Re: Interactive Story - LARP/MMORG for the whole CofI to join in, if you like or dare
- Thread starter kafka47
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She walks through the castle searching for the master. The stone is cold and damp against her bare feet, the rough cut granite harsh and uncomfortable. There is little light to see with; the narrow windows are too high to look through, and the pale shaft of light illuminates little. There are paintings up on the wall, portraits of important people, but she can't make out any details. Just dark holes where a face might be.
The corridor is endless. It goes on as far as the weak light will reveal. There are doors in the wall opposite the windows, which must be an outer wall. Gingerly she tries the handle of the nearest door. The iron handle almost freezes to her skin it is so cold. The wood of the door smells musty, like fungus. It is a dull grey in colour with only a faint grain visible. She strains turning the handle. It takes all her strength, and an eternity, for the mechanism to click and the heavy door to open a crack. A dead smell seeps out of the room, cloying in her nostrils, revolting her, making her gag. She tries to close the door, but it won't move! There's something inside, trying to open the door further, to pull her in. To suffocate her.
Desperately she pulls back; her arms are being pulled from her sockets. She screams a howl of despair, a horrific noise that builds in her throat until it becomes a shriek of rage. She wrenches the door shut; a vicious banging emanates from inside the room. She flees down the corridor in terror, running and running until she can run no more.....
The corridor is endless. It goes on as far as the weak light will reveal. There are doors in the wall opposite the windows, which must be an outer wall. Gingerly she tries the handle of the nearest door. The iron handle almost freezes to her skin it is so cold. The wood of the door smells musty, like fungus. It is a dull grey in colour with only a faint grain visible. She strains turning the handle. It takes all her strength, and an eternity, for the mechanism to click and the heavy door to open a crack. A dead smell seeps out of the room, cloying in her nostrils, revolting her, making her gag. She tries to close the door, but it won't move! There's something inside, trying to open the door further, to pull her in. To suffocate her.
Desperately she pulls back; her arms are being pulled from her sockets. She screams a howl of despair, a horrific noise that builds in her throat until it becomes a shriek of rage. She wrenches the door shut; a vicious banging emanates from inside the room. She flees down the corridor in terror, running and running until she can run no more.....
Ditzie's body suddenly slumps holding her head, she falls into what appears to be a pit of some kind. Just as Owen rushes over the top of the pit seals again. "Everything is fluid in this crazy place, we can be sure that Panthera is in control. Come on, Benny, Zeke, run for your life."
Strange humanoid shapes appear to be coming from the walls lumbering toward them. Sluggish, zombie like they respirating a choking gas.
The hands suddenly swing down electrical discharge eminates from them.
None of them have Panthera's or Ditzie lifesigns, they seem to be made of the same material as the object itself. The gas, however, is quite toxic to humans and hivers alike.
She finds herself weeping inconsolably in an alcove. A draught from the window high above her tussles her hair. It seems to be getting darker. The gloom inside is hard to define; edges blend into one another, discrete divisions merging together.
The floor is freezing; she is chilled to the bone through the thin white shift. The tears start to dry. Under the noise of her sobs she can just make out another sound. Something like the laughter of a child, far away in the distance. She falls silent and strains to listen...
Movement! Something just went past her. Time has passed; she is not sure how long. She cannot tell whether the corridor is any darker or lighter. Looking down the corridor she sees a figure; at least, the rise and fall of slippered feet beneath a robe, receding into the distance. She tries to identify the walker but she cannot see further than the bottom of the mantle, its upper body hidden by the enveloping darkness.
She rises to her feet, pain numbing her stiffened limbs. She limps off after the walking stranger, trying to follow. However, every time she looks up the figure seems farther away...
The floor is freezing; she is chilled to the bone through the thin white shift. The tears start to dry. Under the noise of her sobs she can just make out another sound. Something like the laughter of a child, far away in the distance. She falls silent and strains to listen...
Movement! Something just went past her. Time has passed; she is not sure how long. She cannot tell whether the corridor is any darker or lighter. Looking down the corridor she sees a figure; at least, the rise and fall of slippered feet beneath a robe, receding into the distance. She tries to identify the walker but she cannot see further than the bottom of the mantle, its upper body hidden by the enveloping darkness.
She rises to her feet, pain numbing her stiffened limbs. She limps off after the walking stranger, trying to follow. However, every time she looks up the figure seems farther away...
The Hinterworlds Rambler
SOC-14 5K
Many misconceptions exist about Hivers and running. Ben scans ahead, finding the safest fast route away from this event. Ben can run his cloaca off when the time is right. Now he crouches like a human olympic sprinter and then is gone. Gone like in the cartoons when someone runs for it. There is a noticable dust cloud where he once stood... he begins to run as soon as the screaming starts.
She realises she is screaming. She stops, her throat sore, her jaw aching. There is carpet under her feet, a coarse warmth compared to the rough cold of the bare granite.
She cannot see the figure in the cloak anymore. Time has passed. She aches all over, not just her jaw, but her limbs, and her gut. She cradles her stomach as it cramps violently and she vomits, the meagre bile soaking into the pile of the carpet, invisible in the dull fractal pattern. She is very thirsty.
She notices a flicker of light for the first time. She realises now that the corridor is a gallery; paintings hang at regular intervals along the wall opposite the high windows. They seem to be all portraits, but the light is too sparse to make out their features; all she can make out are the feet, clad in slippers or golden shoes. Between every third painting is a door set deep into the stone wall. The flicker of light is coming from a doorway just up ahead, the heavy wooden door slightly ajar.
She struggles to reach the doorway, leaning on the wall to keep herself upright. The stone is very roughly hewn. Just before she reaches the door she cuts her thumb on a sharp spur of rock. The pain is a clean sensation among the fuzziness of her senses, a stab of blinding clarity. She hears the laughter once more, the laughter of a child.
Slowly, warily, she edges her face past the doorpost and peers through the crack in the door. The room inside is lit by candlelight. It is sparsley appointed. There is a thick fur on the stone floor. There is something moving on it. She cannot see what, it is too far inthe room.
It takes all her failing strength to push the heavy door ajar enough for her to squeeze in. Gasping, she looks down quizzically at the sight that greets her. A babe is moving on the fur, not newborn, but not yet old enough to walk. She is playing, happily groping and pushing a MKIII Instellarms K1430 FGMP, chortling at the pretty lights that run down its side, indicating its full charge.
The child looks up and sees her, a giant happy smile lighting up her face. The child giggles, and her finger touches the activation stud. There is a blinding flash....
She cannot see the figure in the cloak anymore. Time has passed. She aches all over, not just her jaw, but her limbs, and her gut. She cradles her stomach as it cramps violently and she vomits, the meagre bile soaking into the pile of the carpet, invisible in the dull fractal pattern. She is very thirsty.
She notices a flicker of light for the first time. She realises now that the corridor is a gallery; paintings hang at regular intervals along the wall opposite the high windows. They seem to be all portraits, but the light is too sparse to make out their features; all she can make out are the feet, clad in slippers or golden shoes. Between every third painting is a door set deep into the stone wall. The flicker of light is coming from a doorway just up ahead, the heavy wooden door slightly ajar.
She struggles to reach the doorway, leaning on the wall to keep herself upright. The stone is very roughly hewn. Just before she reaches the door she cuts her thumb on a sharp spur of rock. The pain is a clean sensation among the fuzziness of her senses, a stab of blinding clarity. She hears the laughter once more, the laughter of a child.
Slowly, warily, she edges her face past the doorpost and peers through the crack in the door. The room inside is lit by candlelight. It is sparsley appointed. There is a thick fur on the stone floor. There is something moving on it. She cannot see what, it is too far inthe room.
It takes all her failing strength to push the heavy door ajar enough for her to squeeze in. Gasping, she looks down quizzically at the sight that greets her. A babe is moving on the fur, not newborn, but not yet old enough to walk. She is playing, happily groping and pushing a MKIII Instellarms K1430 FGMP, chortling at the pretty lights that run down its side, indicating its full charge.
The child looks up and sees her, a giant happy smile lighting up her face. The child giggles, and her finger touches the activation stud. There is a blinding flash....
The Hinterworlds Rambler
SOC-14 5K
Ben takes a quick series of comparative sensor readings... ambient radiation... gravity... overall environment...
He also "rights" himself by defining a realtive absolute position in his mind. An old Spacer's trick.
He scans for nearby active comms and locks onto any... defining thier position realtive to his...
"All Parties. Respond at once. State Status."
He also "rights" himself by defining a realtive absolute position in his mind. An old Spacer's trick.
He scans for nearby active comms and locks onto any... defining thier position realtive to his...
"All Parties. Respond at once. State Status."
Sight returns slowly. Silence surrounds her. She is not comfortable. She feels bloated and weak. Every so often the stone floor trembles violently: it is a regular pattern. She hears nothing, but every few minutes her whole world shudders.
Finally she remembers how to open her eyes. The room lurchs and shakes; another tremor. The vibration ushers dust to rain down like mist. The room is the same, but different. The bearskin rug lies in the middle of the chamber, empty now, save for a metre wide scorch mark in the centre. The candles are out, but it isn't dark. A small window lies to her left, its many panes of lumpen glass show a pale light shining through.
Her guts ache painfully. She feels her abdomen; it is swollen and distended somewhat. She pulls up the hem of her grimy shift. and sees a noticable bulge at her belly. She winces in understanding. Slow tears leak from her eyes as she leans against the door. She starts to tremble with the cold....
A shadow disturbs her. She looks up in fear. Something moves past the window. Hesitantly, she tries to stand. Her legs are very weak, she can hardly feel them they're so numb from the cold. Using her hands, more like claws she is so tense, she climbs up the door, edging up centimetre by centimetre. The pale shadow lurks at the window, moving this way and then that, but always returning to the glass.
Eventually she is on her feet. Leaning against the wall, she shuffles around the room. Into the murky corner, fearful of objects she cannot see, she takes minutes to move the short metres to the perpendicular wall. Now she can only infer the creature from the dim shadow it casts on the blackened rug. Pressed against the cold stone, clutching her belly in one arm she slides to the edge of the window.
The glass is filthy. As one eye peeps through the glass she can make out a small shape, indistinct as it seems to be pale in colour. It moves furtively back and forth. The room trembles, the floor jumping beneath her, the glass panes shaking around in their lead. The creature outside flinches. Suddenly she can hear again; a roaring rushes in before fading away, just as the vibrations beneath her fingers dissipate. As the first sound diminishes, she hears another dim noise, a mewling sound, from through the glass.
There is a brass latch on the window. Compulsively she pulls it open. A stiff breeze greets her, cold yet strangley refreshing. The nausea and bloated feeling fades a little, the small bump on her abdomen no longer sore. The light is almost blinding, even though it is dim and diffuse, a misty light coming from nowhere. In front of her on the narrow stone sill a white cat rears back in alarm, before relaxing and licking it's paw. She marvels at the beauty of the cat, pure white silky fur, and ruby jewels for eyes. She reaches out to touch it, but it dances away along the ledge mischeviously.
Looking down all she can see is darkness in the mists. To her left a stone wall carries on into infinity; the gallery continuing on, it seems. To her right, the direction where the cat sits tauntingly, the wall curves away behind, so she cannot see how far it goes on. The ledge follows the wall, a twenty centimetre sandstone line. In the distance the light fades to grey, but she thinks she can make out spires and towers out in the indistinct haze. The same fortress? Or a different one?
The cat returns to just outside her reach, and miaows. It runs off along the ledge a way, before turning back and slinking to the window once more. It miaows again, and looks up quizically at her.
Recklessly, she climbs up onto the window sill, the rough stone grazing her knees. The cat prances off along the ledge, and miaows loudly for her to follow. Dutifully she obeys, clinging to the ledge, edging away from the window, the breeze whipping her hair into her eyes. It starts to rain.....
Finally she remembers how to open her eyes. The room lurchs and shakes; another tremor. The vibration ushers dust to rain down like mist. The room is the same, but different. The bearskin rug lies in the middle of the chamber, empty now, save for a metre wide scorch mark in the centre. The candles are out, but it isn't dark. A small window lies to her left, its many panes of lumpen glass show a pale light shining through.
Her guts ache painfully. She feels her abdomen; it is swollen and distended somewhat. She pulls up the hem of her grimy shift. and sees a noticable bulge at her belly. She winces in understanding. Slow tears leak from her eyes as she leans against the door. She starts to tremble with the cold....
A shadow disturbs her. She looks up in fear. Something moves past the window. Hesitantly, she tries to stand. Her legs are very weak, she can hardly feel them they're so numb from the cold. Using her hands, more like claws she is so tense, she climbs up the door, edging up centimetre by centimetre. The pale shadow lurks at the window, moving this way and then that, but always returning to the glass.
Eventually she is on her feet. Leaning against the wall, she shuffles around the room. Into the murky corner, fearful of objects she cannot see, she takes minutes to move the short metres to the perpendicular wall. Now she can only infer the creature from the dim shadow it casts on the blackened rug. Pressed against the cold stone, clutching her belly in one arm she slides to the edge of the window.
The glass is filthy. As one eye peeps through the glass she can make out a small shape, indistinct as it seems to be pale in colour. It moves furtively back and forth. The room trembles, the floor jumping beneath her, the glass panes shaking around in their lead. The creature outside flinches. Suddenly she can hear again; a roaring rushes in before fading away, just as the vibrations beneath her fingers dissipate. As the first sound diminishes, she hears another dim noise, a mewling sound, from through the glass.
There is a brass latch on the window. Compulsively she pulls it open. A stiff breeze greets her, cold yet strangley refreshing. The nausea and bloated feeling fades a little, the small bump on her abdomen no longer sore. The light is almost blinding, even though it is dim and diffuse, a misty light coming from nowhere. In front of her on the narrow stone sill a white cat rears back in alarm, before relaxing and licking it's paw. She marvels at the beauty of the cat, pure white silky fur, and ruby jewels for eyes. She reaches out to touch it, but it dances away along the ledge mischeviously.
Looking down all she can see is darkness in the mists. To her left a stone wall carries on into infinity; the gallery continuing on, it seems. To her right, the direction where the cat sits tauntingly, the wall curves away behind, so she cannot see how far it goes on. The ledge follows the wall, a twenty centimetre sandstone line. In the distance the light fades to grey, but she thinks she can make out spires and towers out in the indistinct haze. The same fortress? Or a different one?
The cat returns to just outside her reach, and miaows. It runs off along the ledge a way, before turning back and slinking to the window once more. It miaows again, and looks up quizically at her.
Recklessly, she climbs up onto the window sill, the rough stone grazing her knees. The cat prances off along the ledge, and miaows loudly for her to follow. Dutifully she obeys, clinging to the ledge, edging away from the window, the breeze whipping her hair into her eyes. It starts to rain.....
Tierrennes
SOC-9
OOC: On the simon site I got 42
Zeke put his pain in the back of his mind and concetrates on the gems following each sequence in turn until the gate opens or they run out of time.
Zeke put his pain in the back of his mind and concetrates on the gems following each sequence in turn until the gate opens or they run out of time.
The ledge is slick with moss, and the rain only makes thing even more greasy. Her grimy shift is soon sodden, and makes progress even harder. She doesn't dare look down.
The cat prances ahead gleefully; it seems to be enjoying her discomfort. In time she has crawled around the arc of the wall. Looking back she can no longer see the window she climbed out of. There are no other windows along the ledge that she can see.
She gradually becomes aware of a shape emerging out of the gloom above her: a long cylindrical object that juts out over the roof of the fortress and extends into space. Her sense of scale is completely distorted, she has no idea how far away or large the object it is. She stares at it for a long time, ignoring the cat that is mewling insistantly.
Then suddenly the world explodes. A ball of fire erupts from the end of the cylinder; and deafening crack pierces her ears and hammers her brain; it's followed by a diminishing roar, while the wet stone rumbles and shakes around her. Her knees slip off the ledge - her hands desperately scrabble for purchase but find none. She tumbles over the edge into the abyss, the cat watching her fall with what she imagines to be a malignant expression....
The cat prances ahead gleefully; it seems to be enjoying her discomfort. In time she has crawled around the arc of the wall. Looking back she can no longer see the window she climbed out of. There are no other windows along the ledge that she can see.
She gradually becomes aware of a shape emerging out of the gloom above her: a long cylindrical object that juts out over the roof of the fortress and extends into space. Her sense of scale is completely distorted, she has no idea how far away or large the object it is. She stares at it for a long time, ignoring the cat that is mewling insistantly.
Then suddenly the world explodes. A ball of fire erupts from the end of the cylinder; and deafening crack pierces her ears and hammers her brain; it's followed by a diminishing roar, while the wet stone rumbles and shakes around her. Her knees slip off the ledge - her hands desperately scrabble for purchase but find none. She tumbles over the edge into the abyss, the cat watching her fall with what she imagines to be a malignant expression....
The Hinterworlds Rambler
SOC-14 5K
OOC: Fiber optics? How quaint! Ben's systems are unaffected. Also, after 100 games of Simon (I actually have one) Ben's average is 45, with a high of 67.
Ben grasps is freinds as best he can, leaving hands free to work on that opening if he can...
"Some sort of matter conversion. We must escape this."
OOC: Question, what kind of gloves? Battledress gloves?
OOC 2: Request, Please, enough with the massive blocks of italics, it is very hard for my six eyes to get thru.
Ben grasps is freinds as best he can, leaving hands free to work on that opening if he can...
"Some sort of matter conversion. We must escape this."
OOC: Question, what kind of gloves? Battledress gloves?
OOC 2: Request, Please, enough with the massive blocks of italics, it is very hard for my six eyes to get thru.
Italics notwithstanding....
She awakes in pain.
The contractions are frequent now; every couple of minutes she doubles up in agony and clutches her swollen abdomen. Each time a fusion bomb explodes in her loins and the white lance of fire almost knocks her senseless once more. Every muscle is cramped up and twisted, her joints straining fit to burst, tendons stretching and nerves raw.
She thinks she is screaming. She cannot bure sure; she is listening as if down a well. There is a distant but persistent shriek, the muffled wail of a creature no longer human. Her throat hurts, she cannot breath, she can taste blood. The pressure is building in her guts. Something is stirring there: within the terror and the compression there is something else. Something apart.
A cool sensation sweeps her brow. A cloth has been passed over her. Someone is with her. She feels the touch of fingers on her arm, and then she is gripping a hand in hers, squeezing as hard as she can. She feels a caress on her cheek; for the first time since she awoke, she feels some comfort. The pain increases and quickens, yet she feels it receding. A silence grows within her, sensation fading, save for a detatched comfort and the hot pulsing life forcing its way through her body.
Suddenly the pressure releases. The hurt falls away, and briefly she hears a new sound, a new high pitched cry. But she's falling, falling in slow motion, into a whiteness that welcomes her like an old friend.....
She awakes in pain.
The contractions are frequent now; every couple of minutes she doubles up in agony and clutches her swollen abdomen. Each time a fusion bomb explodes in her loins and the white lance of fire almost knocks her senseless once more. Every muscle is cramped up and twisted, her joints straining fit to burst, tendons stretching and nerves raw.
She thinks she is screaming. She cannot bure sure; she is listening as if down a well. There is a distant but persistent shriek, the muffled wail of a creature no longer human. Her throat hurts, she cannot breath, she can taste blood. The pressure is building in her guts. Something is stirring there: within the terror and the compression there is something else. Something apart.
A cool sensation sweeps her brow. A cloth has been passed over her. Someone is with her. She feels the touch of fingers on her arm, and then she is gripping a hand in hers, squeezing as hard as she can. She feels a caress on her cheek; for the first time since she awoke, she feels some comfort. The pain increases and quickens, yet she feels it receding. A silence grows within her, sensation fading, save for a detatched comfort and the hot pulsing life forcing its way through her body.
Suddenly the pressure releases. The hurt falls away, and briefly she hears a new sound, a new high pitched cry. But she's falling, falling in slow motion, into a whiteness that welcomes her like an old friend.....
The Hinterworlds Rambler
SOC-14 5K
OCC: ewww! Human LArva! ewww!
OOC: new pic on the Technical Thread. It's a bit late, as it was meant for when Panthera merged with the entity, but it seems the evil hippy fascists were messing with my upload priviledges... Sigh...
Panthera's Farewell
Panthera's Farewell
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