And then suddenly they are bright, almost blinding by contrast, as the clearing begins to cloud over with a thick, silvery-white mist. Sterling snorts and stumbles backward, startled, uneasy. The mist rises swiftly around his pasterns, then past his knees, reaching toward his shoulders. He wheels, staggering between the trees, afraid to breathe it in.
But the fog in his brain and the fog in the wood are beginning to run together, now, and if there is an escape he cannot find it. Half-drunk, half-awake with panic, he circles in, tighter, until there is nothing but himself and the coiling mist. He breathes heavily, reluctantly, his flanks heaving, but it doesn’t smell like anything but humid air.
And then the wailing starts, and all worries of mist flee from his mind. “Help me,” he remembers, and a chill spider-walks across his heart. Is it the same voice? Is it crying out as prey, or predator? He shudders and tries to peer through the white veils of fog, hoping to see anything at all—
But the mist rises, tall and opaque, and the wailing, too, grows louder, spiraling out into a thousand voices, haunting and cold. Sterling cannot see; he cannot think; he cannot hear anything beyond the ghostly rush of sound. He is too bewildered even to be truly afraid.
He stills, his muscles trembling. He closes his eyes. He swallows around the thump of his pulse in his throat, and listens to the keening.
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
The fog sets in, swimming like eels, drifting like phantoms. It curls about trees, sighing itself between root and leaf. It is the breath of night and Tenebrae makes it stir as he drifts through its mist.
Shadows dance with the silver of mist, it blends until his magic and the strangeness of this woodland fog are one. All of the forest is silent, there is not a breeze to stir the trees or make the woodland boughs groan in their slumber.
Far below the Disciple moves, little more than a slip of the night, loosed upon the forest floor. Tenebrae’s eyes gleam moonlight bright as he looks into the fog that rises, rises and gathers like souls upon the shore of the Styx. He stops, as still as Charon, a sentinel, a guard in the deep of the black wood.
There is no fear in the face he tips up toward the sky. For what has a creature of shadows got to fear of the night? The Stallion looks for the moon, but the fog swallows her like his darkness swallows the sun. Ah, Tenebrae might have smiled, he might have laughed, if not for the cry that waves through the fog. It is joined by another and another until all the woodland is crying out with spirit voices.
Tenebrae listens to the howls and does not move. Oh how steady in his breast is his heart that beats, slow and steady. It is a waltz of blood and tissue. A dance that marks him alive, alive, alive. The living should not fear the dead.
But they do.
Tenebrae waits and listens as the forest cries out her haunting agony.
The chorus of voices suddenly stops, but the fog does not let up just yet. It covers every inch of the forest where it's impossible to see even a hoof in front of you. It's as if you're wandering the Otherworld itself.
For those of you who stayed in place to wait out the fog, you will find it starts to wrap around your body. It seems to swallow you whole and the ground beneath you disappears. Moments later, you find yourself looking out into the woods again like you had never entered. Somehow though, it seems more menacing than before with a barrier of thorns wrapping around it. Clearly it does not want you to re-enter.
Those of you who chose to try and find your way through the fog will not get very far yet. Some of you may find yourself face to face with a tree, others just fog and more fog. It may feel like it will never go away and you're trapped here.
"Run!" a voice screams out of nowhere, the sound echoing around the woods. Suddenly the fog gets thinner. A few feet ahead it begins to curl with transparent tendrils turning into smoke and then to black. It transforms into a gangly creature made of shadows with two red beady eyes. More and more appear until there is a large cluster of them. They stare off in the other direction listlessly until they notice you. They turn in unison and fly straight towards you, red eyes glowing with anger.
Somewhere, you can still hear that cry for help. It sounds more faint and desperate now, as if the shadowy creatures are attacking her too.
Those who chose to wait through the fog in this first round will find themselves lifted back to where they started and cannot re-enter. Everyone else is still inside the woods, but the fog has now transformed itself into multiple shadowy ghost creatures. They are clearly not happy as they turn and attack.
Your character has two options:
Try to fight off the shadowy creatures
- Or - Try and dodge their attacks, hoping they will pass you and go attack someone else
What will they choose?
Please mark your character’s choice clearly at the end of your post! A random dice roll will be done to determine which choice allows you to move forward. You have until 11:59pm EST on Thursday, October 31st to reply.
Below Zero
my frost philosophy will put no curse on me
Was it bravery that kept the mare moving forwards, or determination. Perhaps it was a desire to succeed and help another. Whatever her reason, she hadn't let the fog slow her down - even as her own cyan glow seemed to turn the fog around her into an eerie gleam of pale silver-blue. Eerie was a perfect description for this night so far. A voice crying for help. The cries and chorus of voices. The clinging fog that came from nowhere - and a dark forest to top it all off. Bel wasn't about to let it slow her down. She'd out swam a kraken through an obstacle of seamounts. She'd faced down an adolescent shark in a swim to survive. She'd made it this far - and no forest (haunted or not) would take her down now.
Bel moved still, carrying further into the fog, struggling to find her way - coming face to face with tree limbs at times, and other times seeming to walk endlessly seeing nothing but the fog. The voices stopped - a suddennes that seemed almost eerie. First chatter - but then nothing. Like entire forest suddenly chose to hold its' breath and wait. Wait for what, Bel didn't know - but with the way things were going, she wasn't sure if she wanted to find out. run! Bel freezes up at the voice, turning and trying to pinpoint the location with no real look. The voice seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, echoing all around her. As if the voice had turned a switch, the fog suddenly starts to go thin, and ahead, tendrils are seeming to grow, whisping into smoke, shifting from near transparent into black as knight. Creature of shadows, with red eyes. One, and then two and then a whole cluster.
Bel holds her breath, her entire body going still as her flight instinct starts to jump up, prepping her for a daring run to safety. They turn towards her, and just as she's about to spin, her frilled ears catch that cry for help, and her heart steels. No, not again. She would not walk away from a distressed individual again. Not like Polar. This would not end like Polar! A snarl touched the mare's face, contorting it - the angles suddenly shifting into harsher lines as her eyes glow at the creatures flying towards her. Angry red eyes meet determined cyan - both sets seeming to glow. Bel's neck arches, her fin snaps up and her horns are presented as a strong defense as her fangs glittered from the sides of her mouth. A cree leaves her muzzle, a sound of the oceans, a sound of the depths; echoing through the mist and fog that still remained. And as those creatures flew towards her she raised forward herself, ready to warn them off, attack until they surrendered. Her powerful tail swooping through one of the shadowed figures, dispersing it before her angled ram horns caught another.
"I'm coming! I promise, I'm coming!" She managed in between blows to the shadow creatures, her end goal still on the voice asking for help, her determination never waivering. She would find them. She would help them. One way or another. She wasn't going to give up on them. This wouldn't end like Pol. It couldn't end like Pol! She would save someone, even if it was the last thing she did!
Thoughts Speech
Notes: Bel chooses to try and fight off the shadowy creatures
i feel no cold, i feel no fear inside my mind Now I'm full of energy
Fear does funny things to a body - and even as Cally might normally have enjoyed a dark wooded area - explored it until the sun was high ahead - the first disembodied voice had been spooky enough - calling for help with in the depths off the converging tree trunks. She'd written it up as an individual lost in the maze of trees however. But as the fog rose up, and more voices screamed and cried from all around her - and she KNEW there was no one there - the fear had started to creep into her mind. Fear of what she couldn't see. Of monsters and ghosts and ghouls and all kinds of frightening things. The fog grew thicker, the voices louder, her heart pounded harder, her breath more ragged, her eyes more wide and white. And she ran, bounding off in a way that resembled a deer bounding from danger, practically bouncing away. Gotta move, gotta run, gotta escape . . . and that cry of help kept that fear-induced run in a direction.
Then things began to change again. As if flipping the needle off a record, the forest was suddenly silent - no sounds, no ghosts groaning and crying. No birds speaking, no trees whistling, or small animals moving. Just still and silent. It was instinct that had her trying to reach for a magic she couldn't access yet. For the briefest of moment she had thought she'd felt something stir, but quickly dismissed it, even as she fought to control her heartbeat. Her steps slowed, the bounding run turning into a slot trot and then a walk before she stopped and looked around. Where was she? Had she even been paying attention to where she had gone? Had she moved very far at all? Had she gone in circles. There was no murmur of the trees to assist, and at the moment her own senses seemed dulled by the fear that had her breath still leaving her in plants. "Hey?! You still out there? Uh, needing help an' all?" She finally called out.
She's met by a scream echoing around her - bouncing of bark and through leaves. A cry of the banshee, that struck a deeper cord of fear than before - not for the scream itself but the word it had cried out to her, run! . . . . . . from . . . what? Her heart had picked up again, her large eyes growing larger, white visible as her head shot around, trying to see anything. Her ears twisted in all directions in an attempt to figure out what had spoken to her - why.
And then she noticed them, the pillars of fog turning to smoke. Black as ink, black as a blood clot. Her breath was coming in pants at this point, her hooves clapping against the earth in an odd rhythm. The forms congealed tighter, weaving together until a creature of nightmares stood made of shadows with gleaming red eyes that seemed hungry and angry and all other frightening emotions you didn't want to meet in the nighttime. A whimper left the deer's muzzle, and the doe was suddenly growing more and more afraid. More shadowy figures joined the first, until there were more than she can count. They turned, towards her, and as they charged, a shrill scream tore from Cally's muzzle and she took off.
Her fear, the bounding of blood in her ears, it muted her to the cries for help and she ran. Ran from the beasts, the monstrocities. Ran for her life, ran as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. Gone was the little hybrid, instead the deer was back, her eyes wide, ears alert, tail flagged in fear with the white banner screaming 'coward' as she bounded away. She lept over roots with ease, rounded large tree trunks, dived under low hanging branches. Ran faster, and faster still, tunnel vision focusing her only on the path ahead, ears only focused on the path behind and those . . . things . . . taking chase . . . "AAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Her chilling cry of fear tore through the air, penetrating the tree limbs tangled above and spooking the few hiding birds into flight. And still she ran, ran for all her worth, ran to some sort of safety, ran from those monsters! She just . . . ran.
They soon caught up to her, as a sudden wide tree appeared out of nowhere, stopping her in her tracks. Back against the tree, she quivered in fear, eyes wide, entire body shaking as the loomed all the closer. She froze, eyes squeezing shut, and making herself as tiny as possible, praying they'd either end her quick, or go around her and after someone else. She was too young to die!!!
"Speech"
Cally is disengaging and hoping the spirits will ignore her and chase after someone else instead little Cally is scared Cally - she doesn't like ghosties
Let's jump on the sun and ride it to tomorrow together, where everything is brighter and sure to be better.
It seems to happen within seconds. At first, she can hear Charlie’s voice in the distance, although she could no longer see the child’s form with all the fog. Corrdelia is blindly walking forward with one cautious step after another in case she walks into anything dangerous. Still, she is not able to find the girl again and she starts to worry. What would her parents think if she had been responsible for losing her? The girl was quite independent anyway, but she would never forgive herself. Hopefully, wherever she is, her bonded is protecting her.
The fog appears to be lifting ever so slightly and the woman squints her eyes forward. She attempts to make out anything around her that would give her a better idea of where to go. She doesn’t seem to have any luck, but then she sees red. It’s a pair of glowing orbs in the distance and they seem to be multiplying. She takes another couple steps forward and Hasta is right by her side.
"This isn’t safe, we need to find a way out of here," the crow warns her.
"Are you able to fly up ahead and help me? I can’t find a path at all." "I can try," she says before flying up into the air and disappearing into the fog above them. Now she is alone and it turns out to be a mistake.
She can see the fog transforming into some deranged dark creature. The red orbs are in fact a pair of eyes and there are several creatures up ahead. They keep multiplying until there’s a huge group of them. Fear catches in Corr’s throat as the fog thins and thins. Pretty soon, while she may be able to see her surroundings, so will these creatures. Quickly, she goes to crouch down behind some bushes along a cluster of trees. Her hope is that her gray form will blend in with the surroundings and the creatures won’t find her.
"Hasta, be on alert. There are some kind of demon spirits ahead of me." "Get out of there then!" "I can’t, they’ll see me."
Even though the pair are speaking through telepathy, it seems the shadow creatures heard a noise somehow. Through a space in the brush, Corr sees them lurch forward, red eyes glowing. They aren’t looking at Corr but they are on the hunt for something (or someone). She prays to Vespera that it’s not Charlie or Indy.
Thankfully, they speed past Corr’s hiding spot and head further away into the woods. For now, maybe she’ll be safe.
(Corr chooses option 2, dodging their attacks by hiding from them in hopes she can avoid them)
Fogs grow thicker as bodies are encompassed, enveloped in white and grey. Hers stays rooted down when voices rise - the voices of others who came and stopped. They are plucked like fat hens ready for slaughter, taken somewhere that Moira does not know. They are not hers to save.
They are not hers to keep.
Others move forward, pushing mists into her face, pushing creatures out of the way and further into hiding. The phoenix does not know how to stop any longer, not when a voice wails and cries out. Cries of a child take her back, back into haunting memories of when she was left helpless and alone. Made to suffer at the hands of others, of those who wanted to perfect her, to purify her, to cleanse her, to punish her for the sins of her parents; Moira remembers those dark, cold days now as the child cries out.
They beg them all to run, but her body has forgotten how to turn away. Most healers of the Tonnerre clan would only go where needed. That part of her does not demand she see the child and fix her. It is not what drives her. It is the memories - always the memories - that come back around and push and push until dams are bursting and freezing and there are torrential storms within to raise the dead she’s buried so far underground.
Not far enough.
Never far enough.
Soon, all too soon the mists curl and thin. Eyes peer at her, and they are the damnable gazes of the Tonnerres leering at the little girl with chained wings. They are the monsters sent to terrify a child and ensure she never steps out of line, that she knows her place no matter the cost.
Then they are charging and her heart is pounding and for a moment, only a moment, Moira is stuck, ensnared, unable to fight back. She is a girl again waiting for the other boot to fall, for the plucking of feathers, the heat searing skin, the chains to tie her to the ground for and eternity until she has no desire to taste the sky and let it fill her breast with clouds.
A phantom claw nearly catches her, and then, the phoenix explodes. Light pours from the freckling of stars upon her back, a galaxy upon her skin. It spears out, it solidifies into scythes and swords and pale spears. Moira’s mouth is a grim line. The Arabian girl is a wisp of a thing compared to the nearly massless monsters. They pile atop one another to form goliaths, and still her fear is a frozen thing, trapped inside a cage of ice to pound and pound at the surface, unable to break free and push her away from the danger.
She comes near a trunk where a girl cowers, where a beast lunges, and Moira throws herself into the side of it, breaths coming in soft pants now. Once Cally has no threat looming above her, the phoenix turns and moves into the mists once more, her spearing light trailing like a blaze of fire.
And she tells herself, over and over, I am Moira Tonnerre, daughter of the great Tonnerre Estate, and I will not be afraid.
The fog is thick and it makes moving through the forest difficult, if not impossible. Her pace is slow and she is trying so desperately to not bump into a tree or any other individual who might also be lost in this fog. It seems as though the farther she goes through the fog, the farther she feels from the voice. But she does not lose hope yet. She continues forward, hoping that soon, the fog will lift and she can quicken her pace.
Eventually, the fog begins to clear and Katniss is thankful. She watches as it begins to thin out and she takes this time to quicken her pace and work harder towards the voice. But something makes her pause in her search for the voice. Something ominous has gotten her attention.
Just head, the fog has turned to black, the black shadows forming into some sort of creature that she has never seen before. Their red, beady eyes are settled on her and they do not look pleased. But Katniss does not fear them. She is not here to be afraid of creatures, but to rescue the individual that is crying out for help and telling her to run. She will never run. She will always fight.
And so as the creatures fly forward, Katniss takes a deep, cleansing breath. She knows what she must do. She is a protector, a warrior, a fighter. She knows she must take on these creatures so she can continue on to save the individual. And as they fly towards her, she charges towards them.
The fog is so thick, it makes him feel as though he cannot catch his breath. It fills his lungs and blinds him, making it nearly impossible to navigate through a forest he’s never been in before. And yet, Rhone cannot ignore the cries of the other, the one who’s seeking help. How could he ignore her cries? He knows he must continue and so, he puts on a brave face so that he might not look quite as scared when he finally finds the one asking for aid.
But soon, there is a command shouted far louder than the mysterious cries and wails of the forest, far louder than then cries for help. It tells him to run and Rhone takes a moment to ponder if he should follow the command. But Rhone is no coward. He cannot run away knowing there is still someone out there who needs his help. So against his better judgement, Rhone continues through the thick fog, hoping that soon it will clear.
And it does clear, in a sense. Instead of the fog moving away, it seems to change color and collect, turning from fog into creatures of black shadows with red eyes. It is a frightening sight and Rhone wants nothing more than to run. But there is still those cries for help. Someone is still asking for aid and Rhone wonders if the one who is asking for help has been confronted with these same individuals.
And then the creatures are charging. He is unsure of what to do, seeing so many stay put and so many charge to fight. Rhone is not a fighter, not really. He is no warrior. He is a fighter of words, not strength and brawn. And so, Rhone tries to dodge the creatures, hoping to run past them and towards the voice calling for aid.
My skin is a map Of all the battles I've fought Of all the lives I've taken Of all the people I've lost
As time trickled by, invisible and untellable, the fog grew dangerously thick. Castalla settled into a spirited trot, all senses on alert as she found herself nearly walking into trees and bushes entirely obscured by the suffocating mist. A perpetual snarl fixed upon her pale face, she uttered silent curses to the heavens as clawed branches leered from behind the ephemeral curtain, reaching with fingerless tips to grab at her hair and eyes. Right now her senses were all but useless, scents damped by the thick fog, site obscured and audits all but rendered deaf as though the smog were a blanket thrown over the entire forest. And yet there were voices, a chorus of cries, shouts and screams that tore through the hush like knives. Until they didn’t. Until, as though someone had ripped them from the world, the voices fell silent.
Run! Her senses scream it at the same time as the bodiless voice, roaring at her to run, to get out of there.
Anyone who tells you they don’t feel fear is lying- even the stoutest of hearts, the fiercest of warriors feel fear. Castalla’s heart tripped, beating an unsteady rhythm as she forced herself to stop for a moment, to breathe, to disobey every instinct that shouted at her to turn around and escape the fog-laden forest. She was the White Wolf, she did not back down. Drawing air, musty as it was, into her lungs the rogue cast her icy gaze around the blanket of mist. It seemed to be dissipating, thinning, but her relief was short lived. From the fog rose formless creatures, undulating and shifting as though they might drift away with the wind at any moment. Red eyes loomed from the darkness, piercing and vacant, until they noticed Castalla, watching them with a sinking feeling. She has only seconds to brace herself, to think as they rush toward her, gliding like ghosts across the shadowy forest floor. Instinct kicked in and she prepared to weave between them, to reach out with her teeth and tear at their ephemeral forms. Without her weapons, with only a small tendril of her magic remaining, the Wolf relied entirely on her combat training. With a cold snarl Castalla leaps forward, spurred on by the fearful cry off in the distance.
![[Image: i-jTNwWx8.png]](https://photos.smugmug.com/BelowZeroNovus/n-X9d9fZ/i-jTNwWx8/1/e09fb6c3/O/i-jTNwWx8.png)
