Welcome to Gaia! ::

You wake up.

The first thing that you are aware of is the environment around you: cool, quiet, peaceful. You aren't breathing anymore. It doesn't hurt anymore. You feel calm. You feel relaxed. So relaxed that you don't realize you've been floating until someone reaches to pull you from your waking point.

A lake. A large, still pool in the middle of a cavern, its surface reflecting a pale lilac.

It is just you and your guide. You stand and walk with them over paths that seem like they've never been traveled until you reach large, overarching gates, made of dusty marble, the impassive statues on either side staring down at you with glossy eyes. Though they look like they might move at any moment, they haven't in a long, long time, cobwebs coiled around their curves. As you step through them, you feel something, as if something has been pulled away from you. You realize those are your past memories. It hurts a little less now, but also leaves you disoriented and confused. Too much, too many memories, too much binding. You feel pale and ashen.

SETTING |↔| ɯopƃuıʞ ɹnoʎ

This is the Underworld. Purgatory.

If you've found yourself within the walls of this kingdom, you've met an untimely end. Your life has been stolen from you. Understandably, this can be a difficult thing to accept, but you'll get there.

The kingdom is encased in a cavernous underground dome, keeping you safe from the outside world. It hurt you once - who can be sure that it wouldn't hurt you again? It is both multi-layered and multi-leveled, with haphazard gates and walls towards the exterior, progressing into more organized opulence in the interior segments. The finer portions, closer to Elysian, contain hidden pockets and corridors that mimic the way the garden must look: lovely, flower-filled, soothing. A ghostly river with a faintly violet tint runs all throughout the kingdom, branching off down decrepit corridors, spilling over the smaller walls in soundless waterfalls, guided into the rooms that stand before every gate.

The pinnacle of the kingdom - the Tower - is situated in the center. It rises precariously towards the top of the cavern, and though it looks like it was randomly assembled, you never see it move or shudder. It is protected by the maze of rooms and corridors and dwellings and, most importantly, gates that can not be unlocked by just anyone. The largest rumor of the kingdom is that the Gate to Elysian is somewhere within this tower, guarded by the only one with all of the keys - the 'King'. It is said that only those who have fully transgressed passed all their memories can move to Elysian, yet none of you have ever spoken to someone who knows this for certain...

THE PATHS OF THE DEAD |↔| ʎǝuɹnoɾ ɹnoʎ

Your existence here is more about your previous and future existences than anything. You did have achievements. You were significant. The better you understand this, the better your stay here will be, and the sooner you may achieve Elysian.

This is not about accepting your death: it's about embracing the person that you were. While you realize you may have met an untimely end, while you realize you have left your loved ones behind, or perhaps been ultimately betrayed, you are able to regard this with a surreal experience. The guide explains it to you in practiced tones. You are in purgatory. In order to reach Elysian, beyond the largest gates in the place, you must shed all bonds of the memories of your past.

The 'King' is here to help. You poor, poor things. He can only imagine your trauma.

The more you progress, the more you remember about the life you lost. You begin to take on more and more characteristics of your previous body: though you arrived with a humanoid appearance, you notice the reappearance of your wings, or tail, or claws.

Whenever a segment of your previous life is remembered, you relive it in a surreal experience. These can be called forth by stepping into one of the trickling portions of the river that run through every section of the kingdom - both feet in to show some real conviction, or it won't work! Your goal is to 'conquer' these memories in various ways, depending on how they present themselves. Your path through this memory will be evident when it begins, and it is in your best interest to follow the lead of that sensation within you.

OOC |↔| ɟɟnʇs ɔı ʇou ɹnoʎ

Everyone within this kingdom is a supernatural creature of some sort. For Halloween, this means they are the same creature they were before (or something closely related to their natural ability if you really want something different). For Hunters, this means that they are the creature that their weapon is (or something related to their charge ability). For Horsemen, this means that they are a species relevant to their clan type. All of these are open to your interpretation. Every species had a primary humanoid form in the living world, since their society functions similarly to human society with a more fantasy/ancient/medieval touch (still use swords, go to battles, rely on trade ability, farming, etc).

When they emerge from the lake, their form is entirely humanoid. They regain elements of their 'former image' as they work through their memories. It's up to you how many they have now!

As they journey through your memories, they transgress: the state of moving on. You get to write about their memory, in which your character controls the memory rather than the memory controlling the character. They can't be sure if things are exactly as they would remember them or not, just that this is their past. The more you transgress, the closer you get to finally achieving a state of enlightenment, enough to move you toward Elysian.


The style of dress within the kingdom is a mixture of ancient Grecian clothing and Victorian clothing. What does that even mean? It's up to you! You can lean farther towards one end or the other, concoct a perfect mix of the two, use a toga with a top hat or a suit with laurels.

If you'd like, you can retain the wound that killed you. If it is visible, however, the 'King' thinks this is much too sad, so upon your arrival the finishing blow has been covered, filled in, plugged up, or otherwise repaired with some sort of metallic purple alloy. It doesn't hurt, but then again, nothing really does.

You might discover small, stray animals wandering around, especially in the exterior portions of the kingdom. Yes, these are minipets (please use good judgment on this, though - a maneki neko is a creature of legend, so its minipet counterpart could exist here, but a nyan cat couldn't). They are, however, not smart enough to figure out how to move on, and are stuck here for the foreseeable future. You can't own them, but you can care for them if you want.

MIASMA |↔| ǝɔuǝssǝ ɹnoʎ

The color of this kingdom's Miasma is violet. The crown is fueled by pity.

It is important to note that there are two different types of keys in this kingdom. One is an actual, physical key and the other is a marking of a key on your left forearm (right arm is okay if you happen to not have a left one). Physical keys are given to you by the 'King'. The markings have always been on your arm, since the first day you arrived here.

The marking seems to evolve as you do. It emerges a bit more with each memory, as if your tarnish is being polished away. Those just beginning their journey bear a simpler marking, while those with more experience have something more intricate. You haven't ever seen the 'King's' marking, but you're sure it must be real fancy. He keeps it covered at all times. This isn't about him, it's about you. Don't pay so much attention to the irrelevant things.

Memories outside of battle, meant only for your progression, are accessed with your key marking. This works sort of like a passive ability. You don't have to do anything to make it happen - the marking is the only thing you need, and you have that, so you're set! When you step into the water, the marking on your arm begins to mimic the soundless flow, taking on the faint purples and ripples of the stream. You then slip into your memory, and the rest is entirely up to you.


- To access a memory, you must find a place within the kingdom that the water flows through. Stand in it. Your marking will now allow you access to the memory.
- While in the memory, you have power over it. You are not forced to relive things exactly as they were.
- Each memory can only be fully relived once, and once it has, it is not forgotten but it no longer hurts. It becomes an archived memory, something that no longer weighs you down.
- Progress through a memory means three things for physical changes: your marking changes slightly, you slowly regain less humanoid features, and your color begins to return.
- Full release from the hold of your memories means that you are ready to be granted access to Elysian.



Full Reflection:

- This is accessed with the physical key.
- For a single moment, the character fully becomes who they were in the past: a hero, a writer, a poet, so on so forth; the options are endless. They use that memory to manifest a part of themselves. They summon open a memory door and open it with their key. Within lies their fully formed memory that comes out and becomes them.
- The memory must be formed for offensive or defensive. It can be a weapon, a creature, a mount, or even a past loved one, or an emotion created into the form of weapon, but it must retain a solid element, a manifestation of that memory in corporeal form.
- For example: if the character had a past memory, their strongest memory, of being stabbed while dying, they might manifest their weapon as a bloodied sword. As they open their door in battle with their key, from the door the bloodied sword appears. The sword will remain their primary focus of manifestation until they have transgressed it (which they must do in a solo time). It means a character can have the same form of creation for all battles, or different ones, depending on level of transgressing.
- Roll 3d10. The first is the damage done to oneself, the infliction of the memory of themselves. The second is the damage done to the opponent. The third is the damage they sap from the opponent to heal themselves. All tell a story, in their own time.

There were gifts of varying sizes, all tied with purple ribbon, stacked neatly at the entrance of the wildflower garden.

It was the worst of all the gardens, weeds growing through cracks in the stone walkways, most of the ragtag band of flowers opting not to bloom. Nobody ever came to see them. There was no need to bother. The few flowers that did bloom huddled together beneath the only beams of light they found, desperately lapping up their rays. The water here was stagnant, and though the flow of the streams could never be heard in the best of places, the absence of movement was notable through the stench of wet dust it carried into the corners. It waited to bring memories and yearned to be touched.

It was the worst, but it remained the largest of the most accessible, so the present boxes were placed here instead of somewhere more favorable.

The Gatekeeper waited eagerly for all to arrive, perched atop a statue that was once something lovely. He made a game of balancing on the crooked surface as he watched them come, one by one, each taking a box as they'd been instructed.

Today was a special day. Perhaps the most special day, considering how scarce it was for multiples to encounter the Gate of Elysian in one night cycle. But even if half the kingdom found The Garden yesterday, today would still be more special.

Today The Voice had asked of them.



He listened like a child, his head in his hands, his eyes wide with wonder. His ears were tilted towards the door, just slightly, as if it might somehow bring him closer to the entity that spoke. It never did, but it didn't stop him from trying.

The words came from a large keyhole in a small door in a room only he knew to visit. He'd never been able to find a real key that fit the lock, and he suspected there might not have been one in the first place. The Voice spoke to him, and he swallowed each statement with coatings of verity and law, never questioning or complaining.

He listened today like he'd always listened, until the words came together into sentences into commands. His fingers shook with the thrill that this particular message stirred within him, all from a simple request: gather your subjects together and choose your bravest warriors. I require from each of your subjects exactly at least one tribute as follows...

Simple to him, at least, because with the Voice's words, Thackery finally knew that he was not alone in noticing their greatness. Each was special. Each was strong. Each could be named with their own special talent. His kingdom was full of the best (where 'best' meant 'put in any effort') and now they all could see it.



When all of his kingdom had arrived, he clasped his hands together and tilted his head upward to cry, "Okay, open them!"

Though many were tentative, wary of the occasion, questioning whether or not they'd ever even received a gift from the Gatekeeper before, some did just as they were instructed. Those who shook the box heard no indication of anything inside. Those who tugged on the ribbon found that it gave way easily, slipping away from the box like a thick wisp of smoke. There was hardly a moment for them to break through the wrapping before he slid from the statue and spoke again, loud, manic, urgent.

"There's nothing in them! Nothing at all! Do you know why?" His eyes danced around the crowd, left to right, back to front, meeting a sea of general confusion. He knew they knew this one, because they were such clever things, so he continued without a response. "Because the gifts are inside you--no, no don't try to tear, no, not literally, I mean..."

A scuffle broke out in one of the far corners of the garden. Apparently someone had tried to rip the gift out of someone else. Others shifted away from them and mumbled to themselves, a domino effect of awkward motions and timid observation.

"The Voice wants me to show off your gifts," he called, hands cupped around his mouth, a bit melodramatic for the acoustics of the enclosed garden. It echoed in the silence the name brought. "So! Since I know you're all special, you'll just have to prove to me that you know you are too. It's easy! Just think about what you've got in here." He paused to tap his chest, and, on second thought, tapped his head too.

"The special things won't all be the same. Some of you have been here for a while, and you know--"

The Queen, unrivaled of your kind, they hold their hand closest to you and their power unrivaled...

"--that much is true. You've already found a bunch of your best inner strengths and embraced them all! And some of you find strength in your strength--"

The Knight, your bravest warrior, they fight fiercely despite all odds...

"--which is okay too! We can't all do that. It's impressive! And some of you have already figured all of this out--"

The Rook, sturdy in spirit and mind, they protect all you hold dear...

"--because you're better thinkers than the rest of us. Not that anyone isn't smart! Some of you are just really smart! And some of you might know that you're best at leading others--"

The Bishop, a guiding figure, they tread in territory you would otherwise fear...

"--through the darkness, which is also okay, because sometimes it's hard to make it on our own. And if you don't feel like you have any talent to bring--"

And to each other name will be bestowed the title of Pawn, those who would call themselves warriors and fight and die for their kingdom.

"--you're here, aren't you? Brave enough to face all of the trials you have to, or push through the mundane and the difficult. You're here, and for some of you, that means everything."

He was tremendously pleased with his brilliantly rousing speech of you're each special and I love you all, so he waited for applause, but none such praise came. Perhaps this was the trouble with rallying introspection. Whatever the case, they weren't speaking. Fearing the possibility that someone might begin to feel awkward or out of place were the silence not filled, he did it with his own voice.

"It's okay if you need some time to think. When you're done thinking, though, I'll be waiting here with real gifts! The non-metaphorical kind, I mean, not to insinuate that yours are no less...real..." Frowning, he shook his head. "You can tell me what you think of yourself. Or just come close enough for me to see you, if you don't want to talk. It's okay. You all have the same chance. You don't have to be afraid!"

As he beckoned for them to come forward, he looked over garden full of the victorious. They were the weeds who fought to break through the stones, and the flowers who inched towards the light. They survived the most final of sentences. They wouldn't be lost in battle because they knew only how to win.

He couldn't worry over negative options if those simply did not exist.

[ entering ]

Henry woke to silence, his body weightless, his heart heavy. This place was familiar in a way very little was: his memories were foggy, out of grasp and out of reach. It was a troubling thought, but...There wasn't any worry or anxiety clenching at his heart like a vice. Like every other subject of this kingdom, he would learn eventually, Henry was born anew, so that he could move on to a place beyond these walls and gates and overgrown labyrinths.

With him, in the beginning, had been a guide. It had treated him so carefully, gently warning him of what was to come. It is not about who you are, it had intoned, so softly, its words wreathed in kindness, in pity, in an embrace of words. But who you were. Remember this, Henry of clan Charles.

Henry did not make a habit of tracking the passing of time, so he could not be sure how long it had been since that first night of violet-shrouded mystery. He had wandered the streets, a barefoot ruffian barely five feet tall, scrubby and blond and waifish, the picaresque image ruined by a gaping throat where it had been slit.

It would have been a quick death, the Blacksmith told him, pouring violet alloy into the wound. It would have been quick: efficient, painless.

But, that all had been a long, long time ago. The key on his arm had been simple, but vicious, far more vicious than Henry's unassuming personality. Its teeth were jagged, pointed like a demon's fork, and its handle was triangular in nature. It was still very simple; Henry knew that unlocking additional memories would make it more intricate, would paint black ink against his skin, coupled with relearned knowledge of who he had been, before.

But he didn't want to know. He wasn't happy, here, but...Henry wasn't sure if he...even wanted to be happy.

Either way, the streets never stopped being familiar, but Henry had stopped dwelling on it. As time passed, he took on an apprenticeship with the Blacksmith that had repaired him, but Henry wasn't suited to the work. Too small, too frail, to weak to hold the hammer and anvil needed for the massive swords, axes, and other weapons the smithy created. Despite his disappointment, Henry conceded defeat, and moved on to work under one of the Blacksmith's colleagues. It would be an old favour to a friend, to give him such a deft-fingered student, the Blacksmith had said.

The establishment was in a cobblestone house, forge attached to its side, shaded in indigo and violet. There were few customers, but their orders were regular, and often in large quantities, numbering in the thousands. Henry's disappointment vanished as soon as he learned the nature of his new teacher's business: crafting keys for the King himself.

Henry lost himself in his work, creating key after key, swiftly graduating from apprentice to craftsman to master, taking over the business entirely. He carved them in increasingly fantastical shapes, sizes, and intricacies. Sometimes he made them from food for feasts, sculpted them in chocolate and decorated them in fresh fruit. Other times, he helped make simple things, for houses and gates and latches. The Tower was the limit of Henry's creations, and while the key on his arm remained plain, Henry's creations certainly did no such thing.

After all. In King Thackery's domain, Henry's business was always needed.

But the winds have turned, and with them, they brought change.

Henry stood before King Thackery, his heart swelled with warmth he had not felt since before his awakening, something clenching in his chest. Something dark and sinewy pulled at his chest, and without thinking, he stepped forward.

"My King, I am Henry," he said, voice quavering, just a little. "For years I have made your keys. You have trusted me with crafting you the best of the best, and I have always delivered. No order has been too tall, no creation too complex, no request too unreasonable. I have guarded the secrets of the keys my entire time here, in this Kingdom."

He bowed, once, his blond hair falling into his eyes, eyes trained to his King's feet, gaze politely deferred.

"My request, now, sire, is a simple one."

He looked up, and Henry's seafoam green eyes trained onto Thackery's, a jolt of something unnamed dancing down his spine, the smallest trickle of true recognition.

"I wish to guard the King of Keys himself. Thank you, sire, for this opportunity to speak."

An arm flew out, caught and steadied the maiden.

The arm belonged to that of a male, one whose sleeves were rolled up just enough for one to spy the key that was etched into his pale skin. The stranger only gave her a nod, gesturing her towards the gatekeeper, staying silent.

He was dressed in formal wear, with the absence of a jacket. A jewelled brooch held a cravat into place at his neck and he also wore a vest that seemed to have gossamer threads woven into them.

Erebus drew backwards, waiting for the maiden to introduce herself as the other did before her. He would do the same, once it was his turn, but now, he was quiet, mulling over what the Gatekeeper had said.

He hadn't been quite sure what to make of the gift at first, but once he opened it and the Gatekeeper announced his intentions, he had honestly found it to be quite impressive, in a way. They did not need gifts, now that they were dead. He did not remember much, save for his name. There were no black ears, tail or even the bone structures on his arms that would tell everyone of the hellhound he once was.

[entering]

His trio of tails twitched behind his frame almost gracefully as he watched, and waited. He had answered the call, wandering and waiting by the gates all the residents knew. Gathered here was the entire kingdom, their king requesting they all be present for this glorious day. Apparently there had been something different about the gate this day, different enough that a slew of boxes had been placed before the gates and everyone had to be there.

It reminded him a lot of his own 'awakening'. It had been many, many moons ago. Too long to count. Looking back now the memory was fuzzy, all he could remember being a gentle hand on his shoulder and a welcoming smile. A voice that urged him to be who he was, to allow himself to remember and love himself. He was that way for too long. Like most he wandered the labyrinths, both in this land and in his mind. Once in a while he would stumble across something, some memory. Something once forgotten which was now remembered.

That was a long time ago.

A hand reached down to idly scratch at his arm, claws gently tracing at a itch formed just over the key marking blackening his flesh. His marking was a lot more visible, and intricate, than most. His time spent in this middle ground was weighing heavier and heavier, his memories almost back in full he thought. It has taken the man a long time to figure out exactly what he was to do in this new life, and fate even here had a sense of humor. In all honesty, his current profession was... so similar to that of his memories. The proverbial apple did not fall far from the tree, only instead of being a parent to child it was his past self to his new life.

Only he did not have such harsh upbringings, or life, in this one. Here he was not abused, or hurt to train for his job. In a way even now it was not needed, he remembered how things were done. Here he allowed others to come and go as they please, here he ran the show. He would allow himself to wander out sometimes, but he found himself incredibly picky at times. Now that he had the chance to choose, why shouldn't he? He grew up a Courtesan for pennies and breadcrumbs in his previous life, having to sell himself short mostly to keep his 'owners' happy, so here he would allow himself happiness.

No one would be hurt under his watch.

"My king." The kitsune piped up, following after the last to approach and stepping forward when he felt it was his turn. He stood before him looking his usual self. He wore a black vest and black slacks, both trimmed in a light gold. Over this was a shaw of sheer white fabric, that crossed over his shoulder to his hip, and back around before going up one more. It was held together with a clasp on the shoulder, some sort of blue gemstone. Though the most notable feature as he moved was the light glinting off all the jewelry he wore. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, anklets, even a set of golden laurels on his head. If anything, it said he liked to be pretty and damn sparkly, or was maybe a little vain. All of the above probably. "My name is Remi, and i have been a resident of your kingdom for many years." King Thackery would also know that Remi was not his real name, but some habits were hard to break and by now everyone knew this name anyways. "In my time here i have learned, both from my profession and from those ive met and befriended, that you need a helping hand at times. You need to have a partner, for how can you tango without one? Sometimes you even need someone to confide in, or even a shoulder to lean on, cry on, or just someone to talk to. Hell someone to watch your back even." He blinked a few times, frowning. Oh yeah he was beating around the bush majorly. He really was one to be wordy at times, but damn if he was not rather lazy and awkward at others.

"Okay cutting out all of the fluff and stuff, because i dont think people are here to listen to a confessional... I would be honored to stand by you as your Queen, if you would have me."

Saya's hand unconsciously kept patting her head, as if searching for the memories she lost. By now, she was settled enough to start to come to terms with the situation and glance at the King with a curious set of teal eyes. She was dressed in a shimmering fabric that created a sort of hood for her head and sashes for her arms, revealing a knee length dress underneath. Locks and stars adorned her figure, in a show of a small hair accessory and a belt.

His speech was so moving, Saya thought he was the best king one could possibly ask for. He accepted everything about them, all their flaws--

Nobody was left behind.

Saya clutched the box with a certain passion, both her hands coming to slide over the material idly. She couldnt help but one of the figures who spoke first, the kitsune and the young male by her side. The blond female was so brave, Saya silently clapped for her, patting a hand on her shoulder.

That was okay, right?

She made a clapping gesture, obviously admiring the way she spoke. She waited until several others said their piece, her pumped fists in a gesture to encourage herself.

"G-Greetings. I'm Saya .. My King, I'm not very accustomed to battle but .. upon acceptance, I'm sure I can bring a lot! I can bring the very best I have to offer until the end!"

She might have exerted all of her energy there, all of a sudden, looking as nervous as a rabbit shoved into the middle of the room. You could see the conflict on her face for a moment as she wondered what to do.

... One step back at a time should do it.

When she glanced at him, Erebus felt a sudden wave of emotion wash over him. It wasn't as though he had fallen in love with her at first sight, although he had to admit that she was charming, in her gentle and sweet way. No, it was a sort of familiarity, as though he knew her, but he was sure, that with his lost memories, that he could not confirm this.

It was a strange feeling, but it was no stranger to him. It was something he had often felt when he gazed upon the Gatekeeper, probably because he had seen him quite a while as he had resided in the kingdom. Erebus had dismissed it, but now having that feeling come back upon seeing another had made him a little unsettled and uncertain.

But he was certain about one thing, about wanting to fight for his King. He waited for the maiden, and the other females to speak as well, before he stepped forward and bowed. "My name is Erebus, Sire. I will fight for you in battle and remain loyal to you to the very end. Whether you choose me to serve you as a Knight, Rook, Bishop, or even a Pawn, I will be content. It does not matter to me what title I carry as long as I can be of aid to you."

With that done, Erebus stepped back, besides both Tomoko and Saya, glancing at both with a small smile on his lips, hoping to bring them some form of reassurance when they both had seemed rather nervous. In all honesty, he himself was a little shaken by the prospects of a battle, but if he had to protect his King, then so be it.