Into the Depths

[thewatchers]

INTO THE DEPTHS
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Something was riding, an omen of great things to come. Focusing on this lead, the Academy sent a team to follow the Dullahan on it's ride.


A. Descent
The Dullahan was persistent, and the more observant that followed would realize that the Fae was intentionally leading them through the thin veil into the Outlands. The surroundings get gradually less and less normal, less familiar until they’re fully into a place that doesn’t feel touched by humanity at all. The air has a strange, salty tinge that can be tasted on the tongue as strangely bare, bleach-white trees reach up into the sky, reedy tendril-like grass crunches under the feet, with bizarre flat and fan-like protrusions rising up and jabbing into the air. Be warned, however; careless contact with any of these features draws blood, they’re all rough-textured and sharp.

Here and there, more and more as the dullahan proceeds, bodies are scattered across the ground and the trees. None are human; in many cases, some aren’t even approaching humans. But they are all dead, without doubt, their pieces torn and scattered across what must have been homes once and are now broken craters, like wounds in the world.

B. Ambush
The unnatural horse suddenly halts, all four hooves planted in the muddy ground, snorting heavily. The headless rider does not try to force his steed on- instead, he readies his weapon.

“Thy mulish persistence begins to become tiresome.”
Utultar’s presence warps the world around him, like a cloak. His eye gleams red, and the sky itself seems to darken. The Dullahan’s horse screams a challenge and charges.

“Begone from my sight, insects.”

His assault is sudden and terrifying; a series of blasts that seem to tear apart the world, hungry and malevolent. The force of their deployment alone, not to mention the impact, is enough to throw people around like dolls, scattering them far and wide.

C. Aftermath
The light was blinding, and it felt as though you were lucky to be alive after it - let alone being able to stand. The strange bleach-white forest seems to stretch on forever, somehow looking dark and gloomy despite their stark color and the lack of foliage. On the pearl-white mud rose small trickles of a blue-black inky liquid that seem to roll rivets into a trail. Perhaps it will guide you to the others who have been separated - it’s better to find someone quick, as it’s unlikely that the Herald is the only threat in this place.

At points, the strange fluid suddenly stops, forming a small puddle before solidifying, lightening in color and warping, leaving a mask behind, and a soft whisper swims in the briny air, the opening to every story known, a promise of power and safety. Without the mask, the strange air makes it hard to breathe, and even harder to think; eventually, the pull will be too strong to resist.

Wearing a mask makes things seem brighter and more colorful; the physical world wavers, to be replaced by strange patterns and symbols and the sense that you’re inside a dream, or a storybook - a place both real and unreal. Following them will lead you to your fellow travelers, whose masks and minds have created colorful storyscapes in which you can easily slip into.

D. Water?
Eventually, as you walk through your own stories and each other’s, you’ll come to the edge of a vast, blue sea. Something as large as an island, imprisoned by three massive chains biting into the ground, wallows uncomfortably, making pained calls that echo across that vast space. Even from a distance, it’s clear to see: it bleeds the same deep, dark blue as the ‘water’ that surrounds it.
It wants to be free, that much is clear. And for those who look closely at the scraps and ruins that litter this vast shore, they may find clear hints to this being’s true nature, and the benefits to freeing it:

-A great deal of Utultar’s power to make and maintain a large library of contracts comes from bleeding this creature and bathing in - and drinking - a regular, fresh supply of its blood. Freeing it will weaken him significantly, setting back his progress to usher in Nightfall.
-The creature is a primordial fae called Nammu-Ninsiku, and was the first to Contract a being on Earth. It has the ability to change or nullify one condition of any contract and will grant one such ‘wish’ to the ones who have a direct hand in freeing it by putting on the masks. This wish can be transferred to a willing recipient if both parties are amenable and the original bearer doesn’t want the responsibility. This wish may have an additional price, depending on the magnitude of the wish; the fae will inform the wisher if this is the case. It will never be anything fatal or too high to pay, but it may well be significant.
-The dead Outlands beings scattered among the coral forest were attempting to free Nammu-Ninsiku, and paid for it with their lives. The dullahan was just one of many of these beings and has been looking for an appropriate way to dispense revenge since the initial slaughter.

Of course, you might just want to free it for being a creature in pain. It’s up to you.)

((OOC Post is over Here for questions or planning))

Chains are first come, first served! If you want to volunteer your character for a mask, reply to the relevant toplevel in whatever way suits your character best and treat it as a starter you can jump off of.

Comments

Chain of the Monster

[thewatchers]

Where this vast chain ends is a mask twisted and snarling like a beast. It radiates the intense fury of a thing long caged, the desperate anger of the long-trapped prisoner, and is most alluring to those with a deep well of anger or a propensity for violence. To put it on and become its bearer bestows you with the strength of an ancient, twisted form, and the mindless weakness of a creature consumed by long-held rage.

((OOC: This mask can be worn by a player character. The bearer will gain a greater favour that can be used at any time, as well as the power of a new mask that takes on aspects of the bearer's personality and thematics.

To break the chain this mask belongs to, the character who wears the mask must be subdued in combat. In easily digestible terms, the mask grants a powerful beast form that corresponds thematically to the character who wears it, but the longer it's worn, the harder it is to think and reason like a sentient being; a bearer is gradually reduced to acting and reacting instinctively.))

Chain of the Cursed

[thewatchers]

Where this vast chain ends is a mask that never wears the same pattern twice. Its features and colours shift and warp. It radiates both an intense fear and an intense desire for change, to be something other than yourself, and is most alluring to those who feel trapped or stifled in their lives or have an impulsive nature.
To put it on and become its bearer bestows you with the strength to change into a vast multitude of creatures and magical objects, and the weakness of forgetting the knowledge of the forms that came before.

((OOC: This mask can be worn by a player character. The bearer will gain a greater favour that can be used at any time, as well as the power of a new mask that takes on aspects of the bearer's personality and thematics.

To break the chain this mask belongs to, the character who wears the mask must be caught. In easily digestible terms, the mask grants the ability of shapeshifting not only into animals both mundane and magical, but objects with a capacity for movement, its only restriction being that all such animal and object forms must be capable of running away. Its weakness is that the more the bearer shifts forms, the harder it is to remember the form they originally were; they are effectively running away from themselves.))

Trickster God Incoming

[auralaura]

Masks, huh? Hope we can breathe in these.

[The mask is rather sharp and kind of pointy in is hands. Angled, but smooth like it could be anything and he would not know. Nothing too distinctive to tell him if it resembles one thing or another. He can sense the power from it, but it's too different for him to get a strong feel for it.

It's not the same as putting a protective mask or scarf over his face during a sandstorm., buy it's fine. He can work this. He's always been adaptable.

Yeah, adapt.

Like the desert. The desert always changes and Fox changes like it. Shifting. Looking for someone to test.]

Chain of the Arbiter

[thewatchers]

Where this vast chain ends is a mask with an impassive and implacable face. It is cold and heavy to the touch. It radiates a desire to judge and escape judgement, to be in control of their own fate and feelings, and is most alluring for those who lack control in their own lives, or for those who are ruled or bound by a code they're strict to follow.
To put it on and become its bearer bestows you with a tongue and will that never falters, and the weakness of being unable to yield or compromise.

((OOC: This mask can be worn by a player character. The bearer will gain a greater favour that can be used at any time, as well as the power of a new mask that takes on aspects of the bearer's personality and thematics.

To break the chain this mask belongs to, the character who wears the mask must be debated and convinced. In easily digestible terms, the mask grants the ability to make any argument sound overwhelmingly convincing, the more subjective and personal the better. Its weakness is that once the bearer has decided their opinion on something, they can only continue to speak that opinion, no matter if it's later proved faulty or otherwise full of holes. If their conviction is swayed or influenced by outside sources, the mask temporarily loses its compelling power.))

[spelleton]

[ As you wander the forest, you might stumble across a bright trail in shades of scarlet, though its nature shifts constantly; drops of bright liquid, trampled petals, glinting shards.

Following this trail to its source will lead you to a small house under a clear red sky, hemmed in by a forest full of dead, leafless trees. From here, the trail becomes a proper path, and splits; one goes to the house's door. The other leads away into the forest, to an unclear destination.

At the crossroads to this path stands a man wearing a shifting, scarlet-painted mask, and hooded and heavily cloaked in fabric that seems to reflect with bizarre patterns and distortions. He seems to be waiting expectantly for someone to arrive, or for something to happen. ]

[hattersgonnahat]

[The red trail was very interesting, enough so to keep following it, but not touch it. In fact they seemed to gracefully hover above it.]

[Until finally arriving to where the trail splits. Finally, they look up to see much more had changed to red now. A little sad, this forest could use a little more color...]

[As well as making eye contact(?) with the man in red too. The fox tilted their head to make out who or what this man was.]

[evangelclairvoyance]

[The Raven is as curious as he is confident, and neither eerie atmosphere nor suspicious man will stop him from finding where this path leads.

Even if he can't help but feel as though he was supposed to be searching for something else]

Good evening, sir.

[For surely it must be evening, with the red sky above. That can only be a sunset.]

Do you keep watch over this home?

[hawkwardness]

[There's a humble little house among the trees. A very poor house indeed--there isn't even a door. Anyone could walk right in. After all, there's not much to steal. The barest of furnishings, a little dried meat, ashes from the hearth.

One tree in particular stands out, larger than the rest. A tree with a hollow big enough to reach into, if one dares. Big enough to climb, too. A young teenage boy is perched on one of it's thick branches, wearing a mask covered in brown and red feathers. Sitting. Waiting.]

[hattersgonnahat]

Is someone theeeere? [There's no way a tree that big had no one living it. Especially if the house was abandoned too. But the tree was like, perfect treehouse size.]

[Of course, the fox only bothered to stick their head into the hollowed out tree and not check if there was anyone around it. They may not be the smartest.]

[nor_iron_bars]

[One bird, then another.]

[One for sorrow, two for... mirth? Joy? It seems unlikely at the moment, but who knows. The story's not done yet.]

This your tree?

[She's perched on the roof of the little house, crouching down as she balances on the balls of her feet, on the corner where the house almost but not quite meets the tree. She's woman and raven and both and neither, with her dark feather cloak and black-beaked mask, head tilted curiously.]

It's a good tree. Grown real big.

[hattersgonnahat]

The Fox who wanted to light the sky

[It was very cold in the arctic forest. Dark, except for the clusters of stars way up high that some offering some light, enough to outline the trees and give the snow a slight glow, but nothing else.]

[Should one wander through the forest they would easily come across a pristine lake, whose reflection mirrored every star in the sky. A glowing figure stood in the middle of it, small, it looked far more animal than human. The white fox mask covered nearly their entire face, along with silvery white hair to match. The fox seemed almost ethereal, given the way they shined and the way their tail had so many colors at once, iridescently changing from one to the next as it moved.]

[The fox did not seem to notice whether it was being watched or not. They suddenly leapt into the air with ease, managing to stay up there and fly whenever they pleased. Doing flips and tricks and generally having a fun time showing off. All the while their tail was leaving behind trails of color. Recognizable by some.]

[spelleton]

[ This forest is much, much different from his. Cold and dark, with precious little light to be seen, except in the stars above and the lake below.

The man in red watches the little fox, his mask reflecting their iridescent light. ]

What has you in such a stir, little fox? [ His little visitor came to see him in such an inhospitable place, after all. It's only right that he should ask. ]

[thaumatrope]

The One Who Gives

[Within the forest are dozens of grand houses. Laughter trickles out the doors from those dressed in jewels and silk and faceless. They all direct to the same place, for this is a story with only one point.

A small shack farther within the forest, with a lock keeping something in rather then out. Inside is a beautiful shrine, decked to the brim with gold and red trim. In the center of it all is something wrapped in pure white silk and kept upright by more silk bound around it and four pillars. A mask of many colors adorns its face, white hair uneven but able to touch the ground. Otherwise there are no identifiable features.

The box of offerings is empty. Judging by the cobwebs, it's been empty for a long time. Yet there is nothing wrong with asking since that is their duty. So says the people.

So says the being's role as the protagonist.]

[silksoul]

[ The girl in red is drawn by the silk, more than anything else. Silk is a trail that will lead her to another life, a place she yearns for deep inside, more than anything.

But here, it binds. And that, too, seems wrong - but right.

The offering box is empty, full of cobwebs. That, at least, seems wrong. She wonders what she can give, and tears a strip of vivid red cloth from the bottom of her cloak. It tears, heartrendingly, but its colour is a shock, a burn. ]

Blind one, I have here some cloth for you. [ She folds it up and places it on top of the offering box. ] What will you give me in return?

[unpocoloco]

[He hates these houses. It speaks to the core of him, past the mournful fairytale, and maybe a little bit to that too.

The poet travels where he's told, because he seeks to fulfill a wish and this, he's told, is the way to grant it. He reaches the shack in the woods, pushing past the lock with a frown before he takes in the shrine inside. He feels at once as though he does not belong, not in the way of the houses that would not want his ilk lest he played the right song, but in the way of disturbing a grave or a beautiful and honored being.

Yet, for all the shrine and that feeling, it does not seem there is much honor here. The person is bound, and it bothers him that the laughter of those parties echoes in his ears while this one was left to rot. He goes to his knees]

Giver grand, there is a longing in my heart that cannot be helped. I have travelled far and followed all paths to you, and yet I see you have nothing. Will you allow me, a humble músico, to honor you with song?

[hawkwardness]

[He's wandering. He knows no matter how far he goes, he'll always be able to find his way home. But his home is a tree now, not a house. Home is where the heart is, see.

The more elaborate buildings don't seem welcoming, any more than the people inside. They're nothing like the one he grew up in. The shack is, on the other hand. He goes in.]

Hello?

[conquerorofwaves]

The One Who Lives Between Sea and Shore

[The Forest smelled strongly of salt, as the forest dips down meeting the shores of a primordial sea, with pearls, iridescent shells, sea glass, obsidian, and other jewels of the seat glinting in nonexistent moonlight. Just beyond the shores are several rock outcroppings, and sitting on one is a young man, combing his long violet hair with a golden comb, singing in a strange voice of heart's desire and answerings to unsolved questions. On his face is a Scaled mask with a crown of seashells lining the top.

He did not seem to care that he was being watched, in fact it almost seems like once there was an audience that he starts to show off as if to beckon someone to come closer, to take a dip - the water's fine.]

[silksoul]

[ The girl in red knows nothing of the sea - what use do her people spinning webs deep underground have for the sea? - but its vastness is mesmerizing. The glint of moonlight on the comb draws her, too; her mother combed her hair, braided it, but now she is gone and the girl does not know why.

She speaks in response to the unspoken invitation. ]

What is so wonderful about this place, that you invite others to swim freely?

[silksoul]

[ The forest here is dark. The trees crush together, blocking out all light, to create a clearing littered with candles and cloth.
A young girl dressed in red with a six-eyed mask sits upon a stone pedestal, weaving a seemingly endless supply of silk thread. At first glance, there seems to be no source, but after a while it's clear that its source is the girl herself; her hair grows long, and she cuts it, and continues to weave.

Her hands falter as if she's in pain, but on and on, she weaves. ]

[redskytakewarning]

[The forest is dark. Not necessarily in the sense of blocking out all light- But rather, the forest is all. The forest is the entire world- No light comes from above, because there is nothing to cast light from above. This is the world of the fae, choking and oppressive.

Ruadh staggers onward. She has always had indomitable willpower on the subjects of things she hates, even if it would kill her. And so now, even as the strange forest chokes the breath out of her, trying to force its story on her, Ruadh presses onward, a twisted, cracked mask of tragedy in one stretched hand, dragging along the ground, as she tries to force herself forward. Whatever it takes, just get out of the forest. She will not wear the mask- She will not allow the fae to have power over her again.

... But it's not the pain or the choking that stops her. It's the sight of a girl, weaving, and hurting.

Ruadh drags herself over.]

Are you... Are you all right?

[hatesdragons]

[In this section of the forest, the trees fade out to reveal a crowded banquet hall in a medieval castle. There is a great feast and celebration being held, and the king can be heard speaking from his throne elevated high above the floor,] Tonight, we rejoice! The dragon that had threatened our fair kingdom has been slain and is no more! The proof of this fine deed rests in my hand!

[The man holds the severed head of a green dragon by the horns high above the crowds, who in turn cheer in appreciation and victory. Lowering the head, the king continues:] Let us toast in honor of our brave dragonslayer, who saved our kingdom!

[A toast is given, and the feast commences. The dragonslayer, known only by the helmet concealing her face, is unable to enjoy the feast held in her honor until she finds her younger sister. She hurries about, searching high and low for her. Eventually, she begins approaching people and asking,]

Have you seen my sister? She has long, blue hair.

[Nobody says anything helpful in response. When she approaches you, the spectator of her tale, you may feel a strong compulsion to reply with, "I saw her enter the Enchanted Forest." But it is up to you to give into the urge, or fight it.]

[spelleton]

[ The man masked in red is a stranger to this story. He stands apart from the rest of the crowd; watching without speaking.

He only moves when he's spoken to, when the dragonslayer comes close; he sees no reason not to continue the tale, and give her the answer she seeks. ]

The one you seek entered the enchanted forest. But since I am a magician, and I know about such things, I would ask that I be allowed to come with you. [ Even through his faceless, red mask, his gaze can be felt. ] Not everything can be slain by steel alone, you see.

[evangelclairvoyance]

[You might have heard a bird or two along the path, or else the skittering and scratching of animals dashing to and fro. But by the time you reach the silent clearing you're left with nothing but your own sense of deep, heavy unease.]

You shouldn't be here, you know.

[The friendly voice of the man above seems to echo your own thoughts, though he seems hardly bothered as he stares down from behind a black-feathered mask, his head cocked in a distinctly birdlike fashion.]

[hattersgonnahat]

[Indeed they shouldn't be here. Granted they don't quite remember how they got here but they also don't really feel lost either. So long as they can see the sky...]

[So the white fox magically seems to float upward to meet with him. Very curious or confused.] What's wrong with coming here?

[unpocoloco]

A

It might have been reassuring, once, to see that this place had no human remains. Now is not the case. There were people, however different from him, and these were the homes they lived. These were lives lost. No matter his feelings for the Outlands, that holds true.

"What do you think happened here...?"

C -The grieving musician

It's the music that draws you in. Fingers dance over the strings of a glistening guitar and the song reaches into hearts and tugs. It doesn't tear but it would be easy for an old wound to stir to life. The man sits there in a mask with tiled turquoise beneath the eyes, resembling tears that never cease in their flow. In a trick of the light, the mask could nearly resemble a hollow-cheeked skull.

The man sits and plays and plays. He sits just outside a deep cave. As you approach, he turns to it. He gets to his feet, as though suddenly possessed. And then to you, he turns.

"I've got to reach her. I'm going to the other side. Will you come with me?"

C

[improbablenotimpossible]

A man slinks around while wearing a bronze-colored mask of a Fox, with imprints of the moon on its forehead. A long, bushy black tail wags as he bows, before sitting low on the ground.

"O Troubador, who weep so freely - to go to the other side is perilous, I will go with thee, as thy music moved my wounded heart."

[emergensirations]

B

[ They're not afraid of the Outlands. Of course not. They were born here, long ago. The sight of death doesn't disturb them. That, too, is something they were born to.

But there is one thing they do fear and that's the sight of another daemon. They still where they are, hiding behind another's legs, utterly powerless in this form. And the daemon doesn't even think twice. In seconds, everyone around is swept up and thrown.

There's no pain when they land, but there are tears in the fabric of their form. And something else, stirring in their chest. ]

Hello? Is anyone still out here? Hello?! [ They walk amidst the wreckage and ruins, a deep dread inside. ] Is anyone still alive...?

C - The Doll That Came To Life

[Through the woods, in a house on a hill, there lived no one at all. Beams of golden light streak through the windows of the house, the dust rising in a gentle waltz through the air just to settle again. Books sit on shelves and beds stay made and an old oven slowly rusts in a kitchen corner. A wind-up music box chokes out a gentle melody when wound just right and in the same room, a young girl's dress is lain out to wear, though long-since moth-eaten. Nothing has been touched for a very long time. Including the porcelain doll at the foot of the stairs.

The doll is of a larger size, dressed neatly in a frilled shirt and dress, golden curls hanging down from its head. It leans against the wall, its eyes shut, and its ball-jointed hands rest in its lap. It almost looks as though its been waiting for someone to come home.

The doll doesn't move no matter what is touched or explored throughout the house. It's only when someone picks the doll up that those eyelids lift behind the mask. The doll looks up.]

Hello. What is your name?

[subconmodo]

[He startles, very nearly dropping the doll to the floor then and there. He looks around, searching for whatever wizard or enchanter might be toying with him, but no one is here. No one but the abandoned home and the strange, talking doll.]

Oh, uh... I'm just the prince. Do you have a name?

[subconmodo]

The Prince and the Dragon

[Once upon a time, deep in the forest, there was a tower. In that tower lived a prince, naive and sweet, but fearful, for if he were ever to step outside, the dragon that guarded the lonely tower would surely gobble him up.

Many heroes to be had perished attempting to save him and yet there doesn't seem to be any trace of this dragon to be found. Nothing but the prince waiting patiently to be found.]

[hattersgonnahat]

[The fox did not know whether or not there was someone living in the tower, but they did decide to come through here one fateful night. A nice quiet forest, a little ways away from their usual territory, but the fox was feeling a bit adventurous.]

[Their trails of color covered a good chunk of the sky, constantly moving and changing from green, to pink, and sometimes a few shades in between. All of the sudden one of the trails pointed directly at the tower itself, where the fox landed. It wasn't meant to be a long break, just a short one. Though their noises of stepping around up there might've been heard.]