peckenpaugh | HE IS HERE

the vines have run wild

it's over Everything is in shambles. Walls and floors torn and broken from roots and branches sprouting through. They block doors and crowd passages and pulse with sick life. The Thing sits in the center of it all, angry and starving, its trunk both still and moving in ways you catch only when it is in the corner of your vision. Branches that look less like bark and more like skin stretch in every direction, lush with shadowy leaves and dotted with bits of glowing blue. The ruined floor is littered with those little twinkling dots. Seeds. Everywhere, seeds. They hang on boughs, and rest on banisters in the upper levels. The one thing in this nightmare that doesn't radiate that awful, pervasive hunger.

The roof is gone, replaced with a writhing canopy of shadow and muck. Some parts of it are complex spiderwebs of tendrilly shapes, others solid formless movement. The only consistent thing about it is that it is terrible to behold, faintly nauseating to look at for too long. Ash rains down between gaps in its branches, and what glimpses of sky are visible are nothing but swirling gray clouds. What stars still shine are magic, man-made, floated between balconies by prom committee before the dance.

Those remaining begin to stir. Each one of you has heard Pocket's words, "Find the roots." And if you want to save your friends, your family, the holler — hell, maybe even the world — that's exactly what you're going to do.

You climb from protective cocoons of dying moss, push your way past walls of solid ice, emerging into utter destruction. Things move and make noise at the edge of your vision, but for now, at least, all is calm. What to do? Where to start?

it's ruined Among the twinkling maple seeds are the dropped possessions of students and staff, lost when they were pulled away. A compact mirror, a cell phone, a pair of glasses, cups of punch spilling across the floor. A single red heel sits at the edge of the jagged pit that peers down into the Sorting Path. The air here is hot. Too hot. If you jump, you'll surely be boiled alive.

Though locked when everyone tried to flee, vines and roots have torn the doors to the auditorium off their hinges. The splintered remains of heavy oak doors litter the entrance halls and stairwell alcoves, leaving an open path outside. Not that you'd want to flee, by the looks of it.

A cool night breeze is the only relief from the growing heat of the auditorium, yes, but even that is tainted by the heavy scent of flowers. Outside, vines and purple flowers have exploded over every surface. They climb up lamp posts, engulf buildings whole, hang from trees. It would be beautiful if it weren't horrifying. Campus is unrecognizable.

there is no hope Roots and vines clog the way to the Sorting Path, and most stairwells are completely obstructed by the growths of that horrible tree. Up above, something buzzes and wails, a mockery of a cicada's cry, and beyond that the twittering of birds nesting in the tree's highest branches.

Pouch coalesces in the middle of it all, a one-winged magimagicicada, weak and weary but undaunted. Resolute, if not reinvigorated. He bends down to touch a seed, and the moment his obsidian fingers light on it, a blue-white portal to somewhere else rips right through reality. A memory begins to play. Somehow, the bug seems to know what he's seeing.

She gave us what we need, the one who ran says to the gathered students, his voice in their heads as much as the air. Let's all not let her down, huh?

Find your friends. Find my siblings. It's time to fight.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Winter's eyebrows climb up her forehead, blue-eyed gaze unmistakably cutting to Aristotle and then Tybalt. You can practically see the equations being broken down in front of her face as she tries to think of what a normal person would say in this situation.

"Um..." good start. "That means she's free now, right? We should...go find her?"

By the time Tybalt crosses back to the still figures and moves to take the thimble, Aris is sitting up in the grass and turns to watch the the scene as it plays out. He remembers the conversation clearly but everything about it feels different now and his mind and heart are racing all on their own. No evil flowers required. He just wants to see Viola.

This is the thought that gets him moving, hauling himself up onto his aching leg and nodding in agreement with Winter, "Yeah! Let's find Vi."

Edited 2020-06-05 18:20 (UTC)

Tybalt beams, delighted that he’s finally contributed. But this isn’t his thimble. He falls into step next to his roommate, and slips him the little glowing object. He knows how he hates to lose it. What is going on in his brain is actually pretty similar, likely, to whatever is going on in Winter’s. He just masks it with a loud, annoyed sigh. It’s hardly a complaint, when he vocalizes it.
“Nose goes on rowing the boat.”

He walks backwards toward the little rowboat, and though he immediately puts a finger up to his nose, cheating this game, he’ll contribute some muscle if he must.

"Ah, finally. A chance to show off my strength," Winter deadpans as she hops into the boat and grabs an oar.

She finds herself wondering if her coworkers are okay. Whether or not someone's found a memory of Bruno Ellerby playing accordion for the first time. She doesn't show these questions in her expression. Now's a time for celebration—they've freed a friend. "Avast, let's set sail me hearties."

Aris, Tybalt and Winter have completed the memory "Unmasked"!

Upon emerging from the memory out into the auditorium, the portal snapped shut behind them.

Backstage on the first floor of the auditorium, Viola Warbeck was freed! Elsewhere in the auditorium, spring flowers, a magimagicicada was freed!

Aris, Tybalt and Winter each earned 5 Tokens for completing a moderated memory!

They also each earned 3 tokens for completing a memory encounter and 1 Token for finding the linchpin!

You can check your token totals in Pouch's shop here, and maybe see if there's anything worth grabbing while you're there!

Edited (I can't belive I wrote viola davis lmfao) 2020-06-05 18:42 (UTC)

HE IS HERE

MEMORY: Unmasked

MEMORY: Unmasked

MEMORY: Unmasked

MEMORY: Unmasked

MEMORY: Unmasked - COMPLETED & TOKENS!