MISSION 011

[etrayamods]

WHO: Everyone.
WHEN: September 19th - October 3rd
WHERE: Etraya
WHAT: Mission 011
NOTES\WARNINGS: Psychological horror, hallucinations, paranoia, body horror, violence, death imagery, loss of autonomy, existential horror. Threads may have their own individual warnings.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Psychological horror, hallucinations, paranoia, body horror, violence, death imagery, loss of autonomy, existential horror.

❬ Ashen Veil ❭

Aurora had issued a warning: the nebula's particles were coming, whether or not they were wanted.
Through multiple conversations, she had made her limitations clear: she could let them know what was coming, but provide no assistance in finding the vent to end it, nor offer safe haven outside of the already established mechanisms for skipping missions. This was a puzzle they would have to solve regardless of how much they hated the idea of participating, and solving that puzzle means being an active participant: it mean searching through the particles to find the vent, physically closing off the thing allowing them inside their city.

Yet some allowances have been made: on September 18th, she gathers up all the animals she can convince to come along with her, ushering them into the same dome that those with mission passes will find themselves within. People are welcome to bring her their pets, too, to ensure they do not experience the same horrors they will - all will be kept safe and fed, cared for by the companion bots and Aurora herself until the vent is closed and the particles are fully filtered out. They are not participants, and she would hate to have them suffer through a mission when they can be protected elsewhere.

The night of the 18th goes by quietly, companion bots ushering animals out of the way while Aurora herself offers a hand clearing the way. And once they've all been herded in, the vent opens, allowing the nebula's particles to slowly begin making their way through Etraya's atmosphere.

It doesn't take long at all for the small bits of dust to accumulate in the protective barrier's atmosphere. Thick fog enshrouds everything, it makes it's way through the cracks in windows, the space under doors, through the very fabric that makes up every piece of Etraya. And with the spread of the Fog comes the horrors it brings.

Everything becomes hazy.

While Etraya is green, brimming with life and bright colors - the Fog dims everything. What was once light and beautiful now looks drained, color leeched out and left as nothing more than a husk of what it once was. Every flower and leaf appears to wilt in moments under the heavy weight of the Fog's touch. The air itself grows heavy, tasting of metal and rot, seeping into the lungs of those under it's influence like a slow suffocation. Sound itself dulls - footsteps echo strangely, or perhaps even sound duplicated, the steady taptaptap making it feel as if one is being followed. Then again, considering how difficult it is to see mere feet in front of them - perhaps they are.

Shapes stir in the haze. Some may be tricks of the eye: distortions among the thickened air, but others linger a little too long, watching with patience in a way that feels wrong. Eerie. A shadow may linger where no one should be, only to dissolve when approached. Or worse - it does not dissolve at all but turns as if it look at those who approach it.

Yet the Fog also remembers things it should not. It bends itself into shapes familiar to those within it, taking the outline of loved ones and enemies alike, whispering in voices that should not be present. But it's whispers, it's movements, are all wrong. There are cracks, clear distortions of what may have been a happy memory now turned menacing. Perhaps a friend appears to offer comfort, before their features distort and their comfort curdles into ill wishes.

And through all of this, the vent breathes unseen. The nebula's particles continue to seep their way into the city, digging deep into every possible surface, clawing it's way through skin to settle deep. There is no safe space left upon the surface of Etraya - as soon as the Fog has been given leave to spread, it has entered not only the atmosphere but those within it. It lingers behind eyes, under skin, whispering that it will never leave.

You belong here now, under its veil.

❬ broken symmetry ❭

The street below doesn't feel stable - it shifts and sways, shifts from stretching out into the Fog to folding in on itself, leaving those on it at unfamiliar crossroads. Yet one will find that they are not the only one who has arrived here: a stranger, or a friend, stands opposite, but something does not quite feel right: they look distorted, not quite as they should, but it's almost impossible to tell what has changed. And yet both individuals will feel the same pull: that this person in front of them isn't as they should be, and something needs to be done.

Perhaps their hair is too long and needs to be cut, and one feels the intense need to take out a pair of shears to trim. Perhaps it is their clothing, somehow wrong in how it hangs off them. Or perhaps it's something - a little more dire. The shape of their nose, the color of their eyes. Regardless, it needs to be fixed. Repaired.

Yet the one being judged may feel as if everything is completely normal, and the person opposing them just happens to be calling out the thing that causes them the most insecurity: the shape of their nose, the weight of their hair, their clothing. But the feeling of something wrong goes both ways.

Perhaps what is truly needed here isn't to change, but to accept.

❬ that which burrows ❭

Something pricks against the skin - sharp, fleeting, similar to a mosquito bite or perhaps a bee sting. But by the time one reacts, whatever it had been that had touched them has already slipped beneath the surface where no hand can reach. Yet it was no insect that had touched them, nor was it anything real in any sense one could understand.

It gnaws at the edge of thought, settling in one's gut and swelling into a panic. A worry that perhaps they had once dismissed, or perhaps had never stopped to truly be concerned over, blooms into something monstrous and all encompassing. It fills every corner of their mind, until breathing becomes near-impossible. Reason fractures, and the thought writhes, burrowing deeper, until there is nothing left.

Maybe they should have never been born. Maybe their existence is a blight upon those around them. Perhaps they truly are the disappointment their companions have assured them they are not. Maybe a mistake made eons ago resurfaces, until they are left sobbing with regrets and begging for forgiveness that has long-since been earned and yet they cannot accept it. Perhaps they are choking on regret, heart pounding as bile rises in their throat and nothing seems to successfully swallow back that sensation, the gut-feeling that their regrets were truly their fault.

For those familiar with panic attacks, many of the same techniques that help to manage can help push back the thought, but cannot circumvent it - physical contact being the most effective way to reduce cortisol, grounding the mind if only for a fleeting moment. Still, the presence remains, thrumming beneath the skin like a parasite of unease. One can muffle it, console it, distract it, but never banish it.

❬ hollowing road ❭

A narrow trail winds through the forestry of Etraya, murmuring to them that this is the way, this is where the vent lies.

If one follows, the Fog rewards each step with a loss. At first, it's nearly impossible to perceive what has been lost - perhaps it was a favorite color, a memory of where one had left a friend, or the taste of a favored meal. Small things, gone before one even notices their absence.

But as they continue down the path, they will find that the loss increases. Memories unravel like a thread being pulled from it's spool, leaving behind remnants from memories lost. Objects may become buried in the foliage behind them on the trail - a piece of fabric from a favored dress, a key that once opened the door to their childhood home, a picture of a family lost. Each pulses faintly with the echo of the memory they belong to, begging to be picked up and held close - or perhaps buried deep in the forest to never be found again.

Eventually, the truth will become impossible to ignore: those on the path will no longer remember why they came, nor what waits at the end. Turning around, they may find evidence of what was left behind in their wake, leaving them to gather the pieces that once made them whole. Each item will dissolve once pressed close to it's owners chest, sharing the memory itself with anyone who happens to be close enough to get a taste.

❬ MISSION NOTES ❭

📌 — The above prompts are just there to get you started. Feel free to play with the setting and concept beyond what we've suggested here!

📌 — For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to mission plotting. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

📌 — Custom scenario prompts can be threaded here or anywhere else, as you like. Mod-driven threads will be posted here.

🔵FULL NAVIGATION🔵

Comments

ota

[rudelanguage]

>the Box
CWS for threads in this prompt: claustrophobia, body horror/detailed descriptions of body morphing, abuse/starvation mentions, depersonalization/derealism

Knife spends several days avoiding the Box, but the problem with that is they've never really left it. Not entirely. It's why staying in closed spaces is difficult - the horrible remembrance of time uncounted confined, hungry and in pain, waiting for the next warm body to emerge. The odds feel better in the open air, toxic though it may be, than willingly walking themself into such traps. But...they never wholly left.


When one turns a corner for a fresh street or a safe alleyway, it abruptly stops. Shrinks. Thick stone, six-by-six foot encases all around, save for a narrow slit of light in its ceiling.


The Perfect Blank Canvas lay curled up on the floor, drowning in fabrics too numerous and too big for it. There's an odd assortment of implements that have scattered from the pockets: scalpels, little knives, trinkets...familiar, perhaps?

Pale white, ghoulishly emaciated, lacking distinctive features of the face or even proper eyes, it lifts its head, trace wisps of hair left askew and forgotten in the process, and focuses on one who has entered. In the slow movements, its skin seems to glimmer, as though almost pearlescent.

This is how it works - how it's always worked - and it's funny that Knife ever thought they'd gotten outside.

A new warm body.

Change.

Mimic.

Kill.

It need only observe and start.

[if you do not want Knife to try and shapechange into you to some degree, please avoid this prompt. opt-out is here if you have parameters (partial changes, etc).]

[shadowsincryo]

CW: claustrophobia, body horror/detailed descriptions of body morphing, abuse/starvation mentions, depersonalization/derealism

The scent hits him first. Darkness is an old friend of days long, long gone. Or he thought they were. They are too close to the surface lately. He is a dusty-looking traveler with his cloak covering the usually bright clothes. He draws in his legs and pushes himself into a corner to give the being in the space with him more space.

He can get surprisingly small, as if making himself small was once a gut instinct. One that never left him either.

He holds up his hands to show he has nothing in them. Then gestures to the lantern on his belt. "Do you mind if I light this? I don't want to harm you with sudden light.

It will be a low flame, I promise."

Vincent, Gorgug, Gustave - alien/dead space cw: ...yes

[loveandsin]

The fog has played many tricks so far, from seeing things ranging from personal to horrific (and sometimes both). Vincent thought he had experienced the worst of it when the fog trapped him in a memory he would prefer to put out of his mind but cannot, as the events of Shinra Manor thirty years ago will continue to haunt him the rest of his life.

Now, however, after walking through a dense part of the fog, he suddenly finds he is indoors. Confused, Vincent turns to look behind him, seeing a closed pair of front doors rather than a city street. It appears to be the foyer of a well-decorated home. Classy, even, and previously the residence of Hannibal Lecter. Vincent might like it were it not for the abruptness of his arrival.

Cautiously, he steps forward and opens a door that leads from the foyer into the next part of the home, calling out a quiet, "Hello?" Is anyone home? Judging from some collected dust he sees on the furnishings, Vincent suspects no one lives here. Which begs the question, what is he doing here and is he alone?

[tinflower]

Ugghhhh. He doesn't want to be in a spooky ass house!!!

This is Gorgug's state of being, soon after coming to in a living room housing too many animal heads for decoration. Skinned, full fleshed; they might not be looking at him (and skulls can't, really, lacking eyes and all), but they're staring into nothing, and that nothing feels like something these days.

Every corner of Etraya is a spook fest waiting to crawl under his skin. None of it has been real, but it doesn't stop Gorgug from picking up a couple of the glass bottles sitting pretty on an even prettier cabinet. For throwing purposes at the illusions, you see. He hovers around a door, and despite better knowledge, he hangs around it, tries to listen in on the other side. Not knowing where it leads -- he should probably just bust on through and run, really.

Maybe in a second. ...Maybe in the next second.

(But perhaps for more keen, attentive ears, they may have heard the creaking of his footsteps from the room. Real footsteps, or perhaps the footsteps of a fog toying with them?)

damian ( robin ) wayne | dc comics | closed.

[brat]

( closed starters below, but feel free to dm me or reach out to me at crowbars for a starter if wanted. )

» bruce @batsymbol (cw: animal abuse/death, child abuse/death, suicidal ideation)

[brat]

( the fog is all encompassing, and damian has been wandering through it for - some time. he couldn't place it any longer, when this started, how long he has been endlessly searching for - something. he knows it's there, lingering on the tip of his tongue, what he's looking for, but he can't quite put it to words. regardless, when his pathway brings him to something that looks like a table, he knows without direction that it's time for him to sit at it.

his tutor should be arriving shortly.

there are several things laid out on the table - glass vials, a small stove, books with blurred text, but it matters not. his attention goes to the bat, sleeping idly while it rests on the branches of the bonsai tree placed toward the center. there's a smile on his face for a moment, gentle and easy. )

It's. . . cute. ( he says, half turning behind him toward the tutor: she has no face, blades for hair, all sharp edges meant to bite into flesh but damian doesn't see that, not yet. she says something, but it comes out a garbled mess of sounds sharp enough to hurt. ) And what is this bat supposed to teach me?

To not get too attached.

( those words are audible, yet still just as sharp. the blades of her arm strikes out, cutting the bat from it's perch quickly enough it likely didn't feel a thing as it fell to the ground, deceased. damian's entire demeanor shifts as he - comes out of the memory, for a moment. he gets himself up from the table, twists toward the knife-creature that certainly isn't who she's meant to be. )

They were harmless! ( it's screamed, but the thing in front of him shifts within the fog, too. the corpse changes, too. no longer a single bat but a massive pile of rotting dragon bats of all shapes, sizes, and colors. tears stream down his face, blurring his vision, but there is nothing damian can do. he cannot bring them back. and when the bladed creature takes a step forward, it isn't a mangled mess of sharp edges but a blood-soaked damian, green eyes almost glowing through the fog and tear tracks carving through the blood soaking his face. )

But you are not.

( the new damian raises his blade, intent on thrusting it straight through his midsection.

from the pile of damian-shaped corpses laying adjacent, it's clear this isn't the first, or even the second time they've done this dance. )

Sameen Shaw | Person of Interest

[cactusy]

A - ashen veil + broken symmetry + that which burrows

[Spooky on its own doesn't do shit to Shaw. If there were zombies roaming the streets or monsters bursting out of buildings, or even just ominous vibes, she'd be set. But she's an easy target for these particular horrors, and as particles dig their way into preexisting cracks, her sense of any sort of goal or mission fades. There is no mission. There's no point to this. And what's more, this is no different from business-as-usual Etraya, setdressing aside.

That's right, an insidious voice whispers, so bone-deep that it really doesn't feel like it's coming from an external source. You know. This is what Etraya really is and what it always will be, even if it has everyone else fooled. This is it. There's nothing else for you.

She walks, if only because stillness feels suffocating right now. Shapes in the fog call out to her (some formless, and some not; she recognizable, and some not), but she ignores them. Not all of them are content to leave it at that. Some might be fellow Etrayans, concerned about the aimless path she's tracing or the haunted look in her eyes. Others are not.

"This is what I meant," says Root, faint light shining through the holes in her torso as she drapes herself over Shaw's shoulder. "We'll be together forever here. It was always going to be like this, but I never told you because I knew you wouldn't understand."

"I didn't want to die for you," Cole says darkly, following her at a distance of several paces. "I would have made a different choice if I'd had more than a second to think."

"I'm disappointed in you," says her father, over and over again. "If you'd died instead of me, your mother and I could have had a child who was whole." He always appears ahead of her, and is gone by the time she catches up.

"I trained you better than this," says Hersh as he suddenly appears by her side, his stride perfectly matched to hers. "The agent I thought you were would never have allowed herself to break this badly. I won't bother telling you to pull yourself together. We both know you're no longer capable."

But it doesn't matter, does it? murmurs that first voice - the one inside her head; the one that sounds a little too much like her own. It doesn't matter that you let them down, or that they would have come to hate you in the end. It doesn't matter that you'll always be alone - because you don't care if you're alone.]

I don't care if I'm alone.

[Shaw repeats out loud, and the voice hums its approval.]

B - hollowing road (cw: themes of suicidal ideation of you squint)

[She's been walking for a while, for hours or days or maybe years, and her brain has shut itself off to the point that it takes her longer than it should for her to realize what's going on - and by the time that she does, she's lost enough that it doesn't really matter. It feels kind of nice, actually, to be sloughing off bits of herself. Personhood is a heavy load, and she doesn't have enough context anymore to understand why it's significant. Each new loss is a relief, a weight off her shoulders, and even if she were to turn around and see the tonnage of what she's leaving behind her, she'd see no point in picking any of it up. Let her become a shadowy wraith, insubstantial both inside and out. That's fine.

Anyone following will find a wealth of items left behind. There's a dog's leash. A MetroCard. A set of dog tags. A handful of IDs (all with her face, all with different names). There's a motorcycle key, a scrap of leather jacket, a slip of paper with a phone number on it. A chip of decorative tile, a coil of IV line, a page of poetry in Farsi. All these and countless more litter the trail, abandoned and there for the taking.]

You can have it.

[She says, if anyone approaches her with something in their hands.]

I don't even know what that is.

[OOC: I focused on the ashen veil prompt for option A because that's what's going to give Shaw the most grief, but I'm happy to mix and match with elements from the other two prompts!]

B

[nottheboss]

Aurora said they'd have to rely on teams this mission. It's a nice thought but Bossie was separated from his people almost immediately.

It's days or who knows how long before he finds Shaw.

He takes the page, calls on rusty Farsi skills to interpret it but it's not a clue, is it?

"Where'd you get this?"

Vax'ildan | The Legend of Vox Machina (closed and open prompts)

[twin_blade]

[ For Gustave - closed ]

The fog shifts. Often morphing into places inspired by those lost within. What was once a shrouded city street in Etraya begins to change. First, it's in the air. The fog grows thicker until it's not fog but smoke. The smell of burning wood and charred corpses hits the nostrils hard all at once. From the sky, ashen embers begin to drift down like black snow.

The fog opens up and the surrounding area has become a village. On fire. From a distance there's screaming, but it's impossible to tell the direction it's coming from. Then, the source of the fire is clear. A large, winged shadow is cast over the town, flying from west to east. The dragon opens its mouth and releases a stream of flame that cuts across the street, decimating every house in its path.

As the smoke clears, down the street are a pair of children. A boy and a girl. Twins. They stand together, staring at the decimation and at the body of a beautiful woman at their feet. Judging from her looks, she's likely their mother. The boy gently takes his sister's hand and looks up to see half a dozen dragon hatchlings, ten feet long from nose to tail, flying down from the sky and screeching, heading straight for the children.

[ Wandering - open ]

Finding the vent is becoming more and more difficult. Every time Vax thinks he's heading in the right direction to some edge of the city, the fog rolls in, and he finds himself lost or turned around again.

Now, he's stuck on another unknown street, one of so many in the city.

"Why does Etraya have to be so fucking big? There's not even that many people who live here." Grumbling to himself, he carries on as he passes a few storefronts.

When he sees a figure in the fog, he calls out to them. "Hello? Someone there? Do you need any help?" Might as well try and be useful.

[ Wildcard - anything you want to set! ]

[ plotting post is here. ]

Asymmetry

[badnewsandshitlist]

The street folds under shifting weight, but Percy steadies himself, a faint smile fixed as though courtesy could hold things together. “It is good to see you,” he says, tone careful, almost warm. For a moment it feels like a reunion.

Then the Fog presses close. His gaze lingers too long and the itch returns. The jaw looks a fraction skewed, the shoulders uneven, the shadows beneath the eyes falling at the wrong angle. Each shift is fleeting, gone in a blink, but the wrongness stays, gnawing deeper.

He exhales, tugging his gloves taut. “I should tell you what this Fog has been doing to me,” he says, voice clipped. “It breeds paranoia. It has been feeding on the paranoia I already carried. It shows me illusions. A face slightly off. Shoulders misaligned. Shadows that shift in ways they should not. And each time it insists I should correct you.”

His tone falters, weary now. “I know how tactless that sounds. I know the thought is not mine. But it presses until ignoring it feels impossible. And I despise it, because if I do not say it plainly, it will twist out cruel. And then we will fight again, so soon after the last one.”

He softens, shoulders easing as he adds, “Vex pressed it into me until it stayed in my bones. Vax’ildan is Vax’ildan. No matter the face, no matter the world, no matter the timeline. I am clinging to her words harder than to my own senses. If I sound strained, it is because I am holding on to them like rope in water.”

At last he breathes out, eyes steady though tired. “So if I seem sharp, know it is the Fog I am fighting, not you.”

Vincent Valentine | FF7 Rebirth (closed and open prompts)

[loveandsin]

[ For Luthor - closed ]

The atmosphere changes. It's subtle at first. The hazy gray of the fog pulsing with blue light. Electrical. It's soon touched by bright white flood lights that cast a sterile appearance over the room that morphs out of the fog, except the room is in a haphazard state. Tubes and wires run along the floor or across it in some places, supplying massive amounts of power to the large cylinders, which act as containers. Peeking inside the cylinders reveals human-sized creatures floating in blue tinted liquid. Some retain vague, human features, like a mouth or an arm, while others are more beast-like. They remain dormant, for now, at least.

Light also pulses from the buzzing computer terminal. There are pages and pages of notes strewn about as if a whirlwind flew through the workstation. Some words are made out, hand-written in an elegant script: Chaos. Omega. The rest of the notes are a combination of scattered thoughts, theories, and formulas that could take years to decipher.

At the end of the room is a pair of metal double doors with a red logo over the front. The room is quiet, but eerie with the occasional sound of an electrical buzz from one of the lights or a bubbling from one of the tanks. Then, the silence is suddenly broken, as the sound of gunshots comes from behind the double doors.

[ The Train - open ]

Finding the vent is a priority. Only then will this nightmare end. But where is it coming from? It would have been nice of Aurora gave them some sense of direction. The size of the city means the vent could be anywhere, but the fog must be thicker in the place closer to the vent. To scour the city, one must move quickly, so Vincent has opted to take the train system. Circling around the city might lead him to see what areas contain denser fog than others.

And so, he rides the circuit, seated in one of the cars to hopefully reduce some of his exposure to the mind-altering stuff in the air. It may be that someone else has a similar idea or seeks to get on the train to outrun something chasing them.

Whatever the case, Vincent will be ready to respond should someone enter.

[ Wildcard - open ]

[ plotting post is here. ]

[1a1a1a]

This fog is weighing heavily on Lex. It's not only a hinderance but having fears and other instances that bring forth inner vulnerabilities makes his mind go to places he usually ignores for the sake of pride.

Being reminded that he can be afraid is something he does not care for.

... Strangely enough though the cylinders full of creatures doesn't bother him as much as it would other people. He's actually created beings trying to, well, create humans. So this? This is nothing.

He's actually distracted by all of the science stuff when the gunshots ring through his ears. Now that? That is something to worry about. He's not about to stand around and get shot, but he's also not going to run away.

He has no weapon, but he opens the door anyway.

gustave | clair obscur: expedition 33 — open & closed starters.

[demainvient]

plotting post | repeatandfade | blueofthebay @ disco
open & closed starters below! will mark for CO: E33 spoilers.

closed — expedition 33.

[demainvient]

Horrifying as the next few weeks will likely be, there's something almost relieving in this: stepping out into the streets of Etraya not in the street clothes he's slowly been accumulating, but once again in the uniform of an Expeditioner. Even better, he's not alone.

Gustave looks from side to side, taking them in: Lune, Maelle, Sciel, all back in uniform, all with that intent, determined expression he knows so well. It's strange to feel his sword slung at his side, to be so cut off from his chroma and pictos, but those are all only details. What matters is that they're a team again, four people working toward a singular goal. "Right."

He glances between them, then looks toward the bank of fog rolling in. "Let's go find and close a vent, shall we?"

renoir | clair obscur: expedition 33

[betenoir]

starters by request ⚔ plotting post ⚔ tagged for spoilers
spoilers include the end of act II and involve act III

⚔ clea and gustave (cw: burn scars/child torture)

[betenoir]

act II spoilers

[The young woman collapses on the floor, clutching at her chest, gloved fingers digging into her black uniform. Her wrists are bound and ringed with rope burns. Her ankle is anchored to a beartrap that has torn through muscle and snagged on bone. She is kicked from behind and stomped into the ground, her arms almost wrenched out their sockets as her wrists are secured behind her back. Pain escapes her in a ragged and breathless wheeze. Furious words boom like thunder in her direction, ghosts accusing her from the surrounding mist and drizzle.

Vile . Treacherous. Despicable.

Her ivory hair is drenched by torrential rain and lashed by howling wind. She is as alien a sight as the basalt cliffs where the spirits of her torturers are condemned to remain, numerous uniformed figures haunting the fog. Expeditioners. Their uniforms and iconography identify them in a heartbeat. One snatches away the mask covering her face, exposing severe scarring that blankets her face and runs across her neck. They toss it to the nearest expeditioner, another person caught in the illusion.

But in the end, no matter what they wear or how they act, a single event will happen.

The white-haired woman will turn her single eye towards the one holding her mask, dreading what will happen. She will start pleading with them but cannot muster her voice, her throat scarred by smoke and fire.]

You cannot kill me. But he will kill you.

[The echoing sound of a cane draws near.]

rumi | k-pop demon hunters

[huntrix]

( i. broken symmetry — markings )

[ they're staring

rumi can feel it. she's used to having eyes on her. always. she's a global star. an icon. when she's singing, when she's with huntrix, she loves it. she loves the feeling of the audience, the fans, the crowd. the honmoon sings with them, resonating all their feelings together. it makes her feel truly connected with them all.

but like this, right now? she feels out of her skin. the markings on her face flare with colour, pink and bright. a demon's color. she should have covered them up. she should have hidden. but there's no hiding anymore, so rumi keeps her head down, her fingers twitching for her blade.

if you reach out to her, she'll flinch, rearing back and shout: ]

Don't

[ and the world ripples around you. ]

( ii. that which burrows — it's a takedown )

[ that song.

it's all around her. reverberating. a demon with no feelings don't deserve to live, it's so obvious. so obvious. they could all see it. they all know. all the dark feelings rising back within her. jinu is gone. gone. grief claws at her heart. where was his soul? was it truly with her? had she failed him?

could demons save demons?

celine should have ended it. why didn't she pick up the sword? why didn't she look at rumi? was it so hard to just — just — rumi wraps her arms around herself.

she feels so alone. ]

( iii. wildcard )

[ got a different prompt you’d like to do? ping me on timmtams / pm this journal ]

i

[fistoftherabbit]

[He hadn't been able to confirm if all of the people he met before arriving onto Etraya properly had ended up in the city. But he recognizes the patterns...he isn't sure if the fact that Su You does so before he can see her properly because they're glowing is something to be worried about or not.

But his paranoia is manifesting in a general dread of people around him being hurt so he is inclined to be worried. The reaction he gets doesn't reassure.]

Are you all right?

Manny | Ice Age

[bigpoofymammoth]

[Ashen Veil - I]

[Ever since he’d seen the mission announcement on the network, Manny had spent a week mentally preparing himself for the worst to come. The mammoth isn’t thrilled about the idea that Aurora’s letting the particles from the outside leak into Etraya on purpose. He had a lot of words to say to her, but several others had already beaten him to the punch. At the very least, she’s polite enough to warn everyone about it in advance.

When the day of the mission arrives, Manny wanders aimlessly as he tries to search every corner. But with how thick the fog is along with the eerie atmosphere, it’s only natural for the mammoth to be highly alert and on guard. There’s no telling who or what is lurking within the fog, which makes it more difficult to tell ally from potential enemy.

As the prehistoric pachyderm cautiously searches his surroundings, he starts to hear something or someone approaching him. In that regard, he quickly turns towards the source with narrowed eyes.]

Hey you! Come out and show yourself!

[Ashen Veil - II]

[Several hours passed since the moment the fog came into Etraya. And so far, there’s still no sign of the vent that the Etrayans were supposed to look for.

That only served to worsen Manny’s mood. As he continued his search for the vent, he’s been seeing and hearing many things. One moment, he briefly caught a glimpse of Rudy’s gargantuan silhouette and his haunting roars echoing throughout Etraya. The other moment, he was greeted with a sight that would’ve brought him joy, if it weren’t for the state of the current situation.]

Manny, you’ve finally came back.

I’m glad to see you again, Manny.

Took you long enough to get back, pal.

[Voices of Ellie, Sid and Diego whispered into Manny’s ears. In front of him was an image of his family and friends as they welcomed him on his reunion with them. But as the mammoth blinked his eyes, the image suddenly changed and now they’re all heavily wounded and bleeding out on the ground as if they’ve been attacked by some unknown predator.

If he was in a clearer state of mind, Manny would’ve seen through the illusion. But considering how rooted in place he was, that’s definitely not the case.]

[That which borrows]

[It wasn’t uncommon for Manny to experience insect bites once in a while at home or in Etraya. But there’s something particularly off about this “insect bite” that pricks his shoulder.

The mammal uses his trunk to try to scratch the “wound” that’d been inflicted upon him. But to his surprise, there was nothing there that indicates something had came into contact with him. He didn’t have time to ponder upon it as a voice echoed in his ear.]

Manny, why didn’t you save me?

[Manny froze up. That certainly was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time.]

Why did you leave me and our child?

[The voice echoed again. Manny frantically looked around his surroundings for the voice as his trunk started to tremble. He’d thought that he’d already moved on. He’d thought that he'd already let go of his own guilt and put it behind him.

So why? Why is he hearing the voice of his first wife?

He began to breath in faster and faster with each second that passed by.]

an zhe | little mushroom

[hyphanated]

hollowing road

[The path is a long and winding one, but An Zhe has faith in his resilience. And so he walks, and walks, and walks...as he walks, his thoughts seem to grow more scattered, his mind gradually emptying before—eventually—he stumbles.

Instinct has him reaching his arms out to stop his fall, but somehow finds himself losing balance regardless. Upon looking down, he realizes that one of his hands has started to unravel like a spool of yarn, pale white filaments scattering out where a couple of his fingers should be.

Perhaps it's the loss of memory that keeps him from feeling fear in this moment; either way, he simply reaches to pick up a couple of slivers that had been scraped off in the fall before settling into a sitting position in the middle of the path, staring curiously at his hand.

If anyone manages to find him here, he'll hold up his other hand to show the bits of white fungus lying in his palm.]

Do you want to taste it?

[[Note: a taste will knock you out for 8 hours.]]

wandering

[An Zhe has more or less given up on maintaining human form after that incident with memory loss. Surely it must be safer like this, close to the ground, a tiny white mushroom walking along like that's a normal thing for fungi to do, dragging a shoulderbag behind it with a network of equally white tendrils.

He's not exactly traveling very quickly though, and he can't talk in this form either...if anyone happens to pass by, he might wave a small handkerchief in their direction, in hopes of catching their attention.]

overwhelmed, overwhelming

[Beneath the monastery of Garreg Mach is an underground city, safe from the fog, and therefore the perfect safe haven for anyone wishing to escape for a moment of respite from the horrors outside.

Beneath that, however, is an uncharted wilderness that is perhaps even more dangerous than what you might find up above. It's here that An Zhe retreats; this adventure has perhaps been a bit much for him, and he's found himself longing to relax in the comforting atmosphere that is...a jungle filled with poisonous mushrooms and carnivorous monsters. If anyone manages to make it down here for whatever reason, they might find him either napping or wandering through the underbrush, barefoot and dressed in nothing but what appears to be a white robe (it's made of his mycelium).]

wandering

[fistoftherabbit]

[At some point, he'd cleared his head of the panic that made him worried obsessively that everyone around him was in danger of dying. Now he's just feeling a normal level of worry about people.

It's in this moment of clarity that he spots a....mushroom? Pulling a bag that looks vaguely familiar? Then again, it was a bag. Most of them aren't that different.

He stopped to crouch down by it.]

...hello?

[It didn't seem to be a normal creature(?). When he crouched down the mushroom he Su You picked up on a scent that was familiar. He reached out a hand to touch the mushroom...]

Dwayne ir'Dorn | OC

[will_chase_balls]

[Ashen Veil 1 – Open] - Dwayne fighting illusions of Mournland Horrors

Once the fog rolls in, Dwayne is glad he didn't hand his axes over when Jayce had asked on the network. While he had considered it, the idea of trusting that no dangerous creatures would show up during this mission combined with not knowing much about the people he'd be handing his weapons over to was just too much. He's now glad that was the case, because the people partaking in this mission are not alone. There are creatures in the fog. He sees them, skittering and crawling in the distance. Things he's seen before and never expected to see here. Mournland Horrors.

They're from his world, and the only living thing that's known to come out of the nation formerly known as Cyre. No one knows how it happened, whether the nation of Cyre had a horrible magical accident or if they'd merely angered the gods, but the entire nation became a twisted, warped reality where the only survivors were monstrosities. Things with too many legs, too many eyes, and rows and rows of teeth. Part of his job as a Karrnathi soldier was to deal with these creatures, and there in the fog ahead was the writhing, twisted thing that looked much like one he'd dealt with before.

He pulls out his axe.

[Ashen Veil 2 – Open] - Dwayne encountering an illusion of his dad, only zombie

As Dwayne continues to travel through the mist, he sees another form, but this one distinctly more humanoid. He moves closer until he can clearly see the features.

It's his father. The eyes or white, the flesh decayed, and he can see white bone sticking out from beneath the skin, but the identity of the walking, shambling corpse in front of him is unmistakable.

"Dad? You look terrible. This whole being undead thing is really...to be completely honest, I think you made a huge mistake doing this."

Something he thought even before this moment. The form then begins to twist and contort. Nails become claws. Fur spreads. Teeth grow. His father still looks as dead and rotten as before, but is now in his shifted form.

"You can still shift? Then why am I--" The form lunges toward him and snaps. Dwayne jumps back just in time to avoid being bitten. "What in Dolurrh? You're supposed to be a vampire or lich or...whatever. Not a zombie!"

[That Which Burrows – Open] - Dwayne having a panic attack

He didn't think much of the initial sting. He just swatted at the spot he thought he felt it and moved on. Then the anxieties began to creep in. He'd been wandering around in this fog for hours, and still had no idea where to look for this open vent. He probably wasn't going to find it. Between the last mission and this one, he probably looked like he was terrible at everything he set out to do.

He was letting Eberron down. If he couldn't figure out how to get these missions done right, everyone in Eberron would die. Because of him. His eyes, wide and panicked, began to dart around, hoping for some way to calm himself, hoping for some sign he could be useful. No signs presented themselves.

Before long, Dwayne was curled up, back against a tree, talking to himself. "Everyone I ever knew is going to die because I don't know how to solve anything, and apparently my entire world is going to be judged based on me, and I've never even successfully completed a jigsaw puzzle with more than four pieces!"

[Hollowing Road – Open] - Dwayne's memories getting left behind

By some miracle, Dwayne is now certain he's on the correct path, so he hurries along, relieved and amazed and not questioning how he's so sure the murmurs are telling the truth. He doesn't notice the missing memories at first. The stain appearing that matches his favorite shade of red. The branch from a pine tree of the sort found in the Karrnwood. A patch of his mother's fur. It's only as his mind wanders and he realizes he doesn't even know what foods he likes to eat or why he has axes with him that he realizes something is very wrong.

He turns and realizes what's behind him. He stands there, frozen. He desperately wants to run back, gather up all his memories, reclaim what is his, but...one thing he does remember is why he's out here, and if he turns away he won't find the vent. If he turns away, he could be letting everyone in those memories down.

[Paranoia – Open] - Dwayne freaking out and expressing his current paranoia with corkboard and red string

At a certain point, the paranoia is too much. He's confused and overwhelmed, and he's now completely lost focused on what he's supposed to be doing out here. All he can think is 'Echo is doing this to us for his own amusement'. Instead of looking for the vent, he decides he has to get his thoughts out and begins raiding stores, getting together some corkboard, red string, and a bunch of sticky notes to organize everything running through his head.

In reality, it's a jumbled mess that doesn't actually connect anything to evidence or even much of a theory other than 'Echo = Evil god?????' and 'he's just torturing us for his own amusement', but it at least helps Dwayne deal with the paranoia if he thinks he's doing something productive.

[Prompt - Dwayne and Lois] - A magical disaster on Farway is splicing worlds and creatures together

One minute, he's walking around in Alexandra's Wake, the next he's somewhere else, standing in a circle of grass that matches where he had been, but looking at a completely different part of the city. Some small dinosaurs run by, only to have another circle appear, splicing one of the creatures in half. Instead of killing it, the lower half of the creature's body is replaced with a massive millipede, and the newly formed hybrid creature scuttles away.

"Uh..."

Then he turns...just in time to see a griffin with the head of a Utah raptor stood there, letting out a deep sound that might be a growl.

"Oh, Dolurrh!"

He readies his axe.

you know why i'm here, rubs hands together

[thisisontherecord]

Lois had been walking forward when the world folded around her. Pavement and a section of sidewalk underfoot is all that remains of where she'd been elsewhere in Etraya, the lushness of a sub-tropical forest looming over her. Part of a tree trunk is missing, at the exact edge of her circle of asphalt.

Lois hasn't spent time on Farway, considering she hasn't yet had need to pick through the junkyard or do more than note the bounce castle when the trolley takes people through the area on its loop. Instead she scoots outside of her circle, trying to get a sense of where she is relative to where she'd expected to be. She was barely out of the chaos of the fleshy horrors in the Daily Planet. Where's Jon? Where's Clark? Neither of them are in that circle of ground, but neither are any odd bits of person, which is a sudden lurching concern.

The trees and fog obscure her view of the skyline and where the two halves of Nova City rise. Where the hell is she? Lois starts forward, tightening the straps of her backpack again, glad she'd not somehow been separated from that key to her actually pretending to be prepared. Much like the rest of Etraya, she can't see anything much further than a few feet in every direction.

Only — a voice? Lois picks up her pace to make tracks toward where she'd heard that cry, meaning she steps into the area that finally allows her slightly higher visibility just in time to see some horrific reptile-faced bird-lion monster lurch forward at a vaguely familiar form.

Lois doesn't get a chance to cry out, biting down on the side of her tongue as the axe wielding Dwayne faces off with the lunging strike of the Creature. She ducks next to a tree that is not a tree (it is, she realizes a moment later, an oversized mushroom stalk) to stay out of the way, looking around for rocks or anything to lob at it to help distract its attention from Dwayne.

The damn fog makes it hard to again see to much further than where he and the Creature are facing off, Lois ducking down and racing along the line of this weird mushroom forest, near tripping over pale white roots thrust up from the ground before she spots a stone. Bigger than her hand, so enough she can throw it, right?

Lois has just picked it up and taken a step back when the land in front of her abruptly changes, an arcing line in the ground and cutting through the mushroom stalks leaves her with an abrupt expanse of desert, and shrieking small butter-fly like lizards, who swarm forward in a frenzy of wings and tiny teeth she feels tearing at her hair as she ducks and covers her face with her raised arms clamping over her head. One nick on the back of her hand registers, but so does the need to move. She's back up, ignoring the butterfly-lizard stuck in her hair, and races back toward where she'd seen Dwayne and the Creature. The one Lois ends up lobbing her stone at from the side, thwacking into the side of its head when it pulls that reptilian face back from an attack on Dwayne, ready to lunge in again.

"Dwayne! Watch out for any butterflies!"

Maria | Silent Hill 2

[heavensnight]

Apartments [cw guns]

[it isn't like fog is an usual thing to see but every time Maria has seen fog in Etraya, she's always felt a little jumpy. it's still just fog, though, and she can take a breath. she can get through it.

but this fog is different. Aurora had warned them about things happening and as Maria stares at the outside from the entrance to the apartments, the difference is so obvious that it makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. her skin feels like it is crawling and she is simply staring at the outside. it probably looks like her mind is going blank and she does begin to forget where she is. her eyes glazing over as she tries to remember what she is supposed to be doing, at what point of her story is playing out right now because this doesn't feel quite so familiar...

until there are steps behind her and they sound like the steps she is so used to chasing her. she isn't so lost to the fog yet that she is becoming the prop she has to be for someone else's story yet. no, this time she has her gun on her and she aims it at the source, ready to shoot.

until she sees it is not a monster, human or not. her eyes go wide and she shakes her head wildly.]

I am so, so sorry...I thought...the fog...

Into the fog

[it doesn't take long for Maria to simply lose herself into the idea that she is supposed to be looking for her reason for existing. she needs to find James. she has to go find him and start the cycle anew.

but everything is so off. this isn't really Silent Hill and she's simply wandering around mindlessly. at some points, she does call out:] James...? James, I'm scared. You promised not to run too far in front of me. You said you wouldn't do it again.

[there's a figure in the fog and she reaches for them, thinking it's the man she's looking for. but instead, it's not him. it's someone else she might know or not. it certainly is not James. when her hand touches them, she is relieved until she sees it isn't who she was looking for.

and then she's confused when they seem to acknowledge her.] Do you see me...? [but once Maria acknowledges them, the setting becomes different. not Etraya and now her own home of Silent Hill.]

Monsters

[Maria often joked with everybody that she was very useless. it had kind of been the point of her. she could only rely on James, she could only play the role given to her. getting out of that role meant being punished and so she played the damsel in distress. always crying for her white knight to come save her so he could feel like he could accomplish something for once.

though sometimes her white knight never came. sometimes her white knight grew tired of her depending on him and he didn't save her very quickly. that wasn't so unusual and so when mannequin grabs her, she screams for help.] James, help me! It has me! Help me, help me!

[she's been taught self-defense in Etraya, how to get out of this very hold...but all of that has escaped her. no, knowing how to protect herself doesn't endear her to the man she was created for.]

- - -

(ooc: most of these prompts, I can make any of the SH2 monsters pop up (EXCEPT for Abstract Daddy as that is another person's monster and Mary as that is also Maria)! if you do NOT want any, or certain ones, let me know! if you want a specific monster also let me know!!!)

— CLOSED <3 John CWs: domestic violence, murder, and abuse.

[heavensnight]

[coming to Etraya, it had taken a long time for her to get to the point she is now. two decades of living only a role, her only objective was to be what James needed her to be, and always punished for James's sins. Etraya and the friends she had made began to teach Maria that she could be free from that.

and then she was not. that's all forgotten now and she's so lost in her role to this new man though she does not understand it. what happened to James she doesn't know but she will never be given answers. she's never been given them before. her hair is longer and her dress is a little more casual. Maria isn't meant to be a sexual fantasy here but she still is fumbling with her new role. all she knows is that she found John this time and the same old script left her lips.

'Do I look like your girlfriend?' but things play out differently. James had visited Silent Hill with Mary. John being in this small, Maine town was not the same. but the town calls to those with guilt, those who want to be punished, or feel like they must be punished. Maria had an intimate understanding of James but John she struggles to understand. but he is easier to convince that she has to go with him. there's somebody following her here and she feels unsafe. like something bad will happen.

and that's certainly not a lie. since being here, she does feel it. there's something following them and all Maria knows is she needs John to protect her. it's why she clings to his arm as they walk along the pier. the town is empty, abandoned. as if it's only them.]

Do you think we'll get out of here? I haven't seen him in a while but you feel it, don't you? He's following us. I don't think he'll let me leave and I'm scared... [it isn't a lie. she is. and it does feel like something will reach out and grab them at any part. but Maria plays her role well. the defenseless woman who is not about to leave him at any point.]

Cloud Strife | FFVII Rebirth | Closed

[nimbuster]

[Closed starters below. Plotting post is here if you want to plot something, or grab me on plurk or discord!]

For Clea (& Vincent later)

[nimbuster]

Cloud has already forgotten where this fog came from and why he's really out in it. But his mind, always eager to rewrite its own history to protect him from himself, has provided another purpose - the same purpose he has back home. Same purpose he's had ever since a certain SOLDIER somehow returned from the dead. So familiar now that it feels as if it's all he's ever done, all he was ever made for.

Find Sephiroth. Find him, and take him down once and for all.

Cloud's strength has abandoned him for reasons he doesn't understand. He had to leave the Buster Sword behind, locked in a shed at the ranch, much too heavy for him to effectively wield in combat like this. But he knows Sephiroth is out there. He's seen the hints, the tells that trace his enemy's passage through the world like the living ghost he is: glints of silver and steel, flashes of a long, black coat vanishing around a corner or into the impermeable haze ahead, the gleam of green, catlike eyes. He's heard that smug laughter close beside his ear, heard a voice like polished mythril speak his name. More than any of that, though, he can just feel it.

And if Sephiroth is out there, then Cloud has a job to do, even if he has to do it with this baseball bat he brought along instead of his trusty blade.

Flickers of orange light dance in his peripheral vision in the fog. He redirects his steps that way on the assumption that where there's fire, there's Sephiroth. Or the other way around, at least.

The closer he gets, the warmer the air is, and he's sure he's on the right track. Finally, he spots the vague outline of a figure silhouetted against the blaze. That long, long hair, silvery-white to Cloud's eyes, is all he needs to know that he's found the man he was looking for. His mind fills in the rest of the details so easily.

He snarls, lifting the bat as if it were his sword, and charges forward. "Sephiroth!"

lois lane | superman (2025) | ota

[thisisontherecord]

( feel free to tag here, or hit up these same starters on her event log over here. i'll match whatever tagging style you tag in with! )

1. shadows creep | graveside revelations

   
   Lois sits, notepad on her knee, writing with visibly unnecessary force and flourish. This section of Etraya is recognizeable, for anyone who's been out to Nevergrey, absent of any notable landmarks beyond the trolley stop. She'd been turned around when she'd stepped off the trolley, intending to follow the tracks back toward Alexandrea's Wake, when the tombstones had started forming in the fog around her.
   
   Was she still in Nevergrey? At some point following the tracks, with the unending fields of tombstones to either side, Lois isn't sure. Has she crossed over a river, trying to get to the barrier, trying to trace back to what counts as home, to where Clark might be, to where Jon might be, there's only this: the fog, the wind whispering in tears, and the aching melancholy of understanding that all good things must one day die.
   
   Hence her sitting before these particular tombstones, adorned by beautiful statues that might have been angels in another time and place. Here, they were familiar to the heroes beneath the tombstones: Superman with his cloak draping from his broad shoulders, smiling and apologetic. At his feet, a pair of glasses, but also other scattered near-memorabilia: a peanut-butter jar, a small plastic cow, a lea of silk flowers that flutter in the breeze, and notes, so many notes and cards, some faded in ink, some crisp. Moreso than the wilted and dried flowers likewise scattered around are those written tributes.
   
   To his right, a smaller figure, arms crossed over his chest, his smile beaming up at Superman. Superboy, too young ,and matching the hazy dates on his tombstone at his statue's feet. Likewise the base of his statue is covered in memorabilia: glasses, a cow figurine, a dog, a little farmhouse, a little skyscraper. A robin, in kitschy porcelain glory. And also letters, and cards, and a snow globe that improbably spins its little sparkles of ash over a volcano. Lois has no idea why, but she doesn't need to.
   
   Because none of this can be real, for all it's true. The balance of love and fear for people who are larger than life and equally so wonderfully flawed and grounded, people whose hearts are bigger than their bodies, people who feel near invincible, but are not. She hazards the same guess that to them, one of the fears that lingers would be her own weeping angel over 'Lois Lane, loving mother, loving girlfriend,' but that's not a fear she has. Her own mortality is a given, not to rail against but to race against to do all she can before the road runs out.
   
   So there she is with a notebook, her own words sprawled on the page, and the two tombstones whose names can't be read, whose epitaphs morph and change the longer she observes, whose birth and death dates are nebulous at best, whose ages read 31 and 11 weeping blood from the second digits, pooling at the base of the tombstone and absorbed into the long grasses overgrowing the graves. She's been writing down each permutation she sees in words on the tombstones, considerations for later reflections. The most recent one, however, tips her balance into throwing her pen at the stupid, perfect, apologetic statue of Superman standing so impossibly tall and unreachable over her cross-legged position on the grass of his grave. The pen strikes one thigh, bouncing off, falling back toward the ground.
   
   "You do not get to make me a widow before I've ever been married!"



2. and want grows stronger | on etraya's waters

   
   ( The waters of the rivers, or the seas, or whatever it is that flows around each of Etraya's islands flow underneath the rubber raft Lois has in the water. She's found it increasingly difficult to breathe the close she gets to the barrier, the more she keeps reminding herself vent. Each paddle stroke in the water, moving from one side of her craft to the other, feels more laborious than the last. Whatever this feeling is, it doesn't like her pressing back against it, the written reminder on both wrists: vent. Even when the letters dance into other shapes, enough blinking brings them back to that truth.
   
   vent. )
   
   I'm lodging a complaint, ( She wheezes out eventually. ) about inadequate vent filtration. For nebula bullshit.
   
   ( She pauses, looking toward either the shore that's just now looming in the fog, or the sound of a splash in the water. Either way, Lois calls out: )
   
   If you're alive and you can hear me, tell me why six was afraid of seven!
   
   ( The more nonsense her questions, she's found, the less likely she is to hallucinate a response. Vent, for the moment, becomes a wayside thought. )
   



3. deeper than the truth | emergency ration kit handouts

   
   Hey.
   
   ( Lois calls out to the shape of what may be a person, or may be Manny, because she knows there's at least One Manny out here. Waving in a slower, exaggerated way, she follows that up with: )
   
   When did you last get anything to eat or drink? That you remember?
   



4. i can′t help but love you | wildcard

   
   ( hit me up with your own starter, or any other idea we were plotting! )

Deeper than the truth

[bigpoofymammoth]

[Manny has been quite tense ever since the fog had arrived. Especially considering the limited visibility along with the numerous hallucinations that he had to endure.

When he'd heard the voice of a fellow Etrayan, he relaxes slightly but he's still on guard. The fog's been messing with his mind long enough that he isn't entirely sure if he could trust any voices that he hears, no matter how familiar they sound. But at the very least, he decides to respond just in case.]

I had a salad about an hour before the fog came in.

Jayce Talis | Arcane | OTA

[hexcope]

PART 1

[hexcope]

THE BEGINNING;

[It’s late at night, beyond what he might call his bedtime if he was getting regular sleeping hours. Jayce is outside, near the edges of the bubble that encapsulates Etraya on the Mollymarin island, and he has some sort of device with him, which he keeps an eye on every few seconds to check for new readings. He doesn’t know what particles to look for, so it’s not a very advanced device, but rather it will pick up changes in the atmosphere and moisture content in general. He adjusts his mask, for what little it might actually do to protect him, it’s at least worth a shot in figuring out if it’s something he should even bother with.

The fog begins to visibly roll in, and his device begins to trigger it’s alarm. Well, at least that means this isn’t a normal fog. Into his notebook he jots down the time, the noted desaturation of colors.]

Visibility limited to… three, maybe four feet. No detectable scent so far. Remember: symptoms include perceptual disturbances, paranoid ideation, disorganized thought, social withdrawal, emotional blunting, and symptoms of thought disorder…

[He murmurs to himself through the mask as he jots down more notes, holding onto his flashlight in the pit of his arm. He’s glad he brought it, along with batteries. It’s really going to be miserable finding his way back to the Kiramman manor in all this. At least he feels fine… so far. Maybe it needs time to build up in his system? Maybe this is even something someone could become accustomed to, given enough time?]

PARTNERS - CLOSED TO VIKTOR (cw: imprisonment)

[It’s the very next morning after the fog rolled in, and Viktor will hear a knock on his door.]

Hey, uh, Viktor? There’s something I need to tell you.

[And when Viktor does open the door, assuming he doesn’t look too hard around the rest of his room, the first thing he’ll notice as strange is the literal jail bars across his door frame. It doesn’t interfere with the door being opened into his room, but it’ll block any means of getting out further into the house.]

Let me explain—

SUPPLY RUN

[Finding the vent has been slow going, and he’s found little progress personally. He imagines maybe it would be easier if he reached out to others to discuss plans, tactics, more information. But then that would mean he’d have to deal with other people. The idea itself feels like a complete chore, and would just eat up time he could be spending doing literally anything else.

But what’s more important right now is getting more supplies. Fortunately, the Otto-Mart and 7-11 are still being kept well stocked, and Jayce has his backpack and dufflebag ready to fill up with bottles of water, juices, and a series of shelf-stable foods. Some for him, but most for Viktor, so he keeps that in mind when picking between different cereals, pastries, and soups.

It’s odd going shopping in a place where even the fog permeates the inside of the building here, and he’s already become accustomed to ignoring the auditory hallucinations that have been trying to trick him, but he truly isn’t expecting to run into someone here.]

gorgug thistlespring, ota

[tinflower]

1; a helper to misery ( setting: gorgug appears as a possessed version of himself causing further issues during the mission, as inspired by his possession during an earlier/the Im'mari-infected mission; attacking him is cool, he doesn't actually have a great axe! )

[ Etraya has become warped. There's little safety or relief, where even staying inside buildings doesn't promise shelter. Even preparations for the effects of the nebula haven't been enough--somehow, you don't have enough food; for some reason, all your medications are gone. Did someone do this? Still, you somehow manage to find yourselves at useful locations, though perhaps with trepidation for what will occur. The hospital, Kwik Trip; whichever has resources, there's--

A problem. A miasma. As thick as the surrounding fog, something causes a crawling sensation beneath the skin. Fear itself lurks underfoot, and trying to turn leads you to see the same building you tried to walk away from. The only way is inside, to walls that whisper your secrets; surfaces that threaten to play out some haunting memory you've tried to keep down.

The food is rotten, medical supplies scattered and crushed under some boot before you came in here. And there's someone else in this place with you, not even trying to hide. It's hard to hide, anyway, when you're 6'7", green, and dragging along a great axe that scrapes across the ground.

This person is causing this. And if you were around for the Im'mari, you know what this is: it's that being, brought out through the chaos. ]

Heeelllo, [ comes out a boy-ish voice. ] Anyone want to look for a vent?

[ Are you? ]

2; ineffective ( setting: gorgug's workshop, trying to work to be better, helpful, but failing at every turn to be; guilt at not doing better to support people, feeling lost in his talents )

[ You're in a workshop. Or, so it looks like; metal-work projects are scattered on tables, hanging automatons, prosthetic limbs with fingers wiggling; half-finished, or falling apart. Underfoot are ruined devices of wire, gem, and the faces of what could've been animal, robotic. Step on one, and they crunch and break, brittle like eggshells. Worthless, you know from looking at it. Everything here is worthless. Ineffective.

There is a figure in here too; here, there, working on different projects inside this workshop. Sometimes, bent over a table with goggles over his eyes, focused on some kind of small but rotund bot, the innards of the wiring he's working with delicate, requiring skill; elsewhere, there's a cracked full-body mirror beside a work space with pearlescent gems being connected to some kind of magic-tech computer, copper wires connected to it; another spot, he's sat on a stool, working a screwdriver into the shell of a peculiar robot. Dust covers the figure, his goggles down, and it seems he's trying to hold together this machine's working on with his arm around its shell.

Whether you know this half-orc or not, 6'7" in height, he looks from his work, muttering between wheezing breaths; wrists hesitating to stop in their work, but asking, ] Are you getting ready for the mission? I-it's going to be-- bad. We have-- we should do something about it.

[ The mission's already started. Unless you're the one mistaken? ]

3; reprieve? ( finding a moment of reprieve in the fog, maybe, or not; bumping into one another, can turn into whispers and all that trauma-sharing fun if you want; supply break )

[ At times, Gorgug stops--outside with nothing but fog on all sides, or within some building that hasn't warped into some nightmare. He's been carrying a backpack, something the fog often makes him forget. But he takes a drink, a break, kneeling with his headphones over his ears, pretending that blotting out sound works.

It does make him jumpy, then, if he sees a figure emerging from the fog; but so would a door opening, his green hands tightening around his bag in front of him.

Whether you bump into him outside or in, white pupils against black look over, unsure, but rather resigned to this being some sort of trick. Because, even so: ]

Hey, [ he says in greeting, tired. Exhausted. ] Not evil. Nooot- in the mood.

[ To be spooked right now, thanks. ]

4; wildcard

[ Feel free to message me privately if you would like to make plans! For prompt 1, Gorgug is present, but seems to be the one behind the actual fake him--if you want him to not get attacked by mistake, lmk and I'll work it that way. I'm here for surreal, nonsense elements and whispering secrets and people just knowing things through being in close contact to each other, thumbs up. ]

3

[aimsforknees]

[ John has been prowling through the fog, trying to find anyone to help. His gun isn't out so as not to scare people, but mentally he's prepared for that. Finally he finds a building, and decides to check inside for anyone who might be taking shelter. And luckily for him, there is someone. ]

Gorgug. Are you okay?

[ His tall friend. Just a kid, and a scared and tired one at that. ]

Hawks | My Hero Academia

[velocityraptor]

I. Ashen Veil

[ The warning is enough, after all, it’s not like he usually has warning for his missions at home so Hawks is ready, as much as one can be ready for something. The particles trickling in and the fog thick and foreboding.

No, he’s not afraid, but once the limitation hits, his wings completely vanish and he stumbles awkwardly as his centre of gravity changes.

Hawks grits his teeth. Okay, so it’s not like losing all of his feathers, which he’s done far too many times. ]

Not so bad. [ Like he hasn’t had those since birth or anything, when he walks it’s unsteady, his hand reaching out to grab the nearest thing for his balance, or person if he’s unlucky. ]

...Sorry. [ A small grimace. ] Any hint about that vent? [ He’ll stick to business, thanks. ]

II. That Which Burrows
(Content warnings: abuse, neglect, child trafficking, enslavement, discrimination)

[ The longer he wanders the fog, the more existential dread he’s filled with, it’s wrapped around him like a shroud. Hawks’ persona falls away, he doesn’t look chipper and cheerful, but rather quiet, his shoulders hunched as he’s half curling in on himself at the insults he just can’t stop hearing.

If only that punk had never been born, I’d be free as a bird.

Yeah. He knows. The voice makes him look around wide-eyed and like he’s prepared for a fight of some kind. Could he fight him? Probably not. He’d like to think so.

Why were you born? Why do you even have those wings?

He doesn’t know. He’s never figured out the answer to that question. To help people, that’s Hawks’ answer, but that’s not something that would satisfy her. She’d never agree to that, that’s just not the kind of person his parents were.

It’s her lucky day, because right now he doesn’t. He’s as useless as they always believed he was. Nothing but an unwanted mouth to feed. His breathing is a little too quick, his instinct is to make himself smaller.

That’s not behaviour befitting a hero now, is it?

The third voice makes his skin crawl, the tone of disapproval despite her prim and proper demeanour and he can see her standing there, immaculate suit, small frown, as huge as he used to imagine she was when he was nothing but a little kid. ]

I’m sorry. I’m...I’m sorry. I’ll be good. [ He’s slipping, he’s losing his grip on reality.]

III. Hollowing Road
(Content warnings: abuse, neglect, child trafficking, enslavement, discrimination, homelessness, isolation – a couple of the items are nice, if you prefer those, feel free to ask.)

[ The winding path, he’s finally made it there, hopefully this is where the vent is, is he can just make his way to the end.

He walks the path, and at first Hawks doesn’t even notice things melting away from him. Small, unusual things. A black cloak that doesn’t fit in with his aesthetic. A ghostly eyeball that hovers midair as though it belonged there. A cloud in the fog, discarded under a tree. A ratty old t-shirt made for a child.

Innocuous items that pull away from things he’s not thinking of so he doesn’t realize the effect. A plush superhero doll that looks like it’s been dragged through the ringer. A suit jacket, rumpled from a long day. The last thing on the trail is his hero license, his smiling face in the picture, a hero name and quirk and nothing else, where his regular name would go completely left blank. Redacted even on a legal document.

He’s smiling.

He wanders. What a nice tree this is? A nice day despite the fog?

Hawks doesn’t remember why he’s wandering the woods or much else anymore, he’s just wandering, completely lost, having not yet found the vent and leaving behind things he didn’t even know he was missing.

Maybe, like so many times in his life, he needs a hero. ]

IV. Wildcard

[ I’m open to anything, including Hawks playing hero and saving your character from their past, the fog or anything else. Presumably at some point he’s going to get it together and be more helpful, so feel free to tag in anything you like! While powers are knocked out, he is completely wingless. ]

ii

[tinflower]

[ The fog shares the chiding that sounds so present to Hawks. It's what Gorgug finds first in the white blanket that shrouds his vision, even before he sees anything. Why were you born? Why do you even have those wings? -- these aren't his memories, his repression. Gorgug know, but there's an emotion that speaks back; someone who can't truly give those answers, so they've decided to exist for others.

He doesn't think of the guy he played water ball (or whatever that was) with any certainty, nor immediately, but he can think of plenty of winged people.

Nevertheless, he walks, uncertain but still leaning towards finding the one that the fog has decided to focus on. And by the time that Hawks sees her-- ]

Hey? Hello? --Real person here! Promise!

[ That's a voice that doesn't match the tone of what's happening here. But does it matter? Does Hawks want that voice to find him?

Does the woman in front of him want him to? ]

Kirk Langstrom | JL: Gods & Monsters | Open to anyone at the dome

[godsandbats]

((OOC: Open to anyone and any pets who would be at the dome during this mission!))

Retreat:

After weighing his options for nearly a week, Kirk has chose to spend sixty points on a mission pass. The risk of him hurting others while mentally compromised is too great. It's for everyone's safety. On September 18th, the ground swallows Kirk whole and he's dropped into a dome full of greenery.

After finding his bearings, he begins exploring his temporary home. The dome almost reminds him of a large greenhouse. When he flies up to the top of the dome, he's not surprised there's no way to leave. At least Aurora made sure to provide basic supplies. He'll have to make himself comfortable.

Whatever pets that are around will also keep him occupied at least. He can almost treat this as research work and gather more data about Etraya's animal companions. Might as well look over the flora too. Maybe he can almost forget about his anxieties for how his boyfriend and friends are doing back on Etraya's surprise.

Care to keep him company?

John Reese | Person of Interest

[aimsforknees]

>> Monsters

[ There are shapes in the fog, prowling around. Beasts on four paws, flickering in and out of sight but never quite visible, but their growls and haunting cries can be heard easily. Unfortunately for them, John is also prowling. His gun is out, held at the ready. He hasn't shot yet, waiting for the right moment, but he's vigilant and ready to fight. He's in his usual suit but this time there's a black bag slung cross body.

He's on edge, and not just because of the noises around him. There's something about the fog that seems to cling, to feed. An uncertainty that eats at him. Anyone who happens upon him in the fog will get his gun pointed squarely at them. ]


>> People wear many faces

[ The fog holds many shapes, seems to whisper indistinct things. John is worried, but not threatened. It's not real, none of it is. He has to find the vent. And then there's noise coming out of the fog. Footsteps. Someone approaching. John doesn't reach for his gun but he is tense, ready for action.

No matter who approaches his reaction is the same. He stays tense but his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. There's a frozen look on his face as if he's seen a ghost, because he has. His old partner, dead twice over, first in a missile strike and then in a bomb of her own making. The first death just after shooting him and the second after strapping a bomb vest to his chest. But here she stands, immaculate as ever, with a serene smile on her face. ]

What are you doing here?

[ It comes out quietly, almost tinged with fear. Whoever actually stands in front of him, he's not seeing them for themselves, instead haunted by the specter of Kara once again. ]


>> Just another number in the fog

[ John's purpose for the last five years has been saving people. "The numbers" as they called it, people they were either sent to stop or save. The Machine has given them a new number, a new person to investigate. John follows this new mark through the fog, close enough to keep track of but far enough that he might just be a figment of the imagination. Silent, but always there.

But will you be someone he has to save? Or someone he has to stop? ]


>> Closed to Shadowheart

[ He has to protect the Machine. He has to get her to the satellite. He's so sure of this purpose, this goal. But he can't do it alone, he needs help. Who better to call for help than a friend? So he opens up his comm device and calls Shadowheart. ]


[[ ooc: For the number prompt, please let me know if you'd rather be someone John wants to save or someone he decides to stop! He'll be violent towards people he needs to stop but not deadly. For plotting out any details or any wildcard ideas, you can find me on discord or plurk @ biowafers, or PM this journal. ]]

Monsters

[nottheboss]

[It's funny how easy it is to learn to use a gun again. There were so many years where ammo was so scarce all they had were blades and javelins and bow and arrows, but the pistol feels right at home in his hand again now that he has one.

He can hear things out there and he keeps the gun ready, creeping silently through the fog, at home in it. You couldn't ask for better hunting conditions, provided you were hunting people and not game.

He's not supposed to think like that anymore.

He stops short when he finds John, finds a gun pointed at his head. He holds up his hands, even the one with his own pistol.]

Hey. It's just me.

Brandon Carver | The Walking Dead | OTA

[fortitudosalutis]

Ashen Veil (closed to existing CR)

[ Here’s a secret, one that Carver holds tight to his chest and hasn’t admitted to many. Sometimes, in his worst moments, he sees things in his corners. Black uniforms massing. The click of boot heels against the ground. The feel of the commander’s hands going tight on his shoulders. He calls them his ghosts and names them beloved among his soul. He sees them sometimes but they don’t often stay. He knows they aren’t real, most of the time.

This is different.

Pope stands in front of Carver, head tilted slightly. His glasses shining in the fog.

For his part, Carver holds stock still. Barely breathing. Pope’s hand cups the back of Carver’s skull, almost fatherly. Then his gaze shifts. Sharpens ever so slightly.

Friend of yours, son?

The commander’s voice is calm. Personable. Carver swallows hard. He doesn’t make eye contact. ]

Broken Symmetry

[ Something’s not right here. The world’s gone strange and Carver almost got used to that. He doesn’t like this quiet, the way things just bleed together into the quiet. How the Fog muffles everything until it’s like being underwater. But he got used to that. He swallowed it, accepted it like he accepts gravity. Almost got used to it, even.

Then something shifted.

He tilts his head, dressed all in black. A skull mask hooked to his belt. One hand drifting almost absently back to the knife at his hip. ]

Something’s off.

[ He’s giving you a look. Whether or not he knows you. It’s an intent look. Utterly focused, and unblinking. ]

Wildcard

[ Hit me up at mirrorfaded if you’re in the mood for something else. ]

[nottheboss]

"Carver." Bossie is so glad to find him after all the wandering he's done that he actually stumbles over his own feet to get to him.

"You good?" He swallows, glancing around them, watching for flickers and shadows and monsters.

Bruce Wayne | DC

[theknightshift]

[ Open and closed starters to follow. Hit me up on plurk @ tapsters if you want something personalized. I'm also in the game server if you want to hit me up there. ]

open.

[theknightshift]

cw: body horror, psychological horror, child abuse/death. Will add as needed.

The Wounded Man
[ In the fog, Bruce can see a person.

It's no one in his life, currently and he's thankful. It's not the twisted visage of his mother and father come to rattle him to his core. Or his children, taken from him all of the worst ways his mind can imagine. It's not Alfred, snapping under the weight of Bane's too big hands. For that, he's relieved.

But the man that shambles toward him is familiar, like a ghost. A lingering memory. A twist of pain. Even in the thick fog, he can see the nails and spikes protruding from his face and hands and out of his spine and shoulders, sparkling like stars at twilight. The wounds don't bleed. He doesn't scream, but he walks like he's in pain all the same. He ambles closer, teeth bared and nails driven in where his lips should be, looking like a second set of teeth.

Hurt me he says. Over and over and over. Please he begs. Hurt me. Hurt me!

He comes in close, Bruce doesn't flinch, even when he's inches from his face, breath rancid and sharp in his nose. He lifts a hand, nails driven so deep in his palm that the sharp edges protrude the other side and reaches out for Bruce. He doesn't flinch, even though he can feel the scrape of the nails against his cheek. It feels like he's bleeding. Bruce resists the urge to check.

The creature isn't real, even though he had been once.

To the person who is unfortunate enough to stumble onto the scene, to see this confrontation, Bruce is unfazed. He glances at the newcomer, for all the time it takes to confirm they're not a hallucination too and says: ]

Do you need help?

[ The Wounded Man shambles around him, goading him. Whispering to him. Doesn't it hurt, Batman? Isn't the pain wonderful, Batman? Isn't it nice to feel something, Batman? There is no mission, Batman. Just us. Just us and the pain. ]

Hollowing Road
[ In the middle of the path, Bruce stops.

As abruptly as his mind had. Blink. Darkness. Like a building losing power.

He stares ahead at the long, winding path and tries to remember what brought him here. Nothing comes. Just scattered pieces, empty holes where things should be. But it's empty. Empty. Precious things slipping away.

So he turns around. He cannot go forward. He has to go back.

Behind him is a trail.

A crowbar.
A gun.
Scattered pearls, gleaming pale in the dirt.
A sword, stabbed through the ground.
Venom, a menancing green in the vial half buried.
A robin's costume, torn, blackened, soaked through with blood and smeared with ash.

A photograph, perfectly preserved in its frame. Two smiling faces. He doesn't recognize either of them, but some nagging part of him insists he should.

It dissolves in his hands when he presses it close and the memory floods out, projected like a home movie for him and anyone else close enough to see.

Alfred, sitting on the bed, eating his breakfast. It's a crumpet, charred at the edges. Burned, because Bruce always burns the crumpets. But that's fine. Because no one died and he's so, so relieved.

And briefly, here in the present, Bruce is too. ]


checking in (network)
[ Sent to all Batfam members and the Kents. ]

UN: Batman | Text
Report in.

wildcard
[ Hit me with your prompt. See above for contact info if you want to reach out and plot first. ]

superman/clark kent | superman 2025

[newsbeat]

that which burrows;

[It's so, so strange to feel weakened, grounded without the hideous poison of kryptonite slowly killing him. Clark keeps expecting the pain the kick in and yet — nothing more than what's probably a mosquito bite. Except he doesn't remember seeing any mosquitos here.

The thought seeps in over time as he searches Etraya for the vent (and for friends and loved ones, they were right here beside him, how did they get separated). Eventually, he stumbles. The thoughts are quiet in his head, but somehow they echo so loudly that the vibration trips him up.

You are the last son. You've done well in winning them over, beating back their doubts. Now no one will see it coming when you make a stand and create a new age of Krypton.]

No. I didn't. I won't.

[He has to find something to lean on and just — breathe, center himself, not listen. Those thoughts aren't true. He won't let them come true.]

hollowing road;

[This is the way to go. Clark is certain of it. Finally, finally they can find the vent and end this terrible fog.

It would be easier if he could fly, he thinks. Faster. But it's fine, the only thing that matters is that he gets there, except...

He wavers. Stops abruptly, which means anyone walking behind him might run face-first into his back, if they're not paying attention. Clarks turns around, frowning. He can't remember the color of Lois' eyes, he thinks. And there's — more. Blank spots. Gaps in his mind.]

Sorry, why are we headed this way, again?

wild card;

[I'm up for Most Things so hmu at this plotting comment or PM or plurk or whatever!]

That which burrows

[levelshift]

[This is easily one of the worst missions Accelerator has been on during his time in Etraya, and that is saying a lot. He's spent a lot of it so far indoors, trying to figure out a way to search for the vent and not be either a liability or completely useless, but it's rough going without his ability to lean on. Eventually he decides fuck it and heads out, using the flashlight app on an average-looking to provide himself a bit of light. It's mostly useless, though that isn't the main reason why he keeps his phone out.

Being out wandering for a while, eventually he hears what sounds like a voice (though for all he knows it's simply a hallucination) and decides to cautiously follows it to its source. That means, as Accelerator moves closer, there's a small pinprick of light that slowly gets brighter, until he can make out a shape in the fog. Once he's confirm it's another person he lowers it, then steps closer, the feet of his crutch clacking on the ground.

Ah, this guy. Superman, Mr. Trolley-Kryptonian, the dad to the flying brat and dating (or whatever) the journalist. Accelerator offers him a wary glance before swinging his phone around, letting the flashlight illuminate what little it can in the dense fog. It looks like the guy's alone. That isn't good, and he turns his focus back on Clark.]

Hey shithead, talking to yourself is gonna freak people out.

[Which is, you know, potentially very dangerous given the mission parameters and all.]

Clea Dessendre | Clair Obscure: E33 | OTA

[repaintress]

CW: Mention of fire deaths, sibling death, abandonment

Ashen Veil

[ It is several hours after the mission's beginning before Clea ventures outside of her apartment, as she opts to spend the first portion of the day accustoming herself to the effects the particles have on her mind, letting herself feel the particular flavors of disturbance it layers into her mind, noting its preference for creeping dread and subtle despair as a sommelier would the notes of a wine. She forces herself to go about her business, fixing a charcuterie board as her mother declares her disappointment, packing to go try to find the source of the problem while her brother tells her it would have been better if she were the one trapped in the fire because if it had been her he would have lived and their family could be happy.

She walks down the stairs while her sister says it's her fault she's hurt - that Clea didn't take care for her properly. Clea exits the building, door shutting behind her, while her father tells her she's not worth coming back for.

In her right hand, Clea holds a nearly-full glass of wine. It's after dinner - just because there's a mission doesn't mean she has to abandon all the habits of civilization. More importantly, the light but fluctuating amount of alcohol in her system keeps her from becoming complacent about her mental status, acting as a reminder to watch her mind.

Her voluminous skirt holds more supplies: blades plucked from her sculpting tools for self-defense, a set of colored pencils, and a drawn map of Etraya.

Walking down the path, the first thing she notices is the sound of the footsteps. Duplicated and reverberated. She's affected, of course, her mind initially thinking that she's being followed. Rather than fight the thought, Clea accepts it. So what if she is? If someone wants to follow her, let them.

She raises her head and keeps walking, stopping only when a shadow she passes turns to watch her, looking back at it with the type of fierce smile that is less an expression of joy than a more primal display of teeth. ]

Hallowing Road

[ At first, the voice is barely audible, notes of song dropping in and out of the fog as one walks down the path that, surely, must lead to the vent. Is someone singing or is it a trick of the fog? Continuing, the voice grows stronger, singing an old and eerie song in a Langue d'Oïl. The centuries' old syllables weave among the trees, rising and falling like waves, reaching an intermittent crescendo and then falling back to a near whisper.

Following the song leads them down a path strewn with objects: A piece of sheet music for the harp and piano, a painting of a red-maned and many faced monster, a wine bottle from Etraya, a set of ballet slippers, and an empty reptile enclosure among them. Should someone care to follow the items to their end, they'll find themselves in a small clearing.

In the midst of the dead trees and wilted grass dances Clea, limbs moving with a light and free elegance that, the more one watches, the more it becomes clear the moves last a little too long, stretch a little too far. The more one watches, the more manic the dance seems, though it hasn't actually changed at all. Hair, legs, and arms all move in concert with exacting precision, twisting, turning, and bending without rest.

Through it all, her voice continues to sing, cutting through the fog, and, once every few minutes, catching the gaze of the intruder, watching them with blank and uncaring eyes. ]

Closed Starters below + on Request:

((If you want something else, hit me up! PM or Plurk, whichever is fine.))

hallows your ween

[rudelanguage]

[once Knife gets their pocket-laden clothes back, it's all over for these dropped items.

...or it would be, if they weren't fucking useless!

except the shoes. the shoes, they can work with. they're carrying the shoes, stomping through the growing foliage with increasing apprehension. this may or may not be getting them closer to their Antigone tent domain, but they sure as shit hope it does; even if they trigger their own tripwire alarms, they won't be pissed!

instead of tinkling bottlecaps on glass, they hear singing instead. and that...that fucking sucks, man. stepping over a glass case of whatever purpose, Pending doesn't bother stealthing; so far, Knife's learned that the spookies aren't tangible unless they're real people, and so the real people get a fair fucking warning and if they try shit? then it's over. but also? someone is just. singing? an unrecognizable song? so whatever, leaves and twigs can get crunched.

Pending stops just at the edge of the clearing upon being able to see her in all this fog. when the dancer makes eye contact, the half-orc squints and scowls, holding out his hands in a shrug to emphasize Okay, what? What is this?, shoes dangling off fingertips on one hand.]

Hernan Guerra ( superman ) | JL: gods and monsters

[sonofzod]

[ Open and closed starters to follow. Hit me up on plurk @ tapsters if you want something personalized. I'm also in the game server if you want to hit me up there. ]

closed. ( clark )

[sonofzod]

[ When Hernan wakes, he does with a profound sense of loss. The feeling is sharp, jagged, like something has been cut out of him.

He isn't sure what he's lost or how, but it swallows up the dread that follows waking up in a place you do not recognize. He sits up and the sound feels impossibly loud. His legs tremble, like limbs that belong to someone else. He gropes through the dark until he feels something solid in against his hand. He uses that solidness to haul himself upright, the pain splitting his skull feeling almost mechanical. Like gears shifting and grinding inside of his head. Fingers grope uselessly along the wall, as he takes a few fragile steps forward. To where, he didn't know. He didn't even know where he was honestly.

And as his thoughts muddle through the ebb and flow of the pain, he stops when he realizes something vital. There is nothing where a name should be. Just empty, yawning space where moments of his life used to be. It makes his body feel too heavy to hold upright and he's got to press himself against the wall to stay steady. Sharp bone poke and prod, but Hernan's too lost in the emptiness of himself to care.

Until he looks up, into the dark of the catacombs and sees he is not alone. He doesn't know why, or what compels him but he stumbles forward, nearly collapses at this stranger's feet. It could be a trick. An illusion. A hallucination. Salvation or destruction. He can't tell, and it doesn't even really matter. He's just so glad he's not here by himself. His voice cracks in the stale air. ]

Where are we? Who are you?