You're probably woken up by the explosion first. A loud, deafening boom comes from behind the walls of the residential district. When you look outside your window towards the darker, more secretive area of the city, you might see the structure around it... crumbling, the land falling in on itself slowly but surely. That might be what wakes you up first. If it doesn't, you may be awoken instead by the sudden jerking feeling behind your navel pulling you from where you are to somewhere... else.
It's dark. The first thing you notice is that it's dark -- and then come the scrabbling sounds of creatures in the dark, like metal being dragged across metal, a chilling, sharp sound. The first thing that becomes clear, as your vision adjusts, is that you're on a rickety pathway, metal and rusting and frail, above what appears to be yawning blackness. Far, far below, there's the faint sound of rushing water, a ways away.
The second thing that becomes clear is that you are very much not alone. Something is out there with you, and from the screeching metallic noises that come ever closer, it seems to be stalking you.
Thankfully, you're not alone -- right?  ...
...........
................
:)
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PHASE I [ ??? ] It’s drafty here. You’re below ground, that’s for certain from the echoes of the wind in the darkness. If you continue on forwards along the rickety, metal railing that serves as a walkway, the skittering noises of creatures in the dark follow -- but they don’t appear.
It seems everyone has been dumped along this pathway at random; you may be with friends, with enemies or with someone you’ve never met before, but either way, it soon becomes clear. There are only two ways to go along this path: up or down.
If you choose to take the path that follows a gradual slope down, the sounds of water lapping against a surface increase bit by bit, the air growing heavier and danker, until finally, the metallic platform gives way very suddenly (watch your step!) to a muddy bank. Down here, everything is darker, and not far away there’s the water. It’s cold and frigid and there are unfriendly creatures that await if you choose to delve into it. However, if you brave those creatures, and dive deeply enough, there is a mask. It rests half-buried by silt and rocks, but it’s there, and can be found by any intrepid explorers.
Somehow, it feels a little familiar.
And if you carry on in the cave system underground, eventually you will come across what appears to be an altar. There is blood on it -- not fresh, but not more than a month old -- and pieces of trinkets. Old bits of cloth, locks of hair, and some of them may even be familiar. Any dropped character who has a reasonably large amount of spiritual or magical power may have left scraps, such as pieces of clothing, trinkets, hair, or the sort behind at the altar.
Maybe that's why they weren't in the Nexus Code.
PHASE II [ ??? ] If you go up, you will eventually make your way above ground. It takes some time, and some luck -- you’ll have to avoid rusty railing and pathways, the path crumbling under you and that creeping sensation that something is following and watching you -- and then you’ll suddenly be in fresh air.
Well. It’s not so fresh, really.
The landscape is broken down and crumbled. It may have once been part of the city of Cerealia, but now it is in utter disrepair and decay. Buildings have crumbled, and debris is everywhere. There are signs of the same level of technology that Cerealia has -- but it is all broken down and utterly inaccessible.
And you’re not alone.
It seems the technology and metal and broken down destruction has gained sentience over its time sitting alone, waiting. And it is not happy to be disturbed. The creatures are made of pieces of everything around them, and when cut down, they’ll just slowly rebuild themselves from the debris.
It might be time to run.
They aren't happy about being disturbed, and you're in their way.
PHASE III [ ??? ] Above ground, there are a lot of broken down buildings.
Some can’t be accessed at all; some are too broken, too reduced to rubble. For those looking for shelter, they'll be able to find buildings where the doors can be forced open and they can camp out on the inside to various degrees of stability. Though the ceiling may cave in or the floor fall out from under you at a moment's notice, it's better than being out there. Be careful, because none of the architecture here can be trusted anymore.
And other buildings... are even less trustworthy than that.
There is a series of buildings in the midst of the wasteland, somehow still standing. They stand there silently, towering over the rest of the rubble in their two-story glory, and if the doors are forced open, it soon becomes clear that the building itself is full of mirrors.
Once, the mirrors had perhaps covered the walls and ceiling. Once, this building might have been akin to something of a ballet studio, somewhere to express yourself creatively. But now the mirrors are shattered and broken into pieces and the building lacks the joy it might have once held. Shards of mirror cover the floor, some big, some not so big, but they still hang from the walls as well and everywhere you look, you can see yourself.
And then, the reflection changes. From one blink to the next, you see a memory playing in the mirrors. Your memory. You’ll see a glimpse of one of your most traumatic or life-changing moments, broken up but clear in the shards. Blink and look away, and it’s gone, only to show up again in the next mirror a few moments later. Surely it’s just a trick of the light, right?
Except if someone else is with you, they’ll see it too -- and you might end up seeing a bit of their own past as well. Hope you're fond of sharing.
PHASE IV [ ??? ] If you survive the monsters, the crumbling landscape and the untrustworthy buildings, you may eventually find a terminal. It is buried deep among the rubble. One turn around a corner, one stumble into a hole, and you will find it. It sits there, out in the middle of nowhere; the building in which it used to be housed is apparently long gone, reduced to nothing but rubble.
And if you turn it on, there is a brief message.
Transmission Broadcasting.
Transmission Connected.
And then, there is a face.
BONUS [ ??? ] For those who have been wearing their masks a little too much, they might also start to notice that there are some strange effects attached, which worsen the more they’ve been wearing said masks. How badly they worsen is up to your discretion.
➝ Broken Mask: An intense feeling of paranoia, focused on whoever your character is with. They might also begin to remember fabricated memories of being betrayed by those people.
➝ Barcode Mask: Everything will begin to have value to them. There will be whispers in the back of their mind of the worth of their friends, the worth of a monster, the worth of everything around them. An intense need to own and consume as much as possible and as quickly as possible.
➝ Dripping Blood Mask: An intense lack of self-worth, a hollow feeling and thoughts of being weak and empty. Feeling as disposable as possible and an intense listless along with it.
➝ :( Mask: A need to prove yourself, to show everyone how strong you are as quickly as possible. You can do things, you can be of worth to everyone around you. Why won't they see that? Why?
➝ Ivy Mask: A choking sort of terror from all things metal and technology based, and a need to lash out against it. An intense distrust for anything that they feel is against the laws of nature.
➝ Grey Mask: More personable than normal, more emotional, more empathetic. An intense feeling of kindness and gratitude to those around you and a renewed love of life.
➝ Feather Mask: A dulled, lack of emotion. A detached feeling to everything around you. A sort of bland curiosity towards things without any empathetic reaction.
➝ Bloody Fingerprints Mask: They'll feel absolutely fine. No change.
The effects of the broken mask can stack on top of the others, if they chose to break their mask after the other effects began to appear. No other effects can be stacked, as no other changes can be stacked.
PENALTY [ ??? ] For characters who die while in the dark parts of the city, things will get... a little strange. They will die as normal, but they will wake up almost immediately after their death -- in the Nexus Code. They will have a few surreal moments to be there, to see their friends who have left Cerealia hanging lifelessly from odd, glimmering strands (though there are some faces, of course, that are missing, anyone who was spiritual, or magical, seems strangely absent) and then --
They’re back to being dead.
When characters revive in Cerealia, anywhere from one IC day to three or four IC days later, they will find that things are… not quite right with their code. They’re glitching, for a lack of a better word. Sometimes, their fingers will phase right through an object, their own limbs registering as cold and lifeless. Sometimes, they will see a face watching them -- but when they turn around to try to see who it is, the face will be gone.
These effects will last an IC week, before slowly things go back to normal.
That was strange.
[ 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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no subject
there's.. so much hurt inside this spirit. he'd glimpsed.. something of it once. the first time he'd held the blade, when he'd decided that yes, he'd wake this one, give it life. tsurumaru kuninaga should have the chance to create his own life, make his own choices, be happy. .. they only have a war to win first.
he shakes his head, a small movement, at the apology, hands falling away from the spirit's. he reaches down, then, ripping the hem of his sleep-shirt, tearing a strip off, eyes still carefully lowered. the question makes him freeze, though, breath hiccuping in faint surprise. for a few moments, he's silent, but then his head shakes again. ]
.. No. [ he'd just said what he thinks. (what haru knows.) he takes a careful breath, lifting his hands again to hesitantly begin to strip the glove away. (in the far corner of the room, the shattered mirrors darken, reflecting a small room in an old house. it's too dark to see much else.) ] I know-- [ he drops the glove. he'll buy tsurumaru new ones; his hands are more important. ] I know I'm not.. [ he trails off, tries again. ] I didn't.. g-give you this life to make you miserable. I'm-- I'm sorry. I just.. thought.. like this, you-- [ he dabs at the cuts, cautious and still a little frightened. ] I think you have the potential to-- to be happy. I can't do anything about.. the war right now, or-- or me. But people love you, Tsurumaru-san. For you, not.. because of your vessel, or who you belonged to, or your appearance. [ he draws the rag back, trying to see how bad the cuts are. ]
no subject
How can you just tell me that, as if you understand? [ but more softly, now: ] I thought you understood. I didn't have to tell you anything about me, but from the first day, you gave me this look — a look that said you knew, and that you felt sorry for me.
[ he hates that, more than anything else in the world — because his story is full of nothing but pity-inducing things, but he wants none of it. the mirrors darken, though, and he catches the movement instantly; he glances towards it, as if to acknowledge it before it morphs into a more visible scene, then back at haru. ]
I know that there are lots of people that love me. And I want to love all of them back, but I can't love anyone, because if I do — if I, Tsurumaru Kuninaga, love people back, you know what will happen to them.
[ they'll die, and for a sword that's seen so much death (and has accepted it, for the most part), it still pains him every time. ] Do you know how lonely that is? It's enough for most people to say love anyway, but it's not good enough for me. Saying that they love me for who I am, not my vessel, is a lie, isn't it? Even you — you probably love me for my vessel, too. You shouldn't worry, though. I've kept it clean, so if you ever want to exchange me for a large sum of money, it's right here.
no subject
haru ignores it stubbornly, but tsurumaru's last words bring his head up, pale eyes flashing in surprise and hurt. ]
I don't care about-- about money. [ he ducks his head again, narrow shoulders hunched in and tense, as if making a smaller target of himself. the second glove drops away, and he begins carefully cleaning that hand, too. ] I love you because.. you're funny, and you fight hard, and because you're a g-good person. And I know that I don't-- I'm not-- [ his fingers twitch against tsurumaru's palm, and he draws them away, dropping the rag and tearing at his shirt again to create makeshift bandages. ] When this is.. all over.. I'm not going to let the organization take any of you back. You can s-stay with Mikazuki-san if you want, or.. go where you like. I just.. want you to be able to.. choose. You're.. a good person, Tsurumaru-san, and you're not cursed.
no subject
but hearing him list off one nice trait after another has tsurumaru pressing his lips together in a thin line, in frustration; yet, as much as he wants to clench his hands into little, furious fists, he doesn't move his hands away from haru's bandaging work. even after all this, he thinks it'd be rude to do so. ]
Then, if I wasn't funny, and if I told you that I was just going through the motions and didn't care about the war at all, and if I wasn't a good person... Would you still love me?
[ because to an extent, some of that is true — when the other swords speak so fervently about the war, as if it's something to take seriously, it's something that tsurumaru just doesn't understand. he doesn't understand, he doesn't understand anything; he doesn't even understand why haru doesn't want the organization to reclaim any of them. as much as tsurumaru seeks things like freedom, he doesn't know what to do with it, and it frightens him more than he wants to comprehend.
but he tries again, to understand. ]
If I killed you, would you still say that you love me?
no subject
.. I guess I'm like a dog in that way. [ he tucks the end of the strip of fabric around tsurumaru's hand. ] I still love my parents, too, even after what they've done. But that's.. all I can do. [ he lets his hands drop away, curling together as he glances down at his toes. his feet don't even hurt anymore, he thinks. ] I don't.. know how to make things better, I'm not.. smart or strong. All I can do is love you and support you, even if you hurt me.
[ he blinks, distantly alarmed to find that his vision is blurring, and hurriedly lifts a hand to wipe the back of it over his eyes. ] You're so.. [ his breathing hiccups. ] Stop asking stuff like that. I'm not going to give up. Ever. No matter-- No matter what you do or say to me.
no subject
Even after what they've done to you, why do you love them? Why do you love people that hurt you? It doesn't work that way, does it?
[ still, he's doing his best to wrap his mind around it, although he thinks solely in gains and losses, advantages and disadvantages, benefits and deficits; if there's nothing to gain from an interaction, it's pointless — or so he'd like to think, but there's still a part of him that wants to believe in people. it's small, though, and fading quickly.
hearing things like love and support... it makes the pit of his stomach feel a curious way, and he dislikes it, giving haru a long sigh, in return. ]
You're too kind.
Humans are always that way — they believe in not giving up, but their lives are so short and insignificant, that all of their goals are meaningless in the first place.
no subject
[ he's not one of them, of course, but he's fine with that. as long as he can help others, see that his family is cared-for, give his spirits what they need from him--if anything--then he can be satisfied with that.
it's different for tsurumaru, though. how many masters has he seen die..? how much has he lost? he's lived almost a thousand years now, of course opening himself up for more hurt would be unappealing.
he hesitates, then uncurls his hands again, lifting them to gently curl his fingers around tsurumaru's, bringing them together and covering them with his own-- almost protective. ]
I love them--I love you--just.. because I do. There's no rhyme or reason to it. Maybe someone else wouldn't. [ narrow shoulders lift in a small shrug. ] You don't have to return it, you don't even have to like it. It's yours anyway.
no subject
I know that there are many humans who have done great things, and who have treated their swords with respect and honor. I know that there are people that inspire generations of people after them to do great things — and generations of their swords to tell their tales fondly centuries after they've passed.
[ he adds his own descriptors onto haru's words, descriptors that apply to swords that think of themselves as swords foremost, and people second. and there's a small, wistful sigh, as he fixes his gaze on some point above haru's head. ] I've just never met those people, though.
[ tsurumaru does wonder what it's like — to know only one or two or even five masters, instead of more than he can count on his fingers and his toes; and he wonders what it's like to have the kindness of more than half of them — to have them look at him and for him to look back without a lingering, wary sense of unease.
his movements are minuscule, his fingers curling only a centimeter or so around haru's own, but that's as far as he'll go; whether haru notices or not is up to him. ]
But what if I don't want it? What if I wanted you to take your love back? Those people loved me, too, you know — those people. My people.
I think about how they loved me, and how I grew to love them back, but I also think about how they died — and how the suffering after that just isn't worth it.
no subject
he blinks away the tears wetting his lashes again, bringing their curled hands to his chest, practically curling around them. ]
I can't.. take it back. [ he glances back up finally, pale eyes flicking over the spirit's face. how tired he seems, how worn down-- and this is perhaps the first time tsurumaru has really been honest with him since he first called him into life this way. ] But.. just because we die, it doesn't mean that you should close your heart off completely, Tsurumaru-san. There are people you can be with that won't die. And.. I know you don't like me, but.. but I'm still going to be here if you need me. Until I'm gone. And then my family will be there for you. And I'll come back, so that I can be there for you again.
[ his thumbs stroke over the backs of the bandaged hands, the motion tender. ] But.. [ he wets his lips, a little dizzy with the very notion of what he's about to say. ] But.. I-- [ a pause, a breath. ] I don't ask much of you, I think, but please, please promise me that you'll-- you'll try. I really think.. that you deserve better than to be haunted. [ he's not going to cry, he's not. ] If you really can't.. do this, though, if you've tried and you can't.. [ he trails off, hands shaking where they're curled around tsurumaru's own. ] .. Then.. I'll lay you to rest. For good this time. Just-- Just not yet, okay? Please. Give it.. a little more time.
no subject
but instead of accepting haru's suggestion directly, he has his own terms, his own conditions; and while they exclude haru... in tsurumaru's eyes, haru has never qualified for this position, anyway, so he shouldn't be too surprised. the remaining swords love haru enough to cover tsurumaru's empty share, anyway. ]
Let's say, though, that I find someone that I believe in. Someone that I love just as much as that boy — if not even more. Someone that I trust, and someone that I would be truly happy to be owned by. If the time comes, and I want to be with them, more than anything else...
Please, let me go.
[ immediately, his eyes search haru's for an answer. ] I'll still probably live with the rest of you, and I'll stop by for dinner anyway, and I'll try to not be too costly on your resources anymore. But you know, Haru — you know that I've been alone for a long time, and that even now, I'm still just as lonely as I was all those centuries ago.
[ and he means alone as in alone, the loneliness that lingers even when all of the swords sit down on lazy, hot summer days and stuff their faces with watermelon slices, and tsurumaru goes around laughing and smiling, sticking his watermelon seeds on the other swords' faces, and the sounds of dozens of furious footsteps after his own echoing throughout the citadel. ]
Because, you know as well as I do, that I don't care about a war that I never chose to fight in. I was honest with you earlier, when I said that I was just going through the motions. [ his hands now hold haru's as tightly as he can possibly manage without causing himself further injury, which... isn't too drastic, and is actually still a very weak grip. but nonetheless, he hopes that his intentions are clear. ]
So, at the very least... if I meet someone like that, can you promise to do that for me? Until then, I'll do as you say — I'll give it more time.