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Entry tags:
- !event,
- athena | borderlands,
- benedict dearborn | original,
- carver hawke | dragon age,
- daenerys targaryen | game of thrones,
- eliot waugh | the magicians,
- ellie | the last of us,
- ivar ragnarsson | vikings,
- lee sung-hoon | duel,
- logan | marvel,
- octavia blake | the 100,
- robbie reyes | marvel,
- ruth aldine | marvel,
- vin venture | mistborn,
- will graham | hannibal,
- william | westworld
BONFIRE LIGHTS IN THE MIRROR OF SKY.
WHO: Everyone in game.
WHAT: Our first event log!
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core.
WHEN: After the storms begin.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.
WHAT: Our first event log!
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core.
WHEN: After the storms begin.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.
Photo by drainrat
PREVIOUSLY, ON THE WASTEYARD.
The world remains divided into a land where either a hazy sun shines muted light above or a full moon casts silvery shadows below. They hang fixed, as if nailed in place, more like theatrical props than far-off heavenly bodies. And you can still see only one of them, depending on which side you arrived.
Meanwhile, the storm rages.
On both sides of the world, the rain starts and doesn't stop. The temperature drops, transforming torrential rain into icy snow. Gusts of wind become gales and spin detritus into shrapnel, man-made disasters turned natural. Shadows spin wildly—almost comically—in cyclones, before bursting into nothingness; if you aren't careful, the winds will snatch you, too. Out here, the only protection you might have is cooperating with each other.
Indoors, it's certainly warmer, but that just means water doesn't freeze. Buildings flood with chilly water that rises no matter how many stairs you climb. Architecture groans under the pressure of earthquakes, sending more water cascading through the ceiling before it disappears into cracks below. Is anywhere safe?
Well, yes. One place, splintered into many. The mirrors in ash-gray frames stand sentinel, scattered throughout the world. They emit warm light from the other side; sunlight spills moonside and moonlight reflects sunside. Water impossibly flows around and away from them, leaving behind untouched earth that stays still and silent. Standing in front of them gives you a respite, a tiny bubble of safety to wait out the worst.
Meanwhile, the storm rages.
On both sides of the world, the rain starts and doesn't stop. The temperature drops, transforming torrential rain into icy snow. Gusts of wind become gales and spin detritus into shrapnel, man-made disasters turned natural. Shadows spin wildly—almost comically—in cyclones, before bursting into nothingness; if you aren't careful, the winds will snatch you, too. Out here, the only protection you might have is cooperating with each other.
Indoors, it's certainly warmer, but that just means water doesn't freeze. Buildings flood with chilly water that rises no matter how many stairs you climb. Architecture groans under the pressure of earthquakes, sending more water cascading through the ceiling before it disappears into cracks below. Is anywhere safe?
Well, yes. One place, splintered into many. The mirrors in ash-gray frames stand sentinel, scattered throughout the world. They emit warm light from the other side; sunlight spills moonside and moonlight reflects sunside. Water impossibly flows around and away from them, leaving behind untouched earth that stays still and silent. Standing in front of them gives you a respite, a tiny bubble of safety to wait out the worst.
INTO THE LABYRINTH.
Once you plunge indoors—unless you're really that determined to take your chances in the storm—you'll find every building with electricity experiencing a brownout. The overhead lights flicker and radios crackle with static, warbling broken news reports and tunes. They eavesdrop on strings of Morse code and private confessions on ham radio. If it's ever been broadcast on the airwaves, public or personal, you might hear it if you tune to the right station; you might even hear yourself, replaying a conversation you've had or will have. And sometimes the audio seems pointed, preternaturally so, as if tuned to your own thoughts and words.
Meanwhile, the waters continue to rise. The halls stretch long, seemingly infinite and twisted into knots. In some of them, no matter how far you walk, it seems like you never get any closer to the end; in others, you hit one dead end and can't stop hitting dead ends, no matter how many times you retrace your steps. None of that's unusual.
But if you delve deep into dark enough recesses (whether accidentally or intentionally), the world calms. The water recedes. Mirrors materialize in the dead ends, scratching out an "X" in the frame before your eyes. If you touch one, the glass falls away in ribbons, flowing like quicksilver and fleeing farther into the darkness. It reveals a hole on the other side, so deep a black it looks flat. Wherever it goes, it's so dark you can't see the other side.
And that's when you hear a sound like someone inhaling and then exhaling, steadily breathing around you. No...you feel it. A presence that has no form no matter how hard you look, but follows you in creaks and groans. It feels like being stalked by a monster in a maze.
Running from it only intensifies the feeling. Attacking makes it even worse. Calm acceptance is the only way to lessen or even neutralize it, but that's something you'll have to discover for yourself. In the end, there's no way to defeat it. You have to trust your instincts and believe it's there, despite the fact that you can't see or touch it.
Meanwhile, the waters continue to rise. The halls stretch long, seemingly infinite and twisted into knots. In some of them, no matter how far you walk, it seems like you never get any closer to the end; in others, you hit one dead end and can't stop hitting dead ends, no matter how many times you retrace your steps. None of that's unusual.
But if you delve deep into dark enough recesses (whether accidentally or intentionally), the world calms. The water recedes. Mirrors materialize in the dead ends, scratching out an "X" in the frame before your eyes. If you touch one, the glass falls away in ribbons, flowing like quicksilver and fleeing farther into the darkness. It reveals a hole on the other side, so deep a black it looks flat. Wherever it goes, it's so dark you can't see the other side.
And that's when you hear a sound like someone inhaling and then exhaling, steadily breathing around you. No...you feel it. A presence that has no form no matter how hard you look, but follows you in creaks and groans. It feels like being stalked by a monster in a maze.
Running from it only intensifies the feeling. Attacking makes it even worse. Calm acceptance is the only way to lessen or even neutralize it, but that's something you'll have to discover for yourself. In the end, there's no way to defeat it. You have to trust your instincts and believe it's there, despite the fact that you can't see or touch it.
CHANGING SIDES.
Elsewhere, it starts as a smell.
As the ground shudders and cracks, the stench of rot comes from the fissures. Mirrors and windows melt off walls, and a strong sense of vertigo comes and goes, like cresting waves. Looking out a window shows buildings and bridges breaking off of the labyrinth and drifting—or plummeting—away. They dissolve into nothingness as they vanish into the abyss, like they were bathed in acid. The already fragile world is falling apart.
It comes with a pervasive sense of wrongness, perhaps ironic in a world where everything is already wrong. But that's when it happens: You look up and realize you're no longer where you started. The sun or the moon, whichever you expected, is no longer in the sky. Instead, on the horizon lies its opposite.
It's a phenomenon unique to areas with high concentrations of ash mirrors and hallways, particularly when there's someone else on the other side. Sometimes the instability flips your positions, so one of you is now in the dimension where the other previously stood, while other times it drags you both together into the light of the sun or moon. It's like you resonate, magnets attracting or repelling each other in little pockets of peace.
As the ground shudders and cracks, the stench of rot comes from the fissures. Mirrors and windows melt off walls, and a strong sense of vertigo comes and goes, like cresting waves. Looking out a window shows buildings and bridges breaking off of the labyrinth and drifting—or plummeting—away. They dissolve into nothingness as they vanish into the abyss, like they were bathed in acid. The already fragile world is falling apart.
It comes with a pervasive sense of wrongness, perhaps ironic in a world where everything is already wrong. But that's when it happens: You look up and realize you're no longer where you started. The sun or the moon, whichever you expected, is no longer in the sky. Instead, on the horizon lies its opposite.
It's a phenomenon unique to areas with high concentrations of ash mirrors and hallways, particularly when there's someone else on the other side. Sometimes the instability flips your positions, so one of you is now in the dimension where the other previously stood, while other times it drags you both together into the light of the sun or moon. It's like you resonate, magnets attracting or repelling each other in little pockets of peace.
THE LOCKED ROOM.
Amidst the chaos, as the world shifts and there's no telling where or when you are, you slip through a crack. Or maybe you're a weirdo who climbed through the hole left behind a mirror.
In either case, the fissure is both literal and metaphorical, influenced by the unstable world and your actions. Maybe you step through a door, crawl through a crevice, close your eyes, or do something else to take you between here and there. Whatever the case, you find yourself in a room unlike any others you've seen in this distorted world. Well...once you look closer, anyway. On the surface, it may just be another kitchen, ballroom, or cellar.
But in these rooms, it doesn't matter which side of the divide you were on. Not only because you can't see whatever lights the sky, but because they lie between dimensions. There are no windows and no doors; you'll only find walls the same mottled gray as everything else in this place. Attacking them gets you nowhere. Any damage is there and gone, like the erased moments between flashes of a strobe light. There is no easy way out.
But there is a mirror. Hairline cracks run through its surface, shattering a single reflection into multitudes. Set in an ash-gray frame like so many others, it's left somewhere in the room, whether hanging on a wall, haphazard on the floor, or leaning against some furniture. It emanates the skin-prickling sensation of being watched. Turning away doesn't help; you can feel it gazing at your back.
The haunted feeling only subsides when you stare back. And you should stare back, because these mirrors are your escape route. Staring into them will reveal someone on the other side with the same predicament. Surprisingly, you can hear each other when you speak. It even comes translated if you don't speak the same language, although your mouths still sync to your native tongues. It's like a poorly dubbed movie.
Touching the mirror gives you the impression it's somehow leeching off you, trying to fill those cracks. Try to pull your hand away and you'll find it's a little difficult, like unsticking your tongue from a cold pole. Moreover, you'll feel a compulsion to tell the truth, to do something real.
In either case, the fissure is both literal and metaphorical, influenced by the unstable world and your actions. Maybe you step through a door, crawl through a crevice, close your eyes, or do something else to take you between here and there. Whatever the case, you find yourself in a room unlike any others you've seen in this distorted world. Well...once you look closer, anyway. On the surface, it may just be another kitchen, ballroom, or cellar.
But in these rooms, it doesn't matter which side of the divide you were on. Not only because you can't see whatever lights the sky, but because they lie between dimensions. There are no windows and no doors; you'll only find walls the same mottled gray as everything else in this place. Attacking them gets you nowhere. Any damage is there and gone, like the erased moments between flashes of a strobe light. There is no easy way out.
But there is a mirror. Hairline cracks run through its surface, shattering a single reflection into multitudes. Set in an ash-gray frame like so many others, it's left somewhere in the room, whether hanging on a wall, haphazard on the floor, or leaning against some furniture. It emanates the skin-prickling sensation of being watched. Turning away doesn't help; you can feel it gazing at your back.
The haunted feeling only subsides when you stare back. And you should stare back, because these mirrors are your escape route. Staring into them will reveal someone on the other side with the same predicament. Surprisingly, you can hear each other when you speak. It even comes translated if you don't speak the same language, although your mouths still sync to your native tongues. It's like a poorly dubbed movie.
Touching the mirror gives you the impression it's somehow leeching off you, trying to fill those cracks. Try to pull your hand away and you'll find it's a little difficult, like unsticking your tongue from a cold pole. Moreover, you'll feel a compulsion to tell the truth, to do something real.
THE GREAT ESCAPE.
For those of you left behind where the sun and moon still shine, keep an eye on your own mirrors, especially broken ones that seem to be influenced by something invisible. They display a room that most decidedly isn't your own, acting more like a window than a mirror. And whoever's inside, trapped, might call on you for help. You won't be able to hear them, though, so how are you with body language?
Meanwhile, for escapees...
No matter how you escape the rooms, you might notice something a little strange once you get back to the labyrinth. Well, stranger. For a brief window of time (one that grows longer with each room you escape), you'll discover the sun and moon occupy the same sky. The area you've entered is a temporary nexus of sorts, one that fuses the dimensions into something that almost seems stable.
It feels right, but the world isn't strong enough to hold itself together for long.
Meanwhile, for escapees...
No matter how you escape the rooms, you might notice something a little strange once you get back to the labyrinth. Well, stranger. For a brief window of time (one that grows longer with each room you escape), you'll discover the sun and moon occupy the same sky. The area you've entered is a temporary nexus of sorts, one that fuses the dimensions into something that almost seems stable.
It feels right, but the world isn't strong enough to hold itself together for long.
no subject
He tightens his fists until the bandages dig into the sides of his palms and takes a moment before he speaks again, marshalling his words, though there's still that feeling like he should be honest with her. Not only because she deserves it, but because it would feel correct.
"Guess we can't help tryin' to fill the spaces we've left behind," he says, eventually. "Not sure that's a bad thing."
no subject
She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling... something. Needing a second, probably. She needs to muster her thoughts a little, iron out a line of reasoning, a path forward.
And yet, something is bright even through her closed eyelids. She looks up, and notices the cracks in the mirror have faded. There's no reflection on the surface, either. She reaches out to touch it, and her fingers hit... nothing.
"Logan?" She sounds more worried than hopeful. Sudden, unexpected changes are rarely good. "Are you- is it doing this for you?"
no subject
"It's doin' somethin' all right." He reaches out to touch her hand, expecting to feel smooth glass and getting warm air on his fingertips instead. The feeling of rightness tugs at him, compelling him to move forward, into it. He frowns and pulls his hand back.
"This is either gonna take us out of here or make things a lot worse."
no subject
It's fucking magic.
She starts stuffing her shit into her pack. "Only one way to find out. Maybe you'll even fucking get your beer, dude."
no subject
"Only if you look out for all those shadow monsters while I drink it," he points out.
no subject
And what she finds is a hallway. It looks basically endless, and every inch is stuffed with windows and doors. It's strange, but also... good? It feels safe. Ellie can't shake the feeling that it's safe.
Especially with Logan here with her.
no subject
Another hallway. Except this one is brighter, quieter. Full of windows, doors, more possibilities. There's no distant howling storm, just calm and sun-warmed wood.
And Ellie standing there, as real as she was by the fire.
"Hey, kid. Here." He holds out the copper pot for her to take.
no subject
It's short-lived; spending a year with Joel means she expects everyone to be averse to physical contact. She pulls away quickly, murmuring apologies. "Uh, yeah, I got your beer, too, so..."
going to need more hugging icons
"It's ok, kid. Here," he offers the pot, "I'll trade ya for the beer."
i dont have any :'(
But this place is... it feels safe. Ellie's never felt like any place is home before, so that doesn't register. She just gets the impossibly alien feeling of belonging.
She laughs a little, awkward huffs of air. "Okay," she murmurs, "whatever you say, big guy." She hands him one of the nondescript cans, no label or anything.
no subject
"Thanks, kid." He glances at their surroundings, raising his eyebrows at the long hall. It should be frustrating to see after all that time spent wandering through places just like this, but instead it feels safe. Almost happy. Like they did the right thing.
"Feels like we're in the eye of the storm," he points out. "Guess somethin' in there liked us."
no subject
no subject
He snaps open the beer, sniffs it again, and takes an experimental sip. It's not exactly the best beer he's ever had, but after the week he's had, it's one of the most welcome. He drinks half of it without stopping to take a breath, then lowers it and looks down at Ellie. The beer combined with not a whole lot of food and the constant exertion of his healing factor rolls a wave of fatigue through his body.
With a groan he sinks down beside her, sliding down with a thump onto the floor.
no subject
"Does that stuff actually taste good when you get old?" Not older. Let's not pretend, here. "I tried it, and it tastes like shit."
no subject
"You get used to it," he replies. He lifts the can and eyes it, then takes another long swallow. "Pretty sure I can get used to this."
The hallway is warm and the smell of sun-soaked wood reminds him of better times. He almost expects to hear Jean's laugh coming from one of the rooms, or to see Ororo and Hank walk around the corner. He yawns and rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist.
"This sure is nice."
no subject
She settles down against him, unsheathing her knife so she can check the blade's sharpness. She really needs to sharpen it, but she hasn't had a chance.
"What, you like gettin' drunk in empty hallways?"
no subject
He drains the last of the can and crumples it in his hand, then yawns. Fatigue is running through his blood, healing factor buzzing at his temples and in his gut. The animal in him suggests it's a good place to stop for a while; safe den, a place to hide, to stop running.
"Kid, you mind.. you mind keepin' watch?" As he talks he leans his head back against the wall, eyes closing, and crosses his arms over his chest.
no subject
When he actually suggests she should keep watch, making real the fact that he wasn't humoring her, her expression both brightens and goes serious. It's not weary determination he's seeing now. "Yeah," she says, trying not to puff her chest out a little. "Said I would."
Her sit becomes a little more of a crouch, readying herself more to show that she can than because she has to.
no subject
Echoes of his kids again; the kids that aren't all his, technically, but ended up being that way. He wonders if Ellie would enjoy life in his reality, if it would be easier or harder on her than her life in her homeworld. Wonders if he should ask her if she'd rather come back with him, if they find their way out of here.
"Thanks, kid," he murmurs instead of that question. And after a little while, the only sound out of his mouth is a low snore.