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 Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 5:59 pm
Sterncave still felt a little humbled by the shrine and the statues of the Goddesses. "Hellloooo?" he called out, creeping in, peering around one of the statues to see Paranoia at work. Her plaque said something about... creating, but upon further examination, she was obviously still in the process of whatever it was. The plaque was incomplete, and she was focused on something.
Something that had wires involved.
Sterncave snuck up on her, or at least he thought he did; she turned around and offered him a gift. "I love gifts!" he said, accepting the bag and opening it up. He looked up at her with an expression of utter heartbreak; it was empty, and he was giftless again.
"An error? A small error? How can we fix it!" Stern asked, imemdiately cheered a little. So she hadn't meant to hurt him! That made it better. Stern rocked back and forth on his feet, feeling distinctly unbalanced again, and worried about falling over in the middle of their very important conversation about the very important task that he had been given--
he definitely had not been listening. Like at all. So when she looked at him expecantly and offered him a pair of scissors, his first thought aloud was: "Arts and crafts? I love arts and crafts." Was that even true? Stern rested his hands behind his head, leaning. "Oh, will they be here soon?" he asked, oblivious to the severity of her statement. He smiled, innocently, and contentedly.
The Goddess smiled back, so he took it to mean they would, in fact, be there when he got back. He had no idea what was happening. He saw an opening that he realized he should probably go into. Oh, it was very dark.
Dark was actually a good thing. Stern liked the shadows, they made him feel at home; it was easier to cast light in the darkness, for example. "Say hello to them for me, when they get here, would you?" he asked, waving enthusiastically and walking into the opening.
"I think I'll take door number one, thank you very much," Stern said, immediately upon assessing all three of the doors he saw. He had absolutely no desire to see what the hell was behind the disturbing door, much less the positively murderous one. He was pretty happy with the cute face on the first one.
Besides, it made him feel at home for some reason.
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 6:35 pm
Stern had no expectations in particular as he walked through the door.
He could hear humming as he walked into the hall beyond the door, and he hummed along with it, instinctively. His heart felt warm, and he pictured pumpkins aglow: they were like beacons in his mind, and he couldn't help but feel reassured. So far, so good; this was probably the most pleasant thing that'd happened to him this entire time.
He felt like he could really use some pumpkin pie, too. Stern smiled to himself, walking slowly, not even caring when the door shut behind him with a very firm clack. "It's pretty great in here, don't you think so?" he asked the pumpkin patch, pulling faces at a few of them, mimicking them as he walked. He took big steps now, big bouncy steps, and just took his time. There was no need to hurry: they'd be showing him the way, sooner or later.
At the end, the field opened into flowers, little orange glowing ones. He loved this, all of it; why'd he feel so at home? He tipped over as he tried to eye one of the flowers, and ended up sprawled out in them. He rooted around, his face pressed into blossoms, trying to smell them to see if there was any good odour.
There really wasn't. there was, however, a tombstone and a grave. There was a sound, a heartbeat, and Stern followed it to the stone itself. It said THE PACK. Stern had absolutely no idea what that could mean. A pack of what?
Stern pushed the flowers away, looking for the heart, the glowing orange. He extracted it, and pushed the plant away with the scissors, moving things around so he could take it with him. The Pack. As he reached towards it, it occured to him suddenly: his pack. Beyond blood, beyond family, he was created as a part of the pack. One of them. There would never be a home for him like the Pack was.
As he clasped his hand around the heart to remove it, he remembered.
When we call -- you answer -- when you move -- we move -- our blood -- is our tool--
The shapes moved in darkness, black sinew and sleek fur, almost oiled it shone so finely. They wove in and out of each others' space, only glowing eyes in the dark, red smears in the inky night. They always moved together. When they moved, it was as a patch of blackest night, unshakeable. Fear incarnate.
You are one of us, but you are young. Your steps are not sure. You are weak.
"I can be strong! I promise, just give me a chance--"
Are you one of us? Are you one of the Devil's Dandy Dogs?
There was no pack leader. There hadn't been for some while. When they spoke, their voices were slivers in his mind; they were the essence of terror, sharp whispers.
"I am," he said, standing his ground.
The pack enveloped him, and he was carried away to somewhere distant, left there to learn to be strong and find them again.
He felt more alone than he even knew was possible.
Back in the present, Stern took the heart, and put it into his bag.
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 6:43 pm
Van continued to walk, knowing now, remembering. The pack, the entity that was his family as much as it was his own self. He belonged with them, but he didn't know how to get back to them. He walked away from the grave, and the beautiful field gave way to stickiness. The path tightened, narrowed, and he didn't even realize.
He was lost in his memories.
He heard footsteps, and turned, but there was no one. He was crying, quietly, his shoulders shaking. He had not remembered what it felt like to lose everything, to have it cut away from him. He remembered now. He felt it, as a new pain, as visceral as if he had been stabbed with that same pair of scissors. And the memory had hardly been anything. Just voices, shapes, a feeling.
The feeling of wholeness was what had struck him most.
He heard steps again, and he turned. There was water everywhere, and he hated water. He remembered why, now: hounds of fire and shadow, hounds of blood and battle. Hounds of pitch black, ripping across the moor. "It's just as much mine as it is yours," he said, sadly. "And if I am the only living pack now, it belongs with me."
He clutched it tightly to him, coiling his body around it as the hands forced him under the water. He couldn't breathe-- he was going to die, here. He was going to die, and he was the only survivor left, if that tombstone had been true.
Another memory flashed into his mind: He was young, and the Pack circled around him. They formed a ring of fire, and it did not burn him: tiny approximations of Will o Wisps danced around his head, and he heard laughter.
The Pack was there to protect him. That was all there was to the memory: no words, nothing. All that he needed to know was that they were there, and they always would be. He just had to know how to find them. Why couldn't he remember?
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 6:45 pm
NO!
Van twisted free, the bag gripped in his teeth, as he stabbed the scissors into the eye of whatever it was that was trying to drown him. The pack was one, but it did not occupy such a pathetic, weak body. It could never do that. The pack would sooner destroy itself than be so pathetic.
He finally, in this moment of clarity, understood exactly what it meant to be The pack. Strength, above all, and purging that which was weak from him. But they had a different definition of strength. He could hone his body, train his senses, and he could belong. So long as he could run with them, he would belong.
Wouldn't he? He retreated with the bag, the water gone, spluttering it all up. He knew he hated water. The bag was still firmly in his grip. He pushed himself to his feet with a new determination and made it to the door, following the flood of light. That disgusting figure watched him with hollow eyes. Van felt sorry, at first, and then nothing: whatever it was, it wasn't his family.
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 9:35 pm
Sterncave rocked back and forth on the soles of his feet, curious. "Hmm? What am I escaping from?" he asked, stopping briefly and slowly as he watched the Goddess stroke her scythe. It was kind of creeping him out. "There's nothing wrong with being afraid," he said, "and I have this feeling I was meant for a certain kinda fate." Even if he didn't know what that was, or why he felt that way.
Stern accepted the dagger, tucking it away, thinking he hoped he wouldn't really need this. But hey, being prepared never hurt, did it?
He didn't really like the sound of falling prey, but he also didn't necessarily like the idea of preying on others. That wasn't really his style. Stern was a kind of live-and-let-live guy. "Yeah? I am?" he asked, trying at the last second to make it sound less like a question, and more like a statement. It didn't work.
Well, hopefully there were no bonus points with the Goddesses for style over substance, he thought to himself as he went towards the thin opening.
Following which he woke up, in a completely white room. He woke up shivering uncontrollably, and couldn't remember how he'd even gotten there Mostly, he felt as though he was in incredible amounts of pain, and he felt like he'd never be warm ever again. How could it be so bright, without heat? Apparently they'd found a way, because there were absolutely no shadows in the room: the lights were so bright they burnt away every shred of darkness.
Somehow, instead of comforting him, it made him feel ill at ease. Where was he? Why was he here? He gripped the dagger tightly in one hand, and felt the jewel-encrusted hilt before he got to his feet and searched for a way to get out of this place.
He found an exit door pretty easily, but that thumping sound was making his little heart beat like a rabbit in hell. He couldn't seem to get a full breath, and he tried to walk slowly and pretend that he wasn't scared, but his steps contained a frantic bounce to them that betrayed his condition.
As he pressed against the door, he turned to push his back against it and see if it was locked, and spotted the black figure.
Well, apparently there was at least one shadow, and it was coming to take him. "Wolf, wolf," he whispered under his breath, trying to joke around when he was scared out of his mind. He had nothing to do, but turn and look at the door, to try to open it. It seemed to be locked, somehow. He didn't really understand it, and his chills had combined with his fear to make life utterly unbearable for him.
His dark fingers probed the door's surface, searching, as his eyes scanned the surroundings. He heard a voice that sounded gravelly, a voice like razor wire in his head: Don't run, you're not fast enough to escape us, the voice promised.
That's why we discarded you. That's why you'll never belong to the Pack, and you will live alone, pathetic. Trash.
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Face your demons rolled 1 4-sided dice:
3
Total: 3 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 9:37 pm
O N E Stern tried to push the doors open, in a fit of terror, pushing them, leaning on them, and finally throwing his whole weight against them. All to no avail. He sucked in a breath, and whimpered, trying not to cry. His face was flushed, and for some reason he just became colder and colder. He felt like his fingertips had been bathed in ice, and everything was numb.
This was not the way to do things. He had to hold himself together.
Hold yourself together? You can't do that, you can't even help but cry, the voice said. It was many voices, weaving in and out of one another, both female and male. There was an edge to it that felt like a blade was slicing into his mind every time he heard them speak. The voice equally had a quality that made him feel as though it was right behind him perpetually, which did nothing to help his anxiety.
You're the slowest, the youngest, the most worthless. You never deserved to be with us, not even for a second, the voice continued, as he tried to search for a way to unlock the door, but he was so distracted by it that he leaned his head against the door for a moment, losing time. Precious time.
You know what else? We don't miss you. Not a bit. You are pathetic, and weak, and you are so easily broken.
"I can put myself back together again," he said, "You don't need to be so mean to me. I didn't do anything to you," he argued, then paused. "Come to think of it, I don't really know if I did or not, because I don't remember anything you're saying to me. Are you sure you're real?"
40 feet away, and then 35 away.
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Face your demons rolled 1 4-sided dice:
4
Total: 4 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 9:38 pm
O N E The panicking wasn't helping him any. Stern looked to the left, and found a slip of paper that looked like a list for codes: okay, he could do this. He just had to think. He had to focus.
Letters meant numbers? Now what ... letters did he need.
Did he already know? No, no, he was fairly certain he didn't know this at all. But what if he did? He was getting very frustrated with himself, as though he really did know how to open this stupid door, and he was just spacing on it.
Now was not the time to forget how to open doors, much less ones with codes.
"It wouldn't hurt for you to believe in me," he told himself, with a grimace.
35 feet away, and then 30 away.
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Face your demons rolled 1 4-sided dice:
2
Total: 2 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 9:39 pm
O N E He looked to his right, next, and saw: no, he didn't need to know it himself. He had the perfect answer right there, the letters that would spell the code.
He punched it into the door, and opened it wide, shutting it behind him.
His body throbbed as he ran through the woods, bruising where he'd thrown his entire weight at the locked door in a panic.
30 feet away, when he pushed the door open.
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Face your demons rolled 1 4-sided dice:
4
Total: 4 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 9:42 pm
T W O Stern was outside. The landscape was, once again, grey: this time, it was all trees, trees forever. Stern was crying openly, and shivering like mad. His nose was running, or at least he suspected it was, because he kept crying and it was leaking down his face so he wasn't entirely sure what was going on with his face, and he didn't have time to stop and check.
He reached into his pocket as he ran, digging his fingers through the fabric and space, searching for and finding a cloth to dry his face. He wiped his tears and probably other fluids away from his face. Some of it came away sticky: was that a nosebleed? He tasted iron.
When he reached the end of the forest, he turned around for a moment, having come to a rickety bridge. The figure was still after him. Give us your heart, it said, We have much more of a use for it than you. You did it a disservice. Our hearts are brave, The Pack is brave. You are weak, and we must purge that is weak.
"If you never believe in me, you'll never see what I can do," Stern protested, quietly, some steel core inside him shining brilliant through the sheen of terror. He was still shivering, but he no longer felt cold.
Shivering so hard that he bit his lip hard; it split and bled into his mouth. He swiped at it with his tongue, running the blood across his mouth and tasting it sharp on his tongue.
He looked behind him, and the creature was still following him. Stern knew. He had to cross that bridge, and it was his only way. He ran until his lungs were about ready to give out, watching the bridge crumble behind him.
Stern took that moment to punch the air, excited, and smiling finally. In terror, he started to laugh.
30 feet away, and he did not let that thing get any closer.
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Face your demons rolled 1 6-sided dice:
4
Total: 4 (1-6)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 9:45 pm
T H R E E As he turned, to see where he'd ended up, he saw that it was a dead end, and his laughter cut short in his throat.
It was while turning to where he saw the figure approach, that it really sank in. The pain of fear. His eyes widened, and he started to cry openly; tears poured down his cheeks, and his shoulders were nearly convulsing he shook so hard. The figure was approaching him.
He clutched the handle tight in his hands.
--
Van was a puppy, again; a little kid. He saw the pack, their skin so dark it could have been etched from shadows. They stalked together, prowled around the edges of the fire, lapping up embers and sparks. He ran up to one of them, and threw his little body at them; it was his father, and he turned to pelt his mom the same way. The others in the pack howled, teeth bared, and their eyes narrowed collectively. Weakness, they said, if you love us, it will make you weak.
He heard two voices, then, somehow they had managed to extract themself from the entity that was The Pack to speak with their own voice: He is weak now, but he can be strong. Let him learn.
Where will he learn, who can train him? The Pack asked, grudgingly.
Away from us, his parents replied, And he will return when he is ready.
Van whimpered, in his memory; he understood that they were talking about him, but he couldn't understand what was about to happen. He could never explain that feeling to anyone. The feeling of having been part of a whole, and then cut away. Severed ties. Everyone and everything he had ever loved and known, the place he had been born to occupy, the place in the Pack he was meant to inherit... and in one moment, one moment of pride and jealousy on the part of their Pack Leader, Van was exiled.
He was just a puppy. Puppies don't understand the why, they are simply forced to live through the aftermath.
--
"Can't you believe in me? I do," he said, sadly, as he plunged the dagger into the spectre, interrupting its lunge. The bladed sliced in up to its hilt, buried there, and the figure howled.
Van cried even harder.
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