faderift | OPEN: Kirkwail

OPEN: Kirkwail

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Ghosts
WHEN: Wintermarch 20
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC post. More content warnings than you can shake a stick at, probably, including allusions to slavery and violence in the body of the log post. Please use appropriate warnings in the subject lines for your own threads.

The storm sweeps in like an assassin: unexpected, in the dark, and throwing sharp pricks of sleet at exposed eyes and noses with expert aim and enough force to almost draw blood if the angle is right. Half an hour after the clouds crest the cliffs is all it takes for the city to retract indoors and huddle around fireplaces, settling in for a long night that will, unforeseen, turn into a long two days.

The Gallows, too, is pelted with ice; the walls of the cliffs and the fortress protect much of it from the worst of the wind, but when it can find a path over or through the walls, it slams through windows or doors to scatter papers and snuff out fires.

In the dark, in the rain, hurrying between towers or already accustomed to jumping firelight casting strange shadows and the wind howling like a wounded animal, people might be forgiven if they don't notice at first. But there's a hanging in the courtyard, a dozen translucent wisps of bodies dangling from the idea of nooses, and there's a girl's voice in the basement of the templar tower screaming for her mother, and there's a ghostly man in the library holding the blade of a knife to his palm and whispering this is it, this is it—or maybe there isn't, actually, when you lift your head to pay closer attention.

But as the night wears on they multiply, and they brighten, and even if you haven't noticed them, they begin to notice you.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I. The Library

Maker help him, this is where he had to be at the start.
Working late, Cade was at a table by the window when it rattled with the force of the storm, and has been peering out between writing passages, watching the rain and the ice. He's familiar with Kirkwall winters, and although the weather seems a little worse than usual, surely it's not--

--the window blows open, extinguishing his candle, soaking him with rainwater, and scattering papers everywhere. Cade turns with a muttered curse to stoop and collect them, but upon looking up he's met with the sight of three hanging bodies.
A cry of horror, the papers dropped, and the stumbling realization that not only does he recognize these figures: he remembers how they got here, and was-- though his memory is foggy on these matters-- perhaps even part of it.
A sound somewhere between a whine and a moan escapes him as he skirts the area, tripping over every chair and fixture on the way, his mind racing beyond any sensibility as he stumbles for the door.

II. The Gallows Courtyard

Staggering out into the hail, Cade shields his head with one shaking arm and blinks at his surroundings: he's been up late, did he imagine it? There's an awful sound on the wind, like a child screaming, and-- no, it can't be.
He steps toward the courtyard in disbelief, lowering his arm to see better: more bodies, more nooses, more memories, all too recent. "No," he whimpers to no one-- is that Knight-Commander Meredith's voice?-- and he turns to see as she and Orsino quibble at the steps. He knows what comes next, he can still smell it, feel the shudder of his bones and the seizing of his heart; he looks toward the Chantry, where it should still stand for this to make sense, and yet the space is empty save for a few trees.
Has this all been a dream, had he imagined it, has he lost his mind? Did he ever leave Meredith's side, did he ever see the things he saw, or-- worse, has he been living his life past these moments, only to be visited with some sort of divine punishment?
What other explanation could there be?
He falls to his knees on the wet cobblestones, gripping at his hair with a plaintive wail barely as loud as that of the ghostly voices around him.

III. ???

[We'll figure something out!]

Edited 2019-01-11 06:32 (UTC)

{ i. anywhere you want her }

It's easy to blame things on magic when she doesn't understand how it even works, and so Tessa is firmly in the camp of "mages will fix it, right?" In the meantime, she does her best to avoid coming across any of this spirit bull. But it soon becomes clear that that's impossible as she's surrounded by sounds. The first is: The sound of something heavy, wet, and meaty being dragged (or— dragging itself) over stone, leaves, and mud. It starts at a distance, around a corner or down a hall, and approaches the listener at a steady but painfully slow pace, easily walked away from. If for some reason you choose to stay still, however, the sound will come all the way to your feet, where its half strangled breaths are a little clearer. Tessa stops where she is and whirls around, eyes wide. It sounds like a zombie. Are these spirits raising zombies? She will punch a spirit in the ghostly face if that's true.

"Where's it coming from?" she asks aloud, her hackles raised.

—

Later on, she's someplace else when more sounds enter the area. There are: The squelch of mud and a drone of sound that gradually resolves into dozens of voices all at once, some near and others farther, all Orlesian. Cries of pain, pleas for help or for death, frantic prayers, angry wailing, the shriek of horses dying badly. Tessa stops in place as her stomach lurches. The voices aren't familiar, but the sounds of battle are. Her eyes stare off into the middle distance as she recalls scenes from the Battle of Ghislain, and she lifts a hand up to her head, where her head wound is still healing; scabbed over with a line of hair missing above her right ear.

"Not real," she finally mutters to herself. "Pull it together."

{ ii. the courtyard }

It's become evident that there's no place safe from these sounds and visions. The spirits are trying to get a reaction out of them, and they'll follow into any room, basement, or crawlspace they can. At one point, Tessa comes out into the courtyard to avoid it all, and that's when she does a double take. A Steelers helmet? Why the hell is there a— She gasps, legs shaking as she takes in the rest of the scene. It's a child's bedroom, and right there kneeling on the floor is Mike. For one heartbreaking second, she forgets everything else. He's here; he made it. He wasn't left behind in her world, stranded on the roof of a hospital overrun by zombies. She takes a step forward, and reality sinks in.

"A couple shamblers out there. Nothing big. I'm not worried."

"No." It's said quietly as she stops, reaching out a shaking hand towards the figure in the bedroom.

"What's it matter now? I could be a plumber for all you know."

"You're not really here. These goddamn—"

"Tessa... c'mon. If you don't like it, then sure, go head out there on your own. See how long you last. Though it'd be a goddamned waste after all the time I spent keeping you alive."

Despair washes over her like a wave of freezing cold water and she sinks to her knees on the stone. This was pulled out of her memories and dropped down in front of her. These spirits want to taunt her with the person she loves; the person she'll never see again. Fury and devastation war with each other for dominance in her mind. How do you kill a spirit? She wants to erase them all from existence. But she she sits back on her heels and stares at Mike, who has stopped talking and is just sat leaning against the wall with his eyes closed now. Time passes, and the scene doesn't fade, so she doesn't move away.

{ iii. wildcard }

Drop a hot starter in my inbox if nothing here tickles your fancy.

1. The Ramparts

Adasse had been up on the roofs again, gently easing himself back into climbing high places and running along edges. He figured, with his hip, the higher the better because otherwise he'd be too much of a damned coward to go the whole way. Higher up meant he had to finish the walk across the crest of the roof, and he did so just before the snow-ice-rain? started to really come down. He grumbled, but climbed off the roof and one of the ramparts -

All around, the sound of gunfire and canons, then the sound of first horses and soldiers running from the right, and the inhuman growl of a werewolf that stands seven feet tall comes from the left, both of them running towards Adasse, juststanding there. Just before they crash into him, and each other, they vanish as suddenly as they come.

Adasse had ducked - OF COURSE HE FUCKING DUCKED he was surrounded by soldiers, horses and a WEREWOLF - and when he looked up - nothing.

"What the Maker's Balls of the ... what?"

He called out, "OI, did anyone else just see that?"

II

He manages to make it down to the lower, common areas in what could only be graciously called 'a frightened rabbit' run, not looking behind him because if he looked behind him then whatever the MAKER BOLLOCKS this was would catch him.

He skids into the Inquisition's mess hall just as -

A vague, shadowy horde of people equipped and shouting for battle that rushes forward, then stops abruptly to scream and be reduced to bone and ash, without any visible flames.

He stares where the people were - were not - aren't anymore - before he throws his hands up. "Right. Right. Anyone know when the next boat out of here is? Because I am on it. I'm done. Totally done. All done."

III - Personal Hell

Sooner or later, you'll come across Adasse on his own. He's sitting down on a barrel, both of his hands in his hair and sharp, heavy breaths coming out of his mouth, as if he's in the middle of a panic attack. He keeps looking down the hallway, and in the near distance you see two dark haired elves, being subdued by darkspawn. The woman screams, as the darkspawn begins to drag her off, and the darkhaired one struggles on the ground only to have one of the darkspawn tear his arm off his body and begin to eat it. The woman screams again and struggles, forcing the darkspawn trying to pull her back to sink their claws into her, shredding her flesh open. Blood and ichor flows, freely.

Then, it is gone.

Only to begin again.

Adasse starts to whimper.

Cade isn't the only one working late. Inessa, not willing to retreat to her quarters just yet, sits at a nearby table with books piled around her, scribbling notes as efficiently as possible before retiring for the night. Garahel is dozing at her feet, his legs twitching a little here and there as he dreams of an exciting chase.

She's content to ignore the winter weather outside, at least until the window blows open. Letting out a cry of dismay as her own papers suddenly scatter, she tries to snatch them before the rain and wind destroy her efforts of the night. So intent is she that Inessa doesn't hear Garahel's growl at first, the mabari suddenly awake and alert. He stands tense for a moment, then bolts ahead to Inessa's surprise.

"Garahel--!" The mabari doesn't stop until he's in front of Cade, growling and barking at the hanging bodies.

I. Library

Inessa enters the library with Garahel at her side and a pile of books in her arms. As the mabari plops down by her usual table, the slight elven woman makes her way around the stacks, shelving those she brought with her as a courtesy. She has one more to go, when battle suddenly erupts all around her.

Screams, blasts and burning parchment catch her attention as Inessa drops that last book and runs toward the noises. It’s on her mind to call Garahel to her and cast protective magic, but any orders or spells die in her throat the moment she emerges from the stacks. The bodies of circle mages, plenty of them familiar and some of them children, litter the floor, as abominations thunder toward survivors. They respond with a flurry of blasts and barriers, but it’s not enough; either the mages under attack flee or they die.

As another mage falls right beside her, she jumps and snaps out of her paralysis, but blind panic takes over. Her heart pounding in her chest, she races to the upper levels. The intervening years fade away and she’s nothing but a scared child looking for somewhere to hide. Even as she tries, though, that’s no easy feat. Abominations and demons haven’t decimated the upper levels yet, but Inessa isn’t alone. A voice hisses nearby. “Quiet! Both of you! I think I heard something. Keep your eyes open….”

II. Courtyard

a. It’s late when Inessa leaves the central tower, tired and already a little on edge. The slight elven woman makes a beeline for the mage tower, eager for the solace of her own quarters. It’s been a long day, and she could do with a few hours’ quiet and rest before dealing with whatever else is to come. But the Veil is too thin, and spirits too attracted to her already rattled state. She only takes a few more steps forward before coming to an abrupt halt, heart pounding as she takes in the sight of the bodies before her.

They’re spread out in a circle, faces and bodies twisted in agony. A chalice lays on its side in the center, dark liquid spilling forth. The puddle spreads and spreads, toward the lone Warden standing, who freezes and grips her staff tightly, knuckles turning white.

b. Later on, she can be seen crossing the courtyard, her stride quick though it’s not enough to outpace the ghostly figure in Warden armor following close behind. She glances behind her shoulder often, a look of loathing on her face, and her mind is so distracted that it’s only a matter of time before she crashes into someone living.

III. Chapels/Prayer Garden

Trying to regain some sense of calm, Inessa takes to visiting the nearest chapel whenever the torn Veil overwhelms her with familiar sights and sounds. The slight elf woman doesn’t pray aloud, but she bows her head, reciting them silently. However, that isn’t to say it’s completely silent all the time. Sometimes, disembodied voices can be heard reciting the Chant in unison...and sometimes the voice of a young woman humming softly near Inessa causes her to stiffen and sit up straight, peering around with a longing gaze. But there’s no one else in sight.

IV. Wildcard?

Hit me up with something.

I. Herb Garden

There's a makeshift shelter rigged over one of the benches. Unused trellising, its occupant vine dry and shriveled for the season, provides the tented shape of it, and a still-dirty tarp is lashed over the frame; it flaps in the driving wind that sweeps in over the walls of the courtyard sometimes. Inside sits Nahariel, wrapped in an oilcloth cloak, every line of her form and all her formidible focus turned towards the glow that shares the space with her.

"--I know, da'halla. You wouldn't be happy. Betrayal of the People and all that. But he needs me, and I need him, and it's hard sometimes, but what isn't. And we're happy. I think. As happy as you get." Nari smiles sheepishly. "He brings me tarts. I'd never had tarts. That's kind of like a buck, right?"

The faint and shimmering figure of Siuona Dahlasanor continues to look down at the sachets of tea she's compiling with a small smile, reaching up every so often to tuck one of the locks of hair that have fallen forward behind her ear. It will slide back down again soon, like it always had.

II. Courtyard, night (CW: gore, racism, allusions to rape)

Some of it is sweet. Birdsong, laughter, children playing hide-and-seek amongst the crates. Most of it is horror, and it keeps growing. But until she smelled it, that overpowering stench of burnt meat in the shifting spirit-light of the courtyard that changes like fire, none of them had been hers. A high pitched scream of denial stops Nari dead in her tracks, the chill of animal horror racing down her spine as the Fade-dwellers shift and blossom into the pandemonium of a Dalish camp in full blaze, cruel laughter and whooping issuing from men--and a few women--in patchwork armor casually chopping through the linked hands of those elves trying to pull their clanmates from beneath collapsing aravels. It's larger than life, all of it, as if viewed by a child.

She shuts her eyes, covers her face with both hands and shakes her head to clear it, but Ilriane is still screaming, muffled now.

(For Ghost!Cade)

It's the armor that draws her. It's recent; very recent. This battle that flickers through the streets isn't like the others. Not the Tevenes, nor the slaves, not the older renditions of the Chantry's flaming sword, the different slant of their pauldrons. This one could be taking place now. She's only started to begin to wonder when something else catches her eye. They're all helmeted, all covered, all the same except for shape, form, movement, but--

But she would know him in any crowd.

Edited 2019-01-11 21:36 (UTC)

I. THE COURTYARD ( SARENRAE ).

It starts with a soft mutter. It's gentle whispers in her mind; prayers, echoing over and over, reminding her of what she had lost and what she had given up, something that had been taken from her on arrival.

When last light fades from mortal eyes, know that the immortals have taken thine light unto their own hands.

It echoes around where Six had been hovering, despite the weather, finding a peace of quiet amidst the ice and the storm. Head bowed and eyes closed, she doesn't seem to notice the way that her hair sticks to her face, coming undone from the bun that keeps it from her eyes, straw yellow and dark from the damp. It seems a little like she's in some kind of trance; Six doesn't seem to realise that the words aren't in her mind, are whispers around her, something like and softly growing touching her shoulder.

When the night is darkest in the places that have never known light, I will go with you and I will burn bright.

Long arms embrace Six as a figure, bright and gentle in the wake of what seems like Six herself freezing with tension. When her eyes open, there's nothing in her eyes that suggests that she's unafraid or on edge, just a brief surge of horror before her head turns and she looks at the spirit behind her, the shape that it has taken, plucked from her mind to play her like a string. Standing up, she steps back, unsure and uncertain, briefly phased by the fact that She is here, greeting her - Six cannot wrap her mind around the idea that this might be a spirit.

Her Anchor feels like it is sparking. It is not, but the pain is there all the same.

Huge, lumbering creature that she is, she makes quite the sound when she drops to her knees, bruising the skin down to the bone as she sobs, a hiccupping noise from the back of her throat, reaching for the being that she cannot quite believe is there (who isn't - she isn't - Faith has come to her -)

It's not a scream, but it almost is.

II. THE LIBRARY ( ADRIAN ).

The soft light of Faith keeps other spirits from her, at least for a little while. What happens when the day turns dark, however, is other spirits coming out to play, seeking out the power and strength and intensity of Six and her devotion to Sarenrae, to what is in her heart. Her desperate cries turn into more soft prayers, seeking out Sarenrae and accepting what the spirit offers her without pause or hesitation. The Spirit of Faith comes and goes, gentle and soft, flickering between her and other people she thinks that needs her help - and it's in one of those moments that the other ghost appeared.

Clink. Clang -

The heft of armour is not unfamiliar. Six is half-asleep, seeking solace in the quiet of the library, unsure if she can trust her dream image of Sarenrae and unsure if she can believe in it herself. Her head rests on her arms, hair curling around her, let down from its usual bun as she makes soft noises, almost muttering to herself as she sleeps. The spiritual hand moves, tracing the shape of her head, not quite touching, soft and gentle.

A tall man, he looms over her with her size softened by her seating. Wearing full armour, he looks as if he is designed to be the moon to Six's bright sun; dark where she is bright and blonde, dour where she is tanned from the sun, but twinned in the sharpness of their jawlines and the intensity of who they are. His fingers try to touch against their hair, head tilted, leaning down - it might seem ominous to an outsider, a strange being leaning over the strong Paladin, seeking her, breathing near her.

His voice, when he speaks, is low and gravelly.

"Cecilia."

III. WILDCARD ( ANYWHERE ).

( Find Six anywhere in the Gallows, with Sarenrae / Adrian, as you like! Feel free to ping me on plurk for something personal! )

It probably does not come as a surprise to find Six making her way to the Chapel, finding a place to hide from her own demons. They're not all bad, necessarily, but she cannot trust them, terrified of what it means to see the image of them here, scared of what it might mean for her. Spotting Inessa, she hesitates, feeling on edge and unsure, her eyes darting from the woman to the door before she makes her way over.

"Do you - mind?"

Tessa's been seeing and hearing some weird shit so far, and it seems like she can't run and hide from it all. But boy, does she try. Her boots thud heavily on the floor of the hallway as she escapes from sounds of death and destruction behind her. No matter how often she repeats to herself that it isn't real, she still gets caught off guard every time and tries to beat a hasty retreat out of the area.

When she turns the corner to find the scene laid before her, she stops, body tensing as she spots those gross people attacking elves. What are they? Her kneejerk reaction is "zombies," but she knows that can't be it. Yet they're eating one, so they may as well be.

"What the fuck?" she says, only the tiniest bit relieved when the creatures take no notice of her. Okay, so this is more magic illusion spirit crap. But that doesn't mean it isn't awful. When it disappears, she feels as though she's no longer rooted to the ground, but then it begins again like one of those ten hour looping YouTube video. Great.

At least she's not ignorant to the young man seated nearby, clearly freaking out over the scene. Tessa isn't far off from it herself. People eating people is something she's sadly witnessed before. Tearing at body parts, screeching and screaming; she knows it well. She still sees and hears it at times when she's in bed at night. Turning towards him, she murmurs, "Can you walk away from it? Or will it follow you?"

Christine doesn't make too many trips to the library in the Gallows and that means on the rare occasions she does, it isn't easy to find the section she needs to find a certain book. With the thinning Veil, it's making it hard to continue on business as usual, and while she's sure the Rifts & Veil project must be looking into this, she feels she should at least try to find some books on the Veil just in case.

That's when the screaming starts and she races to the railing that runs along the upper level to look down below at the horrifying sight. No. Her hands grasp the wood in a white knuckle grip. This isn't happening. Those are spirits. It has to be. She can't believe that the mages of the Gallows would resort to allowing demons to possess them. Of course, the mages of Skyhold turned on them all by secretly joining with Tevinter—

Her thoughts are cut off as Inessa runs up the stairs and she turns away from the scene to reach out for her.

"Inessa!" she calls, seeing the panic on her friend's face. But Inessa rushes by and from somewhere behind her Christine hears the presence of someone — or something — else on the upper level. She runs after Inessa and hunkers down beside her, wherever she's hiding. The voice has her looking towards the Warden, brow creased in worry. This feels so real, but it can't be, right?

There is no where in the Gallows that's safe, but Christine thinks perhaps she's enduring better than others are, because while the negative spirits are feeding off of people's emotions, she has a spirit of Faith by her side to remind her that she can be stronger than her fear or despair. That doesn't mean she hasn't become startled by what she's witnessed, but that she can pull herself out of it again.

And the figure looming over this Rifter isn't meant for Christine. She knows because she's never seen him before, and only vaguely knows of this person. She stands not far away, body tense but not frightened. Behind her, the thin Veil has made Faith visible to all, though her body is incorporeal. She's a steady presence watching over the scene, but not yet speaking.

"You do not belong here," Christine says to the man leaning over the Rifter woman. She knows that it's likely the spirit won't understand her. It's following its nature, and it took a long time of Faith observing Christine and asking questions before the spirit was better cognizant of the living world. But Christine will try anyway.

If Six is disturbed by the spirit, by the ghost, she doesn't seem to show signs of it in her dreams. She's exhausted, clearly, from denying and hiding from Sarenrae's ghost, from trying to find a place for peace and quiet and prayer, from trying to find anything that makes any of this make sense - she's used to ghosts, and spirits, and their ilk from her own world, but in Thedas? They seem so much different, so changed from her own recognition that she cannot wrap her mind around it.

The ghost of Adrian pauses, hand hovering near Six's body. His head tilts to look over at Christine, pausing, listening but not understanding. All it's focus is on the woman in front of it, the desperate urge to connect with the memories in her mind that it has allowed it to be brought to life, the whispers she gives - pain, loneliness, isolation, loss, despair. It wants it.

Leaning close again, it whispers a second time, "Cecilia," and Six shifts in her sleep, eyes tightening.

"Leave her be," Christine repeats. It's better to err on the side of caution than to assume the spirit is harmless. These spirits have been tormenting people from the moment the Veil thinned over the Gallows. That isn't to say there haven't been spirits of Hope, Wisdom, Faith and others here as well, but the ones associated with negative emotions are so much more prevalent. Not surprising when one knows the history of the Gallows.

"Let Cecelia rest."

Inessa peers at Six for a moment before relaxing. The woman seems real enough, a welcome change from phantom sights. Not bothering to hide her weariness, she shakes her head.

"Of course not. All are welcome here...though I can't promise solace. The Veil is as thin here as everywhere else in the Gallows."

It's a solid moment before Inessa even realizes Christine is beside her and that she's gripping the woman's arm a bit tightly, her own heart racing. Her gaze begins to refocus after she hears alarmed barking in the distance, though color has yet to return to those cheeks. She tries to steady her breathing, forcing herself to remain in the here and now no matter how overwhelming the urge to check out.

Her voice is a cracked whisper when she speaks, not daring to raise it. "This shouldn't be happening again...not here--" Her throat closes and her grip on Christine tightens again when she hears three pairs of footsteps nearby, walking and not rushing like everything in the area.

"Over here!" For a heart-stopping moment, Inessa's certain they've been spotted, but a scream erupts from elsewhere. Between the shelves, she can see them, a trio of mages in Circle robes surrounding a young woman in apprentice attire, apparently having just been dragged from under a table. She tries to scramble to her feet, to run, but one among the trio sheds his blood with a thin blade, and their captive stands twitching, unable to move thanks to the dark magic activated.

I. Infirmary

Cosima's affected very early on -- so early on, in fact, that she doesn't know that it's something widespread and thoroughly misdiagnoses what it is. She's walking to the infirmary with dread in her stomach, because she woke up with blood spattering the pillow, and the first thing she thinks isn't What's happening, but rather Oh, this, finally.

She hasn't called Herian on the sending crystal yet, and she's not sure if that's bravery or cowardice. But she wants to see how bad it is, first. She's braced for anything between "a little" and "very." She isn't at all braced for "you're the same as always."

II. Gallows, various places

Later, when she knows that whatever is happening is happening to other people too, she decides to try to find the people she cares about. Strength in numbers -- especially if whatever is happening is about fear and despair, being alone is no good for anyone. Depending on where you find her, she might be determinedly walking down a hall, ignoring the wracking echo of a cough that bounces off the walls behind her; she might be edging along, trying not to interact with the echoes of the glass walls of an institute that is in Canada and definitely not Thedas.

Or she might have caught herself against a wall, shaking a bit, after unexpectedly running across a pile of dead women who all wear variations on her own face.

III. Wildcard

[Hit me up if you want to talk about something before you jump in.]

I. A random hallway probably near the dormitories

It's been three days since he's arrived.

Three days is hardly enough time to become familiar with all of the places in the Gallows, hardly enough time to learn the names and faces of many people here, let alone form many friendships. The Inquisition is...an overwhelming experience. There's so much to learn, so many different kinds of people that have all come to gather in this place. The stone cold of the Gallows and of Kirkwall's streets so very different from the wilder areas of the Free Marches he had roamed with his clan.

But for the first time in a long time, he had felt a thrilling excitement, finally free from the lingering darkness that had trailed him for so long.

And yet it seemed as though he would not be free of it just yet.

Earlier Finel had heard a few rumors of hauntings from some others passing by. Given the insidious past of the Gallows, it hardly seemed surprising that something might linger, a shadow of memory imprinted into the very walls.

Finel wanders, lost not for the first time trying to find his way from the dormitory to the library. Aside from the snippets of conversation he'd overheard, he hasn't yet met anyone else nor manged to get far enough to realize the scope of what is really happening all over the Gallows.

"Finel."

The aching familiarity of the call of his name has him whirling around sharply, and Finel feels his heart stop in his chest at the sight of the man in front of him. Long, deep chestnut hair braided away from a handsome face adorned with the symbol of Andruil. High cheekbones balanced with a stronger, squarer jaw than Finel's own, and warm, amber-colored eyes glint above a charming smile.

"...Talen?" his voice wavers with shock, in utter disbelief until Finel realizes the form before him is transparent, the remainder of the hallway easily visible through his body.

"I've missed you, vhenan." The figure floats closer, reaches out ghostly hand as though to caress his cheek, leaving a chill on his skin even as he begins to tremble. "Why didn't you find me?"

"I tried," he whispers, an all too familiar pain twisting hard in his chest. "I-" the rest of his words evaporate as a thin line appears across Talen's throat, and then slowly widens. Dark red liquid spills forth, faster and faster the wider the gash becomes, opening until the head rolls grotesquely back, an excruciating expression frozen on the face.

He screams, bolting back down towards the other end of the hall only to be met with the ghostly figure again, whole once more.

"I've missed you, vhenan," it says once more, and reaches for him again. No matter which direction he tries to flee, it follows. Finel finally collapses into a corner, back pressed up against the wall and knees drawn in, hands covering his face as tears fall uncontrollably. Talen floats around him, calling his name, reaching for him, and dying on endless repeat.

II. Anywhere he's needed

Much later, after he's learned what's really going on and feeling stronger and more determined, Finel is moving with more purpose, seeking out others who might be caught within their own horrors and offering his help. Talen still occasionally appears in corners of rooms or at the end of a hallway, but he pushes past him now, focused on aiding others.

I. The Former Mage Tower

Stay calm, don't get excited: these repeated commands to himself are as important for his mental health as they are for his physical, since running anywhere is out of the question. But Benedict, being a mage, has seen the Fade before, and he knows what a spirit looks like. None of this is real, even if it feels that way. Sounds that way. ...smells.

He's making his slow, shuffling way along the hall, dressing gown held tight around himself as much for security as for warmth, a look of strain on his handsome face. There's something dragging itself behind him, but he won't turn to look; he has to stare straight ahead, or he's certain he'll go mad.

II. The Courtyard

If anyone knows what's going on and they aren't already in the offices, they'll be here. But the weather is miserable and the sights are gruesome, people are running every which way, and Benedict isn't confident there will be any answers to be found. But he tries anyway, attempting to flag down each person who passes him:
"Wait--"
"Hey--"
"What's happened?"

for Myr, Lexie and Leander

"Shivana?"
The head of blond hair is familiar, and so is the blindfold, though hadn't he discarded it? Benedict approaches cautiously, sidelong, waiting for Myr to change into something else. He looks real, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything at the moment.

for Lakshmi

"BENEDICT," comes an exasperated cry, and he whirls to see its source: the back of someone familiar, but was that voice--
"...Mother?" he asks, stepping towards the woman. She looks real, which is wrong: her hair is black and her skin is golden brown, like his, but how could she be here?

Adasse looks up sharply when the woman speaks to him, and he feels himself gasping. Gasping like air hadn't been properly getting into his lungs for a bit. He stood, reaching out with shaking hands to grasp her by the shoulders. To make sure she was real, to make sure he wasn't just having another Too Vivid vision of horrible, horrible things.

"Can you - you can see them too?" He whispers harshly, his dark eyes serious and scared. "I keep seeing things but I thought - Maker I thought I was dealing with this alone."

He makes himself not look - if he looks he will be paralyzed again. "I don't ... I don't know but I've got to try. I can't. I can't watch them die anymore."

It is, indeed, Myr in the flesh and not a spirit imitating him (though there'd been one or two of those he'd seen around before taking up the blindfold again--), and he lifts his head at the sound of his name. "Benedict?" There's a hesitation about the name; Myr's entire manner is wary (and exhausted) of an ambush.

But Benedict seems solid enough--and really, what advantage would a spirit get from mimicking him that they aren't managing better by taking other shapes? "If it is you, you might not want to stick around," Myr adds, somewhere between wry and worried.

The words are scarcely out of his mouth before one of them puts on an appearance, perhaps hopeful of an opening--or simply interested in a new victim. The--thing--forming behind Benedict doesn't invite close inspection; it is a teratoma (hair and teeth and nails and peeled-muscle wetness where none should be, a suggestion of fleshy involutions that fold impossibly together) grown of the Fade itself, breathing though it shouldn't, obscenely drawing the eye.

There's some relief in the confirmation that Myr is real, and Benedict almost smiles, but for that warning.
"Why, what--" he begins to ask, and turns toward the sound of breath behind him. The end of the question is interrupted by a yelp of disgust, the boy stumbling backwards until he forcibly lands on the bench beside Myr.
"What is that," he hisses, ignoring the elf's temporary blindness.

The Templar Tower

It is the screams of a little girl crying for her mother that drag James out of a light sleep. He bolts up right in his cot, and beside his bed, Interceptor whimpers from his nest of blankets. James hisses out a breath, reaching for his armor and his sword, whistling softly for the mabari to come to heel.

He moves towards the door to his small quarters and throws it open. The screams are loud, so loud, and he starts to make his way towards the basement to find the cause.

He is also praying under his breath, to any who might find him on the ground floor, looking down at the basement hatch with a look of dread on his narrow expression.

The Courtyard

As the night presses on, so do the horrors, and so does James Norrington. Where-ever he travels in the Courtyard, whereever he sees a spirit he immediately has taken to going to one knee and starting to pray. It doesn't last long, but it does make the spirits disappear for a few minutes, and that is sometimes all the reprieve needs.

Now, he stands grimly, watching another scene unfold; Guylian, Knight-Commander of the Gallows c. 9:21 Dragon, is forcibly prepared for execution by a group of mercenaries. The vision ends with Guylian hanging from the neck until dead.

James has watched this twice now. No matter how many times he tries to dispell it, it still reappears.

A soft mutter, easily overheard, "Marvelous, I always wanted to know what happened to Knight Commanders around here. Either hanged or turned into giant red statues -- what a marvelous future I have awaiting me..."

III - Wildcard with horror option, just let me know!

"That," and there's strain in Myr's voice, strain that makes his light-hearted Maferath-may-care cheer sound exactly as forced as it is, "has been fucking with me all evening.

"We should give it an embarrassing name." Because maybe that way he can think of it instead, every time he hears that wet clotted breathing and remembers what it's attached to, and his throat won't close up and he won't remember too-vividly the feel of blood and aqueous on his fingertips.

Disgust at least is a tangible emotion and a second entity wavers into being after the first, the spine around its outside the only interruption from its mouths (and mouths and mouths) that gape and chew.

Edited (sentence bad) 2019-01-12 04:42 (UTC)

As the second entity appears, Bene puts a hand over his mouth to stifle a retch. He can't seem to look away, as offensive as they are to the eye and to the... mental faculties.

"Are they-- real?" he asks gingerly, holding a hand in front of his eyes, but afraid to cover them entirely, animal instinct telling him not to let them get the jump on him. ...even if they're intangible.

"Yes," says the voice of a young man, who until now was content to sit quietly in his out-of-the-way nook. "They're just as real as you are."

Now he leans forward into plainer view—slim and pale, darkish hair in loose curls, dressed in comfortable darks, scruffy in a fashionable way—lifts his arm to twitch a stick of charcoal at the pair of them. "Would you mind shuffling that way just a bit? Thank you."

There's a satchel leaning beside him, and in his lap sits a thin board, to which he's clipped as much loose paper as he could scrounge on short notice. His attention darts between the board and the outrageously grotesque formations now gathering behind... whoever these people are. Finished, or perhaps dissatisfied—it's hard to tell, his face isn't doing much—he tugs the topmost page free and lets it fall to the floor around his feet along with the rest.

Edited (move bich) 2019-01-12 05:53 (UTC)

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 48

OPEN: Kirkwail

FIVE ALARM FUCK THIS

tessa | ota; will match prose or brackets

Adasse || What the Fuck of the Fuck || OTA

Library

Inessa | OTA

Nari, OTA

SIX | OTA

III

III

I

II

no subject

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no subject

I

Cosima Niehaus | OTA (prose or brackets are fine)

Finel | OTA (either prose or brackets)

Benedict, OTA

Re: III

no subject

no subject

James

cw: low key gore mentions and also, These Things

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no subject