PHASE I [ 9 00 ] The peace of the morning in the Residential District shatters just as the wall caves through. It’s a small segment of wall -- no more than five feet across at most. And yet the crash and groan of the metal being stretched is ominously accompanied by the distinct piercing screech of metal and another sound. A raucous noise, a combination of ungodly wailing and sharp, victorious laughter spills forth from the hole left in the wall as a myriad of ghosts and spirits erupt from the newly created exit. Characters with any type of spiritual sense will find themselves nearly overwhelmed by the amount of negative ghostly energy that suddenly floods Cerealia and characters with no sense of preservation will find any attempt to enter the hole blocked by the fiercest of ghosts, met with deadly force if they try to pass, as the ghosts won’t hesitate to do things such as reach straight into your body to try to stop your heart.
These ghosts are out for blood, and they don’t seem to stop no matter how you try to talk to them -- they just hiss out, over and over again, “Murderersmurderersmurderers.”
From there, the ghosts move on. Their true target, after all, is CERES… but to them, there’s no difference between the character players and CERES. They’ll go for whoever gets in their way, phasing through walls and becoming tangible long enough to reach for characters before fading away again. Characters with special abilities will find themselves in a similar state. Their abilities may increase and decrease in power sporadically, or be completely gone. They may attempt to cast a spell only to find that the wrong spell is cast instead, or an attempt at healing may end up a more dangerous spell. Be careful with your own magical skills!
Those with items or powers specifically intended to ward off spirits will still fulfill their intended purposes when used – unless malicious spiritual energy gets to them first.
PHASE II [ 1400 ] It seems the ghosts have more tricks up their sleeves. It seems that a not-so-friendly ghost has decided to play a game with you. It doesn't matter where you are, or what you're doing, because a moment later a voice calls out -- Hey. Can you see me? -- and once you turn your head, you’ll come face to face with a surprise.
Who is it in this world (or your world, or any world) that you have managed to disappoint the most? A family member? A friend? Yourself? They face you now, eyes full of sadness, and they say, “I need you to do something for me.” Without another word, they’ll turn away and begin to walk. Your vision grows foggy, focused solely on the need to do whatever this person wants – they need you, after all. Your legs move to follow them, unless you manage to somehow resist.
But you apparently don’t seem to notice that you’re the only one who can see this person – or that they’re leading you stray toward that monorail track with the sound of the train coming closer, or that busy intersection, or right off the sky bridge.
PHASE III [ 600 ] Other ghosts don’t feel like borrowing faces in order to inflict damage. No, they’ll inflict their damage on a far more personal level. They manifest suddenly and without warning – then all it takes is a simple touch. A ghostly hand reaches out to you and it feels like the cold wraps around your heart, and your vision skews, and then... they leave just as suddenly as they came.
Those who have been around for awhile may very well recognize the ghosts, at that.
But the damage has already been done. Depending on a character’s assigned sense, they will feel one of the following changes:
Sight: Hopefully you aren’t in the habit of bending the truth. Dead men tell no tales, they say. But what happens to a living person unable to tell lies? Any attempt at telling any lie or falsehood will cause the character to feel as though their throat has closed off, and they can do nothing more than choke.
Smell: The cold passes, but in some way that it never really leaves. And then everything seems perfectly normal. Nothing has changed, right? You're fine -- except that in a short period of time with how crazy things are, it becomes apparent that you're unable to feel pain. The damage to your body is the same as ever, but dangerously, you can't feel a thing.
Taste: It would appear as though the ghosts have a sense of humor. From those who rest in eternal slumber, try a few days of being unable to sleep. Everything seems fine at first... but slowly but surely, that lack of sleep will start to take its toll.
Hearing: Most others would feel relief once the ghosts left, finally a moment of peace. But you? You don’t feel anything – nothing kind, anyway. Rather, you have been left unable to feel joy. Everything seems either bleak or as though it simply has no emotional impact at all.
Touch: How many deaths have been caused in the name of heroics? Apparently in an attempt to keep future casualties down (or perhaps for their own laughter), the ghosts have left you unable to be brave. Suddenly, a situation you'd face fearlessly is one that has sent you running, panic sharp in your chest.
These effects will last throughout the event, if a character is caught by them.
PHASE IV [ 1000 ] While chaos erupts throughout the city, some of the more misguided ghosts (but still bloodthirsty, so very bloodthirsty) just happened to run into the wrong part of town and don’t know how to give a proper scaring. One ghost seems to think that it was a great idea to possess a masseusebot from the Spa. You’re grabbed suddenly! You fight for your life but can’t seem to get yourself out of its metal grip! With expert precision that only a robot can mange, it finds your pressure points – and releases all that tension from this Incredibly Bad Day. The ghost inside the robot is confused, distressed -- why is this human suddenly so relaxed? It only wants to murder. But the only illegal thing happening here is how good this massage makes you feel.
Maybe later you’ll walk down the street and get stopped by the ghost that possessed a balloon dispenser. Perhaps a ghost has possessed the friendly McCERES mascot, and is now handing out coupons with murderous intent. And of course, there are always the hug bots...
Look, they tried really hard, okay.
Of course... they might end up possessing technology a little closer to home as well, at which point it's not so funny.
BONUS [ xxxx ] Hopefully you have friends who have ghost-fighting skills. Or ghost-taming skills. Or ghost-bellydancing skills, who knows, we won't judge them if you don't. But what of those poor people who come from worlds where the supernatural is some weird television show?
Worry not, poor souls, for CERES is here to provide! Some time after the ruckus begins, characters will find what looks to be a hand-held vacuum cleaner situated innocuously in their rooms (only one per person, you greedy gus). The logo on the side will helpfully inform you that this is of CERES make, because the paper pamphlet beside your new device? Well, it's more like a picture book. Observe Stick-Man Sully as he uses his vacuum cleaner to capture ghosts! Learn from his stellar example! Do not stick the hose in your mouth or attempt to give the vacuum CPR, there's a big X over that picture. Also of the one where Stick-Man Sully sets his captive ghosts free once more, we don't want that, do we?
Your new ghost vacuum should prove effective against any ghastly ghoul that shoots your way, but beware! Should you capture a ghost and not turn in your vacuum to CERES for weekly ghost disposal, your ghost will serenade you in the wee hours of the morning with its song of choice. If you capture a whole horde of ghosts, well, congratulations. You have a boy band living in your vacuum.
[ Remember to apply proper warnings on threads with sensitive or inappropriate material and do let a mod know if your thread careens off into maiming or canoodling so we can lock the log. ] |
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I can't go, mates. I can't go. [he's shaking his head, backing up. But they are insistent, begging. One of his sabers is in his hand before he knows it and he strokes his thumb along the blade.] One last charge, aye? One last charge...
[He could do it. He's not sure if he wants to. Either that or himself. He's longed for that kind of darkness before...
Also he probably should hear the train coming. Standing on the monorail can be hazardous to his health. But that doesn't seem to matter just now]
Phase III: [Thatch...doesn't generally do fear well. And with his already heightend anxiety by everything that has happened to him so far today, he's doing it more poorly than usual. Everyone is under suspicion. He is ready for a fight with just about anyone, tapping his fingers against the hilt of one of the sabers at his side. Kill or be killed. That's his motto. And he's fighting too damn hard to live just now.
So anyone walking by his shadowy rum-soaked corner will get a glare and maybe even a]
What the hell are you looking at?
Phase IV: [This is worse.
This is horror. The hug bot is one thing. The grip is so strong it's almost crushing. That's nothing. He's had ribs broken before. He's found it hard to breathe before. The real terror is in front of him with a quartet of karaoke bots singing:
Never going to give you up
Never going to let you down
Never going to run around or
Desert you
on a loop.]
GO TO HELL!
[he flails at them with his feet to try to get them to stop but they won't stop. They won't ever stop]
SOMEONE HELP ME, DAMNIT ALL!
II (sneaks on in here >.>)
Thatch!
[At first his voice is relieved. His arm is still on the mend from the shitty CereScape game, and fighting off all the murderous spirits and oddly obsessed massage bots is taking more of a toll than usual. Namur doesn't feel it, of course, but he's doing less damage with each punch he throws, and his body isn't responding as quick as it should, even with a speed junction. It takes a few moments for him to put the scene together- Thatch walking along a monorail track, high above the streets, saber at the ready; an incoming train, its brakes suddenly squealing as awful as the ghosts; the inevitable clash.]
Thatch?
[He could totally take out the train, right? It'd be kind of hard for him maybe, but yeah. He could totally chuck the train off the tracks. He'll be fine. The question is why the hell? It's not like any of them have an aversion to killing, but wanton destruction isn't usually their thing, and throwing the train down into the streets- basically on top of Namur himself- well, there wouldn't likely be many survivors. His voice edges toward concerned. Maybe even a little urgent.]
Oi! Thatch!
[Still lacking an answer, Namur darts for the nearest pylon, running up the side to get enough height to leap up and catch the rail and haul himself up.]
The hell y' doin' Slughead?
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Let it take you they say, whisper, voices overlapping. Let it take you, boss. We need you here with us.
We need you...]
Need me...
[he finally hears Namur, though, tearing his gaze away to see his mate's ugly beautiful fishy face. But he seems distant. The others seem more immedate, their voices pleading, they need him. He can see them, hear them, almost smell the pomade in their immaculate hair. How can he deny them? He offers Namur a small tight smile]
Sorry, brother... My boys need me. [Namur would understand. How could he not? So Thatch spreads his arms wide and lifts his chin, accepting it, as his ghostly boys cheer behind him, ready to welcome him home]
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Damn it, Thatch!
[Namur scrambles forward, gathering speed. Arm out, he shoves his bulk into Thatch, throwing them both sideways off the track. One disaster averted. But now the question is how the hell to make sure they both land the jump?]
Asshole!
[Yeah, that definitely sums it up nice.]
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My boys. I saw them. They were there. Ghosts... [and then a hard thought] Are you sure they didn't die, Namur? Are you not telling me something?
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The hell y' need me t' say? There was a war, dumbass! Thought y'd got over bein' in denial 'bout it.
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[Namur pushes Thatch off him. Not away, but just to the side where Thatch can't yank at his face quite so much and Namur can sit up. Something feels off, but he's not entirely sure where it is or what might be going on because nothing hurts at all.]
So what gives, huh? Thought y' saw some a yer boys so y' figured y'd go hug a shitty el train?
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Thatch swallows hard]
I can see them... Right there... [he gestures with his chin so Namur can't see his hand shaking] They want me to come be with them. It's where a commander should be, aye?
[he tries a smile but he can't even get his mouth to move]
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Stop usin' yer eyes then, damn it, an' look at 'em with yer will. Yer boys ever gonna wanna hurt y' much as that group does? Got a lot more shit for bros than I ever reckoned if that's true.
[Granted, just the one murderous asshole was a lot more shit for a brother than Namur ever reckoned, so maybe it's possible. He shuts his jaw tight, trying to swallow the seething hatred again. Thinking about Teach just makes him want to scream.]
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They... hate him. It nearly rocks him to the core. They hate him. But they are not his mates. His beloved division never hated him. They wouldn't have risked their lives carrying him from battlefields if they didn't love him as he loved them and he couldn't think any less of them.
He can also feel malice rolling off Namur in waves and chuckles weakly, hooking a finger in the side of his mouth beside one of the razor sharp teeth and pulling.]
I feel malice from you. Are you a ghost, too, Namur? Or do you see someone you want to punch?
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Punchin' ain't near 'nuff. I'mma eat the bastard an' turn 'im int' the shit he is.
[Lord of the Sea, he smelled it and felt it for years and just looked beyond it for the sake of false acceptance. Lies. At least the malice isn't directed at Thatch.]
Ain't here though. Never shows. Coward don't dare.
[Namur glances back at Thatch, alive and as safe as anyone else, here in the city. At the cost of everyone, Namur has him back from death for awhile. He cocks a half smile, fond and sad, and scumbles the back of Thatch's hair.]
Make a hell of a lot hotter ghost'n those shits. Look at 'em. Buncha skinny lanky shits with no game. Really gonna dump me in with the likes a them?
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phase iv;
For now though, she's jumpy, incandescently angry, and she hates that song with a passion. Training her pistol at the closest karaoke bot, she fires a single shot that goes unerringly into its head, lodging into the machinery with a fizzle as it shuts down.
That was so satisfying.]
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Marry me... [only don't take him seriously] Think you could pick off the rest, mate?
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[She does take care of the rest though, despite saying something like that.]
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[Her drink, that is. She's seen too many people act dumb under the influence of alcohol to want any.]
Now hold still. [The shot is accurate even if he doesn't, hitting the robot right between the joints, the bullet lodging deeply into the metal and putting its movements to a halt.]
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Ah, it's good to be alive.
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[Or maybe he's a zombie (created through scientific means and not some kind of occult zombie).]
III
Instead, there was nothing a she raised an eyebrow at him]
A vashed up drunk pirate apparently.
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Drunk, maybe. But I'll show you how washed up I am if you care to tangle, love.
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Stab me all you vant, it von't kill me. You however, are very... squishy. Und delicious. Zhough, zhe alcohol might ruin zhe flavor now zhat I zhink about it.
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Don't tell me you're not afraid of it.
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Everyzhing is terrified of death in zhe end. However, I find zhat hafing died multiple times, it iz less terrifying zhan it vas.
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