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Considering our current nature with time seems to be... more fluid than most, I wonder what happens if we "glitch" past the date of death.
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Sep 5, 2021 20:31
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| # ? Jun 5, 2024 09:15 |
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Okay! Ok. Ok. You're playing along with the theater, because it's a shortcut, because you're going to MURDER the rear end in a top hat who has made this nightmare possible. There's a raging flood of cheesemeat and superpure oil gently clogging the tunnelveins. It's going to find you and it's going to do something horrible. Alright. One careful try. Empty your brain while it's in that special post-movie state, where you're not thinking about every little terrible detail of the past and unknown future. Vast future. Black bleak blasted future. How do you overcome what's to be done...? (!PSI ESP a) 11 - [6]+[5]+[1] = 12 - Failure By One! You only realize you've slipped and lost the voidstate a minute later, when you've left the theater and walked out into the halls. You're well on your way up a flight of creaking wooden stairs, when you step into a mound of freshground cheeseburger goo settled into an oil slick, and go "Oh, ew."  ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][40%] Immediately you realize you've broken concentration, and inhale sharply to gag and choke on the carpetrot stink of the air. Filth clinging in dust to your hair. The lights flickering yellow with a thousand dead flies fried and rotten in the glass. It's too much, and your heart hardjumps when the cheeseslime notices your fresh cells, and reaches out to kiss them cancer. You leap and scramble up the stairs with a suppressed shout, kicking your leg to shake off the black grease. You come out onto another vast stone-buried floor of the theater, draped in mildew fabrics over the soggy carpet floor - the oilburger slime is already seeping up in from below. Twisting metalwork of crumbling yellow adorns the paths you rush through, struggling to not slip on the increasingly slick carpet. You don't have a choice but to take a grand hall down into the play areas of the theater. You stumble down a sprawling flight of black marble stairs, slipping hard on an unexpected spill of oil. You're falling towards the rail, arms reaching out; you're thinking of that ollie, of a board ghostriding itself into the trick. (DX) 11 - [5]+[4]+[2] = 11 - Success. Ace it ACE IT... bonedry palm grips the slips, and you manage to hold on as your legs slide mad and you cling to the rail while slipping down. No broken bones just yet! You fall the last few steps and roll down onto the mushy grease ground, springing up to shake it off while you rush for the ticket booth ahead. It's coming! Waterfall down the steps, crawling with cancer's intent! The ticket booth window is so filthy you can't see through it. You're pounding the counter, demanding demanding you be let inside. You're here, you lie! For the show! Let me go!  (!Tyranny - DEMAND) 18 - [4]+[1]+[5] = 10 - Success! Handless fingers elongate to push you a ticket and a pen. It understands, but in turn it demands; do you know? You're the star. But of which show?
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Sep 6, 2021 05:13
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Cahayance! seems like a musical, because those are usually what I see exclamation points on for some reason. And our signing voice is pretty good.
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Sep 6, 2021 05:17
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What i'm getting here is that we need to get some vampire dewormer to treat Bleeder, probably extra-strength.
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Sep 6, 2021 08:50
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I voted Wanderers. I'm mostly curious about the story line of Cassandra, Gaziel and the rest.
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Sep 6, 2021 16:19
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VOTING CLOSED - Unliving Understudy Wanderers - 10 Cahayance! - 9 Pangaea - 8 Moongilt - 5 LOADING...  ...LOADING
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Sep 6, 2021 19:45
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Black August posted:VOTING CLOSED - Usher Out An Enlightened being would transcend the Tyrant and gain even greater power.
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Sep 7, 2021 14:03
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Hodgepodge posted:An Enlightened being would transcend the Tyrant and gain even greater power. An Enlightened being realizes that they are just a PC in a video game, and it unlocks the Dev console and the cheat menu for the player.
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Sep 7, 2021 14:23
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 You just check off the first play listed. You hop up and down while gripping the booth, unholy seconds crawling through the wormy-dense air, before the backstage pass is stamped and you're running mad down a royal-road slope to reach the towering deadwood doors into the playstage arena. The meat is halted behind, lacking a ticket until it can understand the concept of one. You've bought the time, but what's that cost? It's a grand circle that might be a mile wide, but easyseen from the highest entrance seats. You begin to race down the clean dry dead wood. It's yellow, horror with mold and vine, but it's not yet greasetrapped and alive with cancers. You watch your step to not get a curse splinter or lungful of elder mold. Silksick light pours down on the stage from a hidden above, its spilling excess giving the barest outline to the near-vertical arena slope-shape of the playroom. You climb down, not looking at the seats even though you know they all seem empty. No no not so. Not so. You're starting to sense it, feel the shape of what this is, a blackrock vein of curse and pain resting in pipeline to MEGALITH. This is just a sad sorry ghost tunnel, so heavy with curse and phantom. You're swimming through the mummified airs, aware of the countless shades somewhere beyond sight waiting in patience. It's only the front row that has signs of life, staining the floor a slow-drain drench of red. Each wood-splintering front row seat has an organ nailed into it. They all pulse in concert, leaking fluids of all their kinds. Thankfully, there's a raised stairnarrow onto the stage you can walk, over the quiet organ stew and the watchful presence of legion dead. You're alone when your feet click down on the crumbly wood stage, whose only prop at the moment is the rare sickly curtain of ghost-pale silk, sparkling. You spy a small table in the center of the vast stage, so you head over with your arms out and eyes closed while you drag your fingers in cursed air, and feel your gravity stir. The Dark posted:
 When you get to the table, you see it has pamphlets on it in soggy old paper. You push them around and see the names and art of the plays; 'Wanderers' is a green wolf, a pink crow, a yellow hyena and a red tree growing from a stone. You pocket it to read once the play begins. You peek at the other plays first. 'Cahayance!' cover is some beautiful pearly-haired witch singing to a pissed off ebony-haired priestess in a high tower. Looks like a tragicomedy romance? 'Pangaea' is a detailed supercontinent, showing the path the characters in the play walk from its furthest south to furthest north point. It's a hardcore tragedy epic, where an ancient Hyperborean hero damns the world through the harsh abuse of his party; a mountain stone monk, a ghoul disguised as a sage, and a sun witch from a dying tribe. 'Moongilt' has a plain cover of a red-clothed silhouette against a silver moon. Poetic tragedy centered around a powerful Fae who becomes lucid just long enough to figure out a way to slowly heal his glamour psychosis, until he can do the impossible and escape his own Dreamland prison. There's a lot of wolf imagery. You look finally at Wanderers dirty pamphlet, and wonder what part you signed up for. Let's see... the play is about uhnnmmnmm... okay it's about these three 'holy fools' and one 'holy wise' and how their fates intersect, which is cool but there's a lot of parts to read and you gotta- *WHAM* ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][50%] You jump so hard you spring up with residual cat-grace and fall scrabbling to the wooden floor, hiding under your shroud with your gun aimed out. You see three other forms have fallen from above, collapsed like you. They rise up slow, back turned - they're draped in musty layers of cloak and bauble, and as they turn to face out to each part of the stage, reveal they each wear a mask. One is an emerald wolf mask on a black-drape form, adorned with false plate mail of scrap leather and fang. One is a rhodonite crow mask on a gray-drape form, adorned with rainbow feathers and witchy plant charms. One is a pyrite hyena mask on a white-drape form, adorned with drill bits, small knight shields, and one arm bound and locked in more pyrite. There's a keening in the air, as the light diffuses then focuses on the center. The table is gone, faded to dust when you weren't looking. You crawl back out of the light and keep your eyes on the performers, while you hastily scroll through the playbook to find the page with your character. It... there. In the index, circled. 'Gravedigger'
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Sep 7, 2021 22:46
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So I guess the Pyrite Hyena might be the Miner or Merkja, the Emerald wolf might be the Emperor of Heaven (aka the Ranger) and the Rhodonite crow might be the Emperor of Hell (possibly the Valkyrie). And the red tree might be referencing the Archer, I think. Wasn't he half tree? I thought we were going to see more of Cass, Vincent and Gaziel as they were referred to as "Wanderers" previously, but I suppose this makes sense as well. Moongilt I think is about Kaigen. Cahayance! might be about Bella and somebody else we haven't seen yet. Pangaea I have no idea. Though the synopsis reminds me a bit of Journey to the West. Grond fucked around with this message at 11:52 on Sep 8, 2021 |
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Sep 7, 2021 23:10
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The Pyrite Hyena is almost definitely the Miner-she was described as 'dusky gold' a few times, and Merkja is more associated with greys. Moongilt is definitely about Kaigen. Not sure about the others.
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Sep 8, 2021 01:19
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t3isukone posted:The Pyrite Hyena is almost definitely the Miner-she was described as 'dusky gold' a few times, and Merkja is more associated with greys. Yup, you're probably right. She was described as having an arm bound and locked, which reminded me or Merkja, but we don't know what happened after the Sunsplit. Maybe she got the sunsplitter grafted into her arm.
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Sep 8, 2021 10:04
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Theater in the Round: The true evil.
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Sep 8, 2021 19:57
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We're the gravedigger? Why does that sound familiar... Oh well, that just means we live to the end to bury the others!
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Sep 8, 2021 23:16
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 Once Upon A Time posted:Cassandra tried to relax into her filthy seat. The silence of the playroom was suffocating, air poisoned with silkdust and mold. Gaziel sat squat next to her, taking up three seats as he quietly nursed his magic concession beer. She resented deep the cursed tunnel managing to appeal to his problem, in an already-FUBAR situation; the head four were gone. Lost somewhere ahead. The rest of Home's army had been in the cursed theater for days trying to find the way out. Cassandra was exhausted from having seen at least thirty movies before she could find her way into the playrooms, each film some flavor of disturbing, boring, mocking, horrifying, surreal, or outright personal in an vile way. It didn't help there was oil soaked through so MUCH of the mold-soggy hellhole, leaving the fire mage reluctant to defend herself too aggressively. Oh God. You can feel so many eyes, somewhere out in the upsloped dark. You wiggle to the darkest corner of the anxiously open stage - no curtains to be called from. You read in the dark while glancing up at the phantom performers to see what in the world they're doing. Reading your part right before the play... yeah, some part of you has been there, but another part of you feels like... yeah, yeah yeah, you've been there and pulled it off. You've done that. So you pay atte- oh no the play has crazy visual tricks going on. Oh no. At least the mushrooms aren't sporing. There Were Three posted:Cassandra blinked. The movies had been one thing, this was going somewhere else. The pyrite and pink masks slip away when a silk drape hangs down low and they vanish into its twirling wrap. More drapes sweep through and leave a forest in the wake, built from sogging cloth and petrified wood. The wolf-mask is left to wander, moving in a way that suggests youth. Then, another masked figure steps out from behind the trees, this one silk-dressed and wearing the hunting guise of a lovely elf. The wolf and elf approach one another, show a grow of affection, and then begin to dance... but it gets weird, fast. The elf often slaps the wolf, throws it down, moves with the language of the smile sadism, and then drags it up to embrace it to dance again. The wolf always returns with enthusiasm, no matter how sudden or ugly the elf's behavior. It ends when one half of the stage bursts into pyrotechnics; the elf and wolf cower as hanging lanterns of meteor fire bring down awful symbols, the sigils soul of the Ones Old and Outer, hanging over a great dark mountain. The elf stands, forces the wolf away from it, throws down a sword, and points with imperious demand to the mountain. So you... uh huh... shovel and... huh. This is vague. Is this an improv deal? Oh GOD that was a big loud explosion. They dropped a loving rock on the stage! You glance up and crab-scuttle some more to redistribute. You don't even come in until act- nevermind, here's the next scene.  The Wolf Awoke posted:The meteor lamps crash down, and burn the sigils to ash. The mountain crumbles, and there's a minute of shadow and silence; the Long Dark. It ends, and the Wolf begins again. They rise showing the posture of youth wounded, and begin to walk in slow circumference. The stage sweeps with silks to reveal the briefest glances at different sets, as a red and blue lamp rotate overhead. The wolf marches with sword in hand, passing through a dozen lands, before it stops at last within a great forested coast-city. The red and blue lamps have rotated seventy times. The stage is rotating and you've been reduced to crawl-running it trackwheel, desperate to stay ahead of the wolf mask. You get far enough to hide again once the stage stops, rolling away from a spotlight and feeling your neck get filthy-wet with sweat and dust. You hold down the anxious pain and try to keep your attention on... an... empty stage? How and when-  The Crow Spoke posted:The pink crow. They hold a mirrorcloth, draped to always hang up beside them, a charming violet distortion. The crow dances ritual in a dark forest, motions graduating from the uncaring free to the old-mighty steps of a witch, which slowly transforms the forest around them into a psychedelic hypervision. With the visions comes puppets of wolves, crows, and swans, all which circle the witch as they're crowned with the mighty feather helm of a Valkyr. Help. God help, please be your part soon. You have to do the carcinization shuffle again, and it's a lot harder this time with how erratically fast the crow-mask manages to run mad wild across the traitorously large stage. (DX - Shufflin') 11 - [2]+[2]+[3] = 7 - Success! ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][40%] Oh thank god. You move with more than enough grace to keep yourself hidden, tuck-rolling with the best while you get ready for another scene. You just know yours is soon. Has to be. Look! The silk comes down, and it twirls around. There's a bell-like sound...  The Hyena Joked posted:Ringing bells. An ocean of sad little golden bells suspended over the stage of the forest coast city. There is a room, with three hyena masks. One is massive white iron. One is small black iron. One is the smallest, pyrite.The iron white turns away and slowly leaves, closing the door as the black iron reaches out but can't catch up before it's shut. It walks back to the pyrite mask and picks them up, and they go out the door. Ok. Here we go. This is where your part begins. You stand up, brush yourself down, wrap your shroud to mask your face in wraith, and hold your shovel prop, waiting. ... You couldn't take your eyes off that last scene.
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Sep 11, 2021 05:36
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Ok, so these are the backstories of the Miner, the Ranger and the Valkyrie before they entered the Colony and met the Archer. We lack a bunch of context regarding the Emperors of Heaven and Hell so there's not much to say on their parts right now. It seems that the encounter between the Ranger and the Elf happened before the old world died though, before the "long dark". The Valkyrie may have some sort of DID judging by that talk about their "violet self". Who knows, maybe the necromancer is another aspect of themself or something. I think the red and blue lanterns spinning are supposed to symbolize years passing. The section with the Miner mostly confirmed what we knew. I think the black hyena is Uxima. One interesting part, however, is that it seems that the Miner entered the colony on behalf of MC&D, not rebelling against them. It's possible she may still be a double agent. Grond fucked around with this message at 11:15 on Sep 11, 2021 |
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Sep 11, 2021 11:08
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Dealing with some class setup, job hunting, and preparing material needed for the One Year End. Thank you for patience during a short period of irregular updates.
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Sep 13, 2021 03:20
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Take your time.
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Sep 13, 2021 06:21
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[During a onerun, especially a low-level one, there's choices that absolutely must be made. Once intent is made known and a Lorded Land is breached, the clock starts to count down. The clock is the Lord's awareness of that intent; the slower the go, the more time the Lord will have to understand and prepare for what's happening, and the stronger the opposition will become. This can quickly bleed into other Lords, and rapidly cascade into an insurmountable situation. That was one of the advantages of a low-level onerun; softer power is harder for a Lord to notice, and it can be used to throw them off guard.] [To this end, shortcuts are a necessity. Route planning and adapting to constant changes sets the onerunner up for a chance to keep ahead of the Lords, as well as the increasingly unstable factions wandering the wilds. For Bleeder, the Unliving Theater is one of the best shortcuts of any Lorded Land, allowing direct access to his Megalith through only two locations. Being this low level and 'early' is a huge advantage, even with Bleeder having made first contact in the Holy Valley. But, of course, the shortcuts were all gambles, and the Theater was no different. Heavily swayed by RNG, it was an anxious location that could either be a comfortable walk with a few random events, or a prolonged nightmare as bad as the Bloody Megalith itself.] [Everything was going fine this time. Sure, the Cheeseburger Magics had a bad interaction with the oil, but that was expected with the high degree of their affinity, an easy 75% chance. There was only one movie to get through (sometimes it could be as bad as twenty), and the flood of oil-drenched cheesemeats was slow enough to stay ahead of. Next was the playroom, which always had a complication and part to be played... which could either be a joke or overwhelmingly fatal. Or it could be the worst luck of all; it's taking forever for the next part of the play to load. There's can only be one reason.] [There's going to be a Gravedigger.] [There's going to be horror.] [There's going to be a sign, of the Lost End.]
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Sep 17, 2021 23:31
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No Matter The End, They Were Always... posted:Dead.
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Sep 19, 2021 04:12
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Well that's not ominous at all. Also, uh, how come Jevica didn't know us on this end? There were multiple scenes where we were talking to many other colonists. Is this a different timeline from the one we've been seeing so far in our visions? Is this another version of ourself in the Home timeline? Grond fucked around with this message at 23:52 on Sep 19, 2021 |
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Sep 19, 2021 11:47
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IN THE BLUE BOOK WE PLEAD OUR PRAYER posted:̨̀ ̴҉̸ ̛͘ ̵͟͝ ̵͏̀ ̷̵ ͝͝ ̧̧ ̀̀ ̡̛"̴.͞.̶̛.̵y̶̧̛o̴u ̨̕ca̵҉n҉̀́'̀t̨͏ ͏s̵o҉̀ ̶̨̧stop asking, stop always always asking because it's never..."
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Sep 19, 2021 17:46
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man, this is so good. thanks BA
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Sep 19, 2021 18:05
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You look, to Heaven. To the grand dark above the stage, where the three masked figures now stare. Where a movie screen comes down, billowing bent distorted, light dancing across its molded yellowpale. The light reveals a scene. Blurred and stretched, gross and wet. A grave. Nameless, formless, just dirt to suggest an End. A marker struck into it, stretched as the screen begins to lean down from the center, as though a finger was pushing it from the other side. The light coalesces, gathering like water at the pushed-down center of the skyscreen, gathering gathering to a droplet orb that bleeds out of the yellowpale. Liquid light, static and bright, droops down... and then breaks, crashing to the ground. You drop the shovel in disbelief. The liquid light dissolves the three, leaving only their tarnished masks in the static wake. Something begins to rise from the poison light, stretching out of a membrane of screenskin. Tearing through a barrier unseen. Kicking, clawing, growling, groaning. Then, something sharp punctures through and it ascends, standing stiff with the sweet-reek of grave and blackened matter. Its back is to you. Your stomach is calm, so brimmed with hot terror it simply paralyzes the nausea. Your hand instinctively reaches for your sword, and its hand does the same in mirror time. The action provokes it to turn, limbs wrenching with morning's uncertainty. So you come face to face with it, a shovel and three masks between you. Your face is the honesty, the inability to dismiss what's too true before you. Its face is inhumanity, walking now with the command of its crown. Body dead but lacking rot, the protomatter might refusing biological blight. Pale so pale; smiling smiling smiling. Here to Hellsend, to force kneebend, another me, another we, another you... from inside a Lost End. It speaks in your old tongue, only you able to understand the wet-choke grind of its brain damaged tone. It flourishes the sword with a stagemaster's accord. "C͏hr͟i͟íd͡od͡ź҉zz̛ze ̛m̷m͠m͠M̶MNn̡n͜n͟nąhhh͟h͢......" It slams down its sword, the languid gone as it seizures and screams, jerking irregular with muscles striated black. It's there, in that sullen-dark stare. Rainy dawn eyes.  The lust of self-termination.
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Sep 19, 2021 18:17
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drat. I want to recommend running and letting death take care of this one. But that might be a bad idea, psychologically.
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Sep 19, 2021 21:12
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Oh man, a bunch of the stuff from the Blue Book sounds like practically our entire game is just flat-out impossible. And yet, here we are.  But given that it seems that everything about our character is apparently impossible -- perhaps we can be the ones to protect our Aitvaras-analogue from dying at the end of the first year?I'm trying to piece together what it means that the Crown is essentially all that's causing the Gravedigger to continue moving. Also, what do the words Gravedigger says to our character actually mean? Maybe Gravedigger wishes to die to be with Aitvaras and the Crown is keeping them from their desired end? I'm torn between giving them what they want and trying to find a way to rescue Gravedigger from that desire to die. I almost want to say that this might be where The Sign might be incredibly useful, but its text of "If you really mean it, then..." makes me worry because we still don't know what it means, so how can we really mean it?
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Sep 19, 2021 22:02
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Oh, I know the answer to this one! We sheath our sword and walk into the doppelganger. But seriously, the line about the doppelganger mirroring our action with the sword has me curious if it actually copies what we do, or if it was just a coincidence. If it's the manifestation of our self-destruction and mimics our movements, maybe there's a way to get it to kill itself?
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Sep 19, 2021 22:51
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Randalor posted:Oh, I know the answer to this one! We sheath our sword and walk into the doppelganger. Well, that would likely involve escalating its anxiety to 100% and letting it burn itself out. That said, 100% anxiety turned us into a black hole. Gravedigger might not survive long after hitting 100%, but I'm sure we'll be dead before they are. Best bet would be using techniques that Tyrant doesn't have, namely Silver Mind or The Sign. As an aside, Gravedigger does seem to be a different person from our character, as the usual colonist-version of us is actually in a relationship with Aitvaras and part of the general Home population, not some weirdo off living in the graveyard. Is it possible Gravedigger is The Third that exists when everyone else burns out? It'd play into the fact that they aren't supposed to "exist" after Aitvaras dies, and that they use "I" like Tyrant when they do exist. Tyrant and Gravedigger are the originals, while Anxiety is the real secondary personality. Or am I overlooking something here?
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Sep 20, 2021 00:22
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OneWingedDevil posted:Well, that would likely involve escalating its anxiety to 100% and letting it burn itself out. That said, 100% anxiety turned us into a black hole. Gravedigger might not survive long after hitting 100%, but I'm sure we'll be dead before they are. For clarification, that was 100% Tyranny reached. 100% Anxiety has not yet been hit.
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Sep 20, 2021 02:13
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I was thinking more like "If the doppelganger is mimicking our actions, would healing magic hurt it?" Or if there was a move that fed off of a specific intent, and it is the personification of our self-hatred... maybe we could weaken it by getting it to use specific moves?
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Sep 20, 2021 02:19
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Black August posted:For clarification, that was 100% Tyranny reached. 100% Anxiety has not yet been hit. Randalor posted:I was thinking more like "If the doppelganger is mimicking our actions, would healing magic hurt it?" Or if there was a move that fed off of a specific intent, and it is the personification of our self-hatred... maybe we could weaken it by getting it to use specific moves? Alternately, called shots to Gravedigger's limbs to gradually destroy their body will get the job done. It's pretty unlikely there's any spells under their belt to reattach anything we sever/blow off. If it's more of a gimmick boss we're not meant to fight, maybe presenting the Kurczerwony and saying Kwiat needs us would help? Our love of chickens is universal, even a Tyrant Gravedigger should respect someone who has chickens in their life. Sign and Tourmaline Rain would work too. Whether our character can actually think/do those things in their current state is another matter.
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Sep 20, 2021 04:32
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OneWingedDevil posted:If it's more of a gimmick boss we're not meant to fight, maybe presenting the Kurczerwony and saying Kwiat needs us would help? Our love of chickens is universal, even a Tyrant Gravedigger should respect someone who has chickens in their life. Sign and Tourmaline Rain would work too. Whether our character can actually think/do those things in their current state is another matter. That could also backfire and cause it to want us dead even more (because then it can get Kwiat all to itself, or jealous that our bird is still alive while it couldn't save its own).
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Sep 20, 2021 11:42
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I find myself wondering what would have happened if our one run character wasn't basically the alternate-universe gravedigger doppelganger? Is Gravedigger's lust for self-termination a wish to be able to actually die, or a "there can be only one" scenario?
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Sep 22, 2021 22:43
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ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][60%] [!?!!??!] OST: Zmarli You step back, heart raging hot. It's approaching. Body language cold and slime-slowed. It holds a sword, a strange strange sword - your sword. It has a gun, a heavy heavy gun - your gun. The blade scintillates with something other than concrete, gempale with striations black. It flashes, raised high, brought down to club the ground as the Gravedigger demands again.  "C͘͢H͢O҉͘͟U̸̷͞U͜U̸̴̷U̡͢RD͠D͡Ź̴̢͠ ̸͢͞Z҉E ͟͟M̷͢MḾ̡̡H̴H҉M͏M̨̀HN̸̕͢N̴̡̕Ą." Black drool seeps from between grayed teeth. Another step forward. You fall back further. It's insisting with its arms outstretched (with its arms outstretched?). You answer back.  "Wh̕e̷r̵e͡? ̶I ̕d̵o͞n͞'t̛ ̵wa͞nt̢ to̴!" It leans so far to the left it slumps to the stage floor, eyes (rainy rainy dawn eyes) never leaving yours. The right half animates, dragging it at you with building speed. You keep stepping back. It tells you where, voice slurred and ripe. "Ǹ̴̵̛͜ ̴̷I͢҉ ̡͞E̴̵̸̕ ̸͞B̨̕͡͠ ̧̛͜͢I̵̢ ͏͡҉O̷͢ ̢̨S̨͠ ̵̢A̶̛͜͠" Your eyes slam shut and you fall backwards. No. No. That's not true. That's not where they're going. That's not where they're from. They come from a place from a state from a world that's undone. You don't dare reach out with your silver. You push yourself up and dance back more as it crawls half-faster across the dusty floor. It's smiling now, intent murderous bright, crowned like you with darkhard goo, a crown a Crown Of Night. Then. It.  they- Like a glove. Like a glove. Reached down in from the top just gently folded open. Like a glove. Opens and slams out just so, snaps the arm, sword right for the heart with bullet intent. See right inside right inside it slips back in and ZIPS the flesh, a fine suit, all of it dressed in a fine fine dead suit. (like a glove like a glove open open sword strings out) 10 - [6]+[6]+[1] = 13 - Failure. right by right past the sword misses unlucky luck the sweat is mixed with filthy dust staining your skin did you see that DID YOU SEE WHAT IT DID LI̷KE ̕A ̕GL͘O̵VĘ! (WL - FRIGHT CHECK) 20(-6) - [2]+[5]+[6] = 13 - Success... ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][60%] You can't. You can't. You can't. Don't. Don't think (LIKE A GLOVE) about it start backing up don't look don't look don't think about what it just did what it can do (WHAT YOUR MEAT CAN DO NOT TRUE NOT TRUE) don't think about it keep backing up it's crawling in closer now it's going to take you there walk with me walk walk to me you refuse and you mustn't touch your dark crown you mustn't think of the grave ground You-  You're on the edge of the stage. The Gravedigger is crawling slower now. Smiling skinrip wide. You see what surrounds. Oil and meat, cheese so sweet, simmering in an ocean that laps at the lip of the dusty silky stage. The seats are occupied, the audience is rapt. Trapped on an island an island, like a rat. (unfold from the top to get the drop open flowershape slinging sword) 10 - [5]+[5]+[3] = 13 - Failure. The elongation snaps out the sword again, whipping black limb slamming it down. The force is horror. It misses and kisses the stage, tearing a great cursewood chunk off. Your body would be bisected. Truck-force hate. It's too strong too angry you have to think you have to think think think think THINK YOU IDIOT YOU HAVE TO THINK! THINK! Black August fucked around with this message at 06:34 on Sep 23, 2021 |
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Sep 23, 2021 06:28
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VOTING CLOSED - Flower Fold Stand and face them. Lost End self. Dead End self. Heavensend self. - 6 Run and leap, over the ocean meat, land in the seats. [ST + DX Check] - 1 Let it happen again. Let me walk. Let me End. [Tyrant Manifest - 14 or less] - 0 Blood burn bright. Throw yourself clear with the power of night. [!Darkness Check][-10 HP] - 0 ![ER_INVALID] [13] - 13 LOADING...  ...LOADING
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Sep 23, 2021 17:06
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Oh hey, the Lamia are the Sister Sisters. Also, they're... oil-dead.
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Sep 23, 2021 19:08
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Whatever the oil-dead are, it probably has something to do with the alive/dead percentage that was referenced with Hider's sister sisters before. Also, I'm fairly sure that Hider is a lamia now.
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Sep 23, 2021 23:23
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( ) 13 - [3]+[4]+[5] = 12 - Even As You Are Now,҉ It Still Makes You Happy. Inside The Holy End posted:
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Sep 25, 2021 08:11
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Yo u come up aware of a smell that's... What's that sound? ......!!!!!!!! You're up to your waist in it. Quickened thickrich. You stand in a golden pool of fry oil, small islands of it spotting the ocean of the crude black. Long wormy strands of meat drift by, some fried some raw, gummed with cheese. It's... starting to heat up. Rapidly. Murderously. https://i.imgur.com/bCUUQkr.mp4 ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][60%] Asses. React. Quick! You look around and spot them - the Gravedigger sits in the center of the stage, their head barely above a swirl of gold and black, mumble-singing with wet-shut eyes. You can't think about that. You can't think about unfolding. It's not going to come after you now. But you'll join it soon anyways if you don't react to survive. The edge... going over the edge of the stage would drop you down to drowning height in the liquid hate. You look up and see it cascading down, riverstreams of fat and fry pouring down the aisles. It's up to your stomach now. A minute or less to live. Your heart is trapped on the border of panic. Think, think, think. Buoyancy. You have to get across the oil ocean, but you can't swim through it without sinking like a rock. You don't think you have the power to make it to the chairs without drowning, and passing through the black will bring horror. Buoyancy... they read, didn't they? They read that gravity affects density. Keep breathing. Inhale, ignore the heat, don't think of your meat being fried to sweet. Raise your right hand, and look to the empty Heaven. Clench it to a fist. Intent. Intent.  (!Darkness) 20(-6) - [5]+[3]+[4] = 12 - Success. [-5 HP] HP: [ 15 / 21 ] FP: [ 14 / 15 ] Yes! You feel it! That awful wrenching CRACK of your bones expanding loose, density shifting under the violent of gravity's hold. No time to waste, only ten seconds at best to move! You gently wade into the oil fry, skin prickling sick with the slick slick slick, hairs standing on end as the heat rises a few degrees more. Only the love of Red keeps your skin from starting to sizzle, while you swim light through the muddy meat. You have to move fast. Seconds already spent, density already starting to crumble back to baseline. GO! (ST - PADDLE) 21 - [4]+[4]+[2] = 10 - Success (By 11). (HT - STROKE) 15 - [1]+[2]+[2] = 5 - Great Success!! [-2 FP] HP: [ 15 / 21 ] FP: [ 12 / 15 ] Head up legs kick arms cleave through the slick. Don't think of a sinking ship. Don't think of a cold dead beach. Just cleave to the quick. Kick, kick, kick. You move with the freak of your physique across the distance, already sinking by the inch as your density slides back. You keep your head above and breathing right, and with a single second to spare pull yourself up onto the cursewood shore. Meat slops and pours down into the soon-boiling oil, cacophony of that Hell-loving sizzle-sound. But you made it! You climb up the steepest steps, slipping and sliding. Slipping... too greasy... YOU'RE GOING TO FALL BACK IN- (DX - Don't Slip!) 11 - [5]+[3]+[1] = 9 - Success! Trick it! You slide down a few steps, and then hookring your leg into a seat, giving you the second necessary to slam out your sword and dig it into the woodrot. You hang and then ascend again, soon reaching the top of the cliff-fall auditorium. Hundreds of doors have blown open wide and poo poo their payload. Rotten avalanche of cheese. Golden falls of fry oil. Bacterial-slime mounds of meat. Black walls of crude oil. Why isn't it going after... Oh. It is after them, after you, from another other lost End. Only their eyes visible now, staring at you unblinking. The pool of gold and black surrounding them is boiling now, and you don't stick around to catch a smell of your own flesh cooking in Hell. You find a door not emptying horror, and run back out into the curse of night. Just don't think. Don't think. Don't think about your greasemopped hair, the clogged pores of your sallow skin, the tingly heat of your skin near crisping. Just run. Just go. That's the end of that show. You burst out into a hall wher҉̡e̵̷ ̀͝͝t͏̷h̶͜ȩ͘҉͜r͝͏̀̕e̢͘͠'̡͏̛҉s̡͞ ̷҉̶͠͠ ̨͏ ͏̨̨̛͟ ̸̕͢ ҉͝ ̶͝͝ ̕͟ ̵̵̀̀͟ ̷̸̧̛ ̶̕͠͡ ̕͜͜͢͞ ̴̀́̕͝ ͢͝͠ ̵̨́͞҉ ̀̕͞͏ ̴͟͜͠ ͜҉̨͡ ͏̷̷̕͏ ̷͏ ͏̷̷̧͘ ̀͏̀̀͟ ͘͡ ̶̸̧ ̕͘͘͏̡ ̷̶̀҉ ͢͟ ̶̢͘ ̵̸̢̀̀ ̶̛ ̴͏͏̸ ̨̕ ̢̨͠͡ ́͡ ̶͟ ̵͘ ̴̧́́͢ ҉̵҉ ̢̢̨͝ ͏̨́́ ̴͡ ̴̨̀́҉ ́͢͢ ̸̕͝ ̴̵̕͢͞ ̶͜͠ ̧́͝ ̨̢ ͟ ̶͝ ̨̧͢͜͝ ͝͞ ̸̨̡̧͝ ̡́ ̴̨̀͞ ̀́͜͠ ͏̢̀͜͜ ́͏ ̧̢͢͡ ̷҉ ̷̨̧ ͝҉̕͢͢ ͢͞ ̸̨҉à̡͢ ̨͏wh̡͝ó̀l̛e ̶m̴ȩ̢s̢s̴͝.͢͡o̸f̧ ͠p̵eo̡pl͜e pouring out. Cassandra looks over her shoulder, where Gaziel carries four people under each arm, charging out of the frying theater. It had been the closest call, and dozens of the army were now weeping or seething with horrible grease burns and black oil stains sickening their flash-fry wounds. The fire magi had sprung to action the moment the play went wrong, and the doors blasted open with a torrential downpour of the vile elements. She was good at speaking to flame, but the language of heat and frying was difficult and foreign. Her body shook from the pain, fear, and raw exhaustion of having put so much energy into convincing the oil to stop its rapid boil, giving everyone time to wade up the flooding stairs and escape a disgusting doom.  Keep running. The carpets are soaked with it, meatslime and oilgrime, all of it dangerously hot. The cheese gums up every surface, a sweaty skin sloughing rot-hot off the walls. The stink is suffocating. It's a struggle to keep everyone together, a panicked mob fighting to find discipline while the air thickens to unbreatheable. One spark of flame and it'd end instant. Where are the Wanderers? How far ahead? Where ̢d̵id ͢t̕h͟ey ̀v̢́a̧͝͠n̴į̛̛s̕͢͠h͏ ̨͞t̕͝͏o͜ ̧́͠ì̴͜n̸͠ ͘͠͝t̴̨̀h́͜͡é̸̸̀͝ ̨́͘͜҉ ̡̛͜͠ ̴̸̨̛ ̷̴ ̛͏ ̸̛̀ ̵͢͞͠͝ ̛͜͡ ̧̨́ ҉̶͟ ̶́ ̷̶̀ ́́̕̕͠ ̢ ̷͞ ̧̡͜ ̶̸̷͝ ̵͜͞ ̕ ̢̡̛͞ ̧҉̴̷̧ ̷̸͢͞ ̴̨̨͡ ͜͡͡ ҉͏ ̧̡̧͡ ̷̡͜ ̸̸͜͜ ̶̴͜ ̀ ͢ ̢ ̵̶͟͝ ̡́́ ̸̕ ҉̢͡҉ ̡͘͞ ̶̶̷͠͞ ̵͠͏ ̵̵̕͝ ̢ ̶̛͠͞͞ ̷̨̀͘҉ ̸̢͡ ̶̶̸̧͟s̵o̶re͟҉ ̧͠an̡͘d̵ ̵̢͟ḩ̡ǫ̡t̶͘,̸̴͘ ̸͝҉m̛u͝sc͢l̨es͢ ̨sc͢al͝ḑi͞n͡g ̴with the pain of the blood burned escape. It's still gathering! It's still growing. Maybe if you use your Cheeseburger Magics you... no. No don't. Don't try. It'll turn on you it'll BETRAY you it'll find a reason to sneak into your blood and block your veins and fatten your heart and ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][60%] stop stop stop just stop and keep moving, feet keep moving, find your way. Your heart hurts with every gross inhale of the fatty-rich stale air, evil dust tickling your grease-wet nose. The only grace saving you is the blessed of your Kadath silks already drying themselves back to that sweet bloody-warm state, and Red's shroud violently resisting the heated grease. You'll be clean again soon enough.  ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][50%] You can do this. You can escape. Don't think about the theater. Don't think about like-a-glove. You look around again; just a massive ornate curse-filthed hall, slowly weeping more and more of the oil and meat. Organic hatred. There's choices to make, there's places to escape. Stairs and doors and halls. What risk makes sense to a racing-hot heart? (Voting ends later today.)
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Sep 25, 2021 19:10
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| # ? Jun 5, 2024 09:15 |
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VOTING CLOSED - Check Out Anytime, AND I'm Gonna Leave Risk your Cheeseburger Magics to turn the cursetide to your favor. [IQ Check] - 1 Open the Silver Mind to touch on the undeath and discover how to escape. [!ESP Check] - 8 Walk with intent and burn your way, with your Red Right Hand. [-? HP/FP] - 3 Find a place to hide and calm down. [PE-Based !Darkness Check] - 0 LOADING...  ...LOADING
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Sep 25, 2021 23:38
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