daybreakacademy | Into the Depths

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Into the Depths

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.

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[ 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. ]

[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.]

[ The mask shifts patterns constantly; only a few of those patterns could be recognisable as anything halfway familiar.

The man in red kneels to be at eye level with the fox; even with their floating, he's still taller than they. ]

You've ventured far from your stars, little fox. [ It feels right to say; this floating creature, surely, must have been born from the endless heavens. ] Did you tire of the night sky?

[Not quite born from, at least not in the normal sense. But whatever it was must've happened a long, long time ago.]

...This part of the sky is very different from all the others. [It was small but it could be seen, from way up high. No stars, no color, only red.]

It looks sad.

I suppose you could say it is. This is a tale from long ago. [ Or, at least, it seems long ago. ] It doesn't end happily, but many do not.

[And now headtilts to the other side.] Couldn't you change that?

If you know how it ends, then you know what not to do.

Edited 2020-05-29 02:29 (UTC)

I'm afraid it's not as simple as that. [ He sounds a little rueful, but only a little. ] A story must be told, and it moves through its motions. This is a tale that was already written, long ago.

[It's hard to tell, but the fox was pouting underneath the mask. A destined end like that must be awful. Their own story, so far, had not had anything like that yet.]

[They turned to the sky again.] Does it have to do with the sky looking that way?

You could say that. [ The man in the mask, on the other hand, seems relatively unbothered by the whole affair. ] Is the sky not to your liking, little fox?

[Instead of answering that right away, they floated back up. They were thinking of something.]

[Since there was not a star to be seen, it's possible that none of the fox's acquaintances could do anything about it. Fortunately, they weren't a star.]

I can restore it. I think.

[It remains to be seen, but if they can, perhaps that could alter the story too.]

You'd do better to find fairer skies, though your efforts are not without valor nor merit. [ His voice is melancholy, almost mournful. ] This is a frozen world, you see. A tale from long ago. What was done here was hidden from the stars.

[Frozen...]

How would you thaw it?

...How does the story go?

[ It's something that happened in the past. He has no answer for that first question. ]

That depends on where you look, doesn't it? This story can be told by a child, or it can be told by an adult. Its view adjusts, depends on that.

(no subject)

hattersgonnahat - 2020-06-04 01:12 (UTC) - Expand

[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?

Good evening. [ Evening is as good a term for it as anything, that twilight between day and night. The 'death' of the sun, where many mortals thrive. ]

I do, in a sense. [ He becomes it, he is it. He is its guardian, too. ] And what would a clever bird like yourself want with the confines of such a home?

[He's positively beaming, shoulders back and head held high]

Only to sate my curiosity. I came to see what was at the end of the path, and here I find this house. Surely it must be something important.

Oh, it's certainly important. But perhaps you should ask first who it's important to? It wouldn't do for you to fly into the jaws of a trap, sir Raven. [ What a curious bird he is. ] Though this is nothing so interesting; it's merely a story with two sides, reflections of one another.

[He laughs lightly and offers a shrug in return.]

Traps are meant to catch the foolish, and I am anything but.

I would, however, be interested in hearing these stories. What is a story but a key to greater knowledge? [And a thousand and first trick to add to his own repertoire]

Would you be willing to tell me the story? Although I'm afraid I have little to give in return.

Is that so? [ Well, this isn't a tale about foolishness. He's not going to say much. ]

The question is not my willingness, but your choices. [ He'll 'tell' this story, act it out, either way. ] One tale comes from the house, the other in the grave. They are different, yet similar.

The grave, hm?

[The Raven looks much too proud of himself, believing that he's managed to pry out some sort of secret information from the man about the path. The fact that the information comes so freely should be all the evidence he needs to determine that it isn't a secret at all.

He thinks for a moment. What path to take? If the tales are reflections of one another and one centers on a grave, then he doubts both tales come with happy endings. If that's the case, then surely the one that seems the most frightening must be the correct choice.]

The grave then. Please, tell me the tale.

If that's what you wish. [ He begins walking to the right, into the forest, where the sky blooms red as blood. It only becomes more and more vivid as he progresses.

The grave isn't much of a grave. It's a box, in a scarlet pool. Something within scratches restlessly; it wants to be let out. The wind whispers in the trees; let me out, let me go, let me take my revenge.

The masked man watches, impassive, distant. He only tells the story, after all. The box, much like Pandora's, must be opened by the foreign actor to begin. ]

[The Raven stares down at the box and cocks his head, dreamy smile giving way to a grimace. The role call for him to be an intelligent fool. The man forced to play the part however is adamant about drawing a line in the sand somewhere, even if he is unaware of the play being performed]

This seems... unwise.

[To put it lightly.]

Whatever is in the box has a specific target in mind, right?

[Don't you want to know what's inside? Even if it doesn't, you can easily think your way out of a thousand terrible situations, can't you?

His mind has as many retorts as he has ideas. The line in the sand blurs, the angel growing to be overtaken by the Raven once more.]

Oh, yes. For a significant transgression made against him, a price must be enacted.

Will you bear witness to it? It's not for the faint of heart. [ There is always a choice. He can always walk away.

But will his curiosity let him? ]

["Surely he can't want revenge on a bird," his thoughts helpfully supply, and the argument is more than enough to squash the momentary skepticism that had overcome him.]

Hm... I think I will. He should have the chance to set things right.

[Or that's the excuse he gives as he steps forward into the pool to pry open the box's lid]

[ Inside the box lies only darkness. Inside the box lies the masked man in red, his mask bloody, his eyes glittering, his cloak crushed around him and entombing him in scarlet. Every part of him is threaded through, marbled with crimson, the scars of wounds that refuse to heal.

He grips the side of the box and rises, stiffly, half-climbing half-falling out of it as he begins to walk away from his own grave, and towards the house. ]

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