I could find, for what we now call Dwarves. Nasty creatures, but he¡¯ll tell you all about that. Don¡¯t judge him too harshly. I¡¯d have run too.
Interview Report dated 21/03/30XX
Presiding Officer: Sergeant Ryan Rensil
Interviewee: Harold Smit
Police Officer: This is Sergeant Ryan Rensil, interviewing Mr. Harold Smit at 12:00 pm. So, Mr. Smit, can you please explain exactly what you saw yesterday morning?
Mr. Smit: What I saw, man? I told you what I saw!
Police Officer: Yes, but this is for the record. Now you¡¯ve calmed down a bit. We thought you might give us more details?
Mr. Smit: Shit man! Sure. Fine. On the record. So I was out exploring the new mountain that popped up?
Police Officer: The one that¡¯s legally off-limits.
Mr. Smit: Yes. Sure. Fine. But I¡¯m an explorer, ya know? A man who seeks the unknown. What is more unknown than a mountain that appeared out of thin air?
Police Officer: Trespassing aside. You were exploring the mountains?
Mr. Smit: Right. Sure. Um. Right. Ok, so. I went to the mountain. No one was around, and there was a hole in the fence, so I slipped through that. You should get that patched, by the way.
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Police Officer: I¡¯ll be sure to mention that.
Mr. Smit: Sure. So yeah, I slipped through the fence and started climbing the mountain. It wasn¡¯t a hard climb, either. Lots of handholds, you know? Anyway, yeah.
Police Officer: Are you alright? Do you want a coffee or?
Mr. Smit: No. No, the shaking will go away on its own. Maybe. So I was climbing the mountain and there was a cave. Not Natural, more like a hole someone dug in? I¡¯ve been down a couple of mine shafts and stuff. Thought it could be fun. There wasn¡¯t much, but it was dark. Real dark. Had a torch with me, but the light didn¡¯t illuminate much.
Police Officer: And that didn¡¯t deter you?
Mr. Smit: No. No, it¡¯s not the first time, like I said.
Police Officer: Right.
Mr. Smit: So I went into the cave. And it was dark, but my light didn¡¯t do much. The silence was odd. Like my boots are heavy, and on stone, but I couldn¡¯t hear anything. My own breathing was inaudible. I did a sensory deprivation bath thing once? Similar. Creepy. Figured at that point, a few more meters, and I¡¯d turn around. No point getting lost. But it was too late. Way too late.
Police Officer: Do you want to stop?
Mr. Smit: No, I¡¯m ok. The voices, you know? But that¡¯s not until later. Anyway, after the pitch black, a blob of light formed up ahead. I wasn¡¯t expecting what lay ahead. How could anyone?
Police Officer: And what was it?
Mr. Smit: Humanoid. Squat, and it glowed, man. It glowed! Its skin was white, it had a long beard that was green, sort of like moss-colored, same with the hair. Long, tangled. But I swear, man, it was moving on its own. Like, sweeping back and forth around it like an elephant trunk! Or a tentacle. It was creepy. I thought it had four legs but turned out its arms were so long they reached the floor. Thin too, really thin, like a needle. Nails scraped against the ground, but there wasn¡¯t any sound. Not sure why? Didn¡¯t really care. Not after it turned around.
Blood-red teeth, and white eyes. No pupils. Not that I was focusing on that. Blood-red teeth! What the hell was it eating? Doesn¡¯t matter. It screamed when it saw me. Heard that. But not? It was like it happened inside my mind. Some kinda telepathy bullshit.
So I bolted.
Police Officer: You weren¡¯t worried about getting lost?
Mr. Smit: Fuck that man, no. I was worried about getting eaten. Torn to bits and chewed up. Plus, it¡¯s not like I¡¯d turned anywhere.
Police Officer: Right, and then you came here.
Mr. Smit: Basically. You gotta nuke that place, man.
This is where the interview ends. Mr. Smit was charged with trespassing, and therapy was made mandatory.
Beastkin Invasion
Benjamin Caddock here again. This is the last of my files, though this one is. Well. It¡¯s odd. Unlike the others, the Beastkin found us first. There was a hermit painter, Harriet Hill, who lived in the woods, who made first contact. Mute. She never wrote things down. Instead, she would paint her interactions with people. So now it¡¯s my job to attempt translating them. Fun.
Yeah, it¡¯s going to be an interesting one.
I¡¯ll do my best. She had an abstract style. We¡¯re not sure if the thing she met looked as odd as she depicted. Doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s not human, and that¡¯s what you¡¯re here for, right?
Sorry, let¡¯s begin.
Painting 1/5
Title: Arrival of Spirits.
Artist credited: Harriet Hill
Brief Subject description: A fantastical figure approaches a log cabin in the woods during twilight.
Notes:
Brown Hair or Fur covers The Figure that approaches the log cabin in the Forrest clearing. It bears animalistic features, including a tail and what appear to be wolf''s ears sticking out of its skull. No hair. The Figure¡¯s posture is poor by human standards, with a slouched back, and its clawed hands are curled into fists.
Environment-wise, the log cabin, assumed to be the artist¡¯s home, looks well maintained, and the surrounding trees are healthy.
From the colors of the sky, we believe the time to be Twilight. This is odd, as though the color of the environment is appropriate for that time. There is a soft glow around The Figure. A way to make the subject stand out more, or perhaps signs of it casting a spell? This is the only time it shows such a trait. An oddity is that there is a single set of footsteps, human, leading to the cabin. The subject doesn¡¯t seem to have made any on its trip up the path.
Painting 2/5
Title: Meeting of Spirits.
Artist credited: Harriet Hill
Brief Subject description: The Figure and Harriet Hill drink tea together
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Notes:
The perspective of this painting is over the shoulder of Harriet Hill. This allows the viewer a perfect chance to see the face of The Figure for the first time, alongside its general body language. Face wise is best described as beast-like, muzzled by an unknown metallic contraption.
If one looks closer at the metal, one can see Harriet¡¯s face in the reflection, who appears calm at the interaction. This confirms the report given by the squad who approached her after her regular check-up, and discovered her sipping tea with her visitor.
The focus of The Figure, whose green eyes have slit pupils similar to a cat, is on Harriet. Lighter fur surrounds its eyes and mouth, a strip of which continues down, assumedly, underneath the table. A candle sits on the table in between the two, its light causing the pointed teeth of The Figure to glow. The one visible hand holds a teacup, though a series of scratch marks covered the table nearby.
Because of the title and the position of both subjects in the painting, we believe the two communicated, though we do not know yet how.
Painting 3/5
Title: Dressing of Spirits.
Artist credited: Harriet Hill
Brief Subject description: The Figure stands against a black backdrop, dressed.
Notes:
This painting reveals the most out of them, though not about The Figure. In it, The Figure is now wearing a dark green dress, made of homespun material. It still wears the muzzle, in which we can see Harriet beaming as she paints. No emotion shows on the creature¡¯s face, though most would consider its posture, if it was human, relaxed.
In its left hand, it continues to hold the teacup, which is now empty. Running a UV light over the canvas reveals a series of images in the background. Several spaceships from popular Science fiction TV shows, as well as screaming faces, and various symbols for fire. All symbols are placed at, seemingly, random points around the canvas, though none overlap the central figure. The symbol for water is placed underneath the teacup.
Painting 4/5
Title: Naps of Spirits.
Artist credited: Harriet Hill
Brief Subject description: The Figure sleeps in a bed
Notes:
The Figure sleeps in a bed, in what appears to be Harriet¡¯s bedroom. The sleeper¡¯s face twists in a look of anguish, as though they are having a nightmare. Scratches covered the wall, though no examiner has yet uncovered any symbols or meaning behind the scratches.
Oddly, Harriet isn¡¯t in the muzzle''s reflection. Instead, it shows a roaring fire. The squad who checked in found at the property no signs of a blaze.
An examiner once again used a UV light, but nothing was found, nor would anything be in the fifth painting.
Painting 5/5
Title: Damage of Spirits.
Artist credited: Holundria of the Walking Dream
Brief Subject description: The Death of Harriet
Notes:
In this image, a photorealistic version of Harriet Hill lies dead on the kitchen floor. Everything else is in her usual surreal style, however. The Figure makes no appearance in this painting, apart from as a shadow in the reflection of Harriet¡¯s eyes. Outside the window, all is dancing flames.
On the floor next to Harriet is a hunting rifle, though no such weapon was located on the premises. Three rounds have been fired from the weapon, judging from the bullet casings that lay next to the weapon. No bloodstains are seen on any surface, nor were any found when the house was searched.