Plotlogs
Thicker Than The Water Of The Womb Sr Owen
In the quaint yet eerie New Castle, New Hampshire, a group of daring souls finds themselves embroiled in a chilling escapade. Their journey begins with the unsettling discovery of dismembered fingers and teeth, relics of a recent calamity washed ashore. The group, determined to uncover the truth, navigates a ghostly town shrouded by darkness and a sinister energy emanating from an old church. Led by an internal pull, they eventually gravitate toward an ancient lighthouse, where a decrepit man, believed to be a reverend, cryptically advises them to explore either the church or a nearby cave to solve the town's horrific enigma.
Choosing the cave over the ominous church, the group braves the cramped and treacherous descent, confronting a nightmare beyond comprehension. In the cavern's depths, they interrupt a grotesque ritual led by red-robed cultists who had just sacrificed a redheaded girl upon an altar to summon a being named Alastor—distinctly not the entity they had intended, Alistair.
This unforeseen revelation derails the cult's dark purpose, for Alastor is not of this realm but an interdimensional presence accidentally summoned due to the cult's error. Now in control, Alastor enforces a twisted sense of authority over the scene. The group, composed of individuals such as the brazen Lanie, the cautious Kyle, the watchful Jett, and the inquisitive Autumn, finds itself confronting this powerful being. Alastor interacts with each member, striking an ungodly transaction with Owen that wrenches his body into a violent, near-fatal reaction before repurposing him as a living weapon against the cultists.
Throughout Alastor’s chaotic manipulation, Lanie negotiates for their freedom, issuing a stern warning against any future harm. Ultimately, each member of the group receives a peculiar 'parting gift,' as Alastor inexplicably transports them back to their respective places of origin—though the implication is clear that he remains in their presence, an invisible shadow accompanying them back to Haven.
In the aftermath of this bizarre confrontation, questions linger, especially regarding the unfortunate Everett Hayes, whose fate is disclosed by Alastor to be eternal damnation—not that any attempt to intervene would have been possible, as Alastor emphasizes that there are decidedly no refunds on such matters.
The ordeal concludes with the group intact, yet irrevocably touched by the sinister forces they've encountered. They are left to ponder the true cost of their encounter with Alastor, the obscure creature masquerading as a deity. The encounter's conclusion is as mysterious as it is abrupt, leaving a haunting echo of uncertainty about what may follow from their brush with the infernal.
(Thicker Than the Water of the Womb(SROwen):SROwen)
[Mon Dec 4 2023]
On the Hopeless Shadow of New Castle, New Hampshire
In the shrouded confines of New Castle, New Hampshire, a suffocating gloom has descended, as if the very air is thick with whispers of despair. The island village, normally a picturesque haven like one you know well by now, is ensnared instead a perpetual twilight. Its charming streets now eerily deserted, where silence is only broken by the distant, ceaseless roar of the ocean. A dense, dark mist clings to the ground, swirling around the ankles of the few brave souls who dare to traverse the ghostly landscape. Little old houses, once vibrant with the hues of New England charm, now stand as forlorn silhouettes, their colors leeched away by the oppressive fog and the absence of sunshine for lighting or contrast. The locals, once a tight-knit community, are seldom seen, their presence felt only in fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures retreating into the obscurity of the shade. They may as well be gone to the world, forgotten behind drapes and blinds.
At the eastern end of the island, a massive, monolithic lighthouse stands sentinel, its beacon a piercing eye that cuts through the murk with an uncanny intensity. Serving as a catalyst to reveal the multitude of abandoned John boats and ferries surrounding the tower, the great beam of light casts long, quivering shadows that do a macabre dance against the dim greyscale backdrop, darkness mocked by solitary luminesence. In stark contrast to the lighthouse's defiant glow, an old church, nestled in the heart of the isle, exudes an aura of foreboding. Its once-hallowed walls seem to pulsate with a sinister energy, and the stained glass windows, now dull and lifeless under the heavy sky, hint at untold secrets. It wouldn't be hard to recognize it as an old Methodist chapel, long since replaced. Just the sight of it displays an unnerving stillness, a silence so profound it feels like a presence in itself.
It is night, about 42F(5C) degrees, There is a waning crescent moon.
Autumn says "Ignore that."
Hello everyone, thanks for coming! Feel free to emote your arrival, you'll be dropping in most likely on the WEST side of a very small island, known as New Castle, in New Hampshire. It's surrounded on all sides by a thin mote of water, and is thus mostly locked to its own land. The group finds themselves noting a sincere lack of useful sun/starlight, and an overabundance of unnatural, coal-black cloud cover. Everett Hayes is nowhere around, but things are already looking bleak. No turn order, pose as you will, feel free to probe me with internals or otherwise if I miss stuff.
Here's a quirky AI-generated visual aid, and it holds mostly accurate, albeit with a lighthouse added eastwardly.
https://ibb.co/JCVJDQr
There's no singing involved, but Lanie most certainly has a few hands held as she arrives on the island, using the power of pathing to travel the distance in a relatively short time. As her eyes adjust to the darkness and the gloom, she lets go of those hands and checks herself over to make sure she's got everything she needs. Her armor is snugly under her clothes and her knife is in her pocket, the handle sticking out to make it's presence known. Apparently, that's all she requires for this little excursion, but she does complain to Owen, "We forgot to stop for that burger on the way back from the thing."
Bitter cold, tonight is, and there's no warmth from the sky to share any semblance of hope. Not to mention-- time, is... incredibly difficult to make out. The group, ramshackle as it might be, probably isn't prepared for what they'll arrive to witness. A lagoon, the shallows, a sandy beach surrounded by rocks that make for little tidepools and puddles, all the same. But... there's no life here. It's not like what Jett, Owen, and Lanie have seen already once this week -- not in the least, because these pieces aren't dessicated, and they're similarly not ancient. Fresh meat, rotting off the bone. That's what washed up to shore just before they did. Fingers, particularly, some reddish teeth, and a number of toes, but no actual limbs or organs further from there. Each incoming wave laps away at the remnants of red tinge left to the shallows, like something horrible happened recent enough to have tainted the immediate surroundings, soon to be forgotten by the great recycler of Mother Nature.
After being escorted by boat, Autumn steps onto land and arrives on the island. She takes a looks around and mutters something under her breath before walks down to find the group, a glance on her panja bracelet.
It's from one of these paths that Kyle find himself showing up here as well. Looking around he doesn't have a bead on anybody here but he's wrapped up in navy peacoat and rubbing his hands together for warmth as the person who's brought him here doesn't even show themselves, instead choosing to retreat back down the path that's brought the old man along.
Owen seems unnerved from the moment he retches off the path, the green washing away from his face to instead be replaced by a pale as he sees the black sky of an unnatural night, not to mention the kool-aid colored water he's dropped his kicks into, thanks to Lanie's drop radius. He looks... scared. He doesn't do that often. He recognizes Autumn, but doesn't Kyle - and that hardly matters. Something's beyond wrong itself.
By now Jett knows the routine, pathing somewhere and walking through those eerie woods is best done while holding hands. When they arrive he makes a sour face, not much more grave than what he usually sports but he does peer over at someone initially. Perhaps waiting to see if the path here brought him the queasy displeasure it had on their past excursions. Alas, this distraction would leave him unaware of the crimson tinted shoreline that is washing up macabre treasures.
By now Jett knows the routine, pathing somewhere and walking through those eerie woods is best done while holding hands. When they arrive he makes a sour face, not much more grave than what he usually sports but he does peer over at Owen initially. Perhaps waiting to see if the path here brought him the queasy displeasure it had on their past excursions. Alas, this distraction would leave him unaware of the crimson tinted shoreline that is washing up macabre treasures. A fucking thumb? Then Jett looks back out at the scene and his mouth pulls further into a frown, eyes narrowing as if the sight itself was more offensive than disturbing.
Autumn grimaces at the severed digits and organs by the shore before she quickly runs to join the group. "This place looks creepy. How did it come to what is is now?"
"Hey, Autumn." Lanie greets Autumn as she recognizes her, then ticks her chin up to Kyle and introduces herself, "Hey there, I'm Lanie-- You from Haven, or are you a local?" she asks genuinely, distracted away from the greeting with a glance over to where Owen's looking, "A thumb, what?"
There's a nod of the head from Kyle toward Lanie, "Neither, I'm here for a friend actually. But from Haven, for what matters, This isn't my fucking town." He shakes his head vigourously at that before he huddles further into his coat as he spies the surroundings. "THis place is fucked" he mutters, squinting toward the shadow of a chapel in the beyond. "Name's Kyle" he breathes out with plumes of breath with each word.
OwenOwen's lips don't move, but something -- something they all hear, says, "Over there!" in a childlike voice, one that follows his finger like a ventriloquist's pitch. Having gotten stuck upright in the tidefall, dug up into its own divet of chance happenstance, is a thumb, just as he'd accused. It's female, at least assumedly, by the jagged red plastic nail sticking off of it. Nobody but them is walking this beach, tonight - and someone' is the only boat along this particular shore. The town, however small, dominates the entire island - the road, paved, is only eighty some feet away, and it would lead to the main circle of the greater Ville without doubt. Of course, there's the alternative, of following the perimeter of the island. There's only one light, only one sign of humanity, and it's all the way on the other side of the landmass: the lighthouse.
Every ninety or so seconds, a beam of burning brightness flashes through the sky, and keen eyes would see a moving shadow near it, more often than not. There's a clue, Scoob.
Owen's lips don't move, but something -- something they all hear, says, "Over there!" in a childlike voice, one that follows his finger like a ventriloquist's pitch. Having gotten stuck upright in the tidefall, dug up into its own divet of chance happenstance, is a thumb, just as he'd accused. It's female, at least assumedly, by the jagged red plastic nail sticking off of it. Nobody but them is walking this beach, tonight - and Autumn's is the only boat along this particular shore. The town, however small, dominates the entire island - the road, paved, is only eighty some feet away, and it would lead to the main circle of the greater Ville without doubt. Of course, there's the alternative, of following the perimeter of the island. There's only one light, only one sign of humanity, and it's all the way on the other side of the landmass: the lighthouse.
Every ninety or so seconds, a beam of burning brightness flashes through the sky, and keen eyes would see a moving shadow near it, more often than not. There's a clue, Scoob.
"Hi, Lanie," Autumn smiles as she greets Lanie. She glances at that thumb before her gaze catches the light from the lighthouse. "At least there's light over there," she says, pointing at the light. "Only light I see so far. Everything else is dark."
Ruh-roh raggy. Without much sign of life in the vicinity he takes a breath and tread towards the gorey scene of that thumbs up of 'encouragement' offered to the group. "Fucked indeed," Jett echoes the observation of someone but pauses in his journey forward to point out something about that light in the distance, "Someone's up there, I think."
Ruh-roh raggy. Without much sign of life in the vicinity he takes a breath and tread towards the gorey scene of that thumbs up of 'encouragement' offered to the group. "Fucked indeed," Jett echoes the observation of Kyle but pauses in his journey forward to point out something about that light in the distance, "Someone's up there, I think."
"Lighthouse needs operation, maintenance ... I won't take that bet, youngin'." Kyle calls over to Jett before he grunts to himself. "This might be more than I bargained for here, shit. That IS a fucking thumb." Something in his spine, in his gut .. when that beam of light comes dancing toward THEM? Kyle literally tries to hunch himself away from it.
"I wonder if there's a hand attached to it," Lanie says to the group as if daring someone to check. It certainly won't be her, from the way she takes a few backwards steps away from it. Jett's observation has her looking in the direction of the lighthouse, the light from it blinding her as it passes by. She shields her eyes from it a moment too late, agreeing with Kyle, "This is a lot to take in. What the fuck even happened here?" she asks, though the question isn't pose towards the old-timer, but more towards everyone present.
Gristly as that request is, Kyle actually proves to be the least concerned about it, perhaps. "I'll check" he mutters, moving away from that light and using a booted foot to dig around a bit in the sand nearby the thumb before the tides come back in. He does not appear eager to bend down and touch anything if he can avoid it, but the sight of the thumb isn't causing him any discomfort.
Apparently that maintenance is incredibly frequent. That, or... Kyle's catlike reflexes there are apparently on point, and someone's working oversight. Looking. For them, or something else. Owen seems to have recovered from that nausea awful quick, and since his finger extended outward, he hasn't really moved. Until... his eyes close, and he starts walking. Towards town. Footfall after footfal, without restraint or consideration. He's like ... a man posessed, eh? As soon as anyone's feet would leave the water, there's a writhing of the mist, and it's rather hard to see one's shoes. It seems like he's planning on taking the main road. Maybe someone can convince him to wait up, if they tried.
Kyle's foot finds solid connection, and it's not budging. Like there's a hand there, like there's a wrist. Yeesh.
"Careful with that," Autumn warns Kyle. "You never know if whatever thumb is still attached to will come to life." Upon finding Owen walking down the road, she begins call out at him while she puts her hands inside the pockets of her sweater. "Hey, don't go too far without us. There could be trap at end," she speaks with a grimacing look.
Backing away from the thing quickly enough, Kyle is peddling the other direction and trying to make haste. He's not getting separated from the group and being the first fucker to die, not tonight Satan. "That's at least an arm. I'm guessing that's a whole body, people. I don't want to think about ... the rest of the beach ..." his words trail off .. that hue of the water resonating with the man's thoughts before he's frowning in a much more real way.
Lanie's eyes flick towards Owen and she reaches out to grab his arm, "Woah, where you going, asshole? You wanna wait for the rest of us and not get yourself killed out here on Death Island?" she asks, digging her fingernails into his arm to make sure he gets the point. She eventually begins to walk with him whether he stops or not, like he's the tour guide on this little trip.
"Look at that, it's more than just a thumb," Jett echoes out mildly enough when there seems to be some substances sheathed beneath the sand attached to that digit sticking out. He looks to Kyle and offers him a similar gesture, one lifted thumb of encouragement for his handy thinking of giving it a jostle with his foot. When Owen begins to drift away from the rest of the group he looks over, and while Lanie does try to convince him to linger around with the evidence of misfortune he begins to head after the wandering man. "We taking the main road?" Jett asks of Owen curiously, perhaps trying to get a read on his plans or intentions.
Owen sems to ignore Autumn's words entirely, at first. One step, then another. He's nearing the outskirts of town, passing the driveways of the first houses-- and then Lanie catches him, and thank heavens for that, right? He startles awake like he's been slapped out of bitch-nosis as soon as those nails set into his cloth, eyes widening, even bugging. "Fuck, I slept like shit. Sorry, Lanie. Did I wander too fa-..." Then he looks back at the beach, at Kyle. There's a cringe, there, for whatever reason. "We need to find the light," He justifies to Jett. "Unless we feel like praying, before we get answers." The Church is closer, after all. It'd be a shorter journey by foot.
Owen seems****
Kyle asks for forgiveness, it's just been poiinted out his outfit did not apparently do the fucking thing.
For his own part, Kyle is going along with the group now. Having decided in his mind that there must be more and more bodies buried under the sand of the beach he's as eager as any of them to get far away from it, whatever their destination is.
"You think that will work?" Jett asks, coming from the religion heavy institute himself he still remains somewhat skeptical of the suggestion of praying the spooky away. He nods belatedly though, a simple sign of agreement for Owen's suggestion of heading straight towards that beacon in the distance winking their way in intervals. "I'm ready to move when you all are," he remarks, happy to let someone else take point in the charge.
Boards. Broken windows. Bulletholes, busted glass, and old dried splatters of blood as much as vomit on the aged, cracked cement sidewalks. Gum stains littering the roads, and vehicles with open doors, open trunks, left empty. There's a smell on the air, and who'd ever've thought?
It smells just like rotten eggs and gasoline.
There are no crickets to signify silence, and the wind's not blowing a bit. Death. This is it. The end of a little, tiny, insular civilization, or so it would seem right now. At the center of town -- coincidentally, the end of this road, only .25 of a mile long until a turn left or right, is that chapel. The Cross hangs high, but the windows aren't so proud.
With a nod of her head, Autumn turns to follow the others down the road as well. "No time for looking at bodies," says Autumn while she's walking. "We can grant them peace after we deal with whatever is going on here." There is a small smile on her face that quickly fades once she sees the chapel.
It's enough to get away from the light for Kyle, so he's moving with a picked up step to stay with the group as they make their way toward the chapel. "You really think this is the way to go? In my experience, God doesn't usally answer back" he mutters, looking with suspicion one direction and the next with ever increasing paranoia now.
Time flies when you're having fun, huh? Before Owen and the gang know it, they're at the Pearly Gates themselves. Or, moreover, a pair of worn down wooden doors, flaking off and losing paint with each passing day. "Maybe ... not?" He wagers in a sort've agreement with Kyle, a shoulder lifting as he just stands there on the sidewalk, at the base of the steps. 'Mount Zion Methodist Church' says the sign, out front. He's uneasy. Maybe everyone is. They probably should be.
"We go in, or we ... go talk to that Lightkeeper quick. I... this's more than I expected to chew on. Old man, rainbow, pot of gold? I didn't sign up for this."
"Jesus flipping christ, what the fuck is that smell?" Lanie complains as she stifles her nose from being able to smell by placing her hand over her nostrils so that does't have to smell whatever that is. "I take back everything bad I ever said about Reading. It sucks here." She's clearly walking in whatever direction the rest of the group manages to go in, not about to wander very far away. She's still got ahold of Owen's arm and she bobs her head at Kyle's mutterings. "Might be worth checking it out, maybe we'll find someonethat's actually alive in there?" she supposes.
"There does not seem to be your god here," Autumn tells Kyle before she turns her head towards the rest of the group. "Whoever is in lighthouse, I think they are watching us. Menacingly."
"What's more unsettling, finding an old shit shack like this abandoned in a place that smells this bad - or finding someone still living here having to deal with it on a regular basis?" Jett proposes to the others as the thought passes on through, he seems far from eager to visit the house of God. Would his attention even make it this far, considering the conditions he assumes not. "I don't think it would hurt, but.." the words trailing off into a skeptical hum regardless of what the decision becomes.
Left or right look attractive, compared to this little hovel - falling apart, with windows often straight up missing, as opposed to boarded up. The stairwell is covered in cigarette butts, the sign's losing lettering, year by year, and it's clearly no longer in use. Maybe there's another church, somewhere in town. Maybe it's a better one, and the locals forgot about this one. In the house next door, red, stylized after a log cabin, a shadow passes by a window -- but it could be nothing more than a trick of the eye.
Owen isn't making this choice, and if that wasn't clear already, his eyes bug without words to produce when the church's door just... crrrrreeeaaks open, invitationally. Nobody visible is behind it.
"Nah-uh." Whatever direction is opposite of that door, Kyle is pointing at it and encouraigng movement in that direction. "No way jose. Let's fucking bail on this taco stand. Lighthouse ..." he hesitates. "Ehhhh probably safer? I dunno man ..."
Another shadow in the lob cabin next door is what pulls Jett's attention first. He wrinkles his nose, a shiver running over his flesh and raising goose pimples from their hiding. That being said he hesitantly steps forward towards the door that crrreeeaks on open to invite them on in. He doesn't step past the threshold but calls in to the building, ".. Hello?" That always works in the horror movies, right?
Looking at the cabin then the opening doors, Autumn takes a step back and shakes her head. "Nope, it's like something awaits us inside." With a look at the lighthouse, she purses her lips before she looks back at the chapel and squints her eyes to see if there's something inside.
"This is how the black guy dies in every movie" Kyle cautions ... but if they're walking in there, he'd rather stay with the group than wait outside alone. Fuck that noise.
Nobody greets Jett back, but what he sees would disturb most of his supposed instructors and caretakers back home. Split pews, each like they were hit through the middle with an axe. A destroyed wooden stand for the speaker, and a pile, in the middle of the room. A burned stack of paper and leather. Hundreds of bibles.
They've been burned.
There's an organ in the corner, covered in cobwebs, long dormant -- and most notably, a single candle, still warm from the last time it was lit, set next to a door. It's closed. Typically, those lead to some kind of pastoral quartering.
A moment of silence is given by Jett as he observes the horrors of the committed vandalism. The scene of the crime something he truly appraises before he mentions to the others, "I don't think he's here anymore." He clears his throat and then gestures a nod over towards the closed door attended by a nearby candle, "But someone might be back there." Not that he offers to be the sacrifice to ding dong ditch that door.
"Uhh, lets, not go in there," Lanie intones with a shake of her head after spotting that door creeping open on it's own accord, "I hate this, I hate everything about it. Lets go over to the lighthouse and-- Not here, like I hate this." she repeats herself as she turns back, trying to tug Owen with her. There's no chance she's leaving him to get eaten by the Church monster.
Entering the chapel, the one thing that catches Autumn's attention is the pile of burned bibles. "I guess they don't like holy god," Autumn comments and her gaze shifts towards the candle and the door. "Someone else was here, unless candles light themselves. But yes." She then nods her head while she stares at the candle's flame. "Maybe if church is cursed, we could burn it."
If god's present and watching, he's probably not happy about what he sees down here, unless mankind has a truly skewed view of exactly how he feels about these things. The Church is made of wood, Jett would note -- and so too, it's old, and dry. Maybe he's right. Maybe Autumn, is right. Then again, whatever this town's afflicted by... it seems to have convinced these people to abandon their god. Further sacrilege might not be particularly... helpful. It's impossible to know for sure. Autumn, though, as she risks being left behind by Lanie and Owen in their journey to light, would find that there's a low note starting to play out. From that old organ, of course. There's no human playing the keys -- it's not even open.
If the group splits that will be .. a problem for Kyle. Ultimately whichever one seems more likely to survive the impending serial killer sure to pop up at any moment is the one he'll opt to follow but he's glancing around. "I don't know about burning down a church. But someone was here ... recently. Either the man in the lighthouse or another. If I had to guess .. maybe one's looking for the other?":
"Autumn! Ayo, you okay in there?" Lanie does pause to call into the chapel towards where she last saw Autumn, "We're going to the lighthouse, you coming? Come on, don't get stuck in the creepy church." She glances over at Kyle, "Maybe, but I don't want to meet the fuck that hangs out in a old church, I'm good with that. I'll take my chances on the lighthouse."
The organ causes Autumn to jump as she walks towards the candle, ready to snatch it. "I should take candle just in case," Autumn murmurs to Kyle. "Whatever is in here, it's haunting." With a nod of her head, she then turns to run after Lanie and Owen, beckoning Kyle with one hand.
Oh, it doesn't take much for the man to catch up with the rest of the group now. "I don't know. Seems like maybe the church is the right side of things, here" he mutters but it doesn't stop his feet from chucking themselves into high gear shoe-baru action. "Take it" Kyle says to Autumn with a cough as the cold creeps into his lungs. "At least it won't burn the church down in the meantime."
Jett doesn't dally too long, with the majority vote to head to the lighthouse after all he withdraws from the home of the lord. He's finished with his exploration of such. "No creepy guys in the church," he says but drifts the few paces over to try and peek into the log cabin window.
The candlestick that Autumn finds is one of solid silver, molded in the old way, and probably handed down with the building through an indeterminate amount of time. Her interest was founded, as it has a particularly peculiar shape. It looks much like it has faces in it. The wax running down it is still hot to the touch, alarming or not. As Autumn runs, the door she and the others opted never to open SLAMS behind her, but there's nobody behind it. Lovely.
It takes ten, twenty minutes of jaunting through the empty, harrowing hollows of New England turned upside down, a left turn followed by another, or a right followed likewise -- and they'd finally be on the eastward side of the island. The light is impossible to avoid wholly. If someone's looking, they've likely well seen, for better or worse. Maybe they'll prepare tea. The shadow at the top of the monolith hasn't been seen in some time. Maybe they're done looking altogether. Jett sees more of those shadows in the windows. Some don't move at all. They just stand still. Occasionally, it seems like he catches the whites of their eyes, but it's infrequent enough to see the shades altogether that it's maddening.
Finally, they're there. The base of the tower. Owen seems... shell-shocked. He's not helping so much, right now. A red door, solid steel, and three steps leading to it. That's not so hard.
Perhaps it's a good time for someone to knock.
When nobody else seems to strive forward to be the couragous one ... Kyle bits his lip then steps up. THUD. THUD> THUD. A cop-like knock against the heavy red door comes before he's taking a step backward.
Lanie finally finds her nerves as she joins Kyle at the door, letting him do the knocking as she uses that voice of hers to call out, "Anyone home?! It's your neighbor across the way, you got a cup of sugar we can borrow?" she asks in some attempt to be as unimposing as she can be.
Kyle generates awe inspiring courage, and Lanie nobly follows him to the forefront of the battlefield. What they receive in turn is incredibly lackluster. A sad wheeze, barely audible through the metal, aided only by a screen window open on a distant side of the lighthouse. "It's ooopen," Comes the whisper of an old man that wishes clearly to shout, followed up with, "I've only beenm waiting an hour. For such young legs... so... so clumsy." A creaking noise follows, wooden or bone, and if anyone should test -- they'd find that the door, truly is, unlocked and accessible. The dented steel fire truck red appearance doesn't really say 'come in', but he did.
"Ugh. If Deac were here he could blow the fucking house down" Kyle complains but then that voice is coming and there's a quick shaking his head. "Nosir. No sir. No way, not even for Sarge man .." he says with a gust of breath. He's not gonna be the first one to walk over that threshhold.
Kyle takes a few further steps backward, leaving Lanie out there by her lonesome as he makes for the BACK of the group.
Glancing at the candle she now wields, Autumn follows the group close until they arrive at the entrance to the lighthouse. Looking at the door, she watches as it's being knocked before it opens. "Hello there," she says, holding the candle.
Lanie pushes on the door to test if will open for her, peeking inside if it does. "You've been waiting an hour to have someone borrow a cup of sugar? That sucks, man." Lanie mutters mostly to herself, looking over to Owen, then Jett "You guys uhh.. have your guns with you, right?" she thinks to ask, far too late to go back for the things if they did forget them.
When that door finally does pry outward, and the sights are first shown, there's a profound sadness to note. Stacks of Miller Light cans, crushed in the *perfect* way, each one the same, sequential. Hundreds of tuna cans, Dinty Moore Cans, and otherwise, stacked up in more haphazard pyramidal shapes, and stacks of newspapers. That's what there is to witness on his desk, next to an oil lamp, and a hearthfire. Little more, aside from a coffee kettle, old school, and a metal staircase to the top.
Then, him. An ancient looking man, wretched, nothing but skin, bone, and the clothes he wears. Cover alls, presumably to keep old bones warm, haphazardly assembled amongst knitted gloves and dirty, cracked leather boots. On his head's a time-battered, stained newsboy cap, and covering it, among other things: a yellow slicker, like an angler would wear. There's a pipe in his lip, and a cane at his side, where he sits like a corpse in a wooden rocking chair. The source of the creaking. Him, the source instead of the wheezing. "Would you really -- really shoot an old man? I know what you came looking for. Where you can find them. You overshot, you know. The church, or the cave. It's really your choice." Mad rambles met with desperate gasps for air, and despite it all, he's still pulling for more tobacco.
"What happened here?" Kyle manages to ask, as they all crowd in around to spy upon this old salty seadog now. "I mean you know what, I don't want to know. But .. how'd it get so bad without someone coming before now?"
"There was a cave?" Autumn wonders of the old man when the group enters. "We checked church. It seems haunted. Is there any way to deal with whatever is behind all this?" She then looks around the place, a sniff before she glances up.
At the moment that door finally does pry outward, and the sights are first shown, there's a profound sadness to note. Stacks of Miller Light cans, crushed in the *perfect* way, each one the same, sequential. Hundreds of tuna cans, Dinty Moore Cans, and otherwise, stacked up in more haphazard pyramidal shapes, and stacks of newspapers. That's what there is to witness on his desk, next to an oil lamp, and a hearthfire. Little more, aside from a coffee kettle, old school, and a metal staircase to the top.
Then, him. An ancient looking man, wretched, nothing but skin, bone, and the clothes he wears. Cover alls, presumably to keep old bones warm, haphazardly assembled amongst knitted gloves and dirty, cracked leather boots. On his head's a time-battered, stained newsboy cap, and covering it, among other things: a yellow slicker, like an angler would wear. There's a pipe in his lip, and a cane at his side, where he sits like a corpse in a wooden rocking chair. The source of the creaking. Him, the source instead of the wheezing. "Would you really -- really shoot an old man? I know what you came looking for. Where you can find them. You overshot, you know. The church, or the cave. It's really your choice." Mad rambles met with desperate gasps for air, and despite it all, he's still pulling for more tobacco. (for Jett)
"Up the beach, there is one yet still. It was carved out by the sea, or summ'r't elsewise. What'e'r' it be, the dark ones are at the bottom of it all." He pulls for something like it's a gift or a weapon, but at the end: just a tinderbox, and a match, for his pipe. Lighting it once more with a choking sound, he smokily notes, "I could show you, from the top -- or just tell you. Safer than the church, but wet, and dark."
"So bad? This, bad?" He returns to Kyle, finally. "It's only been three days, son. Every -- few decades, you know." Tears well at his eyes. There's a frown somehow further, lines on his face deepening.
"I wouldn't shoot you, but I would bury a knife in your eye socket without a second thought." Lanie speaks up to the old man, though her hand holds that knife down at her side, she's just stating facts apparently, she doesn't try to stab the old man in that moment. "Who are you talking about, who is 'them'?" she asks him, following up with, "What's up with the church?"
"Every-" Kyle grunts at that and then takes an involuntary step backward! "Three days ..." He flares his nostrils and he shakes his head some more before he tries to glance at the rest of the folk in attendance. "I'm with you guys I guess, but I don't care if it's as dark as Rosanne bar's box, safer is better."
Apparently, it was Jett's turn to become possessed. He stared for a time lost in his mind at the man the others were conversing with. The option between the cave and the church has him blink back to reality. ".. Did I bring my flashlight?" he quietly asks himself as he begins digging through his bags. "Safer sounds better to me too.." are his contributing words to future decision, echoing Kyle's sentiments.
"Such grim cycle," Autumn shakes her head, clutching the candle as she faces the old man. "Perhaps it can end by destroying source. With fire." She glances at the others before she adds, "Could be quick too."
Kyle says "I guess we should have burned down that fuckin' church ..."
"The ones talking to the Old -- the ones talking to the Black. The ones that take all of us, from time, to time. The smartest hide. The smartest do. Inside their houses, until they do what they's told."
"But I'm ... not so scared. There's nothing to do, but keep the damned lights on. It's all that's left. I gave them -- my daughter, after all. Now I eat my sardines. By week's end, surely, it'll be back to normal. Surely." It's only monday, nobody tell him. "The church is just an open door. Literally speaking, eh?" He tries to laugh, and can't. "The source is beneath us all. You'll see. My walking days are behind. Up the stairs, down the stairs. That's it. Never. Again." He'd rather die than accompany, by the way he half-toothlessly smiles at Lanie. "I'm the Reverend, by it by."
"It's best... to hurry. If you're still here at midnight, you'll probably be unlucky enough to meet with the flock."
At the end of the circle, like a man about to notion the pet semetary, the old Reverend croaks, "Follow the beach, past the abandoned boats, past the marker stones -- until you see a little mound. There should be some rocks. Below, you'll know."
That brings a grimace. "Yeah, they all used to talk like that too" he mutters to himself. Then Kyle is trying to buck himself up and he looks down to check his boots. "We best be getting a move on then. I'm not tryign to die out here with you strangers. No offense."
"I'm not good enough to die with?" Jett deadpans over to Kyle, probably some futile attempt at humor considering the grim reality being dealt with. "Down the beach, past the boats.. hit the mound and.. figure out how to destroy it," he repeats after the Reverend and then looks to the others to see if that was the course of action they agreed on.
"Flock..." Lanie repeats that word before shaking her head, "Nah, nobody's dying out here tonight, not if we can help it." she adds for Kyle and Jett with determination in her tone, "Lets find this cave, we can probably burn the church down as we pass -- but that might alert some whatever creeps are out here." she looks to Owen, "Right?" she nods as if she's agreeing for him.
slowly nods her head. "I see. Alright," Autumn says as she looks down at the candle. "The fire can purge darkness, and bring forth light of hope for this devestated town." And then she nods again. "Let's go to cave."
He wasn't lying, it's pretty closeby, at least -- the markerstones he mentioned, are. Past the boats, past the water - and the glistening spots of red, best left unquestioned. Several trails of incriminating footsteps follow Owen and the group along the beach until - finally, in monumental action, he's a helpful offering: to shove that rock aside, using all his wrists can offer to do it. A man-sized drop shows itself then, a claustrophobic's utter nightmare. A hole in the sand leads to a washed out cavern, about as wide around as a storm drain.
Jett seems put off by the hole in the sand that breaths alive once Owen uncovers it with an impressive feat of strength. ".. So who is going in first?" he wonders, peering between the others until he stops on Autumn and wonders, ".. Or throw fire down there?"
All that Kyle has to offer is a small flashlight connected to the ring of his keys, but he does turn it on ... for all the good it will do. The man huddles into his coat. "Anybody got fire? Well then .. Let's not burn the bread for the waiting."
Owensomeone' flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless.
OwenKyle's flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless.
someone' flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless. (excellent SR fail)
someone' flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless(excellent SR fail)
someone' flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless (excellent SR fail)
Kyle's flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless (excellent SR fail)
"Unless we have flashlight, I could," Autumn tells Jett, cracking a small smile as she looks down the hole. "I wouldn't be surprised if fire slides down." She steps closer, and she slowly goes down the hole.
Down the slippery slope they go then. Jett follows along somewhere behind the others. He watches his footing as carefully as he can.
Owen doesn't even seem to have emotion worth expressing as he drags Lanie down towards the abyss. Something compels him to do it. There's something down there he has to see, or do. And that means, first, he has to jump - just like Jett will, shortly after.
Lanie is right behind Autumn, following down the hole while watching her step, her hand using the wall of the hole to make herself steady. "Did he ever say what was even down here?" she asks as if she missed that part of the conversation, probably an ADHD moment.
Lanie goes with Owen, rather. Into the hole she goes!
And it's Kyle bringing up the absolute rear, that small circle of barely present light illuminating from his emergency flashlight spanning just a scant few feet ahead of the group. Eventually he'll go so far as to hand it forward, to whomever takes point with the group. "Here" His voice hushes out, "Pass this up ..."
The tunnel only goes deeper, and deeper. There are branches, but not ones easily reached - ones that leave pitfalls easy to fall into and simply break one's neck, or holes into the ceiling, impossible to scale. Logistically, the best option is forward, as the tunnel widens out, easily thirty feet across. There's room for all of them. They hear, before they see. A chanting, in tongues impossible to replicate, alien, and wretched. R's and L's, Y's and E's - words spoken from another world, cyclically, emptily, by thirty or more. They're headed straight for the center of something epic, and the glow... is red.
Before they find what they're looking for, there's a clearing, set in as the tunnel curls westward, towards the center of town, and the source of the light. There's an altar. It's partially stone. For that much, it looks akin to an octopus matched into a spider, where the thorax is shaped like a toothy skull. If that weren't the disturbed part, it's covered in gore, from hands, to jaws. Freshly assembled, redecorated, or crafted. Owen doesn't retch, but he tries to make sense of it for a moment, in a sort've awe. They're dealing with something very, very.... old?
And it's so close.
Something right off the pages of Lovecraft comes into their sight and Kyle can't help but gag a little, that soft sound of a burp kind of being swallowed back down followed by the look of digust that passes the man's face. He shakes his head silently now, that chanting enough already to give an old man a headache as it grates at his ears. He gestures toward what they see, glancing at the others. Keeping his voice as low as possible, he gives a shrug. "Well, if we decide on fire I might be able to help scrounge something from the houses above but .. this is out of my depth."
"The source," Jett answers Lanie, as if that provided context on the actual what - however vague that is. Yet, as they continue their foray into treachery and danger, that image is made quite clear. His steps grow more hesitant at the sound of voices. When the alter comes into view, though, he stops. Staring at the sight, trying to process it within his skull.
The chanting gets louder, and it starts to sound like music, despite the mind screaming still that it isn't. A polluting persuasion calls the mind to join the chorus, to repeat words they didn't know prior. There's no option but to keep going, now. To see it all to the end. The walls. They're dripping. Red streaks follow the steps of the gaggle of unreadied souls, and at the end of their darkness, no heaven, nor hell, but red-cloaked fools all the same, in worship of a fell omen. Like the ceremony of a church, they sit in rows, bent at the knees. On the altar, predictable as could be, a carved up, presumably virgin ginger girl. If they came to save her, apparently there was no memo. At the head of it all, a fellow in a particularly unsexy wizard-like hat holds a stone bowl above his head, and he's about to... pour it on his... face? These pagan incantations really do get weird sometimes.
The chanting gets louder, and it starts to sound like music, despite the mind screaming still that it isn't. A polluting persuasion calls the mind to join the chorus, to repeat words they didn't know prior. There's no option but to keep going, now. To see it all to the end. The walls. They're dripping. Red streaks follow the steps of the gaggle of unreadied souls, and at the end of their darkness, no heaven, nor hell, but red-cloaked fools all the same, in worship of a fell omen. Like the ceremony of a church, they sit in rows, bent at the knees. On the altar, predictable as could be, a carved up, presumably virgin ginger girl. If they came to save her, apparently there was no memo. At the head of it all, a fellow in a particularly unsexy wizard-like hat holds a stone bowl above his head, and he's about to... pour it on his... face? These pagan incantations really do get weird sometimes. (pretending nothing happened)
"Glow is same as one I saw," Autumn speaks quietly, seeing the glow while she walks with the group. "I believe there is some ritual going on. Perhaps same one where I stopped demon during it." Ahd then she sees what lies at the end, grimacing at the altar and then the girl. "We must stop them."
Lanie freezes in place, at the opening as her eyes take in the sights before them, particularly Gandalf at the center of it all. She shakes her head and fondles that knife in her hand, it's clear that she's thinking of using it on the wizard guy, her keen eyes calculating the distance. Could she hit him from where she stands?
Sights like these are what keep people up at nights, and Kyle doesn't have so many as the rest of the young kiddos left. Gleaming eyes watch almost fascinated and through them all ... he's itching to take that step forward those words becoming more and more clear to him as he hears them over and over and over again. One step .. another step.
".. That's," Jett whispers hesitantly to the others, as if his voice may be a foul noise that tarnished the music making the walls weep. Attacking for once isn't the first thing that runs through Jett's mind. He doesn't bring out his good ol' handgun to start blasting. Further words don't fall from his lips, what could he say? What could he question? Was this covered in training?
Stone walls literally painted with blood see the men sitting uncomfortably, and it's not the Eastern Mecca that they're praying towards, that's for fucking scertain. Sure, Lanie could hit him. Nobody's noticing them, not in times like these. It's much too loud, and they're behind everybody but the hat-headed heretic, who's... finally gotten that stone chalice to his lips. Maybe it's heavy, or he's just making like Romeo to Juliet and dramatically romancing the thing. Gulp.
Some of it runs down his face, unshockingly revealing, that like the walls, it's just more blood. Disappointingly uncreative, perhaps, but macabre to core, and energetic nonetheless.
Less normal is the way his eyes bulge from his skull. The chanting stops. He bends over, probably in pain. Bad gut response?
The chanting stops. Some shocked whispers start, in their stead. A little bit've muttering, a few turned heads, but nobody looking back. The party's still safe.
When the music cuts, his eyes start to bulge, obscenely. Swelling, first- then expanding, visibly, until the veins look comical, and he's SCREAMING. Oh. That's english. "PLEASE!"
"JUST KILL ME!"
And that's when they pop, turning into a pink mist, and leaving him with two distinct, hollow red sockets. He's no longer talking, but still standing. Jaw, slack. No scream. Nothing. Well, then.
Thankfully the chanting stops, and Kyle seems to be shaken out of his reverie at the very least, and at that sight .. he's shuffling back the way the group came, soft sounds of retching starting to echo off of cavern walls no matter how he tries to keep himself quiet.
Pop.
Somehow, it isn't the scream of agony that breaks Jett from his semi-frozen trance of things he should have but had not prepared to see. It's the visual of the bulging orbs that burst into a mist that force him to jump. Burn it with fire? When Jett's head swivels to look to the others, he reaches into his bag to withdraw a crystal skull half full of vodka and a lighter from his pocket.
"Do not let it appear," Autumn mutters, focusing on the candle on one hand for a moment with her other hand pointing towards the eyeless man. "Now is the time." She then readies the candle like it's magic.
Well then. Lanie doesn't even have to stab anyone for the carnage to start, and she doesn't appear entirely disappointed by that. She seem to approve of Jett's plan to burn something, but she asks Autumn, "Let what appear?"
It is a fuss of a job to find something to stick into the bottle. Jett settles on stuffing some of his unfinished homework into the mouth of his bottle, setting the tip aflame -- taking aim and chucking that bad boy at the cultists. "Lets not find out," he says with anxiety lacing his voice, more human than his usual monotone.
Do not let it appear. Autumn speaks valid, viable words: and they have good advice. Despite that? There's no fire likely to stop the black smoke suddenly petering in through the cracks, in the walls. Not to mention, two, three- five of the hooded men, in particular, begin convulsing just the same. Their eyes don't vaporize, but they do begin to vomit a sludgy black smoke, something that unravels from each upper orifice like a coiled snake. The ears, the eyes, the nose, the mouth. They can try, sure. But... It, has appeared, and Owen isn't doing a fucking thing about it. All that smoke goes charging for the Blinded One, the two seperate sides of the room each congealing into a trail towards either of his eyes.
After thirty seconds, they drop dead, and...
He smiles. At Lanie. At Jett, at Owen, at Kyle, at anyone who's looking. He holds up a single finger, first, wagging it in suggestion against something they have planned. What Jett, has planned.
Kyle turns himself back around the corner, stomach now empty just in time to the the inky back sludge bein to pour out of mouths, ears, eyeballs .... and he's gulping air down his throat before trembling in place as if about to turn right back around again. Then that sinister tickiung of the finger side to side, he can almost hear some haunting ah-ah-ah in his mind that freezes him in place.
That smile. The vision of it all would be seared into Jett's memory. His throwing arm stuck out, stiff and unmoving, but still somehow feeling like jello. He holds his breath, as if that would somehow dissuade what had already sent its attention the groups way from keeping it there.
That finger-wagging from the Blinded One causes Autumn to grit her teeth and narrow her eyes. She glares at that smile and looks back to the small flame she wields. Yet she doesn't make any other move.
Lanie's lip curls up in an almost snarl as the eyeless man smiles at Lanie and her companions, a look of loathing in her eyes. How dare he? "Who the fuck are you?" she shout at him angrily, taking a step closer. "Give me one reason why we shouldn't spill your guts all over this floor, you eyeless freak." she suggests.
Well, he's not burning. He doesn't have a mustache, either, but apparently the situation here calls for a certain monologue. It's not to the party, though-- but to the cult, to this particular, seemingly elite group of the local flocking. It starts with memorable words, in a dour voice, one that sounds much like an old radio announcer, or a particular variety of stand up comedian on too much coke. "You. Complete. Intolerable, incomprehensible fucking imbeceeeeiiils,"
"WHY am I here? Why am I here? What the fuck, am I, doing- here? The robes, the blood, the stone- this is tacky. This just isn't my style. Who-- who do you think I am?! I'm... insulted by the fashion sense, one," And two, he starts counting on his fingers, despite having no eyes, making some kind've incoherent mutterment with his mouth. "Threeefourfive, I'm five weeks ahead of schedule, too early. This isn't where I'm meant to be. You- . . . really?"
It would be a decent time now, for the party to see the ceiling, as... like someone told that gullible's on the ceiling, the blinded man looks straight up. The sigil's there, encompassing them all. A pentacle, scrawled with infernal script. "You've got to be kidding me," It's like he hasn't even noticed Lanie, until she starts yawling, and it's at that point that he has words for her in particular.
"Because I'm not even real, for one. At least, by whatever standards you consider real. By that--much, because I ... recognize you fondly. You were gossip all around the office last month! You helped reap Bobby, didn't you? That worthless little shit, it's funny how things line up to be so coincidental as they are."
"So this is New Castle, then? What a dump."
"May I ask why New Castle looks like it's cursed?" Autumn asks the blinded man through gritted teeth. There's even a twitch in her eye. "Like, there's bodies and severed limbs in the shore."
Jett retracts his arm slowly when the Blinded One chooses to have a few descriptive words with his own people. Despite their sludge vomiting. He blinks a look and casts it over to Lanie when she is recognized as a reaper of Bobby's. ".. You're famous," he mutters to her as the adrenaline of everything thrums in his voice.
"Bobby?" Lanie seems to be asking herself this question, the gears in her head winding, grinding and circling back visibly, it's written all over her face that she has no idea what the eyeless man is referring to. She flicks her eyes at Jett, "Well shit, does this mean I get a trophy for the mantle above the fireplace?" Clearly, she's being facetious, it's her nature.
Lanie says "Not one of those 'participant' ones either, that's bullshit."
"You're going for gold?" Jett throws in some muttered humor, perhaps finding Lanie's facetious mannerisms a safe enough metaphorical shield to cope behind.
Rabble does admittedly start to rouse through the pure shock-and-awe terror of being mocked by something more than supernatural itself, but the crowd isn't doing anything about it. They clearly never expected to get in for this much, to end up this far is unheard of in the Lovecraftian idiot cult circle, considering it usually finishes up with the End of All and such. "Does everyone in here have the aptitude for conclusion of a ... goldfish?" He rudely blithers, this time wickedly including Lanie in that, if only for her forgetfulness of feat. "Robert Smith, property of Ozz. I'm pretty sure I even got to see you, for a flash! We were watching, through the Bowl,"
A final ceiling-ward gesture goes, and he reveals, "This sign -- it's for me, and I'm Alastor. These --- these hicks, here, these bumpkins and buffoons, were looking for... Alistair. He's a knowing fellow!"
"And he really likes blood, not to mention scrubby kids in hoods. There's no Crowley here."
"So who wants to turn their life around? I've gotta get something. You know, for the quotas. I'd imagine you quirky kids want to get home unscathed, right? The genie's out've the bottle!"
Autumn gets an aside. "I'm pretty sure they're up there celebrating a Purge re-enactment as we speak, you could always ask them yourselves. Apparently the whole sacrifice ritual was a fucking waste, considering it's just... little old me! Oops." He gives the faceless mass of red-robed men a droopy, idiotic looking face that's left incomplete without eyes.
Meanwhile, Kyle continues to do what he can to hide himself behind the rest of the group. He wants nothing to do with this, and between Jett, Autumn, and Owen he feels like they've probably got it covered, right? Yeah, he just keeps himself real small and real quiet as this thing starts communicating with the rest of them.
"Heading home to Haven with limbs intact would be nice, Alastor," Autumn tells the man. "And I'm sure robed people have something to do with it." She then looks at the ginger at the altar and wonders, "Should she be free as well since robed people roped her into this?"
Consider Lanie's memory jogged, she raises a brow at the eyeless one - not like he can see it - nor the nod that follows, "That asshole? He was in my way." But of what? "What does he have to do with... any of this? He a disciple of yours?"
As if it would be any secret where a band of, allegedly, supernatural savvy individuals would come from anywhere from Haven. Jett still raises a hand, lifting a finger to his lips without hissing out a sound when Autumn name drops where they're heading back to. Maybe he didn't want an eyeless man following him back home.
Again, Owen awakes from his vegetal state of staring and wondering, only to step forward, looking between the man at the head of the upraised stone steps, and Lanie. "What would it take?" He wonders, simply, asking the same questions anyone making the mistake of actually considering such an offer, despite the pure, unadultured insanity of all this. "Servitude, I figure, that's kind of obvious. But. What will it cost?"
Alastor looks back at the dead girl on the altar, just for affect, shrugging comically at Autumn. "There's one request for the djinn! A safe trip home, for all of us. I should quite like to see Haven, anywho," Uh. Oh.
Again, Owen spouts off, yet again, wondering, "Can we get to the catch early?"
Meanwhile, a finger's curling outwards, towards Jett. The only one other than someone, momentarily disregarded, not to address the entity directly. "You, boy," He appears, instantly, before Jett. Inches away. "Surely you want something more out've life, don't you?"
Again, Owen awakes from his vegetal state of staring and wondering, only to step forward, looking between the man at the head of the upraised stone steps, and Lanie. "What would it take?" He wonders, simply, asking the same questions anyone making the mistake of actually considering such an offer, despite the pure, unadultured insanity of all this. "Servitude, I figure, that's kind of obvious. But. What will it cost?"
Alastor looks back at the dead girl on the altar, just for affect, shrugging comically at someone. "There's one request for the djinn! A safe trip home, for all of us. I should quite like to see Haven, anywho," Uh. Oh.
Again, Owen spouts off, yet again, wondering, "Can we get to the catch early?"
Meanwhile, a finger's curling outwards, towards Jett. The only one other than Kyle, momentarily disregarded, not to address the entity directly. "You, boy," He appears, instantly, before Jett. Inches away. "Surely you want something more out've life, don't you?"
Again, Owen awakes from his vegetal state of staring and wondering, only to step forward, looking between the man at the head of the upraised stone steps, and Lanie. "What would it take?" He wonders, simply, asking the same questions anyone making the mistake of actually considering such an offer, despite the pure, unadultured insanity of all this. "Servitude, I figure, that's kind of obvious. But. What will it cost?"
Alastor looks back at the dead girl on the altar, just for affect, shrugging comically at Autumn. "There's one request for the djinn! A safe trip home, for all of us. I should quite like to see Haven, anywho," Uh. Oh.
Again, Owen spouts off, yet again, wondering, "Can we get to the catch early?"
Meanwhile, a finger's curling outwards, towards Jett. The only one other than Kyle, momentarily disregarded, not to address the entity directly. "You, boy," He appears, instantly, before Jett. Inches away. "Surely you want something more out've life, don't you?"
Kyle says "STU- "
Kyle winces, and shuts his lips tight.
Even as someone spouts on, there's more to be said. This guy? He can multitask. Easy. He's even lying, at the very same time, as all of this. To Lanie, he reconfides, "No, no! No, a pet project of a company accomplice, a coworker from the next desk over." He cups at his cheeks and his lips make an O. "I really meant it, I was never meant to see this silly little shithole!"
Even as Kyle spouts on, there's more to be said. This guy? He can multitask. Easy. He's even lying, at the very same time, as all of this. To Lanie, he reconfides, "No, no! No, a pet project of a company accomplice, a coworker from the next desk over." He cups at his cheeks and his lips make an O. "I really meant it, I was never meant to see this silly little shithole!"
"Knowing how demons work ways and also charm back home in Hell, there is always catch," Autumn speaks, shrugging her shoulders. "Trust me, I was born and raised there. Plus it seems very late right now."
The abrupt instance when distance is all but erased between Jett and Alastor summons forth any waning tension back to the forefront. He tries to make eye contact, which goes as well as one could expect and he averts his eyes down something towards the entities chest. He instinctually leans back as if to try and conjure some of the lost distance. It takes him time to find the right words, and what he does locate are the questionable choice of, ".. Don't we all?" Perhaps not the most accurate considering Kyle's response.
He swallows hard and tacks on though, ".. But I mean, life isn't so bad now that I think about it."
"Oh, then you work with idiots, too. It was like stabbing a stick of butter, he died so fast, it was almost disaapointing. Almost." Lanie has her own critisms of the Eyeless One's coworkers, like she could build a disciple so much better. She shrugs a little, "Soooo, how about we dump this dump and go the fuck home, yeah?"
"Impulse purchases near the holiday season are like sixty percent of revenue," He quips down to Autumn, sneering like there's a certain disgust to mind, a finger circling around in the air. "And it's a long way back up that tunnel, whereas I'm like a universal taxi. If you're from hell, it's no wonder you were shat out and landed on earth." Silver tongue logic, sound as steel. He leaves out the note that he, too, is on the Terran plane at this moment. Yikes.
Jett has to try noticeably to achieve his intended sight-set, because the man wearing the funny hat was only a little shorter than he, when tragedy had struck. A manlet, one might say. Alastor naturally leans right in. "I'm going to need some verbal commitment, here. Handshake, kiss? Any big requests?"
"Does anybody even give a shit what happened to Everett Hayes? No? Show's over? C'mon, take me to your leader. Let's go to Haven."
"Ahh shit .... What do you want for that information?" Kyle finally speaks up, stepping himself out from the rest of the crowd looking espeically nervous.
On the contrary, Kyle also seems ready as hell to get the FUCK out of here, but it's the nature of this thing now that seems more than any of the other gruesome shit here that really seems to scare the shit out him
Jett lifts a hand up to mime scribbling something down on his opposite palm, ".. Let me.. write you down my Christmas list, and I'll have my people reach out to your people." That's the corporate lingo for negotiating with horrors that lurk from realms of the unknown. He almost seems to be relieved when Kyle steps up to ask the important bits and delays, bringing home this new guest to their sleepy little town.
"Technically, I fell through hidden portal to Earth," Autumn murmurs with one hand raised while her eyes narrow for a moment. She then looks behind her back at the tunnel then looks back to Alastor. "But you're right on tunnel part. Hard to get back up through hole."
Bewilderment at the emptiness of answers sees Owen taking steps forward, making a sort've triad between Jett and the hell creature in their seditious closeness. "For safe passage, the power to try to make others understand me -- what then?"
It's like the Demon's a seabird, and the fish just jumped out of water, then. He looks over and away from Jett, licking his lips as he tries to put either hand on the boy's shoulder just to make things ucky. "All you'd have to do is write my number down and call me from time to time," Fine confirmation. He offers out a hand, and... Owen shakes it firm. E. Gadds.
Autumn gets a pompous little chuckle and a shake of the little 'man's' head. "Very well! There's one tally for Owen Mallory," A dead stare goes to Lanie, expectant, "And one I-O-U, from Jett Carson, for a notary request expendable within thirty to sixty mortal business days,"
Kyle. gets a slower pause, and a respectful smile. "A coward, and yet still the only person here with any heart. Everett Hayes is in Hell. He will be in hell, for the rest of time. He never should've gotten *out* of hell to begin with. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. There are. No refunds!" Clap. Clap. His hands meet twice.
There's a sudden grin from Kyle, even as he trembles in fear. "You didn't set a price! That one's free." Then he's looking around at the rest of them. "What are waiting for?"
Owen starts convulsing uncontrollably as soon as his hand touches the entity's, and it sounds about like he's going to choke on his tongue. He crumples to the floor, and before long... he's foaming at the mouth. Blood produces from his ears, from his eyes. Everything is fine. Autumn gets a pass, Jett gets a month to reconsider, and someone gets a freebie. That just leaves Lanie. He's looking at Lanie. He KNOWS there's something more to her. That's the only reason they're not home yet. It has to be. Right?
"Free with tax," Autumn muses towards Kyle before nodding her head once more. "Yes, let us head out then."
Owen starts convulsing uncontrollably as soon as his hand touches the entity's, and it sounds about as though he's going to choke on his tongue. He crumples to the floor, and before long... he's foaming at the mouth. Blood produces from his ears, from his eyes. Everything is fine. Autumn gets a pass, Jett gets a month to reconsider, and Kyle gets a freebie. That just leaves Lanie. Alastor's looking at Lanie. Like he KNOWS there's something more to her. That's the only reason they're not home yet. It has to be. Right?
Ucky. Jett's shoulders droop beneath the blind guy's palms. Jett tries his best to put forth the facade of not being nearly as uncomfortable as he is. It was a valiant but probably somewhat unsuccessful attempt. Yet, when Owen's body begins to perform the difficult act of swallowing one's tongue without chewing, Jett can't help but stare in shock. "Oh fuck," he summarizes the high speed concern that trickles out of the frat boy delinquent like blood from Owen's ears.
Everything is fine?
As Owen twists and turns on the floor, foam from his lips turning red as more produces out, wherever that stuff sources at, there's a certain rapid clinking noise that seems to follow along. Pouring forth from his pockets: loose .50mm bullets, and coins, all the same, landing on the floor, binding to it, and flitting around with an uneasy, unnatural psychic un-control. They're shaking, they're shivering- and it's like they're ready to pounce. At something. At anything.
He also might be dying. It's hard to tell. Lanie probably has a hard time focusing on the important things in life right now. Poor girl.
Lanie's eyes shift to Owen as he starts convulsing, then back to Alastor. "Fine. Don't do that," she points a finger at Owen, seeming quite a bit bothered by his state, "To him, or me, ever again. And I won't find a way to trap you in this shithole town for the rest of your ... whatever it is. Life? Unlife? Fuck. I'd come visit you to get off on your misery. Don't you worry." She winks at that. That's her deal sealed.
The way Jett seems to start and stop his movements is probably a sign of him trying to figure out his next course of action. The metallic additions have his eyes flitting from one shiny object to the next, not wanting to make any sudden movements and see where they ended up lodged. He looks between Lanie and Alastor during their negotiation, that was a fair enough deal right?
"Oooh, there's the spoiler alert-- I didn't. I couldn't! All I've done, is unlock a channel in your poor little boy's brain. Something that was already there." He's choking, now, and the shrapnel seems to build pressure. More, and more-- then the little metal shards fly outward, all towards the cultists, who'd been otherwise unmoving. The closest ten fall over like they've been shot, and only then, as the pain reverbates through the room, do Owen's muscles let up. "You too, can be living your best life! Dial 1-800-FuckIt!"
Then? Everything goes... utterly, absolutely black, and everyone's... exactly where they should be, in this hour.
The safe assumption is that whatever got them there, is with them now. Is it the true one?
Choosing the cave over the ominous church, the group braves the cramped and treacherous descent, confronting a nightmare beyond comprehension. In the cavern's depths, they interrupt a grotesque ritual led by red-robed cultists who had just sacrificed a redheaded girl upon an altar to summon a being named Alastor—distinctly not the entity they had intended, Alistair.
This unforeseen revelation derails the cult's dark purpose, for Alastor is not of this realm but an interdimensional presence accidentally summoned due to the cult's error. Now in control, Alastor enforces a twisted sense of authority over the scene. The group, composed of individuals such as the brazen Lanie, the cautious Kyle, the watchful Jett, and the inquisitive Autumn, finds itself confronting this powerful being. Alastor interacts with each member, striking an ungodly transaction with Owen that wrenches his body into a violent, near-fatal reaction before repurposing him as a living weapon against the cultists.
Throughout Alastor’s chaotic manipulation, Lanie negotiates for their freedom, issuing a stern warning against any future harm. Ultimately, each member of the group receives a peculiar 'parting gift,' as Alastor inexplicably transports them back to their respective places of origin—though the implication is clear that he remains in their presence, an invisible shadow accompanying them back to Haven.
In the aftermath of this bizarre confrontation, questions linger, especially regarding the unfortunate Everett Hayes, whose fate is disclosed by Alastor to be eternal damnation—not that any attempt to intervene would have been possible, as Alastor emphasizes that there are decidedly no refunds on such matters.
The ordeal concludes with the group intact, yet irrevocably touched by the sinister forces they've encountered. They are left to ponder the true cost of their encounter with Alastor, the obscure creature masquerading as a deity. The encounter's conclusion is as mysterious as it is abrupt, leaving a haunting echo of uncertainty about what may follow from their brush with the infernal.
(Thicker Than the Water of the Womb(SROwen):SROwen)
[Mon Dec 4 2023]
On the Hopeless Shadow of New Castle, New Hampshire
In the shrouded confines of New Castle, New Hampshire, a suffocating gloom has descended, as if the very air is thick with whispers of despair. The island village, normally a picturesque haven like one you know well by now, is ensnared instead a perpetual twilight. Its charming streets now eerily deserted, where silence is only broken by the distant, ceaseless roar of the ocean. A dense, dark mist clings to the ground, swirling around the ankles of the few brave souls who dare to traverse the ghostly landscape. Little old houses, once vibrant with the hues of New England charm, now stand as forlorn silhouettes, their colors leeched away by the oppressive fog and the absence of sunshine for lighting or contrast. The locals, once a tight-knit community, are seldom seen, their presence felt only in fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures retreating into the obscurity of the shade. They may as well be gone to the world, forgotten behind drapes and blinds.
At the eastern end of the island, a massive, monolithic lighthouse stands sentinel, its beacon a piercing eye that cuts through the murk with an uncanny intensity. Serving as a catalyst to reveal the multitude of abandoned John boats and ferries surrounding the tower, the great beam of light casts long, quivering shadows that do a macabre dance against the dim greyscale backdrop, darkness mocked by solitary luminesence. In stark contrast to the lighthouse's defiant glow, an old church, nestled in the heart of the isle, exudes an aura of foreboding. Its once-hallowed walls seem to pulsate with a sinister energy, and the stained glass windows, now dull and lifeless under the heavy sky, hint at untold secrets. It wouldn't be hard to recognize it as an old Methodist chapel, long since replaced. Just the sight of it displays an unnerving stillness, a silence so profound it feels like a presence in itself.
It is night, about 42F(5C) degrees, There is a waning crescent moon.
Autumn says "Ignore that."
Hello everyone, thanks for coming! Feel free to emote your arrival, you'll be dropping in most likely on the WEST side of a very small island, known as New Castle, in New Hampshire. It's surrounded on all sides by a thin mote of water, and is thus mostly locked to its own land. The group finds themselves noting a sincere lack of useful sun/starlight, and an overabundance of unnatural, coal-black cloud cover. Everett Hayes is nowhere around, but things are already looking bleak. No turn order, pose as you will, feel free to probe me with internals or otherwise if I miss stuff.
Here's a quirky AI-generated visual aid, and it holds mostly accurate, albeit with a lighthouse added eastwardly.
https://ibb.co/JCVJDQr
There's no singing involved, but Lanie most certainly has a few hands held as she arrives on the island, using the power of pathing to travel the distance in a relatively short time. As her eyes adjust to the darkness and the gloom, she lets go of those hands and checks herself over to make sure she's got everything she needs. Her armor is snugly under her clothes and her knife is in her pocket, the handle sticking out to make it's presence known. Apparently, that's all she requires for this little excursion, but she does complain to Owen, "We forgot to stop for that burger on the way back from the thing."
Bitter cold, tonight is, and there's no warmth from the sky to share any semblance of hope. Not to mention-- time, is... incredibly difficult to make out. The group, ramshackle as it might be, probably isn't prepared for what they'll arrive to witness. A lagoon, the shallows, a sandy beach surrounded by rocks that make for little tidepools and puddles, all the same. But... there's no life here. It's not like what Jett, Owen, and Lanie have seen already once this week -- not in the least, because these pieces aren't dessicated, and they're similarly not ancient. Fresh meat, rotting off the bone. That's what washed up to shore just before they did. Fingers, particularly, some reddish teeth, and a number of toes, but no actual limbs or organs further from there. Each incoming wave laps away at the remnants of red tinge left to the shallows, like something horrible happened recent enough to have tainted the immediate surroundings, soon to be forgotten by the great recycler of Mother Nature.
After being escorted by boat, Autumn steps onto land and arrives on the island. She takes a looks around and mutters something under her breath before walks down to find the group, a glance on her panja bracelet.
It's from one of these paths that Kyle find himself showing up here as well. Looking around he doesn't have a bead on anybody here but he's wrapped up in navy peacoat and rubbing his hands together for warmth as the person who's brought him here doesn't even show themselves, instead choosing to retreat back down the path that's brought the old man along.
Owen seems unnerved from the moment he retches off the path, the green washing away from his face to instead be replaced by a pale as he sees the black sky of an unnatural night, not to mention the kool-aid colored water he's dropped his kicks into, thanks to Lanie's drop radius. He looks... scared. He doesn't do that often. He recognizes Autumn, but doesn't Kyle - and that hardly matters. Something's beyond wrong itself.
By now Jett knows the routine, pathing somewhere and walking through those eerie woods is best done while holding hands. When they arrive he makes a sour face, not much more grave than what he usually sports but he does peer over at someone initially. Perhaps waiting to see if the path here brought him the queasy displeasure it had on their past excursions. Alas, this distraction would leave him unaware of the crimson tinted shoreline that is washing up macabre treasures.
By now Jett knows the routine, pathing somewhere and walking through those eerie woods is best done while holding hands. When they arrive he makes a sour face, not much more grave than what he usually sports but he does peer over at Owen initially. Perhaps waiting to see if the path here brought him the queasy displeasure it had on their past excursions. Alas, this distraction would leave him unaware of the crimson tinted shoreline that is washing up macabre treasures. A fucking thumb? Then Jett looks back out at the scene and his mouth pulls further into a frown, eyes narrowing as if the sight itself was more offensive than disturbing.
Autumn grimaces at the severed digits and organs by the shore before she quickly runs to join the group. "This place looks creepy. How did it come to what is is now?"
"Hey, Autumn." Lanie greets Autumn as she recognizes her, then ticks her chin up to Kyle and introduces herself, "Hey there, I'm Lanie-- You from Haven, or are you a local?" she asks genuinely, distracted away from the greeting with a glance over to where Owen's looking, "A thumb, what?"
There's a nod of the head from Kyle toward Lanie, "Neither, I'm here for a friend actually. But from Haven, for what matters, This isn't my fucking town." He shakes his head vigourously at that before he huddles further into his coat as he spies the surroundings. "THis place is fucked" he mutters, squinting toward the shadow of a chapel in the beyond. "Name's Kyle" he breathes out with plumes of breath with each word.
OwenOwen's lips don't move, but something -- something they all hear, says, "Over there!" in a childlike voice, one that follows his finger like a ventriloquist's pitch. Having gotten stuck upright in the tidefall, dug up into its own divet of chance happenstance, is a thumb, just as he'd accused. It's female, at least assumedly, by the jagged red plastic nail sticking off of it. Nobody but them is walking this beach, tonight - and someone' is the only boat along this particular shore. The town, however small, dominates the entire island - the road, paved, is only eighty some feet away, and it would lead to the main circle of the greater Ville without doubt. Of course, there's the alternative, of following the perimeter of the island. There's only one light, only one sign of humanity, and it's all the way on the other side of the landmass: the lighthouse.
Every ninety or so seconds, a beam of burning brightness flashes through the sky, and keen eyes would see a moving shadow near it, more often than not. There's a clue, Scoob.
Owen's lips don't move, but something -- something they all hear, says, "Over there!" in a childlike voice, one that follows his finger like a ventriloquist's pitch. Having gotten stuck upright in the tidefall, dug up into its own divet of chance happenstance, is a thumb, just as he'd accused. It's female, at least assumedly, by the jagged red plastic nail sticking off of it. Nobody but them is walking this beach, tonight - and Autumn's is the only boat along this particular shore. The town, however small, dominates the entire island - the road, paved, is only eighty some feet away, and it would lead to the main circle of the greater Ville without doubt. Of course, there's the alternative, of following the perimeter of the island. There's only one light, only one sign of humanity, and it's all the way on the other side of the landmass: the lighthouse.
Every ninety or so seconds, a beam of burning brightness flashes through the sky, and keen eyes would see a moving shadow near it, more often than not. There's a clue, Scoob.
"Hi, Lanie," Autumn smiles as she greets Lanie. She glances at that thumb before her gaze catches the light from the lighthouse. "At least there's light over there," she says, pointing at the light. "Only light I see so far. Everything else is dark."
Ruh-roh raggy. Without much sign of life in the vicinity he takes a breath and tread towards the gorey scene of that thumbs up of 'encouragement' offered to the group. "Fucked indeed," Jett echoes the observation of someone but pauses in his journey forward to point out something about that light in the distance, "Someone's up there, I think."
Ruh-roh raggy. Without much sign of life in the vicinity he takes a breath and tread towards the gorey scene of that thumbs up of 'encouragement' offered to the group. "Fucked indeed," Jett echoes the observation of Kyle but pauses in his journey forward to point out something about that light in the distance, "Someone's up there, I think."
"Lighthouse needs operation, maintenance ... I won't take that bet, youngin'." Kyle calls over to Jett before he grunts to himself. "This might be more than I bargained for here, shit. That IS a fucking thumb." Something in his spine, in his gut .. when that beam of light comes dancing toward THEM? Kyle literally tries to hunch himself away from it.
"I wonder if there's a hand attached to it," Lanie says to the group as if daring someone to check. It certainly won't be her, from the way she takes a few backwards steps away from it. Jett's observation has her looking in the direction of the lighthouse, the light from it blinding her as it passes by. She shields her eyes from it a moment too late, agreeing with Kyle, "This is a lot to take in. What the fuck even happened here?" she asks, though the question isn't pose towards the old-timer, but more towards everyone present.
Gristly as that request is, Kyle actually proves to be the least concerned about it, perhaps. "I'll check" he mutters, moving away from that light and using a booted foot to dig around a bit in the sand nearby the thumb before the tides come back in. He does not appear eager to bend down and touch anything if he can avoid it, but the sight of the thumb isn't causing him any discomfort.
Apparently that maintenance is incredibly frequent. That, or... Kyle's catlike reflexes there are apparently on point, and someone's working oversight. Looking. For them, or something else. Owen seems to have recovered from that nausea awful quick, and since his finger extended outward, he hasn't really moved. Until... his eyes close, and he starts walking. Towards town. Footfall after footfal, without restraint or consideration. He's like ... a man posessed, eh? As soon as anyone's feet would leave the water, there's a writhing of the mist, and it's rather hard to see one's shoes. It seems like he's planning on taking the main road. Maybe someone can convince him to wait up, if they tried.
Kyle's foot finds solid connection, and it's not budging. Like there's a hand there, like there's a wrist. Yeesh.
"Careful with that," Autumn warns Kyle. "You never know if whatever thumb is still attached to will come to life." Upon finding Owen walking down the road, she begins call out at him while she puts her hands inside the pockets of her sweater. "Hey, don't go too far without us. There could be trap at end," she speaks with a grimacing look.
Backing away from the thing quickly enough, Kyle is peddling the other direction and trying to make haste. He's not getting separated from the group and being the first fucker to die, not tonight Satan. "That's at least an arm. I'm guessing that's a whole body, people. I don't want to think about ... the rest of the beach ..." his words trail off .. that hue of the water resonating with the man's thoughts before he's frowning in a much more real way.
Lanie's eyes flick towards Owen and she reaches out to grab his arm, "Woah, where you going, asshole? You wanna wait for the rest of us and not get yourself killed out here on Death Island?" she asks, digging her fingernails into his arm to make sure he gets the point. She eventually begins to walk with him whether he stops or not, like he's the tour guide on this little trip.
"Look at that, it's more than just a thumb," Jett echoes out mildly enough when there seems to be some substances sheathed beneath the sand attached to that digit sticking out. He looks to Kyle and offers him a similar gesture, one lifted thumb of encouragement for his handy thinking of giving it a jostle with his foot. When Owen begins to drift away from the rest of the group he looks over, and while Lanie does try to convince him to linger around with the evidence of misfortune he begins to head after the wandering man. "We taking the main road?" Jett asks of Owen curiously, perhaps trying to get a read on his plans or intentions.
Owen sems to ignore Autumn's words entirely, at first. One step, then another. He's nearing the outskirts of town, passing the driveways of the first houses-- and then Lanie catches him, and thank heavens for that, right? He startles awake like he's been slapped out of bitch-nosis as soon as those nails set into his cloth, eyes widening, even bugging. "Fuck, I slept like shit. Sorry, Lanie. Did I wander too fa-..." Then he looks back at the beach, at Kyle. There's a cringe, there, for whatever reason. "We need to find the light," He justifies to Jett. "Unless we feel like praying, before we get answers." The Church is closer, after all. It'd be a shorter journey by foot.
Owen seems****
Kyle asks for forgiveness, it's just been poiinted out his outfit did not apparently do the fucking thing.
For his own part, Kyle is going along with the group now. Having decided in his mind that there must be more and more bodies buried under the sand of the beach he's as eager as any of them to get far away from it, whatever their destination is.
"You think that will work?" Jett asks, coming from the religion heavy institute himself he still remains somewhat skeptical of the suggestion of praying the spooky away. He nods belatedly though, a simple sign of agreement for Owen's suggestion of heading straight towards that beacon in the distance winking their way in intervals. "I'm ready to move when you all are," he remarks, happy to let someone else take point in the charge.
Boards. Broken windows. Bulletholes, busted glass, and old dried splatters of blood as much as vomit on the aged, cracked cement sidewalks. Gum stains littering the roads, and vehicles with open doors, open trunks, left empty. There's a smell on the air, and who'd ever've thought?
It smells just like rotten eggs and gasoline.
There are no crickets to signify silence, and the wind's not blowing a bit. Death. This is it. The end of a little, tiny, insular civilization, or so it would seem right now. At the center of town -- coincidentally, the end of this road, only .25 of a mile long until a turn left or right, is that chapel. The Cross hangs high, but the windows aren't so proud.
With a nod of her head, Autumn turns to follow the others down the road as well. "No time for looking at bodies," says Autumn while she's walking. "We can grant them peace after we deal with whatever is going on here." There is a small smile on her face that quickly fades once she sees the chapel.
It's enough to get away from the light for Kyle, so he's moving with a picked up step to stay with the group as they make their way toward the chapel. "You really think this is the way to go? In my experience, God doesn't usally answer back" he mutters, looking with suspicion one direction and the next with ever increasing paranoia now.
Time flies when you're having fun, huh? Before Owen and the gang know it, they're at the Pearly Gates themselves. Or, moreover, a pair of worn down wooden doors, flaking off and losing paint with each passing day. "Maybe ... not?" He wagers in a sort've agreement with Kyle, a shoulder lifting as he just stands there on the sidewalk, at the base of the steps. 'Mount Zion Methodist Church' says the sign, out front. He's uneasy. Maybe everyone is. They probably should be.
"We go in, or we ... go talk to that Lightkeeper quick. I... this's more than I expected to chew on. Old man, rainbow, pot of gold? I didn't sign up for this."
"Jesus flipping christ, what the fuck is that smell?" Lanie complains as she stifles her nose from being able to smell by placing her hand over her nostrils so that does't have to smell whatever that is. "I take back everything bad I ever said about Reading. It sucks here." She's clearly walking in whatever direction the rest of the group manages to go in, not about to wander very far away. She's still got ahold of Owen's arm and she bobs her head at Kyle's mutterings. "Might be worth checking it out, maybe we'll find someonethat's actually alive in there?" she supposes.
"There does not seem to be your god here," Autumn tells Kyle before she turns her head towards the rest of the group. "Whoever is in lighthouse, I think they are watching us. Menacingly."
"What's more unsettling, finding an old shit shack like this abandoned in a place that smells this bad - or finding someone still living here having to deal with it on a regular basis?" Jett proposes to the others as the thought passes on through, he seems far from eager to visit the house of God. Would his attention even make it this far, considering the conditions he assumes not. "I don't think it would hurt, but.." the words trailing off into a skeptical hum regardless of what the decision becomes.
Left or right look attractive, compared to this little hovel - falling apart, with windows often straight up missing, as opposed to boarded up. The stairwell is covered in cigarette butts, the sign's losing lettering, year by year, and it's clearly no longer in use. Maybe there's another church, somewhere in town. Maybe it's a better one, and the locals forgot about this one. In the house next door, red, stylized after a log cabin, a shadow passes by a window -- but it could be nothing more than a trick of the eye.
Owen isn't making this choice, and if that wasn't clear already, his eyes bug without words to produce when the church's door just... crrrrreeeaaks open, invitationally. Nobody visible is behind it.
"Nah-uh." Whatever direction is opposite of that door, Kyle is pointing at it and encouraigng movement in that direction. "No way jose. Let's fucking bail on this taco stand. Lighthouse ..." he hesitates. "Ehhhh probably safer? I dunno man ..."
Another shadow in the lob cabin next door is what pulls Jett's attention first. He wrinkles his nose, a shiver running over his flesh and raising goose pimples from their hiding. That being said he hesitantly steps forward towards the door that crrreeeaks on open to invite them on in. He doesn't step past the threshold but calls in to the building, ".. Hello?" That always works in the horror movies, right?
Looking at the cabin then the opening doors, Autumn takes a step back and shakes her head. "Nope, it's like something awaits us inside." With a look at the lighthouse, she purses her lips before she looks back at the chapel and squints her eyes to see if there's something inside.
"This is how the black guy dies in every movie" Kyle cautions ... but if they're walking in there, he'd rather stay with the group than wait outside alone. Fuck that noise.
Nobody greets Jett back, but what he sees would disturb most of his supposed instructors and caretakers back home. Split pews, each like they were hit through the middle with an axe. A destroyed wooden stand for the speaker, and a pile, in the middle of the room. A burned stack of paper and leather. Hundreds of bibles.
They've been burned.
There's an organ in the corner, covered in cobwebs, long dormant -- and most notably, a single candle, still warm from the last time it was lit, set next to a door. It's closed. Typically, those lead to some kind of pastoral quartering.
A moment of silence is given by Jett as he observes the horrors of the committed vandalism. The scene of the crime something he truly appraises before he mentions to the others, "I don't think he's here anymore." He clears his throat and then gestures a nod over towards the closed door attended by a nearby candle, "But someone might be back there." Not that he offers to be the sacrifice to ding dong ditch that door.
"Uhh, lets, not go in there," Lanie intones with a shake of her head after spotting that door creeping open on it's own accord, "I hate this, I hate everything about it. Lets go over to the lighthouse and-- Not here, like I hate this." she repeats herself as she turns back, trying to tug Owen with her. There's no chance she's leaving him to get eaten by the Church monster.
Entering the chapel, the one thing that catches Autumn's attention is the pile of burned bibles. "I guess they don't like holy god," Autumn comments and her gaze shifts towards the candle and the door. "Someone else was here, unless candles light themselves. But yes." She then nods her head while she stares at the candle's flame. "Maybe if church is cursed, we could burn it."
If god's present and watching, he's probably not happy about what he sees down here, unless mankind has a truly skewed view of exactly how he feels about these things. The Church is made of wood, Jett would note -- and so too, it's old, and dry. Maybe he's right. Maybe Autumn, is right. Then again, whatever this town's afflicted by... it seems to have convinced these people to abandon their god. Further sacrilege might not be particularly... helpful. It's impossible to know for sure. Autumn, though, as she risks being left behind by Lanie and Owen in their journey to light, would find that there's a low note starting to play out. From that old organ, of course. There's no human playing the keys -- it's not even open.
If the group splits that will be .. a problem for Kyle. Ultimately whichever one seems more likely to survive the impending serial killer sure to pop up at any moment is the one he'll opt to follow but he's glancing around. "I don't know about burning down a church. But someone was here ... recently. Either the man in the lighthouse or another. If I had to guess .. maybe one's looking for the other?":
"Autumn! Ayo, you okay in there?" Lanie does pause to call into the chapel towards where she last saw Autumn, "We're going to the lighthouse, you coming? Come on, don't get stuck in the creepy church." She glances over at Kyle, "Maybe, but I don't want to meet the fuck that hangs out in a old church, I'm good with that. I'll take my chances on the lighthouse."
The organ causes Autumn to jump as she walks towards the candle, ready to snatch it. "I should take candle just in case," Autumn murmurs to Kyle. "Whatever is in here, it's haunting." With a nod of her head, she then turns to run after Lanie and Owen, beckoning Kyle with one hand.
Oh, it doesn't take much for the man to catch up with the rest of the group now. "I don't know. Seems like maybe the church is the right side of things, here" he mutters but it doesn't stop his feet from chucking themselves into high gear shoe-baru action. "Take it" Kyle says to Autumn with a cough as the cold creeps into his lungs. "At least it won't burn the church down in the meantime."
Jett doesn't dally too long, with the majority vote to head to the lighthouse after all he withdraws from the home of the lord. He's finished with his exploration of such. "No creepy guys in the church," he says but drifts the few paces over to try and peek into the log cabin window.
The candlestick that Autumn finds is one of solid silver, molded in the old way, and probably handed down with the building through an indeterminate amount of time. Her interest was founded, as it has a particularly peculiar shape. It looks much like it has faces in it. The wax running down it is still hot to the touch, alarming or not. As Autumn runs, the door she and the others opted never to open SLAMS behind her, but there's nobody behind it. Lovely.
It takes ten, twenty minutes of jaunting through the empty, harrowing hollows of New England turned upside down, a left turn followed by another, or a right followed likewise -- and they'd finally be on the eastward side of the island. The light is impossible to avoid wholly. If someone's looking, they've likely well seen, for better or worse. Maybe they'll prepare tea. The shadow at the top of the monolith hasn't been seen in some time. Maybe they're done looking altogether. Jett sees more of those shadows in the windows. Some don't move at all. They just stand still. Occasionally, it seems like he catches the whites of their eyes, but it's infrequent enough to see the shades altogether that it's maddening.
Finally, they're there. The base of the tower. Owen seems... shell-shocked. He's not helping so much, right now. A red door, solid steel, and three steps leading to it. That's not so hard.
Perhaps it's a good time for someone to knock.
When nobody else seems to strive forward to be the couragous one ... Kyle bits his lip then steps up. THUD. THUD> THUD. A cop-like knock against the heavy red door comes before he's taking a step backward.
Lanie finally finds her nerves as she joins Kyle at the door, letting him do the knocking as she uses that voice of hers to call out, "Anyone home?! It's your neighbor across the way, you got a cup of sugar we can borrow?" she asks in some attempt to be as unimposing as she can be.
Kyle generates awe inspiring courage, and Lanie nobly follows him to the forefront of the battlefield. What they receive in turn is incredibly lackluster. A sad wheeze, barely audible through the metal, aided only by a screen window open on a distant side of the lighthouse. "It's ooopen," Comes the whisper of an old man that wishes clearly to shout, followed up with, "I've only beenm waiting an hour. For such young legs... so... so clumsy." A creaking noise follows, wooden or bone, and if anyone should test -- they'd find that the door, truly is, unlocked and accessible. The dented steel fire truck red appearance doesn't really say 'come in', but he did.
"Ugh. If Deac were here he could blow the fucking house down" Kyle complains but then that voice is coming and there's a quick shaking his head. "Nosir. No sir. No way, not even for Sarge man .." he says with a gust of breath. He's not gonna be the first one to walk over that threshhold.
Kyle takes a few further steps backward, leaving Lanie out there by her lonesome as he makes for the BACK of the group.
Glancing at the candle she now wields, Autumn follows the group close until they arrive at the entrance to the lighthouse. Looking at the door, she watches as it's being knocked before it opens. "Hello there," she says, holding the candle.
Lanie pushes on the door to test if will open for her, peeking inside if it does. "You've been waiting an hour to have someone borrow a cup of sugar? That sucks, man." Lanie mutters mostly to herself, looking over to Owen, then Jett "You guys uhh.. have your guns with you, right?" she thinks to ask, far too late to go back for the things if they did forget them.
When that door finally does pry outward, and the sights are first shown, there's a profound sadness to note. Stacks of Miller Light cans, crushed in the *perfect* way, each one the same, sequential. Hundreds of tuna cans, Dinty Moore Cans, and otherwise, stacked up in more haphazard pyramidal shapes, and stacks of newspapers. That's what there is to witness on his desk, next to an oil lamp, and a hearthfire. Little more, aside from a coffee kettle, old school, and a metal staircase to the top.
Then, him. An ancient looking man, wretched, nothing but skin, bone, and the clothes he wears. Cover alls, presumably to keep old bones warm, haphazardly assembled amongst knitted gloves and dirty, cracked leather boots. On his head's a time-battered, stained newsboy cap, and covering it, among other things: a yellow slicker, like an angler would wear. There's a pipe in his lip, and a cane at his side, where he sits like a corpse in a wooden rocking chair. The source of the creaking. Him, the source instead of the wheezing. "Would you really -- really shoot an old man? I know what you came looking for. Where you can find them. You overshot, you know. The church, or the cave. It's really your choice." Mad rambles met with desperate gasps for air, and despite it all, he's still pulling for more tobacco.
"What happened here?" Kyle manages to ask, as they all crowd in around to spy upon this old salty seadog now. "I mean you know what, I don't want to know. But .. how'd it get so bad without someone coming before now?"
"There was a cave?" Autumn wonders of the old man when the group enters. "We checked church. It seems haunted. Is there any way to deal with whatever is behind all this?" She then looks around the place, a sniff before she glances up.
At the moment that door finally does pry outward, and the sights are first shown, there's a profound sadness to note. Stacks of Miller Light cans, crushed in the *perfect* way, each one the same, sequential. Hundreds of tuna cans, Dinty Moore Cans, and otherwise, stacked up in more haphazard pyramidal shapes, and stacks of newspapers. That's what there is to witness on his desk, next to an oil lamp, and a hearthfire. Little more, aside from a coffee kettle, old school, and a metal staircase to the top.
Then, him. An ancient looking man, wretched, nothing but skin, bone, and the clothes he wears. Cover alls, presumably to keep old bones warm, haphazardly assembled amongst knitted gloves and dirty, cracked leather boots. On his head's a time-battered, stained newsboy cap, and covering it, among other things: a yellow slicker, like an angler would wear. There's a pipe in his lip, and a cane at his side, where he sits like a corpse in a wooden rocking chair. The source of the creaking. Him, the source instead of the wheezing. "Would you really -- really shoot an old man? I know what you came looking for. Where you can find them. You overshot, you know. The church, or the cave. It's really your choice." Mad rambles met with desperate gasps for air, and despite it all, he's still pulling for more tobacco. (for Jett)
"Up the beach, there is one yet still. It was carved out by the sea, or summ'r't elsewise. What'e'r' it be, the dark ones are at the bottom of it all." He pulls for something like it's a gift or a weapon, but at the end: just a tinderbox, and a match, for his pipe. Lighting it once more with a choking sound, he smokily notes, "I could show you, from the top -- or just tell you. Safer than the church, but wet, and dark."
"So bad? This, bad?" He returns to Kyle, finally. "It's only been three days, son. Every -- few decades, you know." Tears well at his eyes. There's a frown somehow further, lines on his face deepening.
"I wouldn't shoot you, but I would bury a knife in your eye socket without a second thought." Lanie speaks up to the old man, though her hand holds that knife down at her side, she's just stating facts apparently, she doesn't try to stab the old man in that moment. "Who are you talking about, who is 'them'?" she asks him, following up with, "What's up with the church?"
"Every-" Kyle grunts at that and then takes an involuntary step backward! "Three days ..." He flares his nostrils and he shakes his head some more before he tries to glance at the rest of the folk in attendance. "I'm with you guys I guess, but I don't care if it's as dark as Rosanne bar's box, safer is better."
Apparently, it was Jett's turn to become possessed. He stared for a time lost in his mind at the man the others were conversing with. The option between the cave and the church has him blink back to reality. ".. Did I bring my flashlight?" he quietly asks himself as he begins digging through his bags. "Safer sounds better to me too.." are his contributing words to future decision, echoing Kyle's sentiments.
"Such grim cycle," Autumn shakes her head, clutching the candle as she faces the old man. "Perhaps it can end by destroying source. With fire." She glances at the others before she adds, "Could be quick too."
Kyle says "I guess we should have burned down that fuckin' church ..."
"The ones talking to the Old -- the ones talking to the Black. The ones that take all of us, from time, to time. The smartest hide. The smartest do. Inside their houses, until they do what they's told."
"But I'm ... not so scared. There's nothing to do, but keep the damned lights on. It's all that's left. I gave them -- my daughter, after all. Now I eat my sardines. By week's end, surely, it'll be back to normal. Surely." It's only monday, nobody tell him. "The church is just an open door. Literally speaking, eh?" He tries to laugh, and can't. "The source is beneath us all. You'll see. My walking days are behind. Up the stairs, down the stairs. That's it. Never. Again." He'd rather die than accompany, by the way he half-toothlessly smiles at Lanie. "I'm the Reverend, by it by."
"It's best... to hurry. If you're still here at midnight, you'll probably be unlucky enough to meet with the flock."
At the end of the circle, like a man about to notion the pet semetary, the old Reverend croaks, "Follow the beach, past the abandoned boats, past the marker stones -- until you see a little mound. There should be some rocks. Below, you'll know."
That brings a grimace. "Yeah, they all used to talk like that too" he mutters to himself. Then Kyle is trying to buck himself up and he looks down to check his boots. "We best be getting a move on then. I'm not tryign to die out here with you strangers. No offense."
"I'm not good enough to die with?" Jett deadpans over to Kyle, probably some futile attempt at humor considering the grim reality being dealt with. "Down the beach, past the boats.. hit the mound and.. figure out how to destroy it," he repeats after the Reverend and then looks to the others to see if that was the course of action they agreed on.
"Flock..." Lanie repeats that word before shaking her head, "Nah, nobody's dying out here tonight, not if we can help it." she adds for Kyle and Jett with determination in her tone, "Lets find this cave, we can probably burn the church down as we pass -- but that might alert some whatever creeps are out here." she looks to Owen, "Right?" she nods as if she's agreeing for him.
slowly nods her head. "I see. Alright," Autumn says as she looks down at the candle. "The fire can purge darkness, and bring forth light of hope for this devestated town." And then she nods again. "Let's go to cave."
He wasn't lying, it's pretty closeby, at least -- the markerstones he mentioned, are. Past the boats, past the water - and the glistening spots of red, best left unquestioned. Several trails of incriminating footsteps follow Owen and the group along the beach until - finally, in monumental action, he's a helpful offering: to shove that rock aside, using all his wrists can offer to do it. A man-sized drop shows itself then, a claustrophobic's utter nightmare. A hole in the sand leads to a washed out cavern, about as wide around as a storm drain.
Jett seems put off by the hole in the sand that breaths alive once Owen uncovers it with an impressive feat of strength. ".. So who is going in first?" he wonders, peering between the others until he stops on Autumn and wonders, ".. Or throw fire down there?"
All that Kyle has to offer is a small flashlight connected to the ring of his keys, but he does turn it on ... for all the good it will do. The man huddles into his coat. "Anybody got fire? Well then .. Let's not burn the bread for the waiting."
Owensomeone' flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless.
OwenKyle's flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless.
someone' flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless. (excellent SR fail)
someone' flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless(excellent SR fail)
someone' flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless (excellent SR fail)
Kyle's flashlight, for what little it's worth, reveals one key note even from the very surface of the cavern: it's wide enough to walk, down there, and it slopes downward. Sharply. Sharply enough to tumble on, but steep enough to still be walkable nonetheless (excellent SR fail)
"Unless we have flashlight, I could," Autumn tells Jett, cracking a small smile as she looks down the hole. "I wouldn't be surprised if fire slides down." She steps closer, and she slowly goes down the hole.
Down the slippery slope they go then. Jett follows along somewhere behind the others. He watches his footing as carefully as he can.
Owen doesn't even seem to have emotion worth expressing as he drags Lanie down towards the abyss. Something compels him to do it. There's something down there he has to see, or do. And that means, first, he has to jump - just like Jett will, shortly after.
Lanie is right behind Autumn, following down the hole while watching her step, her hand using the wall of the hole to make herself steady. "Did he ever say what was even down here?" she asks as if she missed that part of the conversation, probably an ADHD moment.
Lanie goes with Owen, rather. Into the hole she goes!
And it's Kyle bringing up the absolute rear, that small circle of barely present light illuminating from his emergency flashlight spanning just a scant few feet ahead of the group. Eventually he'll go so far as to hand it forward, to whomever takes point with the group. "Here" His voice hushes out, "Pass this up ..."
The tunnel only goes deeper, and deeper. There are branches, but not ones easily reached - ones that leave pitfalls easy to fall into and simply break one's neck, or holes into the ceiling, impossible to scale. Logistically, the best option is forward, as the tunnel widens out, easily thirty feet across. There's room for all of them. They hear, before they see. A chanting, in tongues impossible to replicate, alien, and wretched. R's and L's, Y's and E's - words spoken from another world, cyclically, emptily, by thirty or more. They're headed straight for the center of something epic, and the glow... is red.
Before they find what they're looking for, there's a clearing, set in as the tunnel curls westward, towards the center of town, and the source of the light. There's an altar. It's partially stone. For that much, it looks akin to an octopus matched into a spider, where the thorax is shaped like a toothy skull. If that weren't the disturbed part, it's covered in gore, from hands, to jaws. Freshly assembled, redecorated, or crafted. Owen doesn't retch, but he tries to make sense of it for a moment, in a sort've awe. They're dealing with something very, very.... old?
And it's so close.
Something right off the pages of Lovecraft comes into their sight and Kyle can't help but gag a little, that soft sound of a burp kind of being swallowed back down followed by the look of digust that passes the man's face. He shakes his head silently now, that chanting enough already to give an old man a headache as it grates at his ears. He gestures toward what they see, glancing at the others. Keeping his voice as low as possible, he gives a shrug. "Well, if we decide on fire I might be able to help scrounge something from the houses above but .. this is out of my depth."
"The source," Jett answers Lanie, as if that provided context on the actual what - however vague that is. Yet, as they continue their foray into treachery and danger, that image is made quite clear. His steps grow more hesitant at the sound of voices. When the alter comes into view, though, he stops. Staring at the sight, trying to process it within his skull.
The chanting gets louder, and it starts to sound like music, despite the mind screaming still that it isn't. A polluting persuasion calls the mind to join the chorus, to repeat words they didn't know prior. There's no option but to keep going, now. To see it all to the end. The walls. They're dripping. Red streaks follow the steps of the gaggle of unreadied souls, and at the end of their darkness, no heaven, nor hell, but red-cloaked fools all the same, in worship of a fell omen. Like the ceremony of a church, they sit in rows, bent at the knees. On the altar, predictable as could be, a carved up, presumably virgin ginger girl. If they came to save her, apparently there was no memo. At the head of it all, a fellow in a particularly unsexy wizard-like hat holds a stone bowl above his head, and he's about to... pour it on his... face? These pagan incantations really do get weird sometimes.
The chanting gets louder, and it starts to sound like music, despite the mind screaming still that it isn't. A polluting persuasion calls the mind to join the chorus, to repeat words they didn't know prior. There's no option but to keep going, now. To see it all to the end. The walls. They're dripping. Red streaks follow the steps of the gaggle of unreadied souls, and at the end of their darkness, no heaven, nor hell, but red-cloaked fools all the same, in worship of a fell omen. Like the ceremony of a church, they sit in rows, bent at the knees. On the altar, predictable as could be, a carved up, presumably virgin ginger girl. If they came to save her, apparently there was no memo. At the head of it all, a fellow in a particularly unsexy wizard-like hat holds a stone bowl above his head, and he's about to... pour it on his... face? These pagan incantations really do get weird sometimes. (pretending nothing happened)
"Glow is same as one I saw," Autumn speaks quietly, seeing the glow while she walks with the group. "I believe there is some ritual going on. Perhaps same one where I stopped demon during it." Ahd then she sees what lies at the end, grimacing at the altar and then the girl. "We must stop them."
Lanie freezes in place, at the opening as her eyes take in the sights before them, particularly Gandalf at the center of it all. She shakes her head and fondles that knife in her hand, it's clear that she's thinking of using it on the wizard guy, her keen eyes calculating the distance. Could she hit him from where she stands?
Sights like these are what keep people up at nights, and Kyle doesn't have so many as the rest of the young kiddos left. Gleaming eyes watch almost fascinated and through them all ... he's itching to take that step forward those words becoming more and more clear to him as he hears them over and over and over again. One step .. another step.
".. That's," Jett whispers hesitantly to the others, as if his voice may be a foul noise that tarnished the music making the walls weep. Attacking for once isn't the first thing that runs through Jett's mind. He doesn't bring out his good ol' handgun to start blasting. Further words don't fall from his lips, what could he say? What could he question? Was this covered in training?
Stone walls literally painted with blood see the men sitting uncomfortably, and it's not the Eastern Mecca that they're praying towards, that's for fucking scertain. Sure, Lanie could hit him. Nobody's noticing them, not in times like these. It's much too loud, and they're behind everybody but the hat-headed heretic, who's... finally gotten that stone chalice to his lips. Maybe it's heavy, or he's just making like Romeo to Juliet and dramatically romancing the thing. Gulp.
Some of it runs down his face, unshockingly revealing, that like the walls, it's just more blood. Disappointingly uncreative, perhaps, but macabre to core, and energetic nonetheless.
Less normal is the way his eyes bulge from his skull. The chanting stops. He bends over, probably in pain. Bad gut response?
The chanting stops. Some shocked whispers start, in their stead. A little bit've muttering, a few turned heads, but nobody looking back. The party's still safe.
When the music cuts, his eyes start to bulge, obscenely. Swelling, first- then expanding, visibly, until the veins look comical, and he's SCREAMING. Oh. That's english. "PLEASE!"
"JUST KILL ME!"
And that's when they pop, turning into a pink mist, and leaving him with two distinct, hollow red sockets. He's no longer talking, but still standing. Jaw, slack. No scream. Nothing. Well, then.
Thankfully the chanting stops, and Kyle seems to be shaken out of his reverie at the very least, and at that sight .. he's shuffling back the way the group came, soft sounds of retching starting to echo off of cavern walls no matter how he tries to keep himself quiet.
Pop.
Somehow, it isn't the scream of agony that breaks Jett from his semi-frozen trance of things he should have but had not prepared to see. It's the visual of the bulging orbs that burst into a mist that force him to jump. Burn it with fire? When Jett's head swivels to look to the others, he reaches into his bag to withdraw a crystal skull half full of vodka and a lighter from his pocket.
"Do not let it appear," Autumn mutters, focusing on the candle on one hand for a moment with her other hand pointing towards the eyeless man. "Now is the time." She then readies the candle like it's magic.
Well then. Lanie doesn't even have to stab anyone for the carnage to start, and she doesn't appear entirely disappointed by that. She seem to approve of Jett's plan to burn something, but she asks Autumn, "Let what appear?"
It is a fuss of a job to find something to stick into the bottle. Jett settles on stuffing some of his unfinished homework into the mouth of his bottle, setting the tip aflame -- taking aim and chucking that bad boy at the cultists. "Lets not find out," he says with anxiety lacing his voice, more human than his usual monotone.
Do not let it appear. Autumn speaks valid, viable words: and they have good advice. Despite that? There's no fire likely to stop the black smoke suddenly petering in through the cracks, in the walls. Not to mention, two, three- five of the hooded men, in particular, begin convulsing just the same. Their eyes don't vaporize, but they do begin to vomit a sludgy black smoke, something that unravels from each upper orifice like a coiled snake. The ears, the eyes, the nose, the mouth. They can try, sure. But... It, has appeared, and Owen isn't doing a fucking thing about it. All that smoke goes charging for the Blinded One, the two seperate sides of the room each congealing into a trail towards either of his eyes.
After thirty seconds, they drop dead, and...
He smiles. At Lanie. At Jett, at Owen, at Kyle, at anyone who's looking. He holds up a single finger, first, wagging it in suggestion against something they have planned. What Jett, has planned.
Kyle turns himself back around the corner, stomach now empty just in time to the the inky back sludge bein to pour out of mouths, ears, eyeballs .... and he's gulping air down his throat before trembling in place as if about to turn right back around again. Then that sinister tickiung of the finger side to side, he can almost hear some haunting ah-ah-ah in his mind that freezes him in place.
That smile. The vision of it all would be seared into Jett's memory. His throwing arm stuck out, stiff and unmoving, but still somehow feeling like jello. He holds his breath, as if that would somehow dissuade what had already sent its attention the groups way from keeping it there.
That finger-wagging from the Blinded One causes Autumn to grit her teeth and narrow her eyes. She glares at that smile and looks back to the small flame she wields. Yet she doesn't make any other move.
Lanie's lip curls up in an almost snarl as the eyeless man smiles at Lanie and her companions, a look of loathing in her eyes. How dare he? "Who the fuck are you?" she shout at him angrily, taking a step closer. "Give me one reason why we shouldn't spill your guts all over this floor, you eyeless freak." she suggests.
Well, he's not burning. He doesn't have a mustache, either, but apparently the situation here calls for a certain monologue. It's not to the party, though-- but to the cult, to this particular, seemingly elite group of the local flocking. It starts with memorable words, in a dour voice, one that sounds much like an old radio announcer, or a particular variety of stand up comedian on too much coke. "You. Complete. Intolerable, incomprehensible fucking imbeceeeeiiils,"
"WHY am I here? Why am I here? What the fuck, am I, doing- here? The robes, the blood, the stone- this is tacky. This just isn't my style. Who-- who do you think I am?! I'm... insulted by the fashion sense, one," And two, he starts counting on his fingers, despite having no eyes, making some kind've incoherent mutterment with his mouth. "Threeefourfive, I'm five weeks ahead of schedule, too early. This isn't where I'm meant to be. You- . . . really?"
It would be a decent time now, for the party to see the ceiling, as... like someone told that gullible's on the ceiling, the blinded man looks straight up. The sigil's there, encompassing them all. A pentacle, scrawled with infernal script. "You've got to be kidding me," It's like he hasn't even noticed Lanie, until she starts yawling, and it's at that point that he has words for her in particular.
"Because I'm not even real, for one. At least, by whatever standards you consider real. By that--much, because I ... recognize you fondly. You were gossip all around the office last month! You helped reap Bobby, didn't you? That worthless little shit, it's funny how things line up to be so coincidental as they are."
"So this is New Castle, then? What a dump."
"May I ask why New Castle looks like it's cursed?" Autumn asks the blinded man through gritted teeth. There's even a twitch in her eye. "Like, there's bodies and severed limbs in the shore."
Jett retracts his arm slowly when the Blinded One chooses to have a few descriptive words with his own people. Despite their sludge vomiting. He blinks a look and casts it over to Lanie when she is recognized as a reaper of Bobby's. ".. You're famous," he mutters to her as the adrenaline of everything thrums in his voice.
"Bobby?" Lanie seems to be asking herself this question, the gears in her head winding, grinding and circling back visibly, it's written all over her face that she has no idea what the eyeless man is referring to. She flicks her eyes at Jett, "Well shit, does this mean I get a trophy for the mantle above the fireplace?" Clearly, she's being facetious, it's her nature.
Lanie says "Not one of those 'participant' ones either, that's bullshit."
"You're going for gold?" Jett throws in some muttered humor, perhaps finding Lanie's facetious mannerisms a safe enough metaphorical shield to cope behind.
Rabble does admittedly start to rouse through the pure shock-and-awe terror of being mocked by something more than supernatural itself, but the crowd isn't doing anything about it. They clearly never expected to get in for this much, to end up this far is unheard of in the Lovecraftian idiot cult circle, considering it usually finishes up with the End of All and such. "Does everyone in here have the aptitude for conclusion of a ... goldfish?" He rudely blithers, this time wickedly including Lanie in that, if only for her forgetfulness of feat. "Robert Smith, property of Ozz. I'm pretty sure I even got to see you, for a flash! We were watching, through the Bowl,"
A final ceiling-ward gesture goes, and he reveals, "This sign -- it's for me, and I'm Alastor. These --- these hicks, here, these bumpkins and buffoons, were looking for... Alistair. He's a knowing fellow!"
"And he really likes blood, not to mention scrubby kids in hoods. There's no Crowley here."
"So who wants to turn their life around? I've gotta get something. You know, for the quotas. I'd imagine you quirky kids want to get home unscathed, right? The genie's out've the bottle!"
Autumn gets an aside. "I'm pretty sure they're up there celebrating a Purge re-enactment as we speak, you could always ask them yourselves. Apparently the whole sacrifice ritual was a fucking waste, considering it's just... little old me! Oops." He gives the faceless mass of red-robed men a droopy, idiotic looking face that's left incomplete without eyes.
Meanwhile, Kyle continues to do what he can to hide himself behind the rest of the group. He wants nothing to do with this, and between Jett, Autumn, and Owen he feels like they've probably got it covered, right? Yeah, he just keeps himself real small and real quiet as this thing starts communicating with the rest of them.
"Heading home to Haven with limbs intact would be nice, Alastor," Autumn tells the man. "And I'm sure robed people have something to do with it." She then looks at the ginger at the altar and wonders, "Should she be free as well since robed people roped her into this?"
Consider Lanie's memory jogged, she raises a brow at the eyeless one - not like he can see it - nor the nod that follows, "That asshole? He was in my way." But of what? "What does he have to do with... any of this? He a disciple of yours?"
As if it would be any secret where a band of, allegedly, supernatural savvy individuals would come from anywhere from Haven. Jett still raises a hand, lifting a finger to his lips without hissing out a sound when Autumn name drops where they're heading back to. Maybe he didn't want an eyeless man following him back home.
Again, Owen awakes from his vegetal state of staring and wondering, only to step forward, looking between the man at the head of the upraised stone steps, and Lanie. "What would it take?" He wonders, simply, asking the same questions anyone making the mistake of actually considering such an offer, despite the pure, unadultured insanity of all this. "Servitude, I figure, that's kind of obvious. But. What will it cost?"
Alastor looks back at the dead girl on the altar, just for affect, shrugging comically at Autumn. "There's one request for the djinn! A safe trip home, for all of us. I should quite like to see Haven, anywho," Uh. Oh.
Again, Owen spouts off, yet again, wondering, "Can we get to the catch early?"
Meanwhile, a finger's curling outwards, towards Jett. The only one other than someone, momentarily disregarded, not to address the entity directly. "You, boy," He appears, instantly, before Jett. Inches away. "Surely you want something more out've life, don't you?"
Again, Owen awakes from his vegetal state of staring and wondering, only to step forward, looking between the man at the head of the upraised stone steps, and Lanie. "What would it take?" He wonders, simply, asking the same questions anyone making the mistake of actually considering such an offer, despite the pure, unadultured insanity of all this. "Servitude, I figure, that's kind of obvious. But. What will it cost?"
Alastor looks back at the dead girl on the altar, just for affect, shrugging comically at someone. "There's one request for the djinn! A safe trip home, for all of us. I should quite like to see Haven, anywho," Uh. Oh.
Again, Owen spouts off, yet again, wondering, "Can we get to the catch early?"
Meanwhile, a finger's curling outwards, towards Jett. The only one other than Kyle, momentarily disregarded, not to address the entity directly. "You, boy," He appears, instantly, before Jett. Inches away. "Surely you want something more out've life, don't you?"
Again, Owen awakes from his vegetal state of staring and wondering, only to step forward, looking between the man at the head of the upraised stone steps, and Lanie. "What would it take?" He wonders, simply, asking the same questions anyone making the mistake of actually considering such an offer, despite the pure, unadultured insanity of all this. "Servitude, I figure, that's kind of obvious. But. What will it cost?"
Alastor looks back at the dead girl on the altar, just for affect, shrugging comically at Autumn. "There's one request for the djinn! A safe trip home, for all of us. I should quite like to see Haven, anywho," Uh. Oh.
Again, Owen spouts off, yet again, wondering, "Can we get to the catch early?"
Meanwhile, a finger's curling outwards, towards Jett. The only one other than Kyle, momentarily disregarded, not to address the entity directly. "You, boy," He appears, instantly, before Jett. Inches away. "Surely you want something more out've life, don't you?"
Kyle says "STU- "
Kyle winces, and shuts his lips tight.
Even as someone spouts on, there's more to be said. This guy? He can multitask. Easy. He's even lying, at the very same time, as all of this. To Lanie, he reconfides, "No, no! No, a pet project of a company accomplice, a coworker from the next desk over." He cups at his cheeks and his lips make an O. "I really meant it, I was never meant to see this silly little shithole!"
Even as Kyle spouts on, there's more to be said. This guy? He can multitask. Easy. He's even lying, at the very same time, as all of this. To Lanie, he reconfides, "No, no! No, a pet project of a company accomplice, a coworker from the next desk over." He cups at his cheeks and his lips make an O. "I really meant it, I was never meant to see this silly little shithole!"
"Knowing how demons work ways and also charm back home in Hell, there is always catch," Autumn speaks, shrugging her shoulders. "Trust me, I was born and raised there. Plus it seems very late right now."
The abrupt instance when distance is all but erased between Jett and Alastor summons forth any waning tension back to the forefront. He tries to make eye contact, which goes as well as one could expect and he averts his eyes down something towards the entities chest. He instinctually leans back as if to try and conjure some of the lost distance. It takes him time to find the right words, and what he does locate are the questionable choice of, ".. Don't we all?" Perhaps not the most accurate considering Kyle's response.
He swallows hard and tacks on though, ".. But I mean, life isn't so bad now that I think about it."
"Oh, then you work with idiots, too. It was like stabbing a stick of butter, he died so fast, it was almost disaapointing. Almost." Lanie has her own critisms of the Eyeless One's coworkers, like she could build a disciple so much better. She shrugs a little, "Soooo, how about we dump this dump and go the fuck home, yeah?"
"Impulse purchases near the holiday season are like sixty percent of revenue," He quips down to Autumn, sneering like there's a certain disgust to mind, a finger circling around in the air. "And it's a long way back up that tunnel, whereas I'm like a universal taxi. If you're from hell, it's no wonder you were shat out and landed on earth." Silver tongue logic, sound as steel. He leaves out the note that he, too, is on the Terran plane at this moment. Yikes.
Jett has to try noticeably to achieve his intended sight-set, because the man wearing the funny hat was only a little shorter than he, when tragedy had struck. A manlet, one might say. Alastor naturally leans right in. "I'm going to need some verbal commitment, here. Handshake, kiss? Any big requests?"
"Does anybody even give a shit what happened to Everett Hayes? No? Show's over? C'mon, take me to your leader. Let's go to Haven."
"Ahh shit .... What do you want for that information?" Kyle finally speaks up, stepping himself out from the rest of the crowd looking espeically nervous.
On the contrary, Kyle also seems ready as hell to get the FUCK out of here, but it's the nature of this thing now that seems more than any of the other gruesome shit here that really seems to scare the shit out him
Jett lifts a hand up to mime scribbling something down on his opposite palm, ".. Let me.. write you down my Christmas list, and I'll have my people reach out to your people." That's the corporate lingo for negotiating with horrors that lurk from realms of the unknown. He almost seems to be relieved when Kyle steps up to ask the important bits and delays, bringing home this new guest to their sleepy little town.
"Technically, I fell through hidden portal to Earth," Autumn murmurs with one hand raised while her eyes narrow for a moment. She then looks behind her back at the tunnel then looks back to Alastor. "But you're right on tunnel part. Hard to get back up through hole."
Bewilderment at the emptiness of answers sees Owen taking steps forward, making a sort've triad between Jett and the hell creature in their seditious closeness. "For safe passage, the power to try to make others understand me -- what then?"
It's like the Demon's a seabird, and the fish just jumped out of water, then. He looks over and away from Jett, licking his lips as he tries to put either hand on the boy's shoulder just to make things ucky. "All you'd have to do is write my number down and call me from time to time," Fine confirmation. He offers out a hand, and... Owen shakes it firm. E. Gadds.
Autumn gets a pompous little chuckle and a shake of the little 'man's' head. "Very well! There's one tally for Owen Mallory," A dead stare goes to Lanie, expectant, "And one I-O-U, from Jett Carson, for a notary request expendable within thirty to sixty mortal business days,"
Kyle. gets a slower pause, and a respectful smile. "A coward, and yet still the only person here with any heart. Everett Hayes is in Hell. He will be in hell, for the rest of time. He never should've gotten *out* of hell to begin with. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. There are. No refunds!" Clap. Clap. His hands meet twice.
There's a sudden grin from Kyle, even as he trembles in fear. "You didn't set a price! That one's free." Then he's looking around at the rest of them. "What are waiting for?"
Owen starts convulsing uncontrollably as soon as his hand touches the entity's, and it sounds about like he's going to choke on his tongue. He crumples to the floor, and before long... he's foaming at the mouth. Blood produces from his ears, from his eyes. Everything is fine. Autumn gets a pass, Jett gets a month to reconsider, and someone gets a freebie. That just leaves Lanie. He's looking at Lanie. He KNOWS there's something more to her. That's the only reason they're not home yet. It has to be. Right?
"Free with tax," Autumn muses towards Kyle before nodding her head once more. "Yes, let us head out then."
Owen starts convulsing uncontrollably as soon as his hand touches the entity's, and it sounds about as though he's going to choke on his tongue. He crumples to the floor, and before long... he's foaming at the mouth. Blood produces from his ears, from his eyes. Everything is fine. Autumn gets a pass, Jett gets a month to reconsider, and Kyle gets a freebie. That just leaves Lanie. Alastor's looking at Lanie. Like he KNOWS there's something more to her. That's the only reason they're not home yet. It has to be. Right?
Ucky. Jett's shoulders droop beneath the blind guy's palms. Jett tries his best to put forth the facade of not being nearly as uncomfortable as he is. It was a valiant but probably somewhat unsuccessful attempt. Yet, when Owen's body begins to perform the difficult act of swallowing one's tongue without chewing, Jett can't help but stare in shock. "Oh fuck," he summarizes the high speed concern that trickles out of the frat boy delinquent like blood from Owen's ears.
Everything is fine?
As Owen twists and turns on the floor, foam from his lips turning red as more produces out, wherever that stuff sources at, there's a certain rapid clinking noise that seems to follow along. Pouring forth from his pockets: loose .50mm bullets, and coins, all the same, landing on the floor, binding to it, and flitting around with an uneasy, unnatural psychic un-control. They're shaking, they're shivering- and it's like they're ready to pounce. At something. At anything.
He also might be dying. It's hard to tell. Lanie probably has a hard time focusing on the important things in life right now. Poor girl.
Lanie's eyes shift to Owen as he starts convulsing, then back to Alastor. "Fine. Don't do that," she points a finger at Owen, seeming quite a bit bothered by his state, "To him, or me, ever again. And I won't find a way to trap you in this shithole town for the rest of your ... whatever it is. Life? Unlife? Fuck. I'd come visit you to get off on your misery. Don't you worry." She winks at that. That's her deal sealed.
The way Jett seems to start and stop his movements is probably a sign of him trying to figure out his next course of action. The metallic additions have his eyes flitting from one shiny object to the next, not wanting to make any sudden movements and see where they ended up lodged. He looks between Lanie and Alastor during their negotiation, that was a fair enough deal right?
"Oooh, there's the spoiler alert-- I didn't. I couldn't! All I've done, is unlock a channel in your poor little boy's brain. Something that was already there." He's choking, now, and the shrapnel seems to build pressure. More, and more-- then the little metal shards fly outward, all towards the cultists, who'd been otherwise unmoving. The closest ten fall over like they've been shot, and only then, as the pain reverbates through the room, do Owen's muscles let up. "You too, can be living your best life! Dial 1-800-FuckIt!"
Then? Everything goes... utterly, absolutely black, and everyone's... exactly where they should be, in this hour.
The safe assumption is that whatever got them there, is with them now. Is it the true one?