Halloween: All Hallows Eve

[MP]

Moisture drips from the ceiling, slithering down the skin of your shoulder. Something skitters over your bare foot and burrows into the soil. You are alone in the dark with the moan of subterranean air in your ears. The dark is empty. But there is a dim glow in the distance, and a faint current to the air. It pulls you forward over damp soil and slick stones, tugging at you like an instinct. Like a call.



          Come. 


                           Come.



And then the dark retreats, revealing arching cavern walls and the half-buried remains of pavement. The space invites you, setting your heart thrumming with something like anticipation. Something like dread. You are alone. Your hands are painted red, your feet are bare, and you wear a pale gown and a thread of gold around your neck. It feels natural. Feels wrong. Stone columns guide you forward, set with candles to guide your way. At the end of this path, two doors are set in the cavern wall.

Your heart pounds to see them. Instinct urges you forward. But the call is confused now. Conflicting. The lefthand door is made of dark wood and carved with a bestial figure. The figure’s wild eyes glare down at you, the lolling tongue and curving tusks open in a fearsome grimace. Four arms extend from the figure’s maned shoulders, holding the moon and stars in clawed hands. By contrast, the righthand door is gilded, carved in depiction of a naked woman. Her arms and legs are tucked against her body, and the shape of wings are tightly tucked against her back. Her hands hold a mighty chalice, and her expression gazes down upon it, peaceful and oddly empty. On the chest of the beast and the chalice of the woman, there are twin impressions of hands.

All that remains is to set your hands to these impressions. But the call is tangled now, urging you toward one door, then the other. You sense there can only be one choice.

[tsukikoko]

[OOC: John is vaguely aware he should be miffed about this whole thing and then chooses the nakey woman because of course he does.]

Ordinarily, John was not one for following the whims of others. Yet even he found the beckoning call too enticing too ignore, even as his insides twisted with the same negative emotion, that he would never admit, as the day he'd been stripped of his tails. He floated and weaved his way alongside the cavern walls, dimly aware of something encasing his torso and something else threaded around his neck. How peculiar. Whomever had deigned to do such a thing, especially when it obscured his perfect, luxurious fur, should be eviscerated. At least the shade of red covering his hands... claws? Why were his claws present? Well, no matter, the shade of red was a rather attractive one, if nothing else, he thought.

The siren call still led him on, an allure so potent he could be forgiven for thinking it was one of his tails. Indeed, when the two choices presented themselves, for the fox it was really no choice at all. His lip curled in clear disdain of the beastial figure, rows of needle sharp teeth sneering at the carved wooden tusks. No, no, far better to heed what was clearly a dreamscape variant of one of his missing tails; power trapped within a feminine form. The carved image was replaced by a certain crocodile-tailed redhead he'd been after for far too long and the Kumiho's jaws near salivated with the idea of finally gaining access to her flesh.

He floated across to the winged, naked woman and pressed a paw against the impression of a hand upon the door.

[kilnarak]

[ OOC: Ash does not like wearing clothing and removes his gown. He takes it with him and chooses the winged-woman door. ]

Ash woke up abruptly, his scales rippling and lifting in unease. He didn't usually sleep in this form, but sometimes shifted unintentionally when he had nightmares. Perhaps he'd had one just now? He couldn't remember. There was something light and gauzy wrapped around his body - a sheet? He tried to disentangle himself from it, but he couldn't find the edge of it to unwrap himself. It wasn't uncomfortable, but he didn't know what it was and he didn't like how it constricted his wings. After a bit of searching he found the bottom edge and pulled the garment off; it was some sort of long tunic, not a sheet, and it may have torn a little in his efforts to remove it. It had caught on his raised scales, snagged on his wings. He folded it carefully once it was off, not sure who it belonged to. In removing it he had also found the thin golden necklace draped about his neck - that was caught on his scales too, but it wasn't restrictive so he left it be.

He had also become aware that his hands were coated in something red - too bright to be dried blood. His crest lowered and fanned to the sides in confusion as he regarded his hands - the red of fresh blood on his claws made him uncomfortable. He shivered, his scales rippling again, then forced himself to settle them back against his body. There wasn't water here, he couldn't wash it off, he'd just have to leave it be.

Ash's attention finally shifted to his surroundings: dark and damp like a cavern, soil furrowing under his claws, small things scurrying in the dark. Maybe a burrow? There was light in the distance, dim and uncertain, and he felt himself drawn toward it. He kept hold of the tunic mainly because it felt wrong to leave it on the damp earth, and he was careful to keep from piercing the fabric with his painted claws. He moved quietly toward the light, his ears flicking back and forth as he listened for movement around him. He startled briefly when the ground changed, soil giving way to stone that clicked under his claws. He paused a moment, then continued.

When he saw the doors his scales lifted again, crest rising and fanning out in a fear response. He stopped again, hesitating. Something about the doors frightened him, but he couldn't be sure why - they were just doors. Perhaps it was the first, the beast, that frightened him so? It wasn't something he had ever seen before. The wild look in its carved eyes held him still, made him feel like prey. He shivered and tore his gaze away from it to look to the second door. A woman with wings - not Sival, she lacked scales and a tail - holding a chalice. She was much less frightening, almost felt sad.

He hesitated a moment more, then let the pull draw him forward again. He moved to the image of the woman and felt compelled to raise his hands to her chalice. He found the hand-marks in the carving - smaller than his own, but still, he let his hands press to the impressions, his claws lightly grazing the wood.

[okami1reeka333]

[OOC: Jedidiah is not a fan of waking up in dark spooky place in a gown, picks the beastial door.]

Jedidiah:

He groaned as he slowly came too before jolting at the touch of something skittering over his foot. . .when the realization sank into his consciousness like the wilting of a flower, the slow and gradual weight of dread felt like it grappled his neck.

Where the hell was he? Was he kidnapped? Shet there are people that can pick him up. The earth under his hand crumpled as his gripped and pushed himself up. . . The humidity causing his stumps to ache and throb in a lethargic pain. He then noticed he was adorned in a white gown and his hands painted red? "Similar to the Valronoks mom talked about. . . Wait am I a sacrifice?. . " he hoped not. . .though he did not have time nor a choice in the matter when he felt like he was being pulled along by the neck as if he had a leash on. By a golden thread. . .

Two doors were before him. . . One was a beast that held the sun and moon, the other a winged and bare skinned woman. . . Well, if he's going to die, he rather the potentially quicker death? Unless if the area was an open area. . .

He might be able to slip out easier than if it were within a building. . . He moved towards the door with the four armed beast. . . Placing his Hand apon it. . . If he dies, it will hopefully be quick, if not, hopefully he will he able to get the hell out of here. . .

[indeath]

((August’s wonders if he’s been called to vampire court or joined a cult. He leaves his choice to fate and puts his hand in the groove of the winged woman’s door.))


August shuddered against pull of the call, it certainly wasn’t the cold. Cold was a distant memory for the vampire. It was that it reminded him of the feeling of being beckoned by his maker. It had never ended well… It usually ended with incredibly unpleasant tasks or worse.The robes, red hands… Had his maker found him and dressed him in this odd garb? Had they decided to pass judgement on him. Was he walking to his true death? He brought a finger to his nose, at least it wasn’t blood. It seemed kinda cultish if anything. Though the gold chain was an alright touch, it had style at least. A vampire worshiping cult, he shook his curled head of that horrible idea.

He followed the beckoning, it was too strong to resist. He stopped at the doors, he studied them both with cornflower blue eyes. Two callings. The woman was certainly beautiful with her chalice, her serene eyes and wings. Then the feral beast in wood, it almost looked sad to August. Pain and anger often went hand in hand. The conflicting calls made him feel a little dizzy.

He closed his eyes, his hand moving from door to door.
“Eeny Meeny miny… Mo.”

He put his hand into the grove of the gilded woman’s door. Hopefully it wasn’t a horrible mistake.

[Vaitris]

[OOC: Kazan chooses the beast door.]

Darkness. Dripping ice cold. A call in the distance and he followed it without quite knowing why. The Sages must have handed down a new trial, except they didn’t exist in this world. Kazan was uniquely alone in a land of wild, formless magic that violated every rule he had grown up with.

That is what this had to be, some kind of magic. Transported somehow. Or an illusion? He took stock of himself. He was garbed in a gown of sheer white fabric and a golden chain, but otherwise he was unarmed and unprepared. Unfortunate. His hands were red with what appeared to be blood - this was not the first time. He lifted his fingers to his forehead and gingerly felt jagged edges like broken bone. He called on his shikigami, expecting to see its faint arcing light, but nothing responded to his call. That, finally, alarmed him. The puppet had never been absent, even in the wake of his greatest devastation, and he felt suddenly naked. Like his hands had been severed at the wrists.

Drawn inexorably forward, the centaur paced into the darkness. As he walked the sound of his hoof falls changed, the lighting changed, and the area around him opened up into a cavern with two very incongruous doors at the end of it. He paused to study them. A hulking beast and a winged halfling were carved into the surface of each. Though the angel motif vaguely suggested something magic beyond, Kazan felt himself drawn to the opposing door. The beast presented strength and cunning, savagery and challenge, especially when he was without his shikigami. If this was a test, he’d prove himself worthy with this choice. Or he would perish in the attempt.

Kazan pressed his palm to the outline on the beast’s chest.

[qhostqrowls]

[Kail chooses the beast door]

Kail hesitated at the threshold of the cavern, scenting the air and finding nothing but the stale smell of deep earth and rock. There was pavement beneath his hooves and a beckoning pull in his chest, urging him forwards and deeper into the cavernous space.

His taloned hands were red, but strangely not with blood. War paint? His brow furrowed as he inspected the gown - who in the hell had put him in a dress? There was no way he would have chosen the garment himself, and he went to shift into his monstrous form to rid himself of it.

Only to find nothing there - no buried, animalistic feeling to pull upon to begin the change. The cannibal paused, the tightness in his chest shifting from confusion to worry. The paint or the necklace must be dulling his abilities, or maybe the cavern itself.

Kail swore, and his voice was all that echoed back as he stalked further in. He considered taking the gown off, but being naked in this strange space seemed the worse of the two options. At least he still had his heightened senses.

He glanced between the doors. An angelic woman, or a demonic beast. His eyes followed the curve of the woman’s body, settling on the tucked wings. No, not that one. The wild eyes of the beast stared straight at him, and with a shrug of his shoulders he pushed his hand against the impression in its chest. Maybe this was a choice between heaven and hell - he certainly knew which one he deserved.

[beastly]

[Occ: Vincent is not a happy camper, does not like being magically compelled to action. He doesn't like the beast, so picks the door with the woman.]

Vincent slowly became aware of himself as he was drawn through the damp cavern like a moth, heading for the dim light. Slowly, a panic set in as he walked through the cavern, as consciousness returned. He did not recognize where he was, and looking down, he registered that he was not wearing his clothes. No, he was dressed in a white robe and his feet were bare, hands painted red. What had happened? How did he get here? Still, he was pulled forward, even as he looked himself over. In a pulse of dread, the hunter grabbed at his neck, finding himself lacking the charm that prevented mind influencing magics. The only thing in its place was a single thread of gold. He made distressed noise that died in his throat, moving through the space lit by candle.

The doors came into sight, and Vincent stood before the doors, feeling like a trapped animal. Indecision writhed in his chest, and his hands raised of their own volition. He felt he needed to pick a door. All of this screamed magical cult, and he hated the interference his brain. He was in danger, a voice in his head insisted. No weapons. No knowledge of where he was. He had nothing.
He stared at the two doors, the beast and the woman, and felt compelled to press a hand to one of them. But which one? What was the right door? He gazed into the eyes of the multilimbed beast, and in a surge of unease, set his hand on the chalice the woman held.

[hadopelagic]

[OOC: Una chooses the winged woman.]

At first, Una found it strange that the darkness was frightening instead of comforting. Then, she looked down and saw her red hands—human hands. In her dreams, she was never human, so she must have been awake. But awake where?

She extended her hands and wiggled her fingers, which were stout with long, rough nails. Something compelled Una to reach for the doors; she slowly swinged her hands side to side, allowing the current to move her, like plankton swaying in a gentle wave. The beast’s challenging eyes stirred a competitiveness in Una. She wanted to wrap her hands around his shoulders and wrestle him to the ground. But the woman’s chalice exerted a stronger pull, a desire akin to thirst.

Una placed her hands on the chalice.

[Pearl Dragon]

[Bruse takes the beastial door]

Bruse's mind seemed distant, coalescing slowly into conscious awareness. He wavered, lingering in that halfway moment before finally giving in to the pull of the space around him. He'd been far away, meditating perhaps but now he was here. But where was here? He looked ahead, still as a statue and....feeling. What was that sensation? A breeze, a light brush against his form as he stood and gazed forward. And more...like a strange thrumming somewhere in his torso like a heartbeat, but for him of course it was simply the sense of anticipation and dread. He didn't like it, it was all very alien in the moment.

Something else too, something that seemed to drape across his back and sides. At the edge of his sight he saw white fluttering at his sides, down his back and across his flanks as well, similar to a horse blanket. It folded forward across his shoulders and laced delicately by his wide collar bones by a thin gold chain. Bruse was not one to "wear" anything physical, and so the feeling of material on his form felt very strange. It was all very puzzling. And yet, as he looked to the side at himself, he still seemed partially incorporeal, as the world around him could be seen through him. But he wondered at just how incorporeal he was in that place and moment.

Speaking of places, his attention turned back to the scene before him as if pulled by some unknown influence. Before him were what looked like two doors, intricately carved and made from very different materials. The carvings were strange and unknown to him, like none he'd seen yet on earth, and he stepped closer to them as he took them in. At the sight of the darker wooden door and gnarled beastly face upon it, Bruse felt his hunger muster somewhere distant in his core and he drew closer to the door. A large paw lifted and for a moment his eye was drawn to the bloody hue that seemed to coat the outside of it. He lingered for a moment, transfixed before pressing his paw to the dark wood.

[NightshadeVII]

(OOC: Edge has a big think and eventually decides which door unsettles him the least. He chooses the beast door.)

At first, for one dreadful moment, the Darai thought he had gone blind. But then, slowly, his eyes adjusted, he blinked once, twice, unable to recognize his surroundings, confused as to how he had ended up here. Wherever here was…

With nothing else to do, he wandered, forward he assumed, guided by a wordless intuition that wasn’t his own. Like a stranger tugging at his hands. How had he gotten here? And why was he here? One moment he was reading in bed with Faolan next to him and now he was here. Was it a dream? Admittedly, he was quick to fall asleep, but this just didn’t sit right with him. If it was a dream, it was the strangest one he’d had.
Sighing quietly he looked down at himself to find that the clothes he wore was not his own. In fact, it was clothes he would never have considered wearing, and the paint on his hands, an angry crimson, like blood spilled, with only hints of his iridescent markings peeking out beneath it. It painted him as a different creature, and he shuddered at the thought, though he knew it was impossible.

Eventually, after an uncertain amount of time had passed, Edge found two doors towering above him, a sharp contrast to the featureless soil. Unnatural, out of place, artificial.
The first door he landed on was gilded, depicting a naked woman in a cramped position. The way her wings were pressed against her body made Edge’s throat tighten, feeling restricted just by looking at it. The eyes, however, were the worst, at first glance, she looked peaceful, but as time went on, the Darai realized they were just empty. Soulless, uncaring. It reminded him of…
Edge shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the woman and shuddering.

The other door wasn’t much better, depicting a horrifying beast with wicked teeth and far too many limbs. What the beast held managed to catch the Darai’s interest.
With the carved wood and the vauge promise of the moon and stars, the door with the beast at least held the promise of something known. If it led to a place with stars, he could navigate by them. Though he was more rusty than he should be, the skill was not entirely lost to him, and while the sky above Wathais was a stranger to him, he had slowly been getting to know it over the years. Of course, it was all a gamble, a guess and a hope at best. But what else did he really have to go on? It was that, or staying in this room, after all he hadn’t seen any other doors or paths on his way here. He had to do something.
Edge glanced back at the other door- the empty eyes watching over him- and shuddered, thinking of death.

Slowly, carefully, he approached the beast door, for some reason not wanting to break eyecontact with the glaring creature. The wood was cool and smooth against his palm as he hesitantly touched the impression.