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Post by okami1reeka333 on Oct 13, 2019 15:46:20 GMT -6
Jedidiah:
[OOC: looking at the situation medically, he acts to write what he has learned with his right hand in blood. shorthand notes of the fact this tomb eluded to an affliction that was religiously spread, symptoms, then the theory that the area feeds of unnatural reactions within the body- might be more spread out, before]
He yelled out in pain as the chariot ran him over, cracking a rather vital bit of mechanism within his prosthetic as metal warped and dented. . an alarm was going off. . . the base plate was broken, and like a fire hydrant, his blood spewed and gushed out of his artery while his vein slowly oozed out. . . he wasn't going to live long, he knew this. . .then the spear impaled his gut. . .tearing into the soft tissue in his abdomen asunder. While the Charriot rode away to try and gain distance for a final pass, he wrote in his blood on the door. he used his right hand, the robotic side to write to ensure that the writing was readable. . .
If he was going to die, then he's going to leave behind what he learned.
with the note, vial as well as the flint n steel neatly stowed away in his bun, the hair would . . should block out enough of the blood splatter to protect the contents.
on a note, there was stated the people here had an affliction. religiously spread it. symptoms include mania and acute hallucinations. Room potentially feeds off of inhuman reactions. may be widespread.
With that, he turned around to face death. . . labored breathing, yet prepared for the end.
poor puppy. . . hopefully the puppy and the others make it out alive.
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 13, 2019 16:16:20 GMT -6
[ Ari does not like the stumbling figure he saw, but he searches the room and brings any useful finds back to Sara. Then he will examine the door and maybe try to open it to look into where it leads? He won't go into the next room yet though. ]
The pressure eased as they pushed on into the next room, and Ari almost breathed a sigh of relief. Movement, however, caught his breath in his throat, and he focused upon it before all else. Something lurched toward them, something armored and dark, though he wasn't sure he saw the blade again. The sound of its breath made his hair stand on end, and what would have been a sigh escaped him finally in a hiss. A blink, and the thing was gone, whatever it was. A hallucination or something more? Reluctantly, he stepped further into the room and let his eyes focus upon what was physically there instead.
It looked like some sort of treasury, the gleam of gold in the low light was dazzling. Under different circumstances, Ari would have been enthralled by the spread of treasure and finery. As it was, he paused a moment, staring wide-eyed into the glittering room, awed. His gaze swept over the room and then finally looked past the heaped treasure to fall upon the demonic visage of the door. He flinched slightly, imagined a gleam of red in its wide eyes, and he looked away.
"Um? Oh, r-right, yeah, of course," he answered Sara, startling slightly, then turning to begin searching the room. It was tempting to steal a bit of gold, to take it with him, but he had no way to carry it. Instead he looked for things that might be useful to Sara and Hau - it would be a shame to ruin fine cloth with blood, but there was nothing to help it. He searched for clothing and things that could be used as bandaging, and also for potions or salves that might have some use for healing. Amulets maybe? Something magical? The cloth would likely be easiest to find, he had little way of identifying if other things might be of use - all he could work off of were gut feelings.
He brought back anything he might find to Sara, and then turned his attention to the second task she had set for all that it discomforted him. He crept to the leering visage on the door, examining it for any markings that might hint at what lay beyond it. He felt the short hairs on the back of his neck lifting as he neared it, his eyes shifting aside to avoid meeting its gaze. He ran his hands over the raised surface, feeling for any marks that might indicate it's purpose. If it seemed safe, he would carefully try to open it, to see what lay beyond. Hopefully it was something safer looking than the room they had just left.
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 13, 2019 17:11:57 GMT -6
[OOC: Faolan fights back best he can, aiming to run back down the corridor if he can get free of the monsters group.]
The relief of the darkness rushing past harmlessly was incredibly short lived. A hoarse yell echoed through the room at the feeling of claws around his shoulder and upper arm, clamping down with inhuman strength.
Faolan twisted violently in the creatures grip, his terror giving his struggles a desperate edge. He kicked and pulled and clawed, heedless of the momentary pain - he just needed to get away. The bladed limb was lifted high, encompassing his vision. He knew he'd die if he didn't get away, and fast. No one was coming to save him. There was no one to hide behind like the other years, when everyone had been together.
And so he fought back as well as he could, arcing the frail torch upwards and towards where he thought the eyes were, a stabbing motion hindered somewhat by the height difference and the weakness of the makeshift weapon. He just needed to get out of its grip - he was faster, he hoped, and would be able to climb up the rubble pile faster than it could.
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Post by jarahamee on Oct 13, 2019 17:36:31 GMT -6
[Cassius would try to hold the rat upside-down and shakes it outward with a flick, and then would use a hand to try to maneuver the potion out of its mouth.
Cassius felt these strange pang to something akin to fear in his heart. What was that? His instincts stood him on edge, not helped by the disorienting moment where he was someone else. Another person's memory, but whose? There were many questions, and he had the sense he would never get satisfactory answers, but maybe that was the nature of this game he played.
He looked down at the struggling and shrieking rat. He could tear it apart, but he might not have to. Probably better for whatever scents were left about in this world anyhow.
Cassius turned the rat-creature upside-down and gave it a shake, like a newborn child, while pushing the potion closer to its mouth. Come on, come on, if he could feel it on the outside, he could probably get it to come out.
Or, he could just tear its head off with his teeth and relish the taste of its organs, reminded the Beast.
No, he was not there yet. He did not know what sort of creature this was anyways.
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Post by Marshmallow on Oct 13, 2019 18:56:47 GMT -6
[Summary: Marche stays with the light for a little while because it's super soothing. When he feels the odd pulling sensations, it takes him a minute to come to a decision. He opts to investigate the pull that leads back into the Icky Gray Room, intending to scope it out quickly for any new changes, and then return to the Column Room ASAP.]
He called, but just as before, there came no answer. If anyone waited beyond the doors at the end of the room, they were out of earshot. This room was silent like the rest, empty save for the mural and the light, and himself. Already hunched to avoid scraping the low ceiling, Marchelute slouched forward yet further, fatigued and disheartened by the ongoing silence of the tomb; by the lack of scents, clues or evidence that he was ever anything but alone here. The clicking of his talons was joined by the shuffling of calloused scales, as he began to walk on the knuckles of his folded wings. He crossed the room in silence. Investigate and move on, it was all he had for now.
The mural was strange, depicting figures and events that - despite his long centuries of both personal and studied history - he did not recognize. But he felt he understood the gist of it. An event in some ancient past, wherein something vast and dreadful was held at bay by two since-revered figures. One of the figures was missing. The stone was cracked and worn, and that bright, warm and welcoming light was shining out from where it should have been. The light was oddly comforting, pushing away the anxiety and uncertainty that had settled around him like a heavy fog. Here where the light was brightest, it felt like he could think more clearly.
With the moment of peace and clarity granted by the light, Marchelute became aware of a faintly nagging sensation. A tug in his chest, soft pings of awareness in the back of his mind. It felt markedly different from the guiding pull of the Pact. For instance, the Pact should only ever point in one direction - this sensation was split three ways. There was no feedback, no sense of who or what each pull was trying to direct him towards. But the strongest of them left a cold, sick knot in his gut.
It was wrong somehow.
He tried to shift his attention away from it, instead focusing on the fainter pulses. One led him towards the right-hand wall. There was a door there, and another in the far wall. The other pull led back the way he had come, toward the room with the odd film, the sickly pulse and that growing sense of darkness and dread. That one was closest, but... He was not eager to go back there.
Logically, investigating the closest feeling would be the most efficient. There would be less back-tracking if one of the other pings proved fruitless. Still... That room, it gave him bad feelings. His instincts protested, and locked between rational thought and animal intuition, Marchelute stayed rooted to the spot for long moments, indecisive.
Finally, he turned. He padded back to the door he had enetered, the one that led back into the room of empty graves and pulsing gray matter. He didn't want to, but would chance a look. Just quickly, open the door, check, and come back. Easy. Maybe some new clue had appeared, or one of the other victims of this place had picked up his trail. If that was the case, he couldn't just abandon them to chase the other feelings. He had to make sure.
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Post by Vaitris on Oct 13, 2019 20:19:17 GMT -6
[OOC: Hau tells Sara that they should leave him and run.]
Sun and sand, what was the significance of that again? Oh right, warmth. Except he was quickly losing grip on the definition of the word. He was past shivering, the energy for that long since spent. He couldn’t feel his feet, his hands, they’d gone numb. The lack of sensation was creeping up his arms and legs except for where the ache radiated along them, a harsh counterpoint. That he couldn’t escape, even this close to death. His whole world was just a prison of cold and pain.
They stopped moving. Something hard pressed against his back. There was the tinkling of metal on metal. Hau opened his eyes to a shock of red. No! Had one of them been hurt by the shadow? In the rush of adrenaline, some of his sense seemed to gather its strength. That was just Sara with her vibrant ginger hair and her hands painted with blood, leaning over him. Then she pressed on his wounds again and a tsunami crashed through him, drowning out everything - every thought, every sensation, even the growing chill - in a wave of white hot agony.
When he came to again, he wished he hadn’t. This was fruitless, he was realizing. He was going to die here and the time had come to accept that. Or maybe he was just too depleted to hope for any other outcome. And trying to help him was coming at a cost. That shadowy hunter would be here soon, following the scent of his weakness. He didn’t want the others to meet the same fate.
“Run.” It came out with no sound. His mouth was desert dry, he was so thirsty. Hau swallowed, tried to gather enough moisture to push the words out. “Leave me…go.”
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Post by Sharei on Oct 13, 2019 21:06:25 GMT -6
[OOC: Draggo decides to take the right door with the collapsed hallway and climbs through the opening.]
Every instinct told the juvenile that entering the room with the mummified corpses wasn't a very good idea. Granted, most of his instincts were telling him that going into the collapsed room wasn't a good idea, either. But he was running out of time and between the two, the den-digging Storm dragon was far more comfortable in tight spaces than around the dead.
He turned on his heel and went back to the first door he'd opened, rubble falling all around him as he crossed to the threshold. He wasted no time in going through but a pang of something sinister made him pause on the other side, glance back, a held breath in the heavy air. Fear beats a rhythm against his ribs, but it's only for a moment. He had to keep moving. Maybe he'd find someone else down here.
The dragon jogged down the hallway with its collapsed rubble and scrambled up the steep and awkward angles with the expertise of someone used to the shifting landscape of sliding rocks and uneven terrain. He peeked through the small opening, judging its size, and found it adequate for his smaller frame. Without further adieu he shimmied through the opening, wings tucked tight and folded to his back to keep them from snagging on debris.
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Post by MP on Oct 14, 2019 0:05:26 GMT -6
Kira: The depths of the hole are slimy with moisture. It closes around the burbat's claw like a throat. Deeper. Deeper, folding in her wing and engulfing her elbow-deep. There is a cold streak down her arm. Another as an unseen bead of water rolls down the mouth. Deeper.
Kira has reached in almost shoulder-deep when her claw finds something in the dark. Two somethings. The first is a piece of rubble, smooth on one side, and rough on the other. The object beneath it is a flat, metallic shape. She can feel engravings on its surface. Flattened edges like a coin. It feels good in her claw somehow. Feels right. The throbbing in her jaw subsides the smallest fraction.
But as the burbat tries to withdraw her hand, it jerks to a stop. Her claws are rigid around the items. Her arm refuses to move. There's nothing blocking the hole. No debris or snags to catch her. But she can't get out. Something has her by the wing, and she can't get out. As the realization hits, there's a sharp tug down her arm. She's wrenched farther in, shoulder jarring into the mouth of the stone. There's nothing holding her. If she can't break free, the nothing will pull her in.
Ari, Sara, Hau, and Grace: Ari's items: hunting horn, human effigy Sara's items: old spear, rusty knife Hau's items: maned pelt Grace's items: rusty knife The items Ari finds for Sara are a pitiful substitute for first aid. There are scroll cases, a facedown painting in a tarnished frame, and a few ancient rugs. Several ruined stools, half buried in treasure, have fabric over the seats. There seems to be little else in the way of bandaging. In the immediate vicinity, Sara and Grace can see several unopened boxes: the first is a small, carved ivory piece that opens on hinges; the second is a silver tin, tarnished and sealed with a simple clasp; the third is a last is a dark wooden box, barely larger than his palm and with no visible lid. Perhaps there are other items buried beneath the rubble, but without further digging, the group can't be sure.
Despite the pervasive gloom of the place, nothing in Ari's experience has been truly dark. The black wall that meets him when he cracks open the door, however, is impenetrable. Heavy and prickling over the skin. Like the darkness in the earlier hallway, it seems to fill the lungs like water. Even Ari's eyes, accustomed to dark though they might be, are unable to make out any detail. From somewhere within, he hears steel striking stone. Striking something wet and meaty. The carved visage of the door seems to grin a little wider at the sound.
Hau, however, hears more. It isn't a voice so much as an impression. A stirring consciousness just past the monstrous door. As Ari begins to ease the muffling stone ajar, the feeling sweeps through the opening and over Hau like a silent storm. It's all throughout the tomb, patient. Waiting. It's been so long. And it's so very hungry.
Edge: Items: simple knife As he climbs back over the rubble, Edge can feel the awareness, the mental blips, spreading. At first, it was concentrated in points, massing in rooms such as the one his guide first showed him. Now, with his senses on alert, he feels it all throughout the ruins: a slow accumulation. Like dust. Like the creeping spread of mold. When he climbs over the gap and looks down the other side, he sees that a fine gray layer has accumulated, dusting the walls.
Where he currently stands, the worst concentration is ahead of him, through the altar room and down the hall his guide has taken. However, the sense of accumulation seems particularly bad along this area, forming a rough T between Edge and the two blips behind and on either side of him. Should the Darai look behind him, back toward the collapsed room, he can see the first signs of scab-like growth along the hall.
Jedidiah: Darkness fills the doctor's nose and mouth like tar, choking off his breath. He can't see anything as he writes. But he hears the snap of reins and the scream of horses. Hears the ring of steel somewhere overhead. The wheels thunder down upon him. His fingertips are slick with his own blood. He can only hope that the message will be found, will be readable through the dark.
The doctor's scribbles are cut short as hooves smash down on his back, his neck, caving in his skull. Heavy wheels roll over the body with a meaty crunch. The sword cuts through his spine. And then another set of wheels. Fresh tracks of blood smear the floor as the snap of reins fade down the long room. The sword continues to rise and fall, rise and fall, the only sound in the dark.
Faolan: Items: unlit torch, flint ornament, (healing?) potion The creature can't get a proper grip on him through Faolan's struggling. It loses its hold, blade striking empty stone. Grabs at his side next, tearing skin. Then its gauntleted fingers find his leg, yanking him off his feet. Its breathing is strained, excited. It begins to shake him upside down, battering him against the stone, barely seeming to notice the rain of blows on its helm.
Faolan is scratched from the clawed gauntlet, bruised from the rough stone, but the creature can't hold him still long enough to bring its sword arm to bear. And at last, the doctor's struggles pay off. He manages to twist free of the clawed grip, though he tears skin off his ankle in his escape. Faolan is free to escape back over the collapse. Only...
Only there is a second creature there, staring through the gap. A mass of hands cover its face, cloak its shoulders, tuck against its shivering chest. It's panting as it climbs, fingers twitching against its own flabby skin. And though its face is hidden, it seems to be looking at them both. A long pair of arms, unnaturally jointed, pull the creature a few inches further through the rubble. The darkness comes with it, pooling, impenetrable, flowing through the gap around it. In another few moments, the hall may be dark again. Unbreathable. Faolan's only escape lies past the armored creature behind him.
Cassius: Items: unlit torch, sturdy rope The creature slaps at Cassius' hand and kicks at his eyes with a flabby paw, apparently unable to inflict any real damage. Its body is inconsistent, warping in shape and proportion like a figure in a dream. The potion is a bulge in the flesh of its stomach one moment, a lump in its thigh the next. It moves in an uncomfortably boneless way, twisting around in its own skin.
The white flesh pulls taut as it struggles, tearing in places like stretched clay. The stuff beneath is a white mass, the same as the skin - no organs, no bones - nothing like a living creature. But where its flesh splits, it bleeds a grey ichor, staining Cassius' hands. The mere touch of the liquid fills the officer with a fresh sense of vigor, better than any potion.
However, as this feeling registers, the creature suddenly twists free, leaving a doughy patch of skin in his fingers. It skitters between Cassius' legs and dashes for the shelter of the rubble. There's still a chance to catch it before it escapes; however, he isn't alone in the tunnel. There is a grey face peering through the gap in the rubble - humanoid, but horned, and edged with black scales. The eyes glow a lurid blue against black sclera, staring at Cassius.
Marchelute: Items: falconer's glove, silver chain The room, from the brief glimpse Marchelute takes, looks much as he left it. The only tracks through the grit-covered floor are his own. The knife and scrap of vellum are still lying where he dropped them. But on second glance, it seems to the ifrit that the dust is a little thicker than the last time he checked. His prints are dusted with a fine gray film, and the first sign of scab-like crusts can be seen on the discarded items.
The stuff, whatever it is, seems to accumulate - "grow," the word springs unbidden to mind - regardless of whether anyone is there. The thicker it gets, the stronger the nagging awareness becomes. Marchelute can feel it here in the room. Can begin to feel it all around the tomb. However, the three strongest concentrations are somewhere ahead and to the left, behind and to the left, and centered here in this room. The feel of it leaves a slick, clammy sensation in his mind. And it only worsens as the stuff accumulates.
Draggo: A constant sense of anxiety hangs over the juvenile's head as he climbs. Familiar though the emotion might be, this feels different. Ever since he shifted to saljir, he's felt the prickle of eyes on him - the sense of something vast in the distance, circling closer. It leaves a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. A sense of being hunted.
But the scuffling sounds through the gap aren't directed at him. When the juvenile crests the top of the rubble and looks down the other side, he sees a human there, dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts. The man is lean and well-muscled, a tree-like mass of scars marring his back. He seems to be struggling with something in his hands. Then as the juvenile stares, a white, flabby shape drops to the floor and bolts away from the man and up towards the rubble. Towards the juvenile. It's the same kind of creature as before, small and toothless. There is a bulge under its skin - the unmistakable shape of an elixir under the flesh.
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Post by kilnarak on Oct 14, 2019 2:04:24 GMT -6
[ Ari thinks that door is a definite nope and tries to close it again. ]
Nothing he found amid the clutter of treasure seemed useful, but he dragged a thin rug and a pair of mostly-intact fabric-covered stools to Sara before he went to check the door.
He felt nothing from the carved-stone face, at least nothing more than his own vague discomfort. The door opened when he pushed at it, but what it revealed only made him all the more uncomfortable. The next room - or hallway, or whatever it was - was just black, just darkness like a wall that he couldn't see past. It reminded him of the hall earlier, the thing with the sword moving through it, like what lingered at the back of the last room with the soldiers. It felt like it would choke him, that he would suffocate if he moved into that darkness.
A noise in the darkness, made him jump, and with a grimace he tried to pull the door closed again. No, they didn't want to go out there. There was something out there, something that he was sure would kill them if it could catch them. It sounded like someone beating a carcass, wet meaty noises. No he didn't like it at all.
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Post by beastly on Oct 14, 2019 15:15:58 GMT -6
OOC: Grace doesn't want to leave anyone behind, and says so as she looks for useful stuff.
"Please do not talk like that. No one is going to leave anyone behind."
Grace inspects these unopened boxes. Something in her gut warns her about curiosity, but her worry about having a new friend die over rides that. She doesn't have many friends, she reminds herself, but she would like to think if she did have friends outside her family and offline, that she would be loyal.
So, with no small amount of pushing down second thoughts, Grace opens up the ivory box. It's only a dream, anyway. Although... She's been having doubts.
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Post by qhostqrowls on Oct 14, 2019 16:20:28 GMT -6
[Realising that the rubble is no longer a viable escape route thanks to Handy McHandface, Faolan will try to lure the Armoured monster further into the corridor - hoping the two monsters fight each other. He will then ty to dart back into the altar room, and escape through the door in there.]
A sharp cry of pain was torn from Faolan's throat as the monster swept his legs out from underneath him. It hoisted him upwards. There was a moment of weightlessness, and then he was slammed to the floor. It seemed almost enthusiastic, like a terrier shaking a rat.
Blood ran down his ankle as he finally, blessedly, he twisted free of its grasp and scrambled back into the corridor. He could make it over the rubble in time, he was sure - except for the fact that there was now a godawful amalgamation of hands quivering atop of the heap. He stopped abruptly, horrified. The armoured creature was at his back, and now this thing was blocking his exit out - with the suffocating darkness seeping out around it, nonetheless.
He wanted to just stop at the realisation. Let the armoured monster stab him, quick and clean - but the instinctive part of him screamed at him to keep running. Keep fighting. And so he turned, again, struggling to keep both monsters in his sight. His breath came in short, choppy bursts, eyes flickering to the altar room. He hadn't wanted to go through the door in there, didn't think he'd be able to open it before the armoured thing got to him - but he had no other choice now.
His eyes flickered between the two, body tense as he backed up. He'd have to wait for the armoured one to come back out into the corridor. Would have to dart around it - hopefully it would clash with the hand amalgamation. Had to get the door open before it got dark again, before it grabbed him again, before the new arrival could catch up.
You're not going to make it, he thought, as his eyes fell apon the bladed limb, the horribly jointed arms, the roiling blackness. The thought was almost peaceful - accepting. But not quite yet. He'd go out fighting, at the very least. As pathetic as his struggles would be. As futile as it was. Because at least if he fought, he would know he didn't just let himself leave Edge alone in here. Could at least tell the Darai he tried his best to find him.
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Post by Pearl Dragon on Oct 14, 2019 16:41:42 GMT -6
[Kira pulls back against the force, and also uses a bur to try and brace herself against the bottom]
Kira reached further and further into the open mouthed idol, heart racing in anticipation as she wondered if it even had a bottom. When her fingers touched the solid surface of the rubble and then the cold metal of an object, her heart did a jump into her throat and she closed her hand around it.
The moment she did, she felt the pain in her jaw ebb, and her claws grazed across the engravings in its surface as she closed her fingers around it. Her heartbeat calmed just a bit, it felt so right.... Trying to stay calm, Kira then began to lift the object out of the mouth when suddenly her efforts were halted but some kind of force. She couldn't feel anything obstructing the way, although perhaps the object was caught on something? Nothing had her by the arm...or so she thought, until the force suddenly pulled her back. Kira yelped in surprise, her other hand flying to the idol to brace herself against the pulling force. Her shoulder sank painfully against the lip of the opening and Kira began to pull back against it. If the object was stuck, she was unable to let go as her fingers felt numbly rigid against it in a death grip. Kira whined again, her voice rising into a panicked keening and she pulled, twisted, even planted her feet up onto the idol as well to gain some leverage.
With a turn of her head, Kira looked back at the sliver of white that was the face and cried out to it. "HELP! PLEASE BE HELP!" She squeaked, not at all hopeful that it would respond but it was worth a try. Her attention quickly turned back to the idol and she kept up her efforts to pull her arm from its depths. Her mind raced on what she could, but nothing seemed readily available to her other than her current struggle. Her bur shot forth as well, stabbing into the darkness to try and brace against the bottom of the interior.
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Post by NightshadeVII on Oct 14, 2019 16:51:08 GMT -6
[OOC: Deciding to check out the hall where his guide left, Edge makes his way down the rubble and back into the alteroom and if there’s nothing in the alteroom, he’ll continue down the hall the guide took, keeping an eye out for any pustules.]
As the many different mental blips became obvious to the Darai, he let out a sigh, shoulders sagging, and for a moment, he lay down on top of the rubble, as if he wanted to rest. All he wanted was to find Faolan and get out of here, however one could possibly get out of here. Walking around confused and lost in this place, alone and apparently fighting something he didn’t even know what was, Edge hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Hopeless, searching for an exit or something that would make it all make sense, but to no avail. Was there even a point to all of this? Forehead against the cold rubble beneath him, Edge felt his own breath bounce back at him. He was getting nowhere. Muscles became heavy, blisters making themselves known again, and the mental blips were becoming more of a burden than anything. It was something to navigate after, but why did these pustules have to be destroyed? What was going on here? Was he even in the right to do this? The thought of getting up and continuing began to seem more and more impossible as time went on and the mental blips grew in strength. Maybe he should just wait here until it was over.
But, he couldn’t abandon Faolan in here, no matter how tired he was. If the blonde was also wandering these halls, which he probably, sadly was, there had to be a chance for Edge to find him. A sense of dread overcame him as he realized that if whatever attacked him got to Faolan, the blonde might not be as lucky as to be armed. Or in a worst case scenario, there would be even more awful things in here with them. Now wasn’t the time to give up. Had he been here alone, the option would’ve been more appealing, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t give up on Faolan like this.
It took a quick, but hefty debate with his own body to muster the energy to move again, andneven then he felt sluggish. Chronic illness really wasn’t an advantage in a place like this. Small stones that had clung to his skin fell off and bounced down the pile, much louder than he had expected. With a sigh and a groan, Edge got up and began his descent, carefully, not wanting to fall and break something. When he was finally down on the ground, he began to make his way to the alter room again, ignoring the feeling of the fine grey mass beneath him as much as he could, or trying to at least.
“Please be alive, Faolan...” he murmured to himself, carefully stepping into the alteroom and looking around. If there wasn’t anything worth noting in the altaroom, he’d continue on to the hallway his guide had left through, where the mental blips seemed most prominent.
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Post by Marshmallow on Oct 14, 2019 17:10:39 GMT -6
[Summary: Marche is confused and disgusted to realize that the mental blips and the tugging feeling seem to link to the gross gray mold stuff, and not other survivors. Not Ari. He wonders what that could possibly mean, and where his Pact has gone. He still wants to avoid the strongest, sickening pull, so he chooses the follow the second one he had felt - the one leading away toward the Right Door in the column room. ]
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Post by Sharei on Oct 14, 2019 17:17:22 GMT -6
[OOC: Draggo attacks the creature and then tries to see if the person is hurt.]
There wasn't much thought involved in what happened next. The juvenile pulled himself free of the debris and launched himself after the quick grey shape with a powerful leap from digitigrade legs. The distance was easily covered, and he came down with the long, wicked claws of his right hand for a swipe that was intended to open the creature from one side to the other in four nasty lines. It was a bit of a rash attack, but he was spurred by the creeping sensation of the watchful hunter, of being followed.
Whether he succeeded or not, the juvenile turns to the first living creature in this strange place and moves to see if the scarred man is alright.
"Are you okay?" he said, starting in draconic but quickly translating to English. "Hurt?"
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