[Everything in spoiler tags was written by The Moshmonster as part of a co-op intro. c: Here is Sharps's journal for this task.]
Mohawk Sharps followed closely behind Imuiel, the hair along her neck raising at the sight of the empty pedestal. She swallowed hard, bumping into Imuiel slightly as she hurried to keep up with him. For some reason the non-existence of the statue was scaring her more than it should.
The taller shape jolted a step forward at the sudden impact, looking over his shoulder at his companion with a masked, albeit quizzical underneath the ceramic, expression. Imuiel wasn't particularly sure when Sharps had started to follow him more, but he couldn't exactly say that it was unwelcome--and she seemed to be more than a bit offput by the atmosphere. It fell to him to protect her, he reasoned, and he would do just that. They had decided to do this together, and it made no sense to charge in without supporting each other.
"...inquiry. Alright?"
"Y-yeah, sorry Ims. I didn't mean to run into you like that. Just. Spooked I guess,"
she wrung her hands in front of her. And looked up as the Goddess handed them each a bag with a key. She looked up at the Goddess as she spoke and tentitavely looked at the lock, unsure if it was safe to open. She looked up to Imuiel, a small frown on her face.
"A-are you going to open yours, Ims?
"Soon. Not yet." Imuiel nodded, quietly taking both of the proffered items from the Goddess. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with this--what if something unfortunate happened? He shook that thought away, instead deeming it far better to look at it like a curious experiment. He wouldn't know what happened until he tried, yes? So why not go ahead and give it a shot?
After what seemed like a few minutes of internal debate, Imuiel gently slipped the key into the lock, frowning as it was revealed to be empty. The scissors were just as unexpected, and he briefly stared at them, frowning inwardly. "This will...not be pleasant." he muttered, already a bit leery.
Sharps followed suit, also opening her bag to see hers was also... empty. She looked up at Imuiel, a frown on her face again, clearly disappointed by the empty presents. She held the scissors gingerly in her hands, looking frightened. What parts did they need to collect? H-h-hearts? Why hearts? Her mind wandered back to the final memory she had, the corpses strewn across the snow. Is this what Idid to them? Did I cut out their hearts? A loud whimper escaped her throat as tears started pouring down her face as she continued staring at the scissors.
The whimper drew his attention back to Sharps, and he tilted his head, leaning down to get to eye level with her. What was that rolling down her face--? Imuiel hesitantly reached out, brushing one away with the backside of a claw. It felt...odd, wet. That was a new sensation. Without considering the fact that this might be deemed creepy or odd, he repeated the gesture a few times, mentally filing away the information. Yes, eyes could secrete an odd, wet substance. He assumed that he was not capable of this--perhaps this was Sharps's ability, just as his seemed to be getting up immediately after being knocked out. Her heart felt...sad, he noted with a slight frown. Was this what happened when Sharps was sad? She leaked?
"Ah. Query--what are these?" He gently swiped off one more tear, holding the finger out to her afterwards. "This is...new information. Are you--unhappy?"
At first Sharps was taken aback a little by him leaning down to her and brushing away a tear but then leaned into his touch, closing her eyes with a faint smile showing on her face. She sniffled a little, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. He looked so confused by her emotions, it was almost... cute in a way. Endearing, even. She shook off the thoughts of him for meoment, needing to re-focus on the task at hand. She cleared her throat before running a hand along his arm, eventually grabbing his.
They're tears, Ims. Haven't you ever cried before? And I'm not so much unhappy as I am scared. I... I remembered something that I may have done before and... I'm just afraid of what it would make me.
Her voice trailed off and she let go of his hand, crossing her arms over her chest trying to chase the thoughts from her mind. She turned her head to the doorway, looking scared again.
"W-well, Ims, are you ready to do this?
Oh. Imuiel stared at her hand in his, realizing that this was one of those connections that the Goddess had been talking about. But why was the hand there? What did that mean?
"--Tears." he repeated after her, tilting his head. Alright, so that was what they were called. That was relevant information. "I have--not. Likely impossible." He tapped his face with a free claw, inwardly cringing at the audible clink as it made contact with whatever was covering his face. "This...is not removable. Have gathered that." He didn't seem particularly torn up about this--in fact, he only shrugged, voice a calm almost-monotone. Imuiel considered the rest of Sharps's words silently, straightening up as she released his hand.
"Would not make anything. May have done is not done. Memories are...unreliable." As far as he was concerned, anyway. "Without proper data, impossible to correctly deduce results."
The doorway, though? Yes. They needed to do this. "...prepared."
Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 12:49 pm
He went into the door first, looking back over his shoulder again to make sure that Sharps was actually following--and stopping abruptly when she was nowhere to be found. Where had she gone...? It wasn't as if the smaller of the two could simply vanish. They had only walked into a door--how could she have gotten lost? Perhaps she had gone ahead, as unlikely as that seemed to him. Imuiel gave a low displeased hum before advancing, temporarily dismissing the distinct gap in information as he put himself to his task. She had to be around here somewhere, he reasoned. Moving forward would be the best way to try finding her and completing his task as well--two birds with one stone. And if she wasn't up there, he could always backtrack. That wouldn't be a problem.
It was far too dark in here for him after the door closed, and Imuiel hesitated, feeling a slight prickle of some new, uncomfortable feeling as the whispers became audible. What was that? The thudding sound accompanying it made him think that it was perhaps another monster, and he tensed automatically, gripping his bag and scissors tightly. The tall shape crept down the hallway cautiously, his progress coming to a jarring halt as he practically bowled over the crate, landing atop it with his beak hitting the wood hard on the backside of it and producing an empty thunk, followed by another thud. He gave a muted grunt as he took stock of what had happened, though that too reached immediate cessation as he realized what he was resting on top of--something squishy, unexpected, and deeply disturbing for some unknown reason. Imuiel jerked back, the strangled noise in his throat barely smothered as he brushed the arm on his way up, remaining a good two feet away from the whole thing for a few minutes. As he gradually regained his courage, the shape began to draw nearer, squinting in the darkness to try and make out anything other than that odd red outline. After a bit of feeling around, it became obvious that this crate was blocking his path--and it wasn't going to be moving any time soon, as he had discovered with a few pushes to test the figurative waters.
Thump-thump.
So that was where the heart was. To be honest, Imuiel should have seen this one coming.
He hadn't really remembered digging his scissors into the odd mass in the crate, but it had happened at some point. His strokes were quick and efficient, rather like a surgeon's as he sliced open access to the heart within. Imuiel had reached in, watching from a farther part of his mind as his hand slid in almost of its own accord, inwardly shuddering at the building warmth. He drew his hand out once more, freezing outright at the gushing for a split second--after that, his scissors took over for his hand, sliding in gracefully to brush across--something. It was thin and unusual, swelling and withering repeatedly as it blocked his way. They only lasted a few moments as Imuiel removed them too, deftly snipping them away from his prize. It wasn't too much longer before he had to physically pull the opening wider, digging his claws into both walls as he jerked them apart with a wet squelch. Something--a lot of somethings in fact--wet and slick flowed out easily as soon as they were given the opportunity, colliding with the floor of the crate with a short series of disgusting sounds.
Thump-thump.
There it was.
It wouldn't be hanging there for much longer, that heart--Imuiel clipped it free, calmly placing it into his bag without a trace of the nerves building inside him showing.
"ZHI--RAK--" the screech rang out, digging sharpened claws into his ears and sending his thoughts spiraling. He wasn't able to register the ringing created by the noise--he was somewhere else at the moment, standing perfectly still as the literal talons the arm possessed relaxed, sliding down his arm to fall back into the crate with a dull, final thud.
"Zhirak. That is your name, youngling." The cleric stood tall and resolute before him, ashen mask looming above him with its emerald lenses entirely unreadable. From his prone position on the ground of the hastily-erected tent, he saw things from a stranger angle, considering that he was always looming above the dirt he now practically lay in. "That is your rune name. It is...secret, sacred. Private, though it can be told to those close to you." He felt himself nod, and the cleric seemed pleased by his understanding, crouching down to get to eye level with him. "You are of the Alzar wing, and we will take care of you. Do not fret, youngling."
"Your given name will be--"
And just as soon as it had started, it stopped, coming back to reality with all the force of a train impact. His head jerked back upright, and Imuiel stared at the newly-filled bag in his hand, feeling dread bubble up within him. What had he done?
Imuiel turned sharply on his heel, striding towards the opposite end of the hall with a looming sense of urgency. The ground seemed to be melting underneath him, for lack of a better term, and that only encouraged him to kindly get the ******** out of Dodge with as much quickness as his slim frame could muster. He was having spectacular luck when it came to hitting objects today--the dead end caught him entirely by surprise, and his beak clattered into it with a sharp clank, causing his hands to dart up and grip at the dully-sore tip. Well, that certainly put a wrench in his plans. What was he going to do now? His attention was grabbed by another slosh behind him, followed by a few footsteps as he whirled around, the bag colliding with his shoulder and making a moist smack as it was abruptly stopped. In the lack of light, he couldn't see anything, but he had a feeling that nothing was there anyway--odd. Imuiel turned to face the dead end again, hesitantly removing a hand from his beak and placing it on the new wall. Had he perhaps made a wrong turn? No, there was no way that could happen, it was a straight hallway. Something about this entire situation was putting him on edge, and he fidgeted uncomfortably before walking back the way he had come, reasoning that perhaps he had accidentally been turned around in the blackness. The water kept rising, and Imuiel looked down at where he assumed it to be, biting his lip under his mask. He'd never been in water before--yes, there had been some present at the World's Edge, but he had avoided it until he had gotten more information. Being that he had entirely forgotten to do that, it had gone unexplored, and he was starting to regret that now. That same sloshing from before rang out, and he stopped outright, head snapping back up as he tried discerning the source of the sound.
"Please give it back."
He turned around again, trying to see if maybe that not-there thing from before had somehow managed to slip behind him in the darkness. There was nothing there, as was expected. This was ringing far more bells than he could ever deem to be acceptable, and if his confidence in his Goddess would have been anything less than unwavering, he may have started to doubt, or even regret. Imuiel moved to the opposite end of the hall, though it was soon revealed to be useless. The water was getting deeper and deeper, and unfamiliar panic was clenching an iron hand around his throat--coincidentally, that was precisely where the water level was. He moved back as quickly as he was able to, thrashing in the water for a moment or two as he scrambled out.
"Please give me back my-"
He hadn't been anticipating this, and for all his height, Imuiel was remarkably easy to topple into the water. What had been slightly muted was now full-blown panic, and he fought the vicegrip holding him down with every fiber of his still-new being as he was pushed further and further in. His eyes were wide under his mask, and the water was rushing in from places unknown, invading the previously safe space beneath the faded ceramic with unprecedented ferocity. The other figure stared at him, its own mask parting with a loud crack as the jaws opened wide, teeth frighteningly visible even in the abyssal quality of the water.
"Give me back my heart."
"Elium, you know what you must do. It is your time to become Chosen, and--" "But what if I've changed m'mind? If I don't wanna join in with the cult?"
The cleric stared at him with clear shock, gauntlets clicking as he folded his hands in front of him after a long pause. He could feel a sense of dread creeping into the area, and he wasn't entirely sure if it was just him or if it was a prevailing emotion. Once the older eater had regained his composure he let out a deep breath, the air hissing through the vents in his mask. "That is unacceptable, and you know it." "Unacceptable? Why--" "Silence."
"You will find your relic, and you will return it here, to us. Is that clear?"
Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 3:15 pm
Gangly limbs lashing out at every opportunity, Imuiel soon realized that he only had so much time left. In his blind panic, he had forgotten the scissors, but as they darted by his face in a frantic motion, a lightning bolt went off in his head. Lacking in the precision he'd displayed so readily earlier, he stabbed outwards with his impromptu weapon, hoping and praying to his Goddess that it would connect--
And it did.
The scream that followed rattled his head, and Imuiel was almost expecting something worse to happen as a result of his attack. When the mangled form of the cleric disappeared, he sat up quickly, forcing the water out of his mask's vents in ragged, spasming coughs. He glanced around timidly, a glacial chill darting up his spine as he just barely saw the form of his assailant, clutching the scissors in that same vice grip as before. He scrambled to his feet, fighting his spinning head as he clamored for the door, the bag still held tightly in his hand.
Painfully bright, and utterly clandestine. The table beneath him was not comfortable, and Imuiel jolted upright, already gritting his teeth at the grating hum of the lights. He moved toward the door as soon as he'd slid off the table, placing a hand over the lenses of his mask briefly to try and give his eyes a bit of a rest. He passed the threshold, and something slammed--it wasn't the door though, as a quick step backwards brought to his attention. Moving slowly, the tall figure braced himself with deep breaths, a prickling sensation brushing its cold fingers up and down the back of his neck. Imuiel started walking, more than ready to get out of this place as quickly as possible.
Thud.
Oh, that wasn't good. He turned around, swallowing-- And there was nothing there. The door wasn't even closed, but that didn't stop the lingering malevolent feeling from taking deeper root. Back to moving down the hall, then.
Thud.
The appearance of the figure did not wrench a scream from Imuiel's throat. He simply stared, momentarily transfixed as he noticed the ********>
He bolted down the hall away from the shape, only to be stopped abruptly by the door when it refused to open. Imuiel looked around frantically, soon locking eyes on a piece of paper to his left.
A=0, B=1, C=2.
What did that even mean? He shook his head, fear overwhelming his thoughts for more than a few moments. What if he couldn't figure it out? What if he was caught by the thing behind him? Where was it, even-- Closer, that was where. The look over his shoulder was more than enough to spur him back into action, and he began running again, looking for anything to make the code any clearer.
Feet: 45.Minus five feet: 40.
Zaikt rolled 1 4-sided dice:
1Total: 1 (1-4)
Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 9:09 pm
Nothing. He kept looking, trying unsuccessfully to smother the panic once more as Imuiel's vision blurred. That wasn't good, couldn't be good--
The cleric stood before him once more, looking down at him with what felt like approval before turning to face a gathering of people--all tall and masked like himself. Was he like that, too? He reached a hand up to touch his own face slowly, flinching when his bare fingers came into contact with cool ceramic. That was new. Was it, though? It felt...familiar, right, like it should be there.
"We have two new younglings, as I'm sure you all are aware." the cleric's deep voice rang out, silencing the faint murmurs that crept through the crowd. "Elium, and--"
The memory stopped abruptly, and he froze in place, only aware in some non-frenzied part of his mind that he was wasting valuable time.
"Elium, and he is a betrayer. An outcast." the figure finished, as if it knew just what had been played before Imuiel. "A thief of hearts, a failure. Rotted."
Turning sharply, Imuiel jerked back into motion, stumbling as he neared the door and colliding with it sharply. He slammed his claws against the door, willing it with all his might to open--it disregarded his pleading, remaining firmly shut as if to spite him.
And still the figure drew closer, whispering words he could only barely understand...
Feet: 25.Minus five feet: 20.
Zaikt rolled 1 4-sided dice:
2Total: 2 (1-4)
Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 9:14 pm
Imuiel was growing desperate now, every alarm bell he had clamoring in his head as the figure didn't stop its relentless advance. That was part of its strategy, he realized somewhere. Instilling fear through an apparently unstoppable advance. It was a respectable tactic to be sure, but Imuiel would have much rather preferred if he wasn't going to be the one experiencing it.
He looked around a final time, eyes locking on a slip of paper stained crimson on the wall. How had he not seen that before? It had--It had the rest of the code.
Letting out a loud shout of victory, he swiped the slip from the wall, darting down to the door as he mashed the code in so hard that his claws dug deep gouges into the buttons. He was free, away from the thing, he just had to make it out this door--
--unfortunately, that was not to be the sole leg of his journey to escape his foe. He was outside, surrounded by trees just as wispy and faded as he was. Imuiel didn't stop to look around, far too intent on survival to even ponder inspecting any of the area--data was nothing if he was not alive to analyze it.
He didn't slow down when he reached the bridge, his heart catching in his throat as the crack rang out. A stolen glance over his shoulder revealed that the planks had snapped behind him, and he barked out a strained laugh, maintaining his speed by the virtue of pure adrenaline and terror.
Feet: 25.
Zaikt rolled 1 6-sided dice:
4Total: 4 (1-6)
Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 9:19 pm
This time, he ran into a dead end, the cul-de-sac only housing what appeared to be a rather decrepit haunted house. The building loomed over even him with a sense of finality, casting strange shadows as Imuiel stared at it, almost taunting him. Now or never, the Goddess had said. Right, then. He knew that the figure was still following him, and it wasn't going to stop. The dagger began to glow, almost as if it was an ember being kindled just by being in the shade cast by the building. Now, he turned back, looking at the shape as it drew ever nearer.
He had to do it. There was no other way.
Imuiel, using the last of his energy, charged the shape, a marked change from his usual deft strokes and surgical strikes used in battle. He saw the figure lift its scissors, knowing full well that those were the very same ones that he himself had used to remove their heart--
"Youngling Elium." he had intoned, holding out a hand in a gesture to draw him in. The cleric was more somber than usual, and he felt a prickle of dread, almost as if he was subconsciously bracing himself for bad news. "If you would not mind, please. Come with me."
He got up from his place around the cart, moving as if his limbs were made of lead. The cleric drew him away from where the caravan had stopped for the night, though still safely within range of their fellows. He cleared his throat, crossing his arms behind his back as he looked down on the younger eater. "I have...bad news." A lance of ice shot down Elium's spine, and he stood stock still, frozen in place. "I am sorry to be the bearer of this, but...Chosen Ramithal did not return from scouting. He is...dead."
One of his closest friends, dead? The one he considered more of a parent than anything-- He felt his head spinning, and he leaned against the nearest tree, lightly digging the clawed tips of his gauntlets into its spongy bark. "The Ha'arta will be...soon. We recovered his mask and gauntlets, and they are to be given to you. I am truly sorry, Youngling."
--and with a shuddering, wet crunch, Imuiel's dagger struck home, sending the figure toppling even as it began fading from view. He felt heavy, exhausted to his very core; and the door opened behind him, swinging softly as if reaching out to sweep him into a safe embrace within the confines of the structure. The dagger was glowing brighter now, more like a flame than an ember at this point, and he bent down stiffly to retrieve it, turning and leaving without any more thought.
It wasn't as if he could make much of a coherent one right now, anyway.
He took the cookie somewhat eagerly from his Goddess, looking at it with clear interest. Ixb had possessed one of these things, and he hadn't seen another one since--what was he supposed to do with this? Eat it? How would that work, anyway? Hesitantly, Imuiel lifted the cookie to the underside of his beak, trying to get it somewhat close to his mouth. It connected with the mask with a soft thunk, and he frowned, pulling it away before trying again. This time, the cookie seemed to phase through the barrier, and he jolted straight up, pausing for a split second before actually biting the cookie's head off almost gleefully. So this is what those things tasted like...
He could only nod in response to his Goddess's question, mouth full of cookie for the first time and slightly uncertain as to why she was even asking. Of course he loved her. She was his Goddess, after all. How could he not? Imuiel listened attentively, not even picking up on the unsteady note that had dropped. Experiencing emotions? A tea party? Alright, but what was tea, anyway?
Swallowing, he watched as the gate opened, finishing off his cookie with a quickness before his mask could decide to go back to its usual solidity. He approached the table, relaxed and calm. This wasn't like the tasks put forth by the other Goddesses so far--Longing was here, and he instantly felt safer. With any luck, he wasn't going to have to repeat any part of his previous tasks here.
Now that he was at the table, Imuiel eyed his options carefully, periodically getting distracted by the flakes of white that fell across his vision. The crunchy white stuff on the ground seemed to be made up of innumerable pieces of the same substance, and he permitted himself a moment to bend down and press his hand into it, smiling at the imprint the contact made. Now that that was done, he straightened back up, idly wondering just where that music was coming from. The blue jar felt...oddly sad, and Imuiel lifted it up, raising an eyebrow before drinking it, glad that his mask hadn't yet returned to a solid state. Almost instantly, he felt...both concerned and dissatisfied, incredibly agitated at the same time as he realized that he was forgetting something terribly important. The top of the table spun quickly, and he stepped back, frowning hard at it as a variety of snacks appeared atop it, waves of cloth underneath all of them.
He broke off a piece of the chocolate, nibbling it and immediately regretting the decision. His heart felt heavy now, and Imuiel pressed a hand over where it was, as if the almost-contact would alleviate the sudden burden. He needed something to drink, he reasoned instinctively. The brown and red cup was out of the question, and the smoke coming from the gray cup was enough to put him off of it with just a glance. It all fell to the dark blue teacup, then.
Pulling a face and closing his eyes so as to not get a better look at whatever was in the cup, Imuiel took a sip. As quickly as the effects of the blue vial had fallen over him, Imuiel felt another series of vaguely alien emotions force their way to the surface--spite, a desire for vengeance, and just plain destructive, each one more powerful than anything he'd felt before. He didn't know what to do with these feelings, but soon, he didn't have to try thinking it out, being that a memory decided to creep before him, interrupting his heated thoughts.
He didn't really know what he was doing, but it felt good.
Elium knew that his wing was currently fighting off another, his own larger wing rolling over a far smaller one that had put up a surprisingly vicious fight despite its size. They had captured a few of them, the newly-Rotted eaters tied together and knocked unconscious, thrown unceremoniously into a heap by a few of the Chosen returning from combat. There were five coming back, and three captured--that was a good sign, really. Considering that the other wing couldn't have been more than eight eaters, whereas his own numbered twenty-two, he doubted the battle had been particularly difficult. He had approached the prisoner Rotted that was farthest from the others first, bending to get on eye level with the other under the watchful eyes of one of the Found. He was only a Youngling, yes, but he had to learn how to deal with Rotted, as the Guides had said. After all, they were likely going to have these three for a while.
He drummed his fingers on air, the joints of his gauntlets clinking as the fingers curled and straightened. He'd been told to do this, and he didn't have any objection to it. From what he'd been told, one of their own had just about been killed by a lucky strike, and these Rotted deserved to suffer for it. Elium reached out calmly, digging his claws into the other eater's chest, causing them to stir into wakefulness. His own red lenses were met with an alarmed stare from behind golden ones set into a cream mask with only faint ornamentation, and he could very much feel the fear building in the other. He kept forcing his claws in, ignoring the squirming and muffled sounds of discomfort that only escalated as he started to twist, a clinical hatred building with every minute enlargement of the cuts. It wasn't too much longer before he'd carved his emblem into the other, more out of a lack of any real idea as to what to put there than anything. He was fully aware that this Rotted wasn't his, but it was still a clear mark of shame--not only had this eater been captured, he'd been branded by a Youngling, of all things. It marked him for the rest of his unlife as being a growing predator's plaything, in essence, and Elium knew he had gotten at least some measure of revenge.
And it felt far better than he thought it would.
That had been him, he realized with a start. Why had he done that? What was the point? Imuiel bit his lip, fingers lightly brushing along the handle of the teapot. No, he didn't like the thought of this. This was a memory he would have rather done without--senseless damage to another like himself? No. Unacceptable.
