What Do You Want? [Winter Festival; Closed]

[Alderache]

Alseroth found his way to where the scream originated, an area thronged by people. He pushed and shoved and elbowed his way through, ignoring the pained protests of the bystanders. There he saw the splayed body of a dead girl. A pang of sadness came from the corner of his mind that Alderache resided in currently, but Alseroth inwardly chuckled. But that died when he saw her face. Or lack of one. It was just a mess of shriveled skin, like the many wrinkles of elderly humans. This sent chills through both brothers. She looked as if she'd fallen from a major height, yet her skin survived the impact. Why was she so crushed, and yet, her skin was near perfect? Then his eyes shifted to the wiggling inside her chest. He held Shivara out in front of him. Whatever was in there, was not natural. It formed a pit in his stomach. He tapped the Evantia Mark on the back of his neck. He may despise Wysar, but that was one helluva gift to let go to waste. The thing inside the corpse continued to move, shape, adjust. Alseroth knew when the awful mess was about to rise, but sensed no attack from it. The former girl began to scare and startle the crowd, reaching, grabbing, crawling. Alderache could hear the monks organizing within and outside of the crowd, but this was his prey now. Those monks would not be stealing his glory of the kill. “Over there! Look!” That was enough distraction for the crowd, and for Alseroth. He found himself looking away, and seeing nothing. Then he sensed the girl was about to flee. And she did. Alseroth was too slow to stop her, but he wasn't too slow to give chase. He began forcing his way through the crowd once more. He kept his Lakan blade tucked against him, but he was very generous with throwing out elbows, shoves, and near tackles. Men, women, children, all in his path, soon found him tearing past them, chasing the creature, not realizing that it was in the direction of the previous distraction. As he neared the end of the crowd, he kissed Shivara on the flat of her blade, ready to kill whatever was just ahead.

[Damian]

Hunger had at last been sated, at least until after a walk or trot, gotta keep the figure up for masculinity's sake. He looked around the area and watched as merry people walked around outside of the city walls. A chunk of fruit missed his mouth and landed on the ground below. Someone,swiftly, reprimand the carelessness he had shown. “You're lucky you don't have to eat it off the floor.” The man said with an upturned nose. Damian only stared at the elegantly dressed gentleman then down at the bit of fruit. The man had turned and Damian watched his hair swing and settle along his back. The hair was about shoulder's length and Damian couldn't help but wonder what he'd look like with long, elegant hair. As he raked his fingers food covered fingers through the gritty and greasy hair he was quick to dismiss the idea. “Just one more thing for something to grab hold of,” he rationalized before he eyed the last bit of food on the ground. He looked back up and watched the variety of people that mingled during the festivities. He wondered something about humans as they interacted with others in fresh or even new clothing. “Is it to possibly impress mates?” Knees buckled gracefully as he kneeled. “No that couldn't be it. That strange girl in the woods only had a, what was it called again? Oh yeah,” His rump swayed excitedly over his knees, “A dress! I wonder if I looked any good in that dress? Why of course you did. I did? Yeah you looked.” Damian snickered to himself as he had an internal conversation, “Bah, who are you kidding Damian. You looked ridiculous! Why do these creatures cover their bodies in cloth? Are they hiding something? Perhaps it is their bodies! Could they be hiding fat?” Damian gasped then straightened his torso and quickly ran a hand over his flat chest. “Damian! You've let yourself go, cover your body, how shameful.” He chuckled to himself. A breeze soon rolled over his skin and caused an odd, unfamiliar sensation to roll across his spine. His skin became bumpy as he ran his hands over them before he moved to hands and knees. “Bah, one thing for certain is these human creatures are...odd.” His nose lowered to the bit of food before his tongue licked out to pick up the last bit of food. The extra grit did little to discourage him from the completion of his meal. He began to grow bored on his knees but was quickly jerked out of it as he noticed someone as they ran through the gate. “Play time? I don't know, lets follow them. Sounds like a glorious idea if I say so myself. Do you?” Damian stood up and began to run after the person to see where they may lead him. He frowned however when his chase ended with the person re-joining a group of other people. "Packs? Humans settle into packs like us?" The voice in his head continued to analyze. "But what is that delectable smell?" He unconsciously followed the sweet smell of fruit and alluring scents. It was a mystery as to where they manifested from. It only spurred on his playful curiosity! He finally found himself back in the quarry. Stacks of red stone made man made spires as he followed his nose.

[Boris]

"Ow!" Before she could recognize what she had ran into, Boris was landing on her rump on the hard road, skinning her elbows as they absorbed much of the impact. Feeling her weight involuntarily hit the ground was jarring, too used to the forgiving, gentle gravity of the ocean. For a moment it was even upsetting, and she neared on tears, but the feeling passed and she craned her neck.

She recognized the man from earlier, who'd been standing near Shadekus. It was the hair she noticed first, similar to her own choice of style. His deep, tawny complexion reminded Boris of the faces she remembered from her first home, far, so very far from here. It meant she would automatically like him.

Wincing from the pain in her elbows, Boris awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. A flurry of gravely footsteps turned her head, and she saw the subject of her chase disappear around a structure of clay and mortar. Her heart fluttered with the pang of defeat, but the man in front of her now was more important. He regarded her with a respectful distance, proving himself not to be a threat, which meant he could become an ally. She was about to say as much, but was perplexed by his question.

"Me too?" she echoed in bewilderment, but he didn't look about to explain. He only looked at her with gentle, handsome eyes and made a human gesture. Boris guessed at its meaning as he dashed off again. The stranger meant no harm, and felt no threat from her, and furthermore seemed to be chasing the same man that had lured her. This gave them common goals. They were now allies.

With a giddy laugh, Boris' employed her long legs in a renewed sprint, forgetting the ache in her arms.

[Liar]

Diligent monks kept a border around the bulk of the people at the south of the quarries, throwing threats and weapons to create a fragile calm among the throng. Plenty of others broke free of the attempted order, drawn to the thing that had escaped them, the pale monster that had risen between them. Or was it something else? No one could see, but everyone wanted to. And so they scrambled and ran and screamed. Those at the front of the crowd never seemed to remain for long. They were constantly being exchanged for their faster, more enthusiastic peers, and soon many were falling and tripping, left to the mercy of frantic feet. Nobody could catch more than a glimpse of it, whatever it was. One moment it was a black-furred, long-toothed monster that was ripping a man to pieces, and in the next that poor man was gone, and it was a known criminal with blood on his hands. Then it was the glowing body of a malicious mage, or a terrified child crying for its mother, or a giant red akalak, roaring Wysar’s name. The unlikely pair led the mob, for the most part. Jett knew only the recognition he would earn in defeating it, and Alseroth’s mind was consumed in the undeniable hunger for a good fight. As soon as one of them stopped, the rest rushed ahead of them, and yet they seemed to have the strength to push ahead nonetheless. They were so close, their limbs aching to the bone with the stress of the chase, but every step brought them that much closer. Every step felt like it could be the last, and yet it wasn’t. But maybe, once they reached out to strike... It was headed toward the Gates. The crowd there had already begun to part, fully aware of the horde of people that approached them. There were so many people, so many lives pushing and boiling over each other. Yet, no one seemed to wonder where the order had gone, or thought to blame the monks and the gods for the pandemonium that had risen from their peaceful celebration.

Damian’s nose led him to the store of surplus stone at one side of the quarries, piled up against the northwestern wall in long rows. They loomed close and high, intimidating to stand under, but something like curiosity must have spurred him onward—that, or the sudden and distinct change in the scents that filled into his nostrils. What had once been spiced fruits and fragrant cakes became something far more enticing. At his feet had been laid a trail of food much like that which Jag had seen, but to the wolf it seemed more like thick, raw meat in pools of deliciously warm blood, steaming like life in the cold Winter air. And just like the food his fellow kelvic followed, it would disintegrate when neared, impossible to eat but electrifying to smell. If he were to follow the path which the magical food seemed to lay for him, he would soon come upon a lane that was already occupied. At the other end stood a sitting man, a crouching man, and a small girl. Before he had the chance to look at them properly, something tall and thin bumped into him abruptly. The person seemed to have been rushing, not looking where they were going, but as soon as Damian had the chance to look and see who it was, it was nowhere to be found. In the second after the impact, Damian would find himself impossibly fatigued. His legs were suddenly jelly and sticks, his eyes heavy and his fingertips numb. It was the gift of the stone alley’s peculiar acoustics that allowed him to hear the conversation that passed at its other end. “Can I not touch it because it’s yours? Are you a wizard?” “What? I—no, well I... I prefer to call myself a scholar.” “We’re looking for someone—her sister, Mishka.” “Everyone is, aren’t they? Everyone is looking for something. It seems you’re hungry, or just simple-minded, if all you see is food.” “Mishka,” Minna said, tugging on Jag’s coat and pointing toward Damian. “I saw Mishka. I see her. She’s right over there! Come on!” But when Jag looked, all he could see was the seed. It increased into glorious piles by the time it reached the end, but out there was impossibly distant, unreachable. If he looked long enough, he would notice that the piles were receding, crawling away, and the scraps around him followed like the dragging tail of a cloak. The food, or the illusion: whatever it was, it was leaving with the promise to never return again. “I saw... my boy,” he was explaining. His breath seemed to be coming to him easier, with rest to heal it. “But I got close enough—I saw it, for what it really was, like I had read once. Then I fell, and it got away. You can still see it, if you look for it... I don’t think it got all the way down to the end. This one’s strong, and I saw it with my own eyes! Xannos’s jewels, I saw it!”

Together, Boris and Kassan pursued that man, who was both absconding a scene and playing a game. He was two men that were one, or maybe one that was two. And as soon as the monk put more of his attention on the pursuit than the mask in his hand, it would disappear; any effort to retrieve it would be wasted, because the man was still running away, getting away, and yet never leaving their sight. The mask he seemed to have once held so dearly has been discarded as if it were nothing, and the smiling japes that had once looked back at Boris were all but forgotten in the urgency of his flight. He took every turn available to him, seeming to keep to the darkest streets, where the sun could not reach. It was harder to see him there, and somehow easier; even as their fatigued muscles forced them to move slower, so did he seem to lag behind just enough to entice them. Once he even waved a hand and yelled, “Go away!” And his voice was indistinct and unmemorable, and it served only to compel them further. Then they reached a dead end. It was a long alley, but it was still framed on three sides by tall red walls. It was an impasse that could corner most, and it sufficed to trap the man they pursued. The shadows seemed all-consuming, but it was only afternoon. Their eyes soon adjusted, and what they saw there, darting noiselessly between the corners as if searching for the darkest one, was not the man they had imagined. Its naked shape was vaguely human, its height much like a man’s and its skin much like a Nykan’s. It seemed so thin it must have been boneless, and yet it moved with alarming speed, scraping and searching for a way out. In the short glimpses it granted of its flailing head, it showed them its facelessness. With the hallucination negated by this discovery, the sweet stench it emitted was suddenly stronger, almost sickeningly so. And every step closer was a struggle in strength, a battle against the aura of exhaustion that surrounded it. It could not leave this alley, not until the lives that blocked its path were ended.

[Damian]

Damian had been frustrated as he walked through the tall, blood stained, stone of the quarry. He could smell and see his favorite delicacy, meats of all sorts, but could never reach them. Each time his hand would reach down to snag a piece. However, would only bring back dust, which drifted away in the air like a promise as it slides from through fingers. But it was strange, the food returned and taunted Damian. Like a fish at the end of the hook, something dangled false promises in front of his nose and guided him further and further into the quarry. But his travels slowed as he quieted his frustrated growls and grunts. His red ringed eyes caught sight of two figures. He couldn't make out the details even as he leaned forward to attempt and focus harder. It happened suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he noticed something move swiftly. His eyes darted to see what it was and felt a firm push. His yelp of start was stifled by his hands pressed over his lips as he frantically looked around to see who had startled him. "Well that was a bit odd," he spoke to himself as he settled down. "Calm down Damian, it is just your imagination. Just calm. Okay too calm, what is going on?" Damian felt his body begin to numb as his legs seemed to be as much help as string. As his body collapsed onto the dusty ground he felt sluggish. "Wooah, I should hyperventilate more often. I'm so numb to the world, wait is that voices?" The voices carried over the curve of the stone wall. The quarry acted much like an amphitheater. The two figures he had seen earlier talked in an almost cryptic way to each other. "Mishka? Who the Hai is Mishka?" Damian's head slowly turned his head to see that the smaller figure had pointed his way. "Crap! Should I try to run," he pushed with his legs but found them too uncoordinated to be of any use, "What is going on? How am I going to have play time if I don't have surprise?" These were all important question of course to the dog.

[Jett Variona]

His chest heaved with every pounding step he took. Stitches were tugging at his side painfully, as if the claws of a thousand tiny creatures were ripping at his insides. Still Jett soldiered on, Agnis raised high in preparation. He could taste her excitement, as if he weren't just imagining it. Their quarry, no, his quarry was swift and unrelenting. After all, he would be the one to catch and kill it. Not only was it his duty, but such an act would bring glory to his name. He'd sing about it in the tavern, and the song would catch on and spread to every corner of Nyka and all would know his triumph. It was strange, as if he were compelled on by a force other than his own. It was more than just desire to be famous, it was almost like he was unable to stop even if he wanted to. The creature seemed to change, but no matter how it turned and writhed through the streets, he knew he would not lose sight of it, whatever it was. Even if there was something else in his desires, something hidden even to him, it was imperative that what must be a creature from the Aperture not escape and continue its rampage through the city. Fueled by a new resolve, Jett raised Agnis high and bellowed a fearsome cry, pushed himself off of a cart into the air and came back down to the ground in a heavy hope of connecting with the creatures ugly head.

[Kassan]

Kassan continued the chase, and it seemed that the moment his attention went back to pursuit, the mask faded from existence. And suddenly he felt confused. As if none of this were real. As if he'd missed something all along. The girl seemed to follow him, and as they caught up with the man, they came into a long thin alleyway. There were lots of such places in Nyka, it was easy to get lost if one went wandering at night. But this wasn't night, and Kassan blinked into the shadows, suddenly gripping his glaive uneasily. What was going on? There was a transitory darkness, like a veil casting itself over the light. With the girl beside him, gradually he began to make out the figure. Slender, boneless. Like some amorphous being, slipping through time. And it turned momentarily, its face as blank as the walls around it. Kassan recoiled back, disgusted by what he saw. Was this spawn of the aperture, or something else entirely? His nostrils curled, a horribly sweet stench touching them, and it was scrabbling too, as if trying to escape. They both watched it for a moment, Kassan turning to the girl, heart thundering. This was not the man who had saved him from the slavers. Not even in the slightest. Had the mask... the figure... had it all been some sort of illusion? "What... what is that?" he began, instincitvely trying to protect the girl. He was a monk, and protection was simply his duty, even in the face of this unknown horror. "Stay behind me," he finally said, cooly but firmly. The figure turned to look straight at them, as if it knew they were only obstacles in its path. Kassan held his glaive in front of him, whispering a mantra to Uphis. Preserve me, defend me, lend me your strength. And then he faced the creature. He was angry, for this figure had presented him with the past. But introspectively, he was scared too. He had never seen anything like this, and he didn't know what to expect from it.

[Alderache]

Alseroth was ready for a truly good fight. It had been so long since he'd been able to push himself. He saw the break in the front of the crowd ahead, and pumped his arms, his breath becoming more and more faint. He angled himself for an opening at the front of the crowd. Just as he was nearly there, a civilian rushing in the excitement filled the gap. Alseroth couldn't stop in time, and barreled over the person, falling hard into the dirt past them. The man was likely injured from the brute strength of an Akalak crashing into him. Alseroth began picking himself up, and was already running again before he even reached a full standing. Alseroth pumped his arms hard, his chest beginning to pain from the exertion. He really needed to run more, this was embarrassing for one of his race. Whatever it was that he was chasing was making for the city gates. Al knew he needed to break away from the group or he'd never catch it. He pulled at his reserves of energy, and surged forward, breaking out in front. He was glad to not be wearing his boots, they would've just hindered him. He saw a man up ahead leap off a cart to swing at something. Was he striking at his prey? HIS prey?!? Regardless if the man injured his prey or not, Alseroth raced passed the cart and leapt forward, planning to tackle the creature with his shoulder. He needed to get it to stop running, and that was the way to do it. He knew the landing would likely be rough, but years of training with his Akalak brethren would allow him to stand quickly and have Shivara at the ready.

[Jag]

The man’s warning fell on deaf ears. Jag laced his fingers between those of the girl and plodded after the receding seed. She came along easily enough; it took little more than an insistent tug to convince her to chase what she could only see as a lost sibling.

“Faster, come on!” He tugged at the hand that trailed him. The delicious mix of seed and feasting maggots was always one more step out of his reach. Faster, faster, yes, we’re almost there. Got it!

When he collided with a warm wall of flesh, his legs buckled and left the earth and the sky turned on its head. A heartbeat later he was on his back, staring upward at what had been, moments before, a pillar of yellow seed. The smell of it had gone with distraction. He could hear the girl mewling a few feet away, no doubt as disappointed as he was in the revelation.

Jag sat up, shook dirt from matted hair and palmed tiny rocks from pale skin. “That hurt,” he observed. His knees knocked together. He pushed himself from the ground, fumbled with the stolen jacket’s hold on his waist. “Where’d the seed go? What did you do with it?” Jag’s gaze darted between their find, and the worried face of the girl. “You’re not Mishka. You’re that man’s boy, then. He said that he saw his boy; you should go to him, stop being in the way. You’re in the way where you are now.”

[Liar]

OOC :

We should be able to finish this in two or three more rounds. Only three of you remain, but the reward will be worth the wait, I promise.

For more information, check this out.

Jett The hammer came down on the beast, swift and certain. Whatever form he had seen in its last moments disappeared instantly, leaving a mess of blood and bloated flesh on the glittering ground. Though the monk and the akalak beside him had managed to come out ahead of the crowd, it caught up with them soon enough. People quickly encircled it, close enough to see but far enough to keep safe from whatever might happen next. There was something bittersweet in the victory. The promise of fame, that deep-seated desire, had dissipated with its death, and Jett was left with the emptiness of confusion. What happened? What was that thing? The people asked. She was possessed, only a girl; you killed her. She—or, rather, it—was the size of a man now, and twice as wide. The skin it had stolen was stretched thin, its crushed head showing no signs of bone or muscle. Somehow, something had made it grow; murmurs suggested it would have kept growing until it was large enough to turn back and consume them all. A small boy reached out to touch it, but his mother pulled him quickly away. Jett’s fellows pushed through the horde in minutes, pulling them back from their savior and his prey. “Bring it to the Infirmary,” one suggested. “Or the Palace,” said another, making to peel it from the ground. “They’ll know what to do with it,” yet another nodded, and the wall they had created deteriorated as the monks’ curiosity got the better of them, and dozens of hands bent to touch the dead thing.

Kassan It was clearly afraid, though it had no eyes to see or voice to scream. It grew more frantic as the monk neared, darting between the corners of the alley and scraping at the red stone walls. And then he was too close for even its comfort. It tried to lunge at him, its flabby fingers grasping for his face with peculiar accuracy. But despite the strange intuition that told it where Kassan stood, its true blindness left it ignorant to his weapon. It carved a shallow red slice into its own side and recoiled immediately, pulling its hands to the new pain and staggering away from its source with certain alacrity. It fell hard into the opposite wall, but it did not stay there for long. Evading the sharp polearm, the creature reached for Boris instead, a body it could only guess was less properly armed. Its bloodied hands clutched her face on both sides, and her body seemed to sag within its clutches. A smile flickered across her lips before she fell completely limp, but it held her up nonetheless. As it stared at her with its unseeing face, it grew; its arms and belly bulged as the kelvic slowly began to lose her color...

Jag “No,” the girl insisted. “Not him. There!” They were near the other end of the lane by then. She took the lead when her search partner paused, tugging him around the corner and into the open air of the greater quarries. There he saw the apparently endless pile, having gathered itself up in a neatly tempting mass of moist, odorous grub. Minna shrieked happily and ran for it. It seemed to hesitate then, that great magic mound; at least, it did not flee the pursuing pair. There was a mob of people opposite the yard, all focused on some attraction at its center, but as the two emerged from the stacks, a few heads on the edge of the horde turned toward them. Mouths fell open, fingers pointed, feet scraped against the hard red dirt. A good portion of them began to approach Jag, his ward and his food, breaking to a run as they neared. Seconds later, just as he might have gotten close enough to grab a mouthful, the object of his longing turned toward the city wall. Just like its brother the Dead Thing, it fled for the gates with a growing tail of reaching, curious bodies in pursuit.