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Post by Pearl Dragon on Oct 6, 2019 8:03:33 GMT -6
[Kira is grabbed, she tries to hug the threshold in hopes of fighting against the thing's grip and maybe pull herself back into the water room. In reflex, her grabbed-leg bur also extends, although whether it stabs anything will depend on where the monster grabbed her ankle]
No sooner had Kira stepped a single foot into the room from the cracked door, her plan unfolding in her mind with some confidence, than the thing reacted to her. She'd hoped for some chance to approach, perhaps distract it from her side of the hole when she reached it, but all of that dissipated from her thoughts as she watched the thing shift and flash disturbingly towards her in a wild shuffle of limbs and panting breaths. It was on her in seconds, barely giving her time to even gasp and try to retreat. Even as she pushed backwards to try and move out of its way, it reached with uncanny speed to pull bloody lines across her leg before seizing her ankle in its terrible grip. Kira exhaled in a gasping screech, eyes wide and mouth a terrified grimace, leg burning and ankle already stiff from the thing's hold. Her foot clasped and pushed uselessly at the stone and limb but otherwise couldn't find purchase. Her other foot grabbed desperately onto the ledge while her upper body hugged the threshold with all her strength. Even the mold clump was forgotten in her panic, dropped in favor of clinging to the side of the threshold before it tumbled to the murky water below.
"N-NO P-...PLEASE NO BE HURT KIRA! IS NICE F-FRIEND, KIRA!" She stammered, begging helplessly at the thing although she had no hope of the creature understanding her. She pulled and struggled against its grip, trying to keep her leverage against the threshold. Kira felt the tendons in her legs flex, suddenly, as the bur within shot from its sheath near where the thing had grabbed her. She hadn't meant for it to do so, but didn't fight it either. If it was holding her anywhere near the opening where the bur protruded, the creature may end up with a puncture wound at least.
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Post by Vaitris on Oct 6, 2019 10:20:16 GMT -6
[OOC: Hau tries to find Grace in the dark. He’s going to use his foxfire to see whatever’s in the room with them.]
“You could… call it that.” Lost was a way to define it. Though this was a dream and he’d wake up eventually, so it mattered very little where he was in the meantime. But he was happy to have such a peaceable response, and it was clear now that this stranger was female by the sound of her voice. And that torch she had might be useful, if they could find a way to light it.
Still working to open the door at his back, he caught himself panting. It was a big door, and he wasn’t exactly strong, but he shouldn’t be this out of breath. The thought occurred to him now that being in a closed off tomb, the air might be finite in this space. But just as a tinge of worry was starting to take hold, the door cracked open behind him. He got barely a glimpse of the long hallway beyond before it was swallowed by darkness advancing from the other end. It was like a horror movie where all the lights blink out one by one until suddenly the shadows were there, in the room with him and the bigfoot, smothering everything.
Hau felt suddenly claustrophobic. Closed off. Like he had been buried alive. And there was something else in the altar room with him besides his new visitor. He could feel the presence and heard the swish sound of something being drawn, and his heart rate picked up in response. Whatever this was, it screamed danger.
Easing in the direction he had last seen the bigfoot, he reached out with the hand that still held the effigy, trying to find her in the dark. With his other hand he dug the cell phone out of his pocket, fumbling but finding nothing. That left only his foxfire for light, even though it hadn’t proved especially helpful before there was the chance that even a fleeting flash of light might tell them more about whatever this presence was in the room with them. And what their options were to escape.
Before summoning it he issued a warning, “shut your eyes!” Then he turned his own gaze away so he didn’t inadvertently blind himself.
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Post by jarahamee on Oct 6, 2019 14:02:07 GMT -6
[Cassius takes the rope stringing the clothing together, and decides to try his luck with the next trunk, since this one yielded something he could use. He opens the middle one, moving away from the ivory trunk quickly.]
Cassius paused, looking at the clothing. Nothing remarkable. He had no use for something like this, but the rope, he might have use for later. He wrapped it into a coil and placed it around his shoulder. It's entirely possible the rest of the tomb trunks held things equally mundane within them. He'd take his chances, in case something that might be of use came to be.
He decided to open the trunk next to it, stepping away quickly, in case it sprung some kind of mechanism within. He then waited to see what the contents might be. So far, nothing menacing had happened, but that did not mean it would.
It's getting away warned the Beast, pulling his attention back towards the door the small creature escaped into...
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 6, 2019 14:19:08 GMT -6
[Faolan tries to get a closer look at whatever is in the dead creatures mouth. He jams the torch between its jaws, just in case it suddenly becomes un-squished and bitey, and attempts to retrieve the object]
The stench of rotting meat was sudden and overpowering, growing stronger the further he climbed. Faolan's descent was careful and slow, but the corridor was dark, and when he next placed his foot down, the texture was no longer that of rubble. It was soft and meaty, and he bit back an exclamation of disgust at the wet squelch, nose wrinkling as he lifted his gore-encrusted sneaker from the pulpy mess of...a face? The dead creature was an uncanny blend of human and beast, and he eyed the curved fangs uneasily. He wondered how many of these things were still wandering around the tomb, unsquished.
Something glinted at the back of its throat, near obscured by the blood and shards of caved in skull. His golden eyes narrowed ever so slightly in the gloom. It was most certainly dead, and whatever was in there was probably important, or helpful- this place was all about risks and puzzles, and this was one of them. But he wouldn't put it past this place to make those jaws snap shut on his wrist, either. With a long suffering sigh, he placed a foot on the lower jaw, prying it open, and hastily stuck the unlit torch between the roof of its mouth and its tongue. The wood was frail at best, but he could only hope it would at least hinder it from biting down, if it did so.
With no further ado, the doctor stuck his hand into its mouth in a quick jabbing motion, mindful of the fangs. He aimed to grab the object and remove his hand from the revolting corpse as soon as possible, ready to leap back should it so much as twitch.
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Post by NightshadeVII on Oct 6, 2019 15:12:49 GMT -6
[OOC: Edge is hesitant to enter the room, and even as he does so, he remains close to the exit. He takes a stab at one of the smaller pustules, stepping away as it belches smoke. Then He asks the scarred man what these pustules are and why they’re stabbing them, even if he doesn’t expect an answer.]
Once his path had been memorized, the Darai turned his full attention to the scarred man in front of him, watching for any change in body language or expression. Even though he hadn’t tried anything yet, Edge didn’t exactly want to let his guard down, after all, all he had was a knife and very little combat experience, he’d need any advantage he could get, no matter how little, should this take a turn for the worse. This place had changed in a matter of seconds before, who was to say it wouldn’t happen again.
The room the two came upon now only strengthened Edge’s sense of unease. It was overgrown, overtaken by something that looked like a kind of fungus, but at the same time, it pulsed slowly, alive, like working organs. A chill ran down Edge’s spine, and he tried to take a deep breath, shuddering, while watching the other stride into the room. That was when he noticed the altar, and Edge felt his heart beat quickening, hoping that he wasn’t meant to be some kind of sacrifice for something. Could that be why he was led here? What was the scarred man’s intentions. For a moment, Edge watched as the man worked, stabbing at the pustules, disgusted by the bleches of black smoke. Absentmindedly, he noticed the foreign sensation from before fading. Did that have something to do with these pustules? How were they even connected? The Darai still had no idea what the other’s intentions were, and he had very little to go on. The other had given him a knife, maybe to defend himself, maybe so he could help dealing with these pustules, or, in a worst case scenario, so Edge would provide more of a challenge. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.
Slowly, Edge stepped into the room and glanced around. There was a pustule close at hand, it seemed relatively small, compared to some of the others. His grip tightened on the knife as he raised it, hoping he wasn’t doing the wrong thing. In a quick motion, he brought the weapon down on the pustule, feeling it pop, and draws his hand back not a second later. Without even thinking he steps back to avoid the small blech of smoke. He’d rather not get in contact with that, whatever it was.
“What... are these things?” Edge asked, turning to look at the scarred man, it was obvious that he was lost and wanted to understand, yet he didn’t expect an answer from his guide. If anything, he hoped for a few gestures that might help him understand, since that seemed to be how the other communicated. “Why do they need to be stabbed like this? Is it because of something they do?” He was careful with his questions, speaking slowly and softly, hoping that it wouldn’t anger the other.
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Post by tsukikoko on Oct 6, 2019 16:38:10 GMT -6
[OOC: Inspects the clay figure's withered bit but it distracted by Ari. Decides to keep the spear on her, then follows Ari.]
Marchelute was here?
Just as she managed to wrench the spear free and was more closely inspecting the strange, withered material beneath the clay, Ari mentioned the ifrit, Sara's attention turned to him more fully and she glanced at the door he indicated, wondering to herself whether the feeling of Marchelute's direction was a trick of the tomb. After all, it didn't seem to like the supernatural, if the reaction to her shapeshifting was anything to go by, Marchelute was almost certainly a target for ire. Though, could this place manipulate such familial pulls? She wasn't sure, but wouldn't put anything past it.
It seemed Ari was going that way, whether she came or not. So, though she wanted to puzzle out this room a little longer, maybe try some blood on the chariots, she wasn't about to let her abrupt companion go it alone, trap or not. "Nah luv, ya reet, like. A group is better, I'll gan with ya, like." She said, before he could go anywhere. "Just give us a second tah climb down, alreet?" Just before she began her descent, the shifter wondered about stashing the spear for later, not wanting to risk the crumbling wood if this item was useful to the puzzle in any fashion. But, now that she had a hold of it, the spear didn't seem big enough for the door notches; so that was one theory down, best to have a weapon, in that case. Hopefully she could find another stick or pole to replace the spear head on, since that still looked remarkably sharp.
Not wanting to risk the wood by throwing it down first, Sara instead lowered herself over the edge of the chariot with one arm, spear grasped in the other and then, once at full extension so she had the least amount of distance to fall, she dropped to the ground, her tail making a far louder thump than the rest of her bodyweight.
"Alreet then, let's find Marchelute, like." With a small smile, the shifter followed Ari through the door he had indicated, casting one final look back at the chariots and strange tracks on the floor.
As they walked, Sara thought she'd share what else she knew so far, "So, nowt sure the specifics yet, like, but I 'ave a feelin' this place divvint like magic or supernatural powers, ya know? 'Ad this... weight on us, shiftin' divvint feel reet, but once I were 'uman, poof-" she made a gesture of spreading the fingers of one hand to imitate a small explosion, or puff of air, "-it faded. Ya found anythin' similar? Or anythin' of note, like?"
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Post by Marshmallow on Oct 6, 2019 17:56:12 GMT -6
[Summary: Marche holds onto the glove, wonders just how alone he really is, and then inspects the final Ivory Chest. Assuming nothing blows him up, he will continue through the main door that is opposite from where he entered.]
Marchelute sighed with disappointment. The contents of the chest, though remarkably preserved considering the state of the other chest, offered no clue about where he'd ended up. Falconry was common the world over. He picked through the chest just to be certain, turned the little hoods over in his hands, and examined the glove. Sadly, these leathers did not seem to bear any markings or emblems that would identify their region of origin. Or if they did, they were none he recognized, and were thus useless.
He was still absently clutching the glove in one hand as he straightened, perhaps unconsciously taking comfort in having something to hold. When he turned from the chest, he caught it out of the corner of his eye - the other cherrywood box was open. His brows knit in brief confusion. Hadn't it been closed when he entered? The ifrit took a few cautious steps toward it. What he could make out of the contents - nothing more than tatters of old cloth - was less interesting than how it had come to be open in the first place. There had been no sound. No mechanism he could discern, and he certainly hadn't seen anyone else enter or leave. "Is someone there?" he rumbled into the silence despite the evidence. Just because he didn't see anyone didn't necessarily mean he was actually alone.
Increasingly wary of lingering too long, Marchelute crept back across the room toward the main door that sat opposite from where he entered. As he reached it, the final unopened ivory chest caught his eye. He hesitated, then reached for the lid. If unlocked, he would give it a quick search as well just to rule it out. Then he would continue on his way.
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Post by okami1reeka333 on Oct 6, 2019 18:23:56 GMT -6
Jedidiah:
[OOC: spooked by the distant sound of metal falling on stone, he hesitates on leaving before moving to go collect a unlit torch, before moving to carefully crack the door open that he was digging the doorway of free of gold earlier. ]
what he heard startled him. . . .what or whom was on the other side? his mind rolled though alot of potentials as to what it might be. . . . . the more logical side of him had to shut the emotional side off abit to force himself to think. . . he needs to prepare himself. . .hes not well adapted with bladed weapons but he was very good with bare hands if guns were out of question. though torchlight might act as a good distraction or a means to set something on fire. . . .granted, the something would be the monster if there was one there. . . or the kidnapper that took all of them. . .
what he first did was carefully walked towards where he saw the unlit torches and moved to grab one, before heading back towards the door he had started to dig at to inically figure out what more information he could find. the orientate door. he had to force himself to calm down before he carefully moved to crack it open to see what was on the other side.
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Post by Sharei on Oct 6, 2019 18:50:41 GMT -6
[OOC: Draggo attempts to pry the creature's mouth open to retrieve the feather before it can be swallowed.]
"Oh no you don't!" the juvenile shouted, and the sound he made was somewhere between a shriek and a battle cry. He would not lose that feather!
The dragon had the creature despite all its wriggling and he maneuvered it into a headlock to keep it that way. He squeezed hard to keep it from having full control over its jaw and throat, and with the other hand attempted to pry open the thing's mouth to get the feather back. If he had to reach down its throat to do it, so be it. In his concentrated efforts, he neither notices the location of where they've landed or anything else.
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Post by beastly on Oct 6, 2019 22:55:20 GMT -6
Ooc: Grace grabs HAU's hand and chucks the unlit torch into the darkening hall. ----
Grace squeaked in fear as the shadows started to close in. Bad! In knee jerk reaction, she throws the unlit torch with a guttural noise. YEaH! That'll show em.
She moves close, suprised but also not that this guy is suddenly fire bending. She grabs his outstretched hand. At his instruction, she closes her eyes.
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Post by MP on Oct 7, 2019 2:35:00 GMT -6
Ari and Sara: Ari's items: hunting horn, rusty knife x 2, maned pelt Sara's items: old spear The blank eyes of the chariots seem to watch them go, the statues now a half arch, the hands of the lefthand charioteer conspicuously empty. They look unfinished. Unfriendly. But nothing moves to stop Sara and Ari as they push through the door.
They are in a long hallway leading to a four way intersection. The walls crowd close. The unnatural gloom hangs over every passage, blacking out the distance. Despite the length of these passages, the space feels intensely claustrophobic. Worn pits and protrusions mark where metal holders were once set into the walls. Debris shifts underfoot with every step, stinging bare feet. Splinters of wood and bone. Metal scraps. Dust occasionally sifts down from the ceiling, prickling at the nape of the neck. The passages branching to the left and right are bare. But along Sara and Ari's route, running from their door to the intersection and resuming past it, there is a long stretch of curtain on either wall. The surface of it ripples as their breath disturbs it, raised in places and irregular. They smell something sharp and foreign whenever the fabric shifts.
Marchelute's presence is straight ahead, its position unchanged. But as Ari observes this, there is a sudden stab of agony - suffocating agony - screaming through the bond.
Kira: The creature is dragging her closer, hands over hands, tearing patches of her fur and tugging at the membrane of her wings. It has her in a headlock, in the crook of countless spindly arms. It seizes her around the muzzle, fingers prying, forcing her mouth open. Kira's bones groan as the creature begins to pry her face apart. She feels a tooth break. Feels a horrible crack along the left side of her jaw, and a fire across her stretching skin. The thing is hideously strong, and it's only the burbat's reflexes that save her.
The spurs bite deep into the creature's grasping hands, its arms, jolting its grip as it tries to drag her in. The hands slip, and Kira has room to wriggle free and run. The monster is still in the doorway, however, and a long stretch of water and slippery stone stands between the burbat and the only other exit.
Hau and Grace: Hau's items: human effigy Grace's items: unlit torch In another few moments, the room has blacked out entirely, leaving nothing but the afterimage of the exits. There is no air to breathe, and there is still the feeling of presence. The sense of something moving. If the two don't find a way out, death is eminent. But which way to go?
Maybe not that way, hmm?
A male voice speaks just over Hau's shoulder, mid-toned, smooth, textured like old paper. Both Grace and Hau can hear it. But there's no one there. They can see that when Hau's foxfire lights. They can see the exits too: Hau sees the two opposing doors; Grace sees two additional passages behind the left and right center statues, neither of which Hau seems to see.
But the moment the flame sputters to life, fighting against the strange sluggishness that seems to affect abilities here, their time is limited. The presence in the room sharpens. As before, Hau feels the eyes of a vast, distant something circling in. It's faster this time. It recognizes the flame. Recognizes him. But the presence in the room is stronger. More immediate. Angry.
Grace and Hau can sense its pain as the light strikes it, and they can see it for the first time. The darkness in the room is concentrated at two points. The entities are formless, hard to track since the shadows spill from their centers. But one is undoubtedly moving toward them, looming, more solid than the darkness around it. They can feel its anger, its shudder of pain as the foxfire sears it. They can see a edge of a sword - inlaid and balanced, a masterpiece to experienced eyes - suspended within the oncoming presence. The entity lunges directly for the foxfire - directly for Hau - and thrusts the point deep into his shoulder.
Cassius: Items: unlit torch, sturdy rope The other chest holds an equally mundane assortment: old clothes, old dust. The only items of any particular note are a simple silver chain coiled atop a folded shirt and several piles of dust. More dust and grit sifts down from the ceiling as Cassius rummages, explaining the latter at least. There is no trap, no supernatural vengeance. Even the mummies lying against the far door remain curled and harmless.
But then, as Cassius stares down at the contents, a screech cuts through the air, sounding as though it were just over his shoulder. It's followed by a voice, bodiless, stammering, terrified:
N-NO P-...PLEASE NO BE HURT KIRA! IS NICE F-FRIEND, KIRA!
The voice fades. Cassius is alone with the chests. The doors are sealed and quiet. And the mummies - his only company - give away no secrets.
Faolan: Items: unlit torch, flint necklace, (healing?) elixir Old, sticky blood coats Faolan's hand as he reaches into the throat. Pulped meat and - is that the chip of a tooth? - sting badly on his swelling bug bites. His hand has sunk down to the gullet. But the jaws stay motionless, and at last, his fingers close around something solid.
The object seems to be a part of the beast, growing out its flesh. The rough skin of its tongue flows seamlessly into glass, and when it comes free, it pops from its socket like fruit off a branch. It comes away neatly in Faolan's hand, blood-slicked, but whole.
When he cleans away the gummed residue, there is a vial in his hand - corked and, to the eyes of WDSA medical staff, familiar. The liquid inside looks similar to a healing elixir. Similar consistency, even a similar smell should Faolan uncork the vial to sniff. However, the scent of rot permeating the hallway makes it difficult to say for certain.
Edge: Items: simple knife The pustule tenses beneath Edge's knife, then pops with a dry sigh. The grey smoke misses his skin, but it leaves the Darai with an oily, unclean feeling for having seen it.
The scarred man is busy with another pustule. He is stabbing it repeatedly, mechanically. Again. Again. Again. He looks up at Edge's words, his eyes refocusing. He straightens, wiping the blade of the sword.
As always, he says nothing in response. But he jabs his sword back at the husk of the largest pustule. Points at his face again, tracing a slow finger down one of the ropy scars. Grim-faced, a savage glint in his eyes, he sweeps an arm around at the walls - at the rooms beyond them. Somewhere out there, back the way they came, or down the new direction, Edge can feel more blips in his head - the location of more pustules, he knows now. His guide waves a hand toward the second door - the one across from the way they came - seeming to usher Edge onward. But whatever he means to say, he never has the chance.
The blip in Edge's head, the sickly, oily feeling, is creeping back. Now he can feel the full extent of it: something massive; something ancient; something hungry. A flame has appeared by the door through which Edge entered, sickly blue. Its light feels like a blade on Edge's skin. Feels like burning. Raises blisters on his skin. The oily feeling closes in on the flame. Closes around it. As it does, fresh pustules swell around the spot. Each one pulses like a heart. Like a leech, feeding.
Edge's guide is burning too. His features are contorted with pain, with rage, with a nameless terror, twisting the scars into ugly shapes. He lunges toward the flame - toward the oily, pulsing figure taking form around it - and he stabs the sword into the developing mass.
Marchelute: Items: falconer's glove Even as Marchelute reaches for the final chest, the hinges creak, and the chest swings open. He can see a glint of silver - a chain coiled snakelike atop a pile of old, faded clothes. Everything about the contents seems to be ordinary, except for the obliging, almost inviting way the chest swung wide to welcome him. It waits. Waits.
Then, as Marchelute contemplates the sight, there is a shriek through the air. A voice, stammering and terrified, trembling just behind him.
N-NO P-...PLEASE NO BE HURT KIRA! IS NICE F-FRIEND, KIRA!
There is no one here - nothing else in the room but the torchless walls, the four chests, and the ifrit.
Jedidiah: Items: gray vial, scholar's note 4, unlit torch The torch splinters slightly as Jedidiah lifts it from its holder, but it comes away in one piece. Better yet, the end still has a faintly waxen feel that indicates the torch may still be usable, even after all this time. That is, once he finds something to light it with. The trove, with its myriad of ornaments and treasures, may hold a flint and steel or other tool to make a fire. But the room beyond the ornamented door, still unexplored, seems just as likely.
From what Jedidiah can see through the half open door, the ornate door leads to a gloomy, cavernous room. Columns shaped in human likeness line the walls, their hands cupped to form braziers - all lightless. To the left, the hall rises in tiers, ramps on either side of stairs, and continues out of sight. To the right, Jedidiah can see that his door is at the very end of the room. There is another door in the wall opposite - blank stone compared to his own ornate door - and a third door to his immediate right.
Draggo: The tiny creature's mouth seals beneath Draggo's fingers, toothless lips melting together like wax and muffling its garbled yowls of protest. Its skin is soft as dough, and the dragon's attempts to wrestle with the creature open up oozing holes in its face. It refuses to let go. Still kicking to escape, the creature swallows, and a crumpled lump slides down its throat. Azho's feather is gone. But whatever the creature is, it seems to have no organs - at least, no digestive system. A patch of green is still visible under its skin, a bulge beneath the doughy, translucent flesh.
Before the dragon can make another attempt, the creature writhes and bulges strangely. The skin of its feet have peeled back to reveal spurs, mold-tipped and grossly elongated, and it kicks them twice into the dragon's palm. The barbs stab deep, piercing one of the dragon's hands straight through and tearing the meat of his other arm. With that, the creature is able to wriggle free. It bolts, leaving the dragon with empty and bloodied hands for his trouble.
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 7, 2019 3:50:58 GMT -6
[ Ari answers Sara, then reacts to the pain. Once he gets past it, he wrenches away from Sara and takes off at a run down the hallway, headed toward his Marche-sense. ]
"Ah, r-right, I'll wait." Ari fidgeted with one of the pelt's paws, counting its claws while he waited for her to climb down. He wondered if he should have offered to help... but crossing the marked floor again made him uncomfortable, and she was down before he could decide whether he wanted to risk it or not.
He padded through the door into the hall beyond, stepping carefully over debris as best he could, nudging some aside with his feet. He flinched away from the curtains along the walls, wrinkling his nose at the strange scent wafting from beneath it. The darkness in the hallway made him nervous, and he found himself fidgeting with the pelt again. "I... I haven't tried anything, really. I... I wanted to keep my hands, you uh... you know? Can't... carry things so good as a cat. I... found these? The horn looked important, anyway, the knives were just-"
He cut off abruptly as pain pierced through him, his breath catching in his throat. Sourceless, it screamed through his nerves and he found himself doubled over, on his knees amidst the splinters and dust. For a moment he felt he couldn't breathe, then he gagged and retched, clutching at himself hard enough that his nails left deep indents in his arm. At least that pain was his, was something he could focus on. He forced himself up again - accepting any aid Sara might offer him - and forced himself to breathe again. He swayed in place a moment, then took a staggering step forward.
"S-something... Something bad... Something hurt him. We need to- We need to go!" Ari wavered a moment, then tried to run down the hall. Sara grabbed him before he could make it more than a step, arms wrapping around him, restricting. She was speaking to him, telling him he was running into a trap, that he needed to be calm - but that pain still rang along his nerves and he knew that it came from Marchelute. He tensed, then wrenched away from Sara, taking off at a sprint down the hallway. The pain was too urgent, he couldn't just wait when his mate might be dying!
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 7, 2019 9:36:03 GMT -6
[ooc: Faolan retrieves the torch and the healing elixir from the creatures mouth and climbs down the rest of the rubble pile, continuing on down the corridor]
Faolan pulled his arm from the creatures mouth the second his fingers closed around the glass surface, deeply relieved the jaws hadn't snapped shut at any point. He rubbed the blood off the bottle, inspecting the contents with a critical eye - it was a healing elixir, or at least it looked exactly like the ones kept at the WDSA hospital.
He glanced at the bites on his arms. They were swollen and irritated - and covered in the blood of the creature, which posed a risk of infection..but they weren't bad enough to warrant the use of the healing elixir. Not yet, at least. The sticky feeling of the drying blood on his skin set his teeth on edge, and he inspected the gore beneath his fingernails with a curled lip.
Once the bottle was carefully secured in his jacket pocket, he continued down the rubble, watching carefully for any more caved-in skulls. His cautious footing continued even when he reached the floor, his eyes wide and pupils dilated in the gloom as he watched for traps, or doors he could exit from.
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Post by NightshadeVII on Oct 7, 2019 13:52:32 GMT -6
[OOC: Edge isn’t having a good time. He shrugs off his vest and wraps it around his arm and hand, then takes a stab at the large, burning pustule.]
An almost invisible shudder ran down the Darai’s spine as he saw how the smoke from the pustule disapated, and he shook involuntarily to no avail, as if to shake the oily feeling off himself. Of course, it didn’t work.
With a slightly tilted head, and a willingness to understand, Edge watched as the scarred man explained, using gestures and expressions. He seemed intent on getting rid of this growth, and it seemed like this was only the beginning. There were more out there. Then when the other gestured at his scarred face, Edge’s eyes widened a little. “They did that to you...?” Edge murmured, almost more to himself than anyone else. His gaze landed on a nearby pustule. What were these things? How could they do something like that?
Whatever they were about to do was interrupted as Edge felt the sickly, oily feeling coming back, moving towards them. But it was more than that, bigger than that. It wasn’t just a feeling, it was a presence, something ancient and aware, and it was close. The Darai’s heartrate accelerated instantly, heart pounding against his ribs. This wasn’t good at all. Quickly, Edge turned around to face the direction the feeling is coming from, but regretted it the moment he saw the flame.
Before he had a chance to shield himself, wave of pain washed over the Darai, searing skin with seemingly no end in sight, igniting him without flames, yet he felt like he was burning alive. A choked, inhuman scream pushed past Edge’s lips, past gritted teeth, and for a moment his knees almost give in beneath him. Eyes squeezed shut, trying to protect themselves from the cold blue light of the flame. The feeling of fire, of a burning, swearing heat and a merciless light, it’s too familiar, too close to something he remembered so clearly, even though he had tried to forget. For a moment, he almost felt like he could taste smoke in his mouth. But then the phantom memory was gone, replaced only by roaring, disorienting pain. He was swaying, trying not to loose balance whe he slowly opened his eyes again. Heavy pants left his mouth, his body shaking and shuddering with each intake of breath. The Darai felt immobilized, as if his skin might break and shatter with the slightest movement.
Yet he had expected himself and his guide to be ablaze, covered in the flames that he felt more clearly than anything. But there were no flames in sight. Fire wasn’t licking over his skin, charring it, causing the blisters he could see so clearly, and strangely enough, the parts of him that were clothed were untouched by the blisters. The pain was universal, traveling along his veins and taking control of his body, but the blisters only formed on exposed skin. If this truly was a kind of invisible fire, surely it would leave blisters everywhere. Blisters or no, it felt like this would kill him if it went on much longer. The light. That had to be it. Purple eyes shot up, fixating on the lightsource, pupils dilating to the size of pinheads in an effort to adapt. He saw the pustule growing within the blue flame, a shape beginning to form. That couldn’t be good at all. Barely a second after he had noticed this, he saw the scarred man lunging, only managing to catch a glimpse of his face. And what he saw terrified him; rage, pain and terror all twisting together in a mass of scars, distorting the other’s face. He was terrified, fighting to survive.
Letting out a shaky breath, Edge shrugged off his vest, distantly thankful for his tendency to wear layers. His hands were trembling, but he managed to quickly wrap the cloth around his arm and hand, a pathetic kind of makeshift protection. He hoped that it was enough. It had to be. Without even thinking he gripped the knife tighter, hoping to steady his hand, to focus on something else than the pain.
With another pained gasp, the Darai pushed forward, not managing the same kind of explosive speed as his guide, but he made it to the pustules and took a stab at it. Teeth gritted, nails digging into his palm as he braced himself for an expected pain.
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Post by Pearl Dragon on Oct 7, 2019 15:10:36 GMT -6
[Kira takes advantage of the bur-induced distraction to try and scramble free. If she is able to, she will make a mad leap out into the open to glide towards the central statue.]
Twisted limbs and mangled hands reeled Kira in like a hooked fish. Her grip on the threshold quickly detached and she skidded unwillingly across the stone floor into the thing's embrace with a terrified squawk. The hands pulled and dragged, first ripping away at the dirty t-shirt that covered her body before tearing next at her fur in painfull raking motions. Some even pulled at the webbing of her wings, threatening to tear them as well. Kira bleated and begged, fighting weakly as numerous elbows closed around her neck and shoulders in a headlock. A large, fleshy hand came down across her eyes and muzzle, clamping down with incredible strength as another followed suit under her bottom jaw. White terror seized the Burbat in that moment of realization as multiple fingers began to press and pry at her mouth.
Kira clenched her teeth together with desperate stubbornness, she knew what it intended to do even if she was blind and disoriented. Nails dug relentlessly into her lips and gums until, finally, agony exploded in her mouth as a tooth shattered and made way for the creature's grip to take root. Blood filled the spaces in between, warm and metallic in taste. Immediately, Kira's mouth was wrenched slowly open, bones creaking in protest as she fought against it. A terrible crack echoed somewhere deep in the left side of her jaw, and Kira uttered a gargled wail as a fresh wave of exquisite pain drowned all her other senses.
Blinded, choked, and now in terrible anguish, Kira stabbed out and around anywhere she could with her burs. Most were simple reactive spasms, but some landed hits and sunk deep enough to distract the creature from its chore. Kira felt it twitch, its hands and arms miraculously pulling away to allow a brief but merciful respite from its torturous work. With a panicked flail, Kira kicked out again, scrambling with every working limb she had available to escape the writhing arms and bolt for the ledge. She eyed the statue in the center of the water-room with wild terror and struggled to leap for it, aiming to take to the air in a messy glide and land on the statue well away from teh mad, unnatural beast. If she could....
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