sand_boxing | PSL | voicetesting?

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From:

franchisepirate

[Everything stopped as suddenly as it began, mercifully with less fanfare. Dying, Westley can't say he recommends it.]

[Cracking an eye, his gaze flitters about and finds nothing like a dungeon torture chamber. In point of fact, that's the only thing he can conclude about his surroundings, everything too odd to put in any sort of mental order. It would seem he's no longer anywhere familiar at all. Marooned, as it were.]

[In the middle of determining how relieved to be about the less-than-anticipated damage to his person when he spots another, or so he hopes, the form far enough off to be a blur.]

[Right, then. Ahoy, avast, and all those pirate sorts of things. Westley fiddles with his torn black shirt -- he might indeed be dead, but he needn't look it -- before making for the dim figure that he dearly hopes is a helpful sort. With little to offer but questions, he's off.]

Beg pardon?

From:

sangreine

She's only a blink from new again, all whimsy and instinct, rippling hair dragging behind her skipping heels as she leaps to perch on the narrow edge of a fountain with her effortless, unnatural balance. Somewhere, she acquired some clothes (in the loosest sense of the word, a thin slip of a dress barely decent for bed, but it kicks up and swirls around her thighs when she spins so whoever it was had a sense of aesthetics if not modesty) and the most basic corners of language which she always tends to use sparingly in this state, her lush body and wide eyes speaking for her better.

A Queen in all ways that matter, she dances along the slim edge of the fountain, twirling and tiptoeing without even a whisper of a thought that she might fall, here and there kicking up playful splashes of water that freckle her slip and set the cloth clinging, a baptism fit for the sort of royalty she is.

Play with her, won't you? Her smile isn't demanding, but it won't accept 'no' so easily.

Whoever she finds will share some onus for her later self, supple as the more cerebral pieces of her can be when she's all virginal and eager. But like blowing glass or turning a potter's wheel, too heavy a hand will lathe a pliant curve into a too-sharp angle, or shatter it entirely. The last thing you want to do with a new Queen is draw blood so don't

push

too

hard.

From:

sangreine

[Saya doesn't bother to lull her high temper as she stalks through a long corridor, the sterile decor mocking her with silence. Wherever she is, it's as much a prison as the lush halls of the household where Saya has been kept for months, eating from her keepers' hands, Diva and her Chevaliers yanking her about like a mutt gone off its training. She had longed for freedom often enough to be disgusted by this twisted version of it: no answer to her calls and still, still no memory of herself before her recent sleep.]

[It's late, likely days and days since she fed. Not too late, however. Whoever she finds will get at least a chance. Saya should be grateful for that -- she struggles to decide, all the sicker for it. Has Karl plied her into the beast he claims her to be?]

[Saya approaches a heavy wooden door and raps it, but her irritation waits for no answer. She twists the knob nearly off and pushes through, red eyes flaring, not much thought for what she might find. It could be no worse than where she's been.]

From:

rack_em_up

[Out of the fishbowl and into the neverending hotel hallway. Fantastic.]

[Tired of glaring into rooms, Cross leans against some of the less cheap-looking curtains and shakes out a cigarette, lighting it like he means to hurt the thing. He considers setting the fabric on fire to see if that gets him anywhere. Even lousy accommodations have better service than this.]

[This is where he would normally wish at least for company, but given his recent history...]

[Being at a disadvantage, not his favorite thing.]

Edited Date: 2021-10-05 08:48 pm (UTC)

From:

conglomeration

[It's a good thing Zelgadis is used to stealth, every noise echoes in this place, and the footfalls of a stone man are hardly light. Not that it seems to matter, as he's yet to see another soul. Wherever he's ended up, he hasn't been provided anything helpful such as any indication of the way out. Or anything aside from eerie quiet and useless things like fancy-looking chocolates on shiny trays too light to be worth selling.]

[His magic, at least, seems to be functioning, but a Flow Break did nothing but waste a bit of restless energy and scar a dissipating blue pentacle into the carpet. He considered a summoning, but...]

[Stunningly, none of these froofy rooms seem to have anything that could prove useful for a cure, either. (He's not sure how he'd know, exactly, short of a sign declaring "Chimeras unfused here". He specializes more in long-abandoned dungeons.)]

[Maybe if --]

[He's gotten his wish, hearing what sounds like footsteps, but in defiance of his prior wishes his first instinct is panic. Lifting his mask and hood into place, he sweeps behind a corner, silent, waiting.]

Edited Date: 2021-10-05 11:03 pm (UTC)

From:

greyhatted

This is so right where the jumpscare happens.

[Garcia steps timidly through the corridor, keeping close to the boring beige wall and trying not to compare the carpet pattern to the one from The Shining. If a little kid appears out of nowhere, she'll --]

[What, Penelope, you'll what? Break out the proton pack? Perform an exorcism? Outrun them in these pink strappy heels? Oh, she is so, so screwed.]

[Whoever approaches her better brace for one hell of a scream.]

From:

conglomeration

[Skidding to a stop at the first choke point he finds, Zelgadis spins and slams his non-sword hand on the dusty floor, regretting that he's about to ruin what, when he came in, was actually quite lovely tilework. You learn to appreciate these things while running for your life if you visit enough places like this.]

Dug Haut! [Starting from his splayed fingers, the floor rumbles and a thick forest of stalagmites spring up from the floor, scattering ancient shingles and almost fully blocking the corridor. For a moment, only the skittering sound of falling dirt, then the center of the blockage starts shaking, cracking.]

[Yeah, he knew better. Wraiths are nasty business, and it's not like he could claim he didn't know. When there's enough gossip about ghosts down in the old temple there's usually something to it. Unfortunately, the best prizes are in the worst places. He didn't even get to the central hold.]

[Normally this is where he'd fly off, but he's nowhere close to open sky. Low ceilings in these rambling old places. However, he has more tricks up his sleeve.]

Astral Vine! [His sword glows red, conveniently lighting the dark corridor enough for him to douse his light spell and free up more energy. He might not be the most charitable person alive, but he's not going to just run and let these things lose on the village. It's his responsibility that the things are swarming in the first place, and his first purification spell might as well have been a gentle scolding for all the good it did.]

[They break through the mass of earth and immediately scatter, because of course it wouldn't be so easy as a few well-placed astral spells.]

[Whether fellow explorer or unfortunate bystander, you should definitely make yourself known so Zel doesn't blast you out of sheer reflex. Don't be alarmed by the stone skin or the goblin ears, he's probably on your side.]

Edited Date: 2021-10-06 02:01 am (UTC)

From:

dum_spiro

[Carol can't recall how she ended up inside a preschool of all places. One minute she's wiping walker entrails from her clothes and setting off through the woods, and the next she's surrounded by yellowed, crooked drawings of grinning families and the telltale groans of small children, long turned and converging on her from all sides. One of the wrongest turns of her life, must have been. If she still believed in God, she'd be sure He was out to get her, specifically. If only she'd waited to wipe clean...]

[Strange to wish for a viscera-coated poncho, perhaps, but here she is.]

[The huge automatic weapon strapped to her back isn't for close quarters, so she's left with her hunting knife and a pistol, its clip now empty. The finger grips are already dripping with the blood of a girl who might have once been blonde, maybe 4 years old, which Carol only noticed as the body slumped to the floor after surprising her from behind. If she'd seen the size of the walker beforehand, maybe it would have been enough to make her hesitate, as she's doing now.]

[Slipping behind a frosted glass door and shutting it as quietly as adrenaline allows, she sinks down into a corner and gulps for breath. Would it be worse to survive this and add these faces to her nightmares, or just let them come?]

[Shadows appear in the glass, distorted. Closing in. She grips her knife and, senselessly, uselessly, prays.]

((OOC: feel free to use her canon (suburban Atlanta with zombies) or say she was transported elsewhere and it just happens to also be a giant ball of actual hell!))

From:

namagomi

[Well, well. Would you look at that? A deserted road, a lonely traveler, and not a soul to be seen for miles. How fortunate, then, for them, that Xellos happened to be nearby.]

[Feeling gloomy? It might have attracted the attention you're about to get. Happy as a clam? We'll see what can be done about that.]

[Suddenly, from nowhere, a blur appears before you and a man (heh) in strange priest-robes and shoulder-length, purple hair is standing there, holding his staff. Smiling serenely.]

((OOC: Xellos is basically a Demon who eats negative emotions and is grossed out by happy ones, so please include those in the tags! If you like, Zelgadis can come join the party and warn you off the pleasant-seeming sadistic bastard.))

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