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Post by Morgan Evans on May 29, 2012 11:39:13 GMT -7
The shrill wail of the Nightmare cut through the quiet of the grove, then died down to what sounded like a whisper from the very leaves. Morgan stopped in his tracks at that noise and clung to the tree he'd finished scaling. That noise had come from fields away, but in a place like this, there wasn't such thing as being too cautious.
The evening scene was too much for him to be comfortable with-- he'd been out at night in the Real World, had visited the Dream World's grove at dusk, but the full-on darkness in the Dreamscape was something else entirely. When nighttime descended on the grove, it did so with a life of its own, a density to it that no place he'd been before could compare to. A silvery light (that he wasn't ready to attribute to a moon just yet) had managed to filter through the leaves and outline vague shapes, but it did nothing to make the place less unsettling. The noises didn't stop. A constant humming was coming from somewhere beyond his reach, sounding from every place yet no place at once, and a fright drummed its cold fingers down his spine when he realized that the humming was masking something; a steady thump-thump... thump-thump...
This is really freaking unpleasant. Place better not be secretly alive or something, or I swear... Morgan looked for some exit out of the grove, but a turn to his left didn't provide a way out so much as a better reason why he had to do that very soon.
A Nightmare was staring back at him from the branch above. Morgan took hesitant steps back as the creature slunk out of the absolute dark. It was thin and bony, with barely enough skin covering its awkwardly bending frame. It shrieked again and clambered over to Morgan's direction with unnatural speed. He had to duck to avoid the Nightmare's tail as it whipped about, but they were way too close anyway; he could hear the creature's low growling at him and saw luminescent smoke escaping from between its sharpened teeth.
The Fighter backed away at that. Strangely colored smoke wasn't a good sign, not in the Dream World. Was this a poisonous type, the way he was? He took a quick glance around; he needed a way out just in case.
Big mistake. A sharp pain shot across the side of his face, blinding him and knocking him off balance. There was nothing keeping him up. Any possible foothold was out of his reach, and he was left to fall.
He was pretty sure his descent would last a few seconds before he hit the ground violently and broke more than half of the bones in his body, and he was waiting for that (even though he didn't want to look). Instead, something thick and ropelike was coiled around his limbs and he came to an abrupt stop at an awkward angle. He drew in a breath, and hesitantly opened one eye. He had to blink as his eyes got used to the new darkness. There was a clearer difference, if one could say such a thing considering the subject. It was still dark, and he could only see the faint outlines of trees, but that was enough. The plantlife at this level was much more plain, and less dense with life and sound. It wasn't so menacing.
Still, he was in pretty serious shit.
Lesson learned; don't come here at night.
He wriggled against his restraints, but it didn't work. The vines he was stuck in were at once too tightly coiled around his limbs to loosen with his struggle, and loose enough above him to instead just sway from side to side in response to his movements. The vines were twisting tight and spinning him, only making him more dizzy. In his blood-and-motion-induced confusion, he tried to look up at the direction he'd come from, and saw the Nightmare scaling down the tree and trying to reach him.
"Fuck, I kind of need a plan..." Morgan said to himself, and tried harder to pull his hands out from the tangle. "Uhmmm..." He tilted his head to look down to the ground below. It was a pretty huge drop-- what, three stories?
"Hello? Is someone down there? Anyone...? I... I need help..."
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Post by Alexander on May 29, 2012 20:11:31 GMT -7
Fear fell upon the land.
Great fear fell upon the land, and also after, when his steps brought him to that place of struggle, that such a fear weigh heavily upon the spine of the great tree, the stem of the small flower, and even the backs of what men may lurk upon this place.
But there was also peace.
When he came to the edge of these woods, he came dripping blood from the tips of his fingers. Like the great sadness that churned within him now, he knew not from where such blood came but he knew only that such blood was his own.
There was greater confusion.
It pressed upon him heavily.
Looking into the darkness of the wood he saw sights unfamiliar and yet he swore he had been here before. "I'm dreaming again," he thought to himself as he stared deeply into the dense darkness before him, "...Aren't I?"
His head welled with a sharp pain that struck as a fine needle being thrust into his skull for but a moment's passing.
"Are you... in there?" Alexander spoke aloud, in a whisper, a question in his head.
"But who are you?"
His steps took him then inward, into the wood, into the darkness, into the deep dense nothing that held within itself the answers to unanswered questions and the unanswered questions deserving of answers and yet he knew not if such a wood held only nothing.
He fell to his knees quickly, painfully, after his steps took him deep, to the place where there were no mighty trees reaching above, no humble brush upon the moistened dirt, no flowers with their fragile stems, and he knelt there in a deeper darkness seen by his eyes, and his eyes only, for it was his darkness, and his darkness only. It gripped at him, crippling him, like the mighty hands of the giants of old having taken their claim on the flesh of men and it brought him to a sheer STOP.
His breathing labored,
His heart rushed,
The blood within him burned hot,
With every breath he took, that fear that covered the land both waned and waxed in it's weight as though it followed in sync. Every thought only birthed a new one, every attempt at a grasp only grasped air, and every memory only manifested a question that brought forth more and more of it's own; there was nothing remaining in which to cling.
All then became settled upon the realization, and he, that one bearing the White Mask, broke out in a violent laughter; it was the sound of chaos and with such a sound did the fear and darkness shake about as the snow shook within a snow globe.
A voice in the distance;
It silenced the chaos.
Such a voice was much too far to hear the sound of such a chaotic mind being out poured as laughter and yet Alexander thought he heard this; the voice of another a far off yet near saying "I... I need help..."
The darkness gave way to a moonlit wood where the trees once more came in sight, where the humble shrub stood vigil in the night, and the fragile flower slept on the ground below.
Alexander rose to his feet and traversed the darkness of the night.
Moment's passed before he reached that place.
A place of struggle where one man's life quite literally stood hanging on the vines of life and death where death itself loomed as a black cloud above coming closer and closer still to lay claim on it's mark and life seemed to have abandoned death's victim.
In the dark this man, this Morgan, tied up and bound would see nothing when the creature fell to the ground below with a great shriek of pain having been struck forcefully by an object unknown. And when it fell, such a being would see the sight of one clothed in darkness and bearing upon his face that White Mask of old.
Now that Mask hesitated not to go forth, toward death, and strike it to the ground below where his own weight held the being in place and in it's place the being wrestled, snarled, growled as if saying "You will die, release me now!"
Only that White Mask came close to the being's own visage and all was still.
He whispered,
"Watcher."
And the chaos ensued when the being's strength overtook the White Mask's own.
The two stared at one another for a moment's length that seemed an hour's length in their eyes and it went forth with great speed, great strength, taking that Mask into the depths of the darkness where nothing was seen or heard but the rattling of the trees and the brush.
All became quieted,
All became still.
There was peace.
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Post by Bjonn Gundersen on May 30, 2012 13:10:56 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:100px; background-color:#dedede;][atrb=vAlign, top][style=opacity:0.8]  IF WE CAN STAY HERE LONG ENOUGH, WE CAN PLAY WITH BLOODY MARY | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:350px; background-color:#dedede;][atrb=vAlign, top] The Grove of Souls was not the place to be.
It never was, when you thought about it; why would you go to a place with a name like 'the grove of the souls' anyway? There were souls there, as inferred from the name, and souls meant people had died for those souls to be there. And when dead things and souls were hanging around in the same place, the only possible conclusion you could draw was that the Grove of the Souls was the home to zombies.
And Bjonn, frankly, did not like the walking dead.
As the 'prince' dragged his heels through the Grove of Souls, he wondered how he had even managed to get there in the first place. The answer hit him like a tonne of bricks. He'd got lost. Somehow, somewhere along the road the adoraTrio had gotten separated - where was Morgan, where was the Electric Madien? His friends in the Dream World... vanished, just like that. And the worst part of the poisonous lump in his throat was that it had happened before.
The fighter couldn't even remember their faces...
His family had faded.
Suddenly a wail pierced his thoughts, a spear of reality tearing asunder any morose musings that could have harangued the rabble rouser. Bjonn's fatigued eyes flashed from left to right, alert; he'd been wandering for days and any signs of life were foreign to him: Gundersen had been the last man alive - but here was an errant cry! A knock on his metaphorical door. 'Come in! Come in!' And as he invited reality to entertain him in his warped home, Bjonn ran towards the screech. Nightmares weren't food, but they gathered near people - 'or other nightmares...' Deciding that either one would satisfy him, the prince increased his speed as his legs ate up the distance between ambiguity and discovery.
It was dark save for the vapid light of whatever vague effulgence hung its sorrowful head in the sky.
And yet it was painfully obvious to Bjonn as he ran that the Nightmare was coming towards him. He could hear the flapping of wings, he could hear the clinking of claws; whatever it was did not sound pretty, nor did it sound friendly.
He glanced at his hands.
Did he have enough energy to fend it off?
'I fucking hope so... --! SHIT!'
His train of thought crashed. Many casualties. The nightmare flapped overhead, swiping at him with its tail vehemently. Bjonn ducked and punched upwards instinctively, hoping to catch its underbelly and send it careening off balance. He released a shockwave simultaneously, though it was nowhere near as potent as the ones he was normally capable of producing. This showed in the consequence of his actions: the nightmare simply rolled in the sky, not too disturbed.
He didn't even think it had noticed him.
He prayed it hadn't noticed him.
'Why the hell did I attack it?!... Idiot'
Bjonn's bitter thoughts would have to end for now; as he looked up again from the ground he caught sight of a figure: he was entangled in vines. It looked dubious. Even with the blurry haze of distance aiding him, it looked dubious. The ineffectiveness of the haze was exemplified too - that guy in the vines looked familiar! He recognised the hair! The clothes! The affinity for getting into stupid situations!
"Morgan! Oi! Morgan! That you?"
[style=font-size:9px; text-align:center;]notes. we can assume that it's a second nightmare that flew over Bjonn, or the one alex attacked didn't die. w/e. ain't seeing it again.
[/style][classy=frame]SAY HER NAME INTO THE DARK, ACTIVATE OUR NERVE ENDINGS[/classy] |
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Post by Morgan Evans on May 31, 2012 13:32:31 GMT -7
Morgan hissed in annoyance at the blood that had run into his eye. He squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked rapidly, tried anything to get his eye clean again and able to see. It would've helped immensely had he the use of his arms. He needed them, and soon! That Nightmare was heading straight for him, last he was aware, and he couldn't think of anything worse that could happen to him aside from being eaten alive or poisoned even if left still alive.
"morgan! oi! morgan! that you?"
Oh no dear god this was clearly worse. Fuck my life... Morgan groaned and flailed about. Bjonn was easily the best worst person that could have shown up right then. Him and his pompous and drama-queenly demeanor... if Morgan were to ask him for help, then Bjonn would just end up telling everyone about how awesome he was for saving the blond Fighter from certain doom and exaggerating the degree to which Morgan was scared and he very much was not that. Morgan himself would probably never hear the end of it, and having suffered a shockwave punch from the would-be Prince on their first meeting was terrible enough.
He honestly needed to get out of this binding-- ahah! He got an arm free. The vines had given way enough for him to slip a limb out from its grasp, and wiped at his face with his sleeve to get rid of the blood. He blinked the visibility back into his eyes, and the first thing that came to mind to do was wonder why he hadn't met doom yet. There was no luminescent smoke, no eerily glowing eyes, no awkward skulking in his direction... the Nightmare was gone.
Morgan stared blankly ahead, then just took in a breath and reached all the way across to his other arm and started groping around for the other vine to get himself free completely. Perhaps the Nightmare had lost interest in him? He'd heard a shriek and more noise aside from that. Yeah, the Nightmare must have found a new victim to go after, and he couldn't help but feel terrible for the poor sap that happened to be it.
Except if it was actually Bjonn. Then he was hoping the thing bit the overgrown brat hard.
"Yeah, Bee, it's me. No worries, I'm just chillin' up here. Practicing my climbing... I'll be out in a minute. You wanna, I dunno, punch some trees or something? Helpmegeddownfromeremebby?"
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Post by Alexander on May 31, 2012 15:12:26 GMT -7
It seemed the end for the White Mask.
There was no escape.
No manner or measure of strength to be had by mere muscle alone was not enough to garner release from the clutches of such a being as this, and yet by sheer will power alone was that Mask still amongst the living, or perhaps there were greater forces work here. For it's claws ripped at him and indeed there was much blood, that Mask did not fall. And though it's jaws continuously went forth to feast upon the warm flesh, that Mask escaped all fatality, though indeed there was much blood.
Too much blood.
Fatigue,
Dizziness,
That crippling pain in his head,
And the blood;
All in one accord to bring such a one as this to his knees before the foul being that stood a towering a menace before the Mask and the Mask simply knelt at the mercy of such a being, ready to die perhaps, or perhaps waiting for some greater force at work.
It lunged at him.
With a great shriek,
It lunged at the White Mask.
But this was not the end for him.
With his hand he held open the gaping maw of this creature. It's teeth sunk into his palms, almost going through as hammered spikes through tender hands, and yet what pain was felt was cast aside in light of a greater objective than to succumb to mere pain. His own blood dripped to the ground and trickled over the beasts tongue only adding fervor to what hunger it held and yet it's strength could not overcome that of the White Mask.
There was a flicker,
A brief memory of a memory that seemed more a dream then a recollection and yet for it's single spark-like life it brought a greater cripple, a deepness to the dizziness, and further fatigue to such a weary corpse; his hands released the jaws of this beast and he fell once more to the ground, to his knees.
Her face; his destruction.
Only destruction did not come this night.
The beast did not attack.
It's steps wavered in sight of such an easy prey, for a greater fear came over what darkened heart beat within it's chest, and though enraged it did nothing. It roared and it snarled as though an attempt to garner strength and courage from within itself, and yet it did not find solace from it's cowardice in the presence of it's weakened adversary until at long last, with a greater roar given, the beast fled from this place into the dense wood to prey upon prey demanding of lesser strength.
The mask fell from his face there, in that place, as his body gave way to the wear and tear endured by the chaos of a greater fight apart. He fell there, atop that mask, hiding it underneath him as he shut his eyes to this place and slowly watched as the space around him turned black quickly. There he slept for however long such a sleeper slept hearing faint voices in places a far off yet nearer still.
Meanwhile,
"Yeah, Bee, it's me. No worries, I'm just chillin' up here. Practicing my climbing... I'll be out in a minute. You wanna, I dunno, punch some trees or something? Helpmegeddownfromeremebby?"
It came to be, when the very fabric of the space they stood in had suddenly become disturbed, that the weight of the greater fear fell upon them, this Morgan and Bjonn, also and it was as that of emptiness and solitude eternal; sadness. And it was as that of a greater darkness descending upon them though no darkness but that of the night had consumed them, but it did. And the greater fear fell upon them heavily, and also after, when She, who appeared so suddenly, stood before the two, casting eyes upon their very being as though the Reaper come to lay claim upon their souls.
"Se tapah udelleen" She spoke in strange sounds, though her mouth did not move, and her voice was as many; as that of a child, as that of a woman, as that of a man, as that of a demon, as that of an angel. Her eyes, what little of them could be seen behind the mask of her tattered hair, were not but bleak, black, as that of the night skies and empty as the expanse of the heavens devoid of it's stars. Watching them both She stood an obvious specter to their sight; a pale and undead visage rendered revanent of a female child once living having befallen some ill begotten fate and she remained there motionless and now in her silence as ethereal smpkes rose upward from the ground where she stood.
So suddenly did the whispers fill the air around them as though the wind itself but only for a moment's half. Though incomprehensible as such whispered words might have been, their message was clear. For such words only carried a single message felt within the very reaches of the mind and soul and they spoke an obvious foreboding; they spoke "Beware."
And Her eyes did waver.
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Post by Bjonn Gundersen on Jun 2, 2012 8:35:16 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:100px; background-color:#dedede;][atrb=vAlign, top][style=opacity:0.8] IF WE CAN STAY HERE LONG ENOUGH, WE CAN PLAY WITH BLOODY MARY | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:350px; background-color:#dedede;][atrb=vAlign, top] "Yeah, Bee, it's me. No worries, I'm just chillin' up here. Practicing my climbing... I'll be out in a minute. You wanna, I dunno, punch some trees or something? Helpmegeddownfromeremebby?" Oh boy. He was going to love this. Miss Morgan got herself stuck? Couldn't free herself? Too weak? Needed the legendary knight of yore Bjonn Gundersen, prince of Bavar to rescue her? ... Actually, that was a good one. He should have said that instead of the silence. It wasn't too late - he could say it now and it wouldn't be awkward!
"Wassamatter? Miss Morgan got herself stuck? Couldn't free herself? Too weak? Needed the legendary knight of yore Bjonn Gundersen, prince of Bavar to rescue her?" Smiled Bjonn. No. That was an understatement. The albino Fighter was positively grinning at the entangled Morgan. Of course of course he was going to help him, but not without rubbing it in first. Lethargically he dragged his lead legs along the ground, not dissimilar to how he was walking when he was wandering alone and separated from the adoraTrio. Though he supposed if that Electric Maiden couldn't be found they'd have to settle for powerDuo. Though that implied he and Morgan were like... a thing which they totally weren't! 'Dammit Morgan...'
Bjonn had taken his run up.
It was showtime.
The Fighter began to sprint up towards the tangled vines, waiting for the right moment. He didn't know how long he'd been separated, but it was long enough for him to perfect a little acrobatics - a few feet from the vines he reached down and slapped the ground, releasing shockwaves simultaneously. Suddenly Bjonn was airborne: not so high that he looked professional, but juts high enough to see Morgan's face - the other fighter had one arm free, and his little move was about to free the rest of his body. Bjonn wasn't particularly heavy, but he was a fairly accomplished dive-bomber.
Something that someone wasn't going to be happy about.
The pair crashed, Bjonn's body sending them hurtling to the ground. Morgan made a good cushion though, so he wasn't too badly hurt from the fall. And karma couldn't possibly have any repercussions at this moment in time; everything was coming up Bjonn.
Oh wait.
Why oh why were there zombies in the Grove of Souls.
Bjonn could have dealt with anything else, any alternative to the walking dead - hell, even Morgan would have been better. But no. Fate had to shove its middle finger in his face and laugh maniacally as the undead shambled and shuffled about, all eating brains and scaring people. Stupid zombies. He hated them. They really had to learn about personal space and violation of personal property - the brain counted in that description, surely? Yeah... he was sure it did. And what was with the ragged clothes? There were tonnes of stores in Alamira, could they not pilfer enough money to make themselves look presentable? If he was going to get killed, he didn't want his murderer to look like any random hobo off the street, now did he?
Bjonn didn't actually convey this in what he actually said when the creepy zombie girl showed up.
What he actually said was,
[style=text-transform:uppercase;]"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Yes, he screamed like a girl. And ran away.
Girlishly.
notes. ugh zombeez ;o;
[/style][classy=frame]SAY HER NAME INTO THE DARK, ACTIVATE OUR NERVE ENDINGS[/classy] |
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Post by Morgan Evans on Jun 2, 2012 12:47:14 GMT -7
"Oh, FUCK you, Beej! Fuck you forever!" Morgan was scowling so hard his mouth had become an inverted V-- he was not pleased with the amount of jokes he had opened himself up to, least of all that Miss Morgan nonsense! Damnit he was NOT a princess, and he would prove it! Morgan struggled harder to disentangle himself from the vines holding his other arm captive while Bjonn took his sweet time trying to get to him.
He loosened himself just a smidgen when he heard what sounded like the rumble of thunder, and blinked in confusion at the-- OH GOD HE'S RIGHT THERE AW SHIT--
in the split second before they crashed, Bjonn could probably see the panic scrawled all over Morgan's face.
The blond didn't know what hit him harder after the split second; the realization that asking for help was not one of my brightest ideas, Bee himself, or the impact with the ground and his becoming a reluctant pillow.
They crashed, and Bjonn's weight was just unbearable! Even the pun he thought of just then was causing him physical pain, that was how much he couldn't stand it. Stand him. He tried to gather as much breath as he could. The snowy-haired Fighter had gotten back up, which made it easier. Good. There was something more that Morgan needed to get off of his chest while he was still sprawled on the ground.
"Bee," he gasped, "let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since we met. There are," huff, "two million people in Alamira." Gasp, "If the word 'hate' was engraved, on each, inch, of skin, on," gaaaaasp, "eeeeevery person in Alamira," gasp, "and every person in your stupid-- freaking-- imaginary Bavar, it wouldn't equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you right now! I am SO serious!" Now if only he could feel his legs, he'd kick the overgrown brat's ass and dance a whole number on his ribs.
He clawed at the ground and tried pushing himself up to a sitting position to do just that when the air filled with unintelligible noise and strange sounds. The noise died down just as suddenly as it came, but Morgan had followed the funny look on Bjonn's face and traced it back to the specter before them.
The girl ghost looked like something out of a scary movie, first off. The hair on her head looked like it was trying to eat her alive-- or, dead? uh, undead? Eat her undead? Was that the proper wording? Agh, who cared. Morgan got to his feet and dusted himself off, his eyes tracing the ethereal smoke that rose from the ground and wondering what it meant. If this ghost was the same thing as the other Nightmare that tried to attack him, then it had hell to pay for ruining his face.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Oh no! It was using its banshee powers to assault his ears as wel-- oh wait that was just Bjonn, never... mind?
Morgan turned to the spot where Bee used to, well, be, and only managed to catch the trail the other Fighter left behind as he ran away like a little girl, scared for his life. The blond could swear that Bjonn even had his pinkies extended into the air in addition to the weird side-to-side flailing of the arms and the tiptoe sprinting, but he could have just been seeing things.
"Y'know, it's hard to take your name seriously when you act like an overgrown pussy," he called after Bjonn, then shrugged and turned back to the ghost. Grove of Souls, random wandering soul, it fit perfectly. Morgan hadn't a clue how it got there, but he knew how to get it out. He had seen the movies before; he either needed to get a shaman of sorts to exorcise the spirit or perform some kind of task so it could be satisfied and move on, and he wasn't in a very compelling mood, so~
"Okay, what's your proposition? Make it quick, or I might just go away."
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Post by Alexander on Jun 2, 2012 13:52:26 GMT -7
And the sleeper slept solemnly there, in that place, cradled by darkness and that not of the night.
"Okay, what's your proposition? Make it quick, or I might just go away."
The revenant stared at Morgan.
Dead eyes so obviously devoid of life yet vibrant with an otherworldly air that so distinguished her presence from that of the usual stock of animated dead that roamed these lands. Indeed, it would seem as though this one was set apart, different, almost unbelonging in her being when set beside those quite like her own and yet she seemed all the same.
The coldness of the stare strove to sink heavy upon Morgan's soul. It was if his very heart was under siege by forces unknown and yet the most simplistic of explanations would tell the tale that such feelings were simply ones of varied fear yet so obviously there was much more given.
She vanished only to reappear yet again; that same image but in a place not much further then where she had stood.
Skin pale with death, almost blue, gave an almost soft glow beneath what little moonlight was shed upon her from between the leaves of the tall trees above. That cold tare remained heavy upon Morgan and for all that was given, none was stronger then a compelling, almost intuitive, force that nearly spoke aloud the word "Follow," unto Morgan's inner being; going away, as Morgan had put it, was not an option now and perhaps Morgan himself would come to know it well by means of that intuitive force.
Meanwhile,
In a place nearby.
"Is that you, M'Lord?" Out spoke the loud voice of one who seemed very much alive as he emerged from the brush nearby the path taken by the other, Bjonn. "We've been searching everywhere for you. Oh thank the heavens we've found you, why... your father would go mad if ever something tragic would happen." It was a young man, not much older then Bjonn himself, with features quite like his own yet distinct but uncharacteristically similar, almost as though brothers meeting for the first time yet this one seemed to be knowing Bjonn. In this boy, color replaced what lacking albinism yielded in Bjonn, and were it not for dissimilar heights, the subtle yet so prominent slant of the eyes, and the broader shoulders, these two would be as twins.
"Come now, we must get you out of this place. The dead are everywhere here and grow in number by the minute. Lucky for you I know the way out!" For being in a place infested with atrocities such as the living dead, this boy seemed unnerved, almost abnormally fearless, in the midst of these woods that posed so great a threat to their lives. Perhaps if there had been greater light given from the moon and stars above, Bjonn would come to see what fear would stir, if any, through the eyes of this young man. Such was not an option, however.
All was simply not as it seemed.
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