theianlogs | Welcome to Theia!

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Welcome to Theia!

Who: Your mysterious caretakers and you
When: September 1st
Where: The Town Square
What: The welcome wagon has arrived!
Warnings: Minor gore, death

It's a white envelope that finds its way under every door, through every nook and cranny a day or two after your arrival. With the peculiar, bloodstained fingerprints lovingly applied as though they were a signature scrawled into its thin paper body, it doggedly persists--it will find you--until you open it and read the letter written ever so meticulously in fine script. It's a cordial invitation to a party hosted in your honor in the town square today. You should hurry, hurry, hurry! You wouldn't want to be late and keep your generous hosts waiting... or so says that oddly compelling feeling pressing into the back of your head. You make your way to the square, the urgent tugging feeling growing stronger the closer you get, and when you turn the corner to get a glimpse of the festivities, you find it's... not quite what you had been expecting.

The square is small, and looks rather out of general use. The fountain in the center is dusty and crumbling, and if there was ever any water in it it's long gone now. Most of the cobbled stones are broken and loose in the road. There are two long tables stocked with refreshments along either side of the walkway to the fountain, and what appears to be a small stage of some sort right in front of it, holding a large, ornate chair and a third table. The most unsettling thing, however, is the rest of the décor.

The theme is death, or so it would appear. Beside the food table to your left sits a bespectacled man wearing a scarf, but was the scarf always red, or is it only stained so because his head is hanging onto his neck by a thread? Against his lap rests a beautifully crafted cello, which appears to be missing its G-string... Oh. There it is--it's still stuck in the gashed man's neck. The poor bastard has been garrotted with the strings of his cello! Talk about hoisted by your own petard. Where his head lolls against the table, you may notice that behind those glasses, his eyes are missing.

Near the fountain is a large, wrought-iron statue of an archer, where... well, he's made his first kill, apparently. The body of a young girl with long dark hair is speared neatly through the chest by the archer's arrow, her little feet a good half a yard off the ground, now sticky with her blood. If you step closer to peer into the fountain, you'll find another body, this one a man with short dark hair, his face twisted into a mask of desperation and his gloved hands around his own throat as though he were gasping for air. Oddly, his lower jaw appears to be missing. Did he drown? There is no water in the fountain...

In the ornate chair on the platform is the body of another man, this one with his head completely removed from his shoulders. Oh... there it is, in his lap, his hands carefully arranged in his wild black hair. Wait, it seems there are too many hands, though! A second body dangles from a large tree that looms over the square, the rope frayed and dirty where it is wrapped around another man's neck, a strangely peaceful smile on his face, blue though it is. His hands rest atop the first man's, as though making certain the severed head remains still.

On the table in front of the chair rests a chest, its lid wide open and a glittering bounty inside.

If you peer inside, you will see a collection of eggs! Scaly, cool to the touch, and about the size of a football, they come in several colors. There is a note pinned to the inside of the trunk's lid--

Do you take an egg, as the note suggests? Dare you? (Dare you not?)

That pressing feeling in the back of your head has left you now, now that you are here to be welcomed to the city, now that you are here in the presence of your caretakers, but it is difficult to take comfort in the relief from the compulsion when surrounded by so much destruction. Who has done this to the faithful sentinels of the city? Who has killed the Watcher, the Interloper, the Guardian, the Nightingale, and the Keeper? Why have they been left here, at your welcoming home party?

Before you can turn to ask your neighbor, before you can wonder any further, a sound breaks the silence--a terrible, wet crunching noise like a sheet of ice breaking under your feet. You turn over your shoulder to see that it isn't anything so simple as ice. In the middle of the square is one final body, a body that wasn't there but a moment ago. She is small, thin, with dark hair and eerily pale eyes wide in terror. You know this girl, she met you on the elevator, expressed pleasure that you had been found (had you been lost?), and welcomed you home. Where did she come from? It's as though she simply... fell out of the sky! The Dreamer now dreams forever.

As you turn to survey the carnage all around you, a pleasant chiming sound seems to fill the air. It would seem that your mirror has a message for you! Upon inspection, you will find a new icon on the main viewscreen.

If you touch the icon, it will take you to a new application. Welcome to the Task Board! Here you will find a multitude of errands you can run for... whoever is running the city, now. Boy, what a way to announce things are under new management!

Welcome back to Theia, wayward children. Please enjoy the refreshments--watch out for the Nightingale's eyes, they may have fallen into the punch--get reacquainted with your friends and neighbors, and do take good care of those eggs. Or else...

Threaded | Flat

If your character takes an egg from the chest, please indicate color and size here. There are ten different eggs in the chest. Eight are full football size: Red, Orange, Yellow, Gold, Green, Light Blue with Dark Freckle, Light Blue with Light Freckle, and Silver. There are also two small eggs, about the size of a grapefruit: Red, and Light Blue with Dark Freckle. Three of each egg are available--if you take one, another of the same size and color will replace it until the third of that style has been chosen, at which point there will be no regeneration. You must comment here if your character takes an egg. Your character may only take one egg. If your character attempts to take more than one egg, they will find themselves utterly unable to. Once an egg has been chosen, any other eggs in the chest will be as if they are insubstantial to your character--they will be unable to even touch them, let alone pick them up.

If you are playing more than one character please make a separate comment for each one.

... shit.

Taako stands in front of the chest, the silver egg tucked against his hip, and he quietly surveys the scene of the apparent multiple crimes, his free hand's fingers curled at his chin.

"... uhh. Jeez."

It's the only reaction he can formulate at first, the full weight of the scene unfolding slowly as he takes it all in. Finally, he straightens, shifting the egg at his hip, and retrieves his umbrella from its place hung at his back.

There is no reason to assume whoever did this isn't still wandering around.

"Okay... uh. I usually try to keep it cool, you know, keep a clear head and all that, but, uh..." His voice cracks just a little. "This shit is fucked."

[Creepy blood stained envelope aside, the letter said there was going to be a party, and Fumiko is always up for a party. More so now that she was in a strange and unknown place. Supposedly her home, but... Oh, whatever. She'd practically bolted from the house, stopping only to make sure she had her keys and mirror thing (it was pretty, so sue her), and to slide feet into her shoes that had been left at the door.

Her excitement -once she's taken her egg from the chest. It's red and small and it'll probably match the colour of her pokedex!- soon turns to unease as she starts to look around. It's not long before she's pale white, blue eyes wide with horror and shock.]

A-Arceus...

[There's too much death. Too much blood around and the only people she knows that would do this kind of thing are the Rockets. She stills with a whimper, eyes locked onto the arrow-speared woman.]

No... No...

[She shakes her head in denile, as if that will make it all go away.] T-This isn't... This isn't real...

1. Carnage
Wh-what the hell is this?!

[He'd opened the stupid, creepy, bloody invitation. He'd gone to search for the party, even though he didn't particularly want to go, because the pressured feeling of urgency would have made him crawl out of his skin if he hadn't done something. Now that he's here, though.....

Now that he's here, he wishes he hadn't come at all. Even the thought of refreshments or festivities amidst this grisly scene just makes him want to be sick. He swallows back the bile, kneeling beside the shattered form of the girl on the ground. The only face among the bodies he recognizes. What had she done to deserve this? Who had she made angry? There was obviously nothing that could be done for her, but.....

But he didn't know what else to do. Wasn't there some clue, or riddle, or chance, or..... or something?]

2. Treasure
[It's hard to fathom what's going on, surrounded by death and gore like this. But these eggs..... are they real? They're so cold..... What are they? Where is their mother? Shouldn't someone be doing something about this? Noël gently lifts one from the chest and cradles it against his chest in some vain hope of keeping it warm, of being able to do something beneficial here--but reaching in again, his fingers just slip through the remaining eggs. Even just trying to lay a handkerchief on them sees it fluttering to the bottom of the chest, and he's stuck fishing it back out again.

Even as he does that, he hears the odd chiming sound, one like a bell, yet nothing like it at all.]

What is that.....?

Unlike some others at the gathering, Fran doesn't seem particularly bothered by this turn of events. His expression stays the same as always, impassive and bored. There's a sliver of curiosity there, shown in how he pokes at the mangled musician's body with a stick he found lying around-Which happened to be the bow to said cello. A task that quickly becomes dull when it fails to provide sufficient amusement. The bow is dropped and he makes his way to the eggs, not even pausing to contemplate before reaching out and grabbing a small, light blue egg from the box. It's slipped into his pocket just as carelessly as one would a random toy, just as his Hell Ring and Varia box are.

The only thing stranger than a boy not blinking an eye at the carnage is the fact that he's wandering around the area with a rather large black rabbit cradled in one arm, and a matching blue rabbit at his heels. Or the fact that he's talking to them.

"Ah. Guess I'm unlucky again. We arrived after the fun's already over. Oh well. Maybe we'll be here in time next time. If there is a next time. Probably not, unless some of us were picked out for it. We'll have to wait and see." The black bunny's stopped listening, peacefully dozing in his arms. The blue one biting at his ankles seems to agree. Probably.

Edited 2017-09-01 07:49 (UTC)

Kamui surveyed the morbid scene from beneath his parasol. He walked around the square first, then sidled between the refreshment tables, circled the dusty fountain, and finally climbed across the stage. The cold Yato didn't bat an eye at a single one of the corpses. If anything, he seemed a bit too involved in checking them out. Blood dripped from his fingers where he'd brushed them against a dead man's severed neck.

This had not been a battle. It had been a massacre. These people, whoever they were, didn't appear to have had the chance to fight back. How boring.

With a sigh, Kamui turned so that he was facing the others from the stage, his demeanor painfully casual as he jerked his thumb at the corpses to his side. "So if these guys can't do it, who's serving the food?"

[ Varian is no stranger to bloodshed. Growing up he was surrounded by it, from the moment his father was murdered in front of him until current days where the Alliance struggled against the Horde and others. Death is not unknown to him, so when the large human walks into the meeting area to see outright carnage his only reaction is a frown, a hand moving to the hilt of his sword. Whatever happened here was quick and violent from the looks of things though he's certainly not going to let his guard down. This place has been bad news from the moment he set unwilling foot in it. There had been the hope he would get some answers at this meeting, be able to make his demands and warn those responsible that they needed to send him back immediately. Now it seems like he won't get that opportunity and the frown on Varian's face deepens to a scowl.]

A crass way to send a message.

[ He takes a quick moment to glance over the nearest body, noting the way the scarf is soaked with blood. The smell of death is strong already and if the refreshments had been tempting at any point they sure aren't now; not when they're more than likely covered with who knows what.

The sudden noise behind Varian has him whirling around, large two-handed sword drawn and ready to take a swing when he realizes just what it is; the girl from before, mangled but recognisable. He's already glancing upwards to try and catch sight of whatever dropped her but nothing stands out and all Varian can do is lower his sword slightly and wonder at what's going on just like everyone else.]

They should have just used parchment instead of senseless killing. Not that I expected more from those who drag people into such things so easily...

[ He's talking to himself and anyone who's listened, though should anyone sneak up behind him Varian is definitely going to be answering with his guard and sword up again.]

[ Guess who absolutely tries to see if she can take a second egg.

Not that she's completely cold to the carnage around them; she's not a fan of there being any more dead bodies around than is totally necessary, and the fact that at least one of them seems to be pretty young doesn't exactly thrill her. It's just easier to chunk things down and focus, and the eggs are something to focus on. The fact that she can't touch them one she's claimed one gets her attention, enough that she lingers for a moment to waves her hand through the box, before the last body falls with a sick crunch.

Aranea's not too proud to admit the sound of it makes her flinch, and expression turns dark when she recognizes the girl. That's a shame.

Still. Blood on the envelopes, a bunch of dead bodies here, and apparently the chance of more. ]

This party sucks.

[ Wait... what is that noise? It almost sounds like someone's... crying?

If you come closer, to either investigate or you so happen to pass by you'll find Vongola's Guardian of Lightning crouched on the ground, body shivering as he tries to scrub the memory of red from his mind. A warning for all who approach, this one's a clinger. ]

Edited 2017-09-01 18:48 (UTC)

As soon as Kara receives the letter slipped under her door, she changes. It's a flurry of speed that ends in a red cape spilling from her shoulders. She picks up the envelope, just the corner, between two fingers. What in Rao's name is this?

An invitation. That is... not what Kara's expecting, amidst all the confusion. Usually her kidnappers would have revealed themselves by now - who was even keeping her here?

There's noise outside Kara's window, and she rushes forward - more prisoners, they have to be prisoners, are all walking toward the location of the party, if the mental map she has of this place is correct.

Without hesitating, Kara flies from her window and over the heads of the people going to the party, surveying a few steps forward and then slowing down to hover over them. She's not sure how she can help them yet, but she's darn well going to try. If nothing else, the prisoners here will need hope.

When she arrives on the scene, she's stunned, landing on the ground quietly in the middle of everyone else and staring at the horrifying scene around her. What... what has happened? It's almost impossible to take in.

And then there's a thud. Kara whips around, to the girl fallen, frozen in terror. Kara rushes over, sinking to her knees next to the girl, and immediately checks for vitals. Two fingers to the neck, tucking her hair back so she can listen for a heartbeat -

There's nothing.

Kara jerks her head up, looking at the other prisoners who, for the most part, look as appalled as she feels.

"Does anyone know how this happened? Who did this?"

She has to keep a calm head about this. Be a protector. No matter how much her stomach is turning right now.

The envelope had caught him off guard, unsettling and messed up just like everything else in this place; this home. A place where he was loved and cherished, the girl had insisted. It was bullshit then and the tiny little note was probably more bullshit now. Then again.. He scooped himself up off his bed and shoved his best hoodie on for the party, crinkling the note in his hands over and over while shoving his feet in the same sneakers he'd worn since he started High-school. Orange hoodie and acid wash jeans? This was practically business casual! Feeling somewhat good about himself suddenly, he'd smirked all the way to the gathering.

The smell of blood had hit him first, the iron twang so familiar and haunting as it greeted him like an old friend. The bodies were almost a side note as he stared at them, morbidly remembering each and every time he'd received a similar fate. 'Stabbed, garroted, dismembered...' He swallowed the lump in his throat along with the thoughts as he approached the chest of eggs, desperately trying to ignore the phantom pains of long over deaths that lingered in his limbs.

"Fuck me running." He said finally, taking an orange egg and holding it like it was a live grenade about to go off. God he hoped he didn't get an eye in his food.

Atem knew it was a mistake to open the envelope slid carefully under the door to his room, the blood on the otherwise stark paper eerily reminiscent of other notes he'd once received. Yet he'd slid it open with an embarrassingly short pause, reading the invitation and then setting it on the desk. "If I'm to find out why I'm here, then attending this is entirely necessary."

He thought back to the girl who had welcomed him home, and then he thought back to what he knew his home to truly be. The memories didn't click like proper pieces should, and that worried him. He tried not to dwell on it as he dug through his closet, digging past the fine adornments and his too familiar Shendyt to find the curiously folded school uniform that lay beneath it all. His mind drifted as he drew it up and put it on, the material familiar even after his time in A'aru. You were loved here. the girl had said, and he knew it. But was here really here at all?

He found the answer to his inquiry in the square, where the bodies greeted him like a morbid gift. It was familiar, and he recalled a time when guards lay slain in his palace and a thief stood laughing. Instinctively he reached for a puzzle that wasn't there.

"By Anubis.." He said, tone soft as he knelt down to move a lock of hair away from the face of the girl pierced by a wrought iron arrow, the gesture almost tender. It was promptly interrupted by a crunch and a squelch and Atem was turning on booted heels towards what had fallen behind him. You were loved.. He heard it in her voice again as he looked at the dead girl. She'd never speak again, and he wondered why it troubled him.

Finally he tore his eyes from the gore to spot the chest, and he approached it with the grim determination one would use with a pit of Cobras. The eggs were a welcome surprise.

"I shouldn't." He said gravely, and still he picked up a gold one to slide into his pocket. Mahaad would have had a fit had he been there to witness such a clear lack of judgement.

i. ʙᴏᴅɪᴇs;
[ Llane has only arrived. He has entered the house, unlocked his room--there is armor, there is swords--only to be met with a letter. The blood has worried him, but it doesn't smell like the barracks had--it doesn't smell like fel. There is no sulfur, though the feeling of swallowing a bucket full of stones persists, settling in his stomach. He'd pressed forward, still in his robes, still with his crown.

He does not like this.

Of course he does not like this--no one enjoys seeing bodies splayed like this, horrific in nature, repulsively elegant. There is murder and crime in Stormwind, of course, no city is without, but even in the Oldtown district, there is nothing quite like this. Llane is unsettled, unbalanced, but he doesn't hesitate: he strides quickly to the one with the arrow, concern in his eyes. She is dead, yes, obviously so, but no one should be put on display like this. ]

Someone hold her still. I'm going to try to pull the arrow from the wall, so we can better lay her to rest.

ii. ꜰᴏᴏᴅ;
[ It is chaos, at the very least for Llane--not the loud cacophony of battle, although that is almost more preferable. There, there is a singular goal in mind. There, Llane knows his strengths and weaknesses and plans accordingly. There are too many outside factors here, too many questions and not enough answers. He feels a headache coming on. Right in between his brows, blooming all the way to the base of his skull.

The urge for a nice glass of Dalaran red is palapable. Caraway Burnwine, or any Highland spirit. A flagon of mead, even.

The problem is he doesn't trust the table. He eyes it warily, distrust etched across bearded features. ]

Do they think in earnest we'll sup while this carnage is plainly in front of us?

[ And more accurately: do they think we're stupid enough to, if it's poisoned? ]

iii. ᴇɢɢ;
[ Eventually, Llane retires to a corner. He has no trusted the food, nor the drinks, but has refused to turn away from the bodies. To do so seems like some form of cowardice to Llane for some reason, and it appears his stubborn streak about certain things remains intact: he faces the bodies. A small amount of defiance, though for whom he isn't sure.

He's taken an egg, plucked it gently from its box, and is running a hand over the strange scales. His is the blue one, matching part of his robes, and he holds it up to the sky. It's no larger than a grapefruit. ]

Will it hatch, do you suppose?

( one step forward, two steps back. frying pan, fire and so on.

prompto didn't think he'd ever say this, but once the undeniable sensation of comfort the letter triggered had dissolved into nothing, it occurs to the gunner that he rather does prefer the older wayward pines to this... new evolution, whatever it is - it was a lot less dreary before, for one thing.

the transformation is drastic, the town a completely new place he's never seen; the skyline's gone, entire layout reshuffled as if someone was playing a sim game on random, but the patch that remains over prompto's still-tender eye is proof that this isn't a dream, or rather, that he's still from the same continuity as he last remembers. the chocobo waiting in what supposedly is his room is all the remaining confirmation he needs despite not recognising the house itself or the street it sits on, and when the invitation finds him caution leads the gunner to venture out again with the chick tucked safely in a backpack he unearths from within one of the cupboards.

what he finds in the town square is, unsurprisingly, nauseating enough to stop him in his tracks before morbid curiosity gets the better of him (and the last body falling elicits a panicked yelp like prompto's never heard from himself before, not even when the naga stole him through the darkness of fociaugh hollow.) it's not the first time he's encountering a public display corpses and entrails, but the gunner doesn't think he'll ever get used to it. )

Um. S'kinda early for Halloween, right?

{ Bodies...Everywhere }

[ Heiji didn't persistently avoid the letter that mysteriously found its way in his general vicinity. With it blood stained, gave the detective all more reason to invest his attention into the matter.

Some welcome party it end up being. With the letter ominous in nature and accented with blood. As Heiji had come to expect, in all his (short) years of investigating crime scenes, this one was no different than the last. Actually, it had been worse than most, as most of whatever had happened been carried out before they even arrived. The detective had taken the time to inspect each body and all of their surroundings meticulously. Looking for anything that stood out or that could be easily overlooked.

The most alarming of them all was the body of the girl he had met when he first arrived, laid about on the ground lifeless when she wasn't there a moment ago. A kind of execution that would be impossible without someone noticing, and yet it had managed to be accomplished anyway.

Like all of the corpses before her, Heiji had looked over hers as well as he attempted to identify any sighs of external truama, or if her cause was more subtle.

All of the bodies went unidentified except for the latest one vaguely. ]

Does anyone recognise any of the deceased?

I. Bodies
Ankh pauses to raise an eyebrow as he surveys the scene in front of him. He estimates there will be about one second before Eiji starts freaking out about all of this, but he seems mostly unbothered by the whole mess, aside from wondering why they were all invited to a party filled with corpses, and some frustration that he can't read desires from a dead body. And a general sense of distrust for everyone else in the room, but situation aside, that isn't unusual. He doesn't put too much effort to examining them, but does turn to the nearest person who looks like they might hypothetically know something.

"Who are they?"

II. Eggs

By the time Ankh gets to the eggs, there's only one left that's red, and of course that's the one that draws his eye. He touches it before he actually reads the sign. They seem harmless enough, and... well, it's a red egg. Of course he would pick it up and look at it. It's only after that that he notices the note saying to take one, but only one, and looks back and forth between the egg and that. And being both a Greeed and generally contrary, he decides to see what happens if he picks up another one.

Or he tries. His hand goes right through the next egg he touches. And the next one. He's still holding the red one, but the other ones don't even seem to exist, even when he tries a few more.

"What the hell?"

[ooc: If you could fill out his ability permissions page, that would be much appreciated!]

Edited 2017-09-04 03:21 (UTC)

Blinking bright orange eyes at the scene laid out before her, Dinah slowly, deeply inhales the stench of so much rusted copper. Leaning forward, she laces her fingers behind her between the spear cleverly disguised as a parasol and her back and hums. As thick as the stench is, she had smelled it before her arrival in the square and anticipated something for her many and varied experiences as a Pawn of the Fellowship of the Hand -- that is, an agent and mercenary of that popular organization that traffics in the Awakened and preternatural world, to the point her gaze runs less along the lines of shocked and horrified and more level, curious if discerning. Carnage isn't so unfamiliar, but her focus rests on the stench, which is different, distinct now that she's present and able to properly weigh it against her memories. It's more than the innumerable, wafting particles she would've tasted in the wake of some battle and, at first glance, there doesn't appear to be any signs that one occurred, which makes this a willful, wanton massacre and, as she turns her eyes around the square in observation of the murders once again, something else for this polished presentation.

A message, perhaps? At a party in honor, in welcome, with this sort of attendance. It draws more questions, of course, and they carry weight for her care as to the meaning for her position in this increasingly bizarre game. As though that feeling hadn't been troubling enough. Had she really been so eager to come here? For answers, to get a better idea of the board, she could imagine, yes, but she bears it and stacking questions quietly in mind all the same.

Wordlessly, she moves forward, that youthful energy evident in every step, odd skip, and hop. Even when that sickening crunch sounds from behind, she presses on with little more than a jolt, a glance, and a mental note made for a concerning lack of presence to be grasped, intent to observe each and every corpse, to discern every possible detail despite her mirror's chime. Although gentle for her care in honoring their positions, she isn't particularly shy about touching the corpses. She is thorough, meticulous despite the sudden, odd changes in her speed as she dissects each corpse with her eyes and, having drawn the device from the backpack that hangs loosely from a shoulder, her mirror's camera function. It's when she comes to the corpse seated at the table that she drops low in observing his face and something like a frown tugs at her features. She lingers for a moment, then rises fluidly and turns only to pause again for the presence of that peculiar chest or, more aptly, for its eye catching content. Her head is tilted from side to side in weighing before she snaps a picture of the bunch, reaches out, plucks a yellow, football-sized egg from the chest, and tucks it under her free arm.

It's only then that she turns and, after a moment of balancing on the edge of it, hops almost gingerly from the stage to take a look at the last corpse. She nearly pauses mid-step for her recognition of the face and frame, skips, and drops onto the balls of her feet with undue quickness to observe the girl from the elevator, who had smiled and lied, been there with so much bright, blinding, wrong energy and gone. She's gone and it's a deep frown that colors her expression as she sweeps her eyes over the body and glances over her shoulder at the other corpses.

"This is really inconvenient," she muses to herself, taking a minute to stretch as she stands straight and checks her grip on the egg tucked under her arm. "If you're going to drag people into this sort of game, you should stay alive long enough to play with them properly."

Turning her eyes from the corpse at her feet, Dinah looks to the living and regards them for a long moment, then moves to claim a seat at one of the tables. Placing her backpack, the egg, and mirror down, she crosses her legs at her ankles and settles in to observe the other party goers, review the images she's collected, and explore the source of that curious chiming. It's almost funny, how much more complicated the board seems now. Almost, almost enough to see the knuckles of the hand enclosed about the mirror's handle turning white. 'Really inconvenient,' that's certainly putting it mildly.

[OOC: Please hit her permissions post up HERE if you haven't! ]

Threaded | Flat

Mysterious Eggs!

Taako

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