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 Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2014 10:18 am
"What's this, then?"
After scouring through corridors that confused and antagonized her, after hitting deadends figuratively and literally, after being harried by voices from the past and the present, and after dragging herself up the stairs when her stamina probably should have given out, that was all Nora had to say to the seven doors.
Beatrix sniffed curiously. Choices! But not choice meats, noooooo. When can we eat? We drank a lot already, bad bad water. Pee water.
Had everyone gone through these, then? What if she chose the wrong one and got separated from the rest? She hadn't met a horseman yet, but she had heard all the nasty tales about them; her time in the Sahara had certainly given he first hand experience as to their work as well.
There's no wrongness, Norrie. Wherever we go is totally always the right thing for us.
You say the nicest things. Sometimes. The sun trainee smiled to herself as she entered the blue door.
She was no hero, but it was in her blood to protect and serve. What they asked of her was what she would give 100% for. It wasn't for show and it wasn't for recognition, but simply something Nora did for the sake of it. There would always be someone who needed protecting, who needed to take refuge and be cared for. There would always be something that needed to be taken out, that might require sacrifice in the line of duty. She wore her armor, and she wore it well.
And in time, the person became an icon. The icon became a figurehead. The figurehead became an idea. And then the idea became an ideal.
Those with waning strength would look to her tireless loyalty to the cause and remember what it meant to be a soldier, a doctor, even a simple laborer. Defectors were given a choice to recieve her blessing and remember themselves, what it meant to have honor again. The steadfast became stronger and the weak could flourish and become part of them under her protection. Every life saved, every prayer made, was a bubble of warmth and light to her, evidence that all was right with the world even if she was no longer an active participant. She lived vicariously, and that was good enough so long as there was someone who took up their job with passion and enthusiasm.
When Nora came back to, it was to her partner's eager squealing. Her weapon had changed, as had the trainee's whole form: everything resplendent and shining like new.
I'd make the best sword, yesyesyes, Beatrix yipped, cooing over her new details.
Who would have doubted? Nora laughed as she walked forward, brimming with the same warmth from her vision. How long it would last, she did not know--but there was always trouble to be found and people to be helping.
blue door - ancient of duty - loyal to deus ex
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Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2014 10:31 am
Get out while you still can. It was a line repeated in dozens, if not hundreads and maybe even thousands of stories. The mediums might have changed but the line was iconic. Leave while you had the chance. Go now. Run. Escape. The goal was often the same, save the main hero- after they watched someone die while protecting them, the hero might gain resolve. Or, the hero might live to fight again. To Marcus is was annoying, because a hero should know when to flee, when to stop fighting, when to retreat. But he also knew that sometimes you had to stay no matter what the consequences were. No matter what you might face.
Wandering up the stairs, he’d wondered if they could do it this time. If they could really take the horsemen out. But when faced with the doors, he knew that it wouldn’t happen. They’d fail. How many times had they failed, come so close yet missed? Too much. They were weak. Hopeless. They lacked what they needed. Gold called to him.
Dis agreed, but he was like that. Wanting to push Marcus to want more, to look down on others, to judge and to aim to surpass. Gold called to him.
The golden door was a greater call than protection. Power was power- power would grant the ability to protect, the opportunity to take what you wanted. He didn’t want to be a hero-
He wanted to be a leader. He wanted control. They wanted power.
The world changed. He saw what he wanted. He saw what he dreamed of. He saw what in a way scared him, because he loathed to admit that it was what he wanted. What he craved. Power, control. Dis became his voice, the comfort of his weapon like a second skin. Vanity as he admired his own power and control, what they had done, what he had done. Marcus and Dis were mirrors, they were allies. They were cut of the same cloth, sewing into different things, woven with a few different threads yet tired by fate.
His eyes hurt with the light as Gold laced around the scimitar, hilt cracked with veins that pulsed a gold light. He was perfect, laced with power. They both were. Such was their vanity.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
Crew
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
Crew
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Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2014 11:10 am
Solia stood infront of the doors, wondering where she’d made a mistake. What had happened to drive things to this point. Horsemen were the enemy, yes, she understood that much, accepted that as fact. They were made, born, to kill. They existed to end the human race. That was their fate. That was their purpose. It made total sense to fight them, to want to be rid of them. Yet so long as humans feared the end they would exist. A losing battle that no one could win. Her door tore at her heart. He sadness, Israfel’s sacrifice-
Her body shook as tears rolled down her face, as she held Israfel, wishing she could do more than hope. Wishing she had the power to change things, to do more than support. Supporting others still left people to rely on their own power, still forced them to rely ont their own power. Hope.
Hope was all she ever had.
Holding to her bow, to Israfel, she walked on- wishing to for once, to be able to make a difference.
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Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2014 1:59 pm
Wally floated up the steps, peering down curiously as they crumbled even as he didn't touch them. He plopped down to his feet at the round, open space, and blinked in surprise.
Seven doors. Was he supposed to pick one? Some of them gave him an awful feeling in his tummy, like they were evil. But as he walked around, he found that he was more and more drawn to the blue door. He stepped through, and without a thought grabbed the stone atop the altar.
Hero. He was the greatest hero ever. Everyone loved him. He kept Halloween safe. His moms were proud and he was finally doing everything he wanted to do.
Heroes weren't supposed to die, though. He looked up, distraught and confused, and his moms held him and cried. He could feel his fear giving out, and then he was gone.
But not forgotten.
He lived on as a hero for a while. And then as story of discipline. The hero would come for you, if you didn't behave. And then a threat. A threat that they'd find a way to bring him back. With every fearful utterance of his name he morphed into something more powerful, more twisted.
There was nothing he could do to stop it.
Wally came too with a terrified cry. "No! No! I'm a HERO!"
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Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2014 2:09 pm
Nim hefted Cirrus into her arms as the stairs began to crumble and he stumbled. She barely kept her grip, but she ran up the stairs as quick as she good, fearful of falling down the tower. She tripped up the last step, sending both of them tumbling onto the platform.
Nim looked at the doors from upside down, panting. They made her feel... weird. Different things. Good things and bad things. A couple of them made uncomfortable shivers roll down her spine. Others called to her like a siren song. She squinted as she caught her breath.
When she finally rolled to her feet she gravitated towards the gold door. It made her feel... in control. With Cirrus at her heels she walked to the alter and delicately touched the stone.
Storms. Destructive, rejuvenating, Nim had control of them all, now. She was powerful and sought after. She helped towns in drought. She ended wars with well placed chaos. She was wanted and needed. She felt like she had finally reached her goals, and she was helping people with it. It was all she had ever wanted out of going to school and she had done it.
She was taken way too young. Just a decade or so after graduation, still rising in power, she was murdered by a neighboring clan out of jealousy. It was a loss to all of Halloween.
But she was still there.
She watched them fret as her power was lost. And then fear as storms were uncontrolled. There were whispers that she was still causing them from beyond her grave, that the rage came from her untimely demise. That she was still all powerful, even after passing.
She was more than a mage. She was a god. The God of Storms, of the uncontrollable weather. And they all believed. They all feared the lightning and thunder. They all feared her.
Nim groaned, rolling over from where she'd fallen on the groaned to press her face to Cirrus's neck and try to remember how to breathe. She was a mix of confused emotions.
On one hand, she was elated to think she could ever be that power. That level of control was unheard of, but it was all she'd ever wanted. She wanted to be able to really help people with who she was. She wanted people to need her. To get a glimpse of what they would feel like had been amazing.
On the other, she didn't want the crippling fear that had come with it. Scaring humans was one thing, but scaring everyone else? Becoming something so powerful that they barely wanted to whisper her name for fear of retribution? She didn't think she could handle that.
Feeling different and a little enlightened, she rose to her feet. Cirrus circled her worriedly, ready to catch her, but she was surprisingly steady.
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Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2014 7:39 pm
Matt was far too busy muttering, clinging to the floor to notice the room starting to disappear. The blackness slowly closing in around a set of stairs as his beating heart started to slow back to its resting state. With each step he heard them crumble away behind him but the fear of turning around and looking at the cause still lingered in his mind. Not the power of the pool but more so just the concern of seeing what actually dared to linger behind him. When he reached the topped of the stairs the glanced at the doors not hesitating to walk towards the one that resonated in a bright blue color.
Protection.
Walking into the room he stepped towards the altar as the blue flame flickered atop, beckoning him to step closer. Reaching out he let the blue flame dance across his fingertips before wrapping the flame into the palm of his hand.
A hero, a protector of those who were weak or at least those were the words he saw splashed along the multiple screens of TVs that lingered in the middle of the squares. A woman tugged on his arm before the world seemed to jump ahead, moments blurring by before he laid in some sort of bed, people filling the room around him. They all grasped at him, his hands, some clinging to the edge of the bed as their tears soaked in.
A hero, guidance, protection. Those willing to seek out his aid, he would help. All those in need of warmth, love, care , protection, he would help and strike those who dared to harm others down.
A god, no more so, an ancient. Doing whatever he pleased, he was more now, immortal and feeding continuously on fear of those that dared defy his meaning of protection.
Protect. Protect. Protect.
He woke up his face still pressed to the floor of the tower as a feeling of some sort of new power lingered in his bones as he noticed a faint glimmer of gold along the edges of the butterfly spear. Pulling it into his chest he got to his feet.
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