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sticksandbones2024-01-05 07:59 am
sticksandbonesmods) wrote in sticksandbones2024-01-05 07:59 am
Entry tags:
EVENT & TDM 008
LET IT GO
WAKE UP
It’s strange, how as the dawn of a new day finally arrives, coinciding with the howling winds dying out, classic, adorable snowmen seem to have popped up all over the Grove overnight. The fog wall has yet to surround the barren remains of a town that once was, but it’s visible once more in the great distance.
Not that you can see it immediately. Something covers your eyes, and you can feel something heavy and frigid wrapped all around you. As you struggle more and more, the crunch of snow echoes through your ears as you step free- and when you turn back to examine their prison, you’ll realize one of the snowmen was you.
Meanwhile, old residents will get to deal with more and more people popping out of snowmen like daisies, and must remember that this is just their life now. It’s just another day in Aldric’s Grove.
Though, maybe you ought to help them before frostbite sets in.
Not that you can see it immediately. Something covers your eyes, and you can feel something heavy and frigid wrapped all around you. As you struggle more and more, the crunch of snow echoes through your ears as you step free- and when you turn back to examine their prison, you’ll realize one of the snowmen was you.
Meanwhile, old residents will get to deal with more and more people popping out of snowmen like daisies, and must remember that this is just their life now. It’s just another day in Aldric’s Grove.
Though, maybe you ought to help them before frostbite sets in.
MIRROR, MIRROR
The quiet couldn’t last forever. You should have known that something would happen, especially with the fog beginning to make itself known again. And this time, it’s something quiet. As you wake up one morning, there is a mirror on your nightstand — it’s silver and round, able to fit comfortably in your hand and wreathed in crystalline snowflakes.
And as you look into it, your reflection twists into something still undeniably you, but… have you a temper problem? Too many lies? A sadistic sense of humor? All of your worst traits are dragged out and reflected on the mirror, and no matter what, it keeps ending up wherever you are — and whoever else looks into the mirror will see this awful, terrible you, too. All of your worst characteristics, all the things you try to hide, unable to be hidden.
Maybe you keep trying to hide it. Maybe you let it stay wherever it keeps turning up, following you like a particularly terrible walking salesman, or maybe you break it. Regardless, nothing seems to happen… for now.
And as you look into it, your reflection twists into something still undeniably you, but… have you a temper problem? Too many lies? A sadistic sense of humor? All of your worst traits are dragged out and reflected on the mirror, and no matter what, it keeps ending up wherever you are — and whoever else looks into the mirror will see this awful, terrible you, too. All of your worst characteristics, all the things you try to hide, unable to be hidden.
Maybe you keep trying to hide it. Maybe you let it stay wherever it keeps turning up, following you like a particularly terrible walking salesman, or maybe you break it. Regardless, nothing seems to happen… for now.
WITH SHARDS OF ICE
“For now”.
Late into the night, everyone wakes up to a sudden, terrible chill. When you open your eyes, you’ll find that you aren’t in your inn room or home, but instead within a giant castle made of ice. It must be a ballroom of some sort, a grand hall glittering in the moonlight — but looking out the window shows that the world beyond the castle is but a frozen wasteland of more blizzards and nothing else. Though you’ve been granted some of your gear — weapons and some supplies, and coats if you’re lucky — you’ll find that the temperature is dropping steadily, while something approaches…
Peek out the door to the main hall and you’ll see what’s coming so noisily. An army’s worth of hallowed ice knights with all sorts of weapons are marching to the door, intent on slaying the intruders. Should they get close, they’ll attack; should they land the killing blow, you’ll instantly freeze into a solid block and shatter.
And if you broke the mirror that haunted you? On top of all of this, you can feel yourself gradually growing colder, physically and emotionally, and your magic, if you have it, takes on an icy flair that you may find difficult to control. Maybe it's your feet that start to turn to ice first — maybe it's your fingertips. But as the night goes on, you’ll steadily freeze solid, and like any fairy tale, only an act of true love could possibly save you. Good luck figuring out what that actually means. True love’s kiss? A genuine compliment? A hug? What could possibly save you from your fate?
Those of you who survive until morning, who don’t become solid statues of ice or die within the castle’s walls, will be lucky enough to witness the sun coming up through narrow windows the size of your forearm. All around you, the castle starts to melt, dripping freezing water onto your head. For as much as you try to run before you, presumably, drown terribly…
…your eyes will close, and you’ll wake up in your bed, drenched.
Late into the night, everyone wakes up to a sudden, terrible chill. When you open your eyes, you’ll find that you aren’t in your inn room or home, but instead within a giant castle made of ice. It must be a ballroom of some sort, a grand hall glittering in the moonlight — but looking out the window shows that the world beyond the castle is but a frozen wasteland of more blizzards and nothing else. Though you’ve been granted some of your gear — weapons and some supplies, and coats if you’re lucky — you’ll find that the temperature is dropping steadily, while something approaches…
Peek out the door to the main hall and you’ll see what’s coming so noisily. An army’s worth of hallowed ice knights with all sorts of weapons are marching to the door, intent on slaying the intruders. Should they get close, they’ll attack; should they land the killing blow, you’ll instantly freeze into a solid block and shatter.
And if you broke the mirror that haunted you? On top of all of this, you can feel yourself gradually growing colder, physically and emotionally, and your magic, if you have it, takes on an icy flair that you may find difficult to control. Maybe it's your feet that start to turn to ice first — maybe it's your fingertips. But as the night goes on, you’ll steadily freeze solid, and like any fairy tale, only an act of true love could possibly save you. Good luck figuring out what that actually means. True love’s kiss? A genuine compliment? A hug? What could possibly save you from your fate?
Those of you who survive until morning, who don’t become solid statues of ice or die within the castle’s walls, will be lucky enough to witness the sun coming up through narrow windows the size of your forearm. All around you, the castle starts to melt, dripping freezing water onto your head. For as much as you try to run before you, presumably, drown terribly…
…your eyes will close, and you’ll wake up in your bed, drenched.
FOOTPRINTS IN THE FRESH SNOW
The morning after that dreadful night, things… settle, again. Aldric’s Grove is quiet, and clear sunlight glistens across the snowy plaza and radiates off of frosted trees. Even now, the apple tree and blackberry bushes are unfazed by the cold, though the fruit may taste crisper and chillier than usual. Those that died within the castle return to life, feeling colder than normal for the rest of the day, but there seems to be no lasting damage. And, everyone who participated in the castle “game” receives a mysterious gift: A wooden coin with a sigil on it, resembling a clock with backwards hands behind a shield, attached to frosted pinecones, red berries and sprigs of mistletoe. It feels warm and protective.
You go outside. It’s been some time since anyone’s seen anything from the woods, let alone something that doesn’t want them dead — so imagine one’s surprise when a small family of deer can be seen walking amongst the trees. Birds alight to the branches on rare moments, and it’s surely a sign of something, that life has begun to return to the forest despite the deep snow and deeper chill.
Never mind that one of the deer has an extra set of antlers and another has three eyes. Never mind that the birds sound like people. Never mind that the rabbits have blood on their maws.
It’s just another day in Aldric’s Grove.
You go outside. It’s been some time since anyone’s seen anything from the woods, let alone something that doesn’t want them dead — so imagine one’s surprise when a small family of deer can be seen walking amongst the trees. Birds alight to the branches on rare moments, and it’s surely a sign of something, that life has begun to return to the forest despite the deep snow and deeper chill.
Never mind that one of the deer has an extra set of antlers and another has three eyes. Never mind that the birds sound like people. Never mind that the rabbits have blood on their maws.
It’s just another day in Aldric’s Grove.
SPARK NOTES
CLICK TO EXPAND!
WAKE UP
Good day, new arrivals! You are now a snowman. Hopefully people who have been here a bit longer are willing to give you a blanket or ten.
MIRROR, MIRROR
A mirror appears and starts following you around, reflecting what you think are your worst traits or worst version of yourself is. Other people can look into it and see the awful you, too. You can break it and it'll leave you alone, or you can let it stalk you all month.
WITH SHARDS OF ICE
Welcome to the ice castle! It's cold, but you have your stuff with you, and it's not unlivable. Well, until the frozen army of knights starts marching in with the intent to kill everyone inside, anyway. One lethal hit from them will make you shatter into pieces. For those of you who broke your mirrors, you'll gradually grow colder both physically & emotionally, and eventually start to freeze solid. Don't worry, though, you can be saved through the power of love.
FOOTPRINTS IN THE FRESH SNOW
Dawn rises on the Grove and the dead come back to life. Everyone who participated in the castle game receives a magical charm, though they don't know what it does so far. Animals come back to the Grove as well! ...why do they look like that?
OOC
Happy January! TDMs are game canon as a reminder, and if you'd like to plot with people for this event, head over to OOC plotting. While it is not known to player characters at this time, the charms granted as a reward for the ice castle can undo one future negative effect (i.e. a major death). They are a one-time use item. As for how characters discover this information... idk, we'll see how y'all decide to utilize those. :)
UPDATES
❖ None yet!
Phantom | Arknights | OTA
I. DO YOU SEE YOUR OWN FACE IN THE MIRROR?
[ …Is this what the mysterious voice had meant when it said that it wanted to play? The round, silver mirror sat on the nightstand this morning, almost innocently, almost taunting in its innocuousness.
And after a fitful sleep, a couple of hours at best - since he normally already had trouble sleeping, even more so in this strange…place - the fact that it…just sat there, appearing as if out of thin air seems more sinister than mocking.
It calls out to him, that mirror. A siren song, not unlike the one he sang on that doomed debut night on stage.
Yet, Phantom resisted — he refused to even look at it, despite the goading of the other voice in his head. He was getting better at refusing its call, after all, after four years now in Rhodes Island. As a matter of fact, the Feline immediately found something to drape over it, to cover the reflective surface as soon as he could process the situation. The visage that would stare back at him in it likely wouldn’t be his own, after all.
Merely someone with his face, whom he did not recognise — and refused to recognise.
…He could not stay indoors, either, although that was actually his original plan, since he would much prefer to avoid meeting the other residents of the Grove. But with the silver mirror perched on the nightstand, even with his black cloak draped over it — he feels uneasy. Paranoid. Even more so than usual.
PERHAPS THAT WAS YOUR WORST QUALITY, LUCIAN.
Ignoring the coldly mocking tone in his mind, which he was more than used to by now, Phantom took his hat and slipped out of the door. He didn’t look back, quiet footsteps taking him to the edges of the Grove, outside of others’ sight.
…Yet, the mirror kept appearing. Once in the snow, on his path; then everywhere his furtive glances might land. ]
Is this some sort of a twisted jest? [ He muttered to himself, missing Miss Christine more than ever. She’d likely know what to do, but the mysterious voice, or whoever (whatever) was behind it was cruel enough to separate them. Well, at the very least, the dark-haired man was wise enough not to break the mirror, since every Victorian child knew how much of a bad luck that would bring. ] …Stop.
II. LIFE IS A MASQUERADE BALL IN THE COLD
[ An object that appears mysteriously in his room, portending something ominous in the horizon; and now he found himself in a castle - another castle - when he opened his eyes. It sounds familiar. Too familiar.
…The last thing he remembered was a sudden chill. The mirror was still there on the nightstand, since he gave up in the end and took it back there, and he was on the bed, hardly asleep when it happened. After the terrible chill came the sudden spell of sleepiness - he could reason that it was the exhaustion from one too many sleepless nights settling in with a vengeance - and then he found himself in this place.
Wherever this is.
The ballroom was strangely, hauntingly beautiful, alluring and forlorn, although it reminded him of that stage — his stage. WILL YOU SING FOR US ON THIS STAGE TOO, LUCIAN? BEFORE YOUR VOICE TURNS INTO ICE? The VOICE in his head had asked, the one that he was used to rather than the one that whisks him to Aldric’s Grove — his constant companion ever since that one fateful night, aside from the spirits of the dead and Miss Christine, who wasn’t here with him.
He shook his head, for the first time in a long time making a move to acknowledge that VOICE. It chuckles in his mind, in a rich, yet distorted voice, pleased that he had, at last, acknowledged it. WHAT A SHAME. I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR SPECTACULAR PERFORMANCE.
It whispered, but this time, Phantom chose to ignore it. The act of shaking his head was somehow a heavy one, as if his skull was turning to lead — or ice. He was sans his cloak, and it was freezing here, even if his dark suit was on the thick side of things and he could normally withstand the cold better than most people.
…At least he got his daggers with him. Three of them, and it was good to know that his hands - gloved, thankfully - hadn't frozen solid, either. Yet.
Although for some reason, crystals of ice were already forming on the suppressor around his throat — perhaps that was why the VOICE had been taunting him.
All the sudden clamour, however, distracted him, and that’s where he would be found: silently peering out the main door to the approaching ice knights, one hand on the hilt of the dagger closest to him that was strapped to the side of his thigh, assessing the enemies and his chances of ambushing them.
Before the suppressor BREAKS. ]
[ ooc: A little note — Phantom would be considered to already be in the Grove for several days prior to the setting of this TDM, but it’s very likely that only a very handful few (and by that, I mean like almost close to no one save for shopkeepers and NPCs) knows that he’s around. But you could catch him skulking in the edges of the Grove for the first prompt.
For the second prompt, I’ll add a little fun gift: Phantom’s suppressor, which he wears around his throat, is the only thing that stands between him and your relative safety, as imperfect as the device is according to him. If it breaks, even the slightest wrong inflection in his voice could melt your sanity, although I’d definitely need your permission first if we’re going down this path.
And it depends on whether or not his alter would take over, too. So, tick tock, choose between frozen solid or be driven to insanity by an insanely beautiful voice. ]
I || KICKS your door down HELLO
Definitely Phantom. Great. How long did they have until the entire landship arrived?]
I take it— [he starts, not even bothering with a "hello, how are you, welcome to hell by the way", and then his own mirror teleports somewhere nearby and drops into the snow without further fanfare,] —you've arrived just in time to be harangued by these mirrors.
I | HELLO HAT BRO. i mean arson bird— my poor door /jk
...Even if he had to endure countless hours of loneliness. But that had always been the case for the nine long years before he first snuck onboard the landship, Rhodes Island's — had always been the case for him, the Troupe Leader's unfinished opus, whose soul had been stained with the crimson shine of madness.
But at least in Rhodes Island, he had a place to belong, to stay in — a place where he actually felt a semblance of safety; a place where they thought of him as one of their own and fought to bring him back from the accursed castle. The Feline had grown accustomed to its nooks and crannies, its hustle and bustle and silences in some parts of the landship.
...It was, in plenty of ways, home.
And even if this place - Aldric's Grove - feels strangely familiar and alien at the same time, much like the castle at Calais-Blason, it was still leaning heavily towards the latter, which makes him feel antsy in addition to being uneasy. PARANOID, PARANOID. The VOICE calls out mockingly in his mind, in an almost singsong tone. He could almost imagine how his reflection would look like, in that accursed silver mirror.
Almost.
The presence of another, who approached with swift steps, disturbed Phantom from his thoughts and the siren song of his mirror. It was not too late for him to vanish, like a shadow, or like his code name suggested, but...perhaps he is curious.
...Or perhaps, he is lonely. Forlorn. Much like the edge of this settlement, where The Woods seemed to go on forever, framed by mysterious fog, not unlike the one surrounding his old castle. The lack of his usual cloak means that his visage is visible, and he turned slightly towards the newcomer when he is close enough to him. ]
...Yes. [ He shrugs, a bit noncommittally, as if he hadn't just been harangued, indeed, by the presence and aura of the aforementioned mirror. The Feline avoided the other operator's gaze, the eyebags below his eyes betrayed his sleeplessness. He knew who this bespectacled operator is, albeit in passing: a Liberi from Kjerag, belonging to Karlan Trade. Gnosis. Not that he particularly cares. This man isn't The Doctor, after all. ] I see I am not the only one. Is this...some sort of a curse? A jest? Divine punishment? Or perhaps merely a regular old day here?
[ The last bit was delivered rather sarcastically, even if his tone generally remained flat. ]
Who else is here?
no subject
[Dare he bring it up? Well, being polite and minding people's feelings has never been Gnosis' thing, so:]
Shalem and Irene, neither of which are here now, both of which disappeared under mysterious circumstances I cannot ascertain. [Though he has a feeling they're both dead. That thought, he doesn't voice.] To your other questions — a "curse" may be apt, given all that has happened here, but I'm not so superstitious as to believe in such.
[He shakes his head. The feathers hanging by his ear are just a tad ruffled.]
no subject
...But their esteemed superior wasn't here, and thoughts of said person made him nearly sigh. He loathed to admit it, but he...was starting to miss The Doctor. And he was asking that question because he wanted to know if their commander was here or not.
Gnosis's answer, however, serves as confirmation that The Doctor wasn't with them in the Grove. Phantom felt relieved, yet even more forlorn at the same time.
He was alone. Again. ]
...I see. [ He simply said, not ruffled by the apparent tactlessness of the other operator. Despite being a former stage actor and singer (even if that was only a mask), he wasn't one to display excessive emotions, either. That Lucian belongs to another time, not the man he is now — the phantom that he had become, to both his former self and his former life. ] So Abyss was here — had been here at some point.
[ Unlike Gnosis, the Feline didn't bother to correct himself. Shalem is no longer Abyss, but what's the difference? Neither of them could ever truly escape the Troupe's grasp and its influence. Still, it feels like deja vu, although he didn't say it aloud. ]
Yes. You are a man of science. I am aware. [ He shifts his gaze, briefly, to the sky above them, his expression inscrutable, before he brought them back to meet the Liberi's. ] Perhaps I needed such a man to lend me his assistance. I suppose we should talk elsewhere.
no subject
[Of everyone here, Gnosis has been here the longest, followed by Mizuki; the Liberi therefore has encyclopaedic knowledge of this place and its workings, even if none of them make sense and he's long given up on trying to untangle the various threads of nonsense.
To the inn they'll go, though, likely with the mirrors teleporting after them. Gnosis' chirps from behind them something about how he's just as reckless as the ones he criticises, which is hilarious, because isn't he just another coward? and he pointedly ignores it. Shut up, mirror, he doesn't have to listen to you.
Once they're within the much warmer walls of the inn, not that the temperature has ever bothered Gnosis one bit, he sits down on the couch and motions for Phantom to do much the same.]
I suppose, [he begins, with something of a sigh lacing his voice,] the most important item on the itinerary is this: This place is not Terra. You'll find many people here from "other" worlds, with their own colourful backgrounds and histories. None of them are infected with Oripathy, nor do we have anyone here qualified to treat it, and none of them are aware of any Terran struggles beyond what might have been shared by other Operators at this stage.
cw: mention(s) of death, terminal illness, mention(s) of depression, suicide & suicide ideation
[ Phantom accepted the suggestion without much questioning, accompanied with the slightest hint of a nod, the VOICE in his mind quieting down for once. The mirror is still there regardless of that fact, and he could still hear its siren song - figuratively speaking - but there are more important matters at hand now, thankfully.
To the inn they go, together — despite the lingering question he still had regarding The Doctor, he'd also learnt when to cooperate with others during his stay in Rhodes Island. Thus, the Feline kept the question to himself, and followed suit. A glance was spared in the direction of Gnosis's mirror when it chirps, but otherwise, he minds his own business.
...And focusing on the matter at hand, because otherwise he'd spiral down a hole of loneliness and depression, feeling more lost than ever. Both Miss Christine and The Doctor had been his anchor, and neither of them was with him in the Grove. At the very least, the former was most certainly wasn't here, although the naive part of him, that Lucian, still harbours a small bit of hope that the latter was, somehow, here.
But that was a selfish thought. He should have been happy that The Doctor is safe and sound back in Rhodes Island, along with that Perro operator who was his co-star once in a movie of Director Nian's — the one with a blinding smile and a...strangely therapeutic presence.
The keyword being should. ]
...I apologise. I was a little lost in my thoughts. [ He voiced, after realising that he'd spent a moment or so hovering awkwardly before the sofa, as if he had lost the plot. At least he was certain that he was 'awake' — for the most part, that is. The VOICE let out a small, derisive laugh at this thought, as Phantom sat beside the other operator on the sofa, putting a safe distance between them. He still wouldn't risk hurting Gnosis, especially not with the mirror weakening his already weak sense of self further. ] Please begin.
[ Though, it seems like his companion needed no encouragement, as the man immediately began with his explanation. There was no surprise on his otherwise stoic visage, no ripples at all on that still, unreadable lake; Phantom might have been carved from statue. Or he might have been a snowman, just like one of those many strange ones dotting the Grove ever since this morning. When he speaks again, his tone, despite still being carefully maintained to not betray any stray inflections, was careful, thoughtful. ]
I have no cause to doubt your words. You do know what you are talking about, after all. And all of this was too...real, too elaborate to be a prank. It is not one of my many nightmares, either, or a trick that my mind had so often spun. Neither was it a hallucination. By the process of logical elimination, I have no reason to doubt you or the merit of your explanation, either. [ Despite being a haunted man, and one often trapped between nightmares and reality, he isn't stupid. A slightly longer pause transpired after this initial response (probably more words than he ever spoke to any other operators for the past four years), and he regarded Gnosis silently before he added: ] However...you mentioned that no one here is qualified to treat Oripathy, and none of these...people from other worlds were even aware of it, let alone understood.
[ As much as he hated the check-ups, and as pessimistic as he was towards the treatments - even years onboard the landship still could hardly change his mind about it - that was practically the only thing that stood between him and certain death, at least outside of field operations. ]
Then...what do we - the Infected - do about it?
[ He was more aware than anyone that they lived on borrowed time, and that the treatments are merely prolonging the pain, cheating death of his due by borrowing just one more year, as if life isn't hell in itself — as if thoughts of death hasn't been haunting him every waking moment.
...Sometimes he desired it so badly that it was as if death was a memory. A dearly beloved one, at that. He sighed, and rubs his temple, as his mirror chimes in, in a cold voice not unlike the one haunting him in his mind: 'YOU SHOULD JUST END YOUR LIFE, LUCIAN. THERE IS NO POINT TO IT ANYMORE.' ]
Please...just shut up for once. [ He retorted, weakly, for a moment forgetting that Gnosis was still in the room, burying his face in his hands. ]
no subject
[It's like talking to half the people here. Phantom is not the only one with a voice in his head; Mizuki does the same thing, talking to himself, and a few non-Terrans have done so in the past as well. Sometimes he wonders if y'all are okay.
It's no matter, though. Gnosis isn't offended, merely making a comment, and he continues his explanation easily enough.]
This place — Aldric's Grove, or "the Grove" if you're pressed for time — does have a doctor. I work closely with him at times. His clinic is next door to my lab, and we often share the space. His name is Add, but he is, unfortunately, someone outside of Terra. I don't believe the other Infected here have had many dealings with him.
[Kreide, possibly, but Passenger doesn't exactly cooperate.]
Providing Doctor Add with the requisite understanding of Oripathy — materials, research, et cetera — should give him what he needs to work toward what Rhodes Island previously had. Otherwise, I may be the most qualified here to assist, as...
[As he's done enough awful experimentation to try to treat Oripathy in the past? Let's not say that one.]
...one of my majors when I was in university was around Originium and life sciences. I'm no Medic, but perseverance has never led me astray before. For the time being, place faith in what we do have here, as little as it is.
[He'll give Phantom that much, before he starts dropping what is effectively a nuclear bomb on the situation. A "hey, did you know reincarnation is a thing and we've been here before?" type of bomb.]
Phantom: guess ill die ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
He looked like a man who was freshly roused from his slumber and was still confused, unable to discern between his dreams and the waking world that he'd woke up into. ]
You...did not hear that? The mirror - mine - had just spoke— [ The VOICE laughed in his mind, coldly, entertained. YOU ARE HEARING THINGS AGAIN, LUCIAN. REMEMBER, YOU ARE A MAD MAN. ] —Never mind. I suppose it was only in my head. Again. And the music...
[ His eyes grew unfocused for a moment, although fortunately, he managed to get ahold of himself, and he sighs, once again rubbing his temple lightly before casting his gaze elsewhere. His silver mirror, for its part, had teleported to the space beside him, on the sofa, between him and Gnosis — he still refused to see it. Phantom's stubbornness are quite commendable, really.
If the other operator spares his mirror a glance, it'll show him an image of an empty, eerie stage, and a faint yet discernible singing can be heard in the back. Perhaps that was the 'music' that he'd mentioned just now? Or perhaps...it was simply the manifestation of the one that he'd always heard in the back of his mind - the Troupe Mouthpiece's inception and the Leader's opus - the endless music of the night, inviting him to take the stage once more? ]
...Faith. I have never had the luxury of it, unfortunately. Not that I particularly cared about my condition. I am aware that I have only a few years, at most, and considering what you'd just said, operator Gnosis, then I am a dead man walking. My Infection rate is likely higher than anyone else here. [ A small, self-depreciating laugh sounded from him, as jarring as an off-key note, or a piano that plays itself in a dismal, abandoned castle. He brought his face to rest in his hand, closing his eyes and mumbled, in a dark tone: ] ...Perhaps I should just go ahead and end my life, as the mirror - the voice in my head - had just kindly suggested.
[ The metaphorical nuclear bomb hadn't even been dropped yet by Gnosis and already he let out one (1) suicidal thought, although at least - even in the absence of Miss Christine, top-notch emotional support for a depressed Feline - Phantom raised his face from his hand after a few moments, getting back on topic. (As if he hadn't just had a minor mental breakdown; in other words, just another day for him.) ]
...You mentioned materials and research for the doctor. How do we obtain the former? Do I have to let him take samples from my body, then? [ He looked doubtful as he said this, although he could be persuaded to do so, providing one knew how to play one's cards right. ] You seem like you still have more to say, however. Go on. I hardly doubt it could send me to an even worse mental place than it already is.
crying phantom nooo
[Phantom's mirror goes acknowledged, but Gnosis simply picks it up and moves it to the coffee table, facedown, a silent show of solidarity. His own is... somewhere. When he looks for it, it's stuck itself to the opposite wall, yammering on, though it's difficult to hear from this distance. Good. Shut up, mirror.]
...those of us here are unable to die permanently. Death comes for us, yes, but there's a chance we'll return. I say a "chance", because not everyone who has died has come back. Still, the impermanence of it all warrants mentioning. This is not to say that you should be reckless and throw caution to the wind — I would recommend the opposite, in fact — but it is to say that if something happens, there's a likelihood you come back to life. It seems that death outside of the "games" the forest plays with us warrants a trip to what we call the Garden, where someone must recover you from its grasp, and the cost for leaving is losing something else. A limb, for example.
[Gruesome topic. Gnosis' brow creases, and his feathers puff up in a way that signals he's internally disturbed by the topic, but he's moving on from that.]
There's one other thing. At some point in the past, all of us were here before — centuries ago, in something of a "past life". There was a tragedy that occurred in this place according to the shadow-people and the gargoyle on the church's roof, and that tragedy resulted in the untimely demise of everyone here. We were then reincarnated into our current lives, perhaps even some lives in between considering the length of time that has passed, and brought back here through a "ritual" that I have minimal understanding of.
I don't mean to infodump at you. I understand that this is a lot, so ask any questions you have.
[There it is. The nuclear bomb.]
sorry, it is how it is (NO)
...That sounds familiar. This would hardly be my first time being trapped someplace where even death would not be able to free me. I suppose the grim reaper must have despised my soul very much. [ That last bit was a wry jest of sorts, delivered with a grim look. Even Gnosis's descriptions about the passage of time in the Grove, and how one must pay a grim price after being rescued and then coming back to life sounds deeply familiar, if not unsettlingly so. It didn't help that even his equally (if not more) stoic interlocutor looks quite visibly disturbed during his elaboration of this. ] Rest assured, it is hardly my first time being a plaything, too.
[ He glances at his mirror, and then the Liberi's mirror. Perhaps it was some sort of reassurance towards Gnosis that he wouldn't play hard and fast with his life, despite his expression/dark joke about ending his own life — although he cannot guarantee that it would be the case outside of missions and even perhaps...those 'games' that the other had mentioned. It would be easy, after all, to pretend to put up a fight and then losing. Or to walk into the line of fire with the pretext of helping out the others.
...It's all too easy. Besides, The Doctor wasn't here. The Doctor wasn't here. His fist silently clenches; when it unclenches a moment later, his expression was blank. He was deathly calm. ]
It's quite alright. You have done me a favour by telling me all this instead of keeping me in the dark. Thank you, operator Gnosis.
[ He nods, certainly feeling that he wasn't wrong in trusting his instincts to ask the other for assistance. He might not know him all that well back in Rhodes Island, but Gnosis's expertise and inclination towards science and rationality is well-known, and in unfamiliar situations, aside from his superior, such a man would be of great help.
For such a learned man of science and logic to speak of a 'ritual', 'past life', and 'reincarnation', however...then this forest (or whatever supernatural entity it harbours) must have either trapped them in a collective hallucination, or...well, that was merely the truth, plain and simple. He was not unfamiliar with the game and process of deduction, after all, although he wasn't a man of science like Gnosis. ]
Is it anything like a Sarkaz ritual? I might be able to help, if you provide me with more details regarding this 'ritual'. I am no Sarkaz nor Leithanian, and I could not claim any quantitative expertise on this matter, either, but... [ Phantom trails off, hesitating for a bit. ] ...I might know a thing or two, from my time with the Troupe — the Crimson Troupe. I am not privy to the details of rituals involving souls and their contract and entrapment, or the reverse, unfortunately, but I might be able to shed a little more light on the matter. Perhaps.
[ Even without The Doctor, he still would have to make himself useful. It helps to distract him, too, from the...gloominess and disease that was his mind and soul, stained with madness and murder. ]
You mentioned the 'forest'. Is there any entity residing in it that you are aware of so far? You spoke of it as if it were sentient. A Feranmut— no, something akin to it, perhaps? I might be able to help with more dangerous operations; even organise them, should the situation arise. You need only to call me.
wheezes sorry for the delay!
[Someone has been talking to some of the Lateran operators, it would seem.]
Snide commentary aside, [no, it's Gnosis, there's no end to it with him,] yes, there is something within the forest that gives it powers akin to that of a Feranmut, though we've been advised to avoid calling it such. According to the Gargoyle that sits on the church's roof, [boy this is a lot,] words have power in this place. Believing in an outcome is guaranteed to make it true, in which case, collectively referring to something as a deity is likely to give it that extra power. We've all been told to refer to it as "the Creature", "the False God", or any other set of potentially-derogatory names in an effort to reduce some of its hold on us. "The Forest", capital F, is generally how people refer to it in shorthand.
[He shakes his head.]
I'll admit, such talk is genuinely beyond me, but I've been thrown from the comfort of my lab to a more Arts-focused environment, and I have no choice but to take those that have spent centuries here at their word. Admittedly, I've seen some of this "power of words" in action in the past, so there's evidence enough to support it.
[That doesn't mean he enjoys it, though. Gnosis prefers cold and clinical facts to a small creature made of stone saying "just make a wish, that'll work".]
Not to worry, we are all...slow...here... (dies)
[ Aside from the quiet determination underlying his words as well as the flickers of its flame in his yellow-golden eyes, Phantom seemed to have regained not only his composure but his footing, as well. It seems to have an effect on his silver mirror, somehow, despite the distance between it and him now - that Gnosis had helpfully put - since the thing seemed to have grown quieter. The VOICE, too, was suddenly quiet.
Everything that the other operator said next in his further (and continued elaboration) did not seem to ruffle him, either — now that the initial metaphorical nuclear bomb has been dropped, and he's had his initial mental breakdown as well as the...early confusion and everything out of his system, even if there was indeed a lot to unpack, nothing fazes him anymore.
That, and the fact that he was perhaps (and likely) a direct contrast to the Liberi when it comes to all this...strangeness, due to the the many similarities it shared with his past experiences with the Troupe and the old castle, means that he did not bat an eye at whatever Gnosis was throwing at him next, not even at that stray mention of 'those that have spent centuries here at their word'.
...It's more or less a regular day for him, essentially. Now that he'd regained his footing, the Feline seemed as stoic as ever. ]
I see. I should thank you for your further and additional elaboration as well. It is certainly the most reasonable course of action, speaking from my own experience in a...similar matter as well. At the very least, I suppose you could perhaps call it that. Might I ask, then...is this your first time dealing with...'such talk', operator Gnosis? [ From his mention that he's been 'thrown out from his lab to an Arts-focused environment', that seems to be the case. ] It is not necessarily an 'Arts-focused environment', if I may opine. I do not question your expertise nor your dedication to science and rationality, but...there are simply some things that one cannot explain with them, adequately or otherwise. I understand that...you are different from most of your countrymen on your stance regarding superstitions and such, and I have heard some things about Kjerag, but sometimes...there is no other explanation than that. Even as unsatisfying and infuriating as it might be. We are all naught but puppets to forces beyond our control, after all.
[ Phantom heaved another sigh, leaning back into his seat and falling quiet for a long moment after that. ]
My apologies, however — I did not mean to impose my beliefs upon you. You have certainly toiled for the truth, and I suppose we all should thank you for that. And...this might sound peculiar or sudden, but... [ He paused for a moment, assessing his interlocutor's visage first. ] ...Since I cannot remember and my own memory failed me at times, might I also ask if you were a member in one of the teams that had participated in the rescue operation — mine, to a particular castle, some two years back?
I | cw: mild blood
Now, he walks with blood dripping from his claws, his tail lashing angrily behind him. The Grove has played cruel tricks on him his entire time in it, largely relating to the cold, but this? This is the first time it’s dredged up something this personal, and needless to say he isn’t amused. In fact, he’s so agitated that he almost misses the presence of another lingering at the edge of the Grove some distance away, seeming more like a specter than a person.
Sesa, not unlike many others from Rhodes, has a select few he interacts with on a more regular basis. Mizuki, Ifrit, Kirara, and Passenger, just to name a few. He’d come to know Gnosis well during his time here, and though SilverAsh was still a newcomer, he felt that the man’s presence was going to become as commonplace as anything before long, particularly with how he tended to linger wherever Gnosis was. Phantom, despite a type of man after his own heart, is not someone he is as intimately familiar with. He’s seen him of course- you almost have to try to avoid people if you don’t want to eventually run into them at Rhodes- and if he were to have any misgivings about who he was, well. That suppressor around his throat, the one that matches the very same Sesa wears on his wrist? It basically confirms it.
Well. He isn’t so angry that he’d leave him to wander in the ice alone. After a moment to collect himself, the Vouivre approaches, his tail still dragging deep furrows into the snowbank behind him.]
You should come into the Inn. It’s far too cold to be out here.
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His life is, after all, deeply intertwined with blood and its colour. Scarlet, just like the stain of madness in his soul, and the hue had eventually became him, no matter how hard he tried to resist.
...He could sense and smell that the owner of the scent is nearby, the rest of him wreathed in violence and marred in anger, judging from his heavy footsteps and the nearly steady dripping of blood. Phantom whirled in his direction before his mind could even register the movement. YOUR FAVOURITE COLOUR. YOUR FAVOURITE THING, LUCIAN. GIVE ME THE CHANCE TO WITNESS ITS BEAUTY, ONE MORE TIME.
What a joke. He ignored that VOICE in his head, its steady and endless jeers, almost theatrical in nature, perhaps unironically, and met the other operator's gaze.
...It wasn't someone that he was deeply familiar with, but even without the special suppressor around his wrist, the telltale horns and tail marks the redhaired man as one of them. A Terran. A Vouivre.
Infected. ]
I have just been there. It lacks an attic. [ Says the Feline, unblinking. It was hard to discern if he was jesting in a flatly deadpan manner (extremely so) or if he was being completely and perfectly serious. He glances first at the silver mirror near him, then at Sesa's bloodied claws. His expression remained unchanged, hard to read. ] And something was bothering me. Aside from the fact that this place is filled to the brim with the spirits of the dead.
[ And if he gets close enough to the fog, he thought that he was starting to see faces of those long gone — not only his former friends and mentors in the Troupe. But his victims, and...others whose visages he did not recognise. Perhaps not yet. The fog is not unlike the one surrounding his old castle in Calais-Blason, and yet so unlike it at the same time. ]
This place...its shadows are heavier than anything I'd ever seen, and it feels like an omen. This cold is nothing compared to it.
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[This place is, after all, meant to be the home of their past lives. However they all may have perished here, they've each found their way back, one by one. The main issue is actually leaving once you arrive. A bit easier said than done, that.
Sesa's gaze slides over to the trees, which line the edge of the Grove in thick rows. The Fog is pulled back enough that he can't see it from where they are, but he knows it's there. He's seen it with his own eyes, been close enough to feel the way it makes his skin crawl. Elsword has told him of how dangerous it can be, capable of corrupting at a single touch. He's glad that, at the very least, Phantom hasn't tried to delve into the forest proper.
Yet.]
It is more than just an omen, I fear. The shadows you speak of are as dangerous as they are prevalent, and I would not recommend drawing close to them.
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[ He confirmed, although he refused to elaborate further — perhaps characteristic of him, a mysterious man of few words. However, it wasn't a lie; the first time he awoke in the midst of the Grove just a couple of days back, Phantom remembered getting hit by a wave of nausea so intense that for a moment (or more) he thought that he was in one of his nightmares again.
...This place is filled to the brim with the restless dead, and it was never simply for theatrics (although he had the inclination towards that, naturally) whenever he said that he could see and feel them. It shouldn't come off as a surprise, after all, considering his past and all, although the hallucinogenic candles in the castle means that he sometimes had a hard time distinguishing that the spirits that he saw were real or simply a figment of his fragmented mind. Sometimes he wasn't even aware that it was just a hallucination; a byproduct of his past, upbringing and traumas.
In this place, though, they were as true as anything — as true as a true love's kiss in a fairy tale, or the air that they breathe. It was a fact. He fell quiet again, letting the other man respond while he tried to gather his thoughts.
His silver mirror was still there on the snow, watching him. Waiting. ]
...Yes. I can sense as much, too. The woods are dangerous. So is the fog. [ What is beyond the forest? Perhaps not even the oldest resident here knows, he reckoned. The Feline shuddered lightly, taking a couple of steps closer to Sesa and away from the edge of the grove, despite the VOICE's goading that he should just plunge into the forest and see what awaits him there. ] Have you been here long?
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[He arrived during the most bitter of cold months. It’s STILL cold actually, a far cry from Sargon, and due to that he’s been particularly sluggish as of late. He isn’t that surprised to hear Phantom has been here a few days already, and he just happened to miss him.]
There are a few others from Rhodes here as well, though I am not sure you would know them. And we’ve had more still that have since left us.
[He does…not mean that as dour as it sounds, but. There was Irene, who recently disappeared, and then Shalem’s disappearance before even Sesa himself was here.]
It seems our number only grows by the day, however.
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[ Considering the colour of the sky, and the dense forest surrounding the settlement...not to mention the thick, sinister fog that obscured the edges of the woods even further. He had only been here for a couple of days, but already, the days are blurred together — made worse by his acute insomnia. Has it been a few days, truly, or has it been a couple months, perhaps even years? It was hard to tell, although at least he knew that he was awake. That was more than enough for him for now.
(...It felt just like the old castle. The strange, uneasy familiarity that this place elicited made his stomach churn — just like with that place.) ]
...More? They...left you? How?
[ His interlocutor's answer, thankfully, briefly distracted him from his morbid thoughts. And so he uttered the question, one that he, perhaps, shouldn't have asked. The vague wording that Sesa employs sounded to him like the brother of sleep, or a fate even worse than that. It reminded him of the manner in which his old mentors would speak of those in the Troupe who tried to leave in any way — or those who had perished, terminated precisely because of their futile attempt to escape.
They have left, Lucian.
It almost made him shudder. Regardless of the fact that he'd felt warmer when he drew nearer to the Vouivre, Phantom felt a sudden chill. ]
...Are they here, too, then? [ He decided to ask, finally, quietly, after a long moment. ] The Doctor, I mean. Or is it just...us?
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From what I've been told...there are times when residents here go missing. Whether it's due to them wandering into the Forest and running afoul of something dangerous, or them seeming to vanish into thin air...whatever the case, they aren't "here" any longer. Sometimes they do return in a place beyond the Grove known as the garden, but...
[He frowns, looking down into the snow.]
It's never a guarantee.
[Irene was the first he's experienced to befall this fate. He just has to hope there won't be more any time soon. Or, if they are, leaving at least means going home.]
...and no, I am afraid. The Doctor isn't here with us.
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...In retrospect, the mirror was the least of his troubles.
GIVE UP, LUCIAN, the VOICE whispered in his head, chillingly, as his mirror teleported even nearer to where he was currently standing near Sesa. It shows an empty stage, eerie in both its emptiness and splendour, although there was what seemed to be faint singing coming from somewhere. Thankfully, Phantom still didn't - wouldn't - budge. ]
...That means you and me, we can disappear anytime, too. Whether it's...death or we were sent elsewhere... [ Elsewhere...where? To the forest? Even the mere thought of it made him visibly shudder. There was something deeply and terribly wrong with the forest surrounding this settlement, even without Sesa warning him earlier that it's dangerous. ] ...It's never a guarantee.
[ He echoes, this realisation settles within him like a heavy stone. Or perhaps it was just his heart, sinking. Even further with the other operator's confirmation that their commander isn't here with them. ]
I see. I'd guessed as much. I would not pretend that this fact sets me at ease. [ Although he was aware that he should. He sighs. ] Is there no means by which to traverse the forest? Has any of you tried to organise an operation, for example— either an expeditionary one, a scouting one, or even a covert one, aimed to find an escape path through the woods?
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Fortunately, it hasn't gotten that bad just yet. Yet being the operative term.]
Fret not, for I am certain most of the rest of us feel the same. It would feel a lot less...aimless, were the Doctor here to guide us.
[They're all used to the Doctor making the calls. So, not having that? It's tough.]
Many times, in fact. I've gone myself, as have others, but...the fact is that the wall of Fog that surrounds the Grove keeps us effectively trapped within it. It's too dangerous to try to breach the wall, lest you become corrupted by its influence.
One of our number...a young Sankta named Elsword has already fallen ill because of it.
[He is not a Sankta. He looks like one, but he isn't one actually.]
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...It's still warmer around him, and Phantom was aware that Vouivres have a higher body temperature than the rest of them in general, but...still, the feeling persists.
Yet, he said nothing about it, feeling that it wasn't his place, since they didn't know each other well enough. Phantom merely nodded at his interlocutor's next set of words. ]
...Yes, although it's a...little more than that.
[ For him, that is, although he refused to elaborate further. He felt reluctant to admitting that The Doctor wasn't only his superior, but also his anchor and...emotional support. The other one being Miss Christine, and she wasn't here, either. He recalled being alone in the mist, after he gave chase to her when she suddenly jumped and ran off, and then...there were voices, whispers he could quite make out, but unfortunately couldn't quite recall the contents of.
They only receded when he took an amulet that was hanging from one of the branches. But after that...it was a blank. All he knew was that he woke up in the middle of the Grove soon afterwards. He sighed, a long one, trying to direct his attention back to Sesa and the conversation that was still going on. The Doctor wouldn't have wanted him to give up.
Not yet. Not today. ]
A Sankta, here? Fallen ill...? [ He blinks, suppressing the urge to massage his temple, or to simply just...give up and curl into a ball. Everything he heard felt more hopeless than the last. It was like being trapped inside the old castle again. ] I see. It is as you said, then. 'We are effectively trapped'. This is a cage. But for what purpose are we trapped here? ...My apologies, that is likely a pointless question. I assume you did not know more than I do. This is...truly quite the predicament.
[ Could he hope that The Doctor would save him - them - like the last time, from the grasp of the Troupe? Probably not. It's different this time. ]
We should perhaps get your hand treated. It would not do to have a teammate hurt, or worse.
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[Why am I here? How did I get here? What am I supposed to do now?
None he has answers for, or at least satisfactory answers, but there it is nonetheless.]
My only guess is the "purpose" is to watch us struggle. You may be inclined to ask "who is watching?" And that...I cannot say. We only know it as a faceless entity that seems to command all that happens here, existing as the very Forest itself.
[And Phantom probably knows a lot about faceless entities, after all.
When the Feline points out his injuries, Sesa barely shifts to look at his hands, merely flexing his claws once more at his sides. The bleeding seems to have mostly stopped, but that doesn't mean the cuts aren't still present from the glass. Not enough to be severe or lasting- they probably won't even scar- but that doesn't mean it's comfortable.]
...mm. You're probably right. I...there is a clinic here where we have a man who knows medicine that should be able to easily patch this up. [Sesa inclines his head towards Phantom.] I know you mentioned straying from the Inn due to its lack of an attic, but...being out here for too long isn't wise either. At the very least, you may want to go inside to warm up, eventually.
cw: implication(s) of child abuse, I suppose? just to be safe. plus one for hallucinations too.
[ And if he looked at it that way - if he put it in that manner - that means he was definitely still sane. Awake, himself — for the most part. Although the dread that always haunted him, coiled up in the bottom of his stomach at moments like this always asked: for how much longer. The VOICE didn't need to drive it home in a coldly mocking manner, either - which is what it was currently doing now in his mind - since he would never be able to forget.
Never allowed to forget, not only of the fact that he is living on borrowed time, but also of the fact that he was constantly on the run...from himself. ]
A faceless entity. [ Yes, that one...is something that he was deeply familiar with, although it was different from being knowledgeable. He felt as if he was still in the dark about the Troupe Leader for the most part, after all, and at the mention of the Forest being a faceless entity, another shudder went through the Feline's body, more noticeable than the previous one. All of a sudden, he felt as if he was but a little boy again, deceived and afraid. ] Deeply unfortunate. Terribly, inevitably so. We must be careful...not to let it become fond of us in any shape or manner. Or for it to consider you special in any way. You should be boring and tedious, although you should never, ever be uncooperative...
[ That last bit was spoken in a tone that was softer by a notch, almost boyish in a way, and unexpectedly, he moves closer and touched Sesa's arm. It was a soft touch at first, hesitant and afraid, more like a boy's than a grown man, but then he started clutching it tightly. His eyes had became unfocused, distant — haunted by the ghosts of his past. Is he still here? If the wound had stopped bleeding, why did he still hear the dripping of blood? Who is talking? ]
Who...is singing? [ Sesa's next set of words apparently barely registered. Is he speaking about the faint singing coming from the silver mirror, or the song that was always playing in the back of his mind? Had he started seeing things again? ] A medicine...I could use one, too. Do they have one to cure the pain of heartbreak? The attic is a great place to hide. Warmth...mm, it's a bit cold here. Quick, you should light a few more candles.
[ The words are still vaguely related to the things the other operator was saying, but it was a bunch of gibberish at the same time. And...he was still clutching Sesa's arm. His grip grew tighter still, likely enough for it to cause some pain for the Vouivre. ]
...Please don't let them take me away.
(no subject)
you have my permission to knock him out cold if it comes to that
(no subject)