Aris has seen his fair share of strange things tonight, but nothing as otherworldly as this. His mind doesn't want to wrap around it or understand it and he doesn't know how to feel about it, but he definitely doesn't protest when Armani agrees to do the touching. Instead, he does the first thing that comes into his mind. Pulling out his journal, he steps hesitantly forward to get a better view of that strange rock glyph and begins sketching it out as well as he can. He's not an artist or anything and he doesn't know what it means, but he figures that someone back at school might be able to glean more information from it. Someone symbol-smart like Chanel or Lionel or Howdy. Maybe a teacher.
His lifts his eyes every few seconds as he does this, not wanting to let his guard down completely, and comments as lightly as he can to the others, "...Pretty wild place, huh? Like. Pick a mood, Hellscape."
If there's something here the trio needs to worry about, it's not these particular purple flowers. They are covered in sheets of ice from Armani's wand, but don't wither or die as they should, frozen as they are in space and time.
"It's like the three wise men, but spider people," he observes as he approaches them. "I'm gonna touch."
And he does. He goes for the vial first, trying to open it so he can waft the smell toward his nose. (Lab safety tip! Never inhale fumes directly, especially when you don't know what they are!)
Armani has never smelled anything quite like this before. The closest approximation is a whole chocolate factory — from the sugar and cocoa to the hot machine parts and engine grease. It reminds him, vaguely, of that kayaking trip, the pocket of shadow on the shores of Lake Peckenpaugh.
It's not wholly unpleasant, though it does burst across his senses a bit like a whiff of ground peppercorn. It's disorienting, just a little, like a sneeze he can't get out.
He pinches his nose, trying to rub the almost-sneeze-but-not-quite sensation out of it. "It smells like... chocolate. Feels weird to sniff it, though." He closes the vial back up and offers it to the others if they'd like to inspect it. "That... spidery person. On the kayaking trip? He was bleeding and it kind of smelled like chocolate, too."
Pausing mid-sketch to watch Armani examine the vial, Aris frowns at the deduction. "Offering blood seems..." he shakes his head, unable to articulate the sinking feeling in his stomach at the idea, "That can't be good." Reluctantly, he reaches out to take the vial so the other boy can continue his investigation, then he asks, "...Could these be ingredients for a potion or something?" He doesn't know much about Wise Men.
She tilts her head at the vial. There's a brief impulse to get closer and sniff it, just to see what it's like -- but stronger is her distaste of the tendrils, so she stays rooted in place, grooming herself.
"What do you mean it feels weird?" She asks of Armani, always curious about the uncomfortable and nasty.
"Maybe," says Armani in unison with Imogen. He's good at potions but he's no Laszlo Pataki. If Laszlo were here, he'd know exactly what to do with them. And if he didn't, then... "We can try to combine them. See what happens."
"It was, like, nose tingly weird... Not super weird, but not what I expected." He reaches for the powder next. Gonna open that satchel up and see what it's all about.
He sniffs around the bag cautiously before taking a closer whiff, and then reaches in to feel the granules between his fingers.
"Salt," he declares, closing the bag back up. "A ritual, maybe? Blood will open the seam... Might not even be related to that, though. I'm not sure about the salt and the metal yet."
But, yeah, time to touch the metal next.
Edited (i swear i'm not going object by object to raise the tag count, i just don't want to overwhelm u) 2020-06-05 05:23 (UTC)
"Salt and metals, like iron and silver and stuff, are used to protect against things, aren't they?" Aris asks, thinking back to the thimble in his pocket, "Could that all be part of one ritual?" This is a genuine question. He doesn't have any idea how this works and the expression on his face says as much. Then he lowers his eyes again to continue the sketch.
The "metal" cube is warm and soothing to the touch. Beneath Armani's fingertips, it thrums faintly. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. A heartbeat. Each pulse radiates an impossible to define energy, but it is not a linchpin.
It beats three more times and then goes still.
And that is when something rises up out of the water behind them. A human form cloaked in black, the face a grotesque white mask with a keyhole for a mouth. The masked thing glides up to the beach, nearly silent except for the whispering of its robes.
Aris doesn't notice the silent entity's arrival either. Not until Armani screams and throws the bag of salt, anyway. He jolts, nearly dropping his journal as he jerks his head up, sees the masked figure, and slams the book closed so he can reach for his temporary wand. Not actually knowing what he intends to if the thing ignores him, he makes a pointed gesture with his wand and calls, "Hey...! Stay back!"
What is this thing even doing here? What does it want? Somehow, he doubts it's going to tell them.
Edited (Sorry for the delay! :o Thought I'd tagged this.) 2020-06-06 06:54 (UTC)
The salt bounces harmlessly off the cloaked figure as it comes closer. This person — being? thing? — radiates sick pressure, growing denser as it glides forward. It's standing in front of speakers at a live concert, but the only sound is that strange whispering, too quiet to make out.
The cloaked figure raises its arms, and as it does the glass-like pebbles on the beach float up off the ground, too.
It is not here to negotiate. The Cultist attacks.
Imogen (ROLLED 4) is pelted with sharp grit that stings and scratches her.
Armani (ROLLED 1) is hit in the gut by a melon-sized piece of black stone, knocked off his feet.
Aristotle (ROLLED 8) manages to duck the stones headed his way.
As chaos begins to unfold, the memory snaps back into place and starts up again, oblivious to the students and the cultist struggling around it.
The memory owner takes the satchel of fine white powder — salt — and pours it into the center of the glyph in a circular motion, leaving a figure eight pattern on the ground.
Next the creature with the red crystal wreath on its head takes the vial of gray liquid and drips the contents over the salt. The glyph begins to bleed, light seeping through the lines like spilled ink.
Somehow, the light in the ground seems to repel the Cultist, but only just. It is pushed back toward the sea. As this happens, the memory owner takes the metal cube.
Bringing that silver cube up over their head, they shriek, a strange sound like an overloaded electrical transformer about to explode. One last glance at the creature wearing the red crystal wreath. Some tight and horrible feeling rises up all around you. Grief. But it's swallowed by something firmer.
The memory owner slams the gray cube into the glyph. Sparks fly, a white flame erupts within the circle, and when it burns away, it leaves a portal...to Peckenpaugh's auditorium.
The memory owner is gone. The other creatures, the ruined beach, the purple flowers, the one with the red crystal wreath all remain, frozen in time once more.
[MEMORY REPLY REQUIREMENT REACHED - At this time, you may continue to thread in this scene or flee back to Peckenpaugh. You can still find the linchpin and defeat the Cultist.]
Just barely evading the flurry of sharp rock that cuts up Imogen and knocks Armani off his feet, Aris doesn't need any further prompting to fight. He's pulling back his burner wand to cast when the memory around them returns to life and he stops, visibly startled. What's going on now? Fortunately, the creatures' ritual holds the Cultist at bay for him and by the time the unfathomable events have come to an end, he's prepared.
"Expecto Patronum!" He can't be sure that the spell will work against such an entity, but this Cultist seems pretty dark magic to him. And they could definitely use some protection.
(ROLLED 9) With a burst of silver-white light and a loud, exuberant croak, Aristotle's patronus bursts forth from the end of his wand. The ghostly toucan flaps its great wings, luminescent mist swirling in its wake, soaring up and then dive bombing the strange Cultist.
The impact knocks it back, stumbling and reeling, and the core of the thing seems to disperse rippling like the surface of a pond. But the Cultist pulls itself back together and moves forward. Purple light erupts from the palm of the thing's "hand" and Aristotle takes the brunt of it (ROLLED 1). It burns and knocks the breath from his lungs at once, blasting him off his feet and onto the beach, leaving him momentarily dazed.
(ROLLED 7) Another silver winged specter issues forth. This one from Imogen's wand. The Cultist is ready this time, but only just. The hawk is clever enough to move when the entity does, smashing itself into its shoulder. As the Cultist's left half explodes in black smoke, it releases another blast of purple light (ROLLED 3).
Imogen is fast with her Protego, but the silvery shield cracks like ice under the impact. The shield shatters, falling glitter fading before it hits the ground. Imogen is still standing, but the magical recoil staggers her for a few seconds.
Thankfully, Armani already has his wand raised. (ROLLED 10) The magical ropes do their work, lacing around the strange entity and wrapping tight. It slumps to the ground, captured, but for who knows how long. Its form seems to seep between gaps in the rope, dark gray steam.
The cultist sits motionless, but it's still making that sound. Whispering, chanting, groaning. "The garden looks very nice today. The garden looks very nice today. The garden looks very nice today." Over and over, without pause for breath.
Unprepared for the violent retaliation that had knocked him off his feet and left him aching and struggling to breathe, Aris can do nothing but lie there. His head is spinning and he's only distantly aware of what's happening around him. That strange droning chant, the garden looks very nice today, is the first thing his mind is able to put any meaning to and he groans.
That again?
He turns his head, looking dazedly for his wand as he tries to sit up.
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peckenpaugh2020-06-01 11:18 am
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
His lifts his eyes every few seconds as he does this, not wanting to let his guard down completely, and comments as lightly as he can to the others, "...Pretty wild place, huh? Like. Pick a mood, Hellscape."
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
She fidgets in place, reaching up to smooth the aforementioned messy hair with the fingers of her free hand. Something to focus on.
"I wonder what that shit is for." She gestures vaguely at the powder, vial and cube with a point of the chin. "What they were doing."
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
And he does. He goes for the vial first, trying to open it so he can waft the smell toward his nose. (Lab safety tip! Never inhale fumes directly, especially when you don't know what they are!)
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
It's not wholly unpleasant, though it does burst across his senses a bit like a whiff of ground peppercorn. It's disorienting, just a little, like a sneeze he can't get out.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
She tilts her head at the vial. There's a brief impulse to get closer and sniff it, just to see what it's like -- but stronger is her distaste of the tendrils, so she stays rooted in place, grooming herself.
"What do you mean it feels weird?" She asks of Armani, always curious about the uncomfortable and nasty.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
"It was, like, nose tingly weird... Not super weird, but not what I expected." He reaches for the powder next. Gonna open that satchel up and see what it's all about.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
"Salt," he declares, closing the bag back up. "A ritual, maybe? Blood will open the seam... Might not even be related to that, though. I'm not sure about the salt and the metal yet."
But, yeah, time to touch the metal next.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
Dang, this symbol is intricate.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
It beats three more times and then goes still.
And that is when something rises up out of the water behind them. A human form cloaked in black, the face a grotesque white mask with a keyhole for a mouth. The masked thing glides up to the beach, nearly silent except for the whispering of its robes.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
What is this thing even doing here? What does it want? Somehow, he doubts it's going to tell them.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
The cloaked figure raises its arms, and as it does the glass-like pebbles on the beach float up off the ground, too.
It is not here to negotiate. The Cultist attacks.
Imogen (ROLLED 4) is pelted with sharp grit that stings and scratches her.
Armani (ROLLED 1) is hit in the gut by a melon-sized piece of black stone, knocked off his feet.
Aristotle (ROLLED 8) manages to duck the stones headed his way.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
The memory owner takes the satchel of fine white powder — salt — and pours it into the center of the glyph in a circular motion, leaving a figure eight pattern on the ground.
Next the creature with the red crystal wreath on its head takes the vial of gray liquid and drips the contents over the salt. The glyph begins to bleed, light seeping through the lines like spilled ink.
Somehow, the light in the ground seems to repel the Cultist, but only just. It is pushed back toward the sea. As this happens, the memory owner takes the metal cube.
Bringing that silver cube up over their head, they shriek, a strange sound like an overloaded electrical transformer about to explode. One last glance at the creature wearing the red crystal wreath. Some tight and horrible feeling rises up all around you. Grief. But it's swallowed by something firmer.
The memory owner slams the gray cube into the glyph. Sparks fly, a white flame erupts within the circle, and when it burns away, it leaves a portal...to Peckenpaugh's auditorium.
The memory owner is gone. The other creatures, the ruined beach, the purple flowers, the one with the red crystal wreath all remain, frozen in time once more.
[MEMORY REPLY REQUIREMENT REACHED - At this time, you may continue to thread in this scene or flee back to Peckenpaugh. You can still find the linchpin and defeat the Cultist.]
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
"Expecto Patronum!" He can't be sure that the spell will work against such an entity, but this Cultist seems pretty dark magic to him. And they could definitely use some protection.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
The impact knocks it back, stumbling and reeling, and the core of the thing seems to disperse rippling like the surface of a pond. But the Cultist pulls itself back together and moves forward. Purple light erupts from the palm of the thing's "hand" and Aristotle takes the brunt of it (ROLLED 1). It burns and knocks the breath from his lungs at once, blasting him off his feet and onto the beach, leaving him momentarily dazed.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
She lashes out instinctively, just like she would in DADA or Dueling Club, with broad, violent swings of the arm.
"Expecto patronum!"
And then, after the purple light: "Protego!"
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
Imogen is fast with her Protego, but the silvery shield cracks like ice under the impact. The shield shatters, falling glitter fading before it hits the ground. Imogen is still standing, but the magical recoil staggers her for a few seconds.
Thankfully, Armani already has his wand raised. (ROLLED 10) The magical ropes do their work, lacing around the strange entity and wrapping tight. It slumps to the ground, captured, but for who knows how long. Its form seems to seep between gaps in the rope, dark gray steam.
The cultist sits motionless, but it's still making that sound. Whispering, chanting, groaning. "The garden looks very nice today. The garden looks very nice today. The garden looks very nice today." Over and over, without pause for breath.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
That again?
He turns his head, looking dazedly for his wand as he tries to sit up.
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
"Silencio."
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
Re: MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore
MEMORY: A Distant Shore - TOKENS!