aw fuck not this asshole again (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trollophoroi) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
altimit2023-11-18 01:43 am
trollophoroi) wrote in altimit2023-11-18 01:43 am
Σ Turbulent Distrusting Ice Wall
Who: Fidchell the Prophet and two fateful parties.
What: A prophecy foretold.
When: 11/21, Night
Where: The city formerly known as Lumina Cloth.
Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation, violence.
[ Something appears to be afoot in the night-shrouded city of lights, Lumina Cloth. Ever since the fall of Innis and Magus, it has begun to grow colder, and colder, and colder. NPCs begin to glitch in and out of existence as the days crawl along until one day, they are no more, and it begins to snow.
Throughout this entire ordeal, a strange yet familiar figure dressed gaudily in blue and feathery robes can be witnessed watching from a distance.
Everything ices over, the lights flickering out one by one, plunging the entire city into darkness... until... until?
Only after the city has been buried in snow and covered in ice do the lights all snap back on and those who enter the Root Town will discover a horrific sight: Telophoroi Tower has risen high over the frozen landscape at the center of the city, overtaking the rest of the buildings. It is far larger and much more dangerous-looking than before, with more metal, more spikes, and an ominous mist clinging to it from all angles.
There is only one person who could possibly be waiting here.
Approaching the tower will plunge the players into the mist.
Nearly all will find themselves turned around but a few, those lucky few, will find themselves entering the dark, empty halls of the guild @ home once known as Telophoroi. Steps echo, emptiness reigns, no sign of even Cultist Grunty anymore. Those stairs are new, though, and they wind up and up and up towards the very tip-top of the tower.
Do you dare to climb them...? ]
What: A prophecy foretold.
When: 11/21, Night
Where: The city formerly known as Lumina Cloth.
Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation, violence.
[ Something appears to be afoot in the night-shrouded city of lights, Lumina Cloth. Ever since the fall of Innis and Magus, it has begun to grow colder, and colder, and colder. NPCs begin to glitch in and out of existence as the days crawl along until one day, they are no more, and it begins to snow.
Throughout this entire ordeal, a strange yet familiar figure dressed gaudily in blue and feathery robes can be witnessed watching from a distance.
Everything ices over, the lights flickering out one by one, plunging the entire city into darkness... until... until?
Only after the city has been buried in snow and covered in ice do the lights all snap back on and those who enter the Root Town will discover a horrific sight: Telophoroi Tower has risen high over the frozen landscape at the center of the city, overtaking the rest of the buildings. It is far larger and much more dangerous-looking than before, with more metal, more spikes, and an ominous mist clinging to it from all angles.
There is only one person who could possibly be waiting here.
Approaching the tower will plunge the players into the mist.
Nearly all will find themselves turned around but a few, those lucky few, will find themselves entering the dark, empty halls of the guild @ home once known as Telophoroi. Steps echo, emptiness reigns, no sign of even Cultist Grunty anymore. Those stairs are new, though, and they wind up and up and up towards the very tip-top of the tower.
Do you dare to climb them...? ]
no subject
Please, I haven't been able to get it to stop. You'll have to convince Cultist Grunty if you want that!
[ He steps forward, reaching out to pull Owen in close, arms wrapping about him, nice and warm. ]
How's my lovely dancer this wonderful evening?
[ Lovely dancer? Lovely dancer. His lovely dancer. Why did that sound familiar? Chillingly so, even? Is it something Fandaniel has called him before? ]
no subject
[The warmth of his arms is so nice - being loved, feeling cherished, it’s just nice. Owen deserves nice things, doesn’t he?
But… Wrong. It’s all wrong. Owen goes tense, placing his arms on Fandaniel’s shoulder, pushing him back.]
“Lovely dancer”? That’s a new one. You feeling alright?
[His nails dig into Fandaniel’s shoulder, as if something about that will ground him, help him put his finger on what isn’t right here.
(But it’s obvious, isn’t it? Fandaniel would never choose him, over everyone else. Owen will never have a happy, peaceful life. It’s not in the cards for him—)]
no subject
[ At least, he thinks it sounds nice! Gosh, Owen. Learn to take a compliment. Ah, but Owen pushes him back, and Fandaniel goes, taking a step to peer up at him quizzically.
As nails dig into the cloth of his robes, he reaches up to place a hand over them, as if to comfort Owen. ]
Are you sure that you aren't feeling under the weather, Owen? If you are, I can tell M͖̤͊̓a̹͖̓̿g̥͝ṵ͑s̯̹̔̂0koto and S̠̀ḱ͙̑͢é͍̻͐͘͟ì̠̻̓ẗ̘͈́́́͟h͍̝̎̅Hien they can drop by for dinner another day. They eat over here far too often, anyhow. It'll be fine.
[ That's an odd... echo? When Fandaniel says those names, there almost sounds like a second name being whispered beneath them. Magus? Skeith? Who are those? Surely not their usual black holes, visiting to devour everything off their table. ]
no subject
Because...]
I hate it. It sounds like you're making fun of me.
[Because they're both dead, aren't they?
His hands move from Fandaniel's shoulders to his throat. He should have known something was wrong earlier - he should have known it was all a trick, but he's just as stupid and sentimental as everyone else. It's impossible, but he wanted a happy ending, too.
It's all wrong, though. It's not real. He doesn't want it to be real, even if here he's loved and happy, because life isn't about just burying your head in the sand and having everything handed to you. You have to earn it and take it for yourself, and he's not the one in control right now.]
You should know better than to lie to me, you bastard.
no subject
You really can't accept that someone could ever love you, can you, Owen? So badly do you disbelieve that you reject the very concept outright?
[ The dream around them begins to flicker, breaking down now that Fidchell has been called out so directly. ]
Such a pity. This is all from your thoughts, your hopes, after all. 'tis hardly something I forged alone~.
no subject
But he’s stupid and a dead man told him he needs to stop running away.]
Maybe this is what I want, but it doesn’t mean anything if it’s just handed to me.
[It’s not worth it if it’s not the life Fandaniel would want, too. Does he really want some pathetically domestic, bland life? With Owen?
(Maybe Fidchell does have a point, and Hien did too, but whatever. He’s not going to psychoanalyze himself right now. Whether he deserves to be loved and if anyone cares about him isn’t relevant to this stupid boss fight.)]
I’m not going to let you decide my fate. Even if it’s what I want, I’ll spite you until the very end, because it needs to be something I make for myself.
no subject
[ And that will be the end of it. Everything goes black, almost as if the lights are being cut at a dramatic part of a play, and then Owen will feel himself ejected out of the pod and onto the arena floor, slick with the ooze that had been within.
Before him, Fidchell floats, unshielded as before, and around Owen... no one. He stands alone, just as the debuff over his head proclaims: Face Your Fate (Alone). It's causing a massive damage down. ]
no subject
He picks himself up, trying to wipe the awful pod goo from his skin, and looks around the room for the state of the pods.
It’s cold, and dark, and he’s alone - or so it says, but if becoming Innis taught him anything it’s that nobody will just let him be alone. Everyone in this game is far too stubborn to give up if there’s even the slightest chance of making a difference.
And that includes Owen, unfortunately.]
Your data gathering methods are the worst.
[He doesn’t like being sticky… This is gross…]