Cally was scared for perhaps the first time in her life. She had faced down hideous monsters - outran a Disirax in it's own caves, she's out raced crazy creatures and not hesitate when jumping ravines, or racing along tiny ledges. She'd always been fearless and adventurous. But something about these woods are terrifying, more than just terrifying even. They felt wrong, and unwhole. Like partially between one place and another. She moved forward however, slowly and hesitant, each step as difficult as the last. She glanced at the trees, trying to keep herself aware of what way she was going and where she was going and not get lost.
That tree looks familiar. Cally pauses, glancing towards the tree, her eyes roaming over the gnarled trunk. Actually - it looked more than a little familiar, it looked very familiar. She was certain she'd seen it before, passed it before. She circled around it and at a different angle her eyes widened before despair swept through her tiny form . . . She'd passed it twice - she'd seen it from that side as well. Her head fell against the gnarled trunk, with a solid thwack - followed by two more thwacks as she repeated the motion that best described her distress and just having learned that she was lost. A final thwack was given, just to seal the deal before she turned to continue on, only to find herself stuck against the gnarled tree that was greatest disdain.
Her eyes crossed as she tried to see the problem, only for a despairing moan to leave her at the sight of her horn stuck fast against the gnarled tree. HOW HAD SHE FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE HORN! Can this get any worse? At least Coy wasn't around to see and make fun of her. She angled her body slightly - a familiar pose she'd had to use before to unstick her horn from trees that it grew too attached to. Forelegs braced against the tree trunk, she leaned forward slightly before throwing all of her weight back, while pushing off the tree with all of her strength. The combined momentum of those two acts quickly had her horn sliding free, and the little doe landing on her back among the pine needles and fallen leaves.
Laying on the ground in dismay, she pondered for a moment why she was in this forest to begin with. Help . . . . me . . . . Oh, right, that was why. Cally rolled onto her hooves with a heavy grunt, before starting forward again, her gaze jumping from shadow to shadow. Did they look like they were moving? These seemed to be growing more corpreal, into shadowy bodies following and watching her, reaching and yearning for her. "G-g-ghosts!" The little doe screamed before running into the woods in a franctic frenzy. She didn't notice the air growing damp or cold. She didn't see the fog creeping in and along. She didn't see any of this, except for the shadows that were reaching for her, always out of the corner of her eye, never there when she turned to stare.
And then suddenly she was running straight into a bank of fog that surrounded her completely, leaving her lost in a void of just silver mist. A startled whimper left her as she stood frozen, hearing sounds around her. Moans and rustling, and then wailing - so much wailing. Cally's voice soon joined their voices, terrified and uncertain. Help . . . . The plea was just barely there, and only her dual ears, one with hearing pitched low, helped to disperse the rest of the wailing and allow her to hear that cry. And with that, some of the fear dispersed. Someone needed her help, and Cally wasn't going to deny it. She was going to help, to assist. She hoped. She took a steadying breath before stepping forward, and again, and again. Another wail sounded almost right next to her. Yeah, nope, gotta run! her speed kicked up, partially to hope to find the way out, partially to find the one crying and pleading for help.
"Speech"
Cally, in a fit of partial terror and partial determination continues to move run with almost uncontrollable fear through the fog to help the individual
Let's jump on the sun and ride it to tomorrow together, where everything is brighter and sure to be better.
he red skinned man remained silent while he listened in that utter darkness. A terrible crawling thing, it snaked and crept around his ankles, up his legs. Lowering his crimson eyes, it took Ramses only a moment to realize that is was a fog that tickled his skin.
Realizing the grey cloud had suddenly appeared and was now sliding through the trees, the coyote’s ears flattened against his skull. It was a peculiar sensation, that fog slithering past him, enveloping him in a cool, damp blanket. The stallion was from the desert, he’d never seen this sort of phenomenon and he found it fascinating. However, the sound that follows the strange mist is one Ramses was all too familiar with.
Screaming echoes around him, a noise that plagues his nightmares from those he's inflicted pain upon himself. Tilting his head, the coyote listens intently, ears swivelling this way and that.
Knowing the importance of waiting, the predator stands utterly still, the fog only growing thicker. He doesn’t fear the silvery vapor but his heart beats faster as the wailing continues. The unknown feeling of being closed in, suffocated, does not deter him and he remains still. Voices trap him and yet, the coyote’s face wrinkles in a snarl.
"Show yourselves,"the man demands, those words laced in annoyance, his teeth bared.
Ramses didn’t take these sorts of tricks kindly, he knew better than to fall for such things when he’s been taught to ignore the deceptive mirages littering the sands. And now, he stands in the midnight wood, surrounded by phantoms and he is nothing but pissed.
"So much for the damsel in distress," Ramses mutters as his frown deepens and the shrieking grows louder.
Trees claw desperately for the sky, blocking out the light of the harvest moon and bathing the forest in gloomy shadow. Castalla is glad of her enhanced senses, glad that despite the loss of her true magic, her sight can yet still penetrate the darkness. But, it is as though her eyes are deceiving her, for though she wanders in what she hopes is a straight line, trees and rocks the Wolf is sure she has passed before, leer at her from every bend. Lips pulling back into a grimace, a soft snarl curls from her throat as she pauses a moment, turning this way and that like a cage lion.
Slowly the air turns colder, the foul taste of dark magic coating her tongue as she breathes in deeply. Her night-vision is of no use however when a fog comes rolling in, a blanket of suffocating mist that seems to wrap intangible fingers around tree trunks, curling into every crook and crevice. Wrinkling her nose in disgust she glances around once more, suspicion framing her pretty face. Did that lost voice belong to one trapped within the intangible cage of fog or was it someone luring others into the web of silvery mist? Either way, Castalla cannot not turn away, even as anticipation, adrenalin flows through her veins. There had been others wandering the forest, their hooves the steady drum beat of her heart. But silence reigned now, solid and damning as though whatever forces had enchanted this forest were determined to isolate those who unwittingly gave themselves to it. No, Castalla would not turn away, not when the lives of others might be at stake.
Jaw set in a determined line, a grim expression wrought upon her features, she continued on through the fog, gracefully, a careful assassin upon silent hooves. Sapphiric oculars narrowed, audits standing to attention, she searched her surroundings as best she could, feeling all but blind as the pale fog continued to dampen her senses. Figures seemed to loom ominously from what shadows could penetrate the pale blanket, but they revealed themselves to be little more than branches or bushes. Yet her heart remained a steady thrum within her chest, her breathing slow and quiet as she enforced the training that had saved her life dozens of times over the years. Some called it recklessness, many called it madness, but if there was anything the White Wolf was known for, it was her refusal to back down, to break, even when it was death that stared her in the face.
Something strange is happening in the woods. Stranger than the ghost that haunts it. She thought she had heard someone speaking up ahead, but it also seems like there are voices coming from all directions. Corrdelia can't figure out who the voices belong to - or maybe it's just an echo? It's hard to tell, but it's clear that some type of magic is at play here.
"See, this is a trap. We should've never walked in here!" Hāsta telepathically shouts, her tone frantic. "Relax, nothing's happened yet. We-" she begins to reassure her companion again, but stops when she hears a familiar voice. It sounds like it's from a child and she swears she knows them from Terrastella.
Corrdelia turns and sees Charlie with her osprey companion a little further away. Part of her is relieved to see a somewhat familiar face, but then she feels scared for the girl being out here with the unknown. She trots over, accidentally shaking Hāsta off her perch with her bouncy gate. The crow takes to the air again and slowly (reluctantly) follows.
"Charlie dear! What are you doing here?" she calls out, a warm smile on her face despite her bit of worry. The girl always seemed to be the independent type, but dealing with spirits is a different story. There's no telling what can happen and it requires a good deal of experience with the supernatural.
Suddenly, she hears a different voice further into the woods and she turns her head to look for the source. It almost sounds like the original one who had called out "help me!", but at this point, Corr isn't entirely sure. Then comes the fog and it blankets the woods within seconds. The tendrils seem to latch onto every gap until it's all that Corr can see. Thankfully, Hāsta didn't go far and took her perch back onto Corr's withers, but the woman lost sight of Charlie.
"Charlie?" she calls out again, hoping the sound of their voices will help them find each other again. Preferably before whatever in this forest finds them. There is a moaning sound now and the mare can't tell if it's from a voice or something else.
"This place is giving me the creeps. Will you finally listen to me now?" Hāsta grumbles and, for once, the bird hasn't been entirely wrong. They may have walked into a more serious situation than Corr originally thought. Maybe it is a trap, but she has faith if she needs to, she can simply use her wings to fly out.
For now, she wants to stay on the ground to hopefully catch up with Charlie. She takes a few cautious steps forward, hoping she won't run into anything (or anyone) by accident. There had to be some way out of this fog as there usually is. Then again, this is no ordinary place and magic fog didn't have to follow the rules of normal fog.
Wailing sounds carry in the air now and at this point, she just hopes the girl will be safe if she can't find her again.
@Charlotte for the mention <3
(Corr continues forward into the fog)
Filly and bonded are following the voice through the woods when things start to get weird. Charlie is, for her age, quite good with directions. She has been a wanderer and an adventurer all her life, and finding her way around and back home has never been a problem. But in this forest, in these trees, she feels like she’s going in circles.
“Haven’t we seen all of this before?” Indy asks from her perch on the girl’s withers, golden eyes looking about them as she walks. “It sure seems like it, but I’ve been walking straight the whole time, I know it,” Charlie responds, “Something weird is going on.” It reminds her of their time on the island, but somehow even stranger.
Then, someone is calling again. But this time, it’s not a haunting, disembodied voice.
Charlie turns toward the sound of her name, seeing a somewhat familiar face from home in Terrastella. While she’s never spent time with the woman from the swamps, the girl has seen her around the court often enough. To tell the truth, the other pegasus is one of the stranger equines Charlie has ever known. Or, sort of known.
“I’m here to find the ghost,” she says, as if it’s quite obvious. Why else would she be here? “Isn’t that why you’re here?” It makes her wonder how many others are searching these woods for the mysterious spirit. Have they all heard the stories, too? It will make her likelihood of finding it first a lot harder, that’s for sure.
All that means is that she needs to get going, if she’s going to have any hope.
But when the fog starts to roll in, it comes on quickly, like a summer storm. It blankets everything, thickly and opaquely. Charlie can’t see Corrdelia, can’t see her hooves on the ground, can barely see Indy upon her shoulders when she turns her head. “Indy stay on my back, okay? I don’t want to lose you in this stuff,” she says. The Osprey settles down between her bondmate’s wings, her weight reassuring the filly of her presence.
“Lose me? I don’t want to lose you; I’m not going anywhere.” Charlie can’t help the smile that turns up the corner of her lips. Typical Indy. She’s about to begin walking when the wailing begins. It’s an otherworldly keen, that climbs below her skin and buries itself inside her bones. It’s like nothing she’s ever heard before.
It sound like what she imagines death must be like, or demons.
The chill of the mist crawls along her sides but Charlie is not afraid. She stands call and strong against the fog and the creepy voices inside it. “I’m not scared of you, whoever you are, or whatever you are.” I won’t be chased out of here, she thinks, if that is what the forest wants.
"Speaking."
@Corrdelia even though here we part haha. Charlie chooses to stay!
Like the fog, she comes; like the creeping dark, she comes; like the swell of the sea beating against her frigid and shattered soul, she comes. She is a whisper on the land, a frozen flame still glowing, still burning, still splintering piece by piece. Michael's is the only voice that beckons her in that sea of darkness now; his voice rising on a soft crescendo then fading like the dusk into whispers where only shadows are left to dwell.
The Light Caller looks to him, looks to him and wonders what seas he's swam through to be where he is. But it does not matter, not right now. They are not seas that are here, they are not stories she is ready to ask for, so she turns away with the flick of her ear. It does not matter, she tries to tell herself.
Moira does not notice when Michael is lost to the fog, does not seem to care the way it tries to force itself down her throat and suffocate her in a world that is not her own. This cotton-clad land is not her tomb, she will be no sacrifice upon the alter for a pagan creature dwelling in the mists. Not even the shadows can reach out and touch the living flame, they dare not get too close when those eyes that are already dead look out into the mists.
Mists of Avalon would be harder to navigate, but Moira pauses. Sensitive are her ears, cautious is her mind, as the moaning begins. Shrieks of the dying open upon the land, and they are sounds the healer-girl knows all too well. The Tonnerre Estate saw its share of death, and at the center stood a bright-eyed girl with a needle fast in hand.
Filter it out, she thinks, reaching through the cries to find what is important. There - there is a sound, a keening cry, a wail for help. The ghost or girl still searches for them, still begs them onward.
The phoenix goes on, unsure and uncaring why her body demands she finds the child, forces her on this journey she doesn't care on the surface to take. Dig deeper, something whispers.
Vehemently Moira slams down a door, locking the voice out. She will not dig. She will not look. She will not feel what lies behind the floodgates. So the healer takes another step into the mist instead, and she does not stop even when all others are gone.
The cries for help only continued. They were loud, obnoxious, and they irritated the hell out of Sloane. She wanted whoever was making all that racket to shut up. She would never be able to scare unsuspecting children if the voice continued to cry out for help. It continued to lure individuals away from where she stood. That voice, whoever it belonged to, was stealing her potential victims.
After several minutes, the voices seemed to only get louder. It was luring all of her victims away and quite frankly, Sloane was now pissed. She hadn’t come out into the woods in order to just stand in the dark like a dumb ass. She was here to scare.
So in an attempt to shut up the cries for help, Sloane began to move towards the voice, allowing it to lead her through the forests. She would find whoever was making all that racket and ask, no demand, that he or she cease the ruckus. After all, she was here for the thrills and the scares.
However, several minutes into her journey, Sloane stops almost abruptly. She swore she saw this odd looking tree before. The way its trunk curved was distinctive. There was no doubt in her mind that she had seen it before. Had she taken a wrong turn? She didn’t think she had. After all, how can you make a wrong turn when you’re only going straight to begin with?
And then the fog rolls in. It creeps closer to her, enveloping her in a misty fog that seems to fill her lungs like smoke. She coughs back the mist, not at all liking the way it made it hard for her to breathe. And now, instead of cries for help, there are wails and cries of the undead. And in a split second decision, Sloane had made her decision. "Fuck this shit."
The call for help is something Katniss cannot ignore. Not only because it was her duty to protect her court (who knew? Maybe the voice belonged to someone within Denocte), but because it is the moral thing to do. She cannot just stand back and ignore a cry for help, citizen of Denocte or not. She has to render aid. To do otherwise would be a sin.
She carries her body with erect posture, her eyes scanning the forest as her ears pick up the cries and she follows them. She allows her body to weave in and out of the trees, although something causes her to stop only for a moment. She can see a similar tree and for the briefest of moments, she wonders if she is going in circles. She knows this forest like the back of her hand and she knows this particular tree can only be found once. She is going in circles…but how? Was something playing with her mind?
And then the dog rolls in, slow at first but then quick. In no time, she is surrounded by a thick fog that she can hardly see in. She still hears the cries for help, amongst the other voices that begin to fill the air. It takes her a moment to single out the cries for help, to hone in on the one she had set out to help. But eventually, she ignores all else except the need to protect. With a deep breath, she steps forward. Now she has to rely on her knowledge of the forest and the cries for help to help her navigate through the fog.
Rhone has always made sure he looks like the composed individual who is scared of nothing. He finds that if he appears calm, cool, and collected, then so does everyone else. If he begins to show his fear, then panic sets in and all will be lost from there. So not unlike any other day, Rhone is trying to appear as though nothing is bothering him, that he is not scared.
But truth is, he is terrified. He hates being in the forest alone because he knows what lives in dark forests. He knows there are things out there that can harm him, that he is probably safer by the lake than in the forest. And yet, the cries for help do not stop. They do not quiet. He knows he needs to continue forward in order for his conscious to be clear. If he does nothing and the cries for help are replaced with the silence of a body, Rhone could never forgive himself.
So even as the fog begins to roll in, Rhone knows that he must continue forward. He knows that somewhere there is someone asking for aid. He hopes it is real, but he knows it could be a trap. So even as he tries to sort through all the different cries and wails, he continues forward. He doesn’t let the calls of the dead rattle him, his inability to see to falter his steps. He continues onward just as he has been, even though every bone in his body is begging for him to run.
The fog is already starting to roll in. It’s thick and Kibou cannot see anything in front of him. He bumps into tree after tree, trying his best to navigate in an area he is unfamiliar with. He keeps telling himself that eventually, he will find his mother or he will find the voice that calls out for help. Perhaps it is someone he can help. Perhaps he won’t be too young or too little to render aid. He wants to help, he knows he needs to.
But as the fog grows thicker, Kibou begins to lose the voice calling out for help. It is replaces with the cries of others, but they are more like wails than anything. The voices are all around him and he looks around to see if he can see anyone. But he sees nothing, only the light from his orb refracting off the fog. It blinds him, making it even harder to see. Saki seems to understand Kibou’s fears and she tries her best to comfort her bonded. But she’s scared too and she doesn’t know what to do.
Kibou stands there for a moment, wishing that he could still hear the cries for help. Did he fail the individual? Was the caller dead? The thoughts that ran rampant in his brain were far too dark than someone as small as he should ever have to entertain. But Kibou is smart. He knows that if he continues forward, he will be the one crying for help. And so, he stays still, hoping and praying that the fog will lift and the cries of the ghosts will stop.
![[Image: 13222742_95oVYzdeR5MVhK5.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13222742_95oVYzdeR5MVhK5.png)
