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Post by MP on Sept 30, 2019 16:40:00 GMT -6
[ Welcome to the annual Halloween event! Before we begin, a few guidelines. Please refer to these or pm me if there are any additional questions during the event. - Please include an OOC summary at the beginning of every post. This makes it easier for others to catch all of your major actions in the event of lengthy posts.
- Ideally, players should make one post per day. If you aren't able to post on a particular day, you can also make an OOC summary post (a few sentences at most) as a placeholder. You are free to replace it with the full post later, as long as it doesn't change your character's actions.
- When certain hazards in the tomb are encountered, I may ask you to make a dice roll. If this occurs, the specified die can be accessed in the dice rolls channel of the Wathais Discord channel by typing !roll d#. However, since we all know dicebot is pure evil, you can also use a physical die, online dice roller, or let me roll for you if this is more convenient.
- Shapeshifters in the tomb transform at a slower rate than usual. The change may be specified on your current turn but will take effect next turn.
- There will be no instant kills in this event. Go wild, and have fun! ]
For some, it may have started with a name - no more than a bullet on a website, or a glance at a buried article. Others who frequent the Wathais Museum of Natural History may have seen the new exhibit in person: a pale mass of leather and bone, skin folded back on itself. Unremarkable. But the image lingers. In the quiet moments at home, with friends, in sleep, it lingers. The weeks go by, and the vision comes more often, more clearly, even for those who’ve never seen it in person. A curl of limbs. A leathery face. It seems closer every time, and at night, your dreams are stained by the dry rasp of fingers. Until the final night. It’s strangely quiet outside. Stifled. Your thoughts are strange and confused, hard to identify as waking or dreaming. Perhaps you dozed off early. Perhaps you went wandering to clear your head. But when you refocus, you’re in a room you’ve never seen before. There is a wall behind you. A dark passage ahead. Something drips, drips, drips in the distance. It smells of damp and dust and decay. Ancient stone blocks line the walls, the floor, the ceiling - what you can see of them, at least. There is a deep, unnatural dark to the air, pooling in corners, pressing in. While you can distinguish your immediate surroundings, it’s impossible to make out what lies ahead. The sound of your breathing echoes back at you, stirring layers of dust. The air is stagnant. Hard to breathe. It seems that no one has visited this place in centuries. Still, you feel the prickle of eyes on your back. And there are other voices in the dark.
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Post by okami1reeka333 on Sept 30, 2019 19:25:50 GMT -6
Jedidiah:
he had only just groggily blinked when he found himself in an strongly unfamiliar place. . . the previous nights, he assumed that it was a case that was bothering him . . . .one of the unfortunate patients whom he was not quite able to save rather recently. . . .but the features on the thing he saw versus the older man whom died on the table after an car accident. . . were largely different he found. . . . confused, he tested the grip in his hands. . . .what he could feel. . . could he feel the other limbs? or not? was he asleep? but there was the smells. . . .
the distant dripping that he noted. . . .did he leave the sink on and or broke it and now there's a smell of mildew? no, that's not mildew. . .
what died? or was it a whom? as he slowly came to realize how alien these were. . .the more and more unsettled he had become. . and perhaps impressed? was there someone bigger then him? definitely strong enough to heave his dead weight. and also fast, holy shet how did they move him that quickly? . . .but then again, was he awake? or asleep? he largely felt alone where he stood. . . . he risked a glance behind him, only to see a wall. . .before glancing down the corridor ahead. . . . although he has felt alone and watched before. . .there was something strongly different this time around. . . . most cases, feral things leave him alone as big as he was, even bears don't necessarily go near him. . .
but something felt very eerie about the sensation of being watched. . . .at the edge of his mind it felt like there was something watching him.. . .but he had just checked, it was just a wall. . . .unless something can punch through it or what not. . . . hes fine. . . . .he just needs to figure out if hes asleep or awake first off. . . or lost? and he needs to find his way back home. . . .
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Post by jarahamee on Sept 30, 2019 22:26:48 GMT -6
The skins had always grabbed Cassius' attention, especially if they were ancient, barely recognizable, scraps. Those were always the pieces that still had power, a life lingering in them. Had it been human? An animal? How many of those in his past could have only wished to be in such shape, still on earth, lingering, known, seen... He always had some casual curiosity about things he wished to know of, but also knew there was not enough time in the world to know everything.
Now, if he had been some kind of supergenius, then, maybe, he would have a theory of everything by now, but he only had patterns, ideas, thoughts, human nature. These were all things he knew well, but shadows of events and people who were lost forever lurked in the back of his mind. The wild time of magic and myth that would never be again. Should never be again.
And then, he dreamed and woke here. What was this place? Reality? An illusion? There was something here, waiting for them in the darkness, in this space he knew was either a tomb, a temple or a labyrinth. Maybe a catacomb. Probably their graves.
The thought was grim.
He lifted his head. There had to be someone here. And perhaps, some way out. He peered into the darkness to see if he could make anything out, or at least, find a torch.
"Hello?"
He called out, wondering where he was. What country? He could call out in almost any language he wished.
Careful/
Cautioned the beast, feeling the presence around them. They were being watched. There were predators here, waiting for them to show their weakness. And here, they were weak.
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Post by tsukikoko on Oct 1, 2019 10:59:11 GMT -6
The dreams, the rasp of fingers, hadn't gone unnoticed so much as accepted. Such things had become such an everyday occurrence, though their severity and frequency had lessened from those initial months, that they barely registered on her radar. It was only as days stretched into weeks, when the threat of exhaustion from so many trouble dreams in succession began to take a toll, that she considered something might be wrong. Stress, perhaps? It had been a long time since she hadn't gotten at least a break from the trauma-induced memories and hallucinations. But still, she learnt to deal with them, as best she could. Thinking that this episode, too, would pass in time.
Thus, when her eyes drifted shut one early evening, a symptom of too many sleepless nights, only to open within the confines of a darkened room, Sara barely reacted. At least, on the surface. She felt the familiar rush of fear, the adrenaline and instinctive desire to get out. Run. Hide. It rooted her to the spot, frozen as mouse before the jaws of a cat. The monsters would be here soon, as they always were.
But, somewhere beneath the layers of terror, rang a clear thought, one she had instilled and trained into herself in order to deal with her trauma.
It's only a dream.
The shifter felt along her Bond, searching for Bruse. Sometimes, depending how deeply she had travelled into her damaged subconscious, finding her spiritual companion could take a while. So, when she didn't immediately feel him, Sara still didn't think of her situation as anything more than another nightmare. She turned, as though in a trance, towards the wall. Felt a shift ripple along her flesh. Sometimes she could transform in her dreams, other times she could not; it appeared this time her subconscious was working in her favour. Soon, a very large dog came to take up the space where she had been stood and began to dig at the join of the wall and the floor.
To travel along that dark hallway was to invite death. This was only a dream, but she still didn't need to experience that again. Didn't need to see it. She just had to wait until Bruse came to help her out. Keep up the repetitive motion to distract her brain, perhaps make the sounds in the distance stop. This was only a nightmare, no matter how real the brick felt against her paws, or how the cloying air in her chest made breathing difficult. She'd experienced similar before and it hadn't been real then. It wasn't real, it wasn't.
Because the shifter didn't know how she would cope otherwise.
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Post by NightshadeVII on Oct 1, 2019 13:41:53 GMT -6
[OOC: Edge is robbed of a nice night in with Faolan and is rather confused as to where he even is. He tries to get a feel for the environment around him and stay calm.] “Yeah Faolan, of course it’s okay if you came over, that is never not going to be okay,” Edge smiled as he answered the nervous and apologetic blonde on the phone, “in fact, I’d love it. You’ll be staying the night?” As he spoke, the punk had entered the kitchen, checking his cupboard for coffee, because he had a feeling that he had run out of Faolan’s brand. Judging by how the blonde had reacted last time Edge had offered him decaf coffee, he didn’t dare repeat that. Just as he thought, he only had decaf. Edge glanced at the time, the closest convenience store was still open, he’d be able to make it there and back before Faolan arrived for sure. A warm feeling had been spreading in his chest since Faolan called and asked if he could come over. Of course, it was always great to spend time with the blonde, and spontaneous nights in were no exception. Though, Faolan had sounded anxious, on edge and unsure of himself, and while the Darai didn’t know why, he wanted to do his best to counter that feeling by providing a calm and comforting atmosphere. “Great! I’ll go down to the convenience store real quick, I’ll be back before you get here. Take care Alright?”, as he spoke, he slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed his coat from the closet by the door. “Can’t wait to see you, Babe.” With that, the phone call ended and Edge shrugged on the jacket. The smile lingered on his lips, a soft, content thing. He was looking forward to seeing his partner again. With Faolan’s work hours and Edge’s gigs, it was rare that they could meet spontaneously like this, which just made this chance even more worth grabbing. Without thinking, Edge popped headphones in his ears, turned on some music, and headed out the door, locking it behind him. The convenience store was barely a two minute walk away, but walking outside in the evening, as the dark had fallen over the city and the air was cold was refreshing due to how different it was. Most people saw the city during the day more often than they did during the night, so there was a slightly otherworldly feel to it, in a good way. The Darai’s breath came in mists before him and he hummed to himself. The trip to the store was quick and uneventful, except for one moment, as he paid the cashier and they reached out. That’s when he noticed their hands and for a moment, they morphed, becoming thin and skeletal, the skin seeming leathery. He had seen this before, in dreams that had haunted him lately. A strangely specific imagine that he had thought nothing of the next morning, attributing it to a horror movie he had watched recently. But here it was. For a moment, Edge forgot to breathe, and the imagine disappeared, like mist before the sun. Snapping out of it, Edge apologized to the cashier and paid, taking his leave not a moment after. That was weird, he thought to himself, as he tried to shake the imagine out of his mind. Could it have been a trick of the light? Once home in his apartment, he but the coffee away and plopped down on his couch. There was still a little time before Faolan would get here. To clear his mind, he picked up a paper that had been lying on his desk, lyrics he was working on scribbled across it, unfinished. He had no plans of finishing it, but perhaps new ideas might come to mind. ______ It felt like he had barely blinked, but when he opened his eyes, all he saw was darkness, at first glance. But then, slowly his eyes adjusted, pupils dilated to take in light. A dark passage ahead, seeming unending at first glance, a wall behind him. Confused and on edge, the darai hisses under his breath, a series of clicks following soon after as he tries to understand the situation. What just happened? Where was he? Without thinking, Edge crouched down and let his fingers graze the floor, getting a feel for the material. Then he closed his eyes, let go of his pent up breath and let his mind travel along the walls, not knowing if he’d even get anything out of it. After a while, purple eyes opened again and he rose, looking around, studying his surroundings, yet far from relaxed. The far off dripping, the stagnant air, the dust making it hard to breathe. It was unreal, something he almost couldn’t believe, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was standing in the middle of it. Then he noticed how watched he felt, heard the sounds in the dark. His heartbeat picked up, his breath got stuck in his throat, his imagination ran rampant, trying to figure out what could make such sounds. Dread came creeping, wrapping around his mind, irrational thoughts taking over. Was he trapped here? Was something hunting him? What was even going on? Deep breath. Take a deep breath. Feel your heart beating, you’re alive. Keep it that way. The Darai did just that, remembering that Luca had said this to him once. The situation wasn’t all that similar, but the philosophy was still applicable. Panic would only lead to error. If he panicked now, he risked fucking up royally, and that wouldn’t do. He had to try and get out of here instead. Whatever and wherever here was.
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Post by Pearl Dragon on Oct 1, 2019 15:07:30 GMT -6
Kira tossed in her slumber, bolting suddenly forward with eyes wide and heart thundering in her chest. She blinked away the nightmare, still feeling the thin, dried fingers on her face and neck before they too faded into nothing. She was safe, of course, still tucked in the hovel that was the tree she lived in. She'd been having nightmares for the past week, always the same and ever since she'd found the museum flyer on Jedidah's table, mixed amongst other random junk mail, one night when offered dinner. She'd going through it just like the children's books she so loved, but immediately shoved it away at the sight of the corpse within its pages. It had startled her, and now continued to do so even in sleep.
Struggling to calm herself, Kira curled her wings back to her body and closed her eyes. Sleep came easily enough, which was odd since lately it had been like chasing wind. When she awoke again in another jolting gasp, moments later, she thought perhaps she'd fallen from her perch this time. Hard, cold stone pressed against her side and she sat up in the dark. Something was off...as her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, she saw no tree. No forest. Instead, she saw a space made of stone, and the air was thick with stagnant dust that seemed to float motionless all around her. Despite her normally acute nightvision, the space was hard to make out, perhaps due to the dust. Her fear did not subside, especially when she looked around at her new surroundings. Was she still dreaming? It felt so real, and it wasn't fading like it had before. How long had she fallen back to sleep?
Slowly, Kira pushed herself to a huddled crouch. Her eyes peered around, ears flickering at minute sounds all around her. Shuffling, movements, and was she being watched? The air was heavy, and each panted breath held no satisfaction. Nearby, she thought she could hear scratching or digging sounds. Fighting hesitation, Kira gave the room one last look-over before heading towards the sound. When a large, dog-like shape came into view, she paused a few feet from it. Dipping her head lower, she offered a small "...h'lo" greeting. Whatever it was, it looked just as panicked and confused as she felt. There were still other sounds around her as well, but their shapes were obscured by the dark and the dust.
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Post by Vaitris on Oct 1, 2019 16:08:03 GMT -6
Of course it would be well after dark when Hau discovered that there was nothing edible left in the motel room. It wasn't the first time he'd lapsed in this regard, it was hard to keep too much on hand when all you had was a mini-fridge for storage. But lucky for him, there was a tiny 24-hour diner just down the road.
He was halfway there, cutting through an alley and texting his sister, when something changed. Glancing up from his phone, he gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness around him. No details coalesced out of the black, however, and he realized belatedly that the shadows has sidled right up next to him, thick and claustrophobic. The walls of the alley had closed in behind, except they weren't brick anymore. And that wasn't concrete beneath his feet either. Both were now made of roughly cut stone thick with dust and cobwebs. The night sky and the street were gone. Somehow, he wasn't where he was just a moment before. He could feel it. And he could smell it, the scent of musty decay rankled his nose.
Hau blinked, not sure what to think or do. Was this some sort of illusion? Were he a stronger kitsune he could see right through it. A dream maybe? Had he passed out? He didn't remember doing such a thing. And besides, this place didn’t feel like any dream he’d ever had. Whatever this was, it was quickly making him uncomfortable. His first instinct was to reach for his foxfire and he was half a second from summoning it when he caught himself. Hau's skin prickled with the feeling of eyes on him. He wouldn't do it, not right now, not in the presence of strangers.
He thought he could feel people in the murkiness around him and a voice calling out "hello?" made him start. Tentatively, he turned in its direction, answering "who's there?"
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Post by Sharei on Oct 1, 2019 16:23:36 GMT -6
Nightmares were not uncommon for the dragon. They plagued him nearly every night. Sometimes they became night terrors and he woke up screaming in the bunker, frightened of the human-shaped shadows on the walls. Marchelute would come to him then to quiet his crying.
Sometimes he woke screaming in his den, alone but for the rock, and cried himself back to sleep.
These nightmares were different though, and a welcome change from the usual. They were insistently disturbing, but not overly frightening, and left him with a chill down the spine and an uncomfortablness in the pit of his stomach. And at least while he was dreaming of old things in forgotten places, he wasn't dreaming of the aerie.
When he woke unexpectedly that night it was on a cold stone floor. This wasn't unusual, except that he'd gone to sleep in the bunker that night and not the den. Well, that explained the shape at least, as gangly human arms clad in soft pajamas pushed him upright. The musty smell of the deep things was back, and a preternatural darkness hung in the air. The juvenile shifted, listening to the sounds of movement in the dark. And... scratching? Voices?
"... Hello?" he called, getting to his bare feet. "... Bàba? ... Sesza?" Then, more quietly, "Dad?"
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 1, 2019 16:37:56 GMT -6
With Halloween creeping closer and closer, Faolan had been expecting nightmares. They hadn't been that much of an issue, at first. But they'd gotten worse, in the last few days. The visions of petrified skin and dead, hollow eyes shone in the reflection of his laptop screen. Flickered over the faces of his colleagues. Stared back at him in the bathroom mirror.
Today had been no different. The doctor slipped his jacket on, casting one last look over the room before he left. Edge always helped, more than he knew he did. The only times the nightmares waned was when the Darai was lying next to him, on the couch or the bed or just anywhere close. He let out a quiet puff of breath at the thought.
And inhaled an ancient, stale air as his surroundings blurred.
"Oh, for fucks sake." Faolan pressed his fingers to his temples, anxiety and dread pooling thick and heavy in his gut as he took in his surroundings. A treacly darkness pressed in from all sides, ridden with the heavy, malicious weight of hidden eyes. A stone corridor stretched endlessly ahead.
With a shiver, he stepped back. He could make out other figures in the gloom, could hear their voices, but his gaze focused upon one familiar, shaggy-haired silhouette. "Edge?" His heart fell as he stepped closer, and their eyes met. The distance between them was closed in a second, and Faolan near collapsed as he embraced the taller man. There was a long moment of quiet as he blinked back tears, and a rising sense of panic. It wasn't fair. Not Edge too.
"I'm so sorry you're here as well." He eventually managed, voice thick and muffled as he found the others hand and intertwined their fingers. "I wish you didn't have experience this. It…" the blond drew back, taking a gulp of the stale air. "You haven't...this hasn't happened to you before, has it?..."
He knew it was a dream, of sorts. That it wasn't really real - but the deaths certainly felt like it was. Knowing it wasn't real didn't help, because he still didn't know what to expect. It changed every time. The monsters. The other victims. The fear of the unknown was a terrible thing, and he squeezed Edges hand a little tighter at the thought.
As his gaze fell upon the others, he wondered which of them would be the one to kill him this year.
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Post by beastly on Oct 1, 2019 17:39:41 GMT -6
Grace hadn't meant to scream. That's not a very helpful response. The hairy, tall creature had been minding her own business, trying to settle down for a nap, when she had closed her heavy eyes for just a second too long. When her eyes opened again she was not at home and she was not outside. That caused her to scream. She quickly clasped her hands over her mouth.
She felt stuffy and cramped, hunted almost. And that breathing... this had to be a nightmare.
Hands still clamped hard around her mouth, she takes hesitating steps into the unknown. She cant go back, after all. Even with mouth covered she cant help but whimper. Her nightmares usually just wake her up once shes scared...
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Post by Marshmallow on Oct 1, 2019 21:04:03 GMT -6
[ OOC: Marchelute arrives in a daze, is briefly confused, then worried, and goes immediately to Draggo upon noticing him. ]
He almost didn't notice the change, at first. He was distracted, restless. Everyone else was asleep, but not Marchelute. He needed to be moving, always moving. Fall was the worst. He couldn't even think straight...
It was already dark, already quiet, and his head was buzzing with empty, wandering thoughts of a home he'd never known. That he had somehow, in the space of a blink, traded the cool kitchen linoleum for dusty old stones almost didn't register. The scrape of his talons on the cobble went unnoticed. It was the scent that brought his scattered thoughts to attention. The smell of stale air and old things. In the dark, his brows furrowed with confusion.
Then there were the murmurs, voices both familiar and foreign. Shapes, bodies milling in the shadows. The scrape of paws on stone. A cry, a whimper.
It all reminded him of something... almost forgotten. A labyrinth of bleak, claustrophobic hallways, screams in the dark...
'Bàba? ...'
Marchelute snapped back to himself with a start and turned toward the sound of the juvenile's voice. "I'm here," he rumbled low in Mandarin to comfort the young dragon. He could consider the where, how and why of things later, after making sure the boy was safe.
His eyes strained to adjust to the darkness. It shouldn't be this difficult to see, he had never been troubled by the dark before... And there was a chill in the air. He attempted to call his flame, to light the shadows as well as to warm himself and his ward. Maybe, they could find an exit.
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 1, 2019 21:10:39 GMT -6
Since he had come here, October had always been a fraught month. He already suffered anxiety, but the month and the knowledge of what it would bring, what it always brought, riddled him with terror. Ari tried to keep it contained, to himself - he knew Marchelute could probably feel it and Raine could likely guess at it pretty easy, but they already had so much else to deal with... he didn't want to be an additional burden.
Raine had probably meant the trip to the museum to serve, at least in part, as a distraction from his anxieties - and it had worked as that, at least for a little while. Ari had appreciated it, it was nice to get out, to do things in the city that didn't involve his job... At least, he had thought it nice until he had seen the museum's new star exhibit. The dessicated bundle of skin and bone hadn't been much to look at, he had seen worse looking carrion up on the mountain - but something about it unnerved him and he couldn't place exactly what.
Images of the thing haunted him, invaded his dreams and displaced old nightmares with new. Sarkany stood before him, bleeding from a thousand wounds as spikes of metal and bone pierced him, something behind him wrapped long spidery fingers around his neck and then his throat yawned open like a crimson maw. He was crushed, pinned beneath fallen rock, ancient dust clogging his nostrils as roughly worked stone pressed him down and instead of Viktoria's leering skull with its sharp needle teeth it was that dried mask of a face stretched taught over its skull that looked down on him. His fingers twisted painfully, caught somewhere between dry mummified paws and human digits, something constricted in his chest, and then his ribs burst outward like spider fingers and a host of gleaming scorpions ripped free of his body. Even older nightmares were replaced - the touch of cold, dry fingers caressing his skin became skeletal and claw-like, sharp inhuman teeth sank into his throat, his blood spattering the thing's dessicated hide and making it fresh and new. Somehow the worst was the dream where he was lost in endless corridors, old stone and indecipherable writings, alone but with the knowledge that he was prey, he was watched and hunted.
He woke curled into himself, crying more often than not. He knew his mates were aware of it, but he still tried his best to pretend it was nothing. He withdrew, at least a little; the nightmares were bad but they were just dreams. There were more pressing concerns to deal with than his, like Marchelute's new draconic son, the pain he was going through. That was more dangerous than dreams. And even with the curse that claimed him, year after year, even with those horrors at least he knew that they would not kill him, not in truth. Year after year, he had felt himself die, and then awakened to find his body whole and sound - it wouldn't kill him, maybe couldn't kill him, and however much he dreaded it, it still couldn't be as dangerous as the dragon's despair.
He was expecting it this year, but it still made his blood run cold when he awoke not curled on the bed but naked on a cold stone floor. His breath froze in his throat and he held still as stone for a moment, listening, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was barely enough light to see more than the damp stone beneath him, the walls of the corner he had awakened in; the rest of the space was shrouded in a cloying darkness, the air musty and stagnant. His ears twitched as he heard water dripping somewhere far off, the echoes of it making him think of those endless corridors he had dreamed of.
Something moved nearby, a scuff and scrape against stone. Ari pushed himself up quickly, gathered into a crouch, then used the wall to help him stand. Should he shift? His skin itched, cold sweat dripping down his neck to run down over the mark there. An anxious dog-scent drifted to him in the still air, vaguely familiar, and then there were voices calling out. Two were familiar to him immediately - questioning call of the dragon, and then softer mumbled words he couldn't make out, but the cadence of the voice was Faolan's. He hesitated, then with one hand trailing the wall he moved toward the voices.
"H-Hey! I... I'm here too!" The thick air he drew into his lungs to call out nearly made him choke, and his voice trembled. He forced himself to pause, draw another breath - it still made him want to cough, the damp dust and mildew that hung in the air. "Th-This place isn't... it isn't real. It-It's never real, not really..."
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Post by MP on Oct 2, 2019 0:12:06 GMT -6
All: The sound of anxious voices rise in the dark. Ancient dust stirs. But the dark and the silence seem unwilling to lift their hold. From the first, the entombed sense something off. Edge's stone sense is oddly muddy, confused. The stone feels fuller, feels wrong, as if there is something else just beneath the surface. Marchelute’s magic feels like lighting damp tinder. Feels like the air is barely enough to feed the fire. Meanwhile, Sara's shift is far slower than it should be, the shape forming sluggishly, as if pushing through deep water. Her claws kick up dust in dirty clouds, but the stone beneath is unmarked. Whether further persistence would pay off or not, she never has the chance.
As Sara's transformation takes hold, as green flame sputters to life, the air changes. Something in the darkness moves. Refocuses on Sara, on Marchelute, closing in on them from every direction, like the weight of countless eyes turning. There is awareness in it. Anger. It oozes from between the bricks, crawls along the waiting passage towards the two. The air of the room is suffocating. Crushing. The thing in the dark moves closer, closer, reaching out. There is no air to scream. And as it reaches them, rolling over the living, the dark becomes complete. The press of nearby bodies - the warmth of hands, the comforting weight of a shoulder - is gone. The room is empty, leaving only the dark and the silence.
Cassius: A sharp smell washes over the old soldier, sweet and sickly, rotting and chemical. He is standing at the center of a square room. The floor around him is pitted with shallow holes, and he can see the angles of withered shoulders, sunken faces, rising above them. Not holes. Graves. The mummies lie curled on bare earth, two to a grave. There are ragged bundles clutched between them, almost protectively. Their faces are turned upward, staring, but the torches on the walls are mercifully unlit. The pits are too shadowed to make out sharp detail. There are twelve graves in all - eight ringing the outer edges, and four in the center.
There is a stone door set in the wall ahead, and another set in the right wall. The stones between the graves form narrow catwalks, though the graves are so close together and so tightly packed that careless feet may brush a shoulder or wisps of hair as Cassius walks.
Faolan: As his vision clears, Faolan finds himself in a modest room, the walls set with unlit torches, the dull walls offsetting four beautifully carved chests. There are two darkwood chests by the left wall, flanking a heavy stone door. A pair of ivory chests flank a door on the right. There is a third door at the end of the room, and this is flanked by a pair of curled, leathery shapes. Two figures lie against the door, hands over downturned faces. The clothes have rotted off their bodies, and the lines of their bones are visible through sunken skin. The smell of grave dust and preserved flesh offsets any beauty in the room.
Grace: In place of living voices, a sweet stench wafts over Grace's nose - the faded but unmistakable smell of decay. She is in a long, dilapidated hallway. Dark torches sit in metal holders along the walls. The ceiling has collapsed midway, and rubble is piled almost seven feet high, leaving a foot or so of space. The gap looks big enough to crawl through should the lighter rubble be cleared, but the other side is obscured by the collapse and by the oppressive dark.
Marchelute: The darkness recedes abruptly, and the ifrit's retinas are seared by a sudden light, strong enough to set the eyes watering. The room is stark white, the cracks and corners of the stone bricks washed clean of shadows. The result is a flat, disorienting world, empty except for the light: it’s set in the center of the floor and ringed by hooked protrusions - the shape of a disk, a sun. It’s hard to look at. Hard to look away. But should Marchelute stare around the room, he can begin to make out faint details. There is a door at the end of the left wall, just visible over the light. Another at the end of the right wall. The room seems otherwise empty except for a textured stretch of wall at the ifrit's back.
Kira: A heavy, humid smell replaces the scent of dust. The burbat finds herself at the threshold of a flooded room. The floor has sunken in, stones bricks sloping into black mud and discolored water, and only a lip of stone remains. It forms a narrow walkway around the edge of the room, slick with damp and dark growths, no more than a foot at the widest point. There is another door at the opposite end of the room, identical to her own. The thresholds of the twin entrances are the only stables places to stand aside from a stone statue half submerged in the lake. The figure crude, hardly more than a lump of rock etched with the suggestion of limbs. All the detail has gone into its head. It has four faces for the four walls. A wide black mouth yawns on each of them, identical, so that the figure seems to track the viewer no matter where in the room they stand.
Ari: When the sounds of confusion fade, there is no Marchelute. No dragon. No other living soul. Ari is alone at the entrance of a small room, low-ceilinged and claustrophobic. A dusty feeling settles into his nose in the close confines - an old smell, sweet and disturbingly chemical. It comes from the far end of the room, where a pair of withered shapes lie in sphinx-like watch. Blackened skin and stained yellow fangs are visible through the gloom.
There is a door in the wall at Ari's back, and a second to the right, closer to the skin and bone hounds. But behind them is a small treasure trove. Polished ivory figurines, lacquered boxes, ancient and rotting furs. The most notable item is a life-sized statue standing by the back wall, behind the treasure. It seems to survey the room with its blank clay eyes. One hand holds a polished horn. The other is oddly clenched at its side.
Sara: When the dark sweeps in, it moves like a tide, spreading out and out, the air deepening from a hum to a low, surrounding moan. The shifter stands at the mouth of a massive gallery. The ceiling stretches up and up into darkness, expansive. Oppressive. Sound carries eerily in the open space, even the softest footsteps echoing. Columns stand along the walls, carved in human likeness, and their stone hands are cupped to form braziers. The ancient bundles of fuel are rotten through, filmed with dust, and do nothing to lift the dark. If anything, the columns only deepen the feeling of being watched.
Beyond the columns, the room rises in tiers, ramps flanking shallow stairs. Two looming shapes crown the top, arched necks and bunched muscles visible beneath rotting fabric. The statues of chariots - clay horses, clay men. They stand guard over the path, the spears of the charioteers crossing to form an arch. There are three doors behind them: one in the left wall, one in the right wall, and a massive circular portal at the end. The side doors are identical and set with ornate locks. The third, from Sara's lower vantage, shows no signs of lock or latch and looks too heavy for any man - or even a team - to move on their own. It’s carved with the symbol of the sun, cresting behind the chariots and the tiered floor, and the stairs lead to directly the heart of it.
Jedidiah: When Jedidiah's vision clears, the walls and ceiling have receded, and he stands at the center of a massive treasure trove. Ancient coins and jewelry are piled against every wall. Even through the gloom, the gems and precious metals have a dull shine. Other objects are scattered throughout - ancient paintings, sealed vases, ceremonial weapons, and more. There are two exits that he can see - an ornate stone door to the right, and another behind him, both marked by unlit wall torches. Grooves in the floor indicate that they open inward, but the sheer amount of treasure currently blocks the doors from opening.
Hau: For Hau, the room hasn't changed much in dimension; nor has the head count, at first glance. He is standing at the entrance to a square room. His doorway is one of a number of regular alcoves cut into each wall. The opposite alcove holds a second door, but the rest are occupied by the other figures in the room with him. Stained faces stare out from the shadowed spaces - life-sized clay figures which face an altar at the center of the room. The altar seems incomplete. There is a circle of indentations in its surface, littered with gravel and, in some cases, the stumps of fitted pieces, long since lost. Now there is only one piece left - the effigy of a man, crude and faceless and somehow expectant.
Edge: A faint warmth lingers on Edge's skin, but this is all that remains of Faolan. He is alone in the corner of a massive columned room. He is alone, but there is one small comfort: a light beside him, warm and shining out from the muraled wall. It ignores all crevices and obstacles, carrying almost to the opposite end of the room. The light is strangely calming. Comforting. A contrast to the tall man sitting several yards away. His features are graying and heavily scarred. There is a sheathed sword across his lap and a knife in his hands. He sharpens the blade with slow, regular rasps of a whetstone. There are doors at the opposite corner of the room, Edge sees, one set in each wall. There is another door to his right, at the very end of the wall. But these are slabs of heavy stone, and the man could easily move to block them. The whetstone rasps, rasps, rasps. The man looks up at Edge and smiles.
Draggo: The momentary comfort of Marchelute's presence is gone. After the rush of dark, there is only a terrible silence, and no one answers the dragon's calls. He is standing by the wall of a gloomy chamber. The air is thick with the smell of mold and damp, and breathing is difficult in the unnatural dark. There are stone doors to the left and right. A mural on the far wall. The worn surfaces are streaked with black stains, but these are only peripheral. The most glaring feature of the room is the yawning well in the center of the floor. The hole is lidless, a pit distinguished only by a ring of raised tiles. Air moans faintly through the opening, the dark so thick within that nothing can be seen past the first few stones. It looks uncomfortably like a mouth.
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 2, 2019 1:36:24 GMT -6
[ Ari approaches the statue to examine it, but if the dogs move he's going to book it out the door that was behind him. ]
The words had barely left his lips when the dark rushed in, like a black cloth thrown over them all - or maybe water rushing in to drown. It felt more like water; he breathed in sharply and almost felt like he had inhaled that dark stuff, and choking he gagged. Coughing hard, he dropped to a crouch on the stone floor - worried he might fall. The darkness pressed in close, made the space feel claustrophobic, closed in. He couldn't hear the others anymore, couldn't smell them, couldn't even sense Marchelute anymore. All the world was this darkness.
And then, slowly, the darkness withdrew. He breathed in carefully, then coughed again as he got a mouthful of dust and chemicals. He reached for the wall again to orient himself, but instead found open air. It was a moment before his eyes adjusted - it was dark, but not so much that he couldn't make out the room. There was no wall behind him now, but instead a doorway yawned behind him. The room was small, but after that clinging darkness it wasn't unbearable. It felt more like an alcove than a real room.
For the moment, he decided to stay on the floor, holding still and looking around. He had to remember to breathe, focus on looking and breathing so he wouldn't think - where had the others gone, why he was alone now, why he couldn't feel Marchelute anymore. It was always a puzzle, there was always some goal. His gaze swept over the mummified dogs at the back of the room - their teeth still looked sharp, even so long after death. They reminded him of something, but he pushed off that remembrance, forcing himself to look away from them. There was a heap of treasure beyond them, but that held little interest for him - nothing looked immediately useful, and he had the distinct impression that the dogs would rise and attack if he tried to take anything.
Another door stood nearer to them than him - another potential pathway. And a larger statue, the size of a man, stood behind the dead dogs. He tensed, for a moment thinking it was a man - but it didn't move, nothing save him and the dust his breath set flying moved. Slowly, Ari forced himself to rise to his feet, forced himself to approach the dogs - slow and wary for any movement. Something about the statue... maybe it was important? He wanted to get a better look at it... But if those dogs moved, he intended to make a run for the open doorway behind him.
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Post by jarahamee on Oct 2, 2019 12:53:01 GMT -6
[Cassius scoffs at the tomb, then looks around for any clues before heading over the stone walkway towards the right doorway. He is conscious of the possibility the sacrificed bodies may not be as dead as he would have hoped]
The darkness and feeling of contact was...unexpected and unwanted. Whatever this thing was wanted to separate them, and wanted them to be terrified. The others, he merely had the briefest glance at...Sara, Faolan, Marchelute.... Then, they vanished again. His emotions were guarded, but the Beast encouraged him to escape, but he knew there was no escape from where they were now...nowhere. No, they would have to use their senses to their advantage, and keep moving. As with all things, there were probably traps, and anything that seemed like a gift probably was not. The darkness cleared, and suddenly, he was somewhere new...
This was a dingy, dingy grand tomb, and the construction left much to be desired. Cassius looked at the crude architecture and shook his head. Where were the high arches, the ornate colonnades? This was all so crude. He lifted a lip, unimpressed, his expression forming a half-snarl. Was this a monument for a mother-in-law? And what sort of human sacrifice was set in open pit graves? Even those in ancient times had the foresight to alight bodies upon a fire to allow the gods to taste the flesh and bone. Perhaps, these were simply cherished family, but then, where were their ornate clothes and possessions? And surely this many babies would not die a natural death. No, these were clumsy sacrifices, he was nearly sure.
He looked at the two doors. Two options.
He had to cross this obvious trap first.
Cassius stepped carefully, in case they were not quite as dead as they seemed, maintaining balance with an animal-like grace across the pit, avoiding any contact with them. He headed towards the right wall. Best to be unpredictable. He looked at the wall and surroundings for any addition clues as he passed through, and carefully monitoring for any change in the environment. Anything that suggested a way out, and the others. They were strongest in groups.
His senses strained as he stared at the darkness with fierce intensity. Being a beast made his senses better than most humans, but it was still..less than he would have liked. Had he still had his skin, it would be a different story, but as he was, it was simply... whatever he and the Beast could be considered together. Its parasitic consciousness was alert, watching for any movement, changes in shadows, puffs of air, or unfamiliar scents besides the scent of dry decay and dust.
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