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I WILL NEVER FADE.
WHO: Everyone in game.
WHAT: The second half of our first event, plus a new area to explore.
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core and, where relevant, the ruins.
WHEN: After the escape rooms.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.
WHAT: The second half of our first event, plus a new area to explore.
WHERE: Anywhere in the world core and, where relevant, the ruins.
WHEN: After the escape rooms.
NOTES: Expect surreal horror and possible violence. Please use common sense when warning for other content.
Image by Interstellar
THOUGH I WILL DISAPPEAR.
So you escaped... Or maybe not. Or maybe you just got here. Either way, no matter where you are, there comes a time when you inexplicably feel something shift. Nearby mirrors heal any cracks and turn into liquid silver at your feet. But the silver doesn't flee from you this time; instead, it stretches in every direction. The entire floor becomes a mirror, with you (and anyone else) at its center.
It doesn't reflect whatever's above you, however. Instead, it shows you a sky, based on your current or last location; sunsiders will see a perfect blue sky with white clouds, while moonsiders see a flawless starry night. Even if you can't see it, you can feel it, like you can feel it slide through a time-lapse day-night cycle as the walls around you dissolve. Because, you realize, this isn't just a pretty reflection. It's a memory. Not yours, but a memory of something that once existed in the very place you stand.
And then, surrounded by sky on all sides, the memory becomes real.
For a moment, everything is eerily still...and then the faux sun and moon appear overhead. Time bends, speeding up in eddies around you, while you yourself seem to slow. The sun and moon spiral around each other, like warped reflections, before they collide and burst into bands of light.
The sky above and below fractures like glass. It reminds you, perhaps, of how many mirrors you have (or haven't) broken. The world collapses into darkness and you see an abyss so vast it loses its depth, with only a luminous halo to give it form. It's somehow visible whether your eyes are open or closed (or if you don't have them at all), like an afterimage seared into memory. It's unlike anything you've seen that emits light. In fact, it might devour it.
You can no longer see the mirror beneath your feet, but you feel it buck and crumble, violently rearranging itself into a new form. It casts you into space and you hang there for an instant, weightless.
And then you fall.
It doesn't reflect whatever's above you, however. Instead, it shows you a sky, based on your current or last location; sunsiders will see a perfect blue sky with white clouds, while moonsiders see a flawless starry night. Even if you can't see it, you can feel it, like you can feel it slide through a time-lapse day-night cycle as the walls around you dissolve. Because, you realize, this isn't just a pretty reflection. It's a memory. Not yours, but a memory of something that once existed in the very place you stand.
And then, surrounded by sky on all sides, the memory becomes real.
For a moment, everything is eerily still...and then the faux sun and moon appear overhead. Time bends, speeding up in eddies around you, while you yourself seem to slow. The sun and moon spiral around each other, like warped reflections, before they collide and burst into bands of light.
The sky above and below fractures like glass. It reminds you, perhaps, of how many mirrors you have (or haven't) broken. The world collapses into darkness and you see an abyss so vast it loses its depth, with only a luminous halo to give it form. It's somehow visible whether your eyes are open or closed (or if you don't have them at all), like an afterimage seared into memory. It's unlike anything you've seen that emits light. In fact, it might devour it.
You can no longer see the mirror beneath your feet, but you feel it buck and crumble, violently rearranging itself into a new form. It casts you into space and you hang there for an instant, weightless.
And then you fall.
AND JOIN THE STREET PARADE.
As you fall, a voice crackles in the dark. It might take you a moment (or much longer, given how distorted it is) before you realize it's your own, projected through a radio. It runs through basic greetings and stock phrases, before it's suddenly interrupted by the crunch of something beneath your feet.
You don't remember ever landing. But if you reach down, you'll find a thin layer of ice, fracturing under your weight. It becomes more visible by the second, as the darkness fades away. Somewhere, your voice says, "Thank you."
The rotting dimensions, along with the sun and moon, are gone. Instead, everyone will find themselves in the same place, under a massive blot in the sky. It looks more like a perfect circle of spilled ink than anything dimensional; it seems to absorb light instead of casting it, similar to the abyss you saw. Yet somehow it gives the illusion of twilight as the storm finally calms, like a giant returning to its slumber. The ground stops rumbling. Buildings slow their decaying ascent as the blot inches its way across the mimicry of a sky, like it belongs there. Given enough time, it rises and sets, though the crepuscular lighting never seems to change.
The flooded buildings are covered with a thin layer of ice, no matter the temperature indoors. It warms up outdoors, but it's snowing at a steady, almost peaceful pace; large flakes drift one way and then another, like a child's snow globe. They cover the ground in a thick blanket, unbroken besides whatever paths you trail through it.
The shadows, unfathomable as always, leave no footsteps.
You don't remember ever landing. But if you reach down, you'll find a thin layer of ice, fracturing under your weight. It becomes more visible by the second, as the darkness fades away. Somewhere, your voice says, "Thank you."
The rotting dimensions, along with the sun and moon, are gone. Instead, everyone will find themselves in the same place, under a massive blot in the sky. It looks more like a perfect circle of spilled ink than anything dimensional; it seems to absorb light instead of casting it, similar to the abyss you saw. Yet somehow it gives the illusion of twilight as the storm finally calms, like a giant returning to its slumber. The ground stops rumbling. Buildings slow their decaying ascent as the blot inches its way across the mimicry of a sky, like it belongs there. Given enough time, it rises and sets, though the crepuscular lighting never seems to change.
The flooded buildings are covered with a thin layer of ice, no matter the temperature indoors. It warms up outdoors, but it's snowing at a steady, almost peaceful pace; large flakes drift one way and then another, like a child's snow globe. They cover the ground in a thick blanket, unbroken besides whatever paths you trail through it.
The shadows, unfathomable as always, leave no footsteps.
HALF SICK OF SHADOWS.
The shadows' strange behavior gets stranger once the earthquakes cease. Instead of aimlessly wandering around, they sometimes gather at the thresholds that keep them outdoors, twitching and contorting as they sway rooted to the spot. And it's clear, once you draw near: They're waiting for you.
They swivel as one, bodies distorted, and slither-walk-climb towards you. They reach out with hooks and arms and claws, beckoning with an inexorable determination.
They won't attack when in this state; they just pursue. Contact seems to be the name of the game, which doesn't seem like the greatest plan when a glancing touch burns like ice. But stand still long enough and one of them will try to attach itself to you, as if it could melt into your flesh.
It's painful. And, well, experimenting with this could very well give you frostbite.
Longer term contact gives the impression of longing and a vast universe, as if something always lies just beyond the horizon. Like a thousand tiny synapses, you feel how small you are, lost in a sea so much bigger than yourself. It lasts only until you shake the shadow off.
As soon as you divest yourself of the shadow, it steals your silhouette for a handful of seconds, before dissolving. Afterwards, it feels like you can't stop seeing little flickers of movement out of the corner of your eyes. It may last for hours. If you're really unfortunate, they last for days.
They swivel as one, bodies distorted, and slither-walk-climb towards you. They reach out with hooks and arms and claws, beckoning with an inexorable determination.
They won't attack when in this state; they just pursue. Contact seems to be the name of the game, which doesn't seem like the greatest plan when a glancing touch burns like ice. But stand still long enough and one of them will try to attach itself to you, as if it could melt into your flesh.
It's painful. And, well, experimenting with this could very well give you frostbite.
Longer term contact gives the impression of longing and a vast universe, as if something always lies just beyond the horizon. Like a thousand tiny synapses, you feel how small you are, lost in a sea so much bigger than yourself. It lasts only until you shake the shadow off.
As soon as you divest yourself of the shadow, it steals your silhouette for a handful of seconds, before dissolving. Afterwards, it feels like you can't stop seeing little flickers of movement out of the corner of your eyes. It may last for hours. If you're really unfortunate, they last for days.
COME ALL YE.
With the world's impromptu upheaval, there are new stairwells in the core. They're striking because of one feature and one feature alone: There is moss growing on them. They're the first sign of something else truly alive in this world, something that isn't alien to it.
Stepping foot inside makes the ground eat up the exit behind you, swallowing you down and guiding you through a long descent...or ascent. If you're lucky, it transitions to a level hall; if not, well, you have your work cut out for you. It isn't a short walk—roughly around an hour, though it might seem longer or shorter, depending on your company.
Regardless of whether you enter the stairwells with someone else or alone, navigating them is a tricky business. Sometimes, the paths fork off in different directions. If your friend (however loosely you may use the word) gets too far ahead of you, it's possible the maze will warp and split you up completely. On the other hand, you never know when you'll round a corner right into someone else.
Unlike the halls, which are largely clear of debris, there's old detritus all along the floor. Some of it's garbage like dirty plastic wrappers and bottles, while other times there are bones. They crumble to dust at a touch.
There are other artifacts, increasingly archaic. It's like stepping through time, as if you were digging through the earth to find things that died before you. If you look closely at the walls, you might even think there are fossils embedded in them.
Stepping foot inside makes the ground eat up the exit behind you, swallowing you down and guiding you through a long descent...or ascent. If you're lucky, it transitions to a level hall; if not, well, you have your work cut out for you. It isn't a short walk—roughly around an hour, though it might seem longer or shorter, depending on your company.
Regardless of whether you enter the stairwells with someone else or alone, navigating them is a tricky business. Sometimes, the paths fork off in different directions. If your friend (however loosely you may use the word) gets too far ahead of you, it's possible the maze will warp and split you up completely. On the other hand, you never know when you'll round a corner right into someone else.
Unlike the halls, which are largely clear of debris, there's old detritus all along the floor. Some of it's garbage like dirty plastic wrappers and bottles, while other times there are bones. They crumble to dust at a touch.
There are other artifacts, increasingly archaic. It's like stepping through time, as if you were digging through the earth to find things that died before you. If you look closely at the walls, you might even think there are fossils embedded in them.
HAVING AN AVERAGE WEEKEND.
Once you finally step out of the ancient labyrinth, you'll find yourself in a brand new location, jarringly green and wild, ancient and strange, new and beautiful. You've found the ruins.
While it might seem smaller than the core, it's impossible to get a sense of scale. The world starts to look flat when so much of it's the same colors. It's difficult to see far in most locations, with the way trees knit themselves over the landscape. It feels vitally alive, however, if oddly still. It's also quiet, with the sounds of life muffled by vegetation.
Animals roam the ruins, but they're elusive; those you do encounter are aggressive or fearful towards humans. Mammals and invertebrates are common, while amphibians are uncommon; reptiles are rare, and birds even rarer. Anything larger than a medium-sized dog is an unusual sight, especially within the ruins themselves.
You may notice some strange markings and carvings, all in an unknown script. No translation magic will work on them. The strange little messages are rare, but if your eyes slide across something just right, they might find something carved, painted, smeared, or scratched into a random surface.
Radios function well in this area, despite the plant matter usually creating interference. They tend to turn on even when you're not using them, though they don't play any sound without your help. Instead, it's possible to hear the soft hiss of white noise across the ruins.
Notably, there is currently no day-night cycle, but it does sometimes get brighter or darker. This doesn't seem to follow a set clock, however, and whether it's influenced by the rising or setting of a sun at all is unknown.
While it might seem smaller than the core, it's impossible to get a sense of scale. The world starts to look flat when so much of it's the same colors. It's difficult to see far in most locations, with the way trees knit themselves over the landscape. It feels vitally alive, however, if oddly still. It's also quiet, with the sounds of life muffled by vegetation.
Animals roam the ruins, but they're elusive; those you do encounter are aggressive or fearful towards humans. Mammals and invertebrates are common, while amphibians are uncommon; reptiles are rare, and birds even rarer. Anything larger than a medium-sized dog is an unusual sight, especially within the ruins themselves.
You may notice some strange markings and carvings, all in an unknown script. No translation magic will work on them. The strange little messages are rare, but if your eyes slide across something just right, they might find something carved, painted, smeared, or scratched into a random surface.
Radios function well in this area, despite the plant matter usually creating interference. They tend to turn on even when you're not using them, though they don't play any sound without your help. Instead, it's possible to hear the soft hiss of white noise across the ruins.
Notably, there is currently no day-night cycle, but it does sometimes get brighter or darker. This doesn't seem to follow a set clock, however, and whether it's influenced by the rising or setting of a sun at all is unknown.
PAST AND FUTURE RUINS.
Welcome to the ruins! Some quick things to remember:
- The archive is OOC knowledge only; characters need to ICly learn info through trial and error. Or gossip.
- It's impossible to see the sky overhead, but sunlight does make it down somehow.
- All plant life, including those in the archive, glow if an area is dark enough.
- All flora and fauna, including those in the archive, bleed black. Many of them may also smell of rot.
- Attempting to remove a living organism from the ruins will kill it. Removing anything with special properties will nullify those properties, unless they're treated (boiled, cooked, etc) first.
- You can handwave something's existence if it's generic, not permanent or recurring, and won't interfere with other players' fun (e.g., random fruit trees, nondescript rodents, general weather).
( RUINS: EXPLORATION | ARCHIVE )
4
He steps back, out of the way. Drops the chunk of limestone in his hand. He looks over the letters—focused, receptive, as though expecting them to morph before his eyes. ] It's the closest thing I've seen to words. Not counting the tower.
[ He regards Robbie with implacable eagerness, an unspoken question in there: what about you? ]
no subject
( which is curious. the rider wasn't what one would normally picture when they thought of a scholar but he'd been the only one with the ability to read the darkhold. if this was...demonic in anyway, robbie expected to be able to read it.
but, there was nothing. )
If it is a language. ( maybe it was just a bunch of gibberish. just random slashes and strikes of someone who was very bored. ) Maybe it's nothing.
( not likely, not in a place like this. )
no subject
Delta, that's Greek. Maybe it's an equation. [ “Solve for everything.” William looks sidelong at the other man, then to the ground, a hand rubbing at his neck. Almost shy, the corner of his mouth twitching in a wry smile. ] Maybe it says, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter.”
no subject
That wouldn't surprise me.
( while he doesn't think he's lost all hope, the longer he's here, the longer he begins to wonder if this is going to be it for him. no more rider, no more gabe, no more anything but this place. )
You think of any kind of equation that would be useful here? Never been one for math.
no subject
Right now, though, he's just the slightest bit excited. ]
Escape velocity. [ It's mostly a joke. Mostly. William rocks back on his heels, trying to imagine not why but how the symbols were written. Urgently? Ceremoniously? Are they studying graffiti? The hand that put them there, was it soft or rough? ] A chemical equation... [ He shrugs, one armed, raises his eyebrows. He's not convinced himself. ]
I think the placement's important. It couldn't have been easy to get up there. [ A hesitant pause, then he shoots Robbie another glance. ] What would you want it to say?
no subject
( in short, he wants it to be the key to the way out of here but he doubts it is. it wouldn't be that easy because someone, eventually, would solve this. they'd figure out how to read this language and they'd solve it and if this place didn't want to lose them, it wouldn't let them go. )
It's not going to be that though. I don't think this place, whatever it is, is done with us. I think it knows we're here. ( he hates thinking of an actual location as sentient but with how it moved and how it changed, what else was there to think? ) We're not done being toys.