The Door of Souls

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The Door of Souls

Tue Mar 26, 2019 10:38 am

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Ashan 30, 719 Reportedly


For those without Sparks, the Call had been a most agonizing experience. And for three of them, they awoke in a world of muted greys and sounds. Sybil Malach, Loque, and Arlo Creede were all in an unceremonious heap, next to a roaring fire in a fireplace. The heat washed over the trio in waves. Up atop the fireplace was an old, ornate clock. Its hands struck midnight, and a loud ding-dong rang out of it. A door in the face of it opened up, and a small, toy soldier walked out on a gangplank. It jumped down, landing on Sybil's shoulder lightly. The Spirit of Time whispered in her ear, "I have been called to assist you, Daughter of Knowledge."

Meanwhile, up from the floorboards seeped some dark sludge. It moved up through them, and a stench most foul filled the room. The sludge and mud and muck formed a semblance of a humanoid form, slithering over Loque's form, speaking to him. "I have been called to assist you, Son of Dragons." Then it squished warmly across Loque's back.

Finally, a dark, putrid green humanoid being floated through one of the bookshelves. It had long, crimson claws and deep yellow eyes, and a mouthful of an impossible number of fangs. "Son of Stories... I have come for you." The Harvester clacked its claws together, chuckling at some private joke as it hovered there, its hungry eyes staring at the man in his ridiculous hat.

Then a loud, wailing scream echoed through the building, vibrating to the very souls of the three mortals, and all three spirits' heads snapped in the direction of it. Together, "She knows we're here..." In the library, there was a single, wooden door, locked. There was a window on the opposite wall, large and grand. It revealed a dark, foggy court yard below and an endless forest of leafless trees.

And ghosts. Thousands of them, bumbling around in the fog. It would be felt that these ghosts were lost, were hungry. Overhead in the sky, the muted moons smiled down on them. The Beneath had just received some mortals, a rarity there. And their scent would travel far, and travel fast.

Throughout the library were shelves of books, tables and desks for studying, ornate rugs and paintings. Everything was immaculately cleaned, not one piece of dust, not one book left out of its place. The woman's shriek screeched through the house once more, sounding as if it were one room closer now, though the true distance was difficult to discern.

The Harvester with Arlo just smiled, "Empties are always fun."
 ! Message from: Aegis
Arlo Creede, Sybil Malach, and Loque

Each of you has the same clothings and belongings upon your person as when you answered the Call.

If you wish to know if something will work, do it up as an attempt. If you ask me "Will X work?" or "What will happen if I do Y?" I will tell you to make the attempt. Any other questions I will do my best to answer.

There is no posting order, and everyone gets 1 post. This posting round closes on the night of April 1st.

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Re: The Door of Souls

Fri Mar 29, 2019 7:43 pm

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The fever finally broke.

Sibyl's eyes open, as the clock strikes midnight. With shaky eyes, the student could only think in short spurts. Residual sweat beaded at the forehead. Still wracked with the agonizing sensation that hid just behind the curtains of the student's mind. The searing agony was something that would stay with Sibyl for quite some time. Just like when one goes through an amputation, one does not truly forget a distinctive, horrific pain. Sibyl's hands were without gloves for once. Gliding along the flooring, tracing the texture of it. Whatever this place was, there was a moment of silence that the student enjoyed. The washing warmth from the fireplace. It was comforting, as Sibyl's senses slowly attempted to adjust to the strange new room.

... Strange new room?

Indeed. As the student rose from the heap of bodies, this wasn't Sibyl's dormitory in the Carnelian Prism. This was somewhere else. Slowly glancing around the room lit by firelight, it was clear that this wasn't even Viden. A cursory view out the window itself revealed trees, so many, so many that Sibyl couldn't even count properly. Nowhere outside of the wealthiest manors could afford to have this sort of arrangement. A low groan escapes the student's lips, a hand reaching and grasping at the forehead. It hurt to think. It genuinely hurt, at this point. Every frenzied thought felt like someone was driving a stake through the student's skull. A slow rise and fall of the chest. A deep breath. The student's sensibilities attempted to wrench control of the body's reactions to these things, and focus. A slow shake of the head is given, as Sibyl simply looks around.

"I have been called to assist you, Daughter of Knowledge." Accompanies a touch on the shoulder.

A brief pause is given. The sound of a whisper was the last thing that Sibyl wanted to hear right now. With lips parting, and glancing over at the creature on the shoulder, Sibyl's eyes widen almost comically. If the student had less control over mental faculties, fainting would've been an immediate response to seeing something like that speaking to Sibyl directly, as though it was the most natural thing in Idalos, "What in the..." The student almost interjects with something witty, something crass, in sheer shock. It's evident by the wrinkling of the brow, and the incredulous look.

Then the smell came. "I have been called to assist you, Son of Dragons."

This creature, had slipped through the floorboards itself. The mere smell of it was enough to make Sibyl wretch and dry heave, backing up towards the bookcase nearby. As though looking for something to lean on, as it began to come close to one of the people remaining. The fight or flight fear rising in Sibyl's gut, it was obvious that the person should be warned, should be called out. The foul thing could be killing him! But as the lips parted, a sickening sensation rose in Sibyl's lips, causing the student to double over, wincing, as the stomach tossed and turned in sheer pain. None of this made sense. The anxiety and stress was attacking the student in a way that was understood, but it couldn't be controlled. How could someone remain calm in a place like this?!

"Son of Stories... I have come for you." Sibyl was right next to the creature, as it sloughed itself from through the shelf of books.

The student was left dumbstruck by all this. Backing towards the window, and a glance given to the soldier resting on the shoulder, "What sorcery is this?" Muttered Sibyl, too shocked to even scream. Breathing was becoming a harder and harder prospect from the amount of twists and turns forcing itself upon Sibyl. Finally, those eyes remained upon the window. Widening at the sight of spectral things shambling through the forest. There were thousands of them-- Almost as numerous as the trees themselves!

Then the scream. Echoing.

"Knows we're here...? She?" Comes the rapid fire questions, with wild eyes, "Which one? There's too many!" The student, in this frenzied state is unable to ask the right questions. Serving more of an alarm clock to the others, if they're having trouble awakening.


Sibyl will be keeping an eye on a mixture of the window, and the bookshelf's contents. It's perhaps the only useful thing the student can focus on, due to panic. The soldier is being tolerated, because it's the only thing that isn't actively horrifying Sibyl.


word count: 781
"The machinations of apathy benefit only those that have power upon you. Yet, are not all gods and men made equal beneath the weight of steel? What then to the flames that tempered that iron into steel? To make what was impure, pure again, it must be sent through a crucible of flame. Cooked until all that is left is the purity of a blameless soul. Iron that weeps is not steel. Iron that has been tortured, burned, scorched, becomes steel through redemption alone."
-Sybil Malach, justifying the burning of a necromancer.

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Re: The Door of Souls

Sat Mar 30, 2019 11:52 pm


It was dark. Somehow the numbness was soothing after such intense pain. A light twitch of the fingers, the toes, one...two...three...four... all there, still. Their hide felt heavy, like worn leather cracked and faded, hardened from being left out in the elements. A twitch of the tail-- the table it had latched onto was nowhere to be found. Something was off, muttered voices, near mute and foreign. Am I dead? A familiar sickening scent; earthy and foul reach their nose. The squelch of mud, the slick dampness pressed to their back-- it reminded them of home... resting idly in the swamp, lazing about in the heat of the day, half smothered to cool off. Yet the ground was too firm, it did not give or scrape or crack under their claws.

Maybe not dead... but this was not home, nor was it Rhostus' home... Loque's eyes shot open wide, a sharp gasp for air sting their lungs and tear at their nostrils as though they'd been without for ages. Fighting the lingering ache in their bones and muscles the lizard shot from the ground on all fours-- ignorant of whatever the creature was looming over them. A ringing, sharp and shrill in their ears as the thin slit in a sea of green dart about, trying to focus on something, anything. Not alone, two others-- there were strange figures with them, too-- a girl with a tiny man dressed in colors, and another man with some terrifying beast near him. The ringing continue-- no... not ringing-- someone was screaming. A new spike to their senses as their eye now search the room frantically. They would have to worry about the others later, whatever was making that noise was NOT friendly.

Their eye set on the door, then a nearby table. Without thought or pause they move to the table, giving it a hard shove-- they had to block the door. Whatever was screaming was not friendly, and it was getting closer. The thought didn't even occur to them to try the door, to see if they could even get out, let alone anything get in. No, no time to think-- block the only entry, gather their thoughts, they needed a plan. Who are they? What is screaming? What are you? Why am I here? Where am I? these questions dance about in a chaotic vortex within their mind, swirling and screaming in tandem with whatever search for them. To limit an influx of potential enemies-- and focus on those within the room already, seemed the best course of action. Loque was not dead, not yet, so whatever or whoever these creatures and people were did not want them dead, at least not yet.

If they at last manage to block the door with the table, they'd turn their one eye to the others. The female seemed in a panic no differently than themselves. The tiny... soldier? perhaps a companion or construct? Possibly magic... after witnessing two Becomers clash, and seeing, even feeling what Hone could do, Loque now believed anything was possible. The monster with fangs and claws set a grip of unease in their stomach, twisting it each time their eye cross it in their view. A pause and Loque move more away from the door, glancing over their shoulder to the slick mass that had pressed itself there. "Son of... dragons?" A slow blink, unsure what to make of the bog-like creature, "What are..?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Loque will be occupied mostly with looking around the room and trying to keep the door barricaded, and likely flinch away if approached. They are wary of the monster with fangs, and confusion has set their senses on edge.
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Re: The Door of Souls

Mon Apr 01, 2019 2:17 pm

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The son of Cassion did not have a Spark, and the Call had unquestionably been an agonizing one. The last thing that Arlo remembered was the waves of pain that had bent him in half, he remembered gathering what he could of what he might need should something happen. And he remembered staying close to Vega, and holding tight to her so they might not be separated. The first thing he did then when he opened his eyes to surroundings limited to shades of gray, was reach and look for Vega. And when he didn't see her, but instead found others, his eyes opened wider and he leapt to his feet. "Vega? Vega!"

Somehow he'd managed to hang on to his hat, his Immortal father's hat, and Lyova was clinging tightly to it. Ordinarily, the little companion who Jesine had given him with her blessing, appeared like an oversized, transparent drop of water that shaped itself to the diri's whims. In this case, Lyova's wide eyes took it all in while maintaining the connection, mind to mind, with Arlo. A quick accounting of the room, made it seem like it was some sort of library. The kind you'd see in one of the finer houses on Idalos. If that finer house had been abandoned and left for the dust and mice to take over. There was a mantle and a clock. Rows of dust covered books. Another man and a woman, beasts both unnatural and frightening. But still, Vega's location and welfare was foremost in his mind.

The grisly thing that approached him, was just that. Grisly. A harvester? As a dreamwalker, he'd seen worse. But just barely. "Who are you. What are you and what is this place? What do you want?" he asked, putting some distance between him and that thing. The other two in the room seemed to be having struggles of their own. Probably brought here against their will, just as he had been. Was this a dream? Or a Nightmare? As a dreamwalker, certainly Arlo would be in position to know the difference. And if he was, then he'd be able to manipulate their surroundings.

So, knowledge, dragons and stories. There must be some connection. Why the three of them then, he wondered, looking for the most obvious way out of the room. The daughter of knowledge was panicking, and the son of dragons wasn't much better off. But Arlo took the time to help him move the desk in front of the door. "I doubt it will do any good, though," he said to Loque. "I suspect that those things out there," he added, referring to what they could see out the window and the screeching sound from elsewhere in the place, "won't let something like a solid door get in their way. Unless of course...." Arlo paused and reconsidered. "this room is a safe haven of sorts where they cannot get at us." Like a safe camp, of sorts. The kind he could create with Cassion's blessing.

He wasn't keen to walk through that door at any rate, in spite of how badly he wanted to find Vega. It wouldn't do them any good if they weren't prepared. He was doing his best to keep some distance between himself and his newfound shadow, except hoping it would answer his questions. "Is this Emea, Lyova?" he asked his little companion. "A dream?" Depending on her answer, Arlo might think of asking her to travel beyond the doors and walls, to see what she might see in the rest of the house. But those books. Surely there was a reason they'd been dropped into a library. There might be answers there among the shelves. So first, Arlo tested his theory that it might be Emea, and reaching out with outstretched fingers, he willed and wished a book from the shelves, into his hand. Of course if that didn't work as expected, he'd go the traditional route and just pluck one off the shelves and have a look.
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Re: The Door of Souls

Tue Apr 02, 2019 10:05 am

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The Harvester took a deep inhalation at the fear permeating the room, smiling in delight. "Delicious..." Then it looked at Sybil, "Yes, she. The Mistress. This is her house, of course. And she's not one of those poor fools. They belong to her. No minds of their own, not while she rules this roost."

Then the Harvester turned to Arlo and his questions, "Well, I don't remember who I am, but you can call me H. I'm a Harvester, as if that weren't obvious in all my glory. This place is The Mistress' Mansion, a home to one of the oldest, strongest Empties. If I remember correctly... we're somewhere in the Eternal Empire. But don't hold me to that. As for what I want, that's easy. To be done with this job, so I can go back to the Beneath. And to do that," he groaned loudly, "I have to help you."

H clacked his claws together, floating about the room, absorbing the fear that permeated the air. Unintentionally, this helped to provide an aura of calm, but really, the Harvester was just feasting. Lyova didn't answer immediately, not particularly fond of being in the presence of a Harvester, a being which is known for hunting spirits of all kinds. Lyova responded after Arlo stuck out his hand at the bookshelf.

And nothing happened.

"This is not Emea. This is real."

Outside the window, many of the ghosts outside were floating up, pressing against the glass. Men, women, children, elderly, so many shapes and forms, moaning and crying and speaking and wailing. But the glass seemed to be holding them at bay. Loque's companion continued to stay clinging to him, but saying nothing. It too, was not fond of the Harvester.

Just as Arlo opened the book he'd grabbed, in the mundane way, a knock thudded on the door. Three quick raps. "Would you like some tea and scones? The lemon curd is nice and fresh, and I churned the cream myself this morning." The book Arlo held was titled, The Door of Souls. Inside it were scribbles and ramblings of a man who claimed to be a Seeker. He'd been searching for the Door of Souls for two lifetimes, but never managed it. He suspected it to be in this house. But then he took on a mistress, forgetting about his mission, his family, and served her. Fifty pages were dedicated to describing the beauty and wonder of his mistress.

And that was when Chuckles finally arrived. A candle light and the being stepped out of the flame, growing to his proper size. "Arlo, Vega is looking for you. She's rather grouchy about it. Sent me to find you. She's at a ball, there's a bunch of dancing and people in masks. Lust is there too."

Both spirits that were accompanying Sybil and Loque spoke to them, "What should we do now?"
 ! Message from: Aegis
Arlo, Chuckles is yours to command.

Any questions your PC will ask IC will be answered by a PM/DM, so as to be added to your post if so desired.

Any OOC questions are welcome.

This round is open until the morning of April 9th.

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Re: The Door of Souls

Thu Apr 04, 2019 8:55 pm

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There was plenty of fear to absorb from Sybil. This wasn't a mere survivalist's primal response to a strange situation. The Harvester could taste the delectable sensation of a genuine phobia being tripped, sprinkled with the stress of some sort of trauma being pushed upon. A multi layered buffet of pluming, potent fearful emotions, all bubbling to a head. Finely aged, bottled tightly, and released, like some expensive champagne of the mind. And indeed, once the creatures began pressing against the window? A shockwave of something filling. A peasant's meal of shock fright, but it was something tasty all the same.

Sybil let out a yell. The faces pressing against the glass was something even worse than just seeing them from afar. So many faces... Were these dead people? Were these people forgotten to the annals of time? Sybil didn't know. The student didn't even care, in that moment. There was an entire army of supernatural, ethereal beings pressing their faces against the window, letting out noises of the damned! The yell bleeds into a scream, as Sybil tries to step back, falling flat on the student's arse the second balance is lost. Breathing deeply, trying desperately to catch a breath, Sybil could hardly think. Fear was being eaten, but it was as though Sybil was simply producing more and more of it. The Harvester was probably the reason why the student was unable to lapse into a fully fledged panic attack, but even on the floor, Sybil just kept backpedalling away from the window.

"Yes, she. The Mistress. This is her house, of course. And she's not one of those poor fools. They belong to her. No minds of their own, not while she rules this roost." That creature that introduced itself as 'H' had said. A wince is given, as it speaks. As Sybil presses up against one of the bookshelves, and tries to stand using it as support, the student tried, very hard, to avoid looking at the creature dead in the eyes.

"What, are you saying that they just... Don't have minds? Because of her?" Comes Sybil's question. Voice nearly breaking in pitch, as the student struggles to even breath. The 'Daughter of Knowledge' seemed to be at a complete loss of what to even say or do in a situation like this. This was outside of anything Sybil had even experienced. Glancing to the side, Sybil takes a moment to try and get a breather, sweat rising upon the brow. Eyes returning to the window, slowly, trying to make sense of the shapes pressing up against the glass. Much to Harvester's undoubted delight, with the fear it brings the student to keep looking at them.

"Would you like some tea and scones? The lemon curd is nice and fresh, and I churned the cream myself this morning." The voice on the other side of the door said. Sybil's mouth parted. A slow blink.

Glancing to the shoulder, Sybil can't help but consider the toy soldier, as he says, along with the other spirit, "What should we do now?"

A slow blink crosses Sybil's features. Completely, and totally confused, "I don't know what we should do. How could I? I'm... Easily trials upon trials upon trials away from my home!" Sybil sighs out, pinching at the bridge of the Daughter of Knowledge's nose, "I don't even know how I got here... I was in Viden!"

A slow breath is taken, as the student just watches the two other people in the room go about their business. Arlo moving to read one of the books upon the shelves. As the Ithecal manages to block the door with the table, a light breath is taken. At the very least, Sybil thought, there was one less entrance for those damnable things to even come in through, "Why are we here? I don't know what's going on. --People don't just jump that large of a distance!" Sybil says, as though trying to rationalize what's even happening, thoughts racing, as the student begins to pace, trying to think, mind going on complete overdrive. Footsteps audible against the wooden floor.


Sybil may have a high discipline, but has an innate phobia of most things magical and supernatural. Especially with the things put on the table through implication. Loss of humanity and independence is a secondary phobia that is being expressly played on, here. While not panicking, due to the Harvester's intervention, it's harder for Sybil to actually function properly, not having a distinct goal to exercise discipline and focus on.

However, perhaps subconsciously, Sybil will be assessing the voice on the other side. Whether or not it's starting to take on a 'manipulative' tone. Things like that.



word count: 816
"The machinations of apathy benefit only those that have power upon you. Yet, are not all gods and men made equal beneath the weight of steel? What then to the flames that tempered that iron into steel? To make what was impure, pure again, it must be sent through a crucible of flame. Cooked until all that is left is the purity of a blameless soul. Iron that weeps is not steel. Iron that has been tortured, burned, scorched, becomes steel through redemption alone."
-Sybil Malach, justifying the burning of a necromancer.

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Re: The Door of Souls

Sat Apr 06, 2019 5:40 pm


Fear gave way to anxiety, permeating the ithecal and setting their nerves alight. While the Harvester was easily able to skim fear off the surface, the jittery unease remain. The Mistress' Mansion, a home to one of the oldest, strongest Empties. Still avoiding looking directly at the creature as much as possible, Loque attempt to relax more, gathering what fragmented and scattered threads of thought they had. "The Mistress? What... is 'Empties'?" Still so young and ignorant of the world and all its mysteries, Loque was beginning to have less and less faith in the masterwork blade strapped to their hip. Even if they'd known how to use the dagger-- if whatever was out there looked anything like this 'harvester' then surely they stood no chance of fending it-- her? off.

Mulling over so many new phrases, Empties, Harvester, Eternal Empire, the Beneath. It was almost all too much to take in. Following the female's scream, their eye turn to the glass and at once they froze as a spike of tension lock their frame. Faces upon faces were drifting up from below, pressing in to the glass like starving peasants at a butcher's shop... The sounds they made were not natural by any sense and it cause their scaled hide to shake. The knock at the door all but made them fly out of their skin trying to get away from the door, whipping around, slinging their tail for balance, and crouching low; poised to bolt in any direction with their legs tensed like a spring. Tea? Scones? Loque shook their head, their maw opening slightly as a low, guttural hiss well up. Was that the same creature from before? The screaming woman? Now knocking and offering pleasantries?!

".... You are like mud... not much can hurt mud, yes?" Turning their head slightly to face their one good eye to the blob on their back, Loque try to calm themself-- after all, having even a six foot lizard panicking in a room with two soft-skins was likely not going to help anyone calm down. "Could... maybe look under door for us? See what is?" Of course, in this heightened state Loque's near flawless common was swapped out for the broken, child-like speech they were so much more fond of. "But be safe about..." Turning their gaze back to the door and hesitating. Sending this marshy creature to slip under the door even slightly to risk a glance at whatever wait on the other side was a risk in itself; after all, Loque had no idea what either of them were, let alone if the mud-beast could be hurt. The thought of something that reminded them of home being hurt set their stomach in loops.

Slowly they straighten up after a pause, being sure whatever was on the other side wasn't about to break the door down and the table with it. A slow, deep breath to steady themselves-- the harvester certainly did help, in its own, odd way. Turning just in time to see another form join them within the room-- spawned forth from a candle's flame?? This was all too much for the simple lizard... Magic, monsters beyond the animals they'd seen, waking up in strange places after-- "Did.... Did we die?" Loque asked the one question they'd been avoiding. Gripping at the front of their shirt, trying desperately not to recall that pain. "I was... at Master Rhostus' house... And then there was pain, so much pain... I remember being on the floor-- and then, here?" They then look to the window again, then to 'H', who seemed to know all the answers at the moment; "Are they dead, too?"

If they were dead, did that mean they could still be hurt in this weird world? Loque did not want to find that out. Noticing instead the male who had grabbed a book, he seemed to know what to do, at least, while the female continued her panic. One calm, one panicked, and one simply confused... Loque turn to the girl before looking around, finding a chair that was left behind from the table they'd managed to shove against the door-- for once thankful of some measure of their kind's strength. Picking up the chair and moving closer to her before setting it down, a simple gesture; as she seemed most in need of calm. At this point; Loque kept their face turned more, hiding their right eye as not to add to her fear. "Safe for now, it seems. Breathe-- Not dead, so still can find way out." Just before offering a smile Loque stop themselves, having to remember not only their normal place in society, but also how scary their teeth had been to a child before. It was almost a cruel irony; a room full of monsters, and two soft-skinned, seemingly normal people...

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Re: The Door of Souls

Sun Apr 07, 2019 8:05 pm

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Arlo couldn't blame Lyova for wanting to lay low, considering that she was herself a bundle of energy, more function than form; and there was a Harvester nearby that thrived on that sort of thing. Besides, as soon as he reached out towards the bookshelves, he as good as answered his own question. Even as a dreamwalker it wasn't always easy to tell. But this wasn't Emea, as he'd suspected it might be.

"Well alright, H," the son of Cassion said, even as he opened up the book he'd pulled off the shelf. "What makes me the lucky one? You came for me? What not you for her?" he asked, gesturing towards Sybil. "Or him?" This time he glanced at Loque. "Luck of the draw?" There must be a reason after all, and he was far from deciding if this newfound companion would be a helpmate and friend, or a hindrance and foe. "So who is this mistress exactly, and what are you meant to help me do?"

At any rate, Arlo seemed to have drawn the least popular helpmate in the room. Figured. But just as he'd wondered before, the room they were currently in seemed to enough, due to the windows and maybe the door, to keep those ghosts and spirits out. He wasn't the type to panic or come undone, but the thought of them getting in through the windows and walls, did make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The book though, that proved to be interesting, maybe even useful. At least the contents were curious enough that for a trill, he ignored the knock on the door. The aforementioned mistress....Arlo tapped a finger on the passage and asked the Harvester, "that the mistress you're referring to?"

"This the seeker's house?" If it was, Arlo figured, then it might be the reason they'd been brought here. "Door of Souls," he said to both Sybil and Loque. "It appears that it's in this house somewhere and we're meant to find it." Why though? Only one reason he could think of. To usher that lot of spirits and ghosts through and back where they came from. Meanwhile, one or both of those who'd tumbled in with him seemed to in a panic, or near to one. Which wouldn't do any one of them any good. "Best we get hold of ourselves if we're to be leaving this room," he suggested to the other two who'd fallen in with him.

And they would have to leave the room eventually since they couldn't get back where they'd come from, simply from staying put. And then there was Chuckles. The news that Vega was irritated, wherever she was, came as no surprise. But if she was angry and out of sorts, then she was probably alright. "You show me the way to where she is, Chuckles?" he asked, and was bound to follow so long as Chuckles would show him the way. He'd take the book with him. "I was separated from my wife when I turned up here," he explained to Loque and Sybil. "If she's in the house as well, there might be others there like her." Like them, he meant, and unlike the dead and haunted. And surely there was safety in numbers?

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Aegis
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Re: The Door of Souls

Tue Apr 09, 2019 7:14 pm

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H just rolled his eyes before looking at Sybil through slit lids. "They still have minds, they just aren't in control of them. She is. No need to be so... bookish." Sighing at having to talk to yet another mortal, H looked at Loque. "Really old, really scary ghosts. She's one of them. I do try to avoid them, as do all smart folk."

But he turned back to Arlo, smiling. Genuinely. Or as genuine as one such as he could look. "I think it is because we both have quite large appetites. But you can ask the bosses that later, not that they're likely to tell you. Old schoolers tend to prefer their mysterious silence." He sidled up to Arlo, an arm around the man's shoulder. As they touched, Arlo's hunger grew a hundred fold. Not to the point of death or anything so dramatic, but he'd find himself, ravenous. "Rumor is that she is the first woman to commit adultery. But stories are fickle things. She's so old, not likely anyone really knows is left, alive or dead. As for me, I'm here to help you find the door, of course."

At the question of the Seeker, H simply shrugged. At the mention of the Door of Souls, he laughed, releasing his hold on Arlo, though the hunger still remained. "That's the one!"

And then a whole bunch of things happened at once.

Chuckles decided to act on Vega's, which outranked Arlo's request. At least in Chuckle's mind. And so, he summoned a pillar of flame around Arlo, and the man burnt to ash instantly, and the floor boards beneath him caught flame.

Meanwhile, Loque's companion, acting on his request, seeped back through the floorboards, keeping one tendril of filth on the Ithecal. "I look." He worked his way beneath and through the floor, and just a bit of him appeared on the outside of the door. There was a woman, standing there, skin so pale, hair so black, in a dress of a deep, purple color. And she was holding a tray of tea and scones, waiting ever so patiently. Everything the spirit saw, it let Loque see in his own mind.

At Arlo's prompt burning, H just stared at the pile of burning ash. "Well you don't see that every d-- Would you stop bitching?!" H turned aggressively toward Sybil, "You're here to find the door! The world is a crazy and scary place. Come to terms with that now, so I can get back to my own damn business. Since mister fancyhat just snuffed it, I suppose I'm with you." His head twisting on his shoulders to look at Loque, "Yes, they are dead. Ghosts are real. Blah blah blah."

Meanwhile, the fire on the floor slowly began to grow.

And once more, the door was knocked upon, and once more, tea and scones were offered again. The voice said the same exact questions as before. Her tone sounded genuine, just as before. Reminiscent of a sweet old lady, for that's sort of what she was.
 ! Message from: Aegis
Arlo has been exited from this thread. He is now in the Door of the Dead.

Questions are always welcome.

I will post again on April 16th.

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Re: The Door of Souls

Sun Apr 14, 2019 3:49 pm

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Seeing a man burst into flames was not something that Sybil had expected to see, within a lifetime. Men freezing to death was a common enough sight for the student, but immolation? To the extent in which the body was rendered into complete and utter ash? Sybil's eyes widen, as it begins to sink in what was at stake here. Stepping back, backpedalling from the ring of fire upon the floorboards left behind from Arlo, cinders still sparking within his ashen remains. Glancing towards the Ithecal, the student made a decision, "You-- Keep an eye on the floor. If a hole opens, we can slip through. If the glass starts cracking, or the door starts to splinter, go there-- If there's another room beneath us. Don't let anything touch you." Sybil says in a calm, and collected voice. The ride of adrenaline was strong upon the student's mind, "We're going to get out of this, no matter the cost." The first step in survival. Sybil made a connection between teamwork and survival, in this situation. As the student stepped towards the Ithecal, and away from the flames, it was a vague attempt at trying to get trust, but something that would serve as a means of the foundation of the two's temporary alliance. Glancing to the side, the student considered the options.

"Well you don't see that every d-- Would you stop bitching?!" Sybil seemed to be taken aback, slightly, by the creature's words. "You're here to find the door! The world is a crazy and scary place. Come to terms with that now, so I can get back to my own damn business. Since mister fancyhat just snuffed it, I suppose I'm with you." Lips knit to the side. Something was rubbing Sybil the wrong way about this creature, "Yes, they are dead. Ghosts are real. Blah blah blah." A slow blink is given, as though trying to understand something. A furrowed brow.

... 'H' wasn't here of his own volition. That was the only conclusion Sybil could make, of that statement.

The student's attention glanced between the three spirits present upon the group. The toy soldier. The Harvester. The gelatinous blob of rot. A statement from earlier began to ring out in the student's mind, "Where did the three of you come from? Who sent you? You are here to help, and we know not of where you even come from, let alone who even sent you." A slow, soft breath escaped Sybil's lips. This situation was beginning to dawn on the student, but this was a matter of keeping things going. Standing still would lead to death. And this was reflected in how Sybil keeps focus, pacing back and forth, between the Ithecal at the door, and the very edge of the flames. Heeled boots audible against the flooring. The smoke was beginning to billow, "You said you were here to help me, Spirit of Time, right? What is it that you can do? That creature can crawl beneath doors..." The student trailed off, eyes glancing towards the toy soldier chilling out on Sybil's shoulder.

A hole was going to form in the middle of the room, from the flames. Logically, at least. The window was a lost cause, serving to keep the two between two options. Remain, or answer the door. A slow shake of the head is given, as Sybil focuses on the door. She knew that they were there. Glancing between the burning floor, and the door, it was impossible that she didn't know what was going on. Sybil brings the cloak closer to the body, pulling it tightly in, as though attempting to hide a nervous tic, "Mistress, we know not why we're here. A man has just burst into flames. Prithee, where are we, Madame?" The student was looking between Loque, and the door, "... We won't be able to enjoy scones, if we burn. But one of our associates just died. We're alone, and terrified." The student was using what was gleamed from the woman's tone. A kindly woman wouldn't find the death of someone to be a light thing. Nor would a kindly woman turn down someone in need for very little reason. It was a shot in the dark, but something that was better than just standing around, and cooking to death.

A quick glance is given to Loque, and a slow upnod. Swallowing, the student seemed to pace faster, as though trying to work through something, mentally, "My name's Sybil. What's yours? Your master isn't here now, but if we both escape, I'll take you to him, if that is your desire. It may take a while, but I have the means." Sybil offers, as though that would help the situation, glancing towards the Ithecal, gaze settling on them, "What does your spirit see? He is not my own, so I know not, if he'll answer to me." The student offers-- Seemingly not understanding how it works, a confused glance given to the blob.
word count: 867
"The machinations of apathy benefit only those that have power upon you. Yet, are not all gods and men made equal beneath the weight of steel? What then to the flames that tempered that iron into steel? To make what was impure, pure again, it must be sent through a crucible of flame. Cooked until all that is left is the purity of a blameless soul. Iron that weeps is not steel. Iron that has been tortured, burned, scorched, becomes steel through redemption alone."
-Sybil Malach, justifying the burning of a necromancer.

NPCs: Karlsson, Margaret
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