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 Post subject: Re: Obscure
View Likes PostPosted: Mon Apr 18, 2016 12:00 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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A M E R S H A M
There's no earthly way of knowing which direction we are going.____________________
With a screech the train began to lumber forward slowly at first but picking up speed as it dashed into the blackness between stations. The metal behemoth rocked from side to side as it built up, unnoticed to those who were seated but jarring those few who remained on their feet, in that particular moment being only the concerned blonde woman and the man that had been subject to her concern all the while. Perhaps the woman and her companion were so concerned that they didn’t realize that there were no patrons in the second half of the car. Surely they saw people board through the doors, but if they did then they were gone now. At their feet, a body lay haphazardly strewn about the train floor with no noticeable assaults or abrasions and further than that, no noticeable signs of possessing a soul. A medium or necromancer would be able to pick up on this anomaly, but perhaps not the other that was occurring just a few feet away.

Behind the veil of the world, Something reeled. It saw as well as felt the unnatural peoples that descended on its dwelling and sought to anchor themselves into the events that it alone was privy to. Snarling from its perch the Something took stock of those vicious few who stuck out among the puerile meals which it reveled in. It saw their code, their akashic worthlessness. Nothing but pitiful scraps of animated fons. It was one though, that sat amongst them which was driving a nail deeper into the Something's head, causing it much discomfort. But that one was stronger than the rest or at least stuck out to its senses more clearly. There were those among them who seemed much weaker, easy prey indeed and it sought to strike at them first, as death often did.

It took one last sweep. There were two it could easily recognize the scent of for the stench of their active energies overtook it, and there were two who were bright. Bright, it decided, in that, they were endowed with similar energies but posed little threat. There were at least two who seemed easier to claim, perhaps to lead the stronger to its lair in order to better deal with the interlopers. However, there was one it could tell were different from the masses but radiated differently than it had ever seen. It had been touched in the same way that the corpse had been touched, and permeated the same sickly sweet aroma. This one, it decided, was tainted. Thusly, a decision was made in the Something's consciousness.

Perhaps a fraction of a moment before the event that was about to unfold, the spirit that had been communing with the necromancer dissipated into small, white wisps and faded away. Perhaps he would notice that this wasn’t willingly, but perhaps he wouldn’t. Either way, there was no hope for him at this point, even with the spirit’s help.

It was in a flurry that, behind the tainted male of the troupe, the Abberith would make itself known to them. Here it was all flurry of arms and a blustering squall of shadows. The man with the bright green things about his head, as it was he that had survived the same touch of death as the body on the floor, and it was him that it had chosen. The ghastly thing would surely draw the attention of those others in the car, though particularly those who have seen or communed with the dead. At first, those among even the Seekers who were not accustomed to such other worldly things would find themselves unable to acknowledge the thing, but, at least for the the ones nearest it, that wouldn't last long.

From beneath the quaking shadows four arms extended rapidly and they would encircle the man's shoulders and sides tightly, long fingers pressing into the skin beneath his clothes hard enough to bruise him. Its fingernails, like thin razors and would cut through the threads adorning him and into his flesh opening shallow wounds on his shoulders and abdomen. Twisting violently the Abberith would rapidly fling itself towards the front most door of the train car and another slew of arms would scramble forth from its mass in an effort to preempt a defense against the others in the car. The man in its grip would find himself thrown from its embrace and into the door of the train car with considerable force, though not enough to do any lasting damage but certainly enough to shock him. The Abberith would draw back one long, winding arm as the others dance in a flurry of movements, and bring it down for a final strike only to go through the door instead as its target hit the floor to avoid being struck.

The Abberith stayed between the Seekers and the man and they would have a second at most to react to it before its next move.

    Notes: There will be one round of posting before my next GM post. A note on characters: Vivienne and Joshua are the ones the Abberith considers the strongest, as they have actively used their powers this entire time. The "bright" are who it considers harmlessly endowed, being Anna and Iris as they have not used their powers in its presence. The two that it thinks are the easiest to claim are Teo and Maia, as they have no obvious endowments that it can pick up on. The one it is attracted to is Francois, and that is the one it attacks as Francois has survived the same touch of death that killed Jamie.
    Tags: @Fearless Sissy

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 Post subject: Re: Obscure
View Likes PostPosted: Sun May 08, 2016 6:49 am 

eye of newt, tail of newt... rest of newt...

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F R A N C O I S
Religion lied to you - the afterlife consists only of bothering me._______________
Francois barely had time to move on from feeling shocked to helpless before invisible fingers suddenly held him in an iron grip. Francois watched in wide-eyed horror as his jacket, sweater, and the skin on his shoulders tore in thin strips. He gasped as the soft skin on his stomach split, as if something was dragging long, thin razors across it with absolutely no regard for the frail viscera within. The man writhed helplessly against something he couldn't see, couldn't even feel with his mind, save for a painful throb behind his left ear.

Suddenly, the feeling of being wrapped in barbed wire ceased - instead, Francois found himself flying through the carriage and straight for the glass door. He had enough time to lift his hands and shield his head from the worst of the impact, falling to the floor in a heap; limbs everywhere, but thankfully still attached to the rest of him. Groaning, he raised his head. The world was swimming, and Anna was - Anna was looking strange, standing with an outstretched palm. Not as if she was signaling someone to stop, but rather as if she were about to greet the thin, empty air for the first time. Francois narrowed his eyes. The air in front of her seemed to shimmer slightly.

He didn't have time to think about the way Anna was standing before she ran towards him, and he suddenly had enough to do with trying to open the carriage door.
A N N A
If you can't summon the flames directly from Hell, store bought is fine._______________
Her worries of not having a means to contact the authorities were quickly pushed aside as Francois flew through the air, propelled by an unseen force. Anna didn't know what it was, and had little interest in finding out at the moment. She only knew that she had to try to do something.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, the saying went. But Anna knew that wishes could be horses, if you asked right. She held out her hand towards the nothing and stared blindly at it.

"I don't know what you want," she told the looming presence in a firm voice and took a small step forward. "But you are leaving now." Was she imagining it, or did the presence seem to shrink back a little? She risked another tiny step towards it. "You took one life. That was enough, I think."

The presence clearly didn't agree with her. Anna's feet left the ground and she was hurled in the same direction as Francois with a shriek of surprise, hoping that he'd manage to get out of the way before they collided. Her wish was halfway fulfilled, and she only rolled into the legs of Francois, knocking them away under him, but thankfully not obstructing him too much in his effort to open the door to relative safety. The skin on her back felt clammy as she realized the thing probably did not consider a train door a very big hindrance, but it was still a relief when it slid open and the two friends tumbled through, equally frantic in their effort to slam it shut behind them again.

Anna turned to face the people in the car, hoping to all the gods there were that someone here would know what to do, and that the people who didn't would get the hell out. She only had one idea as to how to separate the two groups.

"T-there's a demon," she gasped, her hair sticking to her face. Her voice rose to a scream. "A bloody demon! Run! Just run!"



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 Post subject: Re: Obscure
View Likes PostPosted: Sun May 08, 2016 3:41 pm 

the stars look very different today ★

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V I V I E N N E
After observing those around the train car, Vivienne began to fall into an uneasy sleep, her head dipping to her chest. Half thought-out plans filtered through her mind, with images of the blonde woman she had followed, the train, and her mystery novel converging together into a strange, convoluted lucid dream. What she didn't realize was that she was leaving her mind open and vulnerable to the Creature and events that were about to unfold.

Pain and fear swept over Vivienne's opened mind so suddenly her body shut down from the force of the vehement tidal wave. Her eyes opened wide then rolled back in her head, body as stiff as a corpse. If it wasn't for the disturbing gurgling noises coming from the back of her throat, she could have easily been considered dead. Her shoulders and stomach burned and screamed for release, mind begging for an escape as she was, for an instant, trapped in Hell. She was an antenna, a concentrate of all the sudden emotional chaos erupting in the tiny train car, and she was losing control.

No, was all Vivienne's weak mind could manage. Even her subconscious was flickering on and off like the fluorescent tube lights in her fourth grade classroom. Oh god, a memory. Vivienne clung to it like a drowning person, imagining every detail of the room. There had been a chalkboard, with the teacher's desk to the left. A place to put your coats and shoes was on the back wall. The paint had been a cheery yellow, with the alphabet along the top of the wall. Her force of focus jammed her mind, causing the pain in her body to roll away like maggots escaping for the ground.

Vivienne jolted upward, released. The fear was easier to contain and control, as long as she kept her head. She stood fully, looking around the train car. Her head felt as though it was full of cotton, walls fighting to keep the pain, fear, and panic out. If she could see her own face she would notice blood-shot eyes and the distinct etchings of terror on a human face.

As her eyes came to the front of the car, Vivienne could see a dark shimmer of hatred and pestilent gluttony. Its tendrils reached for her, its sharp points reaching to burrow into her soul. Vivienne braced herself for attack, but it didn't come as the tendrils suddenly changed focus to a man by the door, a man with ripped clothing and wounds over his shoulders and stomach. It was the man Vivienne had seen in the blonde woman's mind, and the pain had come from him. That same woman stepped toward the...thing and spoke. Vivienne let out a shriek as the woman was tossed in the air by nothingness, thrown with force towards the train car doors like a rag-doll. This appeared to be in her favour as she grabbed the man and they stumbled, almost drunkenly, through it.

A demon on the train? The woman, who was now in the next car, was howling, her hair wild, eyes wild, like a cornered animal. Vivienne didn't take the time to consider her personal philosophical ideology on whether demons were in existence or not; all she knew was she needed to get the hell off the train car, or she might die. Her seat near the middle door of the train had been a fair choice as she spun and ran, and in her haste, slammed her shoulder into the half-open door to the next car. Blocking the mental pain, she fell on to the floor before staggering up, running toward the woman and man.

Even in a moment of confusion and pain, when the world was spinning, Vivienne's first instinct was to help. She grabbed the man by the face, her small, chubby hands on either of his cheeks. "Look into my eyes," she commanded, fighting to keep control of her currently shaking legs, "look into my eyes."

This transfer of emotion was a choice, controlled, thin streams of energy with purpose. Panic and Chaos were harder to defend against and control, as they came with spikes and random attacks from all sides. She was prepared for it to come this time, as Vivienne took part of the man's pain; not all, just as much as she could bear herself in her weakened, frightened state. The shoulder she had bruised on the door throbbed, now taking on twice the pain. She wanted to help the woman as well, but in the moment was afraid to look away.

It helped that the man's eyes looked so much like her son's. It gave Vivienne a small spark of peace.


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 Post subject: Re: Obscure
View Likes PostPosted: Mon May 09, 2016 3:38 pm 

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Iris frowned at the man who apparently liked to talk to himself. She didn't know his name was Joshua or that he could see people she couldn't. She just thought she got on a train with a crazy person. It was all Ian's fault. If he hadn't found some pretty distraction, then she wouldn't have to be on the train. She decided to ignore the man and pulled out her phone. As she pulled up Ian's contact information, she felt a cold chill in the air. She decided to ignore that as well. She started to text her brother, briefly being able to ignore everything around her.

'You are a dumb...'

Before she could finish typing, two people went flying across the train car. The sound of it, broke her out of her own little world.

"What the hell?"

She said, pocketing her phone and stood up in concern. Her mind was telling her to run even before the blond said it. That she should have never boarded the train. That she-She turned and screamed when she saw the Abberith. Her father's culture had taught her to respect spirits but she had never encountered a demon before. A part of her wasn't sure they were even real. Now, she was pretty sure they were. Although she heard a woman saying to run, Iris was frozen. She looked up at the demon in fear, unable to command her own body to move.

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 Post subject: Re: Obscure [OPEN]
View Likes PostPosted: Wed Jun 29, 2016 7:10 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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One way trip to hell.____________________
There was, despite the quickness and surprise of the Abberith, there was one who managed to react immediately. One of the humans in the car moved to intercept the tainted thing that it had thrown against the wall and proceeded to urge him toward the door. The apparition reeled around, the shadows coalescing and then blooming from the center of its form as it twisted in place a moment before its attention was split on a veritable exhibition of magical essence cutting into reality all at once. The human female spoke at it with an outstretched palm and the Abberith regarded her warily, limbs writhing and thrashing but making no immediate moves to stop her. It was when she stopped talking for herself that the apparition would lurch forward suddenly, one of its twisting appendages striking her across the middle.

The Abberith was confused as, following the duo’s escape to another car, several things happened simultaneously. It felt constricted all at once as though something was suffocating its form from all around and another, invisible presence entered the insignificant domain it had made for itself in this place. Shadows poured in through the windows, bleeding through the glass and flung towards it, unceremoniously colliding with its own presence and, though it could not feel pain, it found itself torn into by this energy, parts of it ripped away into the Aether and lost forever. The thing faltered and spun backwards as the shadowy grip released it. Something spoke to it again, though this was a voice it recognized, and one that it could not disobey. It was being summoned.

Beneath the train car now, there was nothing. Almost at once, the whole carriage began to tilt violently before lurching into a spin. The car turned once, twice, three and four times, accelerating with each turn and the sensation of falling would be obvious. The Abberith stood stagnant, unmoving and unreadable as it observed the Seekers and their struggles to retain their footing as they succumbed to gravity. Suddenly it moved, thrashing itself into the side of the metal behemoth. Glass exploded, shards twinkling against the light of the hallogen bulbs as they drifted off into the darkness. Glimpses of the distance outside the windows would yield views of rushing white dots, like being discharged through space. After mere seconds of this free fall, everything would come to a sudden stop. Time slowed as the car hit surface on an angle almost upside down and then rolled forward coming to rest on its roof, now completely overturned.

The crash, while unpleasant, seemed to be cushioned by something like a lighter gravity and would likely result in little more than bruises and scrapes for those aboard the train, though they would probably find themselves rattled and disoriented, thrown from their positions into various states of disarray around the interior. Silence overtook the scene for close to a minute. The eerie peace may be a clue to some, unsettling to others, but was short lived in its stillness.

The hole the Abberith had left in the train car would serve as a door, opening its patrons to the air and darkness of the realm they now found themselves inhabiting. Moonlight was absent from the place outside the car, though it was decidedly some sort of night time. A long shore swept outwards laden with irregular white pebbles and stones which sunk into a murky sea that stretched out beyond any horizon that could possibly be out there in the Dark. Standing, or rather, existing, outside the immediate eyeshot of the absent wall, was a hulking shape unlike any of the passengers would have likely seen before. A distinctly humanoid shape was protruding from the coast, close to six feet high and surrounded by the same dark aura as the spectre that had torn the train asunder.

Someone's ears would surely pick up the subtle, rhythmic whispering that sounded a little like singing and came in waves as the black water broke against the shoreline, it was an unsettling hymn in a language only the oldest of the dead could even think to remember.
P R I S O N
Blood and bones.____________________
A soft breeze rolled through the walless expanse of the Prison, caressing the burnt remains of the bodies that lay strewn haphazardly about the ground. Perhaps having a prison with walls would have made sense. It would have certainly prevented whatever manner of massacre had happened here, in any case. Walls were for security, and security was only for those that deserved it. What happened to these people wasn’t important, and if Deimos was being honest he didn’t care.

The ground made a sickeningly wet sound as the prince’s foot sank into the absorbed blood and gore, flesh that had rotted and liquefied seeping over his boot. It had looked nicer the last time he was here, he reminisced. The Prison was not a conventional prison in any sense of the word - in actuality, it was the dead shell of a world that had long been forgotten about since he’d overtaken it. It was used to house the indigenous people that he’d enslaved, and that lasted for a few thousand years or so before he’d grown bored of it. These days it was used to contain those that couldn’t be contained by the nether. Deimos paused, regarded the scorched bodies dotting the ground and spared them a resigned tsk before continuing on.

Pale hands clasped behind his back as he walked. He was close now, he knew. He could feel it. He paused, turning slowly to take in his surroundings. The buildings that had once stood tall and proud now lay in piles of rubble speckled across the earth. The sky for the most part stayed a perennial shade of grey, but sometimes it switched things up and changed to an even darker shade of grey. The mere existence of this vicinity was distasteful and under no other circumstances would Deimos ever be caught here. This was important though, so much so that he actually found himself excited to be here. A smile stretched across his face as he called out to the emptiness around him. “Do you know who I am?”

“Blood and bones.”

The dead sky darkened, and the dead world lying spread-eagled beneath the stoic roof gave answer, in the form of an endless, indifferent silence that could not be drowned out. No matter how persistent the voices grew.

“Blood and bones,” the faceless man repeated, and this time the mutilated woman joined him, hobbling forward on legs that were arms. “Blood and bones,” he added, his tone indifferent, and the woman’s shuffling ceased as she joined him in surveying the destruction that held Dahrc at its center.

“Blood and bones,” she echoed, agreeing with him, and the being standing like a statue between them finally stirred, shifting long locks of colorless hair from in front of eyes that were entirely black and never closed.

“No,” he told them, and they turned to stare, waiting now that they had finally forced him to stop ignoring them. “This world has been emptied. There is no blood, none that has not yet been spilled. There are no bones, for they have all been rendered to ash.”

“Blood and b-“

“Do you know who I am?”

They faded into shadows as Dahrc forgot them, and the Demon shifted, turning slowly to face the source of the first real voice he had heard since he laid waste to every other inhabitant of the false Nether he had been imprisoned within so long ago. He had no idea of the passage of time, but he knew the speaker was the first visitor in many mortal lifetimes. He also recognized something in the voice, a faint familiarity that rang through him without immediately creating any true understanding. He could feel the power, however, and he could feel the world around him as it remembered the newcomer. There was no warmth in the recognition. Only fear.

“Blood and bones,” the faceless man reminded him, before fading once more into oblivion as Dahrc forgot him again.

“I do not know. But I feel.”

“Do you?” Deimos asked, looking down to examine his nails in perpetual boredom. He hummed softly in acknowledgement and then looked up - the man stood miles away from him, and yet Deimos could see. What had once been a powerful demon had been reduced to nothing more than the shell of a broken man, doomed to carry out the rest of his eternal existence in the confines of the Prison. “Tell me, Dahrc, is a man who has nothing left to live for and is not permitted to die still capable of feeling anything at all?”

His question was more rhetorical than not, but he humored himself enough to wait a few moments before continuing. His voice raised a few octaves, though he was by no means shouting; if this man wanted to listen, he would hear. “I seem to recall there being a more lively group the last time I had the displeasure of visiting. Did you do this?”

Dahrc felt an unexpected emotion rise up in him; the words were brazen, but it was a good question. Surrounded by the skin of a world that had been turned into a corpse, with only the charred remains of its former inhabitants (and his apparitions) for company, beyond the reach of the claws of death — what was there for him to feel?

“Blood and bones,” the faceless man answered him, and the distant speaker addressed him once again, indicating the devastation currently calling the forgotten world home. Where there had been the shells of buildings there was only an endless procession of rubble piles, and where there had been prisoners there was now empty space.

“Yes,” he replied, and then he was standing only a few feet away from his visitor. The man had come here seeking his death, of that much Dahrc was certain, but he would not deprive himself of entertainment, rare as it was, too swiftly. “They were already dead, from the moment they came here. I merely helped them realize it.”

“Blood and bones.”

“I TAUGHT THEM THE TRUTH!” Dahrc shouted, and he felt a heat rising around him as he addressed the man in front of him with a sudden, unstable fervor. His voice was wholly different from the one he’d used before, as if coming from a new source entirely, and his tattered black cloak swirled around him as he took a step closer to his visitor. “I SHOWED THEM REALITY!”

He stopped, the chaos fading from his mind, but the loathing remained. A small smile, faint but present, took shape on his ghostly pale face. “I feel," he said in a soft whisper that resembled the first voice more than the second.

"And I will teach you what it is that I feel.”

Deimos’ foot twitched back as if to put some distance between the two of them but caught himself, remaining toe to toe with one of the nether’s most dangerous criminals. He could feel their breath intermingling, hot gusts of air rolling over pallid flesh and sending a shiver of excitement down Deimos’ spine as Dahrc screamed. The prince drank up every word, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, yes!” Deimos agreed, spindly fingers grasping at the front of the criminal's garb. That was the passion that he needed! That untameable rage, that absolutely tangible disdain and disregard for life and all that it entails. Eyes wide and unseeing, Deimos’ hands further tangled themselves in the front of Dahrc’s tunic, stepping even closer still until they were separated from everything extraneous, stripping them down to the pith of what they were as Deimos spoke further. “That’s it! Tell me what you feel!”

Dark eyes regained their focus and Deimos looked at him before pressing their foreheads together. “I feel it too,” he admitted, his voice thin with excitement and adrenaline. This was exactly the kind of intensity and utterly, unremittingly steady rage that he required! With one quick shove, he separated the distance between himself and the criminal. The prince and the pauper, he loved it. “Together we could make the rest of the nether feel it. We could make all worlds feel it.” He paused then, considering what he was saying only for a moment before throwing caution to the wind. “We could make Abaddon feel it.”

Whatever Dahrc had expected, it was not the absence of fear. The army of ruin all around him that he had created was on the brink of accepting another ashen corpse into its silent ranks, yet this man seemed unafraid. Beyond that, he even looked excited, demonstrating an eagerness in the face of his own impending demise that made Dahrc wonder, for the first time in his ancient life, if he was the sane one.

The stranger’s utterances were dripping with promise, but the confusion Dahrc felt overshadowed any instinctual hopes he might have harbored as the being pressed his forehead against that of the imprisoned demon. This man did seem to have the ability to reach the Prison of his own accord, a notable enough achievement, but what could he know of what Dahrc felt? What could he possibly have to offer-

“We could make Abaddon feel it.”

Confusion faded into a blank, empty mind, and Dahrc’s void-born eyes stared at the other man without truly seeing him. The whispering voices, ever present within his head, ever ignored until they manifested themselves into the apparitions that haunted him, went silent. The world around him faded, and the blackness signifying the absence of all things took over.

“Abaddon,” he whispered slowly, savoring the hatred awakened by the feel of the name on his tongue. “Abaddon,” he repeated, his voice stronger as the quiet in his mind was ousted by the roars of a surging river of rage. It gained in power, its flow threatening to sweep Dahrc away along with everything else inhabiting the dead world.

Abaddon. The accursed king, who had sentenced him to an eternity of solitary torment, who had locked him away to protect himself from the power he knew Dahrc wielded. The power he feared.

“ABADDON!” he roared, trembling with fury that was mere moments away from engulfing him. Now able to see again, he glared right through the man in front of him, recognizing him for what he was. “You! You are his kin!”

“I am your king!” Deimos corrected him, his previous aloofness faltering as his anger grew and swelled inside of him until it was bolstered and dwarfed and consumed by something much more than that: vengeance. He exhaled deeply, centering himself though his eyes showed no signs of remorse for his outburst. His voice was steadier now, void of any exaggerated pronunciation which would indicate emotion, which might have actually been more menacing than yelling. “I claim Abaddon as my father no more than he claims me as his son.”

Well, he wasn’t technically the king. He was the rightful one. Prince of the Nether was an honorary title at best, but oh was it fun. He’d had a grand time for millennia past, torturing the damned and toying with the rest, biding his time until such a time when his father was ready to step away, and that time was nigh. Deimos’ hands still trembled from the subsiding rage he felt as he recalled the moment his father disowned him.

Stop, breathe, continue.

“You will help me.” It wasn’t a question. “You will help me, because you want Abaddon to suffer. You want to make him feel what he did to you, for the rest of his pitiful ****ing life. I know you do,” Deimos insisted, his grin returning to its place on his lips. Dahrc was wild, but so too was he predictable. He got close, putting his hands on Dahrc’s shoulders, compulsively moving to smooth out the wrinkles in his tunic where Deimos had grabbed it. “I can give that to you, Dahrc.”

“Blood and bones,” the woman croaked, and the faceless man regarded her with eyes that were not there. They had emerged smoothly from the shadows on either side of the man, who Dahrc now knew was none other than Deimos, son of the dark monarch himself, Lord of the Twilight, the Prince of Shadows who had created the very Prison they stood within.

Dahrc’s eyes stared into those of the prince, just inches away, and he wondered if he would kill him. Not the father, not the one he truly wanted, but still, to render the bloodline of his foulest majesty into a scorch mark on a dead world was a tempting enterprise. To reduce the heir of Abaddon to a memory — what sweet joy, and so close to his fingertips…

The demon’s fingers twitched as he pondered the possibility, all while the apparitions stared at him, waiting for what would come next. They were there the last time he lost control, when their logic trumped his arguments and the resulting inferno brought an everlasting silence to the corpse-world; this time they would remain silent, and that was all for the better. He needed no goading or dissuading, not in this.

But this is not his heir. Not anymore. Abaddon has disowned him.

The gleeful smile that had sprouted on his ashen face faded as he realized that the prince would not have visited him, willing to risk his life, unless he was speaking truthfully. What hope could he have alone, after all?

Empty black eyes narrowed, and Dahrc nodded slowly as a different kind of smile appeared. Yes, there was hope. Deimos recognized a means to an end, and he was willing to do what was necessary. The king would never do such a thing — no coward could. The son could best the father, for united… Abaddon could not stand against them. No one could.

“Blood and bones,” croaked the faceless man, but then he vanished along with his associate as they were forgotten. Deimos knew precisely what Dahrc wanted, above all else, even more than freedom from the accursed rock to which he had been bound for ages beyond count. The imprisoned demon wanted Abaddon, and he wanted him alive.

“How will you give this to me?”

If Deimos had been any less in control of the situation, he would have laughed at how easy it was to get a positive response. Something had set itself in Dahrc’s otherwise perpetual glare. Blood lust? Insanity? No… You’re desperate, aren’t you? Broken men were predictable, always taking the first opportunity to seek vengeance, grasping at threads no matter how precarious they seemed.

Oh, Dahrc, you have no idea how similar we truly are.

Deimos leaned forward, eyes gleaming with a playful excitement. “War,” he whispered, clasping his hands in front of him.“I am building an army, the likes of which my father has no hopes but to succumb to. I will do this with your help. The Prison, my father, whatever you should want. It is yours, so long as you swear your loyalty to me.”

That part was important. Left to his own devices, Deimos could live forever. Immortal, for what it was. Deimos was perpetual, ever the same for millennia past and for the unforeseeable future to come. He was not, much to his displeasure, invincible. He could die, and for demons there is no afterlife. You were the afterlife, now you’re just dead. That’s why he regarded Dahrc with such a boisterous fervor. Not necessarily a false bravado, but perhaps exaggerated; Dahrc could very well kill him, should he choose to do so.

This was a game, and Deimos would play it.

“My loyalty?”

On Dahrc’s hands was the blood of billions, yet he did none of it in service to any other. He fought under no standards, nor did he recognize any comrades or allies in his long murderous life. He reveled in chaos, ruled only by his whims and his madness, and the thought of pledging his loyalty to another was nothing short of alien to him.

An army that could conquer all worlds. Abaddon in his rightful place, sniveling on the ground at my feet. And freedom from this place…

The words rang tantalizingly through Dahrc’s mind, and his reservations about joining with Deimos became an insignificant wisp of smoke next to the endless possibilities. The two of them could lay siege to all of existence, and the Prison that was once his own endless source of torment would become a tool for his use, as he punished those he deemed worthy of the suffering.

He would be free, free to roam as he once did, to slaughter wisdom into unknowing minds, to silence the cries of the weak with merciful death once more. A laugh escaped him then, a small chuckle, soft like silk gliding over razor-sharp steel, and then Dahrc was bowing, bending his head forward in Deimos’ direction. The prince would free him, and then show him the path to retribution. All he needed was his loyalty.

My loyalty. Once I am free, who can say what the future holds? But I am a man of my word, he thought, smiling, as the faceless man reappeared next to the mutilated woman. She looked fearful, and watched Dahrc as if expecting to be scorched by his words.

“So be it,” Dahrc replied, and the woman cowered in the shadows as the man beside her spoke.

“The world bleeds.”

Pride and ambition swelled inside of Deimos as Dahrc bowed and swore fealty, but he only revelled in the feeling for a moment before a frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. Dark eyes rolled back as the prince spared nothing but a click of annoyance, turning on his heel in time to watch as a new portal tore open, splitting the very air they breathed apart to make way for a new entrance.

“You’re late.”

The Abberith twisted and writhed in its place, gangly appendages coiling and releasing frantically. Deimos’ eyes widened in surprise, and then clouded over with something darker. “Come, Dahrc. We have visitors.”




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 Post subject: Re: Obscure
View Likes PostPosted: Tue Jul 12, 2016 2:36 pm 

eye of newt, tail of newt... rest of newt...

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Religion lied to you - the afterlife consists only of bothering me._______________
The hands that grasped his face were gentle, but tolerated no resistance, and Francois' eyes met a pair that were so startlingly like his own that for a moment he thought...

"Maman?" He whispered hoarsely. But no, that was not his mother, even if her eyes were the same warm brown and she made him feel just a little less terrified and in pain. It didn't last long before the train car lurched again and he found himself propelled into an awkward tackle of the old woman. The world was consumed by metallic screaming from the train, from himself, he didn't know. He held onto the woman as tight as he could, not caring that she was a stranger, only wanting some kind of stability, anything, in this haywire world he had found himself in.

It stopped as abruptly as it began. Francois' arms were not wrapped around the strange woman anymore. Instead, they were lying on top on what he realized were a multitude of smooth pebbles, completely identical in every way save their size. He got to his feet. Black water lapped deathly at the stones, an endless shhh, shhh, shhh of waves. The grayness was everywhere. This must be what depression looks like from the inside.

Francois turned. He had flown quite a way from the others. The train car lay like a beached whale, its passengers strewn around it. Relief of seeing the familiar blonde hair and vomit-stained jacket of Anna brought tears to his eyes. He rushed to her, briefly registering that there was also the old black woman and yet another unfamiliar person among them, before colliding with his friend who was only just getting to her feet. They clung wordlessly to each other, just trying to grasp the fact that they were both still alive and whole.

"What happened, Anna?" Francois finally said, untangling himself and gazing at the indefinite horizon.

Anna shrugged, a helpless motion of both her shoulders. "I don't know. One minute there was this - this thing, you felt it too, right? And then there - there wasn't. And we were here." She, too, looked around. "Where are we?"

"Well, we're not in Kansas anymore," he replied drily.

"We never were, Francois," she snapped at him, moving towards the unknown female. Francois chuckled despite everything.

"It's an American thing, Anna," he replied as he walked to the old black woman who had seemed so like his mother. He crouched and held out a hand to her, searching for her eyes once more. "You all right, ma'am?"



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 Post subject: Re: Obscure [OPEN]
View Likes PostPosted: Wed Jul 13, 2016 5:44 pm 

the stars look very different today ★

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"Maman?"

Vivienne tensed up her body as the young man croaked out the word. This wasn't her son. Her son was safe, far, far away from Amersham. And yet she had seen her son's eyes in his, and he had seen his mother's face in hers?

The world was full of coincidences.

The woman didn't have time to think before the train car was again plunged into chaos, this time worst than the first. It lurched and spun with a horrible screeching; glass exploded, darkness came, and someone screamed. Vivienne was faintly aware that the scream was her own.

Why did I get on the train car? was Vivienne's only thought that went through her mind as she tumbled, her shot nerves barely registering that the man was now holding to her tightly.

The question posed to herself brought no answers, only silence. Vivienne couldn't answer for her own actions. Did that mean she had lost control of herself? She had never been impulsive, nor intuitive. She didn't follow intuition, go around corners with only faith to guide her.

So what was this?

I am going to die.

But it wasn't her time, not yet. Vivienne found herself against the train car's wall in the corner, sitting on the ceiling. Was the world upside down? No, the train car was.

It had all been a terrible accident. There was no demon, no dark, hungry, inexplainable force. There was a derailment, or perhaps they had gone too fast or missed a signal, hit another train or a car. That seemed right.

Vivienne pushed herself up, using the walls to help balance herself. She walked, as one in shock, to the front of the train car, with perfect posture and glassy eyes. Zombified. She saw the giant tear in the metal of the train car, twisting and ripped as if some savage animal had taken it in their jaws. Her shoulder was screaming in pain.

As soon as Vivienne stepped through the hole and onto the pebbly ground, she tilted over and began to heave. Gone was the Honey Nut Cheerios she had had for breakfast, the Hungry Man lunch, the coffee with too much sugar. Even after its contents were expunged, it seemed that her stomach insisted on removing itself, trying to crawl up her throat, leave her body, escape the feeling of tossing, turning, breaking.

Vivienne put an arm on the side of the car, letting out a few choking spittles before slowly standing with a shudder of revulsion. She didn't look at the mess she had made. She would just begin again if she did.

The ground didn't feel right. It wasn't possible to be near the beach, or anywhere with such smooth stones.

Her children. Vivienne had to call them, tell them she was okay. The crash would be on the news. Reaching into her pocket, Vivienne retrieved her phone. She scrolled blindly through her contacts, clicking the first name she found. Sam. She pressed the green phone icon and pushed her bushy hair away, raising the device to her ear and looking forward.

"Your call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again later," the automated message was ignored as Vivienne slowly lowered the phone to her side, taking in the environment around her.

Gone was the train, gone was the tracks. Gone was the city and the countryside. Instead, it was replaced with an endless sea of bleak grays and blacks. A literal sea. She could hear it lapping against the shore, and another noise, not as distinct. Voices, speaking—no, chanting in a foreign tongue. The longer she listened, the more fear grew in her heart.

"—please try again later."

The classroom, with its cheery yellow and chalkboard, was forgotten. Vivienne couldn't find it. She was trapped where she was, listening to the horrible voices, and she was all alone.

No, not alone.

"—cannot be completed at this time."

There were voices in the train car, not the ghastly chanters, nor the automated message. Vivenne turned and ran back to it, like someone trying to run and escape the dark. It was the only place that seemed safe and natural, familiar if only for a few moments before this hell. As she climbed inside she fell, her legs finally giving out. The phone clattered out of her hand, still playing that damned message.

"You all right, ma'am?"

Snap, snap back together. Vivienne struggled to find reality. Someone was asking her a question. Focus on it. She looked up. It was the young man.

"I-I can't move my legs, I think," Vivienne managed. Her voice felt tiny and foreign. "There's nothing wrong with them, but there's something wrong with me." She took his hand in order to push herself up, leaning against the wall as she did so.

"What is this?" Her voice was only a hoarse, cracked vessel of sound. She coughed. "What is this?" she said again, stronger but still uncontrolled. "Where are we, and—who are you?"

"Your call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again later."

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 Post subject: Re: Obscure [OPEN]
View Likes PostPosted: Wed Jul 13, 2016 8:08 pm 

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It was a dream, no. Not a dream, a nightmare. That's what Iris tried to tell herself. Demons aren't real, no more real then the tooth fairy. That thing felt real, though.

Iris wasn't sure what exactly happened. One moment she was staring up in fear at that monster and the next she was on what was supposed to be the train car's ceiling. She tried to remember what happened. But it was difficult to do so. It all happened so fast. And none of it felt real.

"It's all a dream, Iris. Just a dream."

Iris mumbled to herself. Maybe if she repeated that enough times she'd believe it. Not likely. It had gotten so dark and the monster...Iris wasn't exactly sure what happened. All she knew was the train car and spun many times and now the ceiling had become the floor. There was glass everywhere. She had saved herself from being badly cut by it by using her powers to keep it away from her arms and face. She had tried to protect her face as best she could doing that ordeal and using her telekinesis gift to force the glass and other broken objects away from her.

Iris looked out the hole the beast had created into the side of the car and realized she was a far from home. Fear hit it her looking into the darkness. She shook her head, not wanting to believe it was real.

"Just a dream. A really bad, scary dream. Something I ate didn't agree with me."

Iris continued to mumble, trying to make herself believe it. Iris' hands fumbled as she pulled out her cell phone and tried to dial her brother's number. She got the same reply the older woman got. 'Your call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again later.' Iris bit her lip and looked around the remains of the train car.

Iris noticed the other people and slowly walked over to them. She remembered seeing the older woman and the blond from the coffee shop at the train station. She didn't know who was the man was with them.

"Where the hell are we?"

She asked them, although they would have no more of answer then she would. She just didn't want to be alone. Especially not in this place.

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 Post subject: Re: Obscure [OPEN]
View Likes PostPosted: Wed Aug 03, 2016 2:47 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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“ ‘ell, funny enough.”

Silence had befallen the pebbly shores once more, though whether it was due to the Seekers drinking in the inky blackness of their environment or due to the man carefully making his way out of the hole ravaged in the side of the train car remains a mystery. The group would see that the man, once he was able to stand properly on the endless beach of rocks, was dressed in a way that was specifically reminiscent of homelessness. He looked roughly fifty years old, but he was much older than that. Even through the thick wall of silence, someone with keen senses and an affinity for the dead would be able to notice that even the ancient, rhythmic lullaby had stopped pouring in from the shore and the vaguely human shape on the beach had disappeared.

The Vagrant did not wait for an answer, if ever there had been a question in the first place, before walking the length of the train car. The metal behemoth groaned in protest as the man patted its side. “Seem to be gettin’ an awful lot o’ these lately. Feels like I just had another one o’ you lot come through.”

Despite the crash experienced by the patrons of Amersham’s twelve fifty-five, the sullen beach remained in pristine condition. Even the tarnished train car that had seemingly been thrown through oblivion appeared to have landed on the beach gently, almost as if it were carefully laid down on the sea of black stones. The scene, save for the obvious dishevelment of the car’s former inhabitants, looked as if the crash had never transpired at all, and it certainly didn’t look as if any other train car had ever made its rough descent to this place.

“Oh, what was ‘is name?” the Vagrant inquired of everyone, yet no one in particular. Surely they had heard his name before; he could see it on the tips of their tongues even if they lacked any personal attachment to it. The pebbles made a soft crunching noise under well-worn boots as the Vagrant would pace along the shore, quietly reciting names to jog his own memory or anyone else’s who might know it. “Jacob? No, no can’t be that. Pretty sure ‘e was a man, so not Jacqueline. Maybe, though, couldn’t really tell with that one. Justin…? Jay? Jay.”

With his back turned to the Seekers from pacing away, a look of pleased recognition set itself in the lines of age on the Vagrant’s face before he turned back to them. “Jamie! You lot are ‘ere for Jamie, yeah? Shame ‘bout that one. Good kid, too much hair.” The apparent pride dripped down and faded away, only to be replaced by grave concern uncommon for someone like him. Once more he turned his back on the group, pointing to what appeared to be a random location somewhere toward an unseen part of the beach that was invisible through the thick of the darkness around them. “Right, best you be on your way then. ‘ead that way for a bit, you’ll see your way out.”

The directions or lackthereof would seem awful at best, but that didn’t bother the Vagrant. Before anyone could respond - or during, or after, he wasn’t paying much attention to them - he clambered through the makeshift exit the Abberith had made, regarding the thick and twisted claw marks with little more than a passing glance before making a beeline to three more bodies that lay strewn about the interior of the car. He exhaled deeply and looked instead to the three who remained, considering a thought in the back of his mind. The thought seemed like a good one, and with a newfound sense of resolution he turned back to where the bodies had been strewn haphazardly across the floor only to find little more than broken glass and debris.

“Y’know, on second thought,” he called out, staring at the floor of the train just a little longer as if it had become exponentially more interesting over the past thirty seconds before clambering out of the car. His eyes, a rare color of gold with flecks of brown, bounced from face to face. They wouldn’t survive. “Real easy to get lost in ‘ere. Jus’ follow me, I could use a walk anyway.”

The Vagrant began walking, seemingly to a random direction of the abyss, though it was a direction very familiar to him; he’d walked it many, many times before. The crunch of pebbles beneath his boots would soon grow inaudible as he was not one for stopping, so the Seekers would have a few seconds at best to come to a hopefully unanimous decision as to whether or not to follow him.
A M E R S H A M
A nice place, really.____________________

The bright lights of Amersham’s own Mystic Moon Cafe were especially unbearable today, and the patrons particularly loud. The news of another mass disappearance had the Mets on high alert, though that was laughable reassurance at best in Darren’s opinion. Interviews, searches, whatever they could think of that could tie all of this to that terrorist sect. It didn’t make sense, but the alternative didn’t make much sense either.

“The usual?”

Darren looked up from his table, visibly startled at the sudden interaction. The familiar smile and Mystic Moon name tag put him at ease. “Please. And another coffee, black,” he added as an afterthought. Katy’s attention seemed to pique and she smiled down at her notepad as she scribbled down the order. “Not a date.”

“Oh no, never,” she teased as she walked away. He would have turned to protest if he hadn’t actually been waiting on someone. A reporter. ’Another reporter’ would be a more correct statement; Darren had seen a lot of them in the short time that Jamie had been missing, but this one believed him. Or seemed to, anyway, Darren was never really sure. They had exchanged emails a few times, but this was the first time they were meeting in person. He didn’t even know who he was looking for, all he knew was the name Clayton. Hopefully someone walked through the door that just happened to look like a Clayton. And hopefully they enjoyed coffee.


    Notes: There will be one round of posting before my next GM post.
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 Post subject: Re: Obscure [OPEN]
PostPosted: Mon Aug 08, 2016 12:07 pm 

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Hands gripped the door handle carefully, pulling the door to the Mystic Moon Café open a little quicker than he had wanted. He held the door for the person behind him, uttering a routine ‘you’re welcome’ when he was thanked.

Much to Clayton’s surprise, as someone who does not visit the area often, the place was every bit what he expected. Yet oddly quiet, given recent events.

It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t the least bit tense, especially because he really didn’t have much to go on in the way of descriptions. Through the emails exchanged, he had gotten a feeling that the man known as ‘Darren’ was very sincere about their meeting. Nothing malicious had been sent to him, or hinted within his words. But he still could not be one-hundred percent sure that who he was meeting was who he said he was. That always went with internet meetings, especially when no images were give, didn’t it?

Clayton clutched the strap of his laptop case as he moved through the café toward who he hoped was Darren. At least, the man at the table seemed to match his mental image of him somewhat. The sleek, silver HP Envy laptop inside the case, with some pens and a few small notebooks shoved into the pockets, was practically attached to him. He took it everywhere he went and was always writing, writing, writing. Looking articles up on the internet, taking notes on whatever events might be occurring at the time. He planned to take a lot of notes during this meeting.

“Excuse me?” He said to the young man, still thinking of how he could approach, praying that he had the right person. There weren’t too many people in here, thankfully, so this man seemed to be the obvious choice. “Are you ‘Darren’?” He inquired, deciding it was best to just cut to the chase instead of being clever.

All things considered, this was an opportunity to hear something straight from someone else who didn’t turn a blind eye like the media. He was just itching to hear more from the guy! From one ‘insane’ individual to another. In a way, it was almost touching, two long lost lovers who met on the internet meeting for the first time. Hell, maybe he could ask Darren out on a date when all was said and done; ‘insane’ people were drawn to each other after all.

After forcing down a grin by drawing in a breath, Clayton expelled the thought from his mind in hopes of getting down to business.

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 Post subject: Re: Obscure
View Likes PostPosted: Sun Aug 28, 2016 12:13 pm 

eye of newt, tail of newt... rest of newt...

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Religion lied to you - the afterlife consists only of bothering me._______________
The old woman appeared shocked, heartbroken even, but for what reason, Francois could not fathom. Was it her phone? It lay on the ground, omitting an automated message he couldn't quite identify the words of. He shrugged helplessly, just as much at a loss as her.

"I don't know where we are," he said, waves of pity and anger washing over him with her cracked voice. An old woman like this, she shouldn't have to go through such a series of inexplicable, horrifying events. He held out a hand for her to take. "But I know who I am, my name is Francois, and I know that there is nothing wrong with you. At least, nothing life threatening. I would have felt it," he said with an apparent air, as if she should obviously know he could talk to dead people. He wondered what had happened to the young man in the train.

A different man clambered out of the train. Francois stared wordlessly at him, mouth hanging open. If not for their situation, he would have considered this man absolutely bonkers, talking out loud to himself, waving in the air. Francois cast a look in the direction he pointed, then turned his head and looked the opposite way. They seemed completely identical. His ears prickled. He couldn't pinpoint what had changed exactly, but something had. Was it quieter now?

"Jamie?" Francois asked quietly. "Was that his name?" Normally, the spirits of the departed lingered, but he could not feel him here, and it unnerved him. He hadn't died that long ago. He should have been here. Instead, they had this very alive old homeless person. Francois wasn't sure it was that great of a trade. He looked the old woman in the eye. Her eyes, so familiar. Like his mother's, like his own, like Bea's. I wonder what she's doing now. I wonder what time it is. What day it is. I wonder if they can feel it.

"Can you walk?" He asked the old woman. "If not, you can hold onto me. I don't think we want to lose that particular homeless guy." He shrugged again. "I guess this is Opposite Land. See, now we know where we are." He tried a weak smile. He didn't know her beyond his desire to help her. Anna marched past him with the blackhaired woman firmly in tow. Francois wrapped an arm around the old woman's shoulders. Given how he had clung onto her earlier, it didn't seem like such a breach of privacy.

"Let's see where the world ends, then."
A N N A
If you can't summon the flames directly from Hell, store bought is fine._______________
"Where the Hell are we?" The last woman spoke. Anna looked up. She had smooth black hair and paint spots on her left cheekbone. Her eyes were wide and framed by thick lashes that probably normally made them stand out attractively, but currently only served to really emphasize how uncertain she must have felt about the whole situation.

"Not - not in Kansas anymore?" Anna replied uncertainly. She hoped maybe the reference would soothe this woman just as it baffled her.

"I figured that," Iris replied to Anna, with a look of fear on her face. She had never been to Kansas before, but she was pretty sure it didn't look like this.

"I'm afraid it isn't a dream, though," Anna continued in response to the woman's earlier comment. She ground the heel of her suede boot into the unnatural, perfect pebbles. Everything about this was wrong in a way that both dulled her normal sense and heightened the feelings of unease she always got when attempting something slightly more magical than the usual business of mixing the right herbs in the right way.

Iris frowned at the woman, wishing she was wrong and it was a nightmare. Then she could wake up safe in her bed, but she doubted that could happen.

"You can do - things, can't you?" Anna asked the stranger at length. She cocked her head to the side and squinted. Yes, there was definitely something there. Not as apparent as the old black woman, but something that made her thumbs prickle. Anna tried a smile.

Iris nodded her head to Anna. "Yeah...I can move little stuff with my mind. What about you?" She asked her curiously.

"I'm Anna - a witch, but probably not what you think of when you hear the word." Anna chuckled in spite of everything. "Never had a wart in my life. It's a little complicated, but..." She didn't get any further before the vagrant interrupted. Anna startled and turned from the blackhaired woman to look at the old, filthy man instead. She furrowed her brow. Jamie? And what did this man know of everything that had happened?

Instinct took over as he turned his back on them and walked. Anna would not be stranded in this place, not when there finally seemed to be someone who knew where they were going. Anna impulsively grabbed the woman's hand - for safety, in case she was scared by the whole thing - and began walking briskly after the vagrant, passing Francois and the older woman, fully intent on getting some kind of answers.

"'Scuse me, where are we, again?" She panted at the vagrant as she tried to catch up with him.


    Notes:
    Tags:@Sojourn, with whom I did a collab in Anna's section. Bolded parts by her.


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 Post subject: Re: Obscure [OPEN]
View Likes PostPosted: Wed Aug 31, 2016 6:20 pm 

the stars look very different today ★

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Of course he didn't know where they were. It was a foolish question to ask, but Vivienne had spouted it out anyway in her haste to make sense of anything that was happening. He was just like her, a passenger on a train that made a wrong turn and ended up in some sort of hell. He was handling it so much better than her, it seemed. No vomit, weak legs, or even tears. she could feel his inner being churning with negative emotions, but he remained stoic. Perhaps it was because he was a young man. They were meant to be brave. No one would laugh or ridicule if a woman in her fifties cried for safety. Instead, they would pity her. Vivienne could feel the emotion extending from the man, along with an outstretched hand. Pity was one of the stranger emotions, with the ability to be either positive or negative, depending on its driving force. This seemed genuine, driven by empathy. Vivienne took the hand he offered, shutting out his emotions as she did so. As comforting as the pity was, the anger and helplessness didn't calm her state of mind.

"Francois," Vivienne muttered. There was an answer and an identity. A pleasant greeting, if circumstances had been different. His next few words were cryptic, like they were part of an inside joke or reference she didn't quite understand. He would have felt it. Could he feel others, like she could? She didn't think there was anyone in the world who could feel like she did, and even if there were, the likelihood that they were on the same train, at the same time, in the same car, was surely impossible. Then again, being attacked by a demon was something impossible as well.

Vivienne's initial panic ebbed as her mind began to grip the reality of what was happening. She was able to stand firmly, her legs no longer paralyzed. Francois' assurance that there was nothing wrong with her had also helped. She trusted him, more than any other man she'd met on public transit before. Not that that was saying much. Vivienne still needed his hand to keep her steady, her body still operating like someone who had just woken from a deep sleep.

Starting with a slight throb in her temples, Vivienne realized she had exercised her power far more than she had in many, many years. The amount of raw emotional energy that had come from around her was beginning to be too much to handle. She drew a deep breath, faintly surprised by the clarity of the air around her, and closed her eyes. It wasn't an emptying of the mind, but a cleansing. She needed just a moments, a few breaths to align herself again, and rebuild the barricades that had begun crumbling. She had learned the trick as a young girl, after learning about meditation, and the art of emptying one's mind. When she felt nothing, she couldn't feel the people around her. The emptiness was comforting. Her eyes opened again, and she could feel that her body had relaxed and regained some of the composure she had lost. Her mind was no longer screaming, but instead simply buzzing with emotional feedback.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to let go of Francois' hand.

Able to think now, Vivienne realized that her cell phone was still droning the automated message. She looked down at the screen, reluctant to press the hang up button. If she did, it would be like admitting defeat, knowing she couldn't contact her daughter. She had no signal. Wasn't it possible to make emergency calls, even with no signal? Reluctantly, she ended the call and returned to the phone's lock screen. She was prepared to attempt the call before she was interrupted by a new arrival.

Attention in the train car turned to the man who had just entered, with the appearance of someone who had been living on the streets for quite some time. He looked about Vivienne's age, but with the homeless, it was always hard to tell. Had he been on the train with them? Vivienne blinked, thinking back to the collection of faces she had seen when it had been an ordinary train journey. He hadn't been there, or she didn't remember. The metallic groan of the train car as the man patted its side made the hairs on Vivienne's neck stand on end.

An awful lot? Of train cars? Vivienne thought, attempting to fix her appearance by straightening her cardigan and checking her hair with her hands. So they weren't the first to arrive here, and it sounded like they wouldn't be the last. But why? The small glimpse Vivienne had seen of outside appeared completely untouched, with no other train cars in sight, or any particular landmarks, for that matter.

The man's question startled Vivienne. Whose name? He was acting as if everyone was supposed to know. They were all strangers who didn't even know each others' names, let alone this mystery person.

Even as he had asked, the man didn't bother waiting for responses, playing with different names to find the proper fit. He was deranged, insane. If he hadn't come from the train car, did that mean he was from wherever they were now?

Jamie. There was a clerk at Vivienne's local grocery store named Jamie, and she had a cousin of the same name. She felt that neither were the Jamie he was talking about. He was speaking like she had come as expected, a good friend of this Jamie's, to come pick him up and bring him home. She was tempted to speak, but stopped when she heard Francois' quiet voice.

How did Francois know Jamie, when he hadn't even realized that was his name? She didn't have time to consider it further before the man gave a series of vague instructions and exited the train car. It wasn't long before he returned, beckoning them all to follow him. Vivienne turned to Francois, eyes wide. So far, he was the only handle on reality she had. His gaze matched with hers, and Vivienne was once again taken aback by the look of familiarity he projected. The likeness to her son had faded, but was still present.

"I can walk now," Vivienne said, her tone evening out with each word. "I'm sorry, I lost myself." Her smile was as weak as his. "Now we know," she echoed, her eyes focusing on the exit from the train car. She created a list in her mind. It was quite bare, with only two items:

-Follow the man
-Get answers

but the list was enough to drive her forward. It was something to make sense of, easy to understand. She could focus all of her energy on these two simple tasks, and shut everything unpleasant out. It was possible, even in Opposite Land.

Francois' arm was comforting as they left the train car behind in exchange for following a possibly insane homeless person over a seemingly endless beach.

Opposite Land, indeed.

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 Post subject: Re: Obscure [OPEN]
View Likes PostPosted: Mon Sep 05, 2016 9:18 pm 

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This wasn't Kansas, Iris was sure of that. This had to be a nightmare. Hell wasn't real, was it? Iris wasn't that religious, hell was just to scare kids into behaving. Do awful things when you're alive and you'll be punished to an eternity of fire and brimstone. But yet...What if the homeless looking man was right? What if this was hell? How did she and these other people end up here? And what the hell did she do in life to deserve that? She tried to be a good person. She had never stole or hurt people.

Iris wondered if she was dead. That actually made more sense. The train had derailed and killed everyone in the car. But, then again, not everyone that had been on the car was here. Just some of the people. And when she pinched her arm, it felt like she was still alive. Anna was right, this wasn't a dream. This was something far worse.

Iris cursed Ian in her head. It was all his fault. If he had just gotten on the right train, she'd be back home. Not here, not in hell. She nodded her head that Anna was a witch but not like what the common idea of witches was.

"You don't look like you have warts. I'm Iris, by the way."

Iris said, offering up her name to the blond haired witch. She had no idea who Jamie was, but she had a feeling Anna did. Iris was a little scared and thought it was best to stay with Anna. Iris didn't want to be alone here and she wanted answers as well. She held the other woman's hand tightly and followed her.

"Is Jamie a friend of yours?"

She asked Anna as she they tried to catch up the vagrant man.

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 Post subject: Re: Obscure [OPEN]
View Likes PostPosted: Thu Nov 17, 2016 12:16 am 

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“I see no visitors here.”


The long and tapering staircase descending from Deimos’ chambers was precarious at best, and only faintly visible, though it appeared to be perpetually alight with torches whose flames seemed as eternal as the prince himself. The stone steps were roughly cut and uneven against Dahrc’s palm as he descended, and even through the thin light there was no escaping the sight of the stains. The air was thick and putrid, though the rest of the prince’s private tower had smelled of old books and parchment. There was something dark and wretched in this place, and there had been great care taken to keep it confined [i]only
in this place


“Blood and bones,” the mutilated woman warned, her voice thick with suspicion as she looked about their surroundings and followed closely at Dahrc’s heel, her arms carrying her down the stairs in a manner that was hobbled and fluid all at once.


Exasperated, as though his intentions should be readily apparent, Deimos sighed, “Well, Dahrc, I typically don’t make a habit of inviting unfamiliar visitors to my home.” The prince didn’t elaborate and the criminal didn’t ask, but instead the two made their silent descent to what felt to be the truest pits of hell, the only sounds keeping the stairway from total and utter silence being the scuffing of their shoes on stone. Even that noise found difficulties in trying to penetrate the thick of the silence, as if it were a tangible thing suppressing sound.


At last, the stairs ended at a single door, weathered and rusted metal adorned with an array of locks. Deimos searched for a key in a sea of keys, all bound by one large ring that might have fit an entire hand through it. Dahrc examined his surroundings as he waited, though individual detail was not as abundant as motifs in this hallway. The stones were all jaggedly the same, with their rough cuts and their stains of blood. The only thing that had changed, he noted after sparing a look over his shoulder, was the passageway itself. The stairs that they had come down had seemed few in number during their descent, but there appeared to be a long, treacherous climb behind him. The door they had entered through stood miles above their level, and the staircase itself stretched miles further still in a slow and steady slope that stretched just long enough to drive a man mad trying to climb them. There was dark magic at work in this place.


The prince made a small noise of satisfaction as he singled out a key not unlike the rest of the ones hooked to it. Four other keys followed in direct succession. The door was pushed open just a hair, just enough for the sickeningly sweet smell of death to pour through, invading Dahrc’s senses and stirring awake a primal urge within him, one that had not been sated since his desolation of the Prison.


Deimos held the door for a moment longer and Dahrc could slender shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. Still with his back turned, the prince offered a remark over his shoulder. “Again, we have [/i]visitors, my dear convict. What sort of hosts would we be if we did not offer a welcoming gift?” Dahrc could tell that he was smiling.


A welcoming gift, the prince had said. Dahrc looked down at the unconscious pile of hair and coat and flesh that lay crumpled on the ground at his feet. It seemed a **** welcoming gift to be sure, but Dahrc was tasked with being a courier, not an inquirer.


The criminal sat patient, perched on a thin slab of stone that was forever frozen in its place in the air, as were the hundreds of others like it, creating a suspended path that twisted and writhed heavenward. The floating stairway ran up into a wide spiral, diameter decreasing in contrast with the altitude until the coil ended at the overwhelming presence of the Gate: the grand doors to nowhere and everywhere all at once. It was the path to the world between worlds, the realm of the living. In spite of the many dead that sought passage through the Gate to reunite with loved ones, the path saw very arrivals and departures. A few brave souls with an Orpheus complex would occasionally walk the threshold into the world above after wandering the depths of hell for whatever it was that they sought, but that was only a few out of the myriad that tried. The only true use the glorified double-doors had was to grant passage to those few that Abaddon allowed to leave.


Dahrc had tried once, so long ago now that it seemed to only come back to him in vague and broken fragments. He remembered standing at the top of the floating spiral, remembered jerking violently at the doors in an attempt for them to give way and let him pass. He had been disheveled then, his breath ragged and his rage emanating from him in great waves. He was being chased by Abaddon, king of kings, the law that maintained the lawless. The last memory he had of that day was the wicked face of royalty staring down at him as he fell from the pinnacle of the staircase, his body falling with all of the physics of a ragdoll as the spiral rushed upward around him. If he could not pass through the Gate, he could not fathom a reason that this Jameson would have any easier of a time.


The folded and crumpled body on the ground shifted in its place, as if Dahrc’s thoughts had somehow cued his awakening. The demon watched with muted interest as Jameson moved to push his upper body up, thin and fragile arms shaking under his weight as they tried to drag his body away. Dahrc slowly rose, rigid and unreadable, taking deliberate steps behind the apparent escapist until one thin ankle was caught beneath the demon’s heavy black boot. The bones made a pleasant crunch as they gave way beneath the sudden weight, but perhaps the most appealing were the screams.


Through the blinding pain, pale fingers curled themselves into the dirt and ash below as the man persisted further. Working through the pain was admirable, Dahrc mused to himself as he leant down just enough to tangle his hand in Jameson’s hair and give him a piece of advice:


“There is no escape.”
N E T H E R
Blood and bones.____________________



The quiet lapping of water on the shoreline provided music to the otherwise eerily noiseless walk along the beach. There was still chatter, but in atmosphere so thick any sound seemed to be absorbed into a vacuum immediately after it was spoken. Even through the prolific silence, the Vagrant was not immune to the hurried crunch of pebbles as the blonde one sought to match his pace.


"'Scuse me, where are we, again?"


The Vagrant tossed a look over his shoulder at her, scanning her with tired eyes before returning his stare straight ahead. “Doesn’t matter much where you are, what matters is where y’er goin,” he danced around the question. After a moment - too long of a moment - he continued with a new, darker tone. “Y’er in hell. Won’t be for long, but that’s where you are now. And the lot o’ you are goddamn lucky that you landed on my side of it.”


A chill ran down Anna's spine. "Hell isn't real," she said, out loud, as if that would convince anyone, including herself, that he was lying to her. "Hell is an idea, and we can leave any time we want...?" She had never sounded less certain in her life, a very bad thing for a witch. Witches should always be certain, and even if they weren't, they should at least fake it.


“Right, right,” the Vagrant dismissed with a wave of his hand as he scanned the distant horizon, lined by jagged peaks poking out of clouds of dust and ash. Against the night-black environment, he seemed to find what it was that he was looking for. “Well, if y’er so convinced, go ahead and ‘leave anytime you want.’ While y’er busy with that, I’m takin’ this lot to see about actually leaving.”


This time, the Vagrant did not even spare her another look, but merely kept walking in his aimless yet purposeful direction. It was almost time.

A M E R S H A M
A nice place, really.____________________


The eerie quiet of Mystic Moon was calming. It wasn’t a good calm, it was that sort of calm that Darren imagined that one would have right before they died. He and Jamie use to come around after work and even in the dead of the evening, the cafe would be buzzing with activity. He briefly wondered in the back of his mind if Jamie had felt this calm when he died, or if he was even dead at all. They never found a body.


His mind’s eye played a reel of Jamie, laughing sarcastically at Darren’s conspiracies in that absolutely ****ing hateable way of his, pretending he was so much better than the world, and so invincible, too. ****, he missed Jamie. It wasn’t as if they’d been mates for decades or anything; in truth, they’d only met a few years back when they started working at the hotel at the same time. Even back then, he was always dismissive and prickish, but Darren loved it, and him, like the brother he’d never actually wanted but got stuck with anyway.


“Excuse me?” the daydream of Jamie asked. But that wasn’t Jamie’s voice, and it decidedly wasn’t Katy’s either. Pulling himself out of his own thoughts, Darren’s tired and dead eyes dragged upward to meet those of the voice’s source. All at once, he woke up and his thoughts came back to him and **** he was meeting someone today, that was the entire point of coming here in the first place.


Assaulted by a flurry of disorganized highly-caffeinated thoughts, Darren pushed himself up from his seat and smiled as if he hadn’t been awake for the past 37 hours and counting. “Hi, yeah, sorry. Clayton?” he asked, extending his hand for a proper greeting. “Thanks for, y’know, coming out. Been having lots of trouble getting journalists to hear me out.” His already thin voice trailed off, but Darren only faltered momentarily before offering a smile and taking a seat. “Shall we, then? I ordered you a coffee. I didn’t know how you take it, so I just got it straight. Thought it might be here by the time you got here.”

    Notes: There will be one round of posting before my next GM post.
    Tags: @Fearless Sissy; @”Sound of Silence”

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