Tristan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angelcage) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hauntstart2025-07-12 09:58 pm
angelcage) wrote in hauntstart2025-07-12 09:58 pm
AN OPENING
[ When you died, you, amongst the many dead set adrift in the depths of unbecoming, were chosen by the world. You were caressed, stood back up, and death was brushed from your shoulders as they straightened your body back into a shape presentable enough to be a person again. Grave dirt sloughed from you. Your lungs and heart stretched, yawned, and opened to a pale dawn. You came back whole. Three gifts from the world that loves you were pressed into your hands.
You awaken in a world that loves few things. A world that even death picks over the offerings, taking few cleanly and completely, leaving old hurts pile up in the hinterlands outside the cities, where locals take refuge from ghosts and comfort and distraction in each other. Things go wrong here, frequently. Things go weird here, frequently. Reality is thin, as many parts of reality have better things to do than hang around here all day. Because you are loved, maybe things will go better for you while you are here.
You awaken, more specifically, in a part of the world called Lockscentre. This is a part of the world that is a city. You don't need to guess or be told either of these things, as you wake up in the clearly labeled LOCKSCENTRE STRANGER CEMETARY.
Or, well, it says that clearly when you climb out of your coffin.]
Maybe Violence's wet and ruddy hands took yours in hers with a firm grip.But three made contact, gave gifts, and the last one had one more offering to leave with you. Lastly, the world has given you a train ticket. Departure: any time. Destination: elsewhere. You just need to find the platform.
Maybe Hierarchy's gloved hands took yours in his with expectation behind that grasp.
Maybe The Audience's many hands swarmed up your hands and wrist, and shook with star-struck enthusiasm.
Maybe Charade's hands, bejeweled with costume jewelry, took yours and pressed a kiss to the back of your palm.
Maybe Challenge's rough calloused hands pumped your hand, grip tight and demanding answer.
Maybe Lore's hands, charged with unknown power, touched yours and a spark sizzled between you both.
Maybe Pain's taloned claws dug in, small pinpricks of pain welling up where skin came near to breaking.
Maybe Love's warm palms and gentle fingers entwined together with yours.
Maybe Portents's hands with nails freshly inked traced a runed pattern against the back of your hands.
Maybe Devils' hands, radiant with heat and promise, caressed yours with a giggle or pinched.
Maybe Architecture's hands in elegant angles shook yours in the precise motions of a promise sealed.
Maybe Death's phalanges and metacarpals locked about your hand and, for a moment, seemed they would never let go.
Maybe Life's verdant and furred hands met yours briefly, in an energetic clap of camaraderie.
Maybe Impulse's electric mechanisms whirred in an exploratory imitation of a greeting.
Maybe Controversy's hands held to yours fast, tugging you in opposite directions as they reluctantly parted.
Maybe The Bizarre's hands spiraled up about you and, with the cold impression of mist, vanished before you could return the clasp.
Maybe Miracle's gold and shining hands took yours in a shake of perfect agreement.
Maybe Prey's frantic and small hands pumped yours in an eager and nimble greeting, gone before you had a chance to react.
Maybe The Hunter's heavy strength enveloped your palm in their planned and patient grasp.
Maybe Corruption's scales slid up past your hand, wrist, and arm, up to your cheek, where she patted you with gentle sympathy.
You awaken in a world that loves few things. A world that even death picks over the offerings, taking few cleanly and completely, leaving old hurts pile up in the hinterlands outside the cities, where locals take refuge from ghosts and comfort and distraction in each other. Things go wrong here, frequently. Things go weird here, frequently. Reality is thin, as many parts of reality have better things to do than hang around here all day. Because you are loved, maybe things will go better for you while you are here.
You awaken, more specifically, in a part of the world called Lockscentre. This is a part of the world that is a city. You don't need to guess or be told either of these things, as you wake up in the clearly labeled LOCKSCENTRE STRANGER CEMETARY.
Or, well, it says that clearly when you climb out of your coffin.]
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If you wish to, you may hop on my shoulders again. Since you've so kindly opened the way for me, we shall leave this place and make certain those who locked us down here will regret it.
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it is psyched. at both the headpat and the offer. With one wild leap, it takes its place back on his shoulders, and points the way onward.
Which may be helpful. The upper level of the stranger cemetery is maze-like and green, with many more staircases leading downward to other locked crypts. Some sound like they contained more violent and mindless dead than you and your key-creature. But, eventually, there is the final gate: an opening with a small stone wall with a simple wooden gate. Nothing is preventing you from leaving now. A key (the correct key) sits beside the closed gates of the stone cemetery wall, a key that will also unlock a cabinet with packs with basic supplies: a little bit of currency, three days worth of food, a fishing tackle box. ]
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It is only when they are at the final gate that he reaches for it again, taking it off of his shoulder to set it down - surprisingly gentle ]
Take a few steps back. Let me see what these cabinets hold, and do not come close to me until I've exited that gate.
[ He will wait for the creature to obey his orders before taking the key and unlocking those cabinets - just in case there are traps ]
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These do not appear to be trapped. There is a very obvious sigil on each cabinet drawer, though. It reads, directly translated, One for One. Without further magic being performed, it might object to more than one pack being taken for one person ]
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If he can step out of it, he will wait for his Key buddy to come back to him ]
There will be more for you to hunt later.
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wellllll if you put it like thaaat...
It slinks back to him after splashing about some. It looks up at the gate with apprehension, though, hesitating on the threshold. But after the hesitation, it looks at him, and runs with gay abandon.
it clatters to the stone outside, just a key again. a key in the same bronze metal as the creature ]
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CAN HE STILL FEEL MAGIC FROM IT ]
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in fact, all magic aside, he can feel it physically shaking.
the same giggling that the coffin was doing before he opened it up in the first room.
>3c
It begins to grow its limbs again, taking its form with a big smug cheshire cat grin. ]
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Any longer in this form and I might have just kept you in my pocket. Now. If you do not have anywhere else to point me towards, I shall simply do as I please.
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onward! ]