TDM: July

[moustre]

Test Drive: July

Welcome to aefenglom's test drive! All threads can be considered game canon, should you choose to do so; regardless of if you pick specific threads to remain canon to the game, the prompts and test drive itself will be. This will be touched on later in-game, so it's fairly important to note! Aside from that, here are some quick reminders:



• Reserves Open Today! If you're interested in securing a spot, put one in! We accept applications without reserves too, of course. Reserves will expire three days before the end of the application period, on the 28th.
• Applications Open The 24th! These will last until the end of the month, the 31st, with the intro log going on up the 1st. The application page can be found here.
• If you have any questions about the game or the world, please refer to the FAQ page; if you still have questions, feel free to ask them! For questions specific to the test drive, please ask them on the appropriate thread.
• For the purposes of the test drive, your character will have access to all magics taught by the Coven if they're a Witch, and as much of their shifted form as you'd like if they're a Monster. Feel free to play around and experiment with each!
• Test drive threads can be used as samples for your applications!



With that taken care of...

You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the wind brushes playfully against your face -

and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that.

The Living Forest

It feels warmer than it should be. Hot, dry, dark. The sky above all but black- save for the ominous orange glow against the distant horizon. In the gloaming there’s a resonant smell of decay; of musty pine and sun-baked wood and, more worryingly, the distant scent of smoke, of ash. There’s no wind to speak of, and yet… something whispers. The shiver of leaves, the crack of dry branches- and if you listen long enough, almost… the sound of voices in the trees.

Controlled Burn The forest you find yourself in is still alive- for now. Ash filters through the browning leaves like snow, dotting the path you’ve found yourself on in bone white fragments. Following the rustling leads it to grow all the more frantic, whispered voices speaking without words- or perhaps you simply cannot understand. You feel as though you’re being watched, the tree clusters growing thicker, tighter and- is it just your imagination, or… are they moving? Suddenly before you an old oak splits with a thunderous crack- followed by a deafening scream. Gnarled, blackened hands reach from within the tree, scraping at your clothes, agony wrought through every striation of her features as the infection spreads. Before you, the tree withers as the nymph falls into the dirt, long fingers tearing up the earth as she crawls towards you. Understanding comes to you in stark clarity: the noises through the trees are a cry for help. Before your very eyes the leaves of her once lush hair dries; cracks and breaks away, falling to join the ashen forest floor. With pleading eyes she gazes at you, before her eyes roll back, and she collapses, utterly still. And she’s not the only one; the forest is alive, the very trees reaching for you, roots clawing up to crack open the earth itself in their desperation. Don’t let them touch you, though. The infection spreads quickly. Branching through your veins and leaving your limbs sluggish, heavy, and brittle. The feeling is utterly agonizing, reminiscent of having poured molten lava into your blood. The longer the infection is left untreated, the more, and faster it spreads, the worse the pain becomes. The trees know, they whisper the truth: the only way to cleanse yourself is through the fire.

Creeping Fire Not all nymphs have met such a terrible fate. Not yet, at least. Some huddle together, their branching arms clinging to one another as they softly weep. Others walk willingly towards the distant orange glow with grim determination. Still others implore you with wide, fearful eyes to do something- anything to help them. Surely these new abilities you’ve found yourself with must be good for something. They lead you to a natural amphitheatre; the slow sloping blackened earth sinking into a gully bordered by a high rock wall. The heat is the most bearable here; the area cooled by the towering stone. Wilting nymphs huddle together along with sympathetic faun. Those who have skills in manipulating water are a welcome relief; these tree spirits are desperate for it. But this temporary refuge won’t last for long. The infection wants to spread. Like rabies, maddening its’ hosts and raising their aggression. And where better to draw from than the root of this sanctuary? Where the stone wall rises and provides shelter from the fire, so too does it trap these refugees in… Defend against the infected, before all hope is lost.

Staging Area Past the disease, the horror and cries for help, there is a genuinely quiet place. It isn’t much, compared to how things used to be, but there’s a clearing scarred at the edges with scorch marks instead of Cwyld, with the beginnings of plants sprouting once more. Baby grass clusters in small groups, small stems pushing out of the ashen ground with hopeful buds. Some earlier bloomers already casting vibrant colors to what was once a meadow. It’s serene, it’s peaceful, it’s an area that’s been cleansed by fire and Cwyld kept at bay by Witches at least a century out of fashion, though they don’t seem to respond to outside presences with how focused they are. Those taking breaks from their turn on the edge offer greetings and air worries about the spreading taking root in the forest, but (like the Fae in the first dream, for those who recall) don’t say much else unique, wondering if they’ll be able to return home anytime soon and if this was truly worth the effort. Of course it is, an older one might snap back. In a war of attrition, all efforts are worthy. However, this isn’t the only camp they’ve set up. There’s one not too far off that begins with frost and ends in a frozen area of land, sound muffled by cold and everything from the trees to nymphs so iced not even a dragon’s flame could melt it. Inquiries about this area result in some sheepish looks, and the answer of how some Witches became a little excited at the idea of putting surviving nymphs and the rest of the flora into a form of dormancy and overdid it, a bit.

Comments

OOC QUESTIONS

[moustre]

[whattaprick]

1. Is it possible for dreamers to dream of being Bonded to someone, though you may not be in reality? Would they experience the effects of a Bond even though they may have no idea what a Bond even is?

2. Would characters have any success should they attempt to locate the epicenter of the fire, either through magical or mundane means, for those with the outdoorsy know-how?

Thor Odinson | MCU | Post-Endgame - some minor spoilers may happen in this thread

[thepowerofthor]

Thor groaned as he seemed to wake, his steps, as he was in mid-step, feeling like he might float away, like he might fade and vanish, or become brighter, suddenly. The vision of it all filled him, and made him feel intense, and incredible.

The world brightened and filled out and suddenly his steps had weight, and purpose and stride and... and he was dreaming. He could tell this. He had had visions before and the merging of the way this vision worked made him know this is a dream, but also more. This was a reality. He shuddered as he looked around him, the world much different than the cold metallic ship he had just been on..

As he walked, he saw trees rise up around him, and the air felt as if he had walked into part of Surtr's realm suddenly. But the sky was black and bleak and silent, and he felt like there was some darkness coming. Like a flash, on the horizon, he suddenly saw fire, or a glow that seemed like it, and he hefted his axe, and began to run toward it. As he did, he noted, in some part of his mind that he felt smaller, and itchy, as if he had been scratched all over.

The scent of ash reached his nostrils and he ran faster, feeling like he is not moving as quickly as he should, but finding that his leaps over brush seemed to meet with even more success than usual. Ash seemed to be everywhere as he ran.

A sound reached his ears like whispers and moans half heard and yet sure. And he felt he could not understand any of it, but somehow... somehow he knew it was something very bad. Something very wrong. He stopped, and moved, looking around.

"What terror is this? Who are you that seeks to strike against Thor, God of Thunder?" And he tightened his grip on his axe.,.. and suddenly realized that his reach out of will was being met by nothing. The thunder and lightning were not responding to his call.

His shock was immediate. His power had been ripped form him again! And even as he felt like the trees were moving, a mighty tree erupted before him and he fell back,. hand rising before his face, and another shock following as he stared, seeing fur on his arms, and claws on his hands.

"What manner of trickery magic is this?" He immediately would have suspected Loki, had his brother not been dead. And he roared in renewed grief and rage as his eyes fixed on hands of gnarled darkness reached out for him.

With a glad cry for having something to hit, he slammed into them with all his might, hand and axe hitting with every ounce of force he had left. But at his attack, out of the darkness came a woman darkened and hurting and looking like she was lost, he realized she was not meaning to attack, and with a cry of grief and fear, he hurled his axe away and reached for her.

The tree and the woman fell over together before he could touch them, and darkness that was as black as midnight and yet not flooded over her like a plague, and he swore an oath and fell back again, eyes wide. The entirety of the nearby forest around him seemed to cry out, and start to all flow with the same thing, also reaching from him.

"Madness! What is this plague of fear and death?"

His axe he lifted up once more and he began to cut his way free, away from the darkness and the trees that would kill him. After what felt like hours, he staggered out, and spotted someone, and something that made him feel as if release and relief had come at last.

Some nymphs huddling together, not yet dead and not yet mad cried out for his help, and he nodded.

"I will go for aid. Come with me, and let me help you." For he feared he might not be able to, but how could he resist their call? How could he fail someone again? He could not, of course, and he charged forward, running, cry8ing out his words of fear and rage.

Ahead, there is a bowl of blackened earth and a high rock-hewn wall. The heat is the most bearable thing here for the stone wall rose and seemed to provide shelter and solace both. He tapped it, touching the wall and hoping for more relief and for a cure for these beings. Nothing answered his reach.

He huddled there, and waited for a short time, breathing hard as he had not in a long time, and then rose again, and started forward, and heading toward the next area, hoping he can find something more

And he came out, suddenly, finding a small area, cleared of all trees, with strikes that looked like firefalls or lightning scars all around it. He sank to his knees within it, touching the ground with grateful hands, and he wept, now, surely, fearfully, as he changed, pain wracking him and shivers sliding along his skin, until he could not deal with it anymore.

The pain grew to a relief almost and he cried aloud, a cry that became a roaring howl, a yowling sound unlike anything he had ever done. And he raised his head, eyes gone catlike, and ears now catlike as well, and stared into the darkness, seeing farther than he had ever before as his tail snapped back and forth in his anger.

He was changed, he knew, and he knew not how this had happened, but as he pushed himself up

The axe he raised now held glowing runes that were etched on it in glowing blue light, like the lighting he had once wielded. And he rose, then, to a much shorter height, this cat-man-god and looked out across others who rested there, and outward to the chaos beyond.

"Now what?"

Re: Thor Odinson | MCU | Post-Endgame - some minor spoilers may happen in this thread

[blind_devil]

"You might want to dial back the power a bit," a calm voice said from behind Thor. Matt shook his head as he studied the god of thunder with his senses. "You are scaring some of the younger creatures." A few fauns and fairies peek from behind Matt staring at the ax with wide eyes.

Matt is an unassuming soul, a young man with red hair standing at an even six feet. He knows he's risking his neck pissing off Thor of all people, but he earned the nickname "Daredevil" for a reason. There are two distinctive things about Matt besides the fact he has drawn some of the younger creatures to him. One is that he has a fox skin around his shoulders like a cape and the second is that his hazel eyes are completely whited out.

Matt is blind. "We don't want to make the fire worse," he explains softly, "I can smell water. Maybe we could work together to find it?"

PIETRO MAXIMOFF ⚡ MCU ⚡ WITCH

[metabolisms]

⚡ CONTROLLED BURN

[ It was instinct to reach for her, not a single consideration made for the burn that grips her body and turns every inch of the forest around them to the ash. It doesn't matter that it might be infectious, that it could burn through his glove, through his gear, the desire to help is too deep-seated to deny.

She's gone as he reaches her, hand gripped tight around narrow wrist, thumb stroking over the inside of it for some manner of comfort, despite her simply being an empty shell now. Pietro sees too many familiar faces in her, of those lost in Sokovia, those lost across the world. He wishes, not for the first time, that his speed could account for going in reverse, to manipulate time for the sake of those around him.

It's a brief desire, though, as the pain sears its way across his fingertips, clawing into his wrist and up his arm. It's an odd sensation, being forced to move at a natural speed rather than being able to brush it off with his enhancement. The pain is close to blinding, though perhaps not as bad as the cold chill of death he found himself recently freed from; nonetheless, it's not a feeling he wishes to have linger. It's why he listens immediately.

Cleanse yourself through the fire.

His steps are slower than he'd care to admit, but the flames call, and Pietro will answer; he'll stop to help along the way, in any way he can.

When he approaches you, his movements are slowing horribly, but Pietro won't leave someone to face this alone, not when he can help.. So a hand is extended, despite the pain laced through his features, and he gives his best in looking a little less imposing. ]

You need help, yes? Take my hand.

⚡ CREEPING FIRE

[ Pietro's doing his best to be of assistance. Water and ice magic blending together to soothe burns, to cool those more sensitive to the fires. The echo of the fire he walked through not an hour ago still hums beneath the surface of his skin, makes him that much more driven to ensure that no other creature or human needs to experience what he did; it's not that it was death-inducing, but the pain of the disease and the fire together were a hair away from unbearable.

So he works, he helps, because it's what he wants to do, what he's gotten better at doing.

When he stands from his most recent proverbial patient, he turns on the spot, eyes scouting the area, before landing on a specific person. ]

You. [ Is he... talking to you? Yeah, seems like! Pietro's walking over now, having taken a break from his own self-imposed duties. ] Your abilities. What are they? [ A beat. ] We need more help; you figure out a way.

⚡ STAGING AREA

[ He needed a break.

The noise, the exhaustion, the smell—all of it compounded into something a little too familiar for this liking. While he knows that back in his world, he doesn't have the luxury of a break, he left behind some that looked rather trustworthy to take over for what he was doing; it would give him a chance, at least, to breathe.

And while his magic feels close to exhausted, scraping the bottom of a well of power, he knows it won't take long for it to refill itself, to feel like he can get back to it. Even now, though, he continues to rely on it to keep himself occupied; seated at the edge of a stream, he's calling up shapes from the water before allowing them to disperse. An image of a robot, an insignia, a lightning bolt, a far too detailed likeness of a woman's face. Despite his depleted magic stores, he still aches to see familiar things—even if they aren't the best memories he has at his disposal.

The conversations nearby are ignored in favour of his constant remake of shapes from water. Which might invite the question—why are you wasting your magic? Or, you know, who the hell is that girl he keeps making water-images of? ]

controlled burn

[metempsychics]

[Fire doesn't scare her. What does is the sudden loss of everything she has known since she was a young girl. The constant noise in her head, the thoughts of everyone around her, the burning sensation that always felt like it was going to rip through her is all gone. She should be more alarmed at what is happening around her, but for the moment she just stares, trying to get her barings

And then he talks to her, blue eyes rising to meet his. She doesn't question him, taking his hand in hers.]

Where are we? [Jean asks, thinking he may know more than she does.] How is this even possible?

Aziraphale | Good Omens | Witch

[wiggleon]

Controlled Burn

Aziraphale doesn’t usually dream- he doesn’t even sleep, most of the time, unless he feels like indulging. So this is new for him in so many different levels. But he apparently isn’t given even a single moment to process it all and try to figure out what happened before he feels the heat of the fire.

Hellfire, he thinks, his heart stopping because he should have known, he should have known they wouldn’t be safe even with Agnes’ advice and tricks under their sleeves neither Heaven nor Hell would just simply let them go on their merry little ways. But he doesn’t have time to panic too much about it, because soon he hears the cries for help.

He rushes to the creature’s side- it looks like something out of a fairy tale, and he wonders why he hadn’t heard of that creature before, he wonders why something so beautiful as living trees would be condemned to hell. She’s dead before he can even get there.

This is so overwhelming, the cries for help all around him shifting, the entire forest seemingly in pain and no matter what he does, no matter how much he focuses in his desperation he can’t seem to miracle it away. So to anyone who catches a glimpse of him, there’s a man in a trench coat jacket and a bowtie in the middle of the screaming forest, doing some weird hand gestures with increased desperation and that he’s definitely going to be touched by all the uprooted, infected roots around him and get infected if someone doesn’t pull him away.

[plasticasshole]

[Connor pulls the man away from the sight, gripping his arm firmly with a scaled hand to keep him from trying to go back.]

It's not safe here.

[He knows by now that it's just another dream, but that doesn't mean he has to just leave Aziraphale to it.]

I don't think there's anything we can do for them.

Emerald Sustrai | RWBY | Monster (Puca)

[hallucinogem]

a. is it any wonder that my mind's on fire [controlled burn]

Gotta run gotta run gotta—it's thrumming in her head like a mantra that she can't remember focusing on, and yet all Emerald can do is stand there and watch as the forest screams around her. There's danger here, the kind of danger that she hasn't seen in years, the kind of danger that... that fire always helped her escape from. That fire pulled her out of. She needs to get to the fire. Even if that's what the trees are telling her (how are the trees telling her anything?) she already knows because of who she is that fire means safety and warmth as much as it means death and destruction.

So why won't her legs move? They feel heavier than they were before but not in a—maybe in a bad way. It's really hard to tell when she can't turn her head to look at them because the fire is playing off her golden eyes (she knows they're gold but have they always been?) and making her lock up. Freeze in place, even though every fiber of who she is knows she has to run. She has to not be here why can't she move somebody help her.

b. is it any wonder that my joke's an iron [staging area]

She's... safe. Finally. With the help of whoever managed to get her out of there (everything's a blur nothing feels entirely real right now) Emerald Sustrai is sitting in a clearing and trying to take stock of who she is now. What she's turned into. At least the persistent buzzing feeling in the back of her head has stopped, the thing telling her that she should be anxious and ready to move at any second. For however much good that did her back in the forest.

She has gold eyes and her arms and legs are covered in fur, and something about her mouth doesn't exactly feel right. Her teeth aren't falling out like in some of her dreams, no, but they're... growing? They grew a little bit. Like her fingernails did, but not nearly as much. And her legs don't look much stronger, but they feel... ha, like Mercury's probably do. Gods. Why is she thinking about him right now when there's so much else going on?

Her hand reaches out towards the nearest passerby amid this peaceful little clearing. "I need you to tell me what's going on here," she says, and she wishes her voice were more confident. But there's a lot of things happening right now that she wish weren't.

a. controlled burn

[whattaprick]

"You wanna die or what?"

The harsh question comes with someone reaching to grab Emerald's shoulder to give her a rough, sharp shake, as though the action might be enough to snap her out of whatever trance she's fallen into. The man the question comes from looks -- strange, himself. Viper-like eyes, a face marred with the scars of old injury, but most strikingly, the long, dark-tipped lapine ears that extend up from his head. His clawed hand tightens its grip, as though to make the point.

"We can't stay here."

Breq (One-Esk-Nineteen) | Ancillary Justice / Imperial Radch Trilogy | Witch

[breq]

Cry for Help

This is not where Breq should be. She is used to sterile corridors of spaceships - or stations - and it has been some time since she was last downwell on any sort of planet. Indeed, she remembers going to sleep in her own quarters. But perhaps this is all just a dream - a disturbing one at that and all the moreso because she does not often remember dreams or feel quite so lucid in them as she does now. The trees and ash remind her of worlds she has stood on before, of course, but it still feels off. Out of place.

And then the cries come and despite herself, she moves. She tries to find what its source, goes hunting, because she can't leave someone here to burn. To die. To suffer. It's not in her, hasn't been for a long time, and so she goes deeper, eyes focused, stride determined.

"Hello? Are you there?" Her voice echoes in the trees.

"If you're in trouble, call out."

Staging Area

It's much, much later that she finds herself in relative safety. Or maybe it's a short while. She's not sure. Time seems to move a bit strangely and her memory feels fuzzy. Off. She tries not to think too hard about it, instead trying to focus on the here and now. The locals seem focused. Determined. She can't fault them for it. She's a little more concerned with herself as she is now - dusty, covered in ash, a little battered.

Breq does what she can.

"You look like you could use some water," is all she says, offering a cupful of the stuff. Her voice is cool, collected, maybe the tiniest bit flat. Maybe she's just very composed?

Wildcard

Choose your own!

staging area

[manlet]

Here, the chaos from earlier subsides into exhaustion. Andersen himself is battered and tired. Even with his powers as a Servant, his abilities were middling at best. Now, as a witch, he was closer to his human self - vulnerable, weaker, even more reliant on others. His stamina was never the best, and the procedure to heal the infection took out most of his energy. He does look as though he could use some water, with how soot stains his face and clothes, how his shoulders slump. Maybe even a stiff drink.

He turns his head at the offer of water. His face is that of a young child's, but the baritone voice that comes out of his mouth is a man's.

"What I need is a long vacation." There's a tinge of hoarseness to his words as he reaches for the cup. "Honestly, I could drink an entire lake."

elizabeth darling | original | witch

[illhearted]

[ pardon the very little info, getting this journal set up is a bit of a work in progress! a very under construction info page is here. for the record, she doesn't look like she'd be too out of place in aefenglom proper - she has a very this kind of thing aesthetic going on, fashion-wise. ]

❥ creeping fire

[ There is nothing quite like this in Lindholm. Granted, Lindholm is just one city, and she's never stepped back far enough to see its more humble beginnings - should there have been any - and with the revolution on the rise, more and more natural landscape is turning into industry. She can't say she misses nature, really; while she has nothing against it, she never knew it, either. She wouldn't miss industry if it disappeared either, admittedly.

The most stunning things - and she had thought this, too, finding herself in this dream-yet-not - are the nymphs. Even bedraggled, they're something to behold. Watching the fauns soothe them, watching others twist water in the air with fine-tuned manipulation to rain on the unfortunate spirits - another stunning thing - magical.

Elizabeth knows of magic.

In Lindholm, there are demons who will agree to take a piece of you in payment for their contract - mind, soul, feelings, organs, limbs. The lack of a heart-beat in her chest is proof enough of that, even though the keeper of her heart isn't with her at the moment. (She isn't surprised; he's never commented one way or the other for if he has to sleep, and she's never thought to ask.) In Lindholm, there is said to be a door that leads to a parallel world full of wonderful, incredible things - a regular menagerie of magical creatures, spells, travelers from all walks of life. But in Lindholm, it doesn't exist like this; in all of her world, it doesn't exist like this.

She draws her skirts up and settles by the edge of the water, making sure they're not at risk of getting wet before she removes her black, laced gloves and dipping her fingers into the pool. It's colder than she expects it to be, but her face remains impassive despite the way she flinches her hand back.

A beat, and: ] It's cold.

[ Her voice has a soft lilt to it that's hard to place - she's done her best to weed out anything too identifying, but some things just can't be completely gotten rid of. ]

❥ staging area

[ Speaking of cold.

Elizabeth pays little mind to flowers (as pretty as they are, as nice as it is that there is a real and proper camp), trudging instead to the frozen land. Her heeled boots crunch frosted grass beneath her, unfailingly loud in how quiet the place is, and she stops short of one of the frozen nymphs. She raises a hand, letting it hang near the nymph's face (this one is quite tall to her quite small, and so it's a little bit of a craned neck situation), before she turns her face and lets her gloved hand drop down again. ]

When at first you don't succeed, simply try again, [ She crosses her arms to help conserve a little more heat, squeezing them a bit as she sighs; her breath comes out in a short puff of white. ] I wonder which came first? The attempt at freezing living things to save them, or the attempt to burn out the infection?

Not that it matters. [ She Guesses. ] It all comes up to the same end, I suppose.

staging area

[manlet]

[Andersen's always been weak to the fantastical, especially scenes pulled straight from fairy tales. Animal ears, nymphs, an entire region dominated by ice - it tugs on the heartstrings of his heart's soft side. Eventually, his curiosity gets the better of him and he wanders to the border between summer and winter, where Elizabeth happens to be.]

You think so? [In spite of his young appearance, the voice that comes out of Andersen is a man's baritone. He crosses his arms over his chest. Streaks of black soot still stain his clothes.] A flower burnt in the fire has no chance of returning from the ashes. A flower frozen - cruel as it may be, it can still be admired and thawed.

four 🌸 drakengard 3 🌸 monster (harpy)

[foursakes]

ＣＯＮＴＲＯＬＬＥＤ ＢＵＲＮ
[ when one dies and curses god to ugly hell and back for being the second biggest bitch of them all (the first was herself), you either consider the black of nothingness or, you think smoldering heat from the devil himself, where you will be spending the rest of eternity.

that’s what four thought at first, as flakes of ash fall into her hair and flurry the fluffs of her skirt. screaming, whispering rolls around her but has no body to show for— she nearly shrieks as her voice snaps into her throat with a breath too tightly clenched, whirling about and keeping her battle gauntlet close to her chest. where, oh where was slutty sister five? where was everyone? you can’t tell her she’s here alone, the only one so close to the hellfire that burns forests away, could you?

everything happens so quickly, though. a tree splits, and an infected nymph rises from its ugly insides, reaching for four across dragging its horrific body with it.

lady four would show mercy. lady four would attend to the call for help as dearly as her older sisters have. outwardly. in this fleeting dream, four shows her true colors, slamming the heel of her boot into the poor nymph enough to mangle its hand into the ashen earth. ]

Keep your suffering! Don’t you dare touch me, you—! [ she kicks it a second time, ] Elfen garbage! Hck—

[ the trees reach for her limbs the same way, and the girl screams so loudly you’d think someone was killing her. ]

Sisters?! Decadus—!! Please don’t leave me here, help!!

ＳＴＡＧＩＮＧ ＡＲＥＡ
[ being alone here was the biggest hell of all, and tears prick at the corners of the intoner’s bright green eyes, dim from so many frigid holes burned into the frame of her heart as she sits by water offered by the recruited witches. she’s a beautiful monster, dawning graceful white feathers amongst locks of deep brown hair— her limbs are thin, equally covered, but her melancholy sways about the pond’s ripples are a resemblance to the elegance of a swan. her hands, feet, they’re inked with black up to her elbows, slightly clawed and webbed. she tries to use her cloak and clothes, but they simply don’t give as much desired room for the thick flight feathers growing off them.

the harpy croons a macabre hymn that allures any listening passerbys, as she eventually plucks a growing bloom off the recovering earth and tears it apart, petal by petal.

you might even be compelled to ask: why is she so sad? ]

Staging Area

[hippocarnival]

[Yuya slowly gravitates to Four as she tings, although not by any conscious effort. He has no real resistance to the song, and it's a pretty sound besides.

But he stops, shaking himself to awareness and realizes she doesn't seem very happy. And he closes the rest of the distance with more purpose, stopping beside her.] Hey... are you okay?

H.C. Andersen | Fate/Grand Order | Witch | OTA

[manlet]

1 | DISCO INFERNO

[Horrors are par the course for a Heroic Servant. Hellish scenes are to be expected when you're setting broken timelines right, but - fool that he is - Andersen is more affected than he thought he'd be. He's always scorned humans as destructive creatures, has always looked down upon them as existences that could and should do better. But the nymphs - they're something separate from humanity. Monstrous, perhaps, but Andersen's always been weak to monsters.

That was his mistake.

Should a tree reach for you, it'll be blasted back by a weak bolt of magic. It's Andersen, who's cradling his left arm as if it's broken, gashes running down the sleeve.

By all accounts, he should be running. He's no Heracles or Robin Hood. All he is is a fairy tale author and a piss poor Caster turned into a poorer witch. Yet his movements are sluggish in spite of the inferno devouring the forest, eyes watering from the flecks of hot ash the wind blows in his face. Andersen coughs and grumbles, barely audible over the flames:]

Hey, moron. Stay alert, or you'll wind up as kindling.

[He's telling you off because he's certain of his fate.]

2 | STAGING AREA

[At last, some true peace and quiet.

Andersen, having fallen victim to the Cwyld earlier, is exhausted after the treatment. He was given a thorough scolding by the healers (should have known better, should have been more careful) which he can't say he didn't deserve. It was, fortunately, a minor infection - painful to eradicate, but treatable. Now that they're away from the blaze, he wants to do nothing but rest. So he does.

Andersen hobbles over to your character's side and lays down on the burgeoning grass. He looks awful: soot in his hair and staining his clothes, dark rings beneath his eyes, his glasses cracked, a bandage wrapped firmly around his arm. He lets out a long, long sigh.]

It may as well be the end of the world. [Dramatic as always.] Robert Frost would get a kick out of this scenario. Me? I'd kill someone for a bed right now.

1 i'm gonna curse this thread i don't care

[killful]

[ Yan Qing, self-proclaimed genius that he is, doesn't appreciate being called a moron by the likes of Casters. Still, Andersen's crudeness reminds him of simpler times, and to an outlaw like him, crass companions and impending doom are almost always nostalgic. With an armored hand, he shields his face from the ash, heat and wind as he approaches. His smile is as easy as ever. ]

Well, well, well! If it isn't the mermaid man himself. Thanks for the save. Where's Barnacle Boy?

Ouse Kurosawa | Fatal Frame V | Monster (Dragon) | OTA

[shotgunyuukon]

[1: Controlled Burn] [Walking barefoot through a forest really isn't a new thing to Ouse - it was common practice back on Hikami. But the heat is... stifling. She's so used to it being cool and damp and rainy on the mountain, this is a little different, and the stiff, dry leaves and sticks poke at her heels.

But... she's more or less used to it at this point. She strides forward toward the glowing, only to stop short at the dryad as the body falls limp at her feet. For a moment, Ouse pauses, flinching as she waits for the backlash of memories to hit her like a truck... but they don't. At least there is that small relief in this place, she's found, though it's still strange to think she is without her Mitori powers in this place. Still, ignoring the dead seems bad, especially for someone like her, who is so used to dealing with death, and so, she kneels down beside the dryad, and investigates it.

... Mm. Corrupted. She's learned not to touch that, but that doesn't mean she can't offer a silent prayer, horned head bowed, as she stands next to the corpse. It's dangerous, perhaps, to be like that, but she doesn't seem to move much, even when rustling steps come up behind her.]

[2: Creeping Fire]

[They wanted powers of water, and this Dragon has them, though there is a moment as she steps away from the crowd and waves a few of the ones she knows can stand away.] I think you'll want to stand over there for this.

[And a moment later, a long, serpentine dragon appears where the woman had been standing. White scales, a long, fluffy black mane covering it from head to tip of tail, and very much so the look of an eastern dragon, for those familiar with them, Ouse steps forward again. It might not be the most... sanitary way to achieve water, but it seems beggars can't be choosers, as she lets loose a small, lesser concentrated blast of her watery breath ability to soak the dryads, the surrounding area... and anyone who happens to be nearby. Oops.] Oh- I'm sorry.

[3: Staging area]

[There's a dragon in the river. Sorry, merrow, she's long and takes up a decent amount of space, but overall, Ouse just seems to be having fun rolling around in the water, like a cat, before coming to rest. The tip of her tail flicks up and down, splattering water with every hit as she lounges in the cool stream. Though, after a moment, she lifts her head - whoever is approaching her has grabbed her interest.] Are you the one here to check for signs of corruption? I'm feeling alright, for now.

Controlled burn

[me_underfire]

[Grace is this close to yelling at the other woman not to touch the body, but pauses when she only kneels next to it and... prays? That's what Grace assumes she's doing. She's barely holding it together- the thought that this has to be a dream the only thing that's quelling the panic, and she's honestly impressed by this stranger's ability to remain calm amidst all of this.]

I wouldn't linger too long. The fire is moving fast.

SUNDEW / wings of fire / monster (fae)

[lasiocephala]

1. Sundew has had this dream before. The ash in the air, the fire on the horizon... the trees burning, and nothing she can to do stop it. She's failed.

Frantic, she presses her talons to the earth to try to sense the extent of the damage -- only to find she can sense nothing. Her heart pounds in her chest. Is it already so bad that there are no plants left alive?

... And why does she feel like someone is watching her?

She bristles, the spines along her back standing on end, and whips her head around, teeth bared, tail lashing through the leaf litter. Tears are beginning to prick in her eyes. Stupid. Weak.

"Whoever you are," she snarls, "you'd better show yourself right now!"


2. She's taken to the air now, to try to scope out the situation from a better vantage point. She doesn't know what she's hoping to find; by now she's figured out this isn't her forest, but that only makes her slightly less alarmed and angry about the fact that it seems like it's in danger.

What she isn't expecting is any of those little creatures from the seaside caves. She thought they lived underground -- she's definitely never seen any of them in the jungle. They wouldn't last a second, she's sure of it. And she's not sure they're going to last very long out here.

Maybe a corrupted forest-dweller is about to lunge for you -- or maybe you're just lost in the woods. You may have actually had this under control, but that doesn't stop her. There's a rush of air and a set of sturdy green-and-gold-scaled talons suddenly seize you under each armpit, then, with a beating of huge leaflike wings, you're airborne.

"Don't freak out," says the dragon who's clutching you, and it doesn't really sound like she's actually expecting a response; she's talking the way someone might talk to an animal that's come indoors by mistake and needs to be gently moved to a more appropriate location, albeit with a slightly defensive edge. "I'm only doing this because Cricket would be so upset if she found out I let one of her little reading monkey guys get eaten by zombies."


OOC // 1. Sundew is a whole ass dragon and she looks like this! She's about the size of a small horse.
2. I'll match tag format to your response if you prefer brackets!

I CHOOSE TWO

[faithlikeaseed]

In a matter of speaking, Myr'd had this under control--where this was the infection crawling up his arms from palm to elbow, and under control was gritting his teeth and plunging his hands into fire despite every nerve in his body protesting it as a truly stupid idea. So perhaps his flying rescuer might be forgiven for thinking the resulting shout of pain signaled some immediate distress he needed to be saved from.

He'd just yanked his hands back--blistered, blackened, but mercifully free of something he hopes to hell isn't the Blight--when her shadow sweeps over him and he freezes on the spot like a startled deer. (A more apt comparison than he knows right now; he hasn't drawn the line between "antlers" and other more subtle changes to his nature.) It makes him a pitifully easy grab--something that he's absolutely furious about the instant the urge passes and he's already thirty feet off the ground.

"Put me down." There's ice and steel behind the words and a more concrete threat in the way he's trying to wriggle an arm free to loose his staff.

It hasn't yet occurred to him that those antlers could cause real damage if he jerks his head the right way--mercifully, for both their sakes.

Yuya Sakaki | Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc-V | Witch

[hippocarnival]

[Controlled Burn]

This is a dream.

Or, more accurately, a nightmare.

The fire in the distance is oppressive, making the air harder to breathe. The ash makes his eyes sting, but it's not the most frightful part. No, that's the trees. Branches and roots clawing at Yuya that have him unendingly running, hopping and twisting deftly around them--whatever happens if he's caught, he doesn't want to find out. Even dying in his dreams doesn't sound pleasant.

But he still stops when one of the nymphs tumbles out of the trees, reaching for him. He reaches back on impulse, and watches in horror as she practically withers before he his eyes.

The trees bend in closer.

[Staging Area]

Yuya's... a little shaken, but it's behind him right now. There's a moment where he stops and just stares at the destruction distantly behind them. The carnage... the agony...

He puts his hands on his hips.

"Okay, why haven't I woken up yet?"

This dream is bullshit.

Staging Area

[alienwear]

"You'll wake up eventually. Though I'd be leery of touching any reflections for a while after you do."

The advice comes from a certain green woman sporting numerous dragon-like features who is standing nearby. She looks weary, but she's far less shaken by all this than she might have been a few months ago. These shared dreams are becoming old hat for her, and a forest fire has nothing on the horrors the citizens of the city all witnessed a few weeks back, during Litha.

Mettaton | Undertale | Monster (Puca)

[metalcrusher]

Controlled Burn.

OH MY. HOW DISTURBING. I'M ACCUSTOMED TO THE CRY FOR ATTENTION BY MY LOVELY FANS... BUT NOT SUCH BRAZEN ATTEMPTS AT GRABBING FOR IT.

[Fortunately, Mettaton has managed to avoid being roped up by the appendages belonging to the forest nymphs, though it requires him to roll sharply to the side to avoid the swipe of a hand. The rectangular robot wags a finger.]

YET I UNDERSTAND THE ROOTS OF IT. WHO COULD RESIST THE TEMPTATION TO TOUCH MY SLEEK METAL FIGURE?? AND BESIDES. IT COULD BE SAID THAT A SINGLE TOUCH FROM YOURS TRULY... IS THE CURE FOR ALL THAT AILS YOU. BUT LIKE ALL STARS, I ENJOY DOLING OUT MY HEALING HANDS ON —— OOMPH!!

[All of this monologuing and not enough care for his surroundings causes Mettaton to fall victim to one of the roots he speaks of, which wraps its tendril around the pole he stands upon and yanks.

Mettaton falls forward with a loud crash. He saves the moment by giving the face-down approximation of a shrug.]

SO IRRESISTIBLE THAT YOU'D SEE ME FALL FOR YOU, EH?

[If you have any sympathy for sexy metal boxes, this might be a good time to lend a hand and free him from the forest's grip! But it might come at the cost of infection...]

Creeping Fire.

[Instead of appearing like some isolated area of respite, the gully is filled with a smokescreen of white, but it's not the black smoke characteristic of fire. Instead, it's a byproduct of a Mettaton's transformation: when it clears, an android with broad, triangular shoulders and a narrow waste stands tall and proud in the center of the amphitheater.

...A stark contrast to his features of metal is the prominence of furry rabbit ears. They flop uselessly, as though separate entirely from the robot himself. His fingers, ended in sharp black claws, rub delicately at his head and he flinches visibly; his hands travel to his face next.]

Oh my god. [He touches his face frantically.] Did she... Is this...? Ah—! My beautiful face! My brand!!

[Finally, Mettaton covers his entire face with his hands entirely. So distracted by these new sensations and attributes is Mettaton that he fails to notice the approach of the infected nymphs. He came here at the behest of them, but maybe he needs the aid of others to keep from being infected himself...

From behind his hands, he makes a noise like he's clearing his throat, composes himself, and addresses his fellow dreamer:]

You, darling. How kind of you to stand by during my time of need. Do you happen to have... a mirror handy? Anything at all?

Other. [Please feel free to engage in Mettaton in the Staging Area prompt as well! Otherwise, shoot me a PM if you have other ideas in mind.]

creeping fire

[plasticasshole]

[Connor is busy trying to use his water magic to help the nymphs, but he can sense the aggression in them too and he's starting to think leaving would be a better idea. He frowns a little at the request.]

We should be leaving, not looking in mirrors...

[But he shapes some water into a flat surface, something reflective enough for Mettaton to look into.]

John Childermass / Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell / Witch

[atouts]

[ controlled burn ]

Childermass's dreams tend more towards desolate landscapes and the cold onset of winter when he has them at all, which means stumbling into a forest burning down around him has already caught him off guard. What sounds like screaming only does so even more, though he tries to focus on sorting out what to do instead of falling into the nonsense of panic— well, up until the tree next to him cracks apart and a screaming woman falls out onto him, trying to cling to his coat.

His immediate reaction is to shove her away and step back, eyes going wide as he gets the chance to see just who, or what, has joined him out here. Fae? Dryad? Nymph, although those could be all one and the same. Whichever, she struggles and he's already stepping forward again, reaching a hand out towards her just as she collapses.

"Miss?" Or however you might address a tree spirit, he isn't entirely sure. Perhaps it's for naught, but he crouches down by her to check for any sign of life, fingers lightly resting on an unmoving shoulder just as the other trees wretch to life, roots and branches surging forward to grab at him. Childermass jerks back, away, but it's too late. "No—! Wait, let go! You'll get us all killed!"

[ staging area ]

Making it through the fire and the grasping, twisting branches of the forest, stumbling upon magicians — witches, in this case, it would seem — was unexpected. There aren't this many magicians in the whole of England, so just what is this long, terrible dream even trying to tell him? It looks safe, at least, and while he does idle by those raising plants out of the soil, he's damn tired (in a dream, of all places!) and carries on past them to the ice.

It's cooler here and therefore better, even if it is wildly uncomfortable to drop down and take a seat on a snow-covered tree stump. He looks over at one of the frozen nymphs — who doesn't look happy at all with her unexpected situation, by the way, face stuck in a scowl like that, partway out of her tree.

"If that's overdoing it on their part, I would hate to see what an actual mistake looks like," he muses aloud, utterly bemused, the weariness only making his already gravelly voice all the rougher.

Staging Area

[psychotronics]

Trying to get away for a minute from the frantic energy of the unfrozen camp has put Morgan over in Childermass's vicinity. She'd offered a nod of acknowledgment on her initial arrival, but for the most part she's been keeping to herself, largely unconcerned with making small talk. That comment gets a quiet chuckle out of her, though.

"Good instinct. If you did, you probably wouldn't live to reflect on it afterwards," she supplies blandly. "Doesn't happen very often, fortunately."

Sokie Undertown | OC |Witch

[weirdnecro]

Controlled Burn

[She didn't know how she'd come here.

But she didn't know being reached for suddenly. Seeing the dryad reach for her like that, she jerked away, seeing the thing try to crawl and ask for help...Sokie hissed quietly as she watched the creature finally grow still.

But it had got her on the arm in passing, and it burned. And the only way to cure it was...]

This is so...stupid. It better work.

[Her hand flicked, and she muttered a word, bringing flicking flames in her palm. Was she...yeah she was gonna.]

Creeping Fire

Water only soothes the burn. But it doesn't treat it.

[She's standing there, hands on her hips. She's wrapped the burn on her arm with bits of her shirt, leaving her standing in spenders, a sports bra, and pants. But she's staring up at the rock, and where the infected could be coming from.

She clicked her tongue.]

I suppose a barrier will have to do. I may need some help making a big enough one, and then releasing some offensive strikes.

Or...hmm. I guess fire was the answer all along. What do you think?

Wildcard

Anything goes! message me nammah on plurk if you've got questions!

WHOOPS this is for creeping fire

[vengaboy]

[Let's be real, it's the unusual outfit that catches Masamune's attention first (unusual, thinks the guy looking like he walked right out of some over-the-top historical reenactment. For furries.) but the thing that keeps it is the fact that the woman seems to have some idea of what she's doing. More so than the strange terrified folk huddled together and praying for safety. There's no time to teach anyone to swing a sword properly and no point in sending civilians out to their deaths. So seeing someone else keeping their cool is a real relief.]

Humm. Depends... What does it look like on the other side of that wall?

[Specifically that wall, not the general forest. Obviously the forest looks like hell. Although by the way he's got his eye fixed on the top, he's pretty obviously set on getting up there whether he gets an answer or not. These stupid dragon tendencies were with him long before he suddenly sprouted scales and claws.]

Billie Lurk / Dishonored / Merrow

[redwhaling]

creeping fire.

"I'm telling you, I don't do water magic."

Billie Lurk is no stranger to magic. Strange powers dolled out from the Void for another's amusement, knives in the dark appearing out of nowhere, and paintings that call to not only your eye but your very heart. Water, however, is a new one, and a bizarre goatman and a bunch of plant women — disturbingly reminiscent of coven she once knew — pleading for her to help them that way grinds on her nerves but not enough for her to outright abandon them.

Maybe in a dream she can pull water out of nowhere. Apparently, in a dream, she has scales, so why the hell not? She'd still rather face the tree roots creeping closer and closer to their little sanctuary, though, sword already in hand and her expression as grim as her eyes are sharp, watching ever twitch of the living, writhing, screaming trees.

"Even if I did, someone else would have to take up cutting this shit back and who's going to do that, hm?"

Anyone? Is she hearing any volunteers?

staging area.

Alright, so they did get out of that in one piece. Great. Now there are witches — not necessarily a bad thing but she's sure going to side-eye anyone calling themselves that — and... what? Weird people? What did she even have for dinner that prompts a dream this wild?

"Here, take her," is how she introduces herself to the first witch she spots standing idly around, shoving one of the miserable, wilted nymphs from the amphitheatre at them before brushing past and carrying on to find somewhere to sit. Once she does, she's stabbing her sword into the dirt next to her and rolling back a sleeve for a closer look at the scales already marring her forearm. With no real explanation for why they're there, her next step is to grasp one between gloved fingers and rip it out.

[psychotronics]

Morgan just as quickly hands the nymph off to someone more qualified to treat it than herself. Magic is still a fairly new concept to her, and the degree of specialized healing required here is a bit beyond her abilities. She'd likely do more harm than good.

Her first thought is to instead check up on the health of the person who brought the nymph in in the first place, but when she locates the woman in question it's just in time to witness her viciously plucking at some strange spots on her arms. Rather than flinching, Morgan's brows just go up slightly. She can't quite identify what the blemishes are from a distance; could be a weird burn, could be Cwyld spots... She approaches, but retains a respectable distance before posing the question: "Mind if I take a closer look at that?"

scathach | fate/ | turnskin (skye terrier)

[scatmaam]

[ i - controlled burn - to watch you dance the jig of death ]

[ With her reflexes so dulled as they were, it was no shock that the dying nymph has managed to claw at her, tearing the once mana-enforced cloth of her leotard, leaving black, ashy marks on her skin. She cursed her own mistakes as she leapt back, sweeping her spear around her in a massive circle to push back the other nymphs, forcing them back. She had empathy for their plight, to be sure, but she knew full well that any more close calls like that and she'd be joining them in their damnation, among the cursed.

She didn't waste a moment debating the morality of it. And any witnessing her would likely think her cruel. But the woman with the spear did not have the luxury of debating before she began to stab the nymph's, thrusting the blood red spear she carried into the ones that swarmed her, ending their suffering with not fire, but death itself... or at least she hoped.

She turned to the other person she sensed by, who wasn't among the infected nymphs. ]

You! Go! Run!

[ ii - creeping fire - as thousands they grieve ]

[ She may have been out of the fight, for the moment, but there was no reprieve to be found further away from the ashen ones. Scathach walked among the weeping nymphs, the dread pushing her along like a black wave, thick like tar. They pleaded with her, they beg. It was... a familiar place to find herself. In the Land of Shadows, the cries of the already damned were no new song to her ears. She'd seen this all before, time and again, the black winds of death blowing in like a storm. Her face remained stoic however, turning to another of her companions. ]

We can do little for them. We can only delay the inevitable. Have you a will to keep going?

[ That, she felt, was probably more important. In the face of near certain destruction, knowing full well there was barely anything they could truly do to keep the nymphs from dying out in the face of this dread disease, of these 'cleansing' flames, where did one's resolve lie? ]

I'll not be your judge if you choose to run. [ And her tone suggested she meant it. ]

[ iii - staging area - everything or nothing at all ]

In a war of attrition, you merely fight for an opportunity to die with dignity...

[ Scathach was as aged, in truth significantly more so, than those older witches, and gave them a stern look for their stubbornness. She did not see an end to this war that would see the survival of this forest. If anything, the small droplets of life that were beginning to form around her only further convinced her that fighting the coming end was a war of ego more than anything else. The world would find its life anew, with or without these witches or nymphs. The cycle of life and death, for most, rolled its wheel along without any regard for the petty machinations of man and gods.

With a huff, she turned her attention to the frozen nymphs, shaking her head. ]

Another battlefield... This one won't be any different than the others. You're all best off finding a way out while you can. This isn't your place to die...

[ It wasn't directed at anyone in particular. It could have been at the surviving nymphs, it could have been for the witches, or even for you that had accompanied her. But the solemness in her words, as if in mourning for some unknown person, was difficult to miss. ]

[ wildcard ]

[ or hit me up with something else! if you need to plot something, hmu on this journal or on plurk. i'm down for anything! ]

Controlled burn

[gorgeously_unrestrained]

[If she was hoping to turn and see someone who might listen to reason and actually flee this horrible place, she's about to be disappointed. Because Fionn only readies his spear and flashes her a smile.]

I'm wounded, Queen of Shadows. Do you really think I'm the type to flee and leave a lady in distress?

[Honestly implying that Scathach would need his help might be more dangerous than anything the forest can throw at him, but Fionn is never weighed down by silly things like common sense.]

fie claussell ❀ trails of cold steel ❀ turnskin (snow leopard)

[sylphid]

(a - creeping fire)

[A dream. Fie's had a lot of those in her years, a good portion of them similar to this-- a callback of work done in the past. Heat, destruction, fear... Most of it not directly her doing, but the doing of those around her. Sitting idly by and watching, it was a job after all.

But that's in the past now. She's a different person in some ways. One would be not sitting by and watching anymore. This time, it's her job to help those effected. Unfortunately, magic isn't her calling here, not that it was before, but that's not going to get in the way if she can help it. Fie still has her speed, strength, and agility, even moreso than before. Her gunswords are with her, and so is her ARCUS, even if the latter is simply a comfort instead of a useful tool.

She grips a weapon in each hand, and leaps from the outer wall towards a small horde of oncoming wildlife, clearly infected. There's no saving them now. Her tail twitches, a feeling she'll need to get used to later, before she slides her blade through the nearest enemy. Dream or not, this is still second nature.]

(b - staging area)

You gonna eat that? [Whether it's a piece of jerky sitting to the side, or a cracker part way to someone's mouth, it doesn't matter much. Fie's hungry, and if she can get something from someone by asking (or annoying), she's going to try. Whether the answer is yes or no or polite or rude, it's entirely possible she'll sit next to them anyway. It won't bother her. In fact, she may get a slight kick out of bothering someone else. Who knows?

Or she may sit down without asking for food or anything else. Silence is nice, too sometimes, but it's understandable if it's somewhat suspicious. Does she want something? Is she lost? It doesn't look like she's going to talk first.]

B

[fiddlestick]

[ Dream or not, casting all that magic to help the forest and the nymphs had worked up his appetite. So he was taking a break in the camp, eating some food (or, trying to force it down- even dreams can't make field rations taste good) when she comes by.

After knowing Fie as long as he has, her trying to get his food was so common his reaction is almost a reflex. ]

L-Let me have a few more bites, okay--

[Wait a second. Fie. Fie was in this dream. He was used to dreaming about Class VII, he did it all the time, but they never showed up in these realistic dreams. He does a double check]

-- W-Wait! Fie?! Is that you!?

Wanda Maximoff 💥 MCU 💥 Witch

[minus1twin]

i. controlled burn

The taste of ash filled Wanda's mouth as she walked through the unfamiliar woods. She didn't know this world but she got the sense that this was somehow more than just a dream.

She turned as the trees began to crack and the nymph's crumbled in a tangle of limbs to the ground. The pain blinded them. Wanda lifted a hand to summon the familiar pulse of energy that she'd been granted from the mind stone but nothing happened. Her eyes widened in surprise, all while the creature continued its slow desperate crawl towards her. Wanda's shoulders set in determination as she held her hands out in front of her with her palms facing each other. She focused on her powers but instead of the energy she knew, she felt the heat of fire gather between her palms.

Flames licked up the tips of her fingers burning her pale skin before she threw the spell away from her. The nymph was plunged into a wave of fire and a cry of pain tore into the dark sky.

Wanda placed her palm in front of her mouth as the unpleasant stench of the creatures remains filled the air.

Her middle and forefinger had been burnt by the flames but not enough to stop her. If she was lost out here then there were bound to be others as well. Wanda couldn't leave them to the fate of the burning woods. She set off towards whatever clamor she heard in the distance; shouting should she see someone getting too close to the diseased trees.

"Get away from that!" Her accent was thick and the words commanding.

ii. creeping fire

She walked into camp with ash smeared across her dress. Wanda had been a witness to war before but nothing like this. The closest thing she could think of was when she was a child trying to survive the winter in Sokovia. Many had succumbed to fever or disease, scrounging for water, food and heat but that had been a part of life, an aspect of the climate. This felt like a war.

There wasn't any time to rest or let her thoughts wander. She had to survive and continue to lend aid where she could. Her powers had changed, leaving a knot of uncertainty in her chest, but Wanda ignored it. She'd use whatever power she had to save these people.

She focused on perfecting the call of fire at the edge of the encampment, ignoring the way her fingers stung in the face of the heat. When her vision blurred with exhaustion she walked towards the center of the amphitheatre and sat. She didn't rest but called upon her spells to add to the water or creating sections of ice to keep what water they had from evaporating before it could be used.

Even away from the woods, she could feel the heat of the fires and taste the ash on the wind.

iii. staging area

Eventually, Wanda pushed herself too far.

She fainted from the exhaustion of her spells and was brought to the staging area to forcibly rest. The sky was clearer here and she finally let her thoughts, worries and uncertainties rush rampantly through her head. Her powers had changed into something new. It felt like someone had reached into her and changed her again but this time it was without her permission.

Wanda inhaled and tasted air that was wasn't thick with ash and soot. She looked over at the frozen sites several yards away and frowned. She didn't need anyone to tell her what had happened.

"They're dead." Her voice was soft and pained.

It had all ended.

So why was this happening?

3

[thepowerofthor]

"Too many are, yes."

The voice is almost familiar, he is sure, even if it sounds a little different. He sits, next to her, where she was settled, and he hefts an axe in his hands that is familiar, that is now as tall as he is, but his arms are, despite being small and furry and ending in clawed hands, quite muscled and he holds it still easily.

"Hello, Wanda. Welcome to the Nightmare." He speaks the words without sarcasm, his voice tired, and aching. He is tired of this place, with no idea how long he has been here, and with a body that is almost completely alien from him now.

He looks like a four foot tall cat-man, with bulging muscles, wearing, currently, what looks like, and is, a former sheet that is belted at his waist, and carefully made bracers of some leathery substance on his arms. The fure that is all over him is a reddish-golden color, like his hair was before, and on his bare chest, where the sheet has been cut, just so, there is a blaze where white fur replaces the gold-red, in the shape of a hammer.

Moana 🌊 Monster {Merrow}

[chosenbytheocean]

{a. controlled burn}

[The forest is unlike anything she's ever seen before. The trees have thick roots and towering branches but she can't see beyond the lowest rung of needled limbs. The air is thick with dirt and ash. None of which contain any traces of her island.]

What is this place? [She places her palm on an oak tree only to hear the sudden crack of thunder echo through the ground. Moana jumps with a start as the thick trunk in front of her splits and crumbles. A thin weathered figure falls from its bark cocoon and begins crawling towards the young girl.

Disease!

She recognizes it instantly. The darkness... sucking the life out of island after island. It's here too and this place is dying.]

Let me help you! [Moana calls out to the forest only to hear another crack of thunder as the forest around her cracks and creatures pull themselves free of their toxic prisons.] I have the heart! [Her eyes burn as she tries to find a light, the sun, the ocean... anything.

One of the creatures wraps its fingers around Moana's ankle just before its eyes roll to the back of its head. She shouts and kicks the hand away but it's too late. Her ankle feels heavy as that one foreboding word echoes through her head.

Fire.]

{b. refreshing water}

The ocean is a friend of mine.

[Her voice is light and warm despite the glow of the fires and the ominous feeling encircling their sanctuary. Moana doesn't want to lose hope. As long as they keep fighting there is a way to combat the darkness. And if she can't return the heart, she'll find another way. She is going to stop the darkness from destroying island after island.

The ability is new but Moana has always been close to the ocean. Ever since she'd been a child she'd been drawn to it and now she's drawing it to herself.

She closes her eyes and goes through the steps of the dance her grandmother had taught her. Her hips sway to the tide of the ocean while the layers of her grass skirt reveal a tan leg that steps and shifts with the unheard rhythm of her arms and waist. She turns and reaches up towards the sky with both arms before bowing at her waist and bowing to the earth.

As she rises, the water rises with her. As if pulled from the depths of the earth, gathering in a divot of rock in front of her.]

{c. wildcard}

[ooc: if you want anything else, I'm down.]

refreshing water

[plasticasshole]

[Connor is drying out with all of this hot air, and has taken to sitting on a damp rock in some desperate attempt to be close to the water. His own powers just won't work if he's this dehydrated. As soon as he sees water welling up in front of him though he perks up, and scoots closer. Even if only to dip a scaled hand inside it- he knows he's not the only one who needs water right now.]

...Thank you. I was drying out.

[He cups some in his hands and drinks.]

(OTA) The Fledgling | Vampire: the Masquerade - Bloodlines | vampire

[gehennawind]

I. the creeping fire

[ She would give anything to not see fire wherever she turns, but instead, the red and orange are always in her peripheral. Paloma flinches and curls over her chipped pickhead axe like frightened woodlice. Part of her yearns to be held and comforted as some nymphs have taken to doing. Another just wants to scream hysterical questions.

The last third of her (dreaming?) mind is afraid of this entire burning world and cannot trust them. ]

Not real. Not real. This can't, I can't— I can't be asleep...

[ Her mouth clicks shut, the stream of babble cutting off. She hunches there in the gully dirt, knees splayed and cuddling into the high rock wall as if it can swallow her away from fear. The pressure of her fingers around the axe's handle push up splinters and leave grooves in uneven crescents. Darting her eyes from a slouched and shuddering tree spirit with a blackened leg, to a faun watching them both, to the faraway crest of their wall-shield, the dark of Paloma's expanded pupils catch on the next closest thing. ]

I-I don't want to see this. Stop.

II. the stage

[ Putting these seasoned witches between herself and the oversized bonfire, the Fledgling can just about pretend that all is well, and she is safe, and protected.

She fights residual tremors in her legs, wanting desperately to seem collected and afraid of appearing vulnerable. The axe she clutches like a security blanket is kept semi-hidden behind a coat that might have been designer, once. Given these various difficulties, choosing to sit before her knees give out is a matter of practicality. A weakly bubbling stream wends past a larger collection of rocks, which show early signs of moss growth. It's on those that Paloma tries to find refuge.

You've gotten there first. Whatever it is that you've done or are doing by the infant moss, a young lady with enormous circles under her eyes stares luminously, fretfully, stopping up short with a suddenness that almost costs her footing on the stones. ]

Do you... need quiet? [ She is extra, extra sure to keep the axe behind her, now. ]

The Stage

[weirdnecro]

[She's all over fear. Sokie could see something poking out what had been once a very good coat once, and she was pretty sure it was some form of weapon. She just wasn't sure what kind.

And it didn't really matter. Sokie had not taken off her shoes, but she had rolled up her sleeves, and had been trying to wash her hands in the water. Seeing The Fledgling, she had managed to sit back on her heels.]

Sure, but I could use being murdered even less.

[She says it so casually, so amused, that it's hard to tell if she's serious or not. But Sokie motions for the young woman to sit.]

Sit. I'm not going to tell you to go.

Fionn Mac Cumhaill | FGO | undecided

[gorgeously_unrestrained]

{OOC: I'm still deciding whether I want him to be a monster or a witch, so I'm going to be playing around with different options in these threads. The three I'm considering are Vampire, Merrow, or Witch. If you have a preference just let me know and I'll roll with it.}

Controlled Burn (Any)

[This is a dream. A dream of an unfamiliar forest. There are strange almost whispers on the wind. And something about him is... off. Fionn has just barely enough time to register these vital facts before the forest comes alive all around him. Luckily(?) for him, reacting without thinking is kind of a specialty of his. At the very least, it's spared him from the corruption so far. He's managing to keep the grasping branches at bay as he makes his way through the forest. And luckily for you he just intercepted a branch that was headed your way.]

Watch yourself!

[That advice is delivered with a bright smile that is entirely too cheeky for the situation. The effect is ruined anyway by branch he hasn't noticed yet creeping up behind him. Warn him?]

Creeping Fire (Either witch or merrow)
[Well... he can hardly ignore pleas for help. And Fionn has always had a connection to water and is even familiar with manipulating it to some extent. But... all his noble phantasms seem to have deserted him. Which is a pity, because he could definitely use his thumb right about now....]

Water? Hm....

[ No, he can't access any of the powers he normally has. But... there's definitely something there. Different, but maybe similar enough. He concentrates. And, after a few seconds, droplets of water coalesce from the air to swirl around his hand.]

There! That should help.

[It will. A little. The grim reality is that this tiny sanctuary isn't likely to hold out for much longer. But Fionn is far too occupied with being pleased with himself to worry about any kind of reality, grim or otherwise.]

Staging Area (Any)

[The chance for a brief rest is appreciated. It's been an eventful day. Fionn is currently using his spear to curiously poke the unmelting ice of the second camp. ]

This is certainly the longest dream I've ever had. And one of the strangest.

[The remark is made with a certain amount of bemusement. He's mostly striking up conversation with whoever is nearby to relieve boredom, but the observation is still valid. Shouldn't he have woken up by now? Generally dreams end after all the exciting parts are over with. ]


Other

[The wildcard option! As you can probably tell, top levels are really not my forte, so feel free to come up with other options if none of these work for you.]

controlled burn welp here it goes

[ua_duibhne]

[Wood splinters. In the midst of all the chaos, the cloying scent of burning and decay caught in his throat and the ash in his eyes, Diarmuid hadn't even noticed the oncoming branch. Even if he had, his attention would have likely been entirely absorbed by the man he finds himself partnered up with.

Rather- reunited with. Diarmuid's eyes widen.

A handsome face framed by golden locks and the kind of cocky charm destined to give rise to legends and heartbreak and admiration alike. A lyrical accent that makes his chest ache with homesickness. No, there's no doubting who he's looking at. Time and conflict might have darkened his hair and gaze in Diarmuid's own memories- "What has become of your beauty now, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne?"- but the Fionn Mac Cumhaill standing before him now brims with youth and vibrancy. There isn't so much as a hint of hatred in those eyes.

And yet the agitation in his own heart makes speaking more than even a few words difficult. Anger and remorse and relief and sheer, dizzying joy mix into one and, for a moment, he forgets to breathe.

It's without thinking, then, that he lets instinct take over and drops down to one knee, one fist clasped over his heart.]

L-Lord Fionn...! [and then, a second later when he realises they're not out of danger yet-] Behind you-!

geralt | the witcher | undecided

[niespodzianka]

█ controlled burn

[ The most successful dreams are ones that implant a whole reality of assumed context in the dreamer - and Geralt is more susceptible than most, with his colorful greymatter history of amnesia, fated psychic links, and getting knocked about the head a whole fucking lot by monsters and beasts for his day job. His brain fills in the blanks of a familiar place and a familiar excuse; bitter, yes, but everything in Velen and its rancid swamps is bitter. The goddesses that haunt it, even more. Who cares. Let it all go to ash.

But the edges keep fraying. He glides down a proverbial staircase and there are more and more uneven steps. The creatures extending scorched talons his direction are not trying to harm him. The way he tries to cast Aard to clear flames from his immediate presence doesn't work the way it should, and the sensation leaves him disoriented, and with a blackened tree turned to dust. The tie he feels in his mind is not one that should be there - he knows the magic that bound him to Yennefer has been severed, and it never felt quite like this in the first place, so what--?

It gets to him, despite the armor, and his experience. Just a little thing, and at first, he watches it as though from outside his own body - his veins running dark is a routine occurrence, believe it or not - but his delayed reaction is nothing like one from taking a witcher decoction. The pain is near the worst he's ever felt (and boy, has Geralt fucking felt). Gracefully, the white haired man doubles over, and pukes on a smoldering plant. ]


█ staging area

The nymph he's given safe(ish?) harbor to is happy enough for the lift to the clearing, no matter that it was bridal style and clumsy through the fire, and Geralt sets her down without fanfare. With more of them about, maybe someone will cough up something besides mystic warnings.

"Anyone here not sick of talking about what the fuck is going on?"

Voice even rougher than usual from smoke inhalation, Geralt's bark is worse than his bite, but that may be hard to intuit with the frown on his scarred face, golden slit-pupil eyes scanning the area critically.

Dreaming of frost. He has to force himself to ignore the twist in his guts at the familiar notes. He knows it's a dream or illusion, by now, and it's difficult to shake the ill feeling born of past experiences. In the past, nightmares were so often linked to Ciri being in danger - and while he doesn't see her here, the thematic coincidences in this corner are unsettling.


█ wildcard

[ There's probably not an on fire Denny's in here but if you feel inspired for something that can't be crowbarred into a thing above, slam into me fam. ]

( ooc; either prose or action is a-ok with me! )

controlled burn.

[ipseite]

( it's the rare man that can empty his stomach gracefully.

perhaps that will be what lingers with petrana tomorrow when she wakes from this dream, alone, folding her thin wings around her shoulders. a singularly striking image. perhaps, though, it will be this instead: the brief sense of despair that twists her stomach (or maybe that's just sympathetic nausea) when she cannot readily see a means of aiding him without...

she will become infected if she touches him. fire is necessary to cleanse the infection.

no part of this is going to be enjoyable; she grasps his arm firmly, as if he isn't at least twice her size, and begins the undignified business of hauling them both directly into the flames. )

Alphys | Undertale

[textsfromhotland]

A: Oh god everything is on fire

Alphys is not the outdoorsy type, and she's definitely not the heroic type, so it's anyone's guess as to why she's out here facing the encroaching forest fire. She wants to turn tail and run, but she's not sure in which direction safety lies. And that's when the tree splits open, and a nymph claws her way out.

"O-oh, gosh, are you okay, lady-" Any other day, Alphys might be flattered by a cute girl coming up to her unannounced, but something is clearly wrong here, and she finds herself trying to scurry backwards. The nymph is still too fast for her, and clings to Alphys' coat, holding her in place as roots burst from the ground and wrap themselves around the monster's feet.

The heat rises up through the rest of her body through her feet, going from uncomfortable to downright agonizing in mere moments. Heat's never particularly bothered her before- she lives in Hotland after all- but this heat hurts. Alphys grips the sides of her head as her vision swims.

"H...help...?"

B: The quiet place (faun)

Away from the fire, things are peaceful. It's actually kind of nice, she thinks to herself, before realizing that she just thought about how nice nature is. Since when! Alphys would rather be holed up in her room, basking in the glow of her computer monitor instead of out here in the woods!

Still, it's enough to let her catch her breath for a minute in the middle of all this chaos, so she wanders through a clearing looking for a spot to sit down and rest her feet. She picks a little patch of grass that looks soft (not as soft as her desk chair!! She reminds herself), and plops down. As her hands touch the newly sprouted grass, it almost seems to move and... grow a little taller? Maybe it's just a trick of the light, and Alphys doesn't seem to notice, anyway. "W-what a day..."

C: WILDCARD

[come at me bro (ง •̀_•́)ง]

A

[fiddlestick]

[ This is probably not the sort of help she exactly expected. Through all the heat and chaos, a nearby violin starts to play. A cheerful and soothing melody, in contrast. If Alphys looks, there's a redheaded human playing a silver and green violin. Magical power radiates from him. ]

Remedy Fantasia!

[Suddenly, the forest floor turns into a field of colorful flowers, spreading out and pushing the infection back, reaching to the foot of the tree. Teal songbirds, like straight ut of disney movie, flutter down and land on the shoulders of Alphys and the nymphs, singing a little bird song before disappearing into light. Alphys will start to feel better as the infection gets purified. The nymph on the other hand, was too far gone and shrieks as it starts to crumble apart.

That's right. You're getting saved by a disney princess.]

Steve Rogers | 616 | Monster (Chimera - Gryphon)

[captenacious]

i. CONTROLLED BURN

[ Steve's eyes close to fire and open to fire. Somehow, he can't bring himself to be surprised. There's an odd sense of surreality, something's off, but the sounds of something like screams galvanize him into action before he can linger too long on the thought. Without so much as a pause, Steve runs headlong deeper into the blaze.

He's got enough momentum that he nearly trips over the woman trying to crawl away, and she's already still by the time Steve reaches her. It doesn't stop him from lifting the small form anyway, draping her across his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Nobody's dead until they're cold and dead. There's still time. He has to adjust himself unexpectedly under the weight, his usual strength should be more than enough, but he can still manage her and there's no time to worry about it. ]

Anyone else need help?

[ The shout echoes as much as it can through the sounds of burning, and Steve's moving before he gets a response anyway. He senses more than sees something swing towards him and just barely manages to duck under what looks like a tree branch. But his reflexes aren't quite good enough to dodge the second one, the root wrapping too tightly around his arm. Teeth bared with effort, Steve manages to pull himself free, but he's panting with it.

Something is very wrong. And it's not just the fire. ]

ii. CREEPING FIRE

[ By the time he's found a few living folks, Steve's refusing to let himself focus on anything other than the task at hand. he guides the last nymph he's been leading into the amphitheater and glances briefly around it with a critical eye. It's a choke point, and he doesn't like it but at the moment there isn't much other option. They all need a break.

And there's something else coming. He can feel it, even if his body isn't working quite the way it's supposed to. Some things you don't unlearn. There isn't anything else he can do for these...spirits?, and frankly they've been turning wide, frightened eyes at him almost as much as at the fire. Once they're all as sheltered as they can be, he keeps his distance.

Besides, if there's anything Steve knows how to do, it's stand guard. He parks himself right in front of the amphitheater's entrance and takes a deep breath. And without thinking, finds himself mantling the pair of massive golden eagle's wings stretching from his shoulders, trying to make himself look even larger. ]

If you're here to help, come on in, [ he calls to the sound of approaching footsteps. ] If you're not, you go through me.

iii. STAGING AREA

[ There's a quiet pocket of safety, past the edge of the fires, and it's both a relief and a problem. Because Steve can't, stop himself from dropping to the cooler ground to take several deep breaths, but it means he also has something to focus on that isn't a calamity.

Which means he can't not look down at his hands, the skin on the back of them turned almost scaly and the fingers sharpened into talons. He can't not notice the weight of the wings on his back or the fact that his knees seem to be bending the wrong way. What it means, he has no idea. At the moment, he's a little too tired to do anything but stare at them.

And start a little as he registers someone nearby. He's so used to being more alert than this, quicker, stronger. It feels like being...well. It feels like not being Captain America. ]

Sorry. [ He tips his head back to look at whoever's nearby with a slightly wry smile. ] Did you need something?

iv. WILDCARD

[ Want to do something else? Go nuts! Steve's chimera form is top half golden eagle, bottom half lion. ]

ii

[anotheroldsoldier]

[Bucky will never get used to these crazy dreamscapes. This one is almost worse than the last, with the forest burning, the infected trees grasping for the strange people that apparently live here. It isn't real, but it feels real enough, and- well, old habits die hard. If people need saving, and he's there, then why wouldn't he try to do some saving? He might not be Captain America anymore, but he's still Bucky Barnes, and he can still make a difference.

He's been out there, in the fire, ignoring the way his skin prickles strangely and the way he seems to stick to branches and stones as he travels through the forest. (Something is very wrong with him, but he's known that for the last couple of weeks.) Led to what seems to be an amphitheater by other fleeing nymphs, Bucky is carting a nymph child on his back, her rough bark-like arms curled around his neck, her weeping-willow hair tickling the side of his face. He's scuffed up and sooty from trying to help as many to safety as possible.

Half sliding down the incline, toward the entrance, he tenses when he finds someone blocking the path - and then relaxes, when he recognizes that familiar face, if not those unfamiliar wings.]

Jesus christ, Rogers, you playin' doorman now?