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Post by orwelles on Sept 6, 2018 4:25:26 GMT -8
This had been going on for far too long. Any average debutante would have long since been bored by lack of stimuli, and with a lack of transportation in sight, they wouldn't bother traversing the distance. Clearly, whoever organized this event either cared nothing for its intended guests, or possessed something spectacular. Porter slowed, then turned to face Dewitt. Although he was glad to see the man putting his cane to good use, that didn’t guarantee he could hold their current pace. “You good?”
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Post by Kidney on Sept 6, 2018 12:15:16 GMT -8
Dewitt looked towards Porter, the facade of blindness contrasting against the apparent focus he could articulate with a lack of eyes. His gnarled hand held the cane thoughtfully, and he tapped it upon the concrete as they moved forward. Falling ever deeper into the act, Dewitt stumbled a few times but remained stalwart in his attempt at solidarity. Through this time alone with Porter, Dewitt allowed himself to forget the Roses, who's unseen, spiritual forms clung to the shadows like rogues in the night.
"I am fine."
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Post by relentless on Sept 9, 2018 4:14:58 GMT -8
Villon huffed and grumbled, his head turning from left to right as darkness surrounded them on all corners. A nervous gripping was made around the shaft of his headtaker, though his strides continued toward the music, falling back a step so he could remain at Francois's side. "Follow the music little man, only way we will find the little one." Villon ushered in a hushed, partially unnerved tone. But as soon as the darkness shrunk so closely to his form, the man huffed again, eyes widening as he turned to Francois as he cried out. He let a smirk rise, but then fall as he listened to his omen. A mixture of admiration for the mans courage, but then sadness to follow as memories hinted at the forefront of his mind. So he let the smirk fall into a neutral line beneath his strong beard, his head lowered as he continued to walk with Francois. "... That stone bastard did the same thing to me and some other chums. It ain't real son-" Villon stopped and turned around to face the 'knight', rotating the axe in a slow spin, the large axehead glinting as the torchlight shined off his shield. "Don't believe what it tells you. Give it a good smack.. and it'll piss off, you understand little man? We must move!" The large man barked at Francois, a sudden anger flowed over him and the knight, hot as iron in the forge, his head turning away as he faced the music, literally with a glare and a harsh blow through the nose.
"ONWARD! FOR A PINT!" The large man boomed, his form shrinking as he posed to strike anything in front of him, as he moved into the darkness. His features were tensed, brow furrowed and eyes steeled, for he would think aloud to protect himself from this similar illusion. "They're dead, they're dead... they're gone." Villon whispered to himself as he focused in on the darkness, moving with or without Francois.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Sept 15, 2018 14:07:08 GMT -8
The whispers and talk in the darkness grew louder, but in the midst of it all Villon and Francois would hear legible words, the things in the dark manifesting into creatures that could speak their tongue. The trees and grass around them becoming scarce while the darkness marched along with the duo, the music becoming distorted and demented as they moved forward. Madness was there, at the brink of darkness, waiting for the torch of sanity to be snuffed out and allow it to enter, beckoning them to follow.
“Oh they do put on a good show don’t they brother?” A female voice giggled.
“They do they do! I wonder if their stupid or brave? Probably both, am I right sister?” A male voice laughed.
“We should toy with them, toy toy toy! Toy until Father Guidless kills them, toy until Father Hope saves them?” A third voice said loudly, crazily and gravely, not discernible whether man or woman. Asking a question fit for someone insane, changing in pitch and volume with each sentence.
“YES! TOY UNTIL FATHER COMES!” The three screamed in unision, the woods coming alive with movement and excitement in a matter of moments. One easy thing to tell about these voices however, were that they were all young, almost childlike, could they be lost kids? This thought would plague the duo, whether they wanted to or not.
—————
Porter and Dewitt had it boring and peaceful, until however there came a voice above them, one that sounded mocking yet cheerfully nice at the same time. They could tell where it would be coming from, maybe even catch a glimpse of whoever it was. But what was truly certain was that far in the distance were lights and voices, the masquerade was close at hand, but they had one last obstacle before they could get it.
“You know all you have to do is speak to be there? We don’t like it when guests are all quiet and grim, if you talked more that walk wouldn’t have seemed like forever. So I’ll save you and talk with you until you get there, maybe even answer some questions? Haven’t spoke with someone new since that young boy came earlier this month, talking about how he hated his father and how this would bring him a better life. Oh what a poor fool, but who can blame him when the masquerade is so alluring!” The voice, obviously male but very flamboyant, and as they walked, if they kept walking, would find it always above them.
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Post by relentless on Sept 15, 2018 14:27:58 GMT -8
Villon winced as the voices grew close, and loud. Shrieking beings. No... beasts, disguised beneath a thin veil of human resemblance. It was disconcerting, but they did not exist. And if they did, they would be removed with a swing of Villons axe. After all, anything can be killed with one well placed swing. His head would turn partially to look on at Francois, bumping his elbow before he looked forward.
"So lad, you enjoying your crusading?"
He chuckled, a grim smile forming on his face as he looked on through the darkness. After all, what better than to crack a few jokes to distract ones self from the horrors of the woods.
"I'll be the first to say it... don't think we're gonna find a nice picnic spot around here."
Villon produced a hefty 'harump' to grumble from his throat, before he sighed and sniffed the air out of habit, returning to a more serious mood.
"Keep the torch going, if its dimming out, blow on it. We'll follow the singsong, along with killing whatevers out here."
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Post by Kidney on Sept 15, 2018 20:04:58 GMT -8
Dewitt jumped at the sound of words, his hand grasping at his shirt, heart beating angrily now, adrenaline filling his enlivined blood. It bubbled and broiled, and Porter would see blood begin to appear across the whites of Dewitt's eyes. "Show yourself, Warlock."
He pointed at the trees with the cane, spitting upon the ground, "Your words are hollow, like a black soul."
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Post by orwelles on Sept 21, 2018 19:40:34 GMT -8
So, the host had criers in the trees. Every party had to have a gimmick, but why pick one so cumbersome, so bland? Even the most lackadaisical profligate could have concocted it. Perhaps this uninspired toady could grant them answers?
"The boy was foolish, then? It takes a brave man to decry his own production. What exactly do you offer?"
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Sept 26, 2018 18:16:21 GMT -8
The male laughed, it was shrilly and whatever caused him to burst into giggles seemed truly amusing to him. Then they would soon see a figure emerge from the bush above, his legs draped around a tree branch as he hung upside down. He moved up, and down, back and forth before he launched himself off the tree to the ground ahead of the duo, continuing to walk backwards as he landed like a natural.
His clothing was bright and colorful with the colors of and anything like a rainbow, fully garbed in a perfect jesters (the one in game) outfit there wasn’t an inch of black or white on the now clearly seeable boy. He looked no older than 18, with long hair that reached his stomach with the same rainbow look as his clothing and eyes that appeared to always shift between blue, green, and a reddish brown that it was hard to believe he was real. Especially when it came to the mask he wore, it was completely clear, like glass yet he touched his face at times that there seemed to be nothing there.
“Oh, oh you are just comedy blind man you know that? A warlock? That’s the best name I’ve been called yet! But oh don’t ever relate anything I do to the color black, especially black, white too while I’m at it. I just hate the two SOOOO MUCH. One steals all the color and the other is so blinding you can’t see the color! So bad....” The jester said, still giggling to himself as he continued their walk. He faked tripped over a rock and cartwheeled himself to safety, using it as a way to stop laughing for more than a few seconds. His arms moving quickly and emotionally as he moved to talk with Porter, a contrast to the relaxed tension he had while talking with Dewitt.
“Oh but you sir, you ask the right questions! Though I feel your thoughts are muddled friend, care for me to explain hmmmm? I’ll answer the first part. The boy thinks this is a place to end old ties, find a new life, except he got himself roped up with our grand composer, the very person who started this Masquerade, she is a beauty and he fell under her spell now it’s only a couple of days until the special event! Shouldn’t spoil too much...” The boy said, seriously staring into Porters eyes before acting back to normal, as if broken out of some spell.
“Now onto important things. Yes. The Masquerade like most other events has a theme, ours of which is of song, loudness, colors, and beautiful masks. We allow those without them but if they wish to stay permenantly they are required to choose one out of an assortment else we have to push those lonely, afraid little miscreants out to the forest to join the Faceless. We also send distruptors, rabble rousers, anyone who gives trouble to the ideal of the Masquerade really. You’re friends actually are about to meet 3 of them, children who are not allowed into the Masquerade, terrifying beasts now apart of the Shaman’s group. Someone who is always against the leader for casting him out as the first ever. I assume they will survive if they put on a good enough show, if not someone will save them, I heard you four are under the leaders gaze, something to be proud of. Not many gain her attention like this, last one who did was that boy, you can tell cause she sent me out, she never sends me out much anymore...” He seemed a tad sober, walking along, looking at Porters face for a reaction, for another question or remark. Silently.
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Post by Kidney on Sept 26, 2018 19:17:09 GMT -8
As the man-thing cartwheeled, spoke and laughed, Dewitt's hate grew deeper. His face flushed with crimson, drippings of blood from underneath the rag over his eyes falling from his cheeks to his boots. His hands trembled, his heart sped up, and his muscles tensed. Every quart of his blood threatened to rip free from his skin, to tear his flesh from his bones in an attempt to lash forth in a great dark red tentacle.
Dewitt growled, "Bring. Us. The. Boy."
His heart clenched, and the man sucked air through his teeth, blood finally splitting the skin of his fingers, dark claws sprouting from the tips of his digits. "I will replace the boy. Bring him to us, and I will stand in his place within this..."
He struggled to find the words, his skull felt as if it was splitting, the blood fighting against his capillaries and veins. "Bring him. I will replace him. If you do not, I will be forced to forcibly take him from this Masquerade."
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Post by Unter on Sept 30, 2018 9:33:06 GMT -8
Francois tried to grasp at his righteous feeling of being here to purify the place. He marched, the Light accompanying him in his wake. Villon wasn't relevant to him anymore. The voices started whispering.
It shouldn't be like this. Why was it like this ? It should be a tide of unnamable abominations coming to break themselves on his shield. Voices. He couldn't fight voices ! He couldn't grasp what the voices were talking about.
He clutched at the torch. It was the only thing separating him from the unholy darkness. He would prevail. The Crusader stuck closer to Villon. He shouldn't be alone right now. For the first time since he arrived at the hamlet, fear broke the thick cover of courage. Or stupidity. His voice shook a little, but he tried his best to keep it under control.
"Unholy foulness... WE WILL BRING YOU DOWN WITH THIS FOREST IF WE MUST ! COME HERE, AND DIE A PAINFUL DEATH IN THE NAME OF THE LIGHT !"
Shouting felt good. Shouting helped him keep control. Nobody liked being shouted at. They would react accordingly, and attack him. And the Light would grant him victory. Having a plan helped.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Oct 4, 2018 15:49:13 GMT -8
The voices spoke up again, as movement would plague the duo, giving them vague shapes. One was large, lumbering around with a mask or some type of devils horns sprouting out around its face. One was tall and gangaly, moving about with a certain swiftness, the same devil horns on its face. Then one out of sight, small, quick, scurrying around like a rat, the same devil horns like the others.
“A torch keeps you as as safe as your sanity keeps you alive, they all fizzle out eventually when tested. You won’t be anything special!” Villon would notice the tall lumbering shape disappear out of his sight, when the tall gangly one appeared from his right, going into the light for only a moment and slashing his arm with a crude dagger before retreating as fast as he appeared. Too fast for any action of attack, only enough to defend. He would’ve seen a big smile, one filled with youth, though the devil horns and other parts of his face were red as blood, like magic he wouldn’t be able to tell anything else, even if it had eyes or was a child.
“Such a big strong knight, such a shame though you fight the Faceless! The light can’t save you from its children, and the forest, well, it protects us from death as well as gifts us the fire of pain!” Unter would also notice the tall lumbering shape disappear, and barely notice the tiny one zip by his ankles and leaving a gift of dust thrown to the face for distraction. He could see it was the same blood red visage and devil horns, though the body he could see was small and boyish, just like a child’s. Dissapearing as fast to only leave a defense for him, though the dust was thrown by two hands at two different angles assuring one would hit if he wasn’t lucky.
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Post by orwelles on Oct 12, 2018 19:20:56 GMT -8
For a moment, Porter was at a lost for words. He had seen charlatans and oddities alike in time at the university, and for those, the best he could muster was mild interest. But the… growths emerging from the blind man’s hands were a different element all-together. The possibilities for such a condition, especially if it rested in the blood, could provide insight on the Curse. It was even possible that this old wanderer possessed another strain of it. Should they both survive this expedition, a few words might be in order about their mutual affliction.
Upon hearing the youth’s account, Porter couldn’t help a small smile. It seemed that no matter where one traveled, the mercurial nature of the baroque always remained. Though if this composer had taken only a matter of once, she would have to be one of the more disciplined ones. Clearly, the boy was taking his supplanting personally. With a sympathetic shake of his head, he stared back at the motley messenger. “Well, it seems like we share a similar interest. Please, could you take us to this Masquerade? Ideally, we and our companions in the forest should have the boy back to his family before the event even begins, and put in a good word for you with the Composer. Provided he doesn’t’ interfere, of course. “
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Post by relentless on Oct 15, 2018 16:49:38 GMT -8
"CUNT !"
Villon hissed as he was struck, only to notice there was no actual wound once he had checked over his sleeve, though it would leave a nasty bruise. It had pissed him off more than actually unsettled him, and the voices were certainly fueling that fire.
With a grip on his axe as loose as none could be without dropping it, he was fit to strike anything, be it a tree or the fiends in the dark. With a forceful hand on Francois's arm, he stopped him and made to look around in the dark, a grumpy expression about him that these beings would no doubt notice.
"OI!! If you little shits had any manners, you'd tell us RIGHT FUCKIN NOW where to go, or else you'll be getting my axe!"
He yelled into the dark, and without further ado, he rugged on Francois to move forward with a bear like growl to fill the air. He wasn't happy one bit, and he hoped the spirits or whatever was in the dark knew that.
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Post by Unter on Oct 22, 2018 10:38:51 GMT -8
Shifting figures. Nothing to be seen. Movement near François' leg. A ghost of sand flew past his helmet. Thanks the heaven. But he needed air. He needed to breath. Because this was hell. The hand that held the sword shook, and he had to restrain himself to keep his hand clutched around it. He coughed, and had to open his visor to breath in the air.
He hoped it would be a fresh breeze, and that the oxygen would revigorate him. No such chance. The air was warm, and stank of death and shadows. His helmet's visor closed without his consentment, and the noise made him jump. By the Light... this wasn't possible. This was hell. Why ? Why was here ? He was supposed to smite evil... not let himself be overcome by it ! He needed to recover his senses. The Light protected him ! He clutched the torch, for it was his only solace.
The voices hurt him more than he wanted to admit himself. It was true that at the first attack, the torch would fall. And when it fell, he didn't know what he would do. He muttered, as his reflexes made him follow Villon almost against his will.
"Light... protect me. Light... light !"
Something appeared in front of him. With his sword, he struck a mighty blow against the intruder. It fell under François' vision with a blank noise. It was just a branch. Even though his torch lit his surroundings, a mere branch frightened him. He didn't have to examine his sword to know that some of the precious edge became dull.
Light. Protect him.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Oct 25, 2018 10:29:07 GMT -8
The boy looked at Porter as if he spoke madness, shaking his head as he outright ignored Dewitt in favor of informing the man what he did not know.
”Take you to the Masquerade, why, we are already here my good sir!” He said, turning around and throwing his hands outward to show the pearly white gates, the polished and colorful stone of high walls surrounded the place. Inside one could see people moving to and fro, lights, music, it was a right beautiful party as voices could barely be heard over the uproar of cheering inside.
”Now... sadly that won’t be possible. You would have to speak to the Composer herself, I can’t change her mind and I can’t disobey her. She won’t part lightly with him, and even without him it doesn’t change the fact there are less and less people coming to the place, hence why I don’t go out much anymore. Now we have to wait for your friends so ask any questions you want, and do be careful with your friend there, if he’s not then he’ll be kicked out and sent into the forest without her protection and join the Faceless whether or not he wants to. Plus the event begins the moment night falls, there are just special sections that will happen, one of them being you four!” The jester said turning around, the smile on his face gone with an awkward silence that enveloped the boy.
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