lifeaftr | October Event: Crystal Clear

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October Event: Crystal Clear

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 )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Watching people die gets old.]

[He's only seen it a handful of times. Mostly played out over the screen. An unnamed man with a beard and a white shirt, who suffered for the simple crime of asking after the man in the tunnel who looked like he might not be all the way there. And then - people hidden by the camera they held in their hands, whose screams rang out with rebounding arcs of static regardless. People who cried as they went out, one by one.]

[People whose necks caved easily beneath a slip of silvered metal, too easily, and then rinsed the floor in glistening red as they choked.]

[Watching people die gets old, and what's more is he's tired of doing it. And so he doesn't argue. He simply follows, pausing here and again only to listen for the telltale sounds of their crystalline pursuer, if it's still coming for them. If it can get through the gap in the floor.]

[He huffs once, the closest he ever gets to genuine laughter.]

You could do a lot better than me. Just putting it out there.

Well put it back where it came from, we don't have time for self deprecation right now, pal. Value yourself, you're all you've got.

[Gobbet starts down the tunnel, staying close to the wall where her light has some effect. Where she's going, she isn't sure. Just, away from that thing. Deeper, into the bowels of cavernous hell? Sure, as long as that thing isn't here with her.]

[As for the opinions she's starting to form on Tim...jury's out on this one. It's impractical at best to hate yourself, as far as she's concerned. It's never been a problem for Gobbet. She was freaking dope as hell, the protagonist of her very own story. Sure, she has her flaws, but all good characters do. Mary Sues are boring.]

[Still, Gobbet isn't keen to see him die. Could be useful to have a second body on scene if things went particularly wrong. Could be a hindrance, too. Could be either, neither, or both. Gobbet doesn't care right now. She just wants out of these awful tunnels, with or without Tim.]

[There's always time for self-deprecation. It's just not always suggested. He snorts softly at that, but doesn't pick that battle to start poking holes at. He's done the self-pity party once before, and that was enough. More than enough. He shot down a winding downward spiral fueled by someone else's shock and bitterness and loathing and emerged from it utterly ashamed at what he'd done and how he'd used them for his own gain, and that - that was more than fucking well enough.]

[He checks the light on his head-lamp, flicking it on, though he doesn't strap it down to his head just yet. Mostly he holds it like an unwieldy flashlight, for no other reason than it feels a bit like having a camera in hand again. The sensation should feel wrong.]

[It doesn't.]

I'll think about it.

[Yeah. He'll get right on unlearning that whole tangled mess that's probably his psyche. No problem.]

[For now, they've got a more immediate problem assuming the form of a fork in their path. He nods at the splitting passageways.]

Right or left?

Hey, I picked last time. Your turn, buddy.

[Her body is angled right because she's bad at hiding her intentions when she doesn't want to. She's nervous that left will lead them in a circle, back to that monstrosity. That said, there's no earthly way of knowing which way they are a-going down here. Right could just as easily loop around to the left at some point and they'd never know it.]

I don't - I don't lead people.

[There's a nervous stutter to the words, a sharpness to the abrupt way he says it. He doesn't lead people. And yet - there's the ringing tone of something quartzlike hitting rock, and a not-so-distant-as-he'd-like creak and crash that sounds like something shattering. He jumps.]

[Glances over at the way she's already leaning right, and lets her make the decision.]

Fine. Right.

[At the noise, Gobbet's head snaps up. Did. Did that thing seriously try to jump the gap? Or was someone else fighting one of those things? Either way, best to put more distance between them and it. She'd already picked one fight, effectively lost, and made a successful escape. No need to try her luck with a second go around.]

[She starts down the right tunnel silently, a quickness in her step that betrays her inner unease. It seems that her usual willingness to chat has left her. Something about the crushing weight of damp air and dust clinging to her skin, or the low roof above pressing in on her. Every once and a while, the sounds of shifting rock bring her to a halt. She tries, and fails, to pinpoint their location within the echoing chambers of stone. The tunnels seem endless.]

[She falls silent. There's an edge to her motion, to the swift way she crosses the distance of the tunnel twisting into the rock, that implies that there's a reason for it. He pauses only to listen, but the sound doesn't draw nearer. Maybe taking advantage of the landscape paid off.]

[Either way, he's not about to sit around to wait and make sure.]

[He sweeps the fading beam of golden light back and forth, trying to pick out a route moving up. Everything looks the goddamn same: homogenous curves of rock jagging into gouts of glittering crystal.]

[There's a resignation to his tone when he finally speaks again.]

Don't say we're lost. Please.

'Course not. I mean, I don't know where we are, but we didn't know that in the first place, did we?

[The dampness of her skin makes the sudden breath of air more obvious than it might have been otherwise. Gobbet motions towards a distant glow, smirking confidently.]

Check it out - cavern up ahead. We might find more sigils. If we're lucky, destroyed ones.

[That is not reassuring.]

[Fortunately, the reassuring nature or lack thereof of his impromptu companion here is not a priority, nor is it particularly new. Nothing about Jay was ever reassuring, and when his only other experiences in working with a group were in regards to people obviously not cut out to solve puzzles scraped onto the floors of cages or kids who are probably - probably all - ]

[He twists the thought away from himself and buries it. He can't afford to think of that right now.]

Can't we be done? [He fires that one off abruptly, and it's aimed at no one in particular - or rather, aimed for the ceiling, in the absence of any indication of the Storyteller's presence.] Did we do what you asked? Can you just get us out of here and stop forcing children to do your dirty work, you jackass?

[Gobbet mouths the word "okay", arching her eyebrows and turning away. Tim's outburst is...awkward for her. Perhaps it's just that she's never taken anything seriously enough to yell about it. In his defense, it was a high pressure situation and it was a dick move to teleport them down here without any knowledge of what dangers could be lurking in the darkness.]

[Gobbet takes a tentative step into the cavern, scanning the crystal outcroppings for signs of movement. But as she does so, her light shines over what appears to be a doorway. A house, carved into the very stone.]

Huh. I think people used to live here.

[It's not even him he's pissed about. It's not even him. It's the fact that he had to watch Frisk, that he - ]

[Nausea roils in his gut at the mere thought of it and his fists ball helplessly at his sides.]

Noticed that too? [His tone is taut, still thrumming with the leftover shreds of frustration directed at the Storyteller, but he still glances briefly in her direction.] Picked over some of what was left, but...didn't uncover much.

[He got a bottle of what smells suspiciously like alcohol, which is great for someone who can't drink it.]

[None the less, Gobbet pokes her head through the doorway and does a quick scan of the interior. There's a stone...bed? And a table of sorts, with little notches carved into the wall for seats. Upon the table is an assortment of broken dinnerware shards, which she promptly collects and shows off to Tim with pride.]

Hey, check it. Cutting utensils, digging tools, sigil scratchers - a handy pile of junk this turned out to be.

[What can she say? She's a devotee of Rat. Hoarding shiny junk is just in her blood.]

[It'd be more impressive if there was a guarantee they'd get outta here anytime soon. Granted, given what he suspects about this place, he's pretty sure that even if they didn't, even if they died here from starvation or dehydration or being crushed by falling rocks or asphyxiation or a well-planted crystalline fist to the bones of their neck, they'll end up waking up again anyway.]

[Which is just his goddamn luck.]

Are you seriously still thinking of doing the Storyteller's work right now?

I mean. I'm thinking of getting the hell out of dodge, which involves scratching up the local cave art. What's the alternative.

[It isn't a question. It's a flat statement of fact, the way she phrases it. Gobbet tucks the shards of pottery away for later use before turning back to the cavern around them, examining the walls and constructs within. This could have been a small village at one time, by the looks of it.]

[Curious.]

Telling the Storyteller where they can shove their dirty work.

[But he has to admit that she has a point, if grudgingly. What other choice is there? What do they do except play along? Maybe he should be a little more fucking refined about bashing in the sigils in the caves, assuming there's no other choice. Maybe he'll be a little more fucking constructive with his anger so he won't have to be, and he quotes, put down. Maybe that would be allowed.]

[He scowls venomously, though it's once again far from aimed at Gobbet.]

I'm just putting it out there - if there are more of those things deeper in this whole system here? I'd rather find some other way.

The way I see it, the best way out is to kiss the Storyteller's fuzzy little ass until it shines and they decide we've redecorated enough to go "home".

[She puts the word home in massive air quotes and rolls her eyes. A recently vacated monkey apartment is a pretty far throw from a "home" for her. But you live where you live, and right now home is a pile of sticks and blankets in a tree.]

If you come up with another way, I'm all ears. Until then-

[The ork shrugs, tossing her dreadlocks over her shoulder absently.]

We should keep moving. Make it harder for those things to find and corner us.

[He's gotta admit that she has a point. Which he hates that even fucking has to, because it's a terrible point that just grounds him even further in the sense of utter helplessness that's plagued him since they initially set foot down here. He's used to helplessness. That's just kind of his fucking default state of being.]

[Maybe he's just gotten too used to having some semblance of agency. Can't have him getting too comfortable in that, can we?]

...fine.

[In the absence of anything else to say, fine. He works his hatchet out from the depths of his pack, adjusting his grip so the handle can be used to slam into the rock.]

[Abruptly, he adds with an almost deliberately casual air:]

You seen any kids recently?

[Kids? In these caves? That's an unfortunate thought.]

[Gobbet casts a sidelong glance at Tim, noting how deliberate the casualness in his voice is. She's deeply familiar with the tone.]

Nope. Why? Your kids make it onto the island with you?

My -

[No.]

[The mental image is too horrifying to bear, at that. The idea that he could be regarded as some kind of replacement paternal figure. That's not him. That's not him. That's not what any kid deserves to go through. Fuck.]

[He shakes his head firmly.]

Friends of mine.

This is a real shitty place to be for adults, forget about kids. I legitimately hope your friends aren't down here.

They are.

[It’s said darkly, low and ground out between gritted teeth. He’s already seen what happens to kids who are too competent and too self-sacrificial for their own good - and what little he can do to prevent it.]

Then I'm real sorry for you and yours.

[The way Tim speaks through clenched teeth makes her think she doesn't have to tell it to him straight. He probably knows how unlikely it is that the poor wretches survive this ordeal. Hell, they were unlikely to survive this ordeal. Even if they survived the one encounter, how many more times could they run away before they ran out of places to hide?]

If you want to try and find them, I'll give you some lamp fuel for the road, but I don't think I can handle-

[Gobbet waves her hand vaguely. The perceived responsibility of a group? Watching children die (again)? The pressure of having a child in tow?]

[No, she'd hit her hero quota for the day. Besides, what could she even do to protect them? Throw spells at a rock and hope it killed her first so she didn't have to be responsible for whatever happened next?]

Already found some. I'm not gonna be makin' it outta here until I've found them.

[So that's...his warning. That even assuming that they reach some semblance of safety, he's gonna be turning right the hell around and heading straight back in search of Chara, assuming they're still alive, and if he can, if it isn't too late, if it won't fuck everyone over just seeing their limp, broken form at the end of that long fall with their limbs splayed at unnatural angles and the glistening dark of a cracked skull leaking out, maybe he can find - ]

[The thought won't allow itself to be easily dislodged. Frantically, he picks up the pace until at last the tunnel widens into what might be a more familiar space for the both of them.]

[They're getting close to the door that leads out of this place. It might not be open, but at least they're close.]

They must mean a lot to you, huh?

[The dim light of a base camp begins to come into view, casting the shadows of resting adventurers across the floor and walls. Gobbet sighs in relief, letting her shoulders relax a little. Finally. Some food and rest far away from crystal hell.]

[Granted she intended to dive back into the fray later, but first: food. And rest. But mostly food.]

[He opens his mouth to protest that assessment. Closes it again. He leans back against the nearest wall after checking the curve of its surface for outcropping of green. It’s mercifully bereft. He breathes out, slowly.]]

I owe them. [Would they approve of that? That...denial of what he already knows is true?]

October Event: Crystal Clear

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