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Post by tsukikoko on Oct 2, 2019 13:24:36 GMT -6
[OOC: Still believes this is a dream because the alternative doesn't bear thinking about. Decides those chariots are absolutely going to come to life but pads over anyway because let's get this over with.]
The various bodies and voices went ignored as Sara scrabbled against the dirt. Even when the blackened anger turned her way, she continued to dig. Such a looming presence, creeping and dangerous, was nothing new. It sparked fear, yes, made her want to look around, to run. But she couldn't, she mustn't. She needed to ignore it. Only the tiny voice at her side, perhaps an attempt at a 'hello', drew Sara's attention.
She should never have looked.
After all the nightmares she'd had, Sara thought maybe she would have learned, never to look when something tried to capture her attention. Because as soon as her eyes diverted from her own paws, large arms snatched her up and cradled the shifter's body against a familiar tall man. Jedidiah. He wasn't a problem, as such, but suddenly the warmth of him made her abruptly question just how much of a dream this was. But she barely had time to register the doctor, his excited words, before the darkness closed in. She was swept away with the tide, opening her eyes to find herself in yet another dank space. Though larger this time.
For a moment, as the shifter looked around herself, she felt the first touch of true, raw panic choke off her airways. Why would she dream this? It wasn't anywhere she had been before, nor did it match any nightmare of the vampire, wendigo or Aaron's kidnapping that had been before. Not to mention Jedidiah. He had felt so... so solid. So present. What if- what if this was real? What if she was in real, imminent danger, had become trapped somewhere deadly and would never see Aaron, Bruse, or anyone she cared about again?
Each draw of breath became difficult. The crocodile-tailed dog stood, legs splayed, in the middle of the room she had been deposited in, staring at a point on the floor without really seeing it. Blood rushed in her ears, too loud.
However, in an unconscious, instinctive attempt to protect what remained of her psyche, Sara's brain refused to believe her reality. Logic twisted, evidence was rationalised. As a child, she'd visited the British Museum, which had a number of very large rooms of Egyptian, Assyrian and Greek relics. In her nightmarish, stress-ridden dreams, taken from a far smaller and more imaginative child's view, it would be easy to manufacture a place like this. Not to mention all the video games she played. That could be it; her child memories and recent trauma were blending and bleeding together. Why, she didn't know. But, regardless, the shifter's breathing began to regulate in the face of such a realisation.
She lifted her head, finally looking around the room. There was no-one else here. No doctor, non of her friends, which was... oddly comforting. It leant further credence to the idea that this was all in her head and meant Sara didn't immediately feel her desperate protectiveness. Her gaze passed over the statues, braziers dead where they lay, swept across walls, the floor and then finally up the stairs, where her eyes settled on the large, intimidating chariots.
All of the shifter's movie and video game experience told her that those chariots, with their crossed spears over the doorway, were definitely coming to life if she tried to approach that giant closed door. But with no response from Bruse yet and with such an obviously horrible situation that her brain was forcing her to face, something akin to anger curdled inside Sara's chest. It was borne of fatigue, desperation, exasperation and a myriad of other emotions congealing into a heavy weight, a scream, within her chest. She just wanted to get out, to wake up. Why not just get it over with? Where before she had wanted to ignore her nightmare until it came to an inevitable end, now she wanted to fight it. Kick, scream and struggle just so it would stop.
With her hackles raised, the shifter padded through the gallery. She moved forward, not necessarily because she wanted to, but because of a defiance in the face of her trauma, because she had to do something to prove this was just a dream and that she would wake up from it. As she always did.
If that meant walking up to cursed clay chariot warriors and being murdered, well, so be it.
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Post by okami1reeka333 on Oct 2, 2019 14:24:07 GMT -6
Jedidiah:
[OOC:not seeing the shift, the scratching draws his attention to the puppy. which he excitedly picks up and gives the pets and starts talking about how they can become the best of friends and all the games they can play, sees a kira before the wall boogers inhale them and segregate them. Jedidiah becomes sad puppy is gone and looks around the area to see whats going on, and if he can see any traps from where he stands and - oh, hes naked. tests floor to see if it is stable]
when he heard the scratching, he glanced over before immediately noticing a fluffy figure with a rough tail, its a puppy! "oooh, a puppy!" he exclaimed. he walked over before scooping the puppy over, seeing shes scratching at the ground and not wanting her to get her paws all cut up. " oh no, puppy your paws, awwwh, your so soft and fluffy. its ok, puppy, when we get out of here, we can become the best of friends. we can have steak, and you can get all the puppy toys you want and we can play games like fetch and tug o war, and you can be safe in my house. " he happily stated as he petted Sara's head and back gently. not realizing it was Dr. Summers. then he noticed Kira and was about to say hi to her.
but when the Ooze from the walls came and it clicked it was a scary thing, he tried to protect the puppy, he couldn't grab Kira in time. a reactionary huddling of the puppy closer to him. . . he yelped, but there was no sound, whatever was engulfing them was suffocating them. . . the touch of the puppy disappeared. . . .
when his vision came to him again, the first thing he did was look down for the puppy before whimpering 'noooooooo' from the realization that the puppy is gone. he sadly moped before looking around and realizing he was in a treasure trove of gold and other valuables. . . he doesn't want treasure, he just wants to go home with the puppy and show ash a puppy so they can all be the best of friends! he sighed before looking around for any signs of traps or what not. . .seeing it was a treasure room there was bound to be things to trigger large scale torture devices and what not . . . this actually reminded him of Indina Johns?. . . was that what those movies were called? he frowned when his eyes came across both doors. . . one was really pretty and the other hes going to have to actually dig in the treasure to free the doors and-
that's when he saw his reflection. . . he was without clothes. . . . . naked . . .everything hung out to see . . . . .whelp. . .hopefully noone saw his unmentionables. well. . . . .he could either try to go through the orientate door. . .or dig out the other door. . . but is the ground trap too? he is heavy. . . .he tests the ground to see if it gives out from underneath him that one movie about the holy grail spooked him about ground stability. . . .
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Post by Vaitris on Oct 2, 2019 14:32:13 GMT -6
[OOC: Hau lights up the room with his foxfire, checks out the alter, then heads towards the door he appeared next to.]
Between one blink and the next things changed again, though not quite in the way they had the first time. Something swept though the room, darker somehow than the shadows that already hid near everything from sight, and more malicious. And when the tide of it receded it took every living soul with it. Hau shivered. He rarely felt the cold, even forgot what it felt like oftentimes, but that had chilled him through. And he didn't like the sensation. Definitely alone now, he summoned his foxfire to supplement what little illumination there was. A blue flame flickered to life just above and in front of him, the frosty azure cast it gave to everything both eerie and comforting at the same time.
The world around him now appeared to be an altar room as that was what dominated the center of the space. In attendance were many clay figures, set back in alcoves that lined the walls. Hau wondered what they were here to witness, or what they had already seen. This place felt old, dead and dry. Unbidden, the image of a mummy popped into his mind. The same one from those ads he'd been seeing around town for the museum's new exhibit. Dead things routinely gave him the willies, but rarely did they linger with him like the image of that had. And this place felt like a tomb, it couldn't be coincidence.
"Th-This place isn't... it isn't real. It-It's never real, not really..."
Were those words true? Or was the speaker - if they were real even - just trying to convince themselves of it? These consistant, nonsensical changes of scenery really spoke of a dream. But if this was such, it was an extaordinarily lucid one. And in dreams there was always some nebulous sense of purpose that drove him. Here, that was absent. His mind wandered. And it wandered towards darker things. This place held a sense of nervous tension that prickled along his spine. There wasn't anything here that outright spoke of danger, but it was in the air, in the staring faces all around him. He wanted to wake up.
Instead, he'd have to settle for escaping the unsettling gazes being cast upon him from every corner of the room. He had the uneasy sense that these things were moving behind his back. Hau glanced once more at the altar in the center of the room, still overwhelmingly curious. Maybe a quick look wouldn't hurt. He wouldn't touch, just observe. Then he'd check out the door next to him, maybe it would lead somewhere more palatable.
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Post by NightshadeVII on Oct 2, 2019 14:42:00 GMT -6
[OOC: Edge is thoroughly spooked now. He talks to to person across him asking if he knows the way out and trying not to offend him, and moves slightly following the wall leading away from the heavy stone doors (he wants to go for the doors in the opposite end) and staying close to the wall to see how the man reacts.]
Edge wasted no time pulling Faolan into a tight embrace, holding him close. The warmth of his partner was calming, the contact putting his mind slightly at ease. Faolan had always had that effect on him. He always managed to calm Edge’s thoughts with the most simple things, when they ran rampant. Sometimes all Faolan had done had been to reach out and hold Edge’s hand, taking a moment to ground him and that was enough. Now Edge could the blonde’s heart beating fast and heavy in his chest, and Edge wanted nothing more than to help him. It was obvious that Faolan had been here before and he was terrified. Whatever this was, it had left an impression, and he was sure that the blonde had done nothing to warrant being here in the first place. Wherever here was. Faolan had barely finished speaking before Edge wanted to assure him, to tell him that they were going to get out of here together, that they were going to be okay. The words were forming and his lips parted drawing breath to speak.
Then Faolan was gone, seeming to vanish into nothing, and before the Darai could even fully comprehend what was happening, he grasped at air, as if hoping the blonde was only a little bit away. What the hell was this? Another series of worried clicks and hisses left his mouth as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. Now he was getting scared, heart beating faster, breathing slightly heavier. He needed to find others, needed to make sure that Faolan was okay. Despite having lived in wathais for years now, this was unlike anything he could remember experiencing... Well not quite. There was something, a vauge memory, more of a feeling actually, that told him he had experienced something like this before. Maybe. He wasn’t sure at all. In fact, he wasn’t really sure about what to think or do about this at all.
Edge shook his head. He needed to think, needed to focus. First priority, find Faolan and possibly others that had gotten transported here. There had been others, he had heard them, managed to cactch glimpses before he was transported to this room. Second priority, getting out of here as quickly as possible.
Then he heard the rasping sound and looked up almost instinctively. For a moment, he forgot to breathe as he saw the person in front of him, scarred and grey, looking more dead than alive. But what worried Edge most was he weapons. The knife in his hand and the seathed blade in his lap. Knowing that he had very little idea of how to defend himself, especially since he didn’t know how his abilities might work here, made the look of the knife and sword all the more menacing. And something told him that the person in front of him knew how to use them. That couldn’t be good at all. The Darai scanned the room quickly, noticing the doors, wondering if he could get to any of them without the scarred man moving. Then the person sitting across from him smiled, and a shiver raked down Edge’s spine.
“Hey, uh, what’s up?” He spoke softly and smiled anxiously, a fragile expression that could shatter easily, “You, uh... you wouldn’t happen to know the way out of here, would you?” Edge did his best to seem non-threatening, hoping not to be seen as an opponent or a challenger, as he felt his way to the wall behind him. By Eda the Darai hoped this wasn’t some creature triggered by sounds or something like that. Breathing softly, and not taking his eyes off the figure in front of him even once, Edge stepped to the side, following the wall behind him. He took one more, before he stopped, watching to gauge the scarred man’s reaction.
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Post by Sharei on Oct 2, 2019 15:30:34 GMT -6
[OOC: The juvenile goes toward the mural to examine it after being startled by the room change, and investigates the two other doors. ]
I'm here, Marchelute had said, but no sooner had he felt the ifirit come near than the big male was gone again, consumed by the darkness. The dragon craned around to locate his guardian but he found only a large stone room, a set of doors, and a mural. And while he was glad the darkness had receded enough to allow him to see, the sudden atmosphere change had his hackles rising. Where was Marchelute? What had happened to the voices in the distance?
"Hello?"
The sound echoed, but no one answered. The dragon turned his head to get a second look around the room, and here he noticed the well. The juvenile's gaze focused on it for a long moment, sizing it up as though it were some kind of predator, before darting away to look at something else, unnerved.
"Archie?" he called, skirting around the hole in the floor to go and look at the mural. "If this is some new death maze adventure, I don't appreciate being dropped in without warning!"
Another pause, as if waiting for an answer, but when none came the juvenile turned his attention back to the mural. He examined it, noting the details with disturbed silence, and then went to check the two doors. He was careful in examining the space around and along the openings, aware that if this was some kind of death puzzle, there may be traps, and then tried to open them if there were none.
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 2, 2019 16:25:32 GMT -6
[OOC: Faolan grabs one of the unlit torches from the wall, and attempts to open one of the ivory chests. Should it hold nothing of value, he'll move to the next one, and so on. Watches the corpses very warily]
Before Edge could even draw breath to reply, he was gone. Faolan's fingers curled around empty air as he found himself abruptly alone. Heart thudding, he took in his new surroundings. It wasn't a very large room. Four chests. Three doors. Two corpses - which he doubted would stay motionless for much longer. For a minute or so, he stayed frozen, watching for a twitch, a curl of a finger. Anything to indicate they'd attack.
When neither moved, he looked away. He had to get out of this room, that was clearly the objective. His gaze settled on one of the torches set in the wall, and with shaking hands, he removed it from the metal holder. He hefted it in his hand, glancing back at the corpses. Crude as it was, it would work better than his bare hands in a fight. With an internal sigh, he considered the room once again.
The chests were clearly significant. They could hold any number of things. Weapons, a key, a hint. That was how these things always played out. But it was just as likely that opening the chests would trigger a trap. They looked identical, save for the colouring, and it was impossible to tell which, if any, would hold useful items, or murderous ones.
He settled on the ivory chest furthest from the corpses. With furtitive steps, he moved towards it, gaze flickering between the curled forms and the stone beneath his feet, watching for any uneven or discoloured sections - anything to indicate a trigger for a trap. His hands were still shaking when he reached the chest. Ready to slam the lid back down at any sign of danger, he pried it open.
The whole time, he was keenly aware of the corpses in his peripherals. But for the time being, he focused on the contents of the chest, eyes wide and pupils hugely dilated
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Post by Pearl Dragon on Oct 2, 2019 16:36:34 GMT -6
[Kira is whisked away to the damp room and offers another timid greeting to the statue. Then, she begins to try scaling the ledge to the other side of the room with dem monkey toes of hers.]
Kira jumped slightly at the sound of a voice answering her greeting from somewhere in the murky darkness. She turned to look at the owner, but was instead faced with a heavy wall of black that rushed towards her from all sides. Kira shrieked in surprise, falling to her knees and throwing her wings over her head. She curled in on herself, waiting for whatever the thing was to fall upon her, but when nothing did, she simply stayed there in a small ball. When she finally risked peeking through her folded wings, Kira saw that whatever darkness that had overtaken them had disappeared just as swiftly and silently as it had come. Instead, she was hit with the smell of muddy, musty water and wet rock.
The others were now nowhere to be seen, and even the room she was in was completely different. Slowly, Kira stood and peered out at the large room, noting the shallow mud and water below her and the wide brick walls that stretched all around. In the center was a figure with stoney features and a yawning, black mouth.
Kira offered another trembling "hello?", waited for a response, and then looked past it to the other side of the room where another archway led to the unknown. Kira uttered a small, worried whimper, fighting hesitation and anxiety as she struggled to decide what to do. Maybe the others she'd heard were somewhere up ahead, but she'd have to get across the muddy water and statue thing in the current room. "M-my be g-going now." She offered to the thing with the wide mouth. She didn't like how it was able to look everywhere at once, and even as she stepped tentatively towards the narrow lip that stretched across the walls, she watched it warily. With slow, careful steps, Kira relied mostly on her flexible feet and toes to grip the ledge and feel around for even the smallest nooks and crannies to hold onto. Her wings remained spread across the wall for balance, and even her tail served it's own balancing purpose as it moved stiffly behind her. Flying had briefly crossed her mind, but with the air as stale and still as it was, she worried she might not even be able to gain lift off if she tried. Especially when her own lungs seemed just as deprived of the air they so desperately desired in her panicked state.
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Post by Marshmallow on Oct 2, 2019 19:03:09 GMT -6
[OOC summary: Marche is disoriented by omgbrightlight. Tries to get an idea of where he is by studying the room, starting with the textured wall. He then makes his way toward the Left Door, though does not immediately enter]
The flame felt smothered, weak, little more than a candle's flicker in his palm when it should have been as a torch. Marchelute had barely any time to wonder why, as suddenly the air turned... wrong. Abruptly there came the sense that he had made a grave error, as it felt as though the darkness itself turned a thousand eyes upon him. And then it was rushing in, closing around them all. By reflex, the ifrit took a step to place himself before the boy, to protect him. An arm reached out toward Ari and the panicked thrum of the Pact link.
In that same instant as he moved, he was blinded.
Light flooded the room, as bright and searing as the sun itself. What would have been a call to his mate instead became a yelp of startled pain, and the hand that had reached for Ari instead swept back to shield his eyes from the brilliant white light. He stumbled back a step, disoriented by the glare, momentarily blind. His eyes squinted closed, but he almost couldn't tell the difference. The seconds dragged out before he chanced to open them again, to be greeted by the near-blinding white again.
Mercifully, his eyes began to adjust. Past the glaring brilliance at the room's heart he could just make out the edges of walls. Beyond the sun-like center dais, that all but commanded his attention, he could even make out the distant contours of doors.
It was hard, harder than it even had a right to be, but Marchelute forced himself to turn from the light. And that was when he noticed his solitude. He straightened and turned in place, searching the bright, empty expanse for his family. There was no trace, not even a scuff mark. No lingering scents. Even the Pact tether was slack, empty. When he called to them, it was only his own voice to echo back from the distant walls. There was nothing. He was alone. Fear began to prickle along his spine. He had to find them. There could be no telling what dangers lie in this place, whatever it was.
His search began with a survey of the room. There wasn't much to see, though he took note of the textured wall he was closest to, looking for any sign or clue to what and where this mysterious place was. And then, then he would move. He eyed the two doors, and after a breath chose the left one. Assuming it could even be opened, he hoped the put the blinding light to use to see what might lie beyond.
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Post by beastly on Oct 2, 2019 19:04:51 GMT -6
ooc: Grace isn't happy about it, but she starts to dig away at the rubble.
Grace didnt see that before. This cements her hesitant thought that this was a dream. She brings her hands away from her face and approaches the heap.
She can smell the scent of death. It turns her stomach as she sets a foot into the rubble, and she clambers up a bit. Shes already very tall, so she doesnt need to climb much. She starts clawing the rubble away, unsure about what is ahead.
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Post by MP on Oct 2, 2019 21:53:17 GMT -6
Ari: The contents of the trove are too numerous for the size of the room. They’re stacked haphazardly, heaped in cluttered piles. A pile of leaning furs sways as Ari brushes past. Tips. Several heavy pelts slide from the top, colliding with one of the dogs with a papery crackle.
A pause. Silence. The dogs are motionless, and Ari continues unchallenged.
As he inches closer to the statue, the crude quality becomes apparent. The facial features are blockily cut - the chip of a nose, the gash of a mouth - more an impression of a face than a faithful portrayal. Its limbs are stiff at its sides, and the fingers of its clenched fist are partly fused, as if the sculptor didn’t bother to define individual fingers. The object it holds, though small and soft-looking, is thoroughly caged by the hand. One would need to chip at the brittle clay in order to extract it.
Cassius: Dust and grit clings to the soles of Cassius’ feet. His footsteps have a rasping, sticky sound whenever he moves, and stray grit occasionally comes loose and falls into the open graves.
The dead are silent. Even when a falling pebble triggers a shower of dust down the nearest grave wall, sprinkling the skull of a curled mummy, there is no response. The jar in its hands simply sloshes faintly, as if the impact has set the contents moving within.
Sara: The first thing Sara might notice is the strain. The dog’s shape feels wrong, tiring to maintain, as though she wears the body of something much larger. But the feeling does nothing for the scale of the room. She is only a dog, and the chariots tower above her as she nears.
The spears gleam before her. Rise above her. Hang there. And the chariots are motionless, nothing more than rough, cracked clay. Sara stands in view of the three stone doors, and the tomb is silent. The keyhole in each side door is ornate and geometric, almost beautiful on close inspection. The center door has no visible lock. But there are large slits in the wall on either side, deep and with odd, notched sides. All of them are well beyond a dog’s reach.
As these sights come into view, Sara’s paw slips on a flat stretch of ground. There is dirt beneath her paw, clinging to the pads. Dirt, or maybe rust. The flecks are dry and brittle, flaking to the touch. There are two discolored steaks beneath her paws, just visible through the gloom, that run in parallel across the floor. From her higher vantage point, Sara can make out other streaks of varying length around the room. Some ahead, many behind, one just beside the cracked base of a column. They smell of dust as much as anything, and the shifter will have to watch her step to avoid another slip.
Jedidiah: Very little of the floor can be seen from where Jedidiah stands. Gold and jeweled ornaments and ancient currency sprawl over the ground, piled high, the contents slipping and cascading at the smallest disturbance. Jedidiah tests the ground, and a furled scroll and ivory box clatter down at his feet, accompanied by a shower of coins. The sound echoes in the closed confines. The silence after is deafening. But from what he can feel of the stone, the floor solid and free of flaws. If the sheer weight of the assembled treasure isn’t enough to collapse it, the man may be able to traverse it safely.
Hau: Hau’s words echo off the walls, and nothing answers. But there is a growing sense in the air - a curdling edge. From the moment he forms his foxfire, something in the dark begins to focus on it. The room is as silent as ever. The figure on the altar still stares Hau back. But now he feels a weight on him, as if every head in the room has turned to stare. The kitsune feels the sudden irrational conviction of something vast and creeping, distant and circling in. Around him. Behind him. Through the doors and in the walls, crawling closer. Closer. The dark is growing deeper, and the brightest point is the little figure on the altar, watching.
Edge: The darai’s stammered words drop into the silence like stones. The rasp of steel slows. Stops. The man’s smile fades.
He is on his feet in a fluid motion. He is striding toward the cornered Edge, his sword arm outstretched to cut off escape. He closes the distance in three smooth strides. The knife flashes in his palm, catching the light.
The man has stopped within arm’s reach. He holds the knife in his palm, hilt out to Edge. Dark eyes stare down at the darai, intent. As their gazes meet, he crinkles his eyes in another smile. The lines of the expression are well worn, mixed with scars and age lines. He nods at Edge, just once.
Draggo: As he moves past the well, the dragon feels a slight sense of vertigo, like watching the surf go out between your feet. The well, despite the lightless interior, gives the impression of a great depth, plunging down and down into the earth. But in another moment, he is beyond it and at the foot of the massive mural, and the feeling fades.
The mural depicts a monster. Its claws grasp at the four corners of the wall. Its jaws take up the whole of the lower scene, gaping skyward. Row upon row of human figures march toward the center - some soldiers, judging from the spears and chest plates, and others with oddly patterned auras. They tumble one and all into the waiting maw, weapons scattered, changing. Their bodies warp the farther they fall. The ones with auras - the ones closest to its jaws - have become something wholly inhuman.
Faolan: Items: unlit torch The wood is splintery to the touch, pricking at Faolan’s hand and smeared with dust, but the torch holds together, and the end still has a faintly waxen texture. It’s the man’s only company as he makes his way to the rightmost ivory chest.
The lid opens without complaint or resistance, revealing a pile of folded tunics, robes, and other finery. Maybe they were beautiful once. Now their colors are faded with age, and the cloth is eaten through with holes. There is a flint stone necklace lying atop one pile, and a silver chain on another. After perhaps a minute of browsing, there is something else: a small movement beneath the fabric, and a harsh buzz.
A handful of beetles scurry out from the ruined sleeves, wing covers snapping in agitation, each one the length of Faolan’s thumb. Barbed legs wave frantically as the beetles dart over the rim of the chest, topple onto the floor, scrabble to right themselves. Several oily black bodies skitter over Faolan’s wrist, but they seem to take no notice of him. Several more beetles are squirming out from the lid of the other ivory chest. They veer abruptly away from the door beside Faolan, swarming toward the opposite end of the room. But when they hit the opposite wall, with the darkwood chests and the second door, they double back like minnows before a shark. Mandibles squeak in the dark. Several take sudden flight, clacking and bouncing off the walls. The beetles mill back and forth between the two opposing doors, agitated and unnervingly fast.
Kira: Black growth on the walls forms a spongy layer, slick and slimy to the touch. It isn’t the most pleasant handhold, but the burbat’s claws sink in easily, gripping to the stone beneath. The opposite door grows nearer, nearer, until she’s within easy reach.
It looks identical to her door except for one small detail - her door is now cracked open. Through the steady drip, drip, drip of condensation, now that the sound and echo of her own movements have faded, Kira can hear it opening. She can hear the thing behind it: a deep sound. A harsh, hot, hungry sound, like the panting of a dog. A thread of darkness seeps through opening, the threshold darkening visibly around it.
Marchelute: The light scrubs out almost all detail. But the raised texture appears to be deliberate. Perhaps a wall panel or, given the irregularity, a mural. Marchelute’s claws will find jagged contours that mark a border. This border extends upward from the bottom center, spreading in a rough V shape. Smaller protrusions spike from the border at various points around the edges. These are smaller, less intrusive, and end in a rough trident-like shape. Beyond this, it’s hard to make out further specifics. Rows of something. Scattered lumps around the center. All the ifrit gets for his troubles is a streak of grime down his hand.
Where the wall is carved and complex, the door Marchelute approaches is little more than a flat slab of stone. Old mold grows down the surface like tear stains, flaking away to the touch. Judging by faint grooves in the floor, the door can be pushed open like a revolving door. The stone, though heavy, presents little obstacle to the ifrit.
The scent of mold and damp wafts through the cracked door. It glides open with a sound like citrus peels, soft and spongy. Oddly, the light does nothing for the gloom outside. But Marchelute can make out water through the gap. There is a ripple fading over the surface, and a flash of something small and pale darting past the door.
Grace: It takes some extra digging to enlarge the hole enough for Grace to pass, but she makes good time, and the rubble has nowhere to go but down. Stones bounce and clatter down the slope. Echoing clacks behind her. Echoing clacks ahead. Except for one. The last stone lands with a muffled sound. A soft sound. It never strikes the ground.
The scent of decay is overpowering, sweet and meaty and sickening. Through the hole she’s cleared for herself, Grace can see the continuing hallway, marred by the damaged ceiling and the steep slope of rubble. There is no one here. The unlit torches continue. The rubble ends at the door of a heavy stone door. The stench hovers over everything, and there’s no sign of the source. But for just a moment, she feels something: the squish of mold and the treacly touch of mud beneath her claws. A blink. And it’s only more rubble underfoot.
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 2, 2019 23:14:31 GMT -6
[ Ari tries to free the thing in the statue's hand, then when that doesn't work, tries to take the horn. Whether he gets it or not, will turn to the dogs' treasure and search for a tool to use to get the thing the statue is holding. ]
When the pile of old furs and pelts tips and falls into one of the dogs, Ari froze. He hadn't meant to touch the pile, to knock it over - part of him wanted to reach out and right it, but the part that won out told him he shouldn't touch it. He held still for a long few moments, before continuing his barefoot trek across the room, moving slow and careful.
When he reached the statue, he hesitantly leaned closer to it, examining the face, the hands. From a distance he had thought perhaps something was meant to slot into the empty hand - but he wasn't so sure now. Instead it looked as if it already held something, something small trapped in its closed grip. He couldn't make out what exactly it was, and after a moment of anxious uncertainty, he tried to see if he could slip it free with his fingertips - he had no luck, though.
His attention shifted to the horn - it looked important too, and after another brief hesitation he tried to slip it free as well. Whether that worked or not, his attention would shift again, back to the dogs and the treasure they guarded. He slowly crept back to them, dropping to crouch and sift through the treasures. If he wanted what was in the statue's hand, he would need some sort of tool to wrest it free...
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Post by jarahamee on Oct 3, 2019 0:05:59 GMT -6
[Cassius moves more slowly, aiming at being more cat-like, though he makes a b-line for the door and away from the jar that has started sloshing ominously. If the sound seems to be getting louder, he will run down the walkway and darksouls roll. ]
Cassius does not fail to notice the concerning sloshing, and continues onwards carefully. The trap could really be anything, though he imagined the thing he had thought were children in the darkness, the jars, were the actual trap somehow. He should be careful of setting off any more pebbles. Either that, or it was already too late, and he'd have to start sprinting....
He already felt exposed enough, which was ironic considering how often he was nude. Well, given the choice, he did wear clothes into situations where they would do their job protecting him. He had to get into the habit of wearing more to bed around the time of year the weather changed. That seemed to be around when...well.. he had these unsettling dreams. At least he was wearing his shorts. He could tell from the brief moment he saw the others, they had not been so lucky.
He could have done with some shoes. Maybe if the timing was right, he would start wearing work-out clothes all October and wear shoes to bed. Even just sandals, or slippers. Something so that his cause of death did not end up being his feet every time this all happened to occur. He mapped out his path of action in his head, moving as fast as he could without stirring up the dust anymore.
If the sloshing got louder, well, he'd sprint to the other door, and maybe roll on the walkway. Perhaps it was his imagination that made me think any of this was the trap. Maybe it was just a normal tomb, like all the others, but the sense of foreboding that hung over him told him otherwise.
Walk like a predator instructed the Beast, activating long forgotten muscle memory.
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Post by okami1reeka333 on Oct 3, 2019 10:31:10 GMT -6
Jedidiah:
[OOC: yelps at the sudden shower of gold and scroll and ivory box, and was unsettled at the suddenly loud sound it emitted- questioning if he was alone. . . he then heads towards the Ornate Door but does not proceed through it. . .he does look to see if he can spot any triggers or traps before he considers going through the door.]
he practically jolts and yelps 'bah fak' when the suddenly loud shower of gold came pouring down from one of the many overwhelming mountains of gold. . . . he quietly questioned if he was alone? did he knock over the stuff or did something else do that? . . . .if its guarding the gold then he definitely wants to get out of here. . . he did not have any intentions of staying, little alone touching anything that wasnt his- unless it was to dig out the other door . . . . but he wouldn't keep anything he moved. . .the other thing was the secondary door was buried. . .disregarded. . . so either that was a major mess up or whomever was working down here- there was never intentions of leaving. . . which saddened him. . . . but that would of been part of their culture. as odd as it might be. . . .
startled, he started to carefully make his way quickly over towards the overly decorated door. . .but he did not proceed through it. . . instead he looked for any signs of traps or triggers and what not. . . . now if he remembered correctly, there was always a main door and a back up door incase the area collapsed and the workers needed to escape. . . but thats logic in areas hes more familiar with. . . . he still doesnt even know if hes awake or asleep. . . but hes definitely naked. . . so there is the fear of falling down and either braking through the rather solid ground or a gold piece going where it should not go ever.
it was a really orientated door. . . something he could carve but not something he would put in his house. . . .way to fancy for his taste. . . it also looked. . .Egyptian? maybe? from what he saw in movies at least. . . but even those can be misleading. . . .throw him in a Chinese tomb, he would be able to disipher what was written and what not. . . here? hmmmmmm the closest he could do was Arabic. . .
he wants to go home already. . . . find puppy if he can. . . and kira . . .and whomever was there for the brief moment that he saw them. . .
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Post by tsukikoko on Oct 3, 2019 10:46:19 GMT -6
[OOC: Sara considers her various options, marks, then investigates first the keyhole of the left hand door to see if it goes all the way through, checks to see whether there’s any sign that said door will move, then starts to revert back to her human form so that she can try climbing and investigating the chariots.]
The tiredness, the wrongness of her current form, didn’t make Sara revert. She’d had dreams like this before, where her powers didn’t function correctly, and there was a stubborn, borderline rebellious part of her, that refused to give in. Not that having four paws and better balance helped in the end, because she still managed to slip on an otherwise flat surface. With a shrill yelp, Sara managed to get her legs beneath her without smacking into the floor, but she found herself wondering why, still, nothing had happened yet. That would have been a clear moment for something awful to transpire. Had the dream changed into a puzzle?
It was during her thoughts and near-fall recovery that Sara noticed the streaks on the floor. Once she regained her balance, the shifter raised her paw to her nose and gave it a light sniff. Odd, to have slipped on such a substance; was this old blood? She followed the lines with another glance around the room, noted the fractured column and how the streaks passed right alongside it, before finally focusing on the wheels of each chariot.
Definitely a video game inspired nightmare.
So the tracks were from those chariots, most likely, which indicated they were potentially able to move. One had passed too close to a column, damaging it, she reasoned. The flaking substance against her paw, if it was dried blood, meant they would have had to have squished something beneath the wheels. The idea of such, even if this was just a dream, made an uncomfortable shiver run down the shifter’s spine.
So what of the doors then? Far too large to open, especially in her current form, but if the doors could be opened from the other side and the keyholes travelled all the way through, she could potentially crawl through as a centipede, or other such small invertebrate. Was there a key she needed to find, or if she were big enough, could she simply push open these smaller doors? The biggest one, the one without any obvious opening mechanism, made Sara’s attention return, once again, to the chariots. Or, more specifically, their gleaming spears. Why would those look so shiny, in a room otherwise dank and covered by dust? Did they fit into the strange notches at the side of the door? She was certainly far, far too small to move those. But maybe as a dragon, or an elephant…?
Perhaps it was the dog instincts taking over, perhaps it was an effort to mark where she had been and scent it out from a distance if she needed to, maybe the shifter just really needed to pee. Or, she’d finally lost the plot. Either way, the outcome was the same. While she thought, despite being very much a female canine, she cocked her leg against one of the nearest pillars. Then, with only a passing thought of I really ‘ope that divvint mean I pissed meself in reality, because given this was her own head she could mark things if she wanted to, Sara decided to more closely inspect one of the smaller doors, raising up on her hind legs to inspect the ostentatious keyhole, see whether it had a hole through to the other side she could look through and tried to shove against the door a few times. She was well aware she likely couldn’t move it at her size, but if there was any indication it could be moved, that was another bit of information in her arsenal. She wasn’t a small dog, but this wasn’t a small door either, so she didn’t expect much.
After that quick check, whether the keyhole proved to be a hole or no, Sara again regarded the chariots. She should probably investigate them before leaving the room, in case there was anything in the carts, or they decided to start moving. With a soft, canine sigh, she realised she would want her human thumbs and the feeling of wrongness to be gone before she started doing things like climbing. A shame, to give up the form she had been so stubborn about, but she was curious. It would be great if she could just leap the height of buildings or other crazy things, but she got the impression this wasn't that sort of dream.
Her shift had felt sluggish before and even when becoming human again she could feel the same juddering slowness. But she let the transformation flow over her regardless, idly thinking, just as it took hold, whether her being an animal had been the reason for the chariot's stillness.
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 3, 2019 14:40:28 GMT -6
[OOC: Faolan takes the flint necklace, and then opens the darkwood chests on the other side of the room. He stays clear of the swarm and is ready for something of a similarly sinister nature to emerge]
Both disappointment and relief washed over Faolan as he took in the contents of the chest. Nothing particularly useful, but also nothing deadly. Just some rotting finery, and two necklaces. The man considered the flint one for a long moment. Glanced back to the corpses. Before he could change his mind, he reached for the necklace, figuring that fire never went amiss in a place like this.
But as his fingers brushed against the decaying fabric, he felt faint movement. A beetle skittered over his wrist, and then another, and another. He jerked his hand back, stifling a cry of disgust. The lid slammed down, the necklace clutched in his hand, but the insects were already free, the buzz of their wings stirring up the stale air of the room. Faolan backed up as they flew frantically between the doors, startled.
With more hurried steps, he made his way over to the darkwood chests. He opened the lid of the first one with an almost resigned fear, hoping they'd be nothing worse than beetles in this one. The torch was held at the ready like a flimsy, rotting baseball bat, just in case.
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