lifeaftr | January Event: Rejection Rooms

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January Event: Rejection Rooms

JANUARY EVENT: REJECTION ROOMS

Who: Anyone and everyone!
What: Rejecting your Light comes with dire consequences
When: January 25th - 28th
Where: All over Monsun
Warnings: Violence and possible character death; please note any specific content warnings if they come up!

You're Ruled by the Things You Feel

This log is primarily for the Rejection Room portion of the event, for ease and convenience. To quote our event post:

Characters intent on rejecting their Light will find themselves irrevocably drawn to Monsun's shores. They might not even be aware of it - driven by their rage, their paranoia, their fear, or all of the above, and more. Monsun, for its part, is happy to receive them. Its landscape has become so warped over time...and those parts of Monsun consumed by shadow will start to distort, molding into structures that such characters are only too happy to hide within: Rejection Rooms.

Those who challenge the Rejection Rooms need not worry about death for themselves - damage taken within the rooms will simply translate to exhaustion outside of it, with seemingly mortal wounds leading to expulsion from the room itself, and an inability to re-enter.

The same holds true for the boss of each Room. Failure to beat them into expulsion means that the Room will continue to feed from their wildly catastrophizing mind, until there's nothing left to save at all.

So, simply top-level below with your character if they've signed up for a Rejection Room and prepare for whoever wants to gamble a confrontation. We recommend linking to the comment that details your character's Room, for the benefit of others. Remember to communicate; if your character is still trapped in their Room by the event's end, they will suffer a character death, though characters who merely try and fail to free them will not.

If your Rejection Room opt-in comment did not receive any response or additional discussion from the mod team, consider your Room and moveset approved; we want to allow for retroactive edits to your comments and plans, if those become necessary!

Some useful links, for reference:

[ ♆ ] OOC Event Post
[ ♆ ] Rejection Room Sign-Ups, for information on what Rejection Rooms look like
[ ♆ ] Deaths Page; death penalties have been reduced for the duration of this event, but remember to let us know if your character is still stuck in their Room by the event's end!

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] January 20th: The monthly Storytelling occurs.
[ ♆ ] January 21st: Shadows of both initial variants appear.
[ ♆ ] January 23rd: Shadows of both initial variants disappear.
[ ♆ ] January 25th Lights and Rejection Rooms appear.
[ ♆ ] January 28th: Lights and Rejection Rooms dissipate. Those still trapped in their Rejection Rooms by the event's end will suffer a character death.

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Threaded | Flat

[The only thing that breaks the silence is the rhythm of a heartbeat.

This room takes the shape of an open area. Beautiful and thick white fluffy clouds drift by against an light orange background and all was lit by a large sun. A mysterious and powerful energy seeps off of said sun in wisps of smoke and jutting out from the ground were four large sets of horn shaped structures. Strangely if one has met the Hollow Knight, these horns will look very familiar.

It is peaceful here and possesses a dream-like quality to it. For you see, this is the Dream Realm of Hallownest, the place where the Radiance once ruled from on high. But her rule created a shadow as bugking all began to have nightmares. The veil pulled back, the fears that bugs pushed deep down and away, that which burned with an eternal flame.

Her brother, the Nightmare King.

The large platform one stands on with they enter looks like it was stitched together, a patchwork of felt with the colors white, red and blue. Veins of a heart that are stitched together wrap around the platform and glow with a pure white light. A promise, a protection. They will not be harmed. Red smoke mingles freely with the light of the sun and a steady heartbeat echos in the silence. In the center of the platform is a large beating heart. But unlike the stitched together nature of the Nightmare Heart's veins and the patchwork floor, the Heart was whole. The slits in the organ poured out nothing but white light. Another promise, another form of protection. The cycle will continue.

To sleep is to dream, is to have nightmares. This is what it was like before all was lost and torn apart.

Dreamcatcher symbols of both white and red that drift in the air are disturbed by the familiar firework-crack of teleportation. And there stands Grimm, standing tall and carefully watching those who walk into this world. There is a piercing glare to his expression, something normally not present on the Troupe Master's face.

For this is the past and he did not exist then. What stands before you is the Nightmare King in his mind. He is still one with his sister, a fall has not taken place. They are the cycle of sleep as a whole and not yet broken.

Those who enter this place best be prepared for a fight. It will begin at the sound.]

[ooc: room and moveset details are here.]

Edited 2019-01-25 16:32 (UTC)

[It seems, at first, there's no one there.

The destroyed library before this room seems like it's in media res; the cathedral like room trashed by something with enough force to break the building itself in two. The deep blue of the dome in the ceiling is untouched, but the single light that seems to shine down from the top only adds to the ransacked nature of the space. Shelves are topped and broken, the staircases carefully carved into them crumbled and chipped. Certain ones that were pillars for other higher stories, platforms built into the spiraling expanse, leave these landings without support and they too slope towards the ground.

Welcome, adventurers, to The Archive of the Cobalt Soul. I hope you signed in correctly- though no one in this dream is here to check.

To get to Beau is to walk through her mess- the wreckage of a hurricane she left behind, books ripped and waterlogged, tables and chairs destroyed and thrown astray. But despite the wreckage, following the path- and the light- will make her location apparent. In the very center lies a large sinkhole, the wood of the floor splintered like a crashing star down a floor to the basement below. From the swinging light overhead, the stage can be seen- a sand pit, speckled with blood. Spectators against the walls in blue coats and slicked down hair, tied and posed at the ready. Four archers, one in each corner, stand with weapons; when a challenger enters, they will draw, but not yet fire.

As soon as someone drops into the pit, all of the monks in the edges will speak in unison.]

Challenger approaching! Get up!

[And out of a corner of the shadows, Beau will appear, dressed only in a brown gi with her hair tied back in a single blue ribbon.

She'll take her stance. And wait for the call.]

[ooc: Room information and movelist is over here!]

It's enough to cause a headache within seconds. The distorted space, rooms fitting together incoherently--a long, stark-white tube-like machine emerging from a wall, simultaneously perpendicular and parallel to a wall covered in black and grey monochrome mosaic of X-rays and MRIs and photographs of brains, the bed central and yet furthest away; the sink and cabinets at an oblique angle to the examination table with its roll of white, coarse paper to cover the leather; the too-bright, fluorescent lighting; the air both sharp and flat with antiseptic smell.

There are flowers in vases and balloons tied to teddy bears and trays with medical items, surgical implements and bottles of pills and syringes of yellow-green fluid that might as well be radioactive highlighter ink but probably are not.

And there's Foster by the bed, his hind end pressed into a corner and back legs half-buckled, front legs stiff and braced on the waxed-and-sealed tile floor. His claws curl tightly into the sheet tucked over the bed-bound figure, eyes fixed, the heart monitor beeping, and the energy of the room rings with the tension of waiting.

Until the MRI machine starts, and the arrhythmic banging layers over the steady beep, immediately joined by the hollow PA voice announcing code violet, repeating code violet--

Foster yanks back, head up, eyes wide as they lock with his intruders'. The body under the covers is ripped off the bed and hits the floor, blanket and all. The heart monitor's grating flatline tone begins.

And with it, the fight.

[In the end, he can't really say what drives him back to Monsun's shores; it hadn't struck him as a source of comfort or solace the first time, the area seemed a bit too much like it was suffering from some sort of hideous aer imbalance, but the fact of the matter is that it's somewhere and perhaps more importantly it's somewhere that he isn't running much risk of being found - he's made a point for the past two months to tell Yeager where he'll be but he hasn't even told him about this, much less anyone else. He just wants to be alone, with his thoughts and his anger and his...this, whatever this new thing is that's been eating at his mind and preoccupying him and he can't quite identify it, whether it's fear or guilt or something else entirely, but either way it's something that he hasn't felt in a long, long time and he'd really quite like it to stop.

And it doesn't, after he arrives, but once he's there he isn't inclined to leave, either.

The area he's in - the room, if it can be called that - is massive and circular and more to the point it's bright, the walls ringing the area opening up to the bright sky above; the first thing that will likely register apart from the room's size is the sound of rushing water as thick, heavy curtains of it spill down over the top of the structure, endless waterfalls pouring down into a deep pool of water down below. Protruding from the depths are four pillars, equidistant from one another around the room, each bearing a bright green crystal hovering atop them; the "floor" of the room is hovering a few feet above the water in the form of a raised, narrow bridge leading to a diamond-shaped platform in the center of the room.

Alexei himself can be found on that platform at the center; he has Dein Nomos out, the business end of the sword resting against the floor, his hands settled on the crossguard. The apatheia at the crux of it is bright, seeming to glow from within with some sort of energy that's difficult to describe but very, very alive. He isn't alone, either, the entrance to the platform is flanked by a pair of people that are looking very, very dead behind the eyes. They don't seem to be interested in attacking you just yet, but they are keeping watch, silent and still; they seem to be waiting for something.

Either way, the innermost chamber of the Enduring Shrine of Zaude awaits whomever chooses to enter - but in the end, there's nothing here for you. Nothing to use, nothing to hide behind, nothing to help you - nothing but the fight to come.]

{OOC: Room and moveset details are here.]

[When faced with kindness extended like a hand to pull him from the darkness, when confronted by the very concept that there were any part of him still possessed of human sentiment, Ardyn only ever had one reaction. Kindness was a lie told by those with ulterior motives and those who dared claim they knew anything about him. He wasn't human, he felt nothing but the hate and rage that manifested in the darkness that made up his unliving, undying body.]

[Rejection. Reject the light, reject humankind, reject all except the darkness and the fury.]

[The atmosphere of the throne room was cold and dead, the sickly sky above darkened by some unearthly force. It was deathly silent, and Ardyn's voice cut through the stagnant air with all the sharpness of a knife as a result. He slowly stood from the throne, beneath the faintly glowing Crystal speared through and hanging chained.]

I have tolerated this foolish endeavor for all the pointless blink of time spent upon these islands, and I shall not test my own patience by humoring it any longer. You mortals forget your place, and you forget mine as the monster to blacken the sun--the scourge of the very stars. The world had its chosen--its sage, its savior, yet gods and mortals alike chose instead to crush him out. All the world's pain and suffering was borne by one, and so shall it be turned upon them in deserved vengeance. Humankind had its chance, and now all shall receive precisely what it chose to give: cruelty, suffering, and to drown in the endless dark.

It's too late for anything else, and to pretend otherwise is naught but an empty gesture. Love, attachment, happiness...all such sentiments have long since gone well beyond my reach, and I care not to seek them out ever again.

[In a flash of red he stood at the top of the stairs, looking down to those on the floor. There was no malicious smirk on his face now--just something very cold and dark, as if Ardyn were looking at nothing more than an infestation to be dealt with.]

Such meaningless things--

[Slowly he raised his arms out to his sides...and in a burst of fleeting crystals did his Armiger appear, thirteen phantom weapons of magenta light circling around Ardyn steadily.]

I'll destroy them all.

[QUEST UPDATED: Whom The Gods Would Destroy...]
[---]
[Defeat Ardyn.]

[It's all too easy to duck and dodge some kind of sign that he's some great person and living up to the legacy of martial nobility left to him by his vaulted ancestor. He hasn't felt like he's living up to anything for a long time. Everything he touches seems to get messed up because he can't get out of his own damn way. He's so sick of himself.

How many times will his other selves take up the slack when he tries to retreat? He's drawn to Monsun's shores like a siren calls to sailors. It's an out and he takes it. The light turns emerald green and the world he'd been trapped in gives way to the familiar scuffed and battered by battle and age apartment roof top he's known all his life. Buildings rise all around him. They're empty, some are crumbling with age. He is the noble, meant to wait and that's exactly what he does.

It's all he's good at. Dirk rests the dull edge of his sword against his shoulder as the scuff of sneakers briefly catch his attention. Lightning cracks briefly illuminating the trio standing together under the ugly sky. The roof is wide and flat, the perfect kind of place to throw down. If there had been railings they rusted and fell apart long, long ago. The exit from the roof is shut tight and a heavy sense of anticipation and danger fills the air.

No one speaks. They stand silently until intruded upon. The sandy haired blond teenager that looks so much like Dirk turns and walks to the right side of the roof. The girl with sharp horns and a shark tooth kind of smile walks away to the left. She plants her cane tip down on the roof. Dirk walks slowly back to the edge of the roof and studies the intruder.]

No. I'm not going anywhere. [Maroon light ripples and spreads up his arms like the lightning spreading over the thick dark green clouds.]

There's only one way you'll get me to listen to anything. [Dirk stabs a finger at his opponent, sword held in his right hand. He brings the blade up, closing both hands around the hilt and launches forward in a blur of speed.

[S] Dirk: Reject.

ooc: Room and move set are here.]

[The room you find yourself in is small...or it should be. Despite there only being ten or so rows of pews in this church, the sanctuary stretches on near endlessly, twisting and turning in on itself and even bulging in places to create small alcoves. Scattered growths of clear quartz crystal cling to the walls, pews, even jut out of the floor into massive columns that cast a small circle of light that somehow stave off the oppressive air of fear and dread that marks the rest of the church. Everything, from the light to the objects to even those standing within are cast in stark shades of pure black and white, though details are still somehow clear despite this.]

"Our Lord, who paints the world in Red and White..."

"Who are these people? I'm surprised they didn't burn themselves on the wards coming in!"

[The pews, though empty, still hold an unseen presence. Voices fill the air, their murmurs only just audible as one passes further and further into the chamber. Though hard to pick out at first, the words become clear the further one ventures. Prayers, gossip, judgement...they pick away at flaws in appearance, stature, morality, unceasing and uncaring.]

"Guide us to our salvation, free us from our earthly sins."

"You know what that type is like. I don't care how devout you are, nothing changes what you were born with!"

[Directly ahead stands the pulpit, seemingly abandoned with a massive bible sitting open upon it. Behind is a mass of solid obsidian that engulfs a massive cross, cracked in half and fused into the fluid curves of the stone. The flow is formed into masses of flesh-like shapes, arms with wicked-looking spurs and mouths containing far too many teeth--almost reminiscent of a Fustercluck, if not for a certain uniformity to it all. In the center is a formation almost like a partially broken egg, hollow inside with a single occupant.]

[Chip scribbles furiously in a notebook, their grip on the marker in their hands white-knuckled with something like fury or grief. Before anyone can pass the third-to-final pew, their head shoots up to stare at the intruders, their eyes pitch black and empty of any light. They grit their teeth and thrust the notebook forward, and a pack of malformed monsters spring out to charge those nearest as Chip screams in defiance:]

GO AWAY!!

Edited 2019-02-02 04:39 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

Troupe Master Grimm | Open

beauregard | open

Foster | Open | Mind the CW

Alexei Dinoia | Open