Returning Island: Monsun

[lifeaftr_mods]

RETURNING ISLAND: MONSUN

Who: Everyone!
What: Monsun returns to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: December 20th, and onward
Where: Two sides of the same coin...
Warnings: Warnings for ifestiphobia (fear of lava); please mark if anything else comes up!

We Collide from Too Great a Distance
Ah, Monsun. For the uninitiated, this island has one very simple and very crucial "quirk." You see, it is neatly divided into two sides by the river running through its center. One is lush and rich in resources, but tends to bring out the very worst of you, while the other is a catastrophe-riddled desert that brings out all your best qualities.

At least...this is usually the case. Things are a bit different this time around. For one, that rich, wooded area on the east side of the island? It's no longer the peaceful place it was. It has now been rendered a frozen wasteland. It looks like it's been blasted into an ice age. The trees are now hulking glaciers; the moderate, pleasant temperature has dropped to freezing. The more placid prey creatures distinct to this region don't seem to be present; instead, you can expect to run into beasts that wouldn't look out of place in an ice age: colossal woolly mammoths, horned aurochs, massive dire wolves, sabre-toothed cats, and others of that ilk. These creatures are not innately hostile, but most will not take very kindly to foreign entities trespassing on their lands. Unfortunately, despite the unrelenting cold and the decreased amount of resources, the eastern half of the island is still rather hard on the psyche. The ordinary drawback of hanging around on Monsun's eastern half - your worst traits coming to bear - is not present at the moment. Instead, if you spend an overt amount of time in the area, you can expect a certain change to take place.

While your worst self won't be making an appearance (unless it does so of its own accord, that is), a different aspect of you will: your worst fears will manifest in sharp relief the longer you stay on this side of the island. If it's a person, you can expect to see them following you, popping up in your periphery, and more or less stalking you. If it's a place or a more abstract concept, you might start seeing parts of it "leaking" into the surrounding landscape in small patches. The strength of this fear's manifestation is directly proportional to how much time one spends on this side of the island. If you stay too long, this fear might grow tangible to others as well as to you - and it might grow capable of exacting genuine physical damage to you and to others.

Optionally, your body may also begin to reflect physical properties inherent to the region. This can be as simple as a thin layer of semi-permanent frost that settles over you, and as complex as sprouting icicle horns and spines all over your body. The only limit is your imagination! These changes can be as painful or painless, as immediate or protracted, as the player prefers.

These changes will recede once one leaves this part of the island. They can fade gradually or immediately upon departure.

We Won't Survive Unless We Are Nothing
The western half isn't much better. The scorching desert has been replaced with something even more extreme, and possibly familiar to those of who you have been around here for long enough. It's now a blasted, scorched landscape; the parts of the land still traversable are little more than seared patches of coal and rock. All around you, rivers of magma seethe in haphazard, highly volatile tributaries. At irregular points, parts of the land detach seemingly at random and drift into the air, as though decoupled from the island's gravity. Heavy chunks of charred rock hover in midair, though it's not clear how it is they remain suspended.

All in all, the place is a wasteland of volcanic corruption. Here, the land is periodically rocked with earthquakes that spurt fountains of lava into the air in burning arcs and further fracture what little solid ground you have, causing more of it to break away from the ground and bob listlessly in the empty air. The temple of the local Avatar of Balance can be found on this side, and in spite of the harsh elements, you will find it intact...and the avatar accessible inside.

If the natural disasters plaguing this region don't kill you, it's possible that the natural fauna will. Occasionally, the exposed magma will form fiery creatures of all shapes and sizes...and these beasts are very much hostile. They can and often will attack you on sight. The ordinary benefit of hanging around on Monsun's western half - your best traits coming to bear - is not present at the moment. Instead, if you spend an overt amount of time in the area, you may start seeing your fondest dreams manifesting in sharper relief the longer you stay on this side of the island. If this is best encapsulated in a person, you can expect to see them following you, popping up in your periphery, and following you around. If it's a place or a more abstract concept, you might start seeing parts of it "leaking" into the surrounding landscape in small patches. The strength of this dream's manifestation is directly proportional to how much time one spends on this side of the island. If you stay too long, you risk growing so attached that you won't want to leave...

Optionally, your body may begin to reflect physical properties inherent to the region. This can be as simple as a fiery shimmer bathing your silhouette, or as complicated and invasive as your skin becoming blackened and veined with magma. The only limit is your imagination! These changes can be as painful or painless, as immediate or protracted, as the player prefers.

These changes will recede once one leaves this part of the island. They can fade gradually or immediately upon departure.

Two Different Suns that Set Along the Same Dark Road
Of course, there's a lot going on in the background as well. Characters are not required to go to Monsun; you're free to explore any other minor events listed on our Monthly Rundown post. You are also always free to create your own individual logs and posts as needed!

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask them over on our Monthly Rundown post!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

Aziraphale | Good Omens | OTA

[salutosinedelectat]

I. Make your blood run cold [Monsun, Eastern side]

Each one to either side, meet back by the river - that's what the angel and the demon planned. Aziraphale had taken the time to examine the maps at the library so that, this time, they at least had some point of reference for whatever they were getting into. There were notes of the effects the island had on its visitors, what to find through most of it, being careful not stray too far, just in case. Lots of planning, lots of preparation (including a new coat for the angel, as temporary as it might be).

You would think they would have learned by now that their plans never did go, well, as planned.

The angel does really mind trudging through the snow and the chilly weather - he's definitely not a fan, but he can do as much. He's still getting used to the new limitations and inescapable sensations his corporation is forced to face nowadays, but at least the demon had helped him prepare for such weather, as the angel could not.

He's fascinated by the creatures he finds, the kind humans had written in their natural history books and theorized for centuries (despite the fact that they were very much not real, but merely a joke). He's careful not to approach them, but he can't help but to watch them and their oh-so-real manifestation.

Then, suddenly, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He swears he sees figures in the snowy fields, watching him, humanoid in shape. Familiar in a way that makes his blood run cold - although that might be the frost that insists in covering his cheeks and his nose, despite the amount of times he wipes it off. There's bits of it jutting out of his skin in tiny, tiny spikes, that he swears is anything but natural--

Suddenly, the figures aren't merely silhouettes in the distance. They're very, very real, very familiar faces. He mutters their names, utterly confused by their presence. They don't seem to pay it any mind when he smiles politely and nervously, mind racing toward a way to escape this situation and warn his friend, before anything else--


Suddenly, the wind stops blowing. There's no longer snow crunching under his shoes. He finds himself in a white hallway, white and fluorescently lit and bland.

And the familiar faces are walking right his way.

II. Fire and Brimstone...sort of [ Monsun, around the center, facing the Western side]

A few days later, he's back on the island. And, by the looks of it, with a lot less pep in his step.

He's not too far from the river, a few ways away into the western side, this time. He knows what to actually expect from it this, time, but he's not too keen into succumbing into...rather relevant, rather real "hallucinations".

But he's heard word that the god of this island is toward this side. He can't begin to imagine why, taking a glance at the terrain and feeling less and less sure about his capability to thread through it the more he looks at it.

A deep breath, and a straightening of his bow tie, and he's ready. Mostly. He begins his journey--suddenly interrupted by a strange gurgling roar by what looks like a vaguely humanoid lava creature.

Oh, hell.


III. Can't escape the spirit [ Yellow mistletoe; Enso, around the Denny/Library/Mana Pool]

That's enough of Monsun, thank you. He's going to keep to Enso, which, despite its array of strange fauna and residents, it still seems to be the more calm of the islands so far.

Still, he finds himself in a rather...sour mood. His own newfound limitations - unable to perform most kinds of miracles to improve his day-to-day, finding himself tired and/or hungry, unable to easily navigate this space - frustrating him in ways he hadn't expressed until now. The food and drink lacking, the library barely qualifying as one, the strange sounds from the jungle, the simply being here.

While he keeps most of his feelings pent up inside, his fowl mood is quite clear in his expression. Should he be approached, his tone might be polite, but cold, his words more critical than usual.

He's probably going to regret this later. Right now, he doesn't care.

IV. And so on [Tag what you want]

Throughout the week, besides the aforementioned locations, Aziraphale can be found in the islets, often transversing between them and the area around the Denny. He's also taken a somewhat semi-permanent space in the library, often found there studying what books and maps he can find.

Sometimes, specially between the 20th and the 25th, he can be found resting by mana pools.

I.5 - The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl the Sequel

[agathokakological]

Crowley's day went much differently than the angel's. For starters, it was much, much warmer. Crowley was comfortable in warmer temperatures, having been exposed to hellfire quite a bit. It only made sense that he would take the western side, but he was sure to send Aziraphale off to traverse the east well-prepared (Couldn't let Aziraphale get too cold).

Crowley would admit he may have spent a little too much time in the hellscape that was western Monsun, it had given him his most beloved possession, the Bentley, and he imagined he'd driven it for hours, long enough to realize he might have made Aziraphale worry. That, and the only thing better than having the car back would be to see Aziraphale properly happy, and maybe the western side held something for the angel as well. He had to let him know.

Crowley raced back to the center in search of the angel, not realizing that he had taken on some notable changes in the time he spent exploring. His skin cracked with magma in a way that looked almost painful, but Crowley had hardly noticed.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale made his way back to the river at around the same time. His exploration of the eastern side of the island had gone considerably less pleasant than the demon's travels to the west, and not in ways that he really had expected.

Heaven. Heaven had manifested in the snowy fields, the white, empty halls, the ideas of belonging and not belonging tugging at his psyche, the fear of being found out, the idea of Eternity or the End, not of the world, but of them. The fear that it all had been for naught. The idea that it wasn't over.

Someway, somehow, he had managed to pry himself from this visages, leaving him lost and disorientated before he had gotten his bearings and headed back.

There's falkes of snow in his hair and over his coat. His colors pale, not entirely uncomfortably so, small spikes like icicles beginning to form on his cheeks, and larger ones in his hair, like horns. He hasn't quite noticed, focused on getting back instead.

When he looks over and sees the demon approaching , a much needed wave of relief washes over him.

II

[blindfoster]

Quentin is mostly glad to be out of the cold. And the waking nightmares. You know. Both those things. Frost still clings to his skin, or well, has patterned his skin in a way that would be quite pretty if he weren't worried about it being a sign of permanent frostbite.

Of course, not freezing may be positive and all, but the whole lava monster thing is a problem, which is why he settled a Don't Look Here over himself to keep him masked and away. But apparently he's not the only one having the lava creature problem.

Aziraphale may notice a rock come flying out of seemingly nowhere right at the creature, past it and skittering. The lava monster looks away and in that second, Quentin steps into view, releasing the spell only to recast it, this time over both himself and Aziraphale. It starts with a hurried chant of a nursery rhyme 'Old King Cole was a merry old soul, a merry old soul was he. He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl and that's probably why he was merry to begin with.' ...well, a nursery rhyme with commentary, and then the scent of steel and heather. "Keep quiet, okay? And keep close. If we keep quiet, it can't see us."

[salutosinedelectat]

There is a lot that happens in a very short amount of time, and you'd think he would have gotten used to this sort of thing by now.

The rock, the creature - which is very much made of molten hot magma - and the sudden appearance of Quentin. The angel barely has time to properly process what the hell is going on around him before he's being told to be quiet.

He falters, but keeps his voice low. "What exactly did you just do?"

Zidane Tribal | OTA

[atailoftwoworlds]

[Finally……he was out of there. The overwhelming fear that something terrible is going to happen to everyone…..it was beginning to leave. His heart was still filled with overwhelming anxiety, though.

Zidane took several deep breaths. He needed to get himself together. What he saw was not real. The others would have gone through the same thing and he has to calm down in order to help them.

And then he heard a voice, one he had not heard in so long but he would never forget. Not in a million years.
And suddenly, he saw her. The girl he loved with all his heart. She ran to him crying, telling him that he had been gone so long that she thought he was dead. How did he live when the Iifa Tree went wild like that? He apologised and let her stay in his arms while she wept with joy.

He looked around. It occurred to him that this wasn’t the volcanic area of Monsun but it was so familiar.

Zidane suddenly realised where he was. He was not in Monsun. In fact, he was in the grounds of Alexandria Castle. So that meant….

Later, when someone enters the scene, when Zidane’s dreams are more tangeable, they will find themselves in a grand garden with a large river. A castle can be seen in the background but sitting by the river on the steps is Zidane and a young girl about his age The girl’s head is rested against Zidane’s shoulder. She has stopped crying and is quietly humming the same song Zidane heard earlier. The song from her birthplace. The song Zidane occasionally hummed to himself to remind himself that he would see her again one day.

Suddenly, the girl stops and looks up at him, smiling.] It’s been such a long time, hasn’t it?

You’re right. I would have come back earlier. Just some….stuff got in the way. Sorry ‘bout that, Dagger.

Well, what matters is that you’re alive. Besides…..you’re home now……where you belong…

[It is the last part that catches him by surprise. He stares at her.]

You know. [she adds, a warm smile.] The one you were looking for all your life. So you wouldn’t feel alone anymore….It’s with me, right?

[Zidane stares at her. He wanted to tell her. He had to tell her, no matter how scary it was, even though there was the fear of what would happen and how Dagger would take it. After all, there are other hurdles to cross. After all, she’s queen and he’s a thief.

And yet he cannot lie to her. He gives her a nervous grin.]

Awwww……..I guess you figured it out…….man, I was planning on telling you with a cool speech too.

[‘Dagger’ only responds by giggling.

Neither of them have noticed whoever has stumbled across the scene.]

[bitch4bitch]

[So this is... fucking weird.

Erika hasn't been on the island long - not long enough for the glimpses of familiar faces to turn to anything more, not long enough to have too much trouble reminding herself that, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Especially if she's only seeing it in flashes and glimpses.

Anyway, the point is: This is a hell of a lot more extreme than any island nonsense she's run into so far. Like, fuck, there's no way there would just be a garden like this in the middle of this place, and she doesn't make much of an effort to hide her disbelief as she looks around.

As for the girl... well, she guesses there's always the possibility of new arrivals.

But there's no ignoring where they are, and what might be going on.]

Am I interrupting something?

[atailoftwoworlds]

Eh? [Zidane glances up and almost jumps in shock.] What the...?! No way....Erika?! How did you get here? [Is that really Erika? She's on Gaia? But how?

Did she somehow get pulled to Gaia along with him instead of going back to her home world?

'Dagger', meanwhile, glances up at the strange woman, looking shocked and confused.] You...know this woman, Zidane?

Uh....yeah. It's kind of a long story. Let's say I got a little....sidetracked when I tried to get back home. Don't worry, she's a friend of mine. [And he turns back to Erika.] Do you know where you are?

[galrarm]

[ It feels a little odd to interrupt this, but... it's also very heartwarming. Shiro can't help but smile. ]

Seems like this place is treating you well.

[atailoftwoworlds]

[Hmm....that voice sounds familiar. Zidane looks up from where he was sitting. Wait, that is Shiro....

Hang on....

If Shiro is here then could it just be like Erika earlier? He really doesn't want to believe it, but...

Zidane smiles awkwardly, rubbing his head..] Uh....maybe....[This place, meaning....no, he'll check first.] Didn't expect you to be here, Shiro. How did you get here?

Alexei | OTA

[ideismo]

[I. Monsun, Eastern Side]

[Alexei has been to Monsun before, back when this half of the island had looked like it was suffering from some sort of horrible aer imbalance; he can't say he missed the place, precisely. He remembers it doing horrific things to his mood, among other problems; as such, he's actually pleasantly surprised to see that neither of those things seem to be happening here anymore - the snowy wasteland is new but ultimately no worse than the Blade Drifts back home (don't misunderstand, he's never been fond of the Blade Drifts, but literally no one was ever fond of the Blade Drifts), and while he's not precisely thriving in the cold there's more than enough to look at. He learns quickly enough that the local fauna won't attack him if he keeps his distance, and for someone who has literally no frame of reference for what a wooly mammoth is even supposed to be they're absolutely fascinating to him. He's always been a researcher at heart, and he hasn't ever disliked that aspect of this place - getting to see and experience things this far beyond anything the Empire could ever conceive of has been one of the best things about being brought here.

So for a while he's frigid but content to wander around and lose himself,and this remains the status quo until his wanderings bring him closer to the shore, until something large and silver and glittering offshore starts catching his attention out of the corner of his eye; the first several times he's content to dismiss it, to force it out of his mind as something that can't actually be there because of course it isn't, but then comes the time it flickers into being and doesn't leave.

It's something of a nonsensical structure, generously-put, a massive ring of silver jutting up perpendicular from the ocean with what seems to be a large green gemstone at its apex, hovering and surrounded by smaller, darker stones or masses encircling it; regardless, it gets a pause out of Alexei, whose breathing has gone incredibly tight and whose body has gone incredibly tense. He stops, and he...watches, and he doesn't seem aware of how low the temperature is getting, the thin sheen of frost clinging to his features, his hair; the structure is important but what matters is what the sky is doing high above, and when he finally manages to pull his gaze up enough to get a glimpse of it is when it happens.

Something far away, high above, seems to shatter, crystalline fragments sparkling in the light of day before a thick rippling bursts across the sky, cracking the sky in an odd fractal pattern before- ]

Not here.

[The words are quiet, rushed, and he's shaking his head and he's so fucking cold he can't even feel it anymore but that's a secondary problem- ]

We can't let this happen here.


[II. Monsun, Western Side]

[In all honesty, after the travesty that was the eastern side of this godforsaken island, Alexei isn't exactly thrilled about seeing what the other side has to offer; really, he pauses at the river for a long moment upon seeing the western side's...that, but ultimately he's here for a reason and that reason warrants continuing.

That reason is admittedly for the sake of finding the local deity and going HEY QUICK QUESTION WHAT THE FUCK, just...in a way that doesn't sacrifice diplomacy and won't get him smited.

Hopefully.

Anyway, he's probably even less equipped for the heat than he is the cold, but that's fine, he can live with that; he's a little less prepared for the floating rocks but that...god, he's more used to causing that sort of business than he is seeing it, and he sort of has to take a moment to stare at it and wonder if this is what it's like for everyone else dealing with-

...

He's actually not sure if the apparitions here are any better than the visions of Zaude, of the Adephagos; what he's seeing now is worse, perhaps, though for a completely different reason.

The rocks don't distort far, actually; here and there small patches of scenery shift and shimmer into something else entirely, offering glimpses of a white spire in the distance, a white-pillared courtyard adorned with flowers and vines - but none of it stays long, none of it matters, because what matters are the people.

There are several of them, some dressed in red like Alexei is but others dressed in a bright blue color; all are in uniform, however, and while maybe a couple of those in blue are familiar (from some time ago on the island, from other incidents where apparitions have made themselves known), most of them are foreign to this place. Unfamiliar to you, but not to Alexei, who has gone very still at the sight of them, not seeming to know what to do with his face.

Eventually he's addressed by one of those in blue, a young woman with long hair and Captain's insignia, who calls out to him in a bright voice.

"Commandant Alexei! Have you come to join us?"

His voice falters a bit when he responds. Not far, but enough.]

...I… Yes, of course. [...] You know I haven't wanted to keep you waiting.


[III. Wildcard]

[If there's anything you would want to do either here or with this month's prompts in general, feel free to comment with whatever and I'll roll or hit me at InstantEternity for plotting!]

I.

[blindfoster]

[Quentin stumbles upon this scene at a run -- largely because he's been fleeing the sound of hoofbeats and children's rhymes that want to chase him from the recesses of his memory -- and has absolutely no idea what he's looking at. And while he may never have met Alexei before, it's clear something isn't exactly great right now. By now his skin has taken on a pattern of frost like a vaguely glittering tattoo, but Quentin hasn't noticed.

He catches what the other man has to say.]

Let what happen? What is it?

[ideismo]

I've seen the sky break once before, like that.

[He sounds...distracted, perhaps understandably so, but that doesn't mean he's ungrateful for someone being here.]

It heralds the death of all living things. We don't have long.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum | Final Fantasy XV

[scourgingstars]

[i; eastern side; conditioned to hate]

[This was not what he had expected (hoped for?) out of Monsun. The disappointment wasn't entirely visible on Ardyn's face, but he certainly seemed less than thrilled by the state of things. Still...he couldn't feel any change worth being overly concerned about and the cold wasn't a concern to him, so perhaps some investigation was in order.]

[...Or so he'd thought, until the voices started. Easy to ignore, at first; hearing things was nothing new. But the longer he wandered what felt like Niflheim with none of the charm of a slain Astral, the clearer it became. He'd see black or silver out of the corner of his eye, hear familiar voices that grew closer and clearer--until a real and tangible figure would no longer be ignored or pushed aside. It hovered a bit off the ground, already imposing ten foot frame looming over Ardyn with wings made of blades spreading out behind him.]

[And Ardyn, immortal, possessed of unknowable power...took a step back from it.]

[ii; western side; prayer of the oracle]

[So he definitely wasn't going back to that side of the island unless it was to get the hell out of here. Ardyn wasn't someone shaken easily, but that had sure as hell accomplished something to that effect. He'd just see if he could figure out what happened to the island--if he could place where the temple was, maybe those damnable fish would have an answer. If he heard or saw anything in the midst of fires and cutting down monster after monster with a scarlet greatsword, it went unacknowledged.]

[...Of course he heard it. But he'd heard that voice countless times over the past millennia, and every time it was naught but delusion. He knew better, that the owner of that voice was long gone and beyond reach even in a place like this. Ignored that red sylleblossoms began to sprout in his wake, untouched by the heat and flames.]

[And yet when that woman appeared before him, Ardyn froze in his steps on a burning ground and nearly dropped the blade in his hand. She wasn't real. She wasn't-]

Ardyn...? [She stepped closer, uncertain and lost as she reached out to rest a gentle hand on his arm. He'd had plenty of tangible hallucinations before, but not like this. Not so grounded in reality, where the only impossible thing was--]

...Aera?

[iii; wildcard]

[i didn't forget to put in a wildcard prompt shut up]

[i; eastern side; conditioned to hate]

[shatteredlenses]

[They have history with this island. Some good, some bad, but all of it important to creating the relationship they have today. Even without such a tie to the island, seeing such great change to the basic nature of it would be worrisome. With it, the feeling moves from worrisome to flat out unsettling.

As they walk through the tundra, Ignis sinks his head farther into the collar of Ardyn's over large coat. That, at least, is familiar if nothing else is. How often has he found warmth here since Ardyn himself doesn't need it in the cold? He's honestly lost count and he's not going to run through memory at the moment when his focus is needed elsewhere to help him navigate this now unfamiliar land. Ardyn walks about a step ahead of him to gauge danger, steady footsteps giving him a familiar sound to follow in the chorus of new creaks and groans that is the icy landscape.

Because he can't see, Ignis doesn't realize exactly the effect the island is having upon them. He doesn't know that some of those creaks and groans come not from the snowbound land around them, but from quick flashes of a ruined city on the sea, reflections of a now dual fear. Where once he had only worried what his failure in Altissia would cost them, knowing what he does now has lead him to fear another thing.

What might it have cost them had he succeeded?

Perhaps, if given more time Ignis would have eventually started to notice the difference in the sounds, the smell of the sea being stronger in the air than it should be for where they are on the island, but long before that happens, Ardyn suddenly stops. Stops, and takes a step back, almost right into him. Instinctively, he reaches out to steady the redhead, voice concerned when he finally speaks.]

Ardyn, what is it?

[scourgingstars]

Stay behind me.

[His voice was strained, every inch of him as tense as a coeurl ready to attack. Altissia carried a weight of its own for Ardyn as well, and he'd chosen not to comment as the city had begun to be reflected in the snow and ice. But now? Now there was no more evading how twisted this island had become, and he didn't dare take his eyes off the armored figure floating before them.]

Something's wrong, more than just the weather. We should get out of h-

YOU STILL SEEK TO ESCAPE. [The otherworldly echoing voice--familiar to both of them--silenced Ardyn instantly and froze him solid in a way even Gentiana never could.] YOU EVER FAIL TO COMPREHEND YOUR ROLE, ADAGIUM.

tim wright | ota | i'll match your formatting

[postictal]

i. east side ; it will never hurt enough (no one will ever see these cuts)
cw: body horror

[He knows what Monsun is, and he knows it's capable of twisting him into something he doesn't want to be or see but nonetheless generally is as a rule. The month prior to this one was hell. It was absolute hell, and he thinks that he's done with it for now. He'd really, really prefer to be done with it. That's not usually how these things shake out, though, and he knows how Monsun works. You have to access it through the worst side.]

[He'll access it. He'll move quickly through to the other side. He just - didn't expect it to be freezing cold when he makes it over there. No trees. No idyllic landscapes. This isn't right.]

[This isn't right and he's about to turn around and go back to Ensō so he can dress a little more warmly for the weather when a shooting pain abruptly lances from wrist to elbow and it's so unexpected that he nearly drops to his knees. Nearly, because he steadies himself just in time. Already, his toes are going numb. And his arm - ]

[His arm looks...]

[It looks not right.]

[Tim stares for several long moments at the translucent spikes of ice now jutting out from his arm and protruding outward in a patternless spray of pink-stained white. The bases of the icicles are reddish. He can see very clearly, feel very clearly, where they've broken skin and are now bleeding red into the snow underfoot.]

[He needs to get back.]

[Another step forward and, and this time it's his knee, and this time he does end up halfway in the snow on his hands and knees. The chill isn't quite so searing, but everything else still hurts and he'd prefer not to be completely mutated into something he doesn't want to be, actually - ]

[It is, all in all, a pretty fucking painful transformation that doesn't stop until Tim literally has one hand on the edge of the mana pool. And by then...well, it's kind of pointless to turn back, isn't it?]

[About seventy-five percent of his surface area looks like it's been skinned in blueish frost, spreading fractal-like from the points where icicle-like protrusions have shot out of patches of his skin and from certain joints. They're arranged in haphazard, asymmetrical sprays of glistening, pinkish ice. One cheek and part of his jaw has been sheathed in crystalized granules. His left shoulder's bristling with what feels like thousands of the spike-like jags of ice. His right arm from the elbow down has been encased almost entirely in the stuff, though his hand has thankfully retained most of its sensation despite the fact that it's now slightly bigger and more unwieldy than he's used to. The parts of him left untouched still have a considerably cooler pallor than usual, making him look almost ashen beneath his shock of dark hair. ]

[He also seems, helpfully, immune to the cold.]

[So that's nice.]

[He doesn't feel that much different in the psychological sense. Doesn't feel that much more panicky, or that much more of an unapologetic jerk. Though whether or not he'd actually feel the difference is kind of up in the air. If this is the trade-off, though, he'll take it. He'd rather look like...uh, whatever this is than be the worst version of himself.]

[Then again, maybe he'll get to be that eventually anyway.]

[He starts walking.]

[Monsun's changed. He intends to find out why, and how.]

ii. east side ; that motherfucker he took everything we had
cw: extreme psychological trauma, utilitarian self-harm, suicide ideation

[He's still this ungodly icy monstrosity, but at least he's not snapping out at thin air or being eaten alive by his own festering paranoia, so Tim will call this an improvement, by most standards. For about thirty minutes, he makes the trek through Monsun's frozen eastern side in relatively uninterrupted solitude. He steers clear from any animals when he sees them. He's not sure how fragile he'd be in a fight, and he's currently not armed.]

[He'd come here unarmed on purpose. He didn't want anyone running afoul of him while he was at his worst. He can already imagine what they'd say to that, what their reaction to that idiocy would be. They wouldn't even be surprised. They'd just be frustrated and they'd couch their concern in disgust and condescension and he shouldn't - it's dangerous to think about things like that in this place, in this time, at any time, basically, because it just takes his memory and his mind down routes better off not taken. He has to keep walking and he has to make it to the other side of Monsun. He can see it faintly on the horizon, lighting up the frozen landscape in a band of reddish light bleeding into the surrounding sky. If things here are cold, he can only imagine the kind of hellish heat that must be on the other side.]

[An artificial chill runs down the length of his spine - one that has nothing to do with the cold. He doesn't feel it, currently. Not the cold. Not the ordinary cold.]

[He goes very, very still.]

[He knows what that is. Knows - why it's there.]

[He does not turn around.]

[He can feel It at his back, feel Its stare at the back of his head. Disaffected, so far removed from any conceivable human emotion that he feels every atom in him shiver.]

[If he turns around, he knows what he'll see.]

[He does not turn around.]

[He - ]

[He keeps walking.]

[He can feel It at his back. It's following at a distance, but he doesn't expect that to last.]

[All this time. All this time he wasn't, he couldn't be, he could never be certain that It couldn't follow, but he hasn't seen It now in years. In years. And now he can feel Its bone-chill eating at the back of his neck as It watches him, abstract and unknowable and alien. His head starts to hurt, like bolts slammed through his temples. Building like a voltage differential, building like the taste of ozone and the tang of adrenaline. Itching at pieces of his mind that have scabbed over, lighting up the places in his brain that have been dark for years, for years.]

[He shuts his eyes, powering forward. If he can get to the other side - ]

[He opens his eyes, and It's in front of him.]

[Tim screams. The sound's ripped from him apropos of nothing and he falls backwards, one hand deformed by ice coming up sharply as though to shield himself from Its gaze, to ward it away.]

[He starts to cough.]

[He can feel tears blurring his vision. It's coming closer, god, It's coming closer and he can't move. His limbs feel locked. He's coughing, retching into the snow, and he needs to get up and run but he can feel the sheer, unremitting pressure of Its thoughts or whatever it has that passes for thoughts skewering him through his fucking skull and he wants to scream he wants to run he wants to do anything anything at all but lie here passively for It to reach into his head and rip him open because he will come open to It he knows he will he cannot help it it is what he is and what It made him to be It made him to open to It and It will rip what It wants from his head and It will remake him into something horrifying into something terrible into something ugly uglier than what he is now which feels like it shouldn't be possible but that's almost surely surely a failure of imagination on his part he knows it is and he does not want this he can't withstand this he can't let It he will not let It he is determined determined to a fault that was one of his flaws and one of his assets wasn't it? It was he's certain it was and he can make this into his one power his one skill his one shield against this. This is what he will do he will break one of the icicles off his arm with a cold snap and it hurts yes well it would hurt wouldn't it now that it's a part of him and it's growing out of him or whatever the fuck you'd call it that was done to him the point is that now he has a spike in his hand and it is pointed and it is sharp and he can turn it around and position it just over his chest no better to go for the throat better to slam it in like a coffin nail the one place it will surely do the most damage in one go and this is what he will do he will breathe in and he will prepare himself for this and he will make it sharp and make it quick and then It will not have him does It hear him? It will not have him he will make this his last final act of defiance against It and all It stands for It will not have him and It will not have this and if he dies here that'll be fine and it'll be preferred even though he knows he always comes back and well if he comes back that'll be fine too as long as It doesn't come through with him and if It does he'll just have to commit to this all over again and that'd hardly be the worst thing he's ever had to do so it's fine it's fine it's fine he can breathe through the static in his skull and he can position the icicle just against his throat and it bites coldly against his skin he can do this.]

[He just needs enough strength enough strength to ram it through something vital.]

[He just needs enough strength to do this even a coward like him can manage it can't he?]

iii. west side ; you beg and plead but no one here can save you
cw: body horror

[By now, Tim is at least prepared for it. So it's less of a shock when, upon crossing the river and into Monsun's western region, most of his skin looks as though it's been burned black, blistering with an ember-bright glow just beneath - like there are live coals underneath his skin. His facial features are harsher, cracked through with veins of magma-like light, though his hair remains as it is as perhaps his sole identifying feature. His eyes are glowing and coal-like, now devoid of pupils or sclera.]

[He didn't come here armed. He doesn't come to Monsun armed anymore, he generally has a damn good reason for it, but it's always a risk. In this case, the new fiery cast that's been given to his skin hasn't rendered him immune to the equally fiery wildlife here.]

[So right now, whether or not he looks a little bit like a volcano puked all over him, he's pretty much been reduced to running for his life over this admittedly extremely unstable ground. Much as he'd like to consider the repercussions of this volcanic wasteland that's been made of Monsun's desert, he really doesn't have it in him to do that just now due to aforementioned running. Running is, after all, his sole defense. That's really about all he's got.]

iv. west side ; why would they try when they can't quite save themselves

After, long after, when Tim isn't running from giant fire-spewing entities trying to kill him or having his mind eviscerated by things that even now he'd prefer not to think about, when he isn't struggling to comprehend what is happening to him because his body definitely doesn't look the way it should - Tim sighs and takes a moment to very gingerly sit on a patch of ash-blasted ground that doesn't look as unstable as all the rest.

He should be taking the time to consider the nature of this place. Why pieces of the landscape are floating in the air as though decoupling from gravity itself, why the ground is threaded through with spidery veins of magma, what any of this means.

He isn't.

He's trying to get a handle on himself, first and foremost, and it isn't working.

Is that really so surprising?

Deep breaths. He breathes slowly, in and out, reaching for his pocket to dig out his medication, and then stopping with a frown. Putting aside the possibility that he might catch his clothes on fire - not that he actually has yet, which is nice for him - he has no idea how his meds will react to his new...physiology. Is that a concern he should be having?

"My, Timothy," says a voice he knows altogether too well over his shoulder, "we simply must stop meeting like this."

He should turn around.

He should.

He wants to. He's - he knows what he'll see. Are they likely to be real? If he turns around, if he faces the owner of the voice that he's been aching to hear again, does that legitimize the fact that they might be here? People come and go. They disappear. They come back. It's happened before. It's even happened to them. He can't -

He turns around.

Of course he turns around.

They look exactly how he remembers them. Both of them, because of course it's both of them. Never separate, not for long and never for good. One with a jumper of purple and blue, hair overlong, bound back by a ribbon, their expression almost unreadable save for the minute twitches that he was gradually able to read; the other with a sweater striped in green and yellow, hair cropped short, cheeks rosy, and smiling as they always did.

God.

"Are you - " The words are a cracked whisper. Tim reaches out, fingertips trembling. Hardly daring to close the distance between himself and them.

"Real?" says Chara, dryly. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

This isn't right. They don't invite him to touch them, not when they so rarely tolerate the touch of others and he understands that, he does, he's more or less the same, but the urge to grab them tightly and pull them in close and never let go is overpowering and that's why when there's a hand on his shoulder with distressing solidity, he jumps and wrenches around and the smile that pulls at the face opposite his own is so distant and so familiar that he can't help the reflexive heat in his eyes.

"Hey, buddy," says Brian, quietly, looking earnest, looking friendly, looking healthy and whole and not ripped apart into a silent, scavenging shadow of what he was, looking like he did in college, fuck, and how is Tim supposed to respond to that?

"It's okay." Frisk's eyes are dark crescents pinching upward in that way he knows their face gets when they're pleased, and their hand feels small and far more fragile than it should, really, considering what they're capable of, when it threads into his and their fingers wrap around his own. They squeeze once, tightly. "We're here."

What choice does Tim have but to curl one arm around them and hug them tightly so that his tears darken the fabric of their sweater.

v. wildcard ; nobody helped us so we dreamt of better days

[if you want to do something else let me know. i am wide open here as evidenced by these long-ass prompts. hmu over at zero#8942 in discord or arrpee if you wanna set up any closed starters or anything. i will match prose or brackets!]

Church | ota

[motherfucking_ghost]

western wastes
[He doesn't stick around lava land too long. Mostly it's a mix of Holy Shit It's Volcano Island Again and there's just nothing salvageable here. And there's fucking lava monsters that are just like super hostile. It's not a fun time! It's not fun, and he might try to get to the avatar temple, but he never actually makes it there.

Catch him sort of kind of trying to fight the monsters but mostly running the hell away from them. Maybe, maybe, if you squint, you can see a building in the distance, like a utilitarian military base type structure that should definitely not be here. A canyon wall, perhaps? But it's still blink and you miss it, because fuck this side of the island. Please save him. Or let him save you. From the lava monsters and the nothing here but lava side.]

east of eden
[Guess what? East side's got Fucking Nothing, too! Only this Fucking Nothing is a frozen hellscape!]

Oh my god. That fucking useless-ass god. Brought a fucking useless-ass island. This is nonsense. Why aren't we living on farm island? This is assetry of the highest order!

[But it doesn't seem to be trying to murder him on sight, so it's at least safer to try and explore. In case by some small miracle, there's actually something here.

Look, in a pinch, they can be Neanderthals and hunt some woolly mammoths and cook up mammoth steaks. At least these animals are useful in some manner and not lava monsters. Still. He doesn't like frozen hellscape. It niggles at something in the back of his mind. It makes him think of Sidewinder. Fucking Sidewinder. No, nope, this island is a waste, nuke it from orbit.]

Alpha.

[Two syllables in a thickly southern accent make Church freeze in place. Take a breath, take two breaths. Ignore it. Keep moving.]

How disappointing.

[That makes him whirl on the figure standing calmly in the snow, hands behind his back. He's fairly unassuming, looking out of place in the frozen scape. The lenses of his glasses glisten gendohands style, blocking out any eye color or emotion that might be able to come from them.]

The fuck did you say?

I said you're disappointing. But that's to be expected after everything you have been through. You're not the AI you once were.

Yeah, and who do I have to thank for that?!

[The Director of Project Freelancer shakes his head slowly, like a teacher, a parent.] I did what I thought I had to do. I served my part for a greater good, to end the war. You were a casualty in that. We both were.

That's fucking rich. You didn't want to come face to face. You hid away.

It's regrettable. You understand what I was doing, surely? Sending the Meta after you, to collect all the pieces. That Agent Washington put it all to a regrettable end was not my plan. [The figment, the figure, extends a hand.] Come home, Alpha. I can fix you.

[Church takes a few quick, stumbling steps back.] N-no. They're gone. You can't.

In a multiverse where time doesn't matter? We'll find them. And we can make you whole again.

Get away from me!

Alpha--

STOP CALLING ME THAT!

[He flees. You can catch him in a dizzying panic, occasionally yelling at either nothing or the calm southern man. He loses his way. Has he been this way before? Is he running in circles? Did he always have frost clinging to him, icicles begin to droop from his armor? He hates the snow, he hates the ice, if it looks like there's a blue armored dead body half-buried in the snow then just ignore it he's not at Sidewinder this isn't happening--]

[a_shadow]

[ Church is panicking and meanwhile, Tex is wandering. She doesn't really know what's happening to her and she doesn't like it, as she's manifesting more and more ice crystals that have embedded themselves into her armor. At first she tried to brush them off, but that doesn't seem to do anything. Eventually Tex settled for the fact that they would continue to manifest, interlocking layer by layer on the surface of the armor, and has proceeded to continue to wander.

Seeing Church in the distance, hearing him cry out, dislodges her from her reverie. She notices where he is and rushes forward to rescue him. ]

What's happening? Church?

[motherfucking_ghost]

This whole fucking place needs to sink into the fucking sea, or at least melt--and can you tell your...fucking...pseudo-not-husband ex-boss weirdo creator fuck to leave me the hell alone, what is he even doing out here, why isn't he freezing to death?

[You gonna take a breath there, buddy? No? Okay.]

Which. way. is. out?

Keith | Ota

[thermalwind]

Time goes by (Frost side of Monsun)
[There is only ice for miles and miles. It’s unsettling. He didn’t want to come and every step he takes fills him with a sense of dread. It might be his imagination but he can sense someone following him. The dread grows as he moves quietly through the frozen wasteland. He left his companions at home.

If someone approaches him from behind Keith whips around and freezes with his sword pointed at the other person. His eyes are wide and sweat trickling down his face. Normally his eyes are a pale shade of yellow but the rising fear has tipped it further into a deeper shade, almost gold.

He swallows and the blade retracts, as something scrapes the ground with the bottom of their boot. He pivots on the dime and sirens begin to wail, cutting through the stillness like a knife.]

Close to me (closed to Shiro)
[The wind blows past and almost drowns out the sound of sirens wailing. Poles are thrust up out of the ice, the noise coming from the top of them. A figure lays slumped over at the base of the nearest one, the red on his fallen helmet a splash of color in a world of cold ice and faintly tinged in blue.

Keith jerks but the ice holds him fast, encasing his wrists and keeping him stuck to the pole. He makes an angry noise, bearing his teeth. He looks wildly about and his face drains of all color when he sees who came to his rescue. He opens his mouth but no words eacape. Then he jerks harder, fighting tooth and nail to get free.] Takashi, you need to go! Get out of here fast! These sirens-

[He cuts himself off and stares into the distance. A little ways out on the ice a figure approaches, dressed exactly the same as the man trapped to the pillar. The Bayard in his hand changes in a wash of sickly purple shaping a sword made of triangle sections of metal. Its purple lit accents cast their light on the ice as he opens his eyes.

His eyes shine from within with the same terrible light.] Hello, Shiro.

What angel wakes me (Frost side) Warning: mentions of genocide, body horror.
[Is there no answers? He doesn’t think that’s the case. There has to be something. Dark creatures roam the ice, swarming over the corpses that have begun to appear the longer he threads on the ice. But he can’t stop no matter what he sees.

The faces should be familiar. Anyone he has ever met on the islands lay dead on the ice as if they fell in battle. Some copies wander about as if they don’t know where they are as flowers grow up and out of them. Keith coughs, pulling off his helmet as icy horns thrust themselves up out of his hair and follow the sharp cut of his ears. The creatures that seem made from the darkness start to turn and face the intruder in their midst.

Without warning they launch themselves with intent to kill.]

Til it’s over. (Fire side)

[The air is hard to breathe. It stings his throat with every breath and reminds him of the Red Lion. This is how the Lion had felt inside his mind. It had been comforting to sink into that heat and let it wrap around his mind like a cloak of flame and ash. Now he has the storm that is Black and that’s okay too.

They’re his friends. A low rumbling growl forced him to stop picking his way in the direction he hopes the temple is.

He needs to know how the fish are. Apologize maybe for the past. The growl turns to a fully throated purr and he whips around. Standing in the open, carefully settled in a spot that won’t cause any damage to its hull sits a massive red colored metal lion. It sees him and the purr growls louder. His hair is stirred by a wind and another Lion drops from the sky on red wings. Black to the other’s red and far, far larger it alights in the safest spot close to the other lion. They both rumble in greeting and Keith keeps staring.

After a moment he trusts himself to say.] Okay. I missed you two, too. Let’s go find the temple.

[He isn’t a moron. He could try to climb into Black or Red and go right into the fire. No way. He turns and walks away with two massive robot lions trailing him. Trouble might rear its head from this. But at least he will have friends to accompany him.]

Once again (Fire side)

[There is fiery claws on the tips of his fingers and horns of fire jutting up out of his hair like bolts of lightning. His eyes are full on Galra gold with the glow and the lack of any iris or pupil in his eye feels like stepping further and further away from humanity. Thin stripes of gold fire weave through the black of his hair. He hasn’t checked his reflection.

He has seen his eyes reflected in Black and Red’s faces or paws. It bothers him more than he wants to admit. His temper starts to boil. The weird feeling of the best of himself isn’t there. The temple is who damn well knows. And he can’t find it.

He snarls and it looks worse with the burning eyes. He growls out,] Where the hell is the temple?!

[Behind him a tall woman with pointed ears and pale white hair sighs, muttering about his temper. He doesn’t look back. The amount of people walking behind him and with him has gotten into bigger and bigger numbers the longer he walks this fiery hell. Anyone he has ever met walk with him and he knows if he dares turn around just behind him his mother and father wait for him. ‘Keep going, Keith. It’s out there somewhere.’]

Somewhere.

[‘And some is anything that wants to kill us.’ Lance adds helpfully from where he stands with the red of those in white armor edged in a color, the sign of. Voltron pilot.]

From above piercing thunder roars. (Wild card)
[Have something you want to see of Keith’s fears or hopes and dreams? Or want a specific encounter? Pm me and pitch the idea at me. I’ll toss up a custom starter.]

[galrarm]

[ Like hell he's leaving. ]

I'm not leaving without you. I came to find you, Keith, we're leaving together.

[ Shiro refuses to leave without Keith; he'd go to the ends of every universe to find him, just like Keith would for him. Just like Keith has done for him. This place is awful; he knows what the sirens mean, because Keith has told him. And he hasn't forgotten how much they affected him.

Still affect him.

So... no, he's absolutely not leaving. Shiro's back is toward whatever's got Keith's attention, and he tries to get Keith free but--

He freezes, and the chill in the air seeps deep down into his bones. Slowly, Shiro looks over his shoulder, and his throat feels so tight. It's wrong, all wrong, an echo of one of the worst days of a life he never lived, but remembers vividly. ]

This is-- What is this?

Frost side of Monsun

[blindfoster]

[Quentin likes winter, but he has his limits. This is way beyond his limits. The fact that it comes with an overwhelming creeping sense of dread that wants to pull at the threads in his mind that he does his best to keep away from, that isn't helping anything at all. Neither is the fact that he swears he can see the flicker of candlelight, the sound of hooves, the distant eerie sound of children's voices.

Pushing those thoughts back and down deep deep in the dark where they belong, he quickens his pace and

Yup finds himself at the sharp end of a sword. He holds his hands up quickly.] Whoa! Hey... sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you or anything.

[Please don't stab him? Friends? But then.] Keith... are you okay?

Once again

[atailoftwoworlds]

[Zidane has been very reluctant to go back to Monsun. Thinking that he had suddenly got back to Gaia and to his friends and family hurt a lot. And yet if that has happened to him there is a good chance that some of the others might be experiencing the same thing. He doesn't want to go back and see a fake Dagger or Vivi or anyone else from home and the thought fills him with dread. However, he has to save the others or he will regret it. That and he still has not found the temple. So Zidane pulls himself together.

And there is one person who may or may not need help. But either way, Zidane needs to check on him. But who are all those people following Keith?

Wait, he recognises the woman with pale white hair. And that man who talked about 'anything that wants to kill us'. He wasn't on the island for that long and Zidane did not find out his name but they did have a conversation together. It was particularly memorable because Lance had a very pessimistic approach on whether or not it would be impossible to find a way to escape Enso.

But is it them or are they illusions created by Monsun? It's strange that there are so many people at once following Keith, so....

Keith seems different too. He seems to have transformed further into....well, actually, some of the people following him look a lot like him. His tribe, maybe? More importantly though, Keith looks like his temper is about to explode. Whether it's because he can't find the temple or the people following him are not real, Zidane cannot tell yet but he needs to check.]

Heeeeey! [And Zidane runs up to catch up with his friend.] You looking for the temple too? And that's uh.....quite a party you have there.

Legion | OTA

[forwearemany]

A) (Fear)

(They’re moving fast but cautiously, darting between glaciers only to stop, hide, and observe before running to the next one.

Hostiles are present.

Their response is out of proportion.

Hostiles are present.

Their fear is likely the result of external influence.

Alert: Something is following us!

They whip around, and see … nothing?

Nothing is there.

And yet, for a moment, just the tiniest fraction of a second, they thought they saw Shepard-Commander. Not the one they’ve had strained interactions with on Enso, but the one from their timeline, their destroyer.

Presence of Shepard-Commander unlikely. Mental influence of Monsun probable.

…

They quicken their pace, eager to get to the other side.)

B) (joy)

(If, by chance, one were to stumble upon Legion after their arrival on the more fiery side of Monsun, they will encounter an entirely different scene: they are standing with a number of other, similar robots around them, clicking, buzzing, and chattering incessantly.

It’s likely to be disconcerting for anyone who sees all these strange not quite identical robots standing and speaking in a language not even the magic of the islands could translate, but Legion is happier than they’ve ever been.)

C) (danger)

(They did not wish to leave.

This environment is not conducive to long term survival.

The Geth join them, and for a moment they hope, as they reenter the frozen lands, that they’ll all be able to return, and they won’t be alone anymore. But, as they step further and further out into those icy plains, the voices, the light of their peoples minds, fade and disappear, one by one.

Alert! Alert!

Despite everything, the sudden loss of the larger collective sends their programs spiraling into disarray, a flurry of shrieking and distress signals and no no no they can’t be alone they can’t go back-

Communications break down, a flurry of move forwards and turn backs and alert alert alert. They cannot reach consensus. They cannot reach consensus. Their legs shake, then buckle, and they collapse into the snow.

Their minds are a jumble. It is fortunate that their environment is cold: with the stress on their systems, they are beginning to overheat. It is hard to tell how much time has passed before they get up, shaking and staggering, doing their best to avoid hostile wildlife.

With the trouble they are experiencing orienting themselves, they quickly become lost.

Something is following them. Someone is following them.

They can see her now, much more clearly than they could before: it is the Shepard-Commander who destroyed them.

Her expression is determined, and overwhelmingly hostile.

They break into a run.)