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Radio Free Walrus posted:I was kind of hoping we'd get an even split, just to see what a hybrid situation would be. Inverted skyscraper? Subway car that's so long it could double as an orbital elevator? Yeeting the entire city into space, thus making the subways the highest part of the city? Though your comment on the subway orbital space elevator just makes me think of Persona 5's Mementos (which is themed as a subway) but the "Up" and "Down" stairs are backwards so you "ascend" to the depths of the dungeon.
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Apr 6, 2024 17:50
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 The Silver Mind posted:.......................................................................................... My stomach lurches. TYRANT'S ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][50%] I stop moving. God, no. My shoes, sunk inches-deep into a fine smooth yellow pudding of raw vomit-mud, congealed and soft. I swallow. Can't puke. Don't spew. I walk forward and feel the mudskin break with a heated vent of deathsmell, and it's only by the weak breath-hold bubbling of my lungs that I survive the scent. I go hard left and find myself slumped against the unsurity of a crumbling black platform with a grossing slick of greasy rains. I slump up without slipping, knees sinking into the crumbly black rock. The air. So still. Humid with hate. Oh, this is loathing beyond imagination. Anxiety makes my shoulders cramp so bad I have to hunch and wait while I assess. Wretched yellow-lit black. The unsure shape of crumbling distances, tunnels that follow tunnels that follow so far into the Back that it all fades to black. Can't fall through into that. I suddenly remember I'm not holding the shield anymore- no no, I hold a sword in one grip; in the other is the skull! I stare into the pure of his eyes. World King.  (Tyrant Child, we're folded down into the underbelly of the crumble. You have to risk its hate. Don't lose your intent. You must make time.) Yeah. I carefully grip the iron of his skull under the backside, slinging my blade. My gun remains worn across my chest. I walk down the platform of the sick-filled waterways, the ground crumbling and crunching a little with every step. I always feel off balance, like I might just fall through at any moment. I slump against a pillar and press sleeve to mouth as stomach acids roil and my vertigo rages against the too-fresh of my new gravitational insight. I kneel down very slowly to not make too much sound, shivering in the utter lack of temperature. Don't move too much, or too fast. But I have to make time! I sway and sweat, gulping in too much air. (HT - Don't You DARE) 15 - [4]+[6]+[2] = 12 - Success. I barely manage to smother my hard gagging, holding down the expulsion while I wait and feel sweaty panic soak my shirt. TYRANT'S ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][60%] Dammit- enough! I burn with a hate of my own, pushing back against the suffocating mono-yellow of the untunnels. I stand up and remember my intent, and begin to force it to move me through the soupy airs. I move around until I come upon crunchy stairs that lead down into a strange darkness-  Oh, I hate that. My eyes ache. Around me, shadows drip dense and frosting-thick, tricking the senses from where little lines of yellow cut into sight. But that's the confusing eye-pain; far away from me, the shadows and the terrain simply melt into a searing yellow haze, leaving it impossible to see what's ahead of me, darksight or no. The euphotons... loathsome little particles. I keep the metal skull close to me as I thrust my sword out as a poking sight-lead, wandering into a subway platform. It's functional... but I know in my gut that the only place it leads is the torment of vomit-hot hatred. Then again, what choice is there? I needed to get out of here as fats as possible, and this is what makes sense. I have to escape before it's AWARE again, understanding that I've come to be abused some more. Gotta go. Go. Go go go go. Stop with the thinking, for God's sake! The left car. Door open. No ticket, no care. I leap in and almost slip and make a terrible sound, catching myself barely. My shoes squish into a great warm lump of mildew and congealed sweat, a hot rot of slop smeared all over the car. No- I can't keep wasting time getting sick! I slide-push over to the pole and hook my sword around it as fast as possible, and then go deathly still. Don't. Do NOT move. The windows... yellow unlight softens my skin to become pliable to mold's infestation, but I bear it and don't move or look as SOMETHING WET WITH HATE passes by outside. Don't look. Don't move. Don't puke. Wait very still, even if I can feel the mold starting to sleek and root through my sogging skin. Wait, even if I'll drown on my own temperatureless bile. The hate finally passes, and the subway car roars to life, moving unnaturally. I lean and let the sword keep me from falling or moving, my breath still held tight- God bless kobolds and their devious little cocktails! Bless my bubbles. I grit my teeth against the reek and shake, feeling mold sloughing against my legs as is sloshes around the rocking car.  (Gentle your fears. I feel it. Long I've been in the Back in my hide of the Island. But ever can I feel its pull, calling me. Heed me; close your eyes, feel the tremble, and when I call a station name, we will walk out of this motion.) Gentle my fears... (From there, we will find the road out of the Back.)
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Apr 13, 2024 04:45
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0% imo
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Apr 13, 2024 04:56
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I went with the second blank option on pure gut instinct.
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Apr 13, 2024 08:36
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I'm sorry this place is so lovely it gives TYRANT anxiety?
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Apr 13, 2024 08:53
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the thread was very much warned this place sucks and the subway is the worst part of it the loot better be worth it
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Apr 13, 2024 10:54
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Captain Foo posted:0% imo
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Apr 13, 2024 17:25
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I wonder if psi abilities work on Lady Death. Just cloud her mind every time she starts to hunt us down and run the gently caress away. "I HAVE COME FOR... wait, where are they? I could have sworn they were right... was I supposed to hang a left at the fork back there?"
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Apr 13, 2024 18:30
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Black August, a "meta question" if you don't mind giving it away. With all the amusing and weird Elementalist types like planet, if we'd picked it as our class at the start would we have been stuck with the "regular" elements or would we have had the goon write in of something bizarre being valid?
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Apr 13, 2024 19:15
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Much like with psychic powers, there would have been several chances to customize or enhance from the starting element.
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Apr 13, 2024 19:48
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V xEEE¾©ääjƒäàkëÏ®;¬SBkBOXCALLHIGHCHANCE_encspwn - 2 num32_defgrasstest_MURDSPACE - 2 6  13 ░░░░░░░░░░░░░ 0% ͏ ́ ́ ͟ ͜ ͟ ́ ̢ ̛ searches. - 13 
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Apr 14, 2024 07:09
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Apr 14, 2024 07:44
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Apr 14, 2024 07:49
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was this... a tie?
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Apr 14, 2024 18:15
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We got a glitch result from tieing glitch results. ... not gonna lie, I was almost expecting us to get a sane result from that,
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Apr 14, 2024 20:17
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OST: Lonely School A storm was moving in. Worse, it smelled familiar- like solar ash. The skies were ugly with whorls of reddening clouds, a mixture of too-hots and too-colds cooking a cataclysm. The Wanderers trudged in silence up the ways of the river, each of them taken with remote dread. Being quiet was smart. It was safe. When they happened on the expectancy of the waterfall school, it felt like a mercy to drop down among the water-noisy stones and deep shadows of the dark-leaf eaves. They found the courtyard, and sat at the benches. "...no chickens." It was Lumes' only comment, as she strained to stare around. Worse than no chickens, it looked as though nothing had ever been here. There were no cheerful airsilk pennants, no little coop holds or colorful awnings, no overgrowths of wild tropic blossoms, no pyrite-chalk glittermarks signing off on training grounds and directions. Nothing. Not a goddamned thing. The Holiest Knight gnawed her hand with a wretched feeling. Then her ears twitched, as she swore she could hear it; the sound of wheels rolling on stone. But then Levity spoke up with a growl of her stomach. "Hey. Bones! I smell bones." Rienne perked up and sniffed, the two Emperors standing to dog-mull about until they came to the main doors. Forcing them open revealed the foyer absolutely drenched in blood- very old dried blood. Among it was a single bone, a rib, cleaned off and resting next to a locker. Rienne picked it up with a sigh. "Boar bone." She gnawed it anyways. Gandiva went further in, peering intently. "Nothing of the Chicken Knights." They explored for a while, always with their hands on a weapon. The theater was as bad- no, worse, than when they first found it. Extreme rains had broken and flooded most of it into wreckage. The class rooms were barred or dusty, the halls dark and empty. Halfway through they silently gave up, returning to the main hall to do a last roundup. That's when Rienne starting to sniff again, expression grim. She bent down to the floor and spent a minute staring and breathing, until she leaned and looked at a fire escape above. "Blood. Little bit. Nagging the hell out of me; I can't quite place whose." She leapt up and yanked the escape down with no effort, and immediately ascended to go snoop some more. Everyone else followed, with Gandiva trailing last. The 8th Lord paused, and looked over his shoulder at the deep darkness.  ...but he saw nothing. Black August fucked around with this message at 07:22 on Apr 16, 2024 |
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Apr 16, 2024 07:20
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They best not gently caress with our chibber! At least, she better be there and safe when we get home to her...
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Apr 16, 2024 10:48
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Chicken….
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Apr 16, 2024 17:06
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 It's very hard, to be gentle to myself. I'm not supposed to be. Not I, Tyrant. This isn't a state of mind I'm meant to exist instead of. I am antithetical to it. But here in the Back, only the most intense of actions and thoughts are possible. There's no filter. Just raw information. So I know that I'm expected to find the holy in me to be gentle to myself, while wading through the filthy of a world that hates me existing inside of it. My eyes are closed, and I hold the skull carefully and with nerves in my hurting hungry belly. I'm humid with sick and there's a dambreak of memory I know is waiting inside of me, unable to happen while I'm so far out of the eroding stability of the world. I'm not used to this. It's... seeing that Sign again, in my heart. I denied it but something gilt still stung me. I can't remember clearly yet - I have to be gentle, and pay attention to the World King. I'm scared, knowing how bad I could be hurt. Maybe killed. But I know I have to get back soon or else this will all mean nothing. I feel the metal skull warm into hum a second before he speaks my mind. (Tyrant Child. Step. Our stop. Quietly.) I don't open my eyes. I feel the sloshing of the cart moving in place, its concept undefined, and then it opens the smallest window. I must be quiet. (DX - Steathily) 11 - [4]+[3]+[5] = 12 - Failure [By One]. I trip. TYRANT'S ANXIETY: [ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][70%] The Silver Mind posted:You're barely awake, resting on your side. The solar blisters soothed only by the gels and treatments of the Doctor, herself badly hurt from the light of the Sun. But she ignores it, and wordlessly works to save the worst affected of the event, which saw hundreds flirt with the scythe. A scythe... you haven't thought of hers for so long... 「PSI Clouding β」  ░░░░░░░░░░░░░ 0% ͏ ́ ́ ͟ ͜ ͟ ́ ̢ ̛ searches. ... (Stay still.) ... (Wait.) (Be ready...)  I̛͎̾f̴̗̚ ̶̫̑y̶̭̓o&# 859;̠͜ṷ̢̒ ̠̎̀ŵ̷̤a͋҉̘n͚̉͝t̸̞̽ ̍҉̝s̴̞͐ö̸̭́m̢͎ͣe̿͏̝ț̷̉h̵̻ͧȉ͉͘n͇ͬ͟g̜̓͡ ̡͚̌g̘̚͘o͔̓͜o̸̯̚d̵̑ 12;,͇̇͡ ̙̂͝b̔͏͚e͕͂͠ ̶̠ͥs̷̮ͤū̴͈ȑ̖͞ę͎͛ ͖̅͝ṭ̡̋o̴̠͗ ̒&# 820;̱å͏͉ș̂́k̴̭͊ ̴͎̏ì̶͇f̶̗ͦ ̵̯ͪt̹̓̀h̫̀͡ȩ̟ͣy̢̗̅ ͉̂͘k͕̊͘e̺̎́e̵͚͊pͧ͏̣ ̑& 821;͓ī҉͔t̠̉͞ ͈ͬ̕i&# 771;̠͝ñ҉̜ ̿͏͙t̪͑́h̶̯́e̴͎ͮ ̸͍ͭB̫ͣ̕a̷͚ͤc̸̳̓ḳ̶͑.̺̋͟t̛͎̏h̬͋͟ẹ̷̄ ̡̪ͪr͕͗͘o̸̹͆t͂͏͍t̛̝ͧē̺͞ņ̞ͩ ͉́͜c̶͓̒o̷̭̒ū̻͟g̣ͨ͝h̢̟ͩ-̱ͮ͢ủ̜̕p̰̃͘o̰̿͟f̶̖ͩ ̧̙̉ą͚͋w̧̮̉e̱͂͢ ̰́͢f̛̮̅ṛ̛ͤò̞͝m̥̍͢ ̬̋͠b̛̠͂e̡͉ͥh̦ͤ͡ō̶͉l̸͈͋d̶̖̃i̟̎͜n̵̺͑g͚̿͘ ̏҉̜w͚͊͢h̯̾͞e̵̼ͣń̟̚ ̮̓͟g̵͖̾l̢̗͊o̴̗̔r̖͑͜i̸̯ͩỏ̧̜ů͍͞s̔҉͈ ͯ͘ͅg͋͏̺ơ̞͛e̵̪̓s̗̀͘ ̢͙̍ö̖͟r̡̖̚g̙̅͘a͓͊́n̘̅͘ī̴̤c̹̄͡ầ̬l̸̖̑P̢̖̈́o̸͎̓w̷͍ͭe͕͒͝r̢͍͂f͈ͤ́ȗ̬̀l̡͇̚ ̴̱̍m̵̻ͫaͪ͏̱l̩̎̀l͍̓͜ ̧͇̌s̪̐́t̛̮̆ȃ̮͢c̖ͥ̀k̷̰̾ö̩́͞f͒͏̯ ̴͓̄s͕͊͟ť̢͈a̢̳ͤc̢̯̄k̗̇͡m̧̮ͤâ̵̺l͉̃̀l̲̍͟s̛̬̃t͕͐͟ǎ̴̪c̼̽̕k̙ͮ͠ ̧̯̍ẗ͖̕h̙͑͘ē̷̳r̨̪̀ę̺̓ ̧͚͋d͇ͤ͠o̭ͫ͜wͣ҉̤n̟̾̕ ̵̜̏i̻̋͝s̸̤̚ ͋͏̮a̧͔ͧ &# 829;̸̹l̢̬ͥi̹͊͡tN 2;̥́t̸̲͊l̪̈͜e͔̊͢ ̺ͧ͟r̢̮ͧo͙ͧ͟a͈̓͟m͇͂͞ ̸̥̉ḿ̢͙a̫͊́c̞̉͡h̛̭̊i̭͊̕n̵̦͐e͇̅͞ ̨̻ͤs̛̟̾t̥ͧ̕ȁ͏͇c̡ͣͅk͍ͥ͝ ̖̓̕ḭ̧̿ň̸̦ ̷̏ͅa̷̙ͥ ̫ͩ͟m̦͒͟a̡̺ͧḽͦ̕l͍ͯ͡ ̡̒ͅṁ̢̭ạ͑͟l͖ͧ́ĺ͓̕ ̻̚͝s̩̔́t̞͑̕ā҉̭c̡̯͑kͥ҉̟rͫ͢O 1;t̵͔̎a̧͖ͣḯ̮ñ̥͘ę͙͂ḍͩ͝ ͖̈͝c̻̒͟oͬ҉͓ụ̍͠n̮ͪ͟tͫ҉̠l̪̍͝e͇̾͝s̵̜ͨs͍͌͝ ̼ͣ́f̧̬̓a̴̺ͪǹ͎͞s̢̜ͪ ̷̹̄n̴̩̆o̶͖̓w̶̭͌ ̸̳̀bͯ҉̖rͥ҉̦i͔͑̀n̼͂͞g̢̮̒s͉͐̕ ̧̥͊t͔̏͢ȏ͖͠ ̵̬̽ỷ̥͢o̲ͬ͡ü͏̯ ̷̣ͤą͔͌ ͒҉͔l̙̓͢o̡̹̿n͛͜ ̩g̮ͬ͢k͍̾̀n̨͍̓i̝͋͝v̩̍͢eͨ҉̖d̩͌͡ ̲̄͢d̵̠ͯỉ҉̫n̡̮ͫī̶̙n 76;̷ 41;g̪̑́ ͉̍̕ë̴͕x͉ͭ͘p̳̓̀e͂҉̠r͋͘ 57;į̹́eͩ&# 860;̠ň̳͘c̉͏̜ẹ̌͜f̶̩̏ô͔͝r̷͕͂ ͔͒̀l̤̃͠e̹̓͟v̰͌͠ė̷̮l̝ͯ͞ ̱̓͡4̟ͯ͝0͕̒͝ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░ 0% ͏ ́ ́ ͟ ͜ ͟ ́ ̢ ̛ searches.
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Apr 17, 2024 04:15
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These don’t sound like good things. These don’t sound like good things at all!
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Apr 17, 2024 09:44
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new roomba bud :3
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Apr 17, 2024 11:46
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hte rotten coguh-pu of awe mofr o̖̍h̖̍e̖̍b̖̍g̖̍i̖̍l̖̍d̖̍n̖̍ h̖̍n̖̍w̖̍e rlgooius egos groaincla 10 Oprwulfe mlal atskc of asktc amll ctsak htere ondw is a ttlile omra hcmaien atksc in a mall amll ktsac 17 artidne oclnstues fnsa won ̖̍b̖̍s̖̍r̖̍g̖̗̍i̖̍̎n̖̍̎ ̖̗̍o̖̗̍t̖̗̍̎ ̖̍y̖̗̍̎u̖̍o̖̗̘̍ ̖̗̍̎a̖̍̎̄ ̖̍̎o̖̍l̖̍̎n̖̍̎g̖̗̘̍̎k̖̍̎̄n̖̗̘̙̍i̖̗̘̍̎̄̅d̖̗̍v̖̗̘̍e̖̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̍i̖̗̘̍̎d̖̗̘̍̎i̖̗̘̍n̖̗̍n̖̗̘̙̍g̖̗̘̙̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̍̎x̖̗̘̍̎p̖̗̘̍e̖̗̘̙̜̍̎̄r̖̗̘̙̜̍̎̄e̖̍̎̄̅inece rof vllee 40 nad ̖̍ ̖̍ ̖̍ ̖̗̍ ̖̍̎ ̖̍ ̖̍̎ ̖̍ ̖̗̍ ̖̗̍̎ ̖̗̍̎ ̖̗̍̎ ̖̗̍̎ ̖̍̎̄ ̖̗̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̍̎ ̖̍ ̖̍̎̄ ̖̗̍̎̄ ̖̗̍̎̄ ̖̍̎ ̖̗̘̍̎ ̖̗̍ ̖̗̍̎̄ ̖̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̍̎̄ ̖̗̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̘̙̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅ ̖̍̎ ̖̗̘̙̍ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̘̍̎ ̖̗̘̙̜̍̎̄̅ ̖̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̙̜̍̎ ̖̗̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̙̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̙̍̎̄ ̖̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̍̎̄ ̖̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̘̙̜̍̎ ̖̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̙̍1̖̗̘̙̜̍0̖̗̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̙̜̍̎̄ ̖̗̍̎ ̖̗̘̙̍ ̖̗̘̙̜̍ ̖̍̎ ̖̗̘̙̜̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̍ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̍̎ ̖̍ ̖̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̙̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̘̙̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̍̎̄ ̖̍̎ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̜̍ ̖̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍̎ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̘̙̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̙̜̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̙̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̍̎ ̖̗̘̍̎ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̥̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑̇ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̥̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑̇ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̥̦̩̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍̎ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̍̎̄ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̘̙̜̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̥̍̎̄̅̿̑ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̥̦̩̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑̇̈ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑ ̖̗̘̙̜̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑̇ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̥̦̩̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑̇̈ ̖̗̍̎̄̅̿̑̆ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̍̎̄̅ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̥̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒ ̖̗̘̙̍ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̍̎ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̤̥̍̎̄̅̿ ̖̗̘̍̎̄̅̿̑̆̐͒͗͑̇ ̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̍̎ TYRANT'S ANXIETY: [ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][80%] (DX - I can't be gentle for this; don't gently caress UP) 11 - [4]+[1]+[4] = 9 - Success. (Now.)  ░░░░░░░░░░░░░ 0% ͏ ́ ́ ͟ ͜ ͟ ́ ̢ ̛ searches. Don't look behind. Don't look back. Eyes still closed. But I can feel the sheer gravity of it moving. I can't. Not now. I'm running blind on slick stair steps towards an open elevator and it's lurching inside of me like a humid storm of cell-withering ill. (HT - If you make me vomit I'll tear you out with my own hands in death to rend you in two.) 15 - [5]+[6]+[3] = 14 - Success. I'm saved only by a single second of bubbling my lungs, before I manage the inhuman of running while my eyes and neck bulge with the pain of wanting to retch, but forcing it to stand down. I charge in the silent run, skull clutched close to me in the need to not open my eyes and look Back, look at ░░░░░░░░░░░░░ 0% ͏ ́ ́ ͟ ͜ ͟ ́ ̢ ̛ searches. *ding* tepid eyes open. it's hard to, since they're crusted closed. I wipe at them, the speakers in the corners of the elevator screaming at me with a slow breathing pain. I slam my eyes shut for a moment. I fight down the panic attack. I cradle the skull. TYRANT'S ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][60%] I want to loathe it. Feeling this way. I'm forced to come down from the high of my self-abuse victory, the elevator shifting with liquid slow much too far downupwards. My eyes remain closed so I don't vomit. I was cruel to myself and it won me again, and I'm supposed to simply not do that? Not scream with despicable at every single pointless failure of necessity? I lose the train of thought; the skull hums, and my heart stops working itself up into a frenzy. (You did well. It's alright. Keep returning to my voice. You're doing well.) I just nod and curl up more on the sweaty-slick floors of the unseen elevator. Being in one makes me sad for a reason I can't clearly remember. I just fight down my stomach and the wretched humidity of the elevator, letting my wildswung sense of gravity try to ride on the nonsensical repeat of the Back. It's hard, because- (It will hate us in there. It will be raw with enough to make it alive and ready to mislead us into where its colors never lose saturation.) -I shake hard and try not to injure my mouth from clenching my teeth. I put pressure on the iron skull, knowing it cannot break under my own puny power, a stress ball for horror while I acknowledge that even with eyes closed, I feel the sheer loathing of this space being forced to exist. It's coming into incredible clarity, a point where our minds interact with the nonspace through the lens of the Crumbling City to produce an especially grotesque collection of legible nonsense. A mall. Something silver and sleeping is saying this is a mall, and it's the worst possible mall you could even find yourself in. It's built purely out of hate. The World King and I, small organisms slicing through the bleeding belly of the very IDEA of a place, and everything that place was built upon, tiny idea after tiny idea. It would only masquerade as a mall by forced chance, ideas and information crushed into patterns where none are meant to be. I lose control, and howl screaming with overwhelm at what's about to happen, every neuron blackened by a nightmare firing in symphony but without the relief of waking up. It was going to be real.  (Tyrant Child.) I freeze up and relax again, the reverberations a bell of relief. (Gentle yourself. For my sake. I can navigate us. You must act as if you understand and belong. No hesitations. As long as you move, it cannot trap you in a No Way Out. Stand. Array yourself.) TYRANT'S ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][50%] I rise floating, washing up on the humid-sweet airs of the crumbling elevator. I stand slow and open my eyes, refusing to acknowledge the monstrously huge space of elevator behind me, staring only at the greased metal doors. I array- sword sheathed, the other sword crossed over it with bind. Blanket, worn officer-like, shield hidden under it with pack at quick-sling. Tie adjusted. I know the doors will be opening soon. I know it will be pudding-thick rancid hate out there. I... I hesitate and try to complete a thought, before it's too late. But then the skull hums, to help me. (You're thinking about how much this was like the other life. Walking into a place seemingly normal with intent, but caked in layers of danger that made every approach a gun draw's chance.) I refuse to touch the door to steady myself from shaking. Instead I nod and carefully hold the skull, my other hand loose and free with ready. The doors slide open with the sound of wet tendons and dead leaves.
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Apr 19, 2024 03:27
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WALK
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Apr 19, 2024 03:53
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Death has never been far. She left seven marks on our heart. There's nowhere in the world more dangerous than wherever we happen to be.
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Apr 19, 2024 08:57
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I deeply appreciate the skull helping with a grounding exercise
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Apr 19, 2024 13:48
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i'm really hoping we don't end up in "A place you won't leave"
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Apr 19, 2024 19:37
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alienation is safest go up  go up go up go up (Don't.)go up I smile. I have to smile. Personality must be perfectly consistent. A single inconsistency will be a single variant data point will be a single needed excuse for indescribable hatred . I smile, and drool neoned with yellow dribbles past my blood-clenched teeth. Each step is stiff and forced to certainty by the dark of my will, as the world expands around me in an infinite fullness of expectations. Of course I'm looking at the floor number. Of course. Of course. I'm reading [FLOOR 9998] and bile silently leaks down to my collar. go up go up go up (Don't.) I can't turn and face the final roof-access stairs. I cannot. I can't do that. (WL - go up i cant go up i cant go up go up) 20 - [4]+[3]+[6] = 13 - go up No. If I go up- (You will be at the last possible point. You will find End. One with no sense or future or resolution, only a phantom repeat of impossibilities dissolving into entropy. Do not. Do not go up.) go- (No.) No. I will not go up to the [9999TH FLOOR]. I will not End. I'm looking over the railing, which is gently dissolving from the sheer amount of sweat seeping from it, and my stomach flips back. (HT - Vertigo, Drop Wound, 9999 Falls) 15 - [2]+[6]+[5] = - Success. I close my eyes briefly and pretend I meant to lean casually while facing the reality of the descent, my biology starting to scream with several dozen fatally overdue bills making the front-door knock-call. I'm not facing the stairs. I'm not going to End. So I'm going to walk and head down the way, and find how to leave. But there's floors. Floors stack in tall mall in mall stack stack in mall. I tense up feeling sweat turn my shirt icy. 9999 FLOORS. With thousands and thousands and thousands of stores. Every single one demanding attention, digestion, conquest. Billions of challenges each millions of years long, and a single single single mistake means you're gone. I walk, knowing going too slow or fast will do something horrifying to me, so I manage a stifflock a pace in time with the garbage expulsion of visual data scorching my eyes. (I know. I'm sorry. A biology has no place in the Back. Keep breathing, even when the air has no feeling. Convince it of the consistency of your existence. Until your patterns begin to follow towards stability outside of this unplace. Let your logic's internal pressure be stronger than the external impulses of the Back.) I understand. I know. My brain wants to simply decoherize, scramble out until it was simply a mess of concepts smeared over a thousand mile pane of colorless yellow air. I realize it's the Back, forced into shape and expectation by my own observation, overwhelming me with the ideas being dragged in from nowhere in order to create the vomit-hot lie I swim through. It's an act of Hell; I must balance multiple states of mind in a whirlwind, all while my body resists succumbing to shut down or replacement by lifeless data. Eyes open. Walk straight and clean. Ignore the migraine from seeing shades of yellow that are far too enormous for my rods and cones to withstand the hue of. Fight off the panic from seeing blacks so 100% pure that the mere thought of accidentally touching one makes my molten blood sting with frozen itch. Out of the corner of my eye, each store is squirming white-hot with hatred, building its interior to force spaces the size of a galaxy down into a department room, every step past its threshold promising to force irreparable brain scarring. But I have to shop, don't I? I lean over the railing and discreetly drool more bile, fighting down tears from the anxiety of knowing I'll have to dance social in the Back. (I can guide. I can feel out which ones will let us walk through towards the hidden roads out. Gentle your recall- just like when you left through the waterpool. Just be wary-) soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft  soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft The music screaming over the speakers hisses to a breakpoint as my skin starts to bubble and crawl under my ice-sweat suit. I puff my cheeks and swallow the grime down, hunching forward with a weird gait. It's here with us now, rotten nightmare logic, fermented to yellow-hot acidity. It's floating towards the idea of us on empty heatless winds, the fins wriggling and working over the unseen pudding of hate, sloshing in time out of the gummed up backvents. Enormous TOUCHES dangle down sharply, rotten from the oil-flying dripdown and sharp enough to snugly grip into any bone. It's near. It doesn't know about us, but it's going to, very soon. There's a countdown waiting inside of us. Visual data is meaningless; within a period of time I can't see, it's going to become aware of my pattern no matter what, and then it's going to CREATE HELP. I can't intersect with that while out here, here among 9999 LEVELS where it will happen forever without escape. I have to go into a store to stand a chance. I have to slide my pattern to a higher layer to keep my head above the hate. (This way. Walk into there. Don't acknowledged it changing- just walk in that exact direction. You're doing well.)
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Apr 20, 2024 04:26
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... what.
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Apr 20, 2024 04:36
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Randalor posted:... what.
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Apr 20, 2024 05:41
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Should i be concerned that the voting options are like "How to be a lovely abuser 101"
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Apr 20, 2024 08:50
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Yep, its the back alright. Honestly I am much more confident in our flesh than our resistance to being mentally abused.
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Apr 20, 2024 09:36
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Flesh interfaces aren't a danger to the body. They're a danger to your sense of reality.
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Apr 20, 2024 20:11
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You look wonderful. That's such a lovely [Outfit] you're wearing. - 0 [you look inside of Hunter and see that she hates herself and wants to] - 0 Don't worry. Stick close to me. I got a [Weapon] that'll fend off all of them. - 3 [you look inside of Moulder and see how immaculately it reflects hate] - 0 [you look inside of Doubler and see how graphically it expresses hate] - 1 I'm glad you like it! I know that [Jewelry] makes you happy. - 11 I know it's hard. I got a six-pack of [Bottles] with good stuff in them; let's chill. - 5 [you look inside of Hider and see that she hates herself and wants to] - 1 [you look inside of Burner and see] - 2 [you look inside of Dancer and see that she hates herself and wants to] - 2 [you look inside of Bleeder and see] - 1 [you look inside of G̵̶̢͜҉̶̨̢̨̕͞͏̶̴̷̛́̀̕͜͠à̵̷̶̶̷̷̵̷̷̢̢͘̕̕͢͜͟͞͝͠ń̶̢̧̡̡̢̨̡̕͘͟͜͟͜͜͟͞͞͠͡ḑ́͟͢͝͝͝҉̸̢̨̢́̀̕͜͞͏̢̨͏i̧͢͏̸̵̷̴̡̧̧̛̛̕̕͜͜͢͜͜͝͡v̴̡́͜͡҉̶̵̨҉̸̢̧̢̛͘͢͢͢͠͞à̵̶̵̷̧̨̡̡̛́͟͞҉̵̧̡́̕͢͠ ̢̢̛́̕͜͝͝҉̷̸̷̡̡̀̕͜͢͡͞͝F̕͏̸̸̨̀̀͜͠͏̵҉̢̧̢̨͟͢͝͞͡L͠҉̵́͝҉̶̡̧̢̢̧̀̕͘͢͟͟͠͞͝È̶̸̵̸̢̛́̕͜͟͢͝͠͝͝͝҉̵̨̕SH INTERFACE] - 4 soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft  soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft soft
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Apr 21, 2024 05:47
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Thanks, i hate it.
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Apr 21, 2024 09:40
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Black August posted:[you look inside of Burner and see] 
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Apr 21, 2024 09:57
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Don't worry, Burner is waiting at camp for us, and I'm sure Bleeder is going to join as a new camper.
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Apr 22, 2024 16:01
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The Back stuff is my favourite part of this, and with how great a lot of the rest is that's saying something.
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Apr 22, 2024 16:19
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Levity looks over the edge of the roof, and screams out "What the hell is th You walk inside, and have to sit down at the complimentary waiting area near the window. You choke back a sound of defeat, holding the skull close while your eyes water and burn on the heatless airs. (Don't lose yourself, Tyrant Child! Inhale.) Inhale... I do so, teeth clenched. Not you. I. I must be I. I must exert the totality of my intent to live past this. I shake and sweat, hating that I must be I with such intensity. (I know. I know this will hurt worse than any blade. But you must.) My feet are sloshing over the greasy warm tile floors. I stare at the department deformity, swimming in the defeat of my pre-ended life. I force out the yellow airs dissolving my brain, and walk more fiercely. Store. Doors. 999999 square foot floor. Just get lost in it. Eyes glitterdanced from the enchantment of a billion gleaming gemstones. There's a particular shade of yellow I'm desperate to avoid, but like the fleshfly robot, I know it's a matter of time before it passes my eyes. I look into glassy cases of the dimmest lights, showing me an infinity of warm mineral improbability.  I seize up and cough sick out, a discolored spatter on the shiny yellow glass. I stare at it for a long time, jaw slack, eyes tracing the waterfall descent to the greasy-fogged floor. I catch myself from falling forward and smashing into the case, which I know would cause a cascade of shattering glass and falling structure that would bury me in a hypergrave of sparkling flensings. Would you even find me, oh love of scythe, were I to fall in this humidity? Maybe. But my soul would cease mattering as a concept after a single lost drift, here in the Back. So, I'm going- I'm going Back. Back to the Back of the long long store, realizing now my legs are about to shatter from the strain of having just marched solider for a hundred miles while hypnotized by the pure blink of so many glittery glittery gems! I collapse to the greased floor, hissing as my skin sizzles with vapors. TYRANT'S ANXIETY: [why wont it ever go away why is it always always making me bleed to slow death please why doesnt it stop] HP: [ 23 / 30 ] FP: [ 3 / 15.▒ ] [I dont know what 'rested' feels like] (You're back with me. Up. Get up. Not yet. You must stand and remain aware. You must, Tyrant Child.) For some reason, I daydream of drifting in a midnight lake of warm tourmaline, weeping as rains fall and the World King stands ashore, demanding with only his eyes that I believe that I can stop hating myself and wanting to (Gentle it. Your crown can bear it. My voice will not make the hate bleed loose, so I will tell you a story.) I'm standing, shaking so hard that my pack rattles and jaw clinks with chattered teeth. I sniff with gross from the grease staining me, but the promise of a story does something to me that I want to let happen, instead of listening to my crown.  (Once upon a time, there was a a foolish old Lich, and the vampire Errant who served him. The awful old Lich had been unfair to the Errant- the world was ending, and the Lich wanted to repent, so he saved the pitiful vampire. But he was a hypocrite, for in truth he knew what he could do to survive, and wanted a servant, and someone to help keep him sane. The world was ending, because the God was waking up, but the Lich had spent a very long time understanding he could do what many others across the Dream ended up doing; escape into something outside of the Dream.) My eyes water and weep openly, my expression drunk in numb. I'm carried by the reverberations of my bones from his skull, drifting and almost-floating on my own gravity across the supermass department store of relentless jeweled wonder-displays. His story fades over my sleeping psychic, creating shadowmutes of warm vision. (The Lich sacrificed many heroes who were to die in this sudden truncation of their destinies, as well as many evil ones who once served as allies. Yea, only the Errant did survive, and did go with the Lich deep down into the most under of ground, through earthbone and cthonian tunnel, past diamond spores and colossus pressure vents. Until time and star unified, and all lost meaning with the skim through Back and into the ultimate black.) I think back uneasy. I can't... think of it. I can't. Not even here, now. I can't think of those final few moments of my last life. All I can imagine is the black. The most pure and final of black. The sheer immensity of time in the deathspan before Awakening. Sleeping, unformed, for kalpa, after kalpa, after kalpa... (Only the Lich's most ultimate magics and sacrifice of form allowed it. To sleep that deathspan, to fall into the all of the new world. They passed through. Lich, and Errant. They woke from everblack, and found themselves clawing up from the earth once more, tomb-birthed, raging into ocean warms and up and up, until they came out underneath the shadows of a great metal platform.) I feel it. The gemscar on my palm, rubbing against the metal of the skull as I carry it. I know it promises something, but I'm not ready yet to understand where that will go. I look in longing at the neverending gemstones in the protective cases, thinking that I should... get one for a gift. But I can't remember why, or for who. (Lich and Errant ascended, and it was blessed! It was a displacement from one of the pieces of the Dream, an oil platform, with a ridiculous abundance of the all-black liquid. Oil was the most potent of necromantic power sources; there was boundless potential for the Lich to rebuild himself, and to then find safety for him and the Errant.) I get itchy. I've been slowly building up a second wind after my hellish walk, because I know that at some point much too very not-soon-enough soon, there will be metal fins swimming on sick yellow puddings, sloshing hate as it intersects with the idea of I and the World King, which would force it to CREATE HELP for me. I nearly do vomit, sobbing it down and getting deathly quiet as I realize we're so deep into the department store that we're never, ever going to see that mall again. It's a relief tinged with the monster-hot horror of knowing there is NO GOING BACK. That place will simply never exist again, its form collapsing with hate into the clean nothing it was before I forced the idea of myself onto it. I fight down another plea from my Garbage Disposal to do a full purge, and swallow a mouthful of greasy room-temperature air. The skull cleans up my act with a final rumble.  (One day, the Errant realized that not far away at all, there was an Island. It gleamed in the Sun the Errant dared not walk under, with sapphire waters, topaz sands, emerald jungles... and among them did walk a Dryad who was quite strange. She had not Awakened. She had not crossed over, like the Lich and Errant. She was not naturalborn to the new world either. No. The Dryad had simply come aware one day, as she was, standing within the Island's caldera. But she was not alone, even before the Lich and the Errant had arrived.) 
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Apr 24, 2024 07:33
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Usually stories like that are meant to be shared in a candy aisle, but i'm interested to see where this is going.
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Apr 24, 2024 07:46
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Singer?
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Apr 24, 2024 17:10
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