In a dilapidated mobile home community on the edge of Appalachia, a peculiar group gathers under the cover of darkness. The rusted gates and eerie aura of the place set the stage for an extraordinary encounter. As these individuals, including Lanaeis, Lorenzo, Seamus, and Cheyanne, navigate the precarious landscape, they are drawn towards a decrepit church, its presence ominous against the moonlit sky. They find the community caught in a sinister cycle of despair, where deranged inhabitants dig aimlessly for salvation or damnation beneath the earth.

The group, each with their own reasons and compelled by a macabre fascination, venture towards the church, ignoring the chaos around them. Emboldened by curiosity and dark humor, they breach the church's threshold, only to be engulfed by an even deeper darkness. They are confronted by sights of horror – an altar adorned with bones, signs of sinister rituals, and an overwhelming aura of malevolence. Despite their individual strengths and dark desires, the surreal horror they face within the church begins to dismantle their resolve.

As they proceed, a strange reality unfolds before Lanaeis, Lorenzo, Seamus, and Cheyanne. They are thrust into an existential limbo, where a seraphim with thousands of eyes presents them with a vision of divine corruption. This ordeal exposes them to unimaginable terror, but also offers them a glimpse of untold power. Their confrontation with this celestial entity becomes a trial of spirit and resolve, testing their will against the promise of power or the threat of eternal damnation.

Each member of the group responds differently to this cosmic challenge. Lanaeis, with grim acceptance; Lorenzo, with mocking defiance; Seamus, struggling with his inner demons; and Cheyanne, who withstands the mental onslaught with quiet resilience. They are offered a path to embrace a dark power, a choice that could transform them beyond recognition. The harrowing experience leaves them scattered, waking in various locations, forced to grapple with the knowledge and changes they've undergone.

The trial in the church was more than a scavenger hunt; it was an invitation to peer into the abyss, to confront the darkest parts of themselves and the universe. As they recover from their ordeal, the haunting memory of their confrontation with the seraphim lingers. Though they might not fully understand what happened, the encounter has indelibly changed them, offering insights and powers that, while unsettling, provide a new understanding of their place in a universe far more complex and sinister than they had imagined.

Their journey through the Rustic Requiem is a tale of curiosity, resilience, and the temptation of forbidden knowledge. In the end, they are left to ponder their experiences, the allure of dark powers, and the cosmic horrors that lie just beyond the veil of reality.

---

(A Rustic Requiem(SRRuprecht):SRRuprecht)

[Thu Mar 27 2025]

On a Rustic Mobile Home community on the edge of Appalachia
It begins like a funnel, all starting from the main entry, a splitwood gate typically chained in with a padlock. Surrounding it, the perimeter of the park follows around with cattle gates, each rigged to a central electrical main at the center of it all. In the back of the park, a short little hill shows a house on the hill with a clearly displayed bright red crucifix flaking paint with each gust of the wind. This community is dying. A cancer lives at its core, with each struggling resident bound to their own cycle of addiction, prevention, or reduction. Yards fill with junk piled twice as high as any doublewide. Children play unguided in the streets, beating small animals with sticks and wondering aimlessly about the origin of life itself. A green smog rises from one trailer, no doubt a cook-house. Rez dogs wander to and fro, lashing out at anyone that might be unfamiliar enough not to trust.

Welcome to the Hillbilly Elegy. The Rustic Requiem. This is American culture, just like This is the remainder of the Old World.

It is night, about 36F(2C) degrees, There is a new moon.

[Welcome all! No enforced pose order, feel free to introduce and flow as feels right to you.]

It's not unlike a normal evening in the mountainous region of Georgia near the border lines that these individuals find themselves, but there's an acute depravity completely different from what would typically be considered civilized behavior. A departure from certain more evolved forms of humanity. Meth heads look around for cars that weren't here yesterday in the hopes of catalytic converters to steal or gas tanks to sieve, rummaging through masses of rubble to find bits and bobs like scavenging goblins might.

That church is high up on the hill, though, in the center of it all. Like this funland was constructed around it, oh so long ago. Paradise, they call this place. Paradise Park. All the streat lights are beat out, or disconnected -- and it's incredibly dark.

The moon, though? It lights up that little shack with the flaky crucifix. Bright and shining.

It's just like on the television.

I missed someone, reposting: [Welcome all! No enforced pose order, feel free to introduce and flow as feels right to you.]

It's not unlike a normal evening in the mountainous region of Georgia near the border lines that these individuals find themselves, but there's an acute depravity completely different from what would typically be considered civilized behavior. A departure from certain more evolved forms of humanity. Meth heads look around for cars that weren't here yesterday in the hopes of catalytic converters to steal or gas tanks to sieve, rummaging through masses of rubble to find bits and bobs like scavenging goblins might.

That church is high up on the hill, though, in the center of it all. Like this funland was constructed around it, oh so long ago. Paradise, they call this place. Paradise Park. All the streat lights are beat out, or disconnected -- and it's incredibly dark.

The moon, though? It lights up that little shack with the flaky crucifix. Bright and shining.

It's just like on the television.

Stepping from a ripple in the air, Lanaeis is, possibly a little hurriedly, pulling Cheyanne along the forest path as it closes behind them. "...Explain once we're there, ah here we go." He motions expansively to the... shithole? Well... "This is... not at all what I expected." He mutters. "This looks like one of those places I told you to be careful in."

Lorenzo surveys the landscape with a smirk, his voice carrying a melodious, almost mocking undertone as he responds to the scene before him. "Ah, the charming rusticity of Paradise Parknothing quite says 'welcome' like a good old-fashioned descent into anarchy. It's like stepping into a postcard for the end times. You've got to appreciate the authenticity; it's very...cinematic. So, who's up for a little midnight scavenger hunt?"

Lanaeis flashes Lorenzo a look. "Your a philosopher and a bartender?" He shrugs. "Damn."

Seamus came by car. He always comes by car when he isn't with the right people. It's not that he is unaware though. Stepping out from the bushes he nods to Lanaeis, "Lanaeis. Lorenzo. Didn't take you both for the bad coffee and cigarettes life."

Lorenzo surveys the landscape with a smirk, his voice carrying a melodious, almost mocking undertone as he responds to the scene before him. "Ah, the charming rusticity of Paradise Park - nothing quite says 'welcome' like a good old-fashioned descent into anarchy. It's like stepping into a postcard for the end times. You've got to appreciate the authenticity; it's very... cinematic. So, who's up for a little midnight scavenger hunt?" (fixed)

Lanaeis grins at Seamus. "Weeeell... not usually but hey... I had business in the area, and a tourist." He thumbs to Cheyanne. "So why the hell not right?"

Lorenzo chuckles, a flicker of amusement lighting up his vibrant blue eyes as he regards Seamus stepping from the shadows. "Seamus, my friend," he starts with that devil-may-care grin that hints at mischief lurking beneath his suave demeanor, "philosophy, bartending - just parts of the endless quest to keep things interesting." He sweeps an arm towards the desolate setting of Paradise Park with its backdrop of dimmed streetlights and the distant church silhouette. "And as for bad coffee and cigarettes, sometimes it's less about the vice and more about the company, though I can't vouch for the coffee." His gaze shifts between Lanaeis and Seamus, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Speaking of bad habits, found any new ones, or are you here to share some of that notorious good taste?"

"I've gotten a bad habit of dragging humans around to strange places." Lanaeis shrugs. "Cheyanne, you know Lorenzo. This is Seamus." He points to Seamus. "This..." He nods to Cheyanne. "Is Cheyanne. The particular unfortunate human I've decided is going to help me find what I need here."

Most proper scavenger hunts have real clues, but this one? It's left open ended. They showed a hint of the goal, through unforgettable broadcast, but left no clues as to what it was other than the obvious. Pure, unrefined, corruption. It's practically in the air. No, literally. The miasma of decay reeks of sins past and present. The moments that pass make it incredibly easy to realize that no lights are on in ANY of the little trailers or huts handcrafted from raw desperation. Is there no electricity here? Or would nobody be foolish enough to show themselves as awake at this hour?

What if instead, nobody's actually... home? Maybe the night IS life here. They don't seem like approachable people... but they aren't noticing them yet, either. So determined for fixation, each and every soul in the park.

It's like they're mindless drones. Isn't it?

The key to this whole thing is why. Why you've been compelled to come, what internal reasoning to witness the depravity envisioned by the telecommunicated messages of snuff and ritual programmed to haunt the morning mist. Cheyanne has clear reasoning. Lanaeis. Lorenzo has philosophy, and so much more. Seamus maintains an undeclared mystique with his entry...

And the search is on.

Seamus tips his cap to Cheyanne. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. Sorry for the company."

Cheyanne rubs her wrist as she sighs "I told you I have a bad foot, didn't i?" she murmurs to Lanaeis, before looking around with a curious expression. she nods politely to Lorenzo and smiles at Seamus "Nice to meet you too. I've gotten used to Lan dragging me places at this point" she gives a side eye to Lanaeis

Shrugging, Lanaeis slips his hands into his pockets. "Yes, you did." He comments. He ignores the look, instead studying the mobile home park and, by extension, the church on the hill. Amber eyes lock on what few people are out and about, studying and dismissing them before moving on to the next drone.

Lorenzo quirks an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he considers the macabre circus that unfolded on his screen. "Well, my philosophical side can't resist a good mystery," he begins, his voice carrying that ever-present, understated thrill for the darker curiosities of life. "And what's a better puzzle than cherubic little angels peddling salvation one moment and the next, it's like a front-row seat to mankind's greatest sins?"

He leans back slightly, the light catching the sinister yet alluring gleam in his eyes. "Seems to me, these aren't just random broadcasts. It's like someone's playing a game, using the airwaves to weave a narrative or... maybe a confession?" His gaze sharpens, flicking briefly to his companions as he speculates. "Or perhaps it's an invitation. A call to look deeper into the shadows of Appalachia, where the light of those telecasts doesn't quite reach."

Lorenzo's smile broadens, mischief mingling with intrigue. "So, why resist? Let's just say I'm a sucker for uncovering the why behind the what, especially when it involves naked little fat winged babies and unsolicited horror shows. Who wouldn't want to dive into that rabbit hole, see where it leads?" He chuckles softly, the sound a dark melody that fits perfectly with the evening's eerie ambiance. "Besides, curiosity didn't kill..." as he motions to himself with a sly grin.

"I throw up when I am pathed," Seamus says nonchalantly to Cheyanne. "So, I was contacted by my boss to help figure out what is going on," he mentions to Lanaeis. "So walk me through, well, what's going on? Ya ever seen anything like this?"

Every single one of those commercials was different, but they all hinged on the church some two and a half dirt-roads down the circular community, up a steep, almost ringed incline. Sometimes it was just a disturbing cut of several obese individuals in overalls cooking stew in an extremely large pot. Other clips would involve meat-hooks, skin-suits, nails at the ends of fingers and toes, not to mention the babbling of tongues and the solicitation of snakes for venom. Sometimes the pews were filled with what seemed like a hundred different people in their Sunday Best, witlessly worshipping the ritualistic sermons. Likewise, some cuts would drone dark static and a looming ambiance of the church itself, rather than anything actually macabre.

It was as if each cinematic production was targetted. Cut in a way that would lure the viewer in, either out of disgust, hatred, or intrigue. Some of those gathered might not even have seen it. But what they heard, about these broadcasts? It was meant for them. It was specific. Like a siren's song, but less seductive, and as grotesque as what lies beyond the false face of some fae.

Deeper. Below.

That song has become literal.

As if to cue the moment... everyone could note six, nine -- ten different addict-esque individual scumbags digging different holes in the ground without synchronized intent. Some with shovels, a few with bare hands, even two with pieces of glass. Are they looking for something they left hidden?

Shrugging, Lanaeis shakes his head. "I have a friend. He told me that this place was unholy. So... I thought I'd check it..." He trails off, watching the digging process, slowly wandering closer to inspect their work.

Lorenzo methodically prepares for the dark journey ahead, his movements precise and calculated. He begins by pulling a bulletproof vest over his head, adjusting the fit to sit snugly against his torso, ensuring no vital area remains unprotected. Each strap is secured with a practiced tug; next, he reaches for his Ka-Bar knife, a reliable companion in any close encounter. The knife, with its sturdy, razor-sharp blade, is sheathed along his belt; and then Lorenzo then holsters a Glock 19 on his hip, the firearm a grim necessity in the unpredictable chaos that might await. The pistol clicks into place, loaded and deadly, its weight a constant reminder of the potential dangers in the shadows. Finally, he grasps a machete, its long blade glinting ominously under the faint light. He secures it to his back, where it can be swiftly drawn to cut through any physical or metaphorical thickets that block his path.

Cheyanne looks morbidly curious, as she glances around. she tilts her head and mutters "reminds me of the videos my brother would leave on my phone when i was younger..." mostly to herself but also to whoever is listening close enough to here her usual small airy voice. "though different... somewhat.." she turns to study the people hard at work.

Most would assume it wasn't real. It's not so different from a religious take on so many horror movies now easily recognized as trope in modern society, ones about rural areas that desensitize the viewer most effectively to what's actually, really out there. Just like in those movies, this is a sleepy little slum surrounded by the woodland. Like a survivalist compound, this is a union of faith, ironclad. It lends credence, somehow, to what was in the televangelistic intrusions. It feels believable, that the worst deformities of social hierarchy could rule these people more effectively than Christ ever had. Their zealotry is clear in this very instance, as the digging grows more ferverous, and more digging drones come clearly perceived. Twenty... twenty five. Nothing's at the bottom of what they're digging for. One sap is even just scratching at asphalt.

His fingers have worn raw twenty minutes past. He's unaware of this fact, or at least without so much ability as to care. He's scraping the very bones down, leaving chalk-like marks of sickly impractical degenerate progress. He's in pain, sure, writhing with every stroke. Flinching, crying out. But still trying to make way. Surely, the stone will break, if he has faith.

Seamus nods along and pulls out a cigarette and his lighter, watching passively

Lorenzo surveys the grotesque scene with a detached curiosity, his features set in a smirk that doesn't quite reach his cool blue eyes. "Ah, the local entertainment seems to have a different flavor tonight," he muses aloud, his voice a blend of amusement and disdain.

He steps closer, watching the frantic scavengers with a predatory interest. "Each little show, a twisted invitation tailored to catch just the right eye," Lorenzo continues, his tone laced with intrigue. "And here we are, gathered like moths to a flame, or should I say vultures to a carcass?"

His gaze drifts across the disheveled figures, his expression one of mock concern. "What's the prize, I wonder? Salvation buried under the dirt of depravity or just another dirty secret?" He chuckles softly, the sound dark and melodic against the backdrop of desperate digging.

Lorenzo's eyes narrow slightly as he contemplates the church, a silhouette against the fading light. "Well, shall we dance with the devil, or are we just going to watch the circus from the sidelines?" he asks rhetorically, his words a challenge to those around him, beckoning them deeper into the heart of this macabre mystery.

Stepping over to the fruitlessly digging man, Lanaeis stares down at him, hands in his pockets. He doesn't move to stop the man, just asks in a casual, friendly tone "Evening friend. Having some trouble there?" His eyes are filled with something... amusement? Anger? Its hard to tell. Whatever it is, he isn't doing anything to stop the fool.

It's as if the world itself is lost to them, Lanaeis isn't seen... but he's now close enough to hear the raving beneath the cries of anguish. "Truth..." ... "Rapture..." ... "Awaken the light... beneath darkness..." - But most of all... - "Death." Quite like the science experiment gone wrong, or some wights unwilling to continue. It's trite. He begs for death, emotionally, and Lanaeis might find it hard to ignore. If this is what stands for the enviromental introduction...

Whatever's below must be real deal. Something's got these people, these less than innocent, forgotten people, so wrapped up tight, that they'd do worse than drink the kool-aid.

But is there anything to gain from such a fact? Or is the only intent of the hunt -- the scavenger hunt -- to thwart evil? It's a pervasive thought. Lorenzo said it first. Called it that. Scavenger Hunt.

Scavenger hunts, when succesful, mean going home with a reward, right? Chasing down the artifact?

Everyone gathered might be reflicted by an inexplicable compulsion to descend. Literally. To sit down physically, to go down steps, to press 'B' on an elevator panel. Of course, none of those things make sense in the moment. It's not unlike the feeling of posession, for anyone familiar. Like the soul itself is being compelled.

Go. Down.

The church, of course, is up.

Lorenzo watches the frenzied digging with a raised eyebrow, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Are we sure they're not trying to dig their way to China?" he quips, the amusement evident in his voice as he surveys the grim scene. "Because at this rate, they might just make it by dawn."

He leans back slightly, arms crossed, his casual posture belying the sharpness in his eyes. "Or maybe they're just laying the foundations for their own little hell. Seems like a lot of effort for such a dubious reward," he adds, the sarcasm dripping from every word as he watches a man tear at the ground with bleeding fingers.

Turning to the others, Lorenzo's expression shifts to mock-seriousness. "I mean, if we're going to join in, I'd at least like to know what the prize is at the bottom of this pit of despair. Any guesses?" His tone lightens again as he steps closer to the edge of one of the holes, peering down as if expecting to see something other than dirt and desperation; before he offers a lackadaisical shrug before he tries to push one of the diggers over the edge, "You first."

Shrugging, Lanaeis turns from the digging, opting instead to head for the church. "Well. Watching idiots dig isn't on my list of interesting things to do. Cheyanne, would you like to join me, or do you want something to do with... them?" He flicks his fingers at the zealots as they continue trying to dig their way to hell itself.

Lorenzo watches the frenzied digging with a raised eyebrow, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Are we sure they're not trying to dig their way to China?" he quips, the amusement evident in his voice as he surveys the grim scene. "Because at this rate, they might just make it by dawn."

He leans back slightly, arms crossed, his casual posture belying the sharpness in his eyes. "Or maybe they're just laying the foundations for their own little hell. Seems like a lot of effort for such a dubious reward," he adds, the sarcasm dripping from every word as he watches a man tear at the ground with bleeding fingers.

Turning to the others, Lorenzo's expression shifts to mock-seriousness. "I mean, if we're going to join in, I'd at least like to know what the prize is at the bottom of this pit of despair. Any guesses?" His tone lightens again as he steps closer to the edge of one of the holes, peering down as if expecting to see something other than dirt and desperation; before he offers a lackadaisical shrug and tries to push one of the diggers over the edge, "You first." (Fixed)

Cheyanne coughs into her hand, one of those forced coughs. sort of in a mix of macabre awe and curiosity as she watches this man destroy his fingers on the asphalt. before shaking her head with a tsk "Silly man. you're doing it all wrong" she chides. before nodding to Lanaeis "I'll go with you. this is..." she trails off and just hobbles up to catch up with the man.

Seamus lights his cigarette and sticks his lighter back in his pocket before coming close to Cheyanne and Lanaeis trotting along behind the angel, apparently deciding to throw his lot in with him and the church.

Lanaeis hit the wrong button...

Something's burning. Many things are cooking, whether the stew, or shake-and-bake labs from one end of the park to the other. The man's fingers, too, are burning down to nothingness via friction as he digs, progressing nearly as fast as Seamus's cigarette. This specific smell however, is more sulfuric than most, offering one clue after another toward Lorenzo's answers. Lorenzo saw something in that one hole, alright. An infantile skeleton, mostly still covered despite the best efforts of a tweaker with a broken coke bottle for a spade. Or is it an imp, rather than something human? It sure had a big head, compared to such a little body.

That feeling pangs again as they escalate the hill, walking dreary, alley-like shortroads between rusty-paneled trailers colored from red to resin-stain cream. To descend. Emotionally descend into the deepest reaches of waking fear, to descend into the earth... to descend into savage instincts of adrenaline-infused biology.

Surely though, our adventurers push on into that little chapel - unguarded, unlit, and looking innocent as a lamb bathed in blood.

Snapping his fingers as they approach the chapel, Lanaeis generates a golden orb of fire in his palm, lifting it to illuminate their way to the door. He moves to open the door, glancing back to note Seamus and Cheyanne with a small nod.

"Nice wings," Seamus mutters to Lanaeis as he bogarts the cigarette and leaves it to smolder in the corner of his mouth, using the smell of Marlboros to cover the stench of.... all of this.

glancing at Seamus, Lanaeis raises a brow. "Wings?"

Lorenzo's nostrils flare slightly at the pervasive, acrid smell as they make their way up the hill, the dark outline of the chapel growing ever more ominous against the night sky. The sight of the small, misshapen skeleton momentarily halts him, his features hardening with a mix of curiosity and disgust. "Well, that's a lovely find," he murmurs dryly, eyeing the grotesque relic with a critical gaze. "An imp or a child's bones, the ambiance here really doesn't disappoint."

As Lanaeis conjures the orb of fire, casting eerie shadows around them, Lorenzo's smirk reappears, albeit thinly. "Lead on, Macduff," he quips, stepping closer to the chapel's entrance, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let's see if the rest of this place is as welcoming as its garden decorations."

His casual demeanor masks an alertness, each sense sharpened, not just by the sulfur in the air, but by the palpable sense of dread that seems to seep from the very soil. With a final, wary glance over his shoulder, Lorenzo walks side-by-side Lanaeis into the chapel, ready for whatever may come next.

Seamus glances at Lanaeis, squints, rubs his face and then shakes his head, "Nothing just.... seeing things. Probably the signal or something. Let's just figure it out."

Lanaeis shrugs a shoulder, giving Lorenzo a nod as he advances in alongside him.

Cheyanne fiddles with something inside her pocket and nods slightly, keeping her Gray, stormlike eyes fixated on the door ahead, as she stands behind Lanaeis. she makes a slight face, pulling out a deal of chapstick and applying some under her nose. commenting "Mint is really good at covering up smells..." though by the look on her face its not actually helping all that much "most smells" she adds as her nose wrinkles more.

As the smell of sulphur grows sickening, and the smoke comes realized like an incense, the group is confronted with a new smell at the crrrrrrrreeeaakkk of the white-wood doors upon their entry. Iron, and rot. It is as if every board within the church, every pew, every bible, every candle, and every inch of every surface in between has been painted with blood. Deeper. It calls at the soul a little more wickedly with every inch of movement that follows. The feeling gains power, like an inceptive thought beneath consciousness. Some could even fall to the floor in an agonized form of zealous delusion, but our fellows are stronger than that, right?

Some aren't. Along the main walkway between benched pews, exsanguinated corpses follow each row on hands and knees. Like book-ends, in a way - markers.

Pretty unignorable is the trapdoor at the end of the line, just before the altar. An altar that could only be described as shamanistic in primeval context. Bones like the ones Lorenzo saw woven together thick as fabric make up the initial table, and spinal columns circle around it like a crown of thorns.


"This is some fucked up shit right here," Seamus says, hands shaking slightly as one grasps the inside of his left arm a moment before grabbing his cigarette and ashing it. "This is some kind of cult massacre like Jonestown shit."

Stumbling slightly, Lanaeis catches himself on a pew, using his free hand to cross himself as he squeezes the wood until his knuckles pale. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out in a slow exhale before pushing forward, moving quickly in an attempt to get to the altar before the strange influence of this place lays him low. As he does, he would likely outstrip the others in moments, clearly not interested in lingering anywhere for too long as he hurries to the odd shrine, extending a hand to tap the bone crown cautiously with one gloved finger. Glancing over his shoulder, he nods gravely to Seamus. "Unholy." He forces out between gritted teeth, knees shaking slightly, though through sheer force of will he keeps himself standing.

Lorenzo casts a narrowing glance towards Seamus, his brow furrowing as he gives him a good once over, and chirps up in a moment of rare sincerity and seriousness coming from a -man- like him, "You all here?" His question clearly in response to seeing Lanaeis as anything resembling Michael made manifest.

He motions towards the church with a wave of his hand, as he ascends, descends, climbing cobbles, stones, or paths to the hearth of this bad take or parody of so many b-rated horror films: The Exorcist, Conjuring, or Devil's Doorway... hell anything leading with The was surely going to be followed by things that illicit jump scares for cheap thrills, but when it's your neck or even soul on the line the thrill can almost at times be too palpable, "You know I'm half expecting a little girl to suddenly appear, cranking her neck in a one-eighty, and start project vomiting in our direction..." He muses aloud to no one in particular with that devil-may-care charm.

His nose however wrinkles at the sudden blast of sulfur, gagging reflexively, "Alright, which one of you... just lay off the eggs" Lorenzo says with a smirk as he lets out a low whistle, "Ah, nothing says -Welcome to our humble church- quite like the avant-garde decor of bone and blood. If this is their idea of a redecoration, I'd hate to see what they do for a bake sale!"

Lorenzo casts a narrowing glance towards Seamus, his brow furrowing as he gives him a good once over, and chirps up in a moment of rare sincerity and seriousness coming from a -man- like him, "You all here?" His question clearly in response to seeing Lanaeis as anything resembling Michael made manifest.

He motions towards the church with a wave of his hand, as he ascends, descends, climbing cobbles, stones, or paths to the hearth of this bad take or parody of so many b-rated horror films: The Exorcist, Conjuring, or Devil's Doorway... hell anything leading with The was surely going to be followed by things that illicit jump scares for cheap thrills, but when it's your neck or even soul on the line the thrill can almost at times be too palpable, "You know I'm half expecting a little girl to suddenly appear, cranking her neck in a one-eighty, and start projecting vomiting in our direction..." He muses aloud to no one in particular with that devil-may-care charm.

His nose however wrinkles at the sudden blast of sulfur, gagging reflexively, "Alright, which one of you... just lay off the eggs" Lorenzo says with a smirk as he lets out a low whistle, "Ah, nothing says -Welcome to our humble church- quite like the avant-garde decor of bone and blood. If this is their idea of a redecoration, I'd hate to see what they do for a bake sale!" (fixed)

Seamus crosses himself out of habit and nods to Lanaeis. "We need fire," he says to the other man before looking at Lorenzo. "I have my moments," he says with a nod, "You ok?"

Cheyanne goes a bit green, keeping her eyes on Lanaeis to avoid throwing up. she fiddles with something else in her pocket, "this is... well i suppose i wont be needing the snacks i brought" she decides.

Seamus nods to Cheyanne with a puff of his mouth in a heavy sigh. "Yeah... I suppose you won't."

Pursing his lips, Lanaeis shakes his head, swallowing hard. "Maybe the snacks will make whatever is in this place leave peacefully?" Ah, the hopes that shall be shattered against the rocks of reality...

With a wicked grin, Lorenzo quips, "Oh, I'm just dandy, but really, Seamus, if we're shopping for fire, next time, let's not forget the marshmallows."

If there's to be any clarity to the manifestations of this dark circus tent named chapel, it's beneath the floorboards, like the imp in the ground. That much is obvious. The panel, with the iron ring, making a trapdoor, would be about sixty pounds total, heavy hardwood soaked with plenty've... water damage, if you want to call it that. In the meantime, the ambiance is quite something. The smoke has no source. Actually, it seems like the mist of haven, but instead of hiding the horror, or warning of it, it manifests the terror directly upon contact with the lungs. Not that Lorenzo has to breathe. The others? Forced to asphyxiate on the smog and the smell.

There's also the matter of black paint scattered around. Sigils of different archaic cultures, all culminating into one specific tapestry of...

Sinful ritual.

Lanaeis steps to the trapdoor, grabbing hold. With a slow breath, he pulls open the trapdoor, stepping back and peering down into the depths.

As the smoke curls around him, Lorenzo grips the iron ring and yanks at the trapdoor with the ease of one tearing paper along side Lanaeis. The heavy hardwood groans under his supernatural strength, protesting as he rips it from its ancient moorings. "Let's take a peek under the hood, shall we?" Lorenzo quips, tossing aside the splintered wood with a casual flick of his wrist.

Glancing down into the dark abyss below, his eyes flicker with a blend of amusement and anticipation. "Hoping for more water damage, or maybe something a bit more... spirited?" he remarks, his tone laced with a dark humor as he eyes the blackened sigils around them. "Either way, this circus definitely has its freak show." The eerie mist swirling at their feet seems almost alive, but Lorenzo stands unfazed, a smirk playing on his lips as he awaits the reaction of his companions to the opened gateway into further darkness.

Lanaeis stares down into the abyss, fingers twitching as he tries to take shallow breaths. "Fuck it." He mutters. Are there stairs? He doesn't care. He hops right on into that hole. Is it smart? Probably not. But is it better than up here? He intends to find out.

Cheyanne holds her nose against the sleeve of her trench coat, stareing at the spot where Lanaeis would have been standing moments before he jumped into darkness "And I'm the dumb one?!" she exclaims, though its muffled by her sleeve.

Seamus hangs back a moment with Cheyanne and looks around. "Well Miss Chey we can go with them or stay here. My money is going with them I guess."

No steps beneath that heavy-heft. No ladder. No basement. Lorenzo expected a jump scare, right? The typical trope of the sudden appearance, used to activate the mind's most reflexive panic-flinch-run response. Lanaeis jumps into the void of expanse, the black hole of psychic coma, without even thinking. The others? They are consumed by it. Enveloped by the unthinking omniscience of... a certain nothingness. A certain specific kind of nothingness. They can see eachother here. The church is gone. The world is gone too. Even as they bicker about whether or not to follow. What... is this?

Lorenzo watches the scene unfold with a devilish grin, leaning against the remnants of the splintered trapdoor. As Lanaeis disappears into the void and the others hesitate, he chuckles dryly. "Oh, come on, don't tell me you're afraid of a little existential road trip?" he quips, his eyes twinkling mischievously in the eerie light. "It's just like falling asleep, except you get to keep all your teeth." With a sardonic shrug, he adds, "Besides, if we're already hallucinating, I'd say we're overdue for some scenery change. This place was getting a bit dull, don't you think?" And with that Lorenzo doesn't jump recklessly but more steps in, if he even has the chance before his world turns into a bad trip with a two-dollar hooker smoking poles for one more promise of another rip from a bong filled with rock.

Sound still travels. But there is no earth beneath feet. Just like there is no air to be breathed. Rules are of no concern. There is no gravity, but one wouldn't float free of binding to some base, like a floor. It seems empty at first. Then the atmosphere becomes realized. A writhing like a gas expansion, all-consuming and all-fulfilling. Tendrils like smoke move in unwitting patterns to make a patchwork weave of what reality is. That's when you start hearing the lure again. For some, perhaps for a first time. The commercial.

Reality becomes a blue screen. The stairway to heaven presents itself, and this time, there's literally someone walking down. He's dressed like only an angel could be, in the white cotton robes of a pauper. A rope belt. A winged back... an extended hand. He hasn't opened his mouth yet, but the offer is evident.

A maniacal voice breaches from the heavens, not from the throat of the emissary. "The Word tells us that God meets our needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus. Begin to talk and act as though it is true!"

It's then that Lanaeis meets the rest of them, plummeting from the light to meet... no impact at all. As if suddenly stopped, to simply lie on the blue empty, face first. It's strange that he'd make it last, considering he was the first to take plunge.

Standing, Lanaeis brushes himself off, hands a little shaky as he surveys the situation before him. Upon noticing the angel, he steps forward to meet the entity, eyes locking with whatever that would pass for eyes in this thing, if it has any. One hand rises, fingers splayed. "You come baring the Lord's offer in a place that knows no God. Who are you." His voice is level, but his hands tremble slightly after the fall he just experienced.

Lorenzo floats, or stands, the sensation is unclear, in this dreamscape, his eyes narrowing slightly at the cliched imagery unfolding before him. As the angel descends, and the voice booms out its evangelical pitch, he can't help but let out a low, amused scoff. "Really? This is what they've got? A heavenly infomercial? I must say, I expected more creativity from the afterlife, or whatever focus group cooked up this channel," he murmurs, glancing around as if expecting a camera crew to pop out at any moment.

Turning his gaze back to the angel, he flashes a mischievous grin. "So, whats the catch, angel boy? Free salvation with a side of eternal guilt? Or is there a premium package where we skip the guilt and go straight to the divine perks?" His tone is laced with sarcasm, the amusement clear in his vibrant blue eyes, yet there's a sharp edge of curiosity, always the philosopher, always probing, even in the face of absurdity.

Seamus squints and looks around nervously, his nose starting to bleed but he quickly wipes it away with the back of his hand. "This is some fucky shit."

Cheyanne eyes Lanaeis, slowly shaking her head disappointedly as he still lays on the ground, glancing around at the blue abyss, she avoids gazing directly at the angel. though she gives a small amused smirk as Lorenzo makes his comments. She stays quiet. letting the others talk. her body tense. the hand in her pocket clenched around the item in her pocket like its the only thing keeping her calm... ish.

Lorenzo, unsure of his stance, is brought to his knees. It's not a sudden shift of reality, but a sudden crunch as his legs momentarily compel the same sensation from earlier. Descent. It's a clear and concise depiction of control by the current scape of transcendant existentiality. Focus group? Lorenzo seems to assume that this entire escapade was of a physical entity. The unpredictably caricature-esque manipulation of humanity into theology is otherworldly by that same design, but he could be right. Maybe it all has logical conclusion.

The seraphim's arms flicker between two stances. Palms clasped together, and hands held open, as if for a welcoming hug. It's a fast movement. Hard to keep track of. Does he have two legs, or eight? The advance halts. Eyes begin two open. Not two, but thousands. On every inch of a figure taller than ten men. Each eye is bloodshot, with a pupil like molten lava singed yellow and filled with drain oil. It burns. Burns to look at. Burns to feel the emanent light from. Burns worse than fire. Lorenzo suffers most deeply, but none are spared.

The nature of the infomercial as stage-main for the event was only an acknowledgement. Acknowledgement that they'd found what they were looking for. That they won the scavenger hunt, succeeded in claiming the clue -- found that power at the core of the question.

Straight to divine perks, it would seem.

[OOC: If players have any particularly underlying desires or plans in regards to corruption, internal emotes or thoughts could change the next few lines as we hit the peak of the adventure.]

Seamus flips his eyes back and forth as he looks around and lingers near Cheyanne letting the two supers flex on each other. "Right. So what fresh hell is this," he mutters snorting. "It's not really," he says slamming his eyes closed before repeating the mantra a couple of times before opening them again. "Nope. It's real."

Stepping forward, Lanaeis extends a hand. When he speaks, his voice is low, cold, eyes flashing with hunger. "What are you. And what do you want..." His voice trails off, leaving the last of his question unspoken. He spares only a quick glance to Cheyanne and Seamus, to see if they're alright? To make certain they are still there?

Lanaeis suddenly crumples in on himself, knees hitting what passes for a floor as he curls in on himself, breath coming in sharp gasps as his face twists into a mask of pain.

Clutching at the invisible force gripping his knees, Lorenzo grimaces, pain etching deep lines across his normally smooth forehead. The strange tableau before him unfolds with eerie tranquility, the flickering motions of the seraphim adding a surreal quality to the scene. As thousands of eyes open, each burning brighter than the last, the reality of his situation pierces through the sarcasm and bravado he usually wields like armor.

Through gritted teeth and a pained smirk, he manages to quip, "Could you at least get me a drink first?" His voice, tinged with both humor and a sharp undercurrent of defiance, cuts through the overwhelming presence of the seraphim. It's a small rebellion, an assertion of identity in the face of overwhelming force, a reminder that even on his knees, Lorenzo's spirit isn't easily quashed.

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain that seems to penetrate every fiber of his being, Lorenzo's expression hardens, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and steely determination. The agony burns through him, a visceral reminder of his vulnerability in this surreal and hostile environment, "You know, I really think I need a hobby."

Seamus's eyes gloss over and go to stare in the middle distance as his nose starts to bleed again but this time he can't stop the blood from dripping down his mouth and onto the ground in front of him. He is dazed and looking inside himself dealing with some psychological trauma

Cheyanne grits her teeth, her eyes clenched shut as her whole body tenses. she recoils backwards.. well whatever backwards is in this... place. she snaps her eyes open and looks at the others "what... the..." she starts to say the final word but her voice fails her, as she collapses to the ground in a curled up ball.

Not everyone, in their lifetime, is offered the chance to experience what equates to a thermonuclear holocaust. If they can remember today, after the trauma inflicted on their each and individual psyches, they can each say that they did. Maybe, even, that they survived. Each pupil swells to consume the entirity of the eye, and the blue static technicolor reality turns into a swirling red vortex. The eyes have become mouths. The rims, lips. Thousands of gaping, toothless maws, scream for holy hallelujah. It's enough to make the ears bleed, in those living. A reminder of biological presence. That their hearts are still beating. That they could, really, truly, be at risk. That it could be over here. Everything begins to shake, and the black patchwork of tendrils becomes visible underneath latent vision. You're forced to contend with whatever it is that you really are. Your whole life is before you behind your own sense of current events. Lorenzo's blood boils. Seamus's head practically boils over. Lanaeis's spiritual concerns consume him. Cheyanne fights battles none should be forced to, and Cheyanne gets everything else, in bulk. All mortal problems.

If any of them would be compelled to seek out power and take it by force, they're offered a vision of a way to do so. A path forward. A means to never feel this helpless again. It's not through the benevolence of some well-willed, meaning-minded god. But of the eldritch coersion born of chaos, to promote the cycle of natural order and life's savage cannibalisms.

Charles Darwin would be amused, no doubt, if presented with a synopsis.

As the chaos unfolds, and the overwhelming terror grips at the core of his very existence, Lorenzo's composure cracks just a sliver, revealing the wry cynicism that never truly leaves him. With the universe seemingly crumbling around him, he manages to throw out a sardonic one-liner, his voice rough with the strain of the moment but as devil-may-care as ever:

"If this is what winning looks like, remind me to aim for second place next time."

As the council of selves wages war within his psyche, Lorenzo, standing at the crossroads of his own moral labyrinth, experiences a fleeting moment of clarity amid the torment. Shaking his head as if to dispel the fog of those harrowing visions, he chuckles darkly, his voice laced with both humor and a hint of desolation:

"Well, if being evil is all it takes to get a little peace and quiet around here, sign me up for the villain audition. But let's skip the monologues, shall we?"

Seamus closes his eyes and shakes his head, before opening them again and wiping his nose. "Fuck. I hate when I get these fucking nosebleeds."

Lanaeis bracing a hand against the floor, standing slowly. "If it is what must be done. Then I accept." He says, voice trembling slightly. Though he'd already accepted, speaking the words seems to steel him slightly.

Lanaeis braces a hand against the floor and standing slowly. "If it is what must be done. Then I accept." He says, voice trembling slightly. Though he'd already accepted, speaking the words seems to steel him slightly.

Lanaeis can't type apparently.

Kaboom.

The vortex is one of souls. A representation not so original -- just like the church, just like the idols. Each individual has had their vision, and what's left is the concurrency of Now. The black tendrils, the sulfuric magma of the shaking primarch figure. The stairway to heaven has since inverted. The sky, the heavens, are beneath you. You're in the middle of two dichotomous representations of theological perception. That, of course, means that this -- this ever-changing void, then, is purgatory. Or, a purgatory. The blood tornado both implodes, and explodes, in simulacrum. Hollow eyes and open mouths like the one on the celestial body make up the 'winds' compelled by black smoke. Bodies are reduced to atoms, and rebuilt one by one, piece by piece, and not to mention what would become of a spirit. It's like pathing, but worse. To be delayered from this reality space, and instead placed back in your own.

It must've all been false. Surely. They wake up back in town, in places they'd never sleep. In alleys, in trees -- perhaps even in the sea. Their words went unheeded. But the memory remains.

The haunting prophecy of the apocalypse refuses to be forgotten. It all feels correlated.

Maybe it's worth further consideration.

Hopefully they got something they were looking for, because either way, the gift of knowledge was forced on them more heavily than common, primitive physical violation could ever impress.

[Thanks for coming, all! This is where I throw out awards, convert adventure XP into currency, answer questions or complaints, and put people back in town so they can get back to their lives after a long indulgence of my own attempts!]

(Repost Requested)

Kaboom.

The vortex is one of souls. A representation not so original -- just like the church, just like the idols. Each individual has had their vision, and what's left is the concurrency of Now. The black tendrils, the sulfuric magma of the shaking primarch figure. The stairway to heaven has since inverted. The sky, the heavens, are beneath you. You're in the middle of two dichotomous representations of theological perception. That, of course, means that this -- this ever-changing void, then, is purgatory. Or, a purgatory. The blood tornado both implodes, and explodes, in simulacrum. Hollow eyes and open mouths like the one on the celestial body make up the 'winds' compelled by black smoke. Bodies are reduced to atoms, and rebuilt one by one, piece by piece, and not to mention what would become of a spirit. It's like pathing, but worse. To be delayered from this reality space, and instead placed back in your own.

It must've all been false. Surely. They wake up back in town, in places they'd never sleep. In alleys, in trees -- perhaps even in the sea. Their words went unheeded. But the memory remains.

The haunting prophecy of the apocalypse refuses to be forgotten. It all feels correlated.

Maybe it's worth further consideration.

Hopefully they got something they were looking for, because either way, the gift of knowledge was forced on them more heavily than common, primitive physical violation could ever impress.

[Thanks for coming, all! This is where I throw out awards, convert adventure XP into currency, answer questions or complaints, and put people back in town so they can get back to their lives after a long indulgence of my own attempts!]

Opening his eyes, Lanaeis glances around blearily. He reaches up to rub his eyes, fingertips still glowing. Blinking away the remnants of... whatever that was, he shakes his head to clear the fog before standing. Eyes squinting slightly, he rubs his chin in thought.