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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 )
ellie | tlou | ota.
e. and prepare for heartbreak
💔
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c. is this godmodding if I assume she's just kinda standing there
ruth aldine | marvel | ota
She's walking with her latest attempt at a cane, not quite assured but nowhere near the tentative steps of the last few...days? Weeks? It's been about a week for her--for you, maybe longer. Who knows? Regardless, walking: slipping outside in search of supplies, wrapped up in a worn navy peacoat so large her hands don't make it to the cuffs. And then the world breaks.
There's no other way to understand it, the sudden shift of the world around her: time takes on the qualities of heat waves off blacktop, undulating and curving around her, nearly physical as it winds away. She's trapped in it, a stone in a river (mixing metaphors, it's that disorienting) reaching slowly, awkwardly to touch her nose. No blood.
Everything's broken, "now" isn't even now, and there's something swallowing up every space inside her mind, branding itself dark and light and everything. She hardly knows what she's saying. "Sorry this no, no this sorry isn't happening sorry--"
[after]
Yes. Pardon. Yes. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Thank you. No. Pardon. Thank you? Hello.
It speaks and speaks, tinny and faraway, and not at all like Ruth when her speech is invaded with rogue words and phrases. It--she?--says them like this is practice or demonstration, clear and purposeful as she falls like Alice through emptiness and waits for impact.
Instead, she gets the slow realization that at some point, she already landed. Her mind is...not clear, no, but lacking the hideous urgency from before. Ruth's touching her face again, and there's still no blood. Her limbs move only through air, not the thick ruin of time.
"What--pardon--what's going on?" Under the circumstances, she's not sure she wants to rely on something that'll sicken her. If there are shadows, if there's something yet more dangerous--first, ask. "Sorry. Where are we?"
[a green place]
It smells green--and it's nowhere near as cold as anywhere else she's been in the last few weeks. When Ruth finds her way out of the endless hallways of the stairwells, she can't help but pause, just to feel how quiet and still it is. A few leaves rustle, and she turns her head toward the sound.
"We sorry, we could stay here." Couldn't they?
[hm.]
The tricky thing about the green place is that it's thick with plant life, and Ruth doesn't recognize any of it. She knows the very basics of surviving in unfamiliar territory--the Savage Land lecture, if you will--but she hasn't spent much time putting it into practice (let alone into practice entirely sightless). And so little here is familiar that the feel and scent of plants alone is of limited use.
"Do these yes, pardon look poisonous?" she asks, crouching by a stalk that definitely has berries on it. They smell fine, but...unfamiliar. It's hard to say.
[a crystal cave]
And then it starts pouring. Ruth doesn't know if it's night--not a blind thing, a night doesn't feel right thing--but she's tired enough that she's been trying to scout out a place to sleep, but there's no way her sleeping bag's going to get through this weather. It was designed for children to take to birthday parties at friends' houses.
She hurries in search of some shelter, swinging her makeshift cane as quickly as she can, trying to avoid any hidden roots or stones--and eventually, it smacks against something hard. Getting closer to it, she follows the stone with her hands until she finds the entrance to a cave. She's soaking wet, nearly itchy with all the water, and doesn't take more than a moment to consider something dangerous might be inside. If that's the case, she'll deal with it when water isn't streaming down over the tip of her nose. She ducks inside.
[whip triffids]
"Ow, sorry, ow, sorry, ow--" Wandering into the path of a whip triffid was not a good idea. (It also was definitely not on purpose.) There's one wrapped around her right calf, another around her cane, and she's doing her best to smack them both away with the aforementioned cane.
A little help would be appreciated.
[wildcard]
[We can obviously do anything else you'd like, too! Ruth will be around in the ruins, though her explorations will be a little more hesitant than some characters'. We can also use in-person conversation as an opportunity to discuss her whole "commune with the setting" plan as well, if you want!]
cave
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godmods her reflection into doop
inaccurate, nobody loves doop
how dare you he was my wedding videographer
why tho
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whip triffids bc of course.
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robbie reyes. aos. ota
( at first, robbie's just glad to be out of the room with the mirrors. the air isn't fresh, really, but it's air and not something stale and smelling like mildew.
he's flat on his back, staring up at a night sky that he doesn't remember. there are stars there, little blots of light that give him some semblance of comfort.
the rider's eased off for the moment but he's still nearly burning to the touch, giving off waves of heat to anyone that comes close. he doesn't get up.
not yet. )
Goddammit.
( too much to ask to go home, wasn't it? )
▶ 02. RUINATION
( eventually, robbie does get himself off the ground. eventually, he starts walking and eventually, he steps out of the maze into something different. it's always something different. los angeles was a big city but he'd be glad to see one of its many starbucks right now.
instead, he steps out into something that, for a second, looks beautiful. it's green and it's wild, something out of a movie or maybe some undiscovered part of the world. there's not many of those and for a second, robbie just stands there and blinks.
the feeling doesn't last long before robbie's back to moodiness, back to hating this place because it's yet another new place and he doesn't know where he is. )
Anyone here?
( he's not talking to you, shadows. )
▶ 03. GO WEST
( he walks because what else is there to do? he walks and he walks until his stomach growls and he has to sit down, nearly exhausted from the lack of food and water he's been able to access. the rider won't let him die, he knows, but a little pain?
that's not out of the question. he drops down onto the ground once again, curving his back against a nearby stone wall and closes his eyes. he's not trying to doze off but he wouldn't be able to anyway when he hears the faint buzz of something nearby. eyes opening, he glances around and spots the noise maker a few feet away hanging from a tree. )
Don't suppose you're edible.
( the singing moss doesn't answer. robbie scoffs and blows out a breath, trying to formulate a better plan. )
▶ 04. WRITINGS ON THE WALL
( he's mostly just staring at the etchings on the wall. there in a language he doesn't know and the rider's no help, which surprises. the darkhold was easily readable to him but this? it's a question mark. he runs his fingers across the markings, feeling the coolness under his fingertips.
he's still wearing the gloves he'd come in with and, slowly, he takes them off and shoves them into the pocket of his jacket. doesn't really need them right now, not when he doesn't have his car and the rider's been kept mostly at bay.
mostly. )
Any possibility this is something important?
( is he talking to himself? you? someone else? who knows. even he doesn't at this point. )
▶ 05. WILDCARD
( feel free to throw anything at me! )
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LOGAN | MARVEL
Once the world pieces itself back together, it doesn't take Logan long to find the ruins. The smell of the place seeps up through the stairwells, green and humid and rotted-sweet, calling to the animal in him. After days of breathing in old dust and death and snow, it's like a beacon. He follows it without a second thought, prowling through the long dark tunnel, claws gleaming and ready for whatever is on the other side.
Which turns out to be strangely familiar to someone who has spent a decent amount of time traversing alien landscapes and strange forested pockets of the Antarctic.
After the eerie silence of the core, even the relative quiet of the ruins seems like a cacophony. The stairwell dumps him out beside the river; Logan stops on the threshold to take a deep breath, senses ringing with the sounds and smells of life, at last. Weird, unknown kinds of life, but life nonetheless.
The river is wide and strangely clear. It draws him forward, skidding and sliding down the bank until he's standing ankle-deep in the cool water. He stoops and cups some in his hand to sniff at it, but it doesn’t smell bad or toxic, at least not enough to bother his healing factor. Good enough.
Straightening up, Logan pulls off his hoodie, then tugs the top half of his uniform off over his head, wincing as it pulls away from the half-healed wounds on his belly. He tosses the clothing onto the shore to deal with later and crouches to start scooping water up over his head, scrubbing at the dried blood and grime on his face and forearms, not caring who or what may be watching.
ii. fun and games - the river - open for one thread
If he ignores the strange not-quite-sunlight, the alien smells and the occasional weird noise coming from the undergrowth, the river is almost as good as being back in the Canadian Rockies. Almost.
Logan is stretched out as naked and furry as his namesake on a rock in a shallow part of the water, arms behind his head and the lower part of his legs in the river. His uniform -- or what’s left of it after being shredded by shadow demons, flying glass and an especially determined Viking -- is spread out to dry on the shoreline, having been washed as much as it can be.
Sighing, Logan reaches up to scratch his chest. The only thing missing is a crate of beer keeping cold in the water and some good friends nearby. Even so, for the first time since arriving, he feels almost relaxed.
It really would be a shame if someone were to interrupt him..
iii. everything you want - misc ruins location - open
The pathways through this part of the ruins are dark and close, plantlife brushing up against Logan’s arms as he prowls through them. His claws make quick work of the reaching vines and creeping tendrils; he ignores the black sap that splatters his arms, occasionally burning for a second or two before seeping away.
He’s not lost -- the Wolverine doesn’t get lost -- but he’s also pretty sure that where he is doesn’t correlate with where he thinks he is.
It’s enough to unsettle anyone, even a man who has been thrown at pretty much everything the universe has to offer. But Logan grits his teeth and keeps going, making his own path through the undergrowth and old stones, letting the animal within take over and realising, after a time, that he’s not alone..
iv. whatever you may need - the core - open
The strange light and the snow makes the core feel claustrophobic to Logan, almost oppressive. Like being trapped in a box that’s been shaken up and left to settle. Waiting for the next move. He doesn’t like the look of the black hole inching across the sky either.
But, right now, he’s got more immediate needs than working out what’s going on. At least while things are -- for the moment -- pretty calm. His uniform might be clean, but it’s taken enough hits that it’s not really working as clothes any more, and as little as he wants to admit it, his healing factor isn’t able to keep up with the cold as well as it used to.
The empty buildings at least have enough junk to serve his purpose, though it’s taken him a couple of days to find enough to look decent. He’s managed to dig out some old faded jeans and a cable knit fisherman’s sweater that’s somehow ended up dyed bright yellow, plus a woolen hat and holdall that he carries slung over one shoulder. So he makes a slightly strange-looking figure as he walks through the snow in the winding streets, ignoring the shadows dogging his steps and keeping an eye out for anything that might be useful.
v. wildcard - open
[ OTA, pretty much! ]
i.
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ii.
Koushirou | Digimon | OTA
[As far as arriving in another world goes, this isn't the worst Koushirou has experienced or been told of. It isn't the best either, though, and more importantly this isn't the world he'd intended to end up in. That's the most pressing issue; ending up in another world unexpectedly isn't great, and ending up in the wrong world when you're trying to get to one in specific is even worse because something probably went terribly wrong.
But it's also fascinating, if quickly more than a little disorienting.
The Digital World is weird, but this place very quickly rivals it on the weirdness scale in a completely different way. He, of course, has a few theories at the ready to potentially explain some things, but others are not so simple and that's both concerning and exciting. Focusing on a mystery is a great distraction from the reality of what it might mean that he's here and not with the others.
So he explores for awhile, finding a very cool phone in a very weird case, as well as a few unremarkable objects and nothing particularly useful. The cooler temperature prompts him to dig his uniform blazer from his bag and put it on, which is better than nothing but still not great, and finding something better goes to the top of the to-do list.
At least until he discovers the shadows in the hallways.
He's not going to pretend that the shadows aren't creepy. They're creepy. But it's quickly apparent that there's a barrier effect that keeps them out of the buildings, and then decides some observation won't hurt. Right? Right.
Or course that's easier said than done considering the shadows are, well, shadowy, but Koushirou's doing his best. He's also doing his best to ignore that some of the silhouettes are a little familiar.
He gives it about an hour of just watching and making mental notes before deciding to step up the investigation. That's when someone might be able to find him carefully rolling--or more likely, throwing gently across the floor, since most things won't roll nicely--small pieces of debris toward the shadows to see what they do. He's totally focused on this experiment, and probably won't notice anyone approaching unless they're particularly loud or get close.]
[II. To the Ruins | Stairways | OTA]
[Labyrinths. Great. His favorite.
Again, this is a situation that could be a lot worse, but he's still not super into it. His last experience with a maze was a whole thing, even though it turned out to reveal useful information in the end, and hopefully this case will be similar. With fewer murderous centaurs, anyway.
So far, that last part is holding, although the trade off is that there are a lot more stairs. A lot more.
Thankfully they're going down, at least for now, and he follows them for some time before the getting--unsurprisingly--utterly distracted by the odd things scattered around and the impressions in the walls. Someone nearby in a branching path or hall may notice a bright light, courtesy of a small flashlight that Koushirou is using to inspect the walls more closely.
If they approach loudly enough to be heard, though, they might be temporarily blinded by a flashlight beam in their eyes.]
[III. The Wall | Ruins | OTA]
[This is more his thing, to a point where it's nearly nostalgic. Weird, unknown writing left mysteriously on a wall? Excellent. He can work with this.
Although he's been mostly been keeping out of sight for now, just to be cautious, he totally abandons that in favor of checking out the wall. This is way more important, after all, and so he can be easily found outside the first wall, standing just far enough back to be able to look at the writing without staring straight up.
He only notices anyone nearby if they get pretty close, in which case he'll ask in Japanese--]
Can you read this?
[Wildcard]
[ooc: Feel free to message me to plot something, or just throw out a tag of whatever seems fun! ]
ii.
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iii.
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i.
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I'm ridiculously late on this tag so feel free to drop if you want <3
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athena / open
She's been walking for awhile without running into anyone, so she's not really sure if this is something that she's experiencing by herself or if this is yet another group adventure. She sort of hopes it's the former, just so she won't have to make small talk. So many of these people like small talk.
b. RUINS.
She has her scarf up around her head as a hood, her assault rifle in her arms as she slips through the woods, trying to make a perimeter of the ruins even though she knows it's useless with how this place likes to move around. But it's habit, and habits comfort her, especially if she can convince herself they're constructive.
By this point, she's trained herself to see people as friendlies in this place, since it seems as though everyone people-shaped is in the same predicament. Trapped here by some unknown thing. Still, it's difficult to tell on first glance if people-shaped things are people or shadows, so she might swing her rifle in your direction if you startle her.
c. WILDCARD.
B
carver hawke | dragon age | ota
[An open path is an opportunity. He's still focused on getting out, on getting home, so when he finds the new stairwell with something like life clinging to its edges, he takes it, without hesitation.
He's not one of the lucky ones, though; the stairwell never flattens out, and it's a slow, trudging climb to get to— wherever the hell this is going, some twisting labyrinth that doesn't make any sense. If you cross paths with him on the climb, Carver will treat you like a de facto party member:
( a ) If he knows you by sight already, he'll stick close, one hand raised in a silent half-salute. There's something like solidarity, in diving into this bullshit together.
( b ) If he doesn't, he won't engage directly, but he will trail at a short distance; either behind, if you're quick, or ahead, if you aren't. It might have the unintended consequence of being kind of creepy, in a place like this.
( c ) If at any point you stop, or slow down, or need to take a break, Carver will stop, too. He'll double-back, whether you're familiar or not. (You don't leave people behind in the Deep Roads, and this blighted place is close enough to count.)
When he reaches you, he'll offer you a walkie-talkie from his pack: clunky and small, obviously for a child, with a cheap paintjob in army camouflage.
What? He's been around the block. He knows how this goes.]
ii. don't forget to loot the bodies
[In the end, it's worth it, because the green place on the other side is so much better. It's familiar in the way that almost everything in the core isn't. He can survive. He can hunt. At least out here, he doesn't feel so out of his depth.
He is, incidentally, also very used to clearing out whole swaths of giant spiders, when the situation calls for it.
He gets caught by a handful of them at the edges of the trees, but it doesn't matter. He hardly flinches when they drop, chittering, from the canopy, and he definitely doesn't hesitate when he catches one flat across the abdomen with the bladed edge of his maul. The hard exoskeleton splits, and the thing goes limp, spindly legs twitching and guts spilling fluorescent out into the dirt.
Some of the others scatter back into the brush. The ones that are left don't fare much better than the first.
When it's done, he leans back on his heels, and wipes sweat from his forehead with the inside of his elbow. (The air is cool here, but it's still humid, and gross for it.) He waits, and when the spiders don't dissolve or reform or pull themselves back to wholeness, he grunts, satisfied.]
About time something around here died like it was supposed to.
iii. maintenance mode
[Here's the issue, though: he's used to just sort of letting whatever— collateral that comes from smashing up a bunch of spiders land where it may, to be cleaned up later. Usually that's fine, except when the spider guts are corrosive and acidic and start to eat through even the professional finish of your breastplate.
He's not without his armor often, too paranoid to leave it somewhere and have it go missing the moment he takes his eyes off it, but, well. It won't matter if it snaps down the middle in a fight later, so here he is, at the edge of the river, buffing out surface corrosion and swearing up a storm. Language barriers be damned; tone is probably enough to carry, here.]
Blighted— bloody— piece of shit—
iv. bird rights
[You'll have to sneak up on him for this one, either on purpose or accident. Once he finds the crystal cave the first time, once he realizes what it is, he never goes back when he thinks someone else might catch him there. Sometimes, though, rarely— he finds opportunities to go there by himself, to just... stand in there and look at what the crystals reflect back.
There's no catharsis, or outpouring of grief. The scars are too old, for that. If anything, he's very stoic, arms folded in something approximating a loose parade rest. He doesn't like to move, doesn't like to see them copy him like they're puppets on strings tied to his wrists and elbows.
He just— it can be hard to remember what they looked like, sometimes, after so many years. He wants to remember. So he'll stand here, sometimes, and remind himself.]
v. wildcard
[Got something else in mind? Hit me!]
iii.
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ii.
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iv.
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