A peculiar habitat unlike any other within Viatoris, Voss is an enigma found curiously orbiting nothing at the very centre of the cosmos. Initially it appears there would, and could be nothing but chaos strewn across the untold distance of the stars, but in reality, a strange fragmented land drifts where no life should otherwise dare make its stay.

There is a singular inhabitant of Voss, that being the Peacock. How long the Peacock has roamed here is unknown, let alone how long the extraordinary ringworld has, but maybe both of their existences are harmonious and one with the universe. Seemingly made up of shattered vestiges from elsewhere, everything feels as if it simply "belongs", despite each mismatched piece being completely different in both structure and form.

Perhaps this unique celestial body contains remnants of aeons gone by, and possibly even portents of ages to come? As with so many locales, this is a truly special one, one that remarkably remains untouched and at peace inside of what is considered to be the eye of the storm.

These island glimmers extend out as far as the eye can see, and with each rotation new relics may be seen between those that were there before. The esoteric belt never feels crowded however, and it never looks as if any of the temporal slivers need to shift or move to make space.

Without a doubt existence lays warped here, and whether it has been shaped by the Peacock, or by Voss itself is a mystery, but the Timeways do not have the appearance of resting in nefarious hands.

The room is dark, lit only vaguely by candles scattered across the floor. Seven ominous silhouettes stand around in a circle facing each other, silent as if in deep thought or prayer. Inside the circle is a tall pillar, almost completely nondescript within the blackness, apart from one key feature: a swirling clouded vortex engulfing its peak.

“Bring him in,” one of the cowled figures ordered, beckoning towards the door with their hand. Immediately another marches out of the room, not long after carrying in what appears to be a small lifeless body, hood over head. “Are you certain, Herald?” asked a wispy voice among the congregation. “Yes. Now do it.” the leader asserted. Without hesitation the group stands the diminutive character upright next to the obelisk, their size not even reaching half way up it. Hands wrapped behind it, a nail is swiftly hammered through their crossed wrists, binding them to the object and blood beginning to drip on the ground. The previously inert character awakens, squealing in agony, and their hood is snatched off revealing tears flooding down their face.

“Do not cry child, for your sacrifice will save all of Gwirand,” the prior dominating voice soothingly says, stepping forward and removing their cowl. “Auntie Caeda?” the adolescent naively inquires, sniveling from the pain. “Yes, little Jarmin. Now listen closely. I just need you to do one thing for me and all will be okay: look up and tell me what you see.” Trusting his kin he does so, and in that moment his head is locked staring into the abyss above, his eyes glistening at the sight. The candles flicker brighter, illuminating the chamber and unveiling a pentacle enclosing the monolith, filling with the child’s blood. The void overhead pulsates, as if calling out for something, or someone.

Suddenly the screams begin again, only louder and warped by the energies present and growing. Blood starts exuding from Jarmin’s eyes, the boy now shrieking in extreme torment. His youth being released from the swiftly decaying body, Jarmin’s soul is pulled from his now uninhabited corpse and sucked into the emptiness along with all light and sound in the room. The portal expands twofold, then dissipates in an instant flash of dazzling radiance, followed by a deafening unearthly hiss. Pitch black and perfectly silent, the quiet is broken by Caeda. “A pity. Let us prepare for the next one.” The seven walk out together, leaving the room in seclusion.

Rumours of those that linger in the darkness have long been spread, most not believing they are anything more than tales told to scare children. It is suspected by some that the leaders of these shadowy cults hide in plain sight with power and wealth protecting them, others speculate it could be the dregs living on the fringes. The actuality is it is both, and the world is in great peril by the continued attempts to wield forces beyond comprehension. Only death follows in the great dark...