the fog descends
The woods, they begin to change. Subtly, slowly, that it might seem like your imagination or a trick of the sickle moon’s light. You pass a tree with a gnarled trunk that you swear you’ve passed before: twice. The shadows are not shadows but shapes, eyes, bodies, reaching, watching. Following. But when you look, nothing is there. And the calling voice beckons you further into the trees. Nothing is as it seems.
Suddenly, the air is damp and cold and filled with a silver mist. Did you happen upon it, or did it happen upon you?
The fog creeps—like living tendrils seeking out prey it wraps around every trunk, branch and quivering leaf. It sits heavily like a blanket, thick and nearly impossible to see through. Nearly smothering. Within, the distant, aching cry for help is replaced instead by the unsettling sound of moaning as though a gate has been opened between this world and that of the restless dead.
The unnatural wailing rises, so many voices longing to be heard but together they are nearly inaudible. Are they one, or are they many? You might be lost forever in the fog, with voices that nestle themselves deep inside your bones, waiting for it to fade. Perhaps the woods have tricked you, and only made you a victim too. Or, perhaps if you listen hard enough, the keening wail for help is still there, guiding you.
Suddenly, the air is damp and cold and filled with a silver mist. Did you happen upon it, or did it happen upon you?
The fog creeps—like living tendrils seeking out prey it wraps around every trunk, branch and quivering leaf. It sits heavily like a blanket, thick and nearly impossible to see through. Nearly smothering. Within, the distant, aching cry for help is replaced instead by the unsettling sound of moaning as though a gate has been opened between this world and that of the restless dead.
The unnatural wailing rises, so many voices longing to be heard but together they are nearly inaudible. Are they one, or are they many? You might be lost forever in the fog, with voices that nestle themselves deep inside your bones, waiting for it to fade. Perhaps the woods have tricked you, and only made you a victim too. Or, perhaps if you listen hard enough, the keening wail for help is still there, guiding you.
The further into the woods your character ventures the more the forest… is changing. But it’s hard to tell if it’s just in your character’s imagination or whether it is truly happening. Spurned on by the calls for help, your character finds themselves enveloped in an impossibly thick mist, filled with what sounds like the cries of the dead. They are deafening, nearly paralyzing. There seems to be no way forward, and no way back.
Your character has two options:
They can try to continue forward through the fog and hope to find the end of it
- Or -
They can attempt to wait and see if the fog will fade and offer them reprieve
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 Sunday, October 20th to reply.
Your character has two options:
- Or -
They can attempt to wait and see if the fog will fade and offer them reprieve
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 Sunday, October 20th to reply.
