Baseplate: Created page with "{{News Header|Type=Character News|RealDate=2026-10-15|Publisher=|Author=Henry Westcroft}} 590x590px '''Percival''' has been talking about obsidian for years now. He speaks about structural frames, conductive metals, and spatial theories like a man describing the gearing on a locomotive. To be truthful, I never paid much mind to it. Engineering airships and managing industrial lines takes up enough of my waking..."

2026-10-17T13:50:23Z

Created page with "{{News Header|Type=Character News|RealDate=2026-10-15|Publisher=|Author=Henry Westcroft}} thumb|590x590px '''Percival''' has been talking about obsidian for years now. He speaks about structural frames, conductive metals, and spatial theories like a man describing the gearing on a locomotive. To be truthful, I never paid much mind to it. Engineering airships and managing industrial lines takes up enough of my waking..."

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{{News Header|Type=Character News|RealDate=2026-10-15|Publisher=|Author=Henry Westcroft}}
[[File:An Unusual Frame.png|thumb|590x590px]]
'''[[Percival van der Berg|Percival]]''' has been talking about obsidian for years now. He speaks about structural frames, conductive metals, and spatial theories like a man describing the gearing on a locomotive. To be truthful, I never paid much mind to it. Engineering airships and managing industrial lines takes up enough of my waking hours without chasing ancient lore.

That changed this afternoon while surveying the open savannah near The Gateway's old borders.

The rain was coming down heavy across the plain when I stumbled onto it: a jagged, half-shattered arch built from pitch-black stone — a type I had never seen before. It didn't look natural. The frame was carved with deliberate, geometric precision, crowned with strange gold blocks and grim, hanging skulls. Even stranger was the ground beneath it — the damp savannah dirt gave way to a patch of raw, blood-red stone that seemed to bleed into the surrounding soil. A single blue lantern sat glowing near an empty chest at its base, completely unaffected by the downpour.

I stood there in the mud for a long time, listening to the rain hit those cold black stones.

Looking at it in person, away from Percival's cozy, controlled laboratory in '''[[Clockhaven]]''', a quiet feeling of unease settled in my chest. Percival sees these structures as a scientific puzzle waiting to be solved. But standing out here in the storm, staring at this dead, alien monument rotting in the savannah, I couldn't help but wonder if some doors are broken for a reason.

I marked the location on my survey map, keeping it to myself as I return to Clockhaven by rail.

Henry Westcroft/An Unusual Frame - Revision history