lifeaftr | May Intro: I'll Be Scrolling Through Your Shrine

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May Intro: I'll Be Scrolling Through Your Shrine

INTRO LOG: MAY

Who: New arrivals, and you!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: May 4th and onward
Where: Ensō
Warnings: Mark as needed!

With potentially odd dreams connecting you to people you've never met, in addition to the dream-lecture only recently received from a horned rabbit, LifeAftr surely doesn't need to try to be disconcerting upon arrival - and yet, it somehow continues to go the extra mile. While new arrivals will find themselves upon the now (mostly) safe shores of Ensō, there is one, small problem with where, precisely, they've happened to appear.

Chamber of Glyphs: It Was Written On Your Wall
Within the temple of the Storyteller, one may find a very special room. Betwixt the reality of waking and dreams, the Chamber of Glyphs appears to hold many unique features that allow it to appear wherever one may seek it, both in waking and sleep.

It is not, however, a good room to arrive within. Those seeking out the newest members of LifeAftr's adventuring party - and those who are simply looking to draw - will be greeted, upon entering the Chamber of Glyphs, with the most alarming sight. The small pile of backpacks, unattended, might be the first thing you notice, as well as the fact that they all seem to be adorned with names of those you might not know. Or the names of those that you do, but haven't seen in some time. Perhaps you met them in a dream...

And those of you who are newly arrived, you'll be able to see them searching. Unable to break the barrier between you with sound, you might feel the urge to wave your hands for attention, attracting searching eyes to the walls. Walls that you are now a part of. Hopefully this reduction to the second dimension is only temporary.

Those who took part in April's Test Drive Meme may have the benefit of familiarity, for what is etched onto the walls of the Chamber are never lacking life, regardless of the matter used to draw, paint, or sketch those contents.

With maneuverability somewhat akin to a sidescroller - always left or right, up and down, but never outward - the variety of scenes, animals, places, objects, and more are simply all the more to your advantage. Leap to the vantage point necessary to be noticed, as your fellow adventurers may be able to help you out of this predicament with a simple offer of their hand to tug you off the wall. It's an easy solution to your predicament, at least! All they need to do is take your hand to free you from your two-dimensional containment.

If it proves more difficult...well, at the least they know you're there to point out thanks to a very tired Storyteller, who will be certain to let anyone in the vicinity know that you're in need of help within the Chamber of Glyphs, before one of the many, many monsters that have been scribbled onto stone lay claim to you instead.

What kind of monsters, you ask? All of them, of course.

Ensō: Rain Hell
But maybe you don't wake up written on the walls! Maybe you're just relieved to get unstuck from those walls and need a breath of fresh air. Or maybe you don't have any reason to go poking around in search of new arrivals at all. That does not mean, however, that you won't be encountering a new arrival of your own in the interim.

The sky is clouded over and gray, despite the sun overhead and the generally warm weather. The nights are filmed over with a screen of pale dust. This has little to do with the forecast and more to do with the volcanic eruption that occurred just a few weeks prior, on another island in the archipelago. You don't need to worry about the nature of the ash still drifting on the wind currents - aside from the more standard obstruction of sight and airways, it is, at this point, more or less perfectly ordinary. Though if you've got some fragile lungs, you might want to stay out of it as much as possible.

More important is the creature that the hazy cast of ash and dust has coaxed out of hiding. Perhaps you've heard of it in folklore: resplendent with dark gray, furry wings, and glistening red eyes. Or, perhaps, you're less fortunate, and you've no cultural experience regarding the strange monster known colloquially only as...Mothman.

At over seven feet tall and with a wingspan of about fifteen feet, the Mothman makes for far more fearsome a sight than it does a threat. For all intents and purposes, despite the devilish red of its glowing eyes and its large, hairy stature, the Mothman is ultimately quite harmless. It does, however, tend to inspire paranoia in fear in the hearts and minds of those it encounters. And this smokescreen in the air has created the perfect environment for it to hunt.

It doesn't want your flesh, or your bones, or anything so base. It only wants your mind, in a sense; your fear and whatever primal terror it may ignite by preying on your paranoia. It will stalk you, rustling the leaves behind you, snapping twigs to your left, allowing you a glimpse of bright crimson eyes before dispersing into the surrounding, ashy murk. The good news is that once it has you scared, it has no intention of sticking around - and its wings makes it incredibly fast, when it wants to be. Anyone who attempts to attack it directly will discover just how speedy it can be, assuming that the air from its wingbeats don't end up pinning you flat to the ground from the sheer force.

The Mothman can be killed, most likely...but there are a lot of you, and only one cryptid for an entire island. It's not likely to want to stay in one place if it feels it's outnumbered, or that it's about to be attacked by someone who isn't so easily stricken by the fear and suspicion it endeavors to ignite. Those who wish to escape it can at least take heart in the fact that the Mothman abhors open spaces, largely preferring the sanctuary of woodland and greenery; all one has to do is reach Ensō's shores to be largely safe from its influence.

Though you could try killing it too, of course. If you wanted.

All new arrivals will awake with knapsacks, their names stitched to the front. The contents of said knapsacks can all be found in your acceptance notices!

As a final note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme, bear in mind that those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Klaus has been alone before, and hoofing it without Ben being tethered to him isn't completely foreign in concept, but generally he's... a lot less conscious of his surroundings when Ben isn't around. Right now, they've separated, however that works, and Klaus happens to have foolishly committed himself to trying out this whole being sober for real thing, and it... feels weird.

Feels weird to feel that itch at the base of his skull and that budding migraine and that dry feeling in his mouth without a voice reminding him to breathe.

Speaking of.

While Klaus is distracting himself from his fears by biting at his fingernails (and trying to play it off as casual, lamenting slightly that he now lacks anything to replace the polish on there afterward), he, uh, sure overhears someone panicking in the forest. It's a sound you don't forget after long enough in inpatient—a sound of agitation so viral it could probably be classified as bio-warfare.

He accidentally worsens a hangnail, makes a displeased noise at it, and then rounds the tree to the guy on the floor. He crouches down in front of him, trying to not actually startle him by appearing too suddenly.]

Hey. Hey, hey. Count your breathing. One to four in, one to four out.

[And... okay, time to dig in the new bag.

Klaus pulls out a roll of... nondescript cloth. Sure, okay.]

Here. You know how to do the... concentrate on texture thing?

[Yeah, he's not perfect on this side of things either, sue him. At least he's trying?

That might change once he realizes the object of this guy's fear is still very much present.]

[Words reach him as though through a cloud, separated by several inches of solid dissociation. Everything feels as though it's moving slower than it should, and the other party comes into focus with a frustrating inconsistency.]

[When the picture gradually sharpens, he can't say he recognizes what's behind it. A guy who looks like he must be new - he doesn't recognize him in the slightest - holding out a strip of cloth, having decided to help Tim for some ungodly, undefined reason. Maybe Tim just looked like he needed the help, like the pathetic son of a bitch he is.]

[He grits his teeth, rolling his head back.]

You don't see it?

[Klaus is about to double down on trying to calm this guy down, because, well, while he's familiar with seeing things no one else can see, he's also very familiar with actual hallucinations. And the former usually never applies to anyone but him.

But then he spots something out of the corner of his eye, like a pair of bright red flashlights glowing through the trees. He visibly recoils from its direction.]

Jesus H. Christ, okay, okay, I see it! Okay! Cool! We're all seeing it!

[He'll probably have a hard time calming down anyone if he's also freaking out at full shout-whisper. Whoops!

The red eyes disappear and Klaus grips the cloth himself, hands a little shaky as he wrings it nervously.]

Okay, I've got an even better idea. Let's leave.

[WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE DUDE!!!]

[So he's not losing his mind independent of everything else. This is more typical than for it to be a shared hallucination, but he's not about to complain. He needs to get out of here, clearly, but his legs are locked in the spot and some part of him seems to want to regress to the eight-year-old mentality of if you can't see it, it can't get you.]

[It doesn't work like that. He knows it doesn't.]

I can't.

[But he gets up anyway, dragging one hand up across the trunk of the tree he's braced against, and using it to lever himself wobblingly upright.]

[See, there's fight, flight, and freeze, and Klaus is so practiced at flight that it hardly occurs to him that anyone else wouldn't opt for that at a moment's notice. Despite the fact that most of his family tends to opt for fight. RIP.]

What do you mean you can't!? I'm— Okay, full disclosure, I am completely unarmed and the best I can handle these days is an intermediate bar brawl. Unless you can secretly summon Cthulhu to fight for you I'm not really confident in our chances if we stick around!

[Because why wouldn't a freaky monster thing with giant red eyes be trying to kill them. That just seems like the obvious conclusion.]

[Shutting his eyes only makes it worse, so he opens them again. The physical weight of his own anxiety is like a noose around his neck, nausea boiling in his guts. Running is safer. Run, get out, get away from the woods, away from the thing behind him, but there's no guarantee it won't follow. He'd gone to the jungle because that was instinct, even if it didn't mean safety. The opposite, really. Nothing good ever happens in the woods.]

[That doesn't mean he isn't still drawn there, inevitably.]

Then run. [He's still trying to master his breathing. It isn't really working.] Nothing's keeping you here to help me.

I guess not, but...

[Don't appeal to his selfishness here, Tim, he won't be happy about it. Well, he will for a few hours, but then the guilt will hit.

Klaus lets out an agitated groan and thrusts the cloth at the guy with more insistence.]

Okay, grab this, it'll be like we're holding hands without any of the cooties. And I'll just... lead. You don't have to do shit other than put one foot in front of the other.

Why are you -

[He drops it. He's moving slowly, steadily, but he is moving, though the breath is taut in his lungs. His chest feels too constricted, the cadence of his breathing too uneven and too rapid. He picks up the cloth because it feels like at least then that'll get them both moving, though his eyes are still too wide and unfocused.]

I can still walk, but I'm going - my lungs're - I am going to slow you down and I can't help that.

I don't give a shit, and I'd be surprised if your lungs were any worse than mine.

[And with that, Klaus starts dragging him through the trees. If Tim stumbles or hesitates, he'll fidget anxiously, but he won't leave him, okay.

Even as his own breathing starts to get shakier. His—stupid fucking brain won't leave him alone right now. The whole... tropical jungle thing isn't helping.]

Strength in... numbers. Or something.

[Mostly in that the extraneous numbers will die in your stead, but. He's trying very hard not to think about that.]

[Tim doesn't stop, though he's definitely more of a hindrance than a help at this point, breaking periodically to cough into one closed fist. Running from something he can't see, accompanied by someone whose name he doesn't know, on the verge of collapse - yeah, this feels like old fucking times.]

Move for th - beach. That way.

[He points vaguely with his free hand before devolving into yet another storm of coughing.]

[Weirdly, the periodic coughing is kind of taking the edge off. It's a familiar sound in the crowds Klaus runs in, so he can just. Force himself to fixate on the memory of days spent stoned on a stranger's couch rather than being back in the tropics and running for his life.

Better sound than gunfire, anyway.

He stifles a couple coughs himself, though not nearly as severe. Half the ash and half not having had anything to smoke in a bit, but he knows the cough'll get worse the longer he goes without.]

Great, love a good beach outing—

[Apparently he still has half a mind to make a dumb joke, which is a good sign. Keeps pulling Tim along, this time with an actual destination in sight.]

I think it's only the trees -

[He doesn't get any further than that before his lungs decide to leave him almost retching onto the ground. He recovers remarkably well, all things considered. Meaning he doesn't end up losing his dinner on the dirt, again.]

It stays in the trees. I think. I don't kn -

[He might be thinking about the wrong cryptid. He probably is.]

[Useless.]

[Hey, Klaus isn't one to question this. If it stays in the trees, it stays in the trees.]

Well, let's hope.

[Klaus does venture a couple of firm back pats to help with the coughing fit. Gives him a minute.

And they continue. As the sand in the distance comes closer, becoming less of a horizon and something more immediate:]

Alright, alright, we're nearly there, we're—

[Great time for a shadow to apparently manifest itself alarmingly close, as the creature gets in one last little hurrah. Klaus immediately stumbles in his shock, thankfully (or not) not losing grip of the cloth connecting the two of them.]

Shit. Shit shit shit.

[He can't even think of a stupid quip right now, his brain feels like it's been dunked in boiling oil. He is trying very hard not to curl up into a ball and just shake for a while, mostly because that's what he's trying to keep the other guy from doing.

The attempt is a... partial success.]

[He'd tell Klaus to stop touching him if he could manage the words, but as it is he only glares. The way he's trembling with exhaustion probably undercuts the sentiment nicely.]

[Then Tim jerks on the spot, panicked and abrupt, his heart leaping into his throat. Those red searchlight eyes, glaring at him like stop signs - at least it has eyes. That's what saves him. He wrenches forward, more or less bulling on past it in an effort to get to the beach. It has a face. It has wings. It has fur. It isn't thin and reaching out and up toward the sky, blending in between the trees effortlessly.]

[It isn't the one thing he is afraid of. It's just near enough to it for it to hurt.]

Don't look at it. Close your eyes and don't look at it.

[Klaus got as far as using the cloth over holding hands, but he's still woefully touch-starved enough that he loses track of everyone else's boundaries sometimes. He doesn't make an indication he noticed the glare, but he does silently file it away. This isn't his first rodeo.

His grip on the cloth is beginning to tremble, palms beginning to ache from fingernails digging in as his free hand comes up to his head. Covering an ear to protect himself from a sound only he can hear.]

Okay. Okay. Okay.

[His legs are still moving, but not doing a decent enough job at it. His eyes aren't closed. He thinks they are. He focuses on repeating that word, trying to will it into reality.

The sand seemed so close a moment ago.]

Come on. Just keep following my voice. Can you hear me?

[He's not cut out for this. For being the stabilizing influence. He's so laughably and inconsolably unstable himself, pretty much all the time, and now he has to keep this other guy from keeling over. He was all ready to help Tim out of the apparent goodness of his heart and the least Tim can do is return the favor.]

You're still looking. I'll tell you when we're clear.

[Then again, trust is a big ask. He knows that by experience.]

You sound like my mom.

[Not in the tone such a sentiment usually is. It's said in a vacant way, a way that makes it more clear he's being literal. He's not sure if the one talking knows what he means, especially considering his voice is generally so much deeper than Klaus' mother's, but he doesn't bother to clarify.

But he follows the sound of Grace's voice. It's muffled, but it's there. If he focuses on it hard enough maybe he won't hear anything else ever again. Wouldn't that be nice.

Alright. Still looking, okay, he moves his free hand to cover his eyes instead. Presses his thumb in a little too hard over his eyelids.]

I'm. Uh. Uh-huh.

[He tries to talk because that's what he does, but really he's just filling space and can't come up with the right words to do it.]

[Guess he really is the fucking dad friend now. Great. How old is this dude? He can't be any older than Tim. Tim might actually be older than him - he's just shorter than most people.]

[He tenses when he glimpses it again, in the corner of his vision. Looks stubbornly away with his jaw set. Just keep going.]

Hey. Are you still there?

[He sounds like he's maybe not altogether there, mentally, which is a problem. Tim reaches over, grabs his shoulder, and gives it a shake.]

Stay with me, here.

[Surprise he's a year older than you, which means it's his turn on the Nintendo, Tim.

Klaus takes a moment to take a breath, slowly. Then the guy shakes him a little, which isn't as jarring as it could be. The contact helps.]

Yeah. I'm here, I'm here.

[He wipes his fingers away from his eyes and opens them again, looking directly for the man's face. It's not familiar, his voice isn't Grace's, the words aren't like her. Really, it's more like Ben talking him down from a flashback, but with added physical contact. Again, that helps.

So Klaus wipes some sweat away from his face a bit uselessly, and starts hazarding steps forward again.]

We're good, we're just gonna have a little vacation on the beach. Not even one of those... shit rock-covered beaches—and I mean that, seagulls just love shitting on those rocks.

[Yeah, that whole thing? Never happened, clearly. Klaus is Fine.]

[Well, he's talking, which is a good sign. He's not the sort to tell people to indiscriminately shut up, so if talking makes it easier for Klaus to get by, then by all means - chatter away. For once, no one's going to complain about it.]

[He can hear the waves. Smell the salt on the air. This isn't much - you can hear the waves almost anywhere on Ensō. But he's getting close. They're getting close.]

You ever been to the beach?

[Idle small talk. As if he's ever been any good at that. The moth-like wings flare up in the corner of his vision again and he flinches and shuts his eyes.]

[The small talk is appreciated. Anything to concentrate on other than—

Klaus catches the glimpse of those wings too, and he stumbles a bit, barely catching himself and forcing his legs to keep trudging along. His voice is shaky.]

Maybe. No, yeah, I'm pretty sure. I remember seeing it, don't remember going or... what happened after. At least twice.

[Sometimes people are going on road trips and sometimes you invite yourself along and sometimes you really don't remember much of any of it. You know, as you do.]

Seems like a nice place to be.

It can get old pretty fast if you're stuck here. But it's not bad.

[He'd never seen the ocean before he ended up here. Alabama wasn't strictly speaking landlocked, but he never really had the means to travel. Never had the clearance to, growing up, and once he was an adult - where would he go? Why would he go?]

[At least you can say he's gotten some traveling done now, huh?]

Look, see? We're almost there.

[Waves, visible between the trees. Stretches of sand, white and glistening.]

[Klaus is from the opposite end of the spectrum, where he couldn't travel growing up, not without clearance to even leave the house, and then when he got fed up and left he dove headfirst into an impulsive lifestyle with unreputable folks who see no harm in dragging people across state lines no matter how sober they are or aren't at the time.

He's been around, he just doesn't remember most of it.]

Can't be worse than the fucking jungle.

[It's the first time he readily admits he is extremely bothered by their current surroundings. The first time he actually lets genuine distress enter his tone.

But he moves on quickly. Literally, in that his speed picks up the instant Tim points out the beach visible between the trees.]

God, look at that. Dibs on the first beachfront hammock. I'm gonna get wet sand in my ass and I'm gonna love it.

[Doesn't like woodland. Well, Tim can relate. He hates it, but - he feels safer there than he does almost anywhere else. A sick leftover instinct he can't entirely shake. Lucky for him, huh.]

[He can feel the pressure of those red-coal eyes heavy on his back as they take their first steps out from the cover of the jungle, into the open air, and he breathes in, a slow pull of the littoral air that's begun to taste familiar thanks to what's coming around to be years of acclimatization.]

[His heart-rate isn't slowing, but at least it can't sneak up on them out here.]

Some people do have hammocks. Not sure there's any up for grabs anymore.

[Nothing about the jungle is safe. Between the heat and the trees, trees that are so easy to hide behind, to hide traps around, to catch someone unexpecting. Usually Klaus. Or someone Klaus is with.

He's never not paranoid in the jungle, and he didn't need Mothman's help, but it's all just compounding to make it much, much worse.

So when they finally breach the threshold of the sand, the sound of the waves drown out everything else. The tenseness in his entire body releases all at once, and he just sort of flops down onto the sand.]

I'll steal a hammock then. I'm past caring now. If I get kicked out that's a problem for future Klaus.

May Intro: I'll Be Scrolling Through Your Shrine

i, remembers to press enter a full 24 hours after writing this

IT HAPPENS

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