October Event: Crystal Clear

[lifeaftr_mods]

OCTOBER EVENT: CRYSTAL CLEAR

Who: Everyone!
What: Your exploration takes a turn.
When: October 20th - 26th
Where: The caverns situated underneath Ensō
Warnings: Character death, body horror, descriptions of illness. Please mark any additional warnings as needed!

Part I: Attack, Attack!
Congratulations! You've successfully gone where no Storyteller has gone or can go, and woken up in the network of subterranean caves buried beneath the island's mass, along with your designated supplies: a miner's cap, a week's worth of food, and both your knapsacks and their collective contents. And the further along you go, the vaster and more sprawling these almost labyrinthian tunnels seem to get. There’s certainly evidence that civilization once thrived here - old buildings hewed from the rock of the cave walls may very well contain old tools, or even salvageable supplies. Careful examination of structures and cavern walls alike will reveal sigils resembling those carved on the doors, each of which will need to be destroyed entirely at the Storyteller's behest. Whatever was down here was advanced enough to dwell without sunlight. But that raises a rather pertinent question...

If there were once people here, where did they all go?

Fortunately, one will soon discover that there's plenty of natural light underground, exhibited by the crystalline growths on the walls. None of them appear to be dangerous, and those attracted to shiny things might even find them useful for picking up or chipping away in order to better light their way. The crystal has about the thickness and hardness of quartz, and bathes its surroundings in a luminous green glow.

The closer you come to the center of the mass, however, the denser the crystalline growths seem to become, until one has to be quite ingenious in navigating them. Eventually, they'll simply be too dense to be squeezed through, even by the smallest and most agile of your number.

That’s when they it will start to become apparent.
Something in the crystal is moving.

Huge chunks of crystal are starting to detach from the center and move slowly, inexorably, toward those unfortunate enough to have explored the caverns. Unmistakably humanoid silhouettes, distorted by awful crystalline growths, most of which have completely swallowed any recognizable features.

...most.

The good news is that the creatures can be shattered, and beaten back. The bad news? Well...

Part II: Retreat, Retreat!
Those who get close enough to the crystalized beasts to get a good look at them will soon make a horrifying discovery - the fact that, underneath those thick layers of luminescent quartz, there was once something that might have been recognizable as human. These quartz monsters aren't native to this region, or indeed, to any region of the island at all. They were formed.

Formed out of the very crystal that you explorers have been touching, picking up, sleeping on, and just generally remaining in prolonged contact with ever since you set foot down here.

Indeed, anyone who has been in contact with the crystal for extended periods of time - sleeping on it or getting dealt a swipe from one of the crystalized monsters, for example - will find that tiny, quartz-like growths have started to sprout on their skin as well. Once the virus has taken root, it will spread rapidly until it has swallowed you whole. Indeed, the unpleasant symptoms will reveal themselves within twenty-four hours of the initial exposure: in addition to clusters of crystalline growths pocking the affected areas, the inflicted will begin to experience intense stabbing pains all over as the crystal begins to grow - both inside and out. The transformation is slow and arduous and painful, and vocalization tends to be one of the first things to go once the crystals sprout in the mouth and throat. Within the span of about three days since the initial exposure, the transformation will have sheathed most of the physical body in crystal entirely, sealing the victim in a humanoid cast of glasslike green.

It has not been confirmed if the inflicted are sentient and aware of their state of being once they are completely consumed. Whatever their intentions, those are easily overridden by the virus's innate desire to spread to as many organisms as possible.

As this is an event with a high risk of death, the Storyteller will impose death penalties for one week only. Additionally, deaths succumbed during the event count towards the character's total. There is no known cure to the virus, but that doesn't mean characters can't or shouldn't try!

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] October 20th: Spelunking begins. Points of interest will be provided.
[ ♆ ] October 22nd: The Quartzalcoatl make their presence known.
[ ♆ ] October 24th: The final sigils are broken, and the Storyteller will return all uninfected to the Islets.
[ ♆ ] October 26th: All deceased will be returned at midday, suffering from a reduced death penalty.

Event Specifics

[ ♆ ] If your character perishes in this event, please let us know!
[ ♆ ] For those who opted out, please see the top-level below!
[ ♆ ] Item claims can be found on the OOC plotting post here!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

OPT-OUTS

[lifeaftr_mods]

Following the exploration in Part I of the event, the Storyteller will swiftly orchestrate a removal of as many inhabitants from within the depths of the caves as possible in an attempt to get them to safety. Those who wish to opt out of the risk of death and infection may thread preventative measures, destruction of door sigils, or offering of aid here!

Terra Bradford | OTA

[esper_magic]

Terra was one of the lucky ones - she didn't come across any of the crystalline abominations in the caverns when she was walking around exploring. Unfortunately, it would seem that several people she knew did - though that was something she'd find out later. Personally she'd have rather investigated what lay beyond the door than not anyway, despite the risk (although finding out the risk she probably would have changed her mind), so she was only a little put out that the Storyteller just plopped them down in the caves like he did.

And then just as abruptly, just as RUDEly, she was swept out of the cavern to safety again! Although with the reason for the abrupt evacuation, she couldn't really be angry. Worried, yes, angry, no. Extremely worried, actually. She may have a few choice words for the Storyteller after everything is said and done, but more importantly, she was presently intending on helping to destroy the sigils somehow, with whoever else had been recovered from the caverns, in order to help get people OUT as soon as possible. She just hoped they'd be able to do that before tragedy strikes.

Ardyn Izunia | OTA | [ffxv spoilers]

[scourgingstars]

[10/20; if you do believe in glory then please believe a fact]

[Even knowing this was inevitable, Ardyn was unimpressed. Although he had to admit, the lack of sunlight was certainly a nice change of pace. Even his patience tended to have its limits regarding that particular persistent annoyance. In a move that might have been related, he didn't seem to bother much with light sources of any kind; the glow from the crystals themselves seemed to be quite enough, even if he did find it terribly tasteless.]

[Despite the reason they were ostensibly down here to begin with, Ardyn didn't seem remotely interested in destroying the sigils; in fact, when he came across one he instead opted to study it carefully--occasionally humming cheerfully to himself as he did. He vaguely regretted not having anything to write it on, but his memory would hopefully do well enough for now. If the Storyteller wished to make his life so difficult, then of course Ardyn could only answer with the same in turn.]

[10/22; if you give your soul to heaven]

[Darkness spawned daemons, that was nothing new. What was new was this specific variant on the concept; animated crystal, goodness, Verstael would have had a field day. Having (possibly) learned his lesson about overuse of magic and the exhaustion that resulted, Ardyn instead opted to dodge and avoid the Quartzalcoatls as best he could.]

[On rare occasions a dagger would fly through the air and he'd vanish in an outline of magenta light and trail of sparks, reappearing out of imminent danger by whatever point in the wall or ground the blade had landed in. Of course, he was certain he could easily fight these things, but why bother? The Storyteller got them into this, it was his problem to deal with the consequences. No point wasting magic or drawing a sword to help with that.]

[10/23; you won't get it back]

[This had long since ceased to be amusing even to someone like Ardyn. What an irritating catastrophe they had been forced into, regardless of their will or desires. Gods really were all the same, even if they were in agreement that Bahamut had been worse.]

[Well, no reason not to continue exploring. Crystals and contagious plagues were certainly nothing new, and whatever happened to the others was no concern of his at all. That was the issue of a god, not of the pawns it manipulated, wasn't that right? Not Ardyn's problem if everyone else died.]

[...He was really quite sick of this whole thing, if he was to be hoenst.]

[10/23; you won't get it back] (CW: Talk of the Crystal Infection Sort)

[shatteredlenses]

[You've been careless.

Ignis has to hold back a snort as he hears the words float through his head for what feels like the hundredth time in the last few hours. What makes this passage more memorable than the others is that the words are in the voice of someone who isn't even here unless the old buckler that Ignis has strapped over his back somehow is suppose to be a poor stand in for their missing Shield. Honestly, it's quite too small to be any kind of real stand in for Gladio, though, it seems at least to be as sturdy as man would be were he there. By the Six, it had certainly felt sturdy when he stumbled over it the other day.

Unconsciously, Ignis starts to lift his left hand to rub at the ever present--and painful--stabbing around his eyes that has become his constant companion over the last few hours, pausing only when a sharper, echoing stab of pain starts in that hand and runs all the way up his shoulder.

Yes, he's been careless. There's something more going on in these caves than just crystals, sigils, and scavenging. Bloody hell if he could only see maybe he would be able to figure out exactly what is affecting him, and why he's being affected when others aren't. He could ask others but considering he's been infected with whatever this is, he figures it best to distance himself from them rather than risk infecting the very people he's been trying so hard to help. It keeps them safe, but quite frankly, it pretty much is a death sentence for him.

If death is what this leads to. Ignis honestly has no clue and is trying hard not to think on it. It's giving up to think on it, and despite the pain and the odds stacked against him, he's still breathing and giving up isn't in the cards.

He shifts his seated position slightly, wincing at the pain that trips its way up his back and into his lungs. Best not to think on what that means. Ignis needs to get moving again soon, no matter what it means anyway.

For the moment, though, he's going to take a few more moments to rest, head bowed and mind stubbornly focusing on anything but the thought of what it will mean for Noctis and Prompto if he does die down here alone in the dark.]

tim wright | ota!!!

[postictal]

10/20 - 10/21; basic exploration

Tim is not a man who generally carries weapons.

He doesn't like weapons, not on principle. Anyone else is free to carry whatever sharp, pointy, explosive, concussive, or percussive instruments of death they like; it's just when those sorts of things end up in his own hands that he starts to question the safety and wisdom of weapons as a concept. He's not particularly trustworthy, as far as they're concerned. He knows this. He kind of just - has this, as a policy.

It's not entirely clear to him how he ended up with so many. Hatchet hung from his belt; flip-knife in his pocket; slingshot wound around his wrist, handle in clear reach of his palm; spear bound sharply to the knapsack strapped to his back, at an angle that won't make it too obtrusive when he needs to move fast. There's also a hat, a fresh week's supply of food, and the acrid cling of oil in the air, against his tongue, slick on the back of his throat. He swallows.

It's darker down here. Cooler. Better, where the heat isn't so apparent, where the humidity isn't so unrelenting. The sheen of sweat that always films his forehead and greases the back of his neck and sticks his clothes to his shoulders when he lurches awake is already stale and cool to match the oddly musty, rocky, glassy scent of the caverns.

The stones, the cut and shape of the buildings, remind him peripherally of Sol Raveh. The association is as immediate and inescapable as it is irrelevant; heralded by rock itself instead of any inherent shape of the rock. The thick outcroppings of faintly luminscient crystals, on the other hand, remind him of nothing at all.

He didn't want to be here. If it were his choice, he wouldn't have even ventured. The dark, the cold, the damp -

The cramped.

It doesn't agree with him.

So he'll do this quickly, and he'll get the hell out. Most of what he does, he does with short, sharp, clipped efficiency: when he finds a sigil, he sheathes all the points and tips of his multi-tool into its protective casing and slams the butt of it into the inclines of cave walls and sloping, angled buildings. Sharp, pinwheeling fragments of stone rattle across the ground in a hiss of rocky powder, graying dust. His expression is drawn. The work is brusque. The weight of the ceiling's yoked down over him, he knows, he can feel that smooth, painful pressure aching at the back of his skull, and if he looks up he knows it'll glare right back so the point is to not - look - up. To just keep working. To just keep undoing the things that tie him down here. Get the job done, and get the hell out. Get the kids the hell out.

And try not to die.

10/22; the onset;

[The dread was always immaterial. It was immaterial because it was never going to matter. He knew that going in. He knew that, going in, he would be faced with winding, spidering networks of caves (of catacombs) that he never wanted to enter, the coolness of stone that does not ease the fact that there is just so much of it, pressing in all around him, severing means of escape, closing paths that were once open, redirecting an open path into a closed one, pouring him relentless in one unilateral sweep from one step to the next, bringing him ever lower down, ever deeper into the earth in a steady downward motion that isn't a contrast of who he is so much as it's a haunting, horrifying recreation of the sensation of having no way out - the sensation he's always feared.]

[Something - something massive, something cracked and glistening, something formless and shapeless and shifting with the low, resonant, tonal hum reminiscent of striking hollow glass. In the center of the hulking mass, he could swear there's something dark and pinched-looking. Something that almost looks like a face.]

[He shifts his grip on the spear that's too crudely made and too small and too simple, but is the first weapon he had on hand. He steps back.]

[His throat is utterly dry.]

[He'd always known there was a possibility that he'd die here. The possibility is always there.]

[There's a thunderous sound, something akin to the sound he'd think a chandelier made of diamond would make when it crashes roughly to the floor, and the towering mass of crystalline green rips itself free from the smoothness of the surrounding, glittering crystal with the refracted arcs of menacing light, and surges for him.]

10/23 - 10/24; retreat

The breath in his throat hisses with a hot, ragged burn. Everything else has tunneled away into the only directives he can still hold in his head. Axiom. Unshakable.

Get out. Get whoever's left, get whoever's still in here, and get the hell out.

He skids to a stumbling halt, trying not to hack up a lung as he casts about for the medication he doesn't have anymore. Swearing under his breath as he goes - because like hell that'd save him from this, right? It might already be inside him. It might be airborne. They might already be doomed. They might be spreading it just by trying to get out in the first place.

"You did this," he finds himself muttering raggedly, pushing away from the nearest wall with a bracing press of palm to stone. "You sent us down here. The least you could've done is - protect us while you were doing it."

Whoever he's talking to probably won't answer.

But that's never much mattered to him.

the onset!

[ratsinadaze]

[Gobbet hasn't been following Tim, per se, but her path and his have crossed multiple times now. He may not know it, for she's stayed in the shadows and waited for him to pass, inspecting the ruined sigils before continuing her own quest for loot and answers. But this time as they meet at yet another winding intersection, there's a complication.]

[A big, crystalline complication.]

MOVE.

[It's a command, barked in desperation as she throws an acid bolt at the hulking figure. All of it is done before she can realize that she's doing something stupid. She's not a hero, this isn't her role. She's a thief, a shadowrunner, an assassin and hired muscle.]

[She owes him nothing.]

[The lumbering figure stops abruptly, turning to face its attacker. Gobbet swallows hard, dropping into a battle stance and readying another spell. Though it didn't seem to really hurt the creature, it clearly caused discomfort. She can see an opening to dodge past it. Just enough space to cover in a sprint. An escape route through a crack in the wall, far too thin for it to follow. Her eyes never leave the silhouette of a face within the crystal casing.]

You need to follow me.

[The beast begins to lumber towards her. She'll wait it out, wait until its too close to turn and follow easily. And if Tim doesn't want to follow her after that - well, she tried.]

Mercy | OTA

[caduceusoncall]

{10/20-10/23: meanwhile, back at the ranch | OTA, will match formats}

Mercy was becoming Tired of waking up in unfamiliar places. This time, however, something was decidedly wrong. For one, she had her staff and a bag of supplies. Whoever put her here intended for her to survive the ordeal. For another, it was dark. Black as pitch, so much so that she wonders if she hadn't been blinded. But no, her eyes are adjusting slowly, and around her are other figures stirring. It's then that she becomes aware of the weight on her head and reaches up to feel the miner's cap.

The space she finds herself in is large enough to become a camp and that is exactly what she sets out to make it. With her in her bag are the filled bottles of medicinal herbs, providing a powerful arsenal with which to care for those wounded in their travels. Can you donate any food or oil to the cause of having a base to return to? Do you just want to rest by the lamp light? Are you hurt or sick?

Are you sick?

10/20

[greatcleavage]

By the time Roy stumbled onto Mercy's camp, more literally than he perhaps would like to admit, he'd been stomping around in the mines for what felt like -- actually, several hours. Roy had gotten pretty good about telling time by nothing other than biological processes, having experienced firsthand the sort of consequences that came about when you lost track of these things and suddenly several weeks had passed.

"Hey," he said, a bit dazed from weariness, before he shook it off and delivered a much more Royish line. "Are you doing all right?"

Gobbet | Closed to Commander Shepard

[ratsinadaze]

{maybe six feet ain't so far down | Closed: Shepard}

Fuck. [Gobbet's voice is small and desperate as she digs at the gemstones on her arm. Too painful, too...rooted.] Fuck fuck fuck.

[After that...thing touched her, she did the only thing her panicked brain could think to do. She ran. She ran even as the gemstones on her arm took root and sent shooting spikes of pain up her arm and into her chest. She ran through the darkness, stumbling and groping the walls, nails chipping on the chunks of crystal as she clawed for stability.]

[She ran until her lungs burned and a searing ache filled her chest.]

[Slumping down against a wall, Gobbet finally gave in to the urge to cry. Tears prickled behind her eyes, rolled down her cheeks as silent sobs wracked her body. Shaking, she held her arm up to the light of the lantern and muffled a scream behind her hand. They were multiplying.]

[Gobbet fishes in her pocket for the small shard she'd taken as a momento of the occasion. It was identical to the little ones in her skin. She throws it as hard as she can at the wall across from her and it shatters, clattering to the floor with a mocking chiming sound. The broken pieces still cast their eerie glow over the floor. A beacon giving away her sad little hiding spot.]

[tenthstreetbred]

[The caves are long and winding. The revelation that the crystal is infectious made Shepard extremely grateful for her armor but it gave her no options to help anyone. Bit by bit everyone infected is going to die and no matter how much she has scrambled to search for a cure she's found nothing.

It's during another expansion into the caves to find something, anything, when she finds the shattered bits of crystal on the floor. It's not terribly surprising to see; there are a lot of shattered rocks now with everyone moving through the area. But that means someone is nearby and Shepard begins to search. If they need help, she will do anything she can for them.

It's not too long after that she finds her, curled up and shaking and despite the lowlight of the cave only illuminated by the hated crystals around them, Shepard recognizes Gobbet.]

Gobbet. Hey. It's me. Shepard.

[She approaches rather slowly, keeping her body language open and friendly.]

Jaune Arc ☽☽ OTA ☽☽ CW: Attempted amputation, probable death in the last prompt

[aurabble]

10/20

[There is a much less enthusiastic teen following others into the buildings with a lackadaisical stride, never moving to help in destroying the sigils but instead sitting against the walls and moping.

This place is creepy.

When he does decide to make conversation, it's not exactly helpful.]

What do you think the chances are of finding any comics?

10/22

[This isn't a group of trained huntresses and huntsmen, or those that are in training. It's a mix of people who understand combat, and people who don't; fighting's much more challenging when you throw innocent people into the mix, and they've been bottlenecked and those monsters won't stop attacking.

They remind Jaune a bit of smaller versions of the Petra Gigas, so to make up for lack of time he tries reusing that strategy:

Hit it harder.

He's still being careful, to an extent. His shield helps provide a barrier, which makes running to the front and attacking a safer bet for him.

It's only when someone else gets involved, about to get attacked, does he stop thinking. Taking the brunt of the hit with his shield, Jaune channels his aura into it to prevent it from breaking, using that window to hit it with his sword and kick it back. But he doesn't account for the one nearby that uses the opportunity to strike him in the arm. Hurtling into a roll, Jaune doesn't even give the collision a second thought, certain his aura took the hit.

He's wrong.]

10/23

[Of all the ways to go. Jaune always figured he wouldn't be one of the lucky Huntsmen to make it to thirty. He just hoped he would go down fighting. In a way, he had, but he would go no where near home all because one god decided to play, well, god.

All because their lives were less important than that rabbit's curiosity.

This place sucks.

He's taken to resting on one of the crystals as another wave of fire-hot pain hits his arm, a white shock that temporarily leaves his vision swimming. If it doesn't work, then what does it matter? But he has to try. He's too determined--or stubborn--to just give up like this. The blade of his sword almost glows with an ethereal quality in the haunting light, withdrawn by his left arm, the only good one he's got left. Biting onto the strap of his knapsack, he forces his aura down, which isn't that hard to do right now, bracing himself for something he can't ever prepare for.

His first attempt is blindingly excruciating, and he thinks he might have screamed once, unwillingly.]

10/20

[greatcleavage]

[Roy's purposeful walk slows slightly as he tries not to make any uncharitable comparisons between a certain other blonde adventurer predisposed to asking questions like that.]

I'd say one in a million, but then it would happen just to be remarkable. So I'm saying whatever probability is a literal one in a million without invoking dramatic irony.

Roy Greenhilt | Pre-monster arrival only

[greatcleavage]

10/20

Call out if you can hear me!

[Roy's first action, as always, is to worry about others. There are a lot of others here to worry about, after all. Whatever this island sends his way he trusts himself to handle... but he's not sure he can protect everybody else doing it.]

[He hopes no one is hurt. Or lost. Or... there's a lot of things to worry about. The thought makes Roy fumble in the darkness to light his hat all the quicker.]

If you can't respond for some reason, do whatever you can to draw attention! I'll come help you shortly!

10/21

[The second whack of the greatsword is enough. The sigil crumbles as the gems it was inscribed upon trickle down blade of the weapon, before Roy twitches it clean with a twitch of his wrists.]

I don't like this. [Shock.] I'm particularly concerned about the ramifications. The Storyteller explicitly compared these sigils to the ones it -- they -- whatever, the sigils of the Storyteller that are scribed on some of us. Which is not my top contender for Reassuring Thought of the Year either, mind.

What exactly are we doing here?

[Roy doesn't have an answer... but the question isn't going to stop him, to judge by the set his jaw and the tension in his muscles as he slides his sword back into the straps on the back of his armor. He's wrecked cosmic keystones out of lack of any other choice before, after all. But he's worried nonetheless.]

10/20

[souris_keteer]

Roy!

[Oh boy, he's happy to hear a familiar voice. He's going to run right towards it... in the dark... prrrobably not the best idea.]

I'm so glad to hear you, Roy!

Maridian | Prior to monster arrival only

[seesbosscrotch]

10/20

[It isn't entirely dark down here. Not when the blood elf's eyes glow green, testament to the fel energy he had once imbibed to survive. He gets to his feet with the experience of one used to dark caves and dungeons, then with barely any delay, lights the mining hat on his head.]

[In its dim light he cuts an impressive figure, armored and armed and ready for whatever could come his way, and a confidence radiates off him as he steps forward into the tunnels. If you are looking for someone who knows what he's doing -- look no father. This is in his blood, his nature.]

10/21

Here you go!

[What is Mar offering up? A glowing green crystal, perfectly cut to socket into the mining hats on everyone's head in place of unreliable wicks and exhausted oil pots. In fact, the glow coming from his pouch hints that he has several of these. His mastery of jewelcrafting has, at last, come in handy!]

10/21

[souris_keteer]

[Mickey is all smiles, taking off his miner hat.]

Gee, thanks! You're pretty god at this, huh?

Jesse McCree | OTA

[jinglejangle]

10/20-21
[At least this time waking up somewhere new and strange isn't exactly surprising. Getting messages through dreams and being able to understand exactly what's going on is better than weird dreams, weird explanations, and being dumped in a cage.

Or, well.

This time he knows it's coming. It still doesn't mean McCree likes it. Begrudging acceptance over being left to the whims of something he can't understand isn't really the same as enjoying this situation.

It doesn't help that McCree's not terribly fond of caves. The odd glow reminds him of the tacky Cave Of Mystery just off Route 66, but with none of the nostalgia or fake alien skeletons. There's the feeling this is going to be much worse than his time in the Deadlock compound, but maybe that's just pessimism talking.

He never claimed to have a positive outlook on life. Still, he's here to do a job, even if it's not one he signed up for willingly. There's admittedly not much he can do against the sigils himself - like hell is he going to punch one - but he has a keen eye and a solid memory. Anyone who looks equipped for the kind of destruction McCree isn't will get helpfully pointed in the right direction, or McCree can accompany them as a guide.

He's not strong and tough enough to break rocks, but...if there's anything that bumps in the night, more hands means a higher chance of survival. Unless the things that go bump are also made of rocks.]

10/22 and onwards
[In a great twist of fate, the things in the cave? Totally made of crystal. Corrupt, crystalline abominations.

Awesome. Incredible. His luck is really on the up and up.

McCree feels less than useless when faced with the Quartzalcoatl - what the hell is a bullet going to do to that? He doesn't have enough ammunition to take one down, so why even bother?

Things have gone from bad to worse. Really, that all should've been expected, but still. Who was going to be expecting all of...this?

The Quartzalcoatls aren't enough to keep McCree from doing his part, though it makes him much more skittish. On edge, twitchy. The longer this goes on, the more frequently his hand strays to his holster, the more he seems ready to just - to just.

He's not even sure.

All he knows is that this fucking sucks and he wants out, but he's not exactly about to back down.]

some nebulous time we totally planed out, closed to newt
[Once again, McCree has found himself in the company of Newton Geiszler. There's no weird plants to make his face numb this time, and the rotting corpses have been replaced with...Crystals.

Lots and lots of crystals.

Horrible, awful crystals that are definitely, undeniably more than what they seem. He's seen a few of- of he's not even sure, yet. Big, crystal behemoths just shy of humanoid. Humanish. Definitely bipedal, definitely something he didn't want to run into alone.

Which, well. He wasn't.]

So how many more sigils you think we got left?

[He's exhausted. There's only so much terrible shit you can deal with in such a short span before it drains on you, and it's not like he's exactly equipped to deal with this.]

The Disaster Buddies Ride Again

[ohnehalfte]

Fuck if I know, dude. [Newt sighs, heavily, shouldering his backpack again and adjusting the iron buckler on his arm that he happened to pick up. There's also an additional hatchet in his belt at the moment, and he occasionally runs his fingers over the top of it, as if checking that it's there. Not that he isn't equipped with other weapons, but listen, it's a new acquisition. At the moment, though, his eyes narrow as he scans the dim cavern]

Honestly, these caverns are both extensive and enormous, which begs the question of how good ol' EssTee didn't know about this whole thing beforehand. Or, at least, claim they don't.

[encircling]

10/20

[ It's dark here, stifling, and Mira regrets everything. Still, she's not about to throw a fit--she'd gone in an attempt to explore. Figures that in this place, it'd end up slapping her in the face. Still, at least she has her bow and arrows, and a hard hat, and rations. That's a good thing; she's not left completely to her own devices. Regardless, what she needs to do is find others, so... that's what she does. ]

Hello? Is there anyone else around?

[ She prays that there is; she's starting to get uncomfortable being here alone. ]

10/23

[ So.

She's made a dire mistake.

As it turns out, it's not possible to heal the things. And they're very aggressive. It's a bad combination when your weapons expertise rests in ranged weapons; while Mira's got a small dagger, she hadn't expected the things to attack so abruptly, so she'd drawn her dagger much too late and sustained a slash from them.

And very quickly, she's learning that it's a very bad thing. Mira doesn't do well with pain, and her magic isn't working--rather, it's just making her more and more tired. And the more tired she gets and less she's able to do anything, the more panicked she gets. ]

No, no, no--

[ ... it's not going even a little well. ]

wildcard

[ hit me with ya best shot! message me if you'd like to do something else, i'm pretty open to most things. ]

10/20

[esper_magic]

Hello?

[ The voice that calls back may be familiar if Mira remembers the green haired girl who helped her out during the monkeyshines a few weeks ago. Terra emerges from one of the tunnels a few seconds later, her sword in hand and an unsure expression on her face. ]

Oh...! Um... Mira, right?

the drifter | ota | will match formats!

[hyperlit]

10/20 - 10/21; initial exploration; ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜs ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴄʀʏsᴛᴀʟ

The green cast of the crystal had not been so unlike the growths of the stuff that grew densely in the Western regions of their shattered world. The Hanged Man had great quantities sprouting out from his humped back, and the frozen remnants of some great army could still be found buried in the pale green sheen of those impenetrable clusters. Such crystal had never been particularly lethal, though it was irritating to no end. They'd little cause to suspect the specimens found in the caves below of anything remotely similar.

The god has named them all as their acolytes, and the god has delineated the mission. The Drifter does not swap out their helm for the cap with the light-beam mounted on its head, but instead opts to carry it like a very bulky, unwieldy flashlight. The beam sweeps the graying stone in irregular arcs; they've little experience with fuel of this sort of limited variety, and do not quite suspect its potential to fail upon overuse.

It is that gross overuse of the light that uncovers the scraps of cloth and wobbling hatchet in one of the houses. None seem to be in particularly good condition, but the Drifter secretes them in their belongings regardless. One never knows when such things might grow to be useful.

They move about at their typical brisk trot, their hat illuminating the passages in sweeps of pale gold light...until it no longer does.

At that point, they'll be easily discernible from the thin slice of cyan light, their hard light blade drawn and casting a faint halation of cerulean - just enough for them to ensure they don't walk into a wall.

10/22 - 10/23; fight; ᴀ sᴛɪʟʟɴᴇss ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴅ, sᴋɪʟʟ ʜᴏɴᴇᴅ sʜᴀʀᴘ

[The subterranean rumbling of things shifting and awakening in the chambers of the world are not new to one such as they. The hulking towers of glistening crystal working their way out from the glittering stillness is, likewise, eerily similar in many ways to the crystal brutes of their own world, and therefore not a thing to be balked at.]

[The Drifter sweeps forward without hesitation, their sword cracking across the front of one of the creatures with enough force to take a sizable chunk of glasslike green from its front. The thing twitches back in preparation to make a strike, but they're faster than it by far. Their blue-on-red morphs into a streak of violet as they dash forward, slam the blade into the back of its vaguely-formed leg, and immediately dart out from underneath it once more.]

[It will die a death by a thousand cuts, as all things that confront them do. They have no reason to fear it.]

10/24; infection; ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ

[The sickening gnawing at their insides is not new. It has always been there, in every rasping breath, in every shuddering cough, in every ragged step and wheeze that's bitten into their lungs and bled at their vocal cords until everything sealed itself shut. A hot, pulsing bleed of an illness seeded into every abhorrent cell is not an unfamiliar sensation, to them.]

[And so this...this is different. Worse, in some ways, and more bearable in others. The jagged feeling coiled up deep in the hollow of their thin chest, the way their coughing spits up fragments of clattering green. At first, it's merely internal. Some part of them cannot help but wonder if this is some final advance on the illness, the footnote of their lifelong struggle warping into something worse than before; a mutated strain developed solely to spite them for lasting so long.]

[But when the inflorescence of quartzlike green starts to sprout - from their clavicle, shredding through the fabric of their tunic at their elbows, glistening in beads of turquoise along the ridge of their brow - that's the final hint they needed.]

[This is something else.]

[Something else, eating away at them. It is their fate, it seems, to always be eaten away from the inside out. To die slowly, so that some strain of a nameless virus may fester at their center, their heart, and feed upon them to fullness.]

[They have fought against this thing grappling inside them, always.]

[This time, they can fight no further. The Drifter sinks against one of the walls, breathing raggedly. There are nibs of hardened green peaking out from behind the fabric of their gloves as they brace one hand against the wall.]

[It will be slow. It will be arduous. It will be painful.]

[That does not terrify them.]

[Perhaps now, it never will.]

10/24

[souris_keteer]

... Drifter?

[His voice is quiet, shaky, and most obvious of all, afraid. Not of the Drifter himself, but of what's happening to him. Mickey has been seeing it happen to the others, but there's been so obvious cure, no way to just make it stop. But a part of him still believes - a very desperate part by now - that there must be a way to make things all right. There has to be. There's no way a story would just end like this.

It can't. It just can't.]

Are you... I mean, can I... I have food, if you want any, or m-maybe I could ask around, if you need someone to carry you if...

Chara | OTA

[achievementhunter]

10/20 | The room was so unearthly quiet, I lost all sense of time. || OTA

Whilst they aren't too inclined to part from Frisk and Tim for too long, the continued quiet of the caves (the calm before the storm, their mind hisses, and they acknowledge the thought with grim resignation, because nothing is ever this easy) Chara's curiosity draws them closer to the ruins they've come across with a sideways look at their companions. Assured that the two of them will remain close by, they drift- from house to house, eerie stone skletons carved into the rocks.

In some instances, they're certain they wouldn't even see the entrances if they weren't looking for them. There's no windows; in many cases, nothing that marks blank rock from hidden abodes, aside from the too square doorways, not so much black as they are glowing, the light emitting from inside far stronger than the empty cavern around them now.

That would be the crystals, they suppose. In and out of the dwellings Chara goes, stopping to examine every carving, every hint of life that proved something had once been.

Despite everything? They look fascinated.

10/21 | I had a good theme going with subjects but then there's explosives. || OTA

[The sigils could prove to be a problem, honestly. Carved into the walls, there's no much anyone can do, aside from take to them with the chisels and pickaxes that had been found laying about. Then there's other people, such as Chara, who have other plans entirely.

Which is why on this fine day, Chara can be found affixing an explosive to the wall, pausing now and again to examine their work, mumbling quietly under their breath before continuing on slowly. Some practice might have been nice. More memory to work off than just the one occasion even better-- but there's no point in crying over spilt milk.

The point is, they have some explosives. They have fuses, and detonators.

And clearly, full intentions to use them.]

10/22 | I felt that I was the only person alive and moving in a world brought to a stop. || closed to Asriel (Amateratsu later on)

They shuffle about from location to location with little thought put into it. Once again, their clothes are soaked in blood. Once again, none of the blood is theirs. The world is dark, and quiet, and they are alone.

They are alone.

They are alone.

A heaving wheeze of breath, and Chara continues pushing on. Because in the end-- ha ha, in the end, what else are they good for? What have they ever really been good for, if not this? Preying on the weak and dying, tearing through their flesh, stealing the life out of their eyes as others watch, shocked into silence. But you're both just kids, Sans had once said to them, in a field of echo flowers.

Frisk was a kid. But Frisk isn't here right now.

They don't have the time or mental fortitude to wonder what's left, when they're all there is.

So they keep walking.

10/23 | Houses always feel like that after someone has died. || closed to Sans

[The world is now a dark expanse of screams and the distant echo of fights- a desperate last attempt by everyone here to stay alive. Maybe there's a way to survive this. Maybe someone's found a way out. They don't really know, because they haven't talked to anyone in hours.

It's not like they're going out of their way to survive this one, anyway.

But when they turn round the next corner, it's almost like being brought back in time. Not dark, stone walls, but patterned marble beneath their feet. The sign shines through the barrier, hitting tinted glass. The world is bathed in a golden light, and Sans stands opposite them, hands in his pockets. Now, they will be judged.

That's where the similarities end. Sans looks stressed, and tired-- but he also looks surprised at their appearance. They have their knife drawn, but it's not for him. There's no dust clouding their vision as it stubbornly settles on their lashes, no sickening crunch of grit, whenever they move their jaw.

Just blood.

On both of them.]

... [And he is no longer someone who can stop them in their tracks. The corridor-- the tunnel is wide enough for them to move around him, and they step forwards to do just that.]

10/21 because explosions

[ohnehalfte]

[Despite himself and his current immense amount of reservations, Newt's found himself venturing further into the tunnels, because let's be honest, there's never been a time in his life when curiosity hasn't gotten the better of him. He's been in the tunnels for at least half a day when he stumbles on Kidwun doing...whatever is they're doing? He blinks, coming closer from where he's just turned around the corner]

Kidwun? Hey, dude, whatcha doin'?

The Batter | OFF | OTA/Closed

[unpurify]

[10/20 - Everyone it seems has somewhere to go]

[And yet again the Batter wakes up somewhere he was not before. Although there was a forewarning this time, it didn't make him any happier to be moved while he was sleeping. At this rate he would have to attempt to forego it to hopefully prevent this from happening again.

Picking his way across the path, the Batter begins to explore. He's not foolish enough to touch the crystals willy-nilly so those go ignored in favor of the things on the ground that he manages to find.

It's a little while before he sits down but by that point he's found a few interesting things and is currently examining the long piece of wood. The other things he recognizes, but the use of this escapes the purifier at the moment.

And if anyone wants to trade, he might be able to be talked into something.]


[10/22 - And the faster the world spins]

[It figures this would happen. There was danger above ground so it makes perfect sense that there would be something down here too.

The metal of a baseball bat slams against the crystallized form of his foe with a loud crack, the force empowered by his Competences. But it's not enough. These things are as strong as they look and continuing to fight them alone would be nothing short of a disaster.

That being said, getting around them was going to be trouble. A hand or two would not go unwelcome at this point.]


[10/23 - closed to Chara and Ed - The shorter the lights will grow (CW: body horror and character death)]

[The Batter doesn't know when it happened. All he knew was the terrible pain coursing through his body.

It felt like someone had smashed his own weapon against his knees and the purifier falls to the ground on all fours, hacking up blood. A fire was spreading through him and no matter how many applications of Save First Base he applied, it wasn't going away. All that was happening was ---

The Batter's thoughts were cut off and he slapped a hand against his mouth. He can feel the blood seeping through his fingers and when he removed his hand, there were green crystals among the precious liquid.

Ah.

Impure. He was impure.

The second that thought popped into his mind, the Batter felt everything turn inwards. His powers, his instincts, his hands, his everything tear at the body hosting them. At the same time green crystals erupted from his body, tearing clothes and flesh apart as easily as paper. Blood began to pool under the Batter and the only hand supporting him slipped and he fell onto his side.

The Batter wasn't sure if anyone else was around and he didn't care. His thoughts were not concerned with that, just one single fact that was running through his mind like a graceless chicken with its head cut off:

"I must die."

And that's where he can be found, until the end.]

10/20

[catpiper]

[This isn't her first time underground and it's half the reason she finds it easier to start exploring the area, especially with the presence of other people around. The other half of that reason? The cat she's holding close to her chest as she walks through the crystal covered tunnels.

She's about to turn around and head back to makeshift camp being set up by the entrance, when she sees a familiar shape in the distance. Yep, she knows that baseball player alright and hurries towards him, eyeing the piece of wood he's holding.]

Did you find that treasure here?

Tataru | OTA

[alittleditty]

Rest and relaxation? (all days)

[She keeps an eye out for arrivals at the base camp. It was her job back with the Scions, so it's second nature to pick it up here too. So whenever she sees a new face, she's quick to set down what she's doing to greet them.]

Hello. As you can probably see, a few of us have set up a camp here, and you're welcome to join. I can't say we have much, unfortunately - food's not hot and you'll probably have to use your pack as a pillow, but if you need anything, there's plenty of us here to help. Please let me know if there's anything I can do.

[If they're less of a new face, or someone who's stopped by the camp once already, her words will be a bit different. And increasingly worried as the week goes on.]

Welcome back. How are things out there?

Emergency Measures (23rd onward)

[As reports and more filter back to the camp about the crystal infections, Tataru... felt helpless. As she had in many ways before, and hated feeling now. As more word came about how it spread, though, an idea occurred to her. As the week progresses, those around the camp are more likely to find her feverishly plying her needle and spinning wheel.]

I'm working on gloves. If you have anything I might be able to use or re-purpose, leave it here.

[She waves it towards the rock next to her, where much of her raw materials are currently sitting. Any help you can give, from bringing supplies to convincing her to eat and rest, will be appreciated.

Or if you need gloves yourself, to help slow or prevent the spread of infection, now will be a good time to ask.]

Wildcard

[Tataru will be spending almost all of her time around the base camp, so if you have any other ideas, feel free to hit her up!]

emergency measures

[catpiper]

[There's a sense of urgency around the camp that hadn't been there only a few days before. The talk of infections and crystals coming to life-it's terrifying. Far worse than the monkeys that had attacked them earlier in the month because they're trapped here. No exit. Nowhere to run or hide and the only safe area is a camp that's far too open for Ren's liking. It doesn't help that her companions are still deep in the caves and she hasn't heard from them in awhile.

But she's distracted from all those anxious thoughts at the sight of a hardworking young(?) girl who's been making something. Gloves, apparently. There isn't much she can offer her, but at the request she slides her bag to the ground and digs through the contents for the tarp she found a couple days ago.]

Can you use this?

Newt | 10/24, early | Closed to Wade & later Sans| body horror TW

[ohnehalfte]

It's been...a rough several days. Honestly, Newt wishes he was more surprised by this outcome, but he's really not. Because of course.

Well, okay, the crystals sprouting out of his body are very much a surprise; he's never had anything quite like this happen to him before, and really it's super horrifying. Which is why he's trying very, very hard not to think too deeply about it, much in the same way he dealt with having his lower jaw hacked off. Unfortunately, this time, there's no Hermann to joke around with.

That thought makes something in his sternum clench, and Newt sucks in a rattling breath as he continues to drag himself through these corridors. He has to keep going. He has to. If he stops, that means he's given up, and despite the agonizing pain in his elbows, arms, shoulders, knees, cheek and torso where the crystal has sprouted and continues to spread, there's a small part of him that's hanging on to hope desperately. Something that might let him get out of this. Maybe. Perhaps. He grunts, dragging his left foot up into another step, putting his weight on his right leg--just as a cluster of crystal sprouts through his kneecap, shattering bone and skin and shredding another hole in his jeans. It sends a spike of white-hot pain through him, and Newt can't help but cry out as his knees buckle out from under him. His left hand automatically reaches out to the ground to catch himself--which also happens to be the arm that his buckler is still strapped to, so he ends up burying the edge of the buckler in the dirt floor and leaning on it hard to keep himself upright, other hand planted on the wall and down on his knees. His head hangs down, glasses dangling precariously--but he can't find it in himself to care as something grows in his chest, aching and tight and frustrated, furious, and Newt's fingers curl into the wall, trying to swallow it down.

Newt's shaking, gritting his teeth as he shifts his right leg, trying to put weight on it--which only results in a stab of pain and something like a sob ripped from his throat as he wobbles, dangerously, before collapsing onto the ground. Fortunately he didn't have far to go this time but he still he sucks in a breath, two, three, watery and wet and just...lays there for a moment. But he can't--can't--he can't give up yet, he just...Newt clenches his jaw and places both hands under his shoulders and pushes, at least levering himself up enough so he can turn his hips and...sit? Maybe he can sit. And figure something out.

He's shaking as he pulls himself into a sitting position, leaning back agains the wall, his backpack still on, breathing heavily as if having just won a race. It feels like every inch of him is throbbing in pain, the one in his knee the most acute, and he glances down at it, only to have to look away a second later as his stomach makes a sincere attempt at rebellion at the sight of a large chunk of green crystal bursting out of his knee with pieces of cartilage and bone and blood stuck in between it's points. He tilts his head up at the ceiling to stare at some of the green crystal hanging down from the top of it. Everything hurts.

And Newt...Newt has never been good at admitting defeat. Even now, sitting here, helpless and immobile and in so much pain he feels like he can barely think straight, his mind is frantically casting for a way out. For some way to save himself. Scrabbling at fantastical solutions desperately, what-ifs and maybes like they might hold the answer. But there's just...there's nothing. He can't come up with anything. It's a helpless feeling again, again, and it bubbles up inside him tearing at his chest, his throat, his tongue, until it explodes out of him in something like a wordless scream of rage. His right hand, the one not weighed down by the buckler, happens to close around a spare green crystal, and Newt's hurling it at the opposite wall with all his might. It strikes the other side but, in a way that his wholly unsatisfying, doesn't shatter. Newt can't help but stare at it for a moment--before there's a tight chuckle in his throat, edging hysteria--and he doesn't know why he's laughing because it's not funny at all but in a way it is because how helpless, how futile, there is nothing he can do and he hates this and hates how familiar this feels because it feels like desperately searching for a cure to an incurable disease and watching the person you love most in the world degenerate slowly despite everything you've tried and spirals traced on the ground and on chalkboards and arms broken in search of that so-called perfect shape--

"If it was true -- that you have the good ideas -- you wouldn't have had Miss Korra see to my arm. How is it that--that no one can see, no one understands? "

"Look, just--just...I need some sleep, okay? You-" (his voice, then, cracking, with the weight of what he was about to do, what Hermann had asked him to do)"--you need some sleep, too. Can we just, maybe, uh...can we just sleep for a bit? Then we'll talk about it?"

"I...yes, all right, but first thing in the morning we must speak of this, Newton."

"...yeah. Yeah. Of course. I, uh...I b-brought you some water, in case you're, um, thirsty."

"I am parched, yes, considering I've been tied up here for several hours."

"Okay, hold on, I just...let me untie you."

"...."

"And Hermann?" (his voice, now, wobbly and wet and he's choking, he can't, he wants to slap that cup out of Hermann's hands and his knuckles are white from how hard he's gripping the back of Hermann's chair--)

"Yes?"

"I love you, y'know."

"...yes, Newton, I know."

--and Newt's not laughing now, he's sobbing, shaking, head hanging down, shoulders heaving because it's the same, isn't it? It's the same. He's helpless again and this time it's him that's going to die. He's going to become one of those crystal golems and there's nothing he can do about it. It hurts and he's in pain and he doesn't want to die again but he wasn't given a choice. None of them were given a choice. They're completely at the mercy of another creature again and Newt is paying the price this time. And what else can he do but cry about it? There is nothing else to do. He can't walk, he can't move--there's nothing. And he sobs and sobs, the sound echoing off the walls around him but he can't bring himself to care.

After what feels like for ever, his desperate sobbing has calmed to hiccuping sniffles, because that sort of emotional outburst takes a lot out of a person, and there's only so long you can keep it up. Finally, Newt lifts his head, tilting it back to stare at the ceiling again.

He's going to die.

It's a hollow thought, and he feels empty with it. Empty like the space in his head, where someone should be but they aren't. Someone who would be particularly furious with Newt for landing himself in this sort of situation.

"...sorry, Hermann." It's a quiet croak, and Newt reaches up his free hand to scrub at his eyes under his glasses. He sucks in a deep rattling breath, which he lets out on a low sigh--which catches in his chest and causes him to start coughing. He expects it to be a short thing, but once he starts, he can't seem to stop, choking and hacking and his lungs suddenly feel like they're on fire and he can feel something warm and wet flying out of his mouth and spattering against the hand he's brought up to his mouth and it's red, red--but before he can come to a conclusion of what that means, there's a screaming pain in his side, and Newt shouts, hand automatically jerking to his ribcage and knocking against a large cluster of crystal that's just decide to sprout and tear through his shirt. Newt jerks his hand back, whimpering as he slumps back into the wall again. For a moment, his face is scrunched in a picture of extreme pain, before he lets out a wheezing, rattling breath. His eyes narrow, glaring tiredly at the ceiling, and, after a moment and with great difficulty, he's lifting his right hand upwards and flipping off the ceiling.

"Hey, EssTee, I don't know if you can hear me but...fuck you very much."

And with that message possibly delivered, Newt drops his hand down and slumps back against the wall. Which is how Wade should find him a bit later, slumped down and staring at the ceiling angrily, blood all over his chin and his legs splayed akimbo out in front of him. He's managed to shove his backpack off and to the side and tucked his leather jacket in there to join everything else, as well as the hatchet, butterfly knife, and beam katana. He's also pulled the buckler off, and it's now resting next to his backpack.

Muffet | OTA

[prettypurpleparlor]

10/20

[Did you need help with anything? Food, water, something sharp to help with the sigil destroying? Muffet is doing her best to make sure everyone is properly provided for, and may just come up to you and offer assistance.]

10/23

[...Or she might be helping you with something a little more frightening. She's been lucky enough to avoid the infection, and has been putting her purple magic to good use holding back the quartzalcoatl- although it's better at restraining them than killing them, it seems.]

This way, dearie, before more of those things show up.

10/23

[mamaterasu]

[You know what's great to have during those Quartzalcoatl's slow but strong swipes? A shield. It's taken all of Amaterasu's willpower to preserve her ink, but it's a darn good thing she has - having her reflector to act as a shield to guard her from strikes and swipes is a true blessing (thought Muffet may or may not be able to see anything other than a plain, white wolf). Her Divine Instruments are priceless here...where a slip-up could result in the loss of her godhood and the loss of her powers, weapons, strength, and her life... People down here still need her yet, and Amaterasu has no plans on dying until everyone is out, and the Storyteller is able to decimate these creatures - or seal them away again - once and for all.

The very sight of Muffet has Ammy startled for a ha;f second - my, but you look ominous, and a little too like a few demons Ammy has fought in Nippon - but the help is appreciated, and tips the scales in Muffet's favor. The wolf flees with her new comrade, away from the creature that struggles against its binds.]

10/20-21 Only

[deranged_practicality]

[Isabella has seen a few ruins in her travels. She's never particularly been interested that much, but she understands a bit of the principles. Like that having a map would be very helpful. And there might be some kind of pattern to the sigils; if they were somehow keeping the Storyteller out, then they should be evenly spread, correct?]

[She doesn't have much to work with, but she can be found counting paces and estimating things near 'base camp']

... six, seven, then we come to a junction. Better go back and confirm that number.

[tenthstreetbred]

[It's been awhile since she's seen the other woman but all the same to see her well is good. Even if her counting to herself is a bit odd.]

Confirm what number?

[Shepard looks around herself to see if she can figure out what Isabella is talking about but alas comes up empty.]

clementine / open

[takeusback]

i 20th - 22nd, ota

[ By now, Clementine thinks she should be used to waking up somewhere brand new, but somehow she isn't. At least there was a bit of warning this time. She checks her supplies almost as soon as getting up; she still has her gun, and knife. That's good.

She wants to be useful, so it's not too long before she's helping get rid of any sigils with her knife, offering help to anyone who's struggling. ]

How many of these do you think there are?

ii 22nd, ota

[ Clementine first sees one of the massive crystallised monsters while trying and failing to slip through some of the crystals and get deeper into the cave. She's small, but not small enough, and has to backtrack. It's then that a low rumble comes from her right, and she falls back, tripping over one of the crystals.

Above her looms one of the massive crystal beasts. Clementine has had her gun out throughout the trek, something she's very relieved for now - or at least, at first she's relieved. Pointing it at the creature, she fires once. The bullet ricochets off of it, denting but not seeming to hurt the crystallised skin at all. Besides her gun, all she has is her knife, which also seems useless right now.

Scrambling to her feet, she's moves just in time for a giant hand to swipe at her. She could probably do with a bit of help. ]

iii 23rd, closed to sans

[ At first, Clementine had tried to forget the pain. Tried to convince herself it was something else, something that could be fixed once they got out of here. Soon though, very soon, it becomes impossible to ignore. Blinding pain in her wrist makes Clementine gasp and hurry away from any groups. She finds an empty spot behind one of the crystals and crouches down, eyes on her hand, which has been penetrated from within by jagged green crystal. ] No, no, no...

[ She's not stupid. She's seen the monsters, she's heard people talking. She knows what it means. It's like the walker virus. It's like it was back home. When you're infected, there's nothing you can do. Nothing except... ]

No... Lee, I'm sorry. [ Lee had died for her to live, and now here she is. Letting him down again.

She stares at the glinting green of the crystal pressed through the skin of her hand like a shard of glass, her gun hanging limply from her other hand and tears in her eyes. ]

23rd // cw: there's gonna be murder

[justribbing]

[ Another of those great, lumbering crystalline constructs staggers past her hiding place, another lost soul who ran afoul of the same virus that's now taken root in a young child. There's a cry when it rumbles its way down a cavernous corridor, followed by the distant sounds of battle. Underneath that, there's the soft crunch of grit under a shoe.

Very close.

Except what shuffles into view is a figure almost as diminutive as she is, careful not to touch the glowing crystal, the small lights in his empty eye sockets sweeping the cave wall behind it for-- well, the same thing everyone's looking for, the sigils.

It's Sans, taking advantage of heroes doing what they do best to stick to this god-awful chore so they can all get outta here. Thing is, he finds something quite a bit different from a sigil, and about a hundred times more upsetting. You see, what Sans is finally looking at is that crystal jutting out of Clem's hand, frozen in place. ]

Kid? Whatcha doin' back h--

...Oh.

Lup | OTA

[hellawrath]

10/20 - 10/21
So this is what the Storyteller was so ding dang impatient about. A secret sprawling cavern system beneath their home and ominously abandoned signs of an old civilization. She can't really blame them for being worried and wanting this shit explored as fast as possible haha nope, actually she can blame them a whole hell of a lot for endangering every last person by locking them in here. Locked up with limited food and even more limited lamp oil, their message is loud and clear - good luck suckers, hurry along now or get fucked.

Best to get it over with quickly then, and get whatever she can out of it along the way. Lup can be found examining the sigils carved into the walls, staring at them intently, knocking against them with the tip of her umbrella, pressing a hand against them, basically doing every kind of arcana check she's capable of, before taking a pickax or a Fire Bolt to them. She's also ducking in and out of those creepy houses, carefully avoiding stepping on any crystals. "The least they coulda done is to preserve their belongings properly before going extinct, like damn," she mutters as she emerges from yet another smooth doorway empty-handed.


10/22ish
The real problem about fighting a crystal golem, Lup muses as she dodges yet another deadly swipe of a large crystalline appendage, is the temptation to check herself out in all these reflective surfaces. Because she's gotta look dope as hell, flitting through its lumbering reach gracefully, Umbra Staff outstretched and firing off barrages of frigid Rays of Frost, interspersed with bright motes of fire chipping away at one leg the size of a really distorted tree trunk. She's having a pretty good time actually, getting to work out some of all that pent up dread she's been feeling the past weeks, and the only bummer is the fact that she's kinda lost sight of Taako as they led this thug on a chase through winding sparkly corridors. At least she got to ask him why this one's resistant to his wiles and charms, before he fucked off. Does she need to give him some space to bring out the tentacles? Is she gonna have to kinkshame a brother? He won't hear the end of it, as soon as he turns up. Which he will, defs.

The golem uses her moment of distraction to ram a fist into the wall an inch above her head and she's instantly done playing, thanks. Three glowing darts of concentrated magical force leap from her umbrella and slam into the creature's knee, causing an explosive burst of crystal shards that takes out its entire leg. "TIMBERRRR" Lup hollers and ducks behind her umbrella's canopy as the creature crashes to the ground with an earsplitting crunch of rock and crystal.


10/23 - 10/24
In the deepest recesses of this crystal kingdom cavern, where every path is choking on sickly glowing razor sharp growths, where the pressure of miles of unrelenting rock on all sides is almost physically unbearable, Lup is alone. She is silent and haggard as she marches on, specks of dried blood on her clothes, two backpacks slung over her shoulders. A showy wizard hat is rolled up and strapped to one of them.

This isn't the first time Lup has lost her brother. Not even the first time she saw him die, felt his fear and pain as if it was her own. Watched the light leave his eyes. She knows this feeling of helpless rage tearing her up from the inside, bottomless loneliness swallowing her whole, better than anyone should. She's done this before and she can do it again, she can hold on until he is returned to her, which he will, whether it be in a day or in a year. That's the one thing she has to believe despite all her mistrust of the one who put them here, that they did not lie to her about this. There is no room for doubt.

Lup spots a crystallized sigil on the ceiling and no longer pauses to examine it. She raises a hand and as she does, a large spectral twin of it appears overhead and starts smashing into the translucent mass, mirroring her own vicious movements again and again until it all bursts into shreds raining down on her. She moves on, raw determination to see this to its end the only thing left to her. And she smashes the next sigil, and the next. Any movement that doesn't immediately identify itself as harmless is met with a Fireball, an inescapable firestorm blackening corridors in her wake. Lup meditates just long enough to regain her spell slots, an untethered disturbed trance that fails to restore anything else. The echoing screams of the dying barely reach her, down here. And she pushes on.

10/23

[builditstrong]

He's lost. Hopelessly lost. He's smashing every bit of crystal he sees, which, while cathartic, also depletes his last source of light. He keeps hearing people in the distance, but the caves are labyrinthine, and every time he tries to find them, they turn out to be through a wall or down some sort of chasm. People are screaming, and he can't even get to them to help.

He's not used to this. Never had a chance or a reason to go underground until now, and now it's been days. He's done his panicking in private, alone. He can pretend sometimes that there's just a black sky above him. The near-total darkness helps.

He hears something up ahead, a smashing sound, and hefts his hammer. Another crystal monster, no doubt. If he stays down here much longer, one of them will finally get the best of him, or he'll succumb to the disease he's seen kill people already. It doesn't matter. He must fight, and so he'll fight.

Only the figure that turns the corner is familiar, and not crystalline.

"Taako?"

No, wait. The sister. He can't remember her name. He's seen her, but not spoken to her.

She's got a hand raised, and he remembers abruptly that both of them are wizards, wielding the sort of powers that were only in stories back home. He drops his hammer back into his belt loop and raises both hands, palms out.

"Ain't a threat. Ain't infected."

Kid | OTA

[builditstrong]

10/21 - 10/22 : learned to break

Kid does best with a job to do, a request to fulfill. Explore the tunnels, break the sigils, open the way for the Storyteller. Alright, then. It's straightforward, which he appreciates. So much since he's come to the island has been straightforward.

It's an interesting mission as well, because he's never been underground before. It's fascinating and a little unsettling to think of all that stone above him. The buildings hewn into the walls are fascinating as well, and he wishes he had more time to study them, take a better look at some of those carvings. The crystals are pretty, and seem damn useful, casting that faint glow. It means he can conserve his helmet's lamp for when it gets really dark. They almost remind him of Cores back home, and he wonders if they could be used for a power source. He breaks a piece off early on and stuffs it into the bottom of his pack, hoping to study it more once this is over and he's back in the sunlight.

He's not necessarily looking for other people, but if he meets anyone, he's friendly enough. He'll offer assistance, particularly if anyone has a sigil that's proving difficult to break. The Kid is, after all, very good at breaking things.

10/22 - 10/23 : they ain't gonna catch you when you fall

Things change quickly, as soon as the first Quartzacoatl claws its way out of the walls and attacks him. The ruins become ominous. The crystals become suspect. The darkness and the stone surrounding him becomes oppressive. His mining lamp starts to die, until he's forced to go long stretches relying only on the dim light of the crystals, and those usually have enemies hiding inside. Everywhere he looks, there's stone. He decides, as the stone seems to close in around him and the darkness thickens, that he really doesn't like being underground, at all. He can't even fathom how the Ura did it back home. He misses the sky and the sun, hot though it is up there.

At some point, he gets lost.

He's on his own, then, smashing his way through every Quartzacoatl that menaces him, hiding in the darkness and trying to pretend that it's simply night time, trying to follow his mental map back to where the exit must be. When it becomes obvious what the crystal truly is, he chucks the piece he's stashed in his pack into a crevice.

He tries to chase away the panic and dread by doing logical things. He spreads out his rations, calculating what it will take to make the rest of them last a second week, in case he's lost for that long. He counts his footsteps, leaves stone cairns and arrows at every turn or branch. He hums to himself to fill the silence. And when he hears anyone nearby, he rushes to try and find them, whether it's to help or simply to see another person's face again.

He is not going to die down here.

10/21

[souris_keteer]

Naturally, Mickey is very happy to see a friendly face. He waves enthusiastically, a sigil nearby, his sword drawn.

"Hey there! You doin' all right?"

Ignis Scientia | OTA!

[shatteredlenses]

Oct 20th: A Spelunking We Will Go, A Spelunking We Will Go... (Mid-Caverns)

[The gods, Ignis has finally decided, really need to get a life. One that doesn't, he will quickly add, include shuffling around humans at their slightest whim. If the Storyteller needs them to look into things, fine, but how precisely do they expect Ignis to do that without a little help? Drop him in a small group. Even just one other person would be fine.

But, leaving him by himself, in the middle of a dark, damp cave? Really? What kind of information is he suppose to gather when he tumbles off a ledge and then drowns in a pool of water?

Ignis sighs, moving very slowly and carefully until he can place his left hand against the cavern walls, bare thumb brushing over the harshness of rock before sliding across smoother...crystal? Sadly, without another pair of eyes, he can't verify that for sure.

Hopefully, it won't be too long before he comes across someone with pair of eyes they'll be willing to lend. He's certainly not going to be of much use to this little expedition otherwise.]

Oct 22nd: This Voice in my Head Says 'It'll Be All Right,' but I Can't Make Myself Agree (Upper-Caverns, Early Infection Onset)

[Are you really letting being stuck in these caves get to you already, Scientia?

That's the logical side of his brain talking. Ignis and his logical brain tend to get along very well. They agree on most things, but for some reason, no matter how many times he tells himself that the bumps he feels each time he runs his fingers over his left thumb are nothing more than roughed up skin from when he was guiding himself along the caverns walls, he just can't bring himself to believe it. It feels wrong somehow. Like he's looking for the simplest answer when he knows there is none. Objectively, he feels fine, if a little tired, but considering he struggled through dark caverns for several hours blind, he's due a little rest. He's earned it. That and some companionship. As much as Ignis likes his time to himself, he works better in a group now. He needs to be around others.

Yet, as the day passes, he drifts farther away from those he searched so long and hard to find. His left hand remains, almost constantly, tucked into his pocket. It's harder to help one handed, but...

...it's safer. Just in case--for once--his logical mind is wrong.]

Oct 23rd, Late: The Exhaustion Runs Deep, but My Mind Won't Sleep (Base Camp, Post-Infection Transfer/Curing)

[It's wrong; it's wrong; it's wrong; it's wrong...

Ignis was still young when he first heard the tales of the Accursed. Young in body anyway; his mind was never that young. Always moving, learning, storing away information for later. And this information was important, even if the stories left him wide-eyed and clinging to his knees at night when he was alone in his dark room.

The Accursed, so evil his true name was lost to history. So terrible all they could do was wait until the Chosen King came to save them from his dark touch.

It's wrong!

Ignis draws in a shuddering breath. It's exhaustion that makes breathing so hard now when not long ago it was shards of crystal filling his throat.

How can evil hide such light inside? How can darkness incarnate be so warm?

The advisor is relieved when the sounds of people talking around the base camp drive those thoughts from his tired mind. Quietly, he lets himself slide to the ground, sitting propped against a rock. He's safe here now. Whatever it is the Storyteller wants found, the others can see to it for now. He's done.

And yet, his feet itch to go back down and find that 'terrible' creature the stories spoke of so that he doesn't have to suffer alone...]

[power_of_dominance]

[From monkeys to caverns, Soma can't be too upset about being tossed from one danger to another. He'd managed to avoid the strange crystal after seeing others with the stuff growing out of their bodies. Back at base camp, he does what he can to help anyone wandering in to rest, so when he sees Ignis slumping against a rock in apparent exhaustion he hurries to the blind man's side.

A cool hand touches Ignis's forehead briefly before settling on his shoulder, accompanied simultaneously by the teen's gentle voice.]

Don't worry, it's Soma. Are you hurt?

Chip Abaroa | OTA

[demonpuppy]

Oct 22nd; Retreat [closed to Tim]

[When trouble goes down, Chip wastes no time in turning tail and fleeing. Whatever those crystal things were, whatever made them, Chip could see the hollowed-out place where a soul had once been. Being firced to come down and break a bunch of sigils had been one thing, but if something down here could do that, they wanted no part of it. Stumbling and puffing hard, they run at breakneck speed through the tunnels trying to remember which one led up to the surface.]

[But, of course, they trip on a rock and eat dirt. They can hear the--the things still behind them, and Chip immediately starts scrambling to get to their feet.]

Oct 23rd; Safety [OTA]

[The way out is still blocked. Some people have been spirited back out of this trap, but so many are still here--Chip can't help but wonder if it's a show of favoritism or just sheer bad luck. But either way they're here now, and if they're here they should at least try to be useful.]

[Chip, however, isn't the greatest with social graces, so they hover near anyone busying themself with making bandages, tending a cooking fire, or really working on anything at all in an awkward silence, glancing away and back again as if trying to work themself up to do or say something. They're not exactly in the way, but...well, it's a bit awkward being watched, isn't it?]

[postictal]

[His heart skips in his chest, a static tear-and-thump of the overworked muscle straining in its cavity at the sight of them - a child sprawled untidily across the grit and gravel, trying to clamor upright in time to get the hell out of the warpath of the crystalline monstrosities looming up behind them.]

[His lungs hate him just a little bit more for the way he breaks into a sprint. The tickle in his throat and the ragged quality of his breath is a firm indicator that he's going to regret this, he knows, he knows.]

[He knows. He just - doesn't care.]

[His shoes skid and slip over the dirt underfoot, the traction all but eaten away by too many months of dashing over Castle flagstones and too many months of trekking over dirt and mud and sand. It aches, straining to speak over the overpowering urge to devolve into hoarse hack-coughing. He almost doesn't manage it.]

C'mon. We g-gotta - [And there he goes, his respiratory system finally giving up its long and painful struggle. He still extends a hand regardless with the clear intention that they take it.]

10/20-10/22, OTA

[ohshitsweetflips]

10/20, closed to Lup

The way the Storyteller has been about these damn sigils, Taako really...expected a bit more from this 'excursion.' Honestly he'd had a pretty healthy sense of dread about the whole thing, upon realizing that this was about to become his problem, all of theirs really, instead of just a problem for a hokey rabbit he already has beef with. Prior to that, well, the inconvenience of his inconveniencer is...not something he's super inclined to do anything about, beyond vague notions of maybe making use of the sigils somehow. Unfortunately, that was not how it had gone down. But still, he feels, if not optimistic, at least...relieved, perhaps. His wary sullenness starts to lighten a bit, though it's not going to wholly dissipate til he's out of this lame excuse for a dungeon. This doesn't look like a subterranean boss fight, at least so far. Maybe this really will just be a stupid ass god-assigned chore.

It's just that ruins have really gotten kind of old by now, and caves are way beyond played out. Seen one, seen 'em all, the addition of crystals doesn't help and this green isn't his colour, yawn. "Hey, Lup? I don't want to jinx it, but this...doesn't really seem that bad?" He gives it a second; nothing falls from the ceiling, crushing him instantly. His suspicion remains intact as well. "Those crystals are obviously bullshit though, you know that, right." His tone is as arch and blasé as it can be, considering his choice of wording, but it's belied by the tension in his bearing. Not full-on pre-bolt tension, more as though he's maybe gonna seat-belt check Lup like a soccer mom acting on reflex if she does something dumb. The menu for the evening is 'distrust of crystals, lightly garnished with guilt about something that is prooooobably unrelated.' If this weren't specifically a god-warded mystery cave this might feel a little personal. This is probably just his unerring instinct for survival talking, but he kinda misses the whatchacalls, the null suits. At least the last stone cold asshole to send him on a dumb grabass crystal fetchquest was invested enough in the outcome to try and even the odds. No such guarantee, here, even the clothies are cannon fodder. "Like, just humour me on this one, okay?"

10/20-10/21, OTA

Predictably, Taako isn't especially diligent about destroying sigils, letting Lup handle the casual destruction for the most part while he orbits in an increasingly wide range, looting and sulking. He's traded his earlier skittishness for a kind of sullen, resigned grace, stepping around and over crystals like a cat navigating puddles. The crystals don't even seem to be doing anything but glowing helpfully, no out-of-control transmutative disaster in sight. Which is great and all, but it's really making his extreme caution a waste of time and uncool to boot. Much like the rest of this excursion, actually, so at least that checks out.

It's not that he's still out to stick it to the man (or nongendered rabbit, as the case may be), he just hasn't really found a good tool for sigil removal yet and doesn't want to waste slots so early in the game. There's still gotta be another shoe, and when it drops, he's going to be ready. Though there is, perhaps, some element of rebelliousness in his restraint, too. Look, he's still doing his part, which is to say, Mage Hand'ing through debris and elf-o-visioning dark corners for anything useful or interesting. Focused on his looting efforts, all he can offer by way of greeting is a calculatedly inelegant wave in the rough direction of the nearest magical chickenscratch. Please do his work for him. Please. "Hit it, homie, 's all yours. I don't think anyone's even keeping score, have a party."

10/22

Okay, let Taako be the first to say, at least internally, he was maybe a bit hasty in his assessment of this situation's seriousness. Somehow, one of those lumbering paletteswap knockoffs has got him completely out of his bearings, no longer sure where he split off from Lup in their skillful tag-team kiting maneuver. He now knows this to be a little too ambitious, for a literal labyrinth full of adds to pick up, lesson learned there. Hindsight, 20/20, he really, REALLY needs an offensive cantrip like, yesterday. Also, turns out this passageway ends abruptly in a crystal-crusty cul-de-sac, and he absolutely missed the correct turn-off to avoid this, fuck.

Taako wheels on his pursuer with a testy sigh; guess there's no saving those slots now, all aboard the train to fuck-up town, please have your ticket at the ready. Whatever, not like he's in a hurry to get back anyway, Lup's just going to say some more wholly unnecessary and frankly slanderous shit about his history re: golems. "Dead end, dipshit! This is a trap, and you just stepped in it!" Heckling has not proven very effective against them so far, but when has he let that stop him.

[hellawrath]

In a shocking turn of the tables, Lup is actually broadcasting more tension in her bearing than Taako ever since they woke up here. This is it, whatever the fucking rabbit is so happy to risk all their lives for is down here and she's not gonna chill until they've found it. Not like there's much of a choice anyway, with those doors secured and impenetrable like a vault door at their backs. Being sealed in a cave, not Lup's favorite ambiance. That's a new thing, that she's not gonna look at too closely.

So there's maybe some stuff that's putting her ill at ease, hand glued to the handle of her umbrella, the corner of her lips chewed up pretty good already, as the twins stalk through the eerie glowing ruins, their urchin not far behind. But the crystal outcroppings themselves aren't part of that stuff, at least until he brings them up. "Uhm yeah, they're bullshit for my complexion?" she quips, though the soft laugh to her voice is more fake than usual. "What else you got on them?"

10/23-24 Closed to Lup & Chara, please note CWs

[ohshitsweetflips]

10/23-24 Closed to Lup and eventually Chara. CW crystal infection, body horror, blood, assisted character death, IT ISN'T GREAT

Taako hates to play the I-knew-it card, but...well, he did, for all the help that turned out to be. It's not a very vindicating thought to have recur, insistently poisonous, as he trudges through the caves, especially since there's no one meaningful to voice it to. This hurts, a pain that started in his chest, sharp and wrong, and grew with a sick virulent speed that feels like some kind of affinity. Though, it's still actually pretty slow, compared to...his own work. There's no pride or absolution in that thought whatsoever. It really does feel personal now, which, weirdly enough, keeps his self-pity in check. This one's not on him, he doesn't know who gets this one, but he kind of has to own it anyway. What's one death by transmutation, no matter how slow, compared to, what, 714? In just one town. Yeah, he probably shouldn't complain too much about this. The math there isn't particularly hard, even for him.

And he was so careful, too, he really thought his caution was going to serve him well this time. His breathing is tight and laboured now, there's an inflexible hitch of pain on every inhale and exhale, and what started as a dry, infrequent cough has changed its tenor to something wracking and too deep for his frame. There wasn't much blood to start, but blood would honestly have been preferable to the occasional delicate snaps the spasms produce, ambiguously heard in that deeply unpleasant internal way that can only ever really occur when it's your own body doing it. The crystals aren't confined to his insides anymore, cropping up through? on? the skin of his chest and collarbones. His hands flutter gingerly at the protrusions from time to time, but don't settle or investigate. There's too much white-cold agony gumming up his nerves, he can't get a handle on the specific aetiology of it. He doesn't actually want to know. At least he's gonna go out how he lived--pretty fucking dazzling. That's actually really funny, and he regrets it immediately as a small bitter laugh turns immediately into coughs that echo mockingly off the stone walls. It feels like it's shredding him from the inside out, like his arms clutched around his middle are the only thing keeping him together, and there are tears in his eyes.

[hellawrath]

There really is no fun in the vindication of Taako's suspicion and her own dread, in the end. Between noticing the sketchy outline of a humanoid figure in a shattered golem, and running into the first person with crystals bursting through their skin, things down here have gone all to hell at the speed of what the fuck. Hey, at least they solved the shitty riddle of whether the doors were keeping something out or in! She hopes the rabbit fucking chokes on it.

And for all that Taako pretty much called it, for all their experience with this literal exact brand of horrific bullshit, it's... she hadn't really seen the effects of it, last time. The way the crystals are slowly overtaking every rock and every person like pockmarks, like a plague, patiently, indiscriminately. Even all that time ago, back on the Starblaster, they never really felt like spectating the bitter consequences of their choices up close. And whenever one of them had the urge, the rest were quick to stop them. There's not much Lup would consider unbeatable, up to and including the Hunger, but this kinda comes pretty close. She blames the claustrophobic labyrinth of caverns for that, every turn looking the same as the last three, crevices so narrow it's almost impossible to squeeze through without slicing her hands or face on those crystals jutting out like teeth. That, and the fact that she's alone.

It's been hours, now, maybe as much as most of a day, since she lost sight of Taako. She'd wound back of course, then searched down some new corridors, then backtracked, tried to take paths that led upwards because maybe he went back to camp, because that would've been a pretty solid strategy to agree on beforehand actually. Might be time to check up on Ren, and the other kids too, yeah, that'd be nice. She keeps thinking of - "You need me to like, get out the violin and some candles to bring on the charm, or what?" - the last thing she said to him - "I know we don't say this enough, but... Thank you." circling her mind like a pack of wolves. But it's fine. It's fine because the last idiot down here who'd get his ass transmuted is Taako. The perks of having a weasel for a brother.

Slowly she becomes aware of the sound of her solitary footsteps mixing with something else, another echo, rattling and wracked and sick and her umbrella is up in a flash, ready to ward off any poor sod trying to get too close. She rounds a corner and there he is and her heart stops in a moment of pure relief, she's found him, again, always. Hunched over, staggering, a strange green glow beneath his arms wrapped around his chest... She doesn't feel the umbrella slip from her hand and land in the dirt with a thud, as she tries to call out and his name dies on her tongue. But second time's the charm, "Taako, I'm here!", loud and clear as she rushes to his side.

Edward Elric | OTA

[solperierat]

Oct 21st: Research [OTA]

[Edward had expected something like this when a second closed door had shown up. The Fog God hadn't been quite so 'hands on' with her followers, but the Storyteller has so far proved to be a far fussier and meddling god, though at least their intentions have been less murder-fueled. Still, he's not about to just blindly follow the god's instructions, and sets out ahead of the majority with that leather-bound book of his in hand.]

[What he's doing up ahead is apparent as soon as anyone catches up to him: making notes, crouched in front of each sigil to check it against the sketches and make notes of size, location, and approximate distance between each one. Doing this entirely by his magical senses has been a tricky thing, but he's gotten better and marking paces and his sense of direction is unerring. He also doen't need a bit of light in the dark at all, so if you're not familiar with him, the sight of a creature with red fur, horns, and giant black horns might be a little startling before Ed glances over.]

Just need a bit longer, then you can get to wrecking this.

Oct 23rd: Rescue [OTA]

[Of course. Of fucking course. Nothing can ever be easy, or safe, or at all what might be expected. Ed was one of the first to notice the crystals moving, and the lamps illuminating that dark shape inside--doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened to the inhabitants of these caves. But contamination is only one worry about the treat of these golems, and the cloth that Ed found has just found a wonderful use to be put to.]

[The sound alone is enough to bring the concerned running, with the familiar thud and creak of crystal paired with deathly screams and roars that sounds distinctly inhuman. Ed's arms and legs have been wrapped thickly in cloth bandages right up to the knee and elbow, and the reason for that becomes clear when a solid kick into the knee of one of the quartzalcoatl results in a reverberating crack and shatters the thing's knee, bringing it down--and possibly the tunnel with it, from the way the walls start to tremble. Ed curses as he looks upward, and immediately runs toward his audience. Anyone small enough is scooped up into his arms or thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but all get the same warning:]

Out, out! Before the tunnel collapses!

Oct 24th: Consequences [cw: gore, closed to Chara]

[Maybe he's not as clever as he thought.]

[Ed had hoped that his effort of bandages and clever dodging would be enough, but either he was knocked into a batch of crystals in one of those fights or he wasn't diligent enough in covering up. Either way, the result is the same. Sharp pains in his side and chest, the crunch and tear of flesh torn apart by foreign bodies. It shouldn't be so familiar, to have one's body torn apart in such an agonizing, slow process, but Ed's never been a lucky man. He coughs over and over, sliding down the cave wall and smearing the wet off his palm onto the rocky surface. The crystal is spreading, small points shredding through his lungs and pushing through viscera and muscle--his side is already a pockmarked hellscape, but here...there shouldn't be anybody else down these particular tunnels. The sigils down here have all been found and destroyed; there's no need for anyone to come looking this way.]

[No one needs to see this.]

Research

[thisisourfuture]

[He's seen some pretty shocking things lately. His time in Life After has started with a cow lady. He had to start getting used to things or have a bad time. It gives him a brief start but he shakes his head and comes closer, peering directly at the sigil.]

Actually, I wanted to just look at it. I've been trying to see if there's a pattern to how they're laid out.