villagelogs | 010 » something wicked this way comes

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010 » something wicked this way comes

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: ???
WHEN: Day 010
WHAT: Spooks happen. Some sanity loss may occur. (More on that next week!)
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Thank you so much for your patience with this! My Friday was much busier
than expected, so I'm very sorry for the lateness on getting these out to you all.

RECOMMENDED ♫ Deadly Avenger "Gyuki"

DAY 010
“We make up horrors to help
us cope with the real ones.”
—Stephen King
The day dawns but few wake to see it. Only one, who has been exempt from the strange happenings about to unfold. She will face a day like any other, a farce of normality in an utterly abnormal universe — but she will face it alone. For none who will experience these strange happenings are to be found in the town until the next morning dawns. Each has been taken, whisked away to another layer of the town, peeled back and exposed like a raw nerve.

Mathias screams and there are none who can hear it.

THE DETAILS
Each exploration, encounter, and revelation happen separately from one another. Though some may include the same locations, none will overlap in time or space. The circumstances laid out in each prompt are exclusive to that situation — do not assume the answers someone else received will also apply to you.

Players may ask questions as they normally do for logs, but these should be kept as part of the designated thread. You may create a subthread under your header for questions, or intersperse them with your "tags". Your responses may be formatted as IC tags or as a more OOC "telling" what your character does rather than showing.

DAY 011
All characters involved in this event will wake on the morning of Day 011 in the exact location where they began to sleep on Day 009, but they will find themselves covered in a layer of dust just as thick as that which had covered much of Mathias. The dust does not extend to their surroundings.

The memories of what they encountered or saw remain clear in their minds, no matter how impossible they might seem. Sights, sounds, smells, all may be recalled with crystalline clarity, even if they wish it were otherwise.

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Number Five awakes to biting cold as snow falls around him in fat white tufts, piling up thickly upon the limbs of trees surrounding him. The white blanket upon the ground is unmarred by any footprints or other disturbances that might indicate how he came to be out in the forest, and the soft grey sunlight does little to illuminate this particular mystery.

In front of him is a path, determined only by the deliberate clearing of trees to the left and right, snaking through the forest in either direction. What does he do?

Edited 2020-10-31 02:37 (UTC)

These two halves wake beneath the autumn trees, the sun obscured by grey clouds that disburse a fine mist of cold rain that coats everything in a shining sheen of wet. Their clothes are coated with it, droplets clinging to their skin as the mist coalesces, and tiny pools form in the packed down leaves in shades of red, orange, and brown.

They are each on either side of a path, the ground worn down and the dirt packed in as if it has been well-traveled over time. The trees form around it, or perhaps it was formed around them, though each seem so intrinsically part of the other that it's impossible to truly say which it was.

There is no sign of the fog that has kept them from much of the forest, nor any indication of others being nearby. They are alone... together.

Edited 2020-10-31 03:22 (UTC)

Quentin wakes in a place that might have been a second home if it were in any other town. The library, a location he is familiar with by now, except... it's clean. There isn't a speck of dust or shard of broken glass or stray crunchy leaf in sight. The lamps on the table are all lit, as are the lanterns along the shelves, and from where he sits slumped over at a reading table, it seems as if another patron might walk in at any moment to look for their next book to read. But there is only silence echoing through the large room. And then—

Thud. The sound of a book hitting the floor further into the room, the noise jarring in the heavy quiet.

Edited 2020-10-31 20:29 (UTC)

John wakes to the sound of waves crashing against rock, an angry cacophony created in time with the cold howling wind that tears at his clothes. He lays sprawled on an uneven rocky surface, the top of a cliff that cascades down into the raging ocean. Just a few yards to his left, at the end of a short outcropping of land, stands a tall lighthouse, its beacon already shining as the sun begins to set behind them, disappearing behind a sea of trees.

Edited 2020-10-31 18:00 (UTC)

These two lawmen awake in the damp interior of a round building. One is propped against the wall at an awkward angle, the other sprawled up the bottom stairs that spiral upward in a way that makes one dizzy if they look for too long. Everything in sight is wet — the walls, the steps, the stone floor, and from above they can hear a howling wind that slips into the building from the top and winds down to them with a bitter chill. There is rust on those metal stairs and decaying clumps of autumn leaves scattered about the floor.

There is one door that leads out of this circular room, into what appears to be a simply furnished living area for whoever kept this place running. The same grime covers the interior here as the rest of Mathias, only there is damp as well, making everything rust and molder in ways they haven’t seen here before.

Edited 2020-10-31 18:11 (UTC)

The former High King of Fillory wakes surrounded by stone. The walls might remind him of the castle he’s so familiar with, stones carefully laid and worn even smoother by time, but that is where the familiarity ends. The hall he is in feels cold, a sense of dread drifting through like an unearthly draft, and the only illumination is from a collection of candles already pooling wax beneath them.

He is at the end of this hallway, propped against the empty dead end wall, but ahead and to his left is a door. Further on, a second door, and then a third before the end of the hallway and the double doors that stand there.

Edited 2020-10-31 19:33 (UTC)

Zed wakes in a dark room to find herself in a large bed with crumpled sheets and flat pillows. Tall windows allow moonlight to illuminate the room, allowing the tasteful yet elegant style to be seen. A light coating of dust has begun to accumulate on all surfaces in the room, including the long chest of drawers against one wall with a mirror attached to the back. Another mirror is mounted to the opposite wall, an oval shape, and a smaller third mirror rests on a bedside table. All the mirrors show signs of age, dark spots appearing around the edges that obscure bits of whatever they're reflecting.

There is one door to the room, unlocked, leading out to a long hall with doors on one side and tall windows on the other.

Edited 2020-10-31 06:08 (UTC)

When these two strangers awake, it to the sound of trickling water echoing in the darkness. Stone is all around them, water rushing over pebbles beneath their sprawled limbs, though there is oddly enough warmth in the air that they will not find themselves shivering as they had upon their arrival in Mathias. Light filters in from one direction, reflecting off the wet surfaces and providing them just enough light to see each other by.

There is no sign of how they have come to be in this place, nor any indication that others have been brought here as well. So, what now?

Edited 2020-10-31 02:35 (UTC)

Ellie wakes surrounded by walls of stone, carefully laid and worn ever smoother by time. There is a sense of dread that drifts through the cold hallway, like an unearthly draft that curls around her in the dead end of the hall where she lays. The only illumination is from a single lit candle amidst a collection of others that have burned down to waxy stubs.

Ahead and to her left is a door. Further on, a second door, and then a third before the end of the hallway and the double doors that stand there. There are collections of spiderwebbing along the edges of the ceiling, descending down toward the floor, and even a few that lay draped across doorways. What does she do?

Edited 2020-10-31 19:50 (UTC)

Claire wakes to find herself in a large bed with crisp sheets, plump pillows, and a strip of bright sunlight cascading into the room from tall windows. Elegantly decorated in tasteful style, the room is free from the dust that has been such a staple feature of the buildings in Mathias. There is a long chest of drawers against one wall with a mirror attached to the back, the wood dark and pristine. Another mirror is mounted to the opposite wall, an oval shape, and a smaller third mirror rests on a bedside table.

There is one door to the room, unlocked, leading out to a long hall with doors on one side and tall windows on the other.

Edited 2020-10-31 06:00 (UTC)

Drip, drip, drip and he's in the bottom of the well all over again, a customised personal hell from which he will never escape from. Just when he started to entertain the fantasy of letting his guard down, the dark and cold and wet seizes him again like a stutter in his chest.

He startles awake, gasping for air and a smoky kind of chill fills his battered lungs. Water splashes as his hands seek purchase on the slippery pebbled ground and the only reason crippling helplessness doesn't set in straightaway is the dim light painting contours over her silhouette lying next to him.

"...wha- th-" he hurries over towards her, staying crouched low as he reaches out to touch her upper arm, give her a firm shake.

"Ma'am?"

( number five finds himself, once again, entirely alone.

the first inhale he takes rattles his lungs, the air around him sharp enough to sting before his breath clouds in front of him and he blinks bleary-eyed at the snow-cushioned branches above him. face a clear mask of confusion, he spins in place - searching, of course, for any sign, any indication without a single memory of coming into the forest, or it having been snowing in the first place.

for a harsh moment, the snowfall looks like ash to a mind trying to scramble for purchase - where, when, how. but it is the cold that brings him back and focuses him on the task at hand instead. survive, he thinks and his jaw creaks.

a path, ahead and behind. either a game, or a dream, or something else entirely. hands curled into white-knuckled fists, five takes another breath, rolls his neck, and takes off in a run forward, impatience and irritation a comfortable distraction in place of the rising panic.

run, boy, run. )

Edited 2020-10-31 03:23 (UTC)

The path continues on through the woods in a winding mess, the trees so thick that one cannot see the way they've come or the way ahead for more than a few yards. The man trapped in a boy's shell can run and run and run, but there seems to be no end in sight. Nothing can be heard in the crisp stillness of the forest save for the soft pat pat pat of snowfall.

On and on, he goes. Where it stops... nobody knows.

(Time doesn't feel like it exists here, watch old against his wrist and glaringly misleading. Has it been hours? Or minutes? By the end, he is winded, steaming breath and distress, all crooked and harsh angles bent, an old man's habit messily fit into a child's body indeed.

His heart races, hummingbird fast in birdcage ribs.

This isn't working.

He looks to his hands, spacetime rippling around them as he concentrates, and pushes forward, attempts once more - certainly not for the first time since ever waking in this damned place - at time displacement. )

Come on -- ( all tunnel-visioned frustration, ignoring the building crescendo of exhaustion he knows will come.

desperation. wasted effort. he knows this too well, and he can't be stuck again. his voice wavers, a treacherous thing. ) - come on!

There is seemingly no one and nothing to answer him, no single sign of life amongst those trees that are half barren from the changing seasons. And yet—

A rustling. Behind him, hidden beyond the trees bordering the path. There and then gone, only the sound of his own ragged breathing filling the cold air.

Edited 2020-10-31 04:10 (UTC)

Snow has a remarkable quality of wrapping the world in stillness.

So when the rustling comes, its a pin drop Five didn't know he was waiting for - it cuts his efforts, on the cusp of nothing except wasted strength.

So he whirls towards it, razor focus and something close to murderous intent as he does what human nature tends to advise against - he strays from the path, if only just, keeps it consciously at his back and to his left. Quick steps towards the sound's direction, stopping only by a drying pine.

Hands wrap around a branch, jutting sharp and singular, and he has to leverage his whole body against it to break it free. But he does. He's used worse things for weapons.

He doesn't call out, because he isn't about to be caught being a goddamn horror movie cliche. that's diego's thing, maybe.

There is nothing out of ordinary in the area. No disturbed snow, no broken branches (besides the makeshift weapon he's created), no ominous shadows creeping into view. The world is still, almost serene...

Until it isn't. There is the sound of movement, a combination of air shifting quickly and leaves rustling, going in a direction further away from the path. It's quick, rushing along as if someone were sprinting through the woods. (There is, of course, no one there.)

[ she's disoriented when she wakes, curling in on her side to try and preserve her own body heat, but the rain has already stolen too much of it from her. she sits up, shivering, to find the sleeping giant has followed her yet again.

cautiously, she crawls over, leaning to check and see if his chest still moves rhythmically with his breath. confirmation that he's alive is all she needs to be satisfied for now until she turns her attention to the trees.

she wraps her arms around a trunk to attempt to deftly haul herself up the the top. her hands threaten to slip across the wet bark, but she's taken greater spills. it's more important to orient themselves... if she can. ]

( this is becoming an alarming habit.

kylo doesn't come away gently, in stages, but with a violent jerk and a gasp that suggests whatever he'd been dreaming of hadn't been pleasant. his eyes sweep across his surroundings, not quite seeing, not yet, before dropping to study himself, as if expecting to find ...something.

but he's whole. unblemished but for the fine sheen of water coating him. his brow furrows — how long had he been outside? how could he have not noticed? but then his attention shifts, finds rey pulling herself upright and his expression shutters. )

Why is it that whenever there's trouble I find you at the center of it?

[ her huff is almost a laugh, the audible breath she presses out is honestly more at him than from the effort it takes to throw her weight up to the lowest branch. ]

Why do you assume-- [ her question is slipped through gritted teeth, grinding together as it tests her grip strength. water was never an additional obstacle that she had to deal with, and she finds it hard to keep her hands from slipping. still, a feet in the air, she tightens the hold she has with one arm and her knees, turning to look down at him. ] --that I'm the cause. From my point of view I had little trouble before you.

For a moment, he thinks someone out here must be fucking with him.

But nothing makes sense - of course not. Not his sudden appearance here, not the abrupt change of season - a whiplash contrast to the autumnal chill of ocean-front.

Still, Number Five's patience is thin at the best of times. Its impulsivity that drives him forward, a blink in space before reappearing where the sound had been, stick held up, pine sap across his palms as he lands, kicking up snow from the careened momentum.

He isn't stupid - this feels like walking into a trap. Descending blindly into freezing waters, and all that. But even if it is, perhaps it will get him a step closer to something other than a bonedeep chill.

Raylan woke with a sharp inhale, eyes snapping open to the unfortunate sight of stairs spirling above him. He wasn't the type of man to get nightmares but that's what the view felt like. Like he'd fallen down a tower at an electrical station and was looking into the depths of oncoming insanity. The sense of wetness followed the cold that was creeping up into his bones and Raylan gingerly sat up and rubbed a hand on the back of his head, honestly expecting his hand to come back bloody. It wasn't. Just wet. Looking around, Raylan took in the door, the disrepair and... Malcolm Bright?

"Malcolm," he said, testing his voice and the strength of it before he pushed up to his feet. "What the hell," he whispered, surprised at how far such a small sound carried before it was overtaken by wind howling down at them. He saw his hat nearby, upended on the floor and would pick it up, once he knew Malcolm wasn't dead.

I doubt that.

( he'd been to jakku. he knew the kind of people she'd lived amongst. casual disorder and thievery were as natural as breathing.

and on that thought, he rolls to his feet ㅡ pauses a moment to pat himself down and, satisfied, turns his attention to the path. wet leaves crunch beneath booted feet as he moves, unconcerned by the slickness. )

I don't recognize this road.

Malcolm stirred, then stilled, then jolted awake with a cry, looking around like a nervous prey animal before his eyes fell on Raylan and he let himself lean back against the wall again, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead.

He looked paler than the circumstances warranted or the last time Raylan saw him. There was a fine sheen of cold sweat on his brow. He was shaky as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Raylan," he recalled, stepping unsteadily towards him. "What's...what's going on?"

[ she shakes her head, resuming her climbing. he is right in a way, jakku was full of trouble, but it was the kind she had come to expect. practiced and predictable, almost.

not like him.

higher up the trunk, there's thicker and more dense branches she can grab onto. ]

That's why I'm trying to get a better look.

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Page 1 of 11

010 » something wicked this way comes

number five »

kylo ren, rey »

quentin coldwater »

john constantine »

malcolm bright, raylan givens »

eliot waugh »

zed martin »

doc holliday, jill valentine »

ellie »

claire novak »

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