WEEK THREE

[lesmodsalouette]

WEEK THREE

28 Guests

You awaken smothered in wonderfully soft blankets. If you are lucky, there is a warm body next to you, but... those are becoming shorter and shorter in supply, aren't they?

It's Monday at Château Ambregris, and you have just arrived here. Whatever clothes you are wearing, whatever injuries you are sporting... They are once again accurate to how you were before this tale began. Whether this leaves you with any urgent matters to take care of or relieved of ailing you had contracted in the 'last' week, the gong of the numerous clocks chimes out indifferently to the hour. Gone is the urgent summons of the past two weeks, with no Witch to greet you.

Rise and shine, and face your 'first' day in your 'new' home! And though you may now think yourself quite familiar with it, maybe another look around wouldn't hurt?

TIME LOOP:

-Characters wake up with the clothes they had with them at their canon point, like in the intro log.
-The state of their bodies is exactly the same as it was on the intro log (for better or worse).
-Any items they accumulated last week are also reset (sorry you'll need to build up your weapon cache again), except items that were given out as event rewards. Please note that the item uses are not reset.

LOCATIONS UPDATED:
- library, gardens
- mud bath → aquarium
- menagerie → photography studio
- grotto → greenhouse

WEEKLY EFFECT

This week every character will have a spirit animal that follows them around like a familiar. The choice of animal is up to you (natural or supernatural), but it should represent them in some way. The animal is restricted in size to that of a large dog and is incorporeal, though it can interact with other spirit animals. As the animal is a representation of their heart and inner self, it might be better at expressing itself than it's owner.

Yes, this is basically daemons. This palace clearly needs more animals for emotional support!

(OOC: Murder proposals and counter proposals are open! )

MONDAY • TUESDAY • WEDNESDAY • THURSDAY

Locations Proposals PCS Curfew Witch Contact Main Nav

Comments

cw: references to torture/mutilation but it's chill

[coldseep]

( Hwylryn came into this room in a decidedly good mood. He was troubled for much of yesterday, then seemed to improve his mood after some time spent in the gardens; he was troubled this morning, before returning bettered once again. He is, unfortunately, very simple; dragons are creatures of powerful nobility, but, at heart, they're as pure as any forest sprite, and are, at times, need very little more to be happy.

But that's enough of that, because up here on shore we aren't here to be happy.


Hwylryn's polaroids are not necessarily a singular scene, though it does begin with one:

When you enter at an angle, you see two young twins, bright-eyed and laughing, and they stand over a man who looks identical to Hwylryn, if utterly imperious - as you progress, the image shifts like a lenticular lens - the delighted twins are grown, Hwylryn's twin resembles Hwylryn's dragon form, with far more vicious angles.

The twins laugh, and laugh, and there is blood; there are bones smashed and shattered, and there is viscera; the image changes at every angle in every polaroid - brutal shots of play and torture as they make it a game of tag, a chase; provoking his wrath every time he slows; tormenting the raging bull with skewers and words of cruelty.

They laugh at him; they say: "Gwawlyn, Gwawlyn, why don't you give up yet? Just say you've lost! Just beg for mercy! We'll go easy on you then! We'll kill you quicker, we'll eat your stone—"

And Hwylryn's twin, this Gwawlyn, snarls with all his pride, he writhes as he is skewered and torn and ripped, and he tells them that he'll kill them, he tells them that he'll shatter them into awful dust—


The scene continues, but this time, it might just be a scene about you. It might be a scene about someone you know. At times, the torturer is someone from the castle - at times, it may be people you don't know, like a young man; or an intense-looking, muscular wizard - at times, the ones tortured are people from the castle; at times, the ones tortured are once more people you don't know. The more Hwylryn likes you, the more likely you are to appear in either role.

Hwylryn isn't among the torturers or torturees. That's not what he's scared of.


There are two polaroids that don't contain violence:

One polaroid at the very centre features a blurry foreground of torture, and a sharp-focused Hwylryn in the distance, watching, wide-eyed and terrified, like a child witnessing their parents fighting. For as powerful and as noble as he is, he is - he feels - helpless. He cannot stop his loved ones from killing one another.

One polaroid in the furthest corner, a conclusion to this tale, features Hwylryn in a desolate, empty sea: dry, burning reds as far as the eye can see; shadows black; and the bodies of his loved ones, his friends, split open and brutalized and innards out; and he gazes up into the red sun, alone.


Hwylryn stands at the opposite wall, back pressed against it, watching each scene, as if - as if - he feels like, if he stops watching, these things will leave the polaroids, they will manifest, and they will become true.

And, of course he is crying. The tears roll down wordlessly. If memory of grief is enough to split the dam of his heart, how could seeing what he knows he remembers and fears not be enough to make him overflow?

He doesn't seem to make a move. Like the Hwylryn in the central polaroid, he seems too paralysed to move. Maybe because - maybe because - ultimately, he knows what he fears is this place, this scenario, this situation Ish has put them in, and to accept it means to think more on it than he already has, and has tormented himself knowing. )

[baebladie]

It doesn't look like much.

[ Is all that he says. ]

What are you trying to make it look like?

[remainsilent]

I won't. [ He will look at Blade. ]

While he is my past, I won't let it define me.

[ Dan Feng. The time in the Shackling prison. All the High Elders that came before...

The red light and the shadows may make it appear like he has rouge under both of his eyes for a moment. ]

[baebladie]

Did you hope for a different kind of ending?

[baebladie]

[ Those from the past can easily drag one under in a single moment. But, there's no point in letting things stand as it is. ]

Because the moment you walked in, these images played before you...

Like a script.

When you walk away, it will fade just the same.

[remainsilent]

[ He may be a weapon, but that isn't all he is.

Dan Heng is going to stand between the image of Blade covered in blood and Blade who is on the floor. ]

Will you really let this define you? Didn't you want to see what else you can be?

[snakeblood]

No? Books reflect human nature. It's more realistic than fairy tale nonsense where there's a happy ending. There's rarely ever such a thing.

[baebladie]

How many times have you said that?

[ Dan Heng's determination is lit up like a bright star in those blue eyes. The rouge that appears in a mirage is both a condemnation but also refuting of what haunts him.

Has he shaken his ghosts so easily? There is only one way to tell. ]

If you believe it, then shouldn't it be easy to continue to turn your back on those images?

Or, is there a part of you that believes that you might be drawn back?

[ Even if he is no longer Dan Feng, does he not still fear being trapped as him by others? ]

[baebladie]

[ Blade says nothing, a silence that make it clear he won't even so much as utter single word. Only for but a moment.

Because next he's laughing, harsh, loud, and unsightly. Everything about him is ugly as sin, riddled with scars, like some kind of mangy animal than the dignified wolf he has. ]

...What else?

What else is there?!

[ Blade doesn't have faith in himself. He knows what he is. He isn't strong - he's weak-minded. One gentle push and he can very well fracture. Lash out. Destroy.

And then...maybe even forget about it. What point is there? His head is starting to hurt. ]

cw: child death, eye gore

[uiscebeatha]

[ Cain would claim his what ifs don't affect him, that they don't weigh him down in his quest for a brighter future for himself, his family, his friends, and people like him. But leave it to an all-powerful Witch to find that deep seated fear, clinging tenaciously to the depths of his heart, to tear its encasings open and expose it to the sunlight and let it bloom. Befitting for a photography room, no? Where else would things so sensitive to the light develop?

Cain steps in, light on his feet. Because he was expecting snakes.

Admit it—you're expecting snakes too, aren't you?


City of Honor. The sun shines overhead, the zenith of summer, glittering happily on the water. Children play at the river's edge, peals of laughter echoing above the hustle and bustle of the city.

There's Cain, short red hair, two gold eyes as bright as the sun. He plays alongside them, equals and friends.

One child trips.

He skids along the stone. Another boy reaches for him. He's too late. The child's little frame tumbles down the slope and into the rush of the river below.

The children freeze. They watch. The child's body floats away and is never recovered.

Cain's fingers twitch, but he doesn't move.

The voice is sugary sweet, cloying, drips of syrup and too much whipped cream, sharp as it curls its claws around his heart.

You preserve your image at the cost of your friend's life? How can you call yourself a knight with how self-obsessed you are?


The moon hangs low, low, low in the sky. The Calamity nears.

The sky is pale in its impending presence. But the force wanes in comparison to the white shadow that looms over Cain.

Cain, late teen, knight captain, long hair tied back and out of his face, two golden eyes staring up in fury.

Around him lay the battered and bloodied bodies of his men.

The shadow steps closer, kneels to Cain's level. How adoration colors his scarlet eyes, but his smile and demeanor are poison.

The voice taunts again as he shoves his fingers into Cain's left eye, licks the blood that pours from the socket.

If you hadn't chosen to lie, you would be stronger. You preserve your image at the cost of your men's lives. You could have protected them, and now they're dead on your watch.


Where is this? It's hard to tell.

Cain is dressed in an unfamiliar uniform, red. He lounges in his plush chair, uncharacteristically haughty. His hair is slicked back, eyepatch over his left eye. Men in similar uniforms occupy the chairs around him, waiting.

Filing into the opposite side of the table are old faces. A disciple of god, the king of spirits, the prince.

The prince.

The way his heart shatters is clear on his face. Cain, his knight. Cain, the one into whose hands he placed his life. Cain, his promise.

Cain is a spy.

Once again, the white shadow leans over his shoulder, to whisper.

You are no knight, title or no. You're a cowardly wizard whose lie was exposed to the world when you lost to a Northern wizard. And you blame him for what you never were?


The moon falls.

Heathcliff, to his left, shatters, his fragments falling up into the sky. Rutile, to his right, cannot outrun the threat, and meets the same fate.

All around him, Cain's allies disintegrate. Nero, gone. Rustica, gone. Snow meets his end, his ghost along with him. Lennox, Shylock, Riquet. One by one, gone.

Arthur stands atop his broom, ahead of him, gazing into the moon.

Cain knows he's in danger. He lowers himself, speeds forward, reaches out. The golden glow of his magic blooms at his fingertips.

But it's too late. His beautiful translucent stones soar past Cain, cutting his skin, ribbons of blood trailing through he air.

His shadow sits behind him on his broom, arm around his waist, the sugar in his voice low and seductive in his ear.

No matter how hard you try, you will never be strong enough. You started too late. Too busy living a lie. Other lives will pay for it. How does it feel?


Promenade of Reflexion—ah, now that's a familiar sight. Were you expecting this?

Statues lay on the ground, toppled and broken. Glass from the mirrors are shattered and scattered. Blood pools on the floor.

Cain kneels in the middle of the carnage; his sword is chipped and bent, his clothes torn and soaked, his skin cut and bleeding, his eyes wide in disbelief. Around him lay bodies. Stones, for some.

Bradley. Hwylryn. Siffrin. Hickey. Urianger. Yoonhee. G'raha. Yoru. All these people he had told himself he would protect—all dead, around him.

A man picks through the carnage. He looks a lot like Ish, doesn't he?

But beneath his purple hair are eyes to mirror Cain's—gold on the left, red on the right. And when he opens his mouth to speak, it's the same cloying tone that's been taunting Cain this whole time.

With force, he grabs Cain's jaw, jerking his head up to look at him.

In the end, you were never a knight, were you? You're all pretense, and no substance. You can't protect anyone. How disappointing.


He can't say it doesn't scare him.

But he stares at that face in the polaroid, half-Ish and half-Owen, and it hits him—these are all fabrications. Possibilities he had thought of and swore never to repeat. Possibilities he had seen but chose differently, because the lives of others are more important than what society demands from him.

Or, simply worst case scenarios that have yet to pass.

When he speaks, his voice is loud and firm. ]

Those things didn't happen. They're not real.

[ He will not let his spirit shatter to what-ifs. He strayed close once, but never again. Never again.

He takes a deep breath, calming the frenzied beat of his heart. He thinks of the words and the gifts given to him before facing off against the walking hell and he holds them close. The warmth he felt as he embraced their trust is his strength.

Though he knows not if he has the same trust from those he's met, befriended, attempted to reconcile with here thus far, but what he can do is keep working to earn it. To show that he is a knight. ]

I can't save everyone. But so long as I trust in my convictions, and the people around me—

[ Cain reaches with a golden glow, and the child is saved. Cain fights back with his magic, and his men survive. Cain looks up to see Owen and Arthur, there to rescue him.

The Calamity has not fallen yet. Their time in this forsaken palace is not over yet. ]

—I can still try.

observatory

[ocenon]

[ Richard was just coming here to gaze at the night sky, but Urianger's collection of charts intrigues him, so he can't help but check it out. ]

See anything recognizable?

CW: mild casual child abuse, other horror elements

[snakeblood]

[ It's not like he has any fears (or so he tells himself), he didn't think that this would affect him at all. He's right, of course. His life has largely been uneventful, especially compared to everyone else. He was purposely sheltered. Things that other people would call trauma or child abuse barely registered to him. Not the starving, not the beatings, not the things his father spouted.

One polaroid is a mass of writhing snakes. It squirms and coils over a top a body, as he a younger Yoonhee concentrates on the curse (Honestly, the currently Yoonhee looks at the snakes quite nostalgically). His concentration is broken with a loud slam as Seojin breaks in, a delirious look in his eyes. "... Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Yoonhee blankly asks him. Anger filled his face as he grabbed his collar.

"Get the hell away from my brother!" Seoyeon is up, alarmed, and separating them while Seojin continues in anger. "What the hell did you do?! I asked you a damn question!" Even tho Seoyeon defends him, as the whole thing was his idea anyway, Seojin isn't having any of it. He's dragged out of the room, the young Yoonhee's face in shock, and practically thrown at Yuri. "I don't want to see you for the time being. I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

Yoonhee muses to himself, wondering if this is all that's there. That was the begining of the end of their year old relationship.

Another is their actual break up. A repeat of the things shit Seojin told him. "But truthfully, I've just grown sick of you..... Don't tell me you actually thought I'd stick around until the day I die. Why would you think such a thing? Did it seem like I liked you enough to do that?"

"When did you start disliking me?" The young him asks. As they continue their fight, his younger self futilely trying to keep Lee Seojin with him, Yoonhee just sighs. Boring. What was, already was. Over ten years had passed since then. He'd barely thought about him.

There's one in Joo Eunhae's apartment, when they were arguing. It's a familiar story, if anyone remembers. Yoonhee accusing Seojin of working against his house. Seojin throwing the accusation back at him that Yoonhee was working with Eunhae. Yoonhee saying he didn't need to plan with anyone to kill him. Seojin taunting him, saying he wouldn't stab him, leaning in close as he wasn't for years, a tilt as he closed in... "'Cus you were crazy about me. The might, lofty head of the house. He was so into the likes of..." And Yoonhee really stabs him, Seojin swearing and calling him crazy as he caught the knife with his hand from going in too deep. His blood hand going around his neck, and tried to pull him close...

Other polaroids are vague and short. A massive slug. Complete darkness. Master, who looks already gaunt, life draining away from him, saying Lee Seojin was his weakness. A piece of organ covered in blood and silva in Yuri's hands. A young Sora, staring at him with big blue eyes, as the cut from his ring finger kept going down to his arm, evoking a Deliverance on him, "Your arm shall break within the next 24 hours". Three long single hairs splayed on a pillow. A dark mark around Seojin's wrist, where noise from the bug, the curse, sounds. Joo Eunhae, going by a different name and looking extremely different from when she was younger, crying to him, "I loved him with everything I had. I'd give my life for him.". An empty futon next to him. ]

They're really trying anything at all!

[ It conjurers a lot of laughter from him.

The only one that illicit a pause from him is an image of a man with dark hair and the same color eyes, who he shares some similarity with. "You mustn't play host to such sentiments. Once you're aware, the god will be aware too. Your self-awareness will serve as the trigger. And there's nothing but darkness waiting on the other side." It sobers his laughter, but somehow, he's still smiling. ]

billiards

[ocenon]

Have you played much pool before now?

[ The large black lion with glowing red eyes that's been following Richard around seems to Scarlet warily, before finding a near corner and laying down to watch with interest. ]

[perfectpower]

I haven't really heard of time magic at all in my world. Most things that people see as 'time magic' are actually other kinds of magic applied in specific ways. Like, say, teleporting to avoid travel time, or modifying memories to make someone think more or less time passed than usual.

[perfectpower]

[He walks over and taps Cain on the forehead.]

It's kinda hard to forget, it's almost as familiar to me as the songs my family sang. Where'd you get that thing anyway?

gardens

[ocenon]

Would you rather be rained on the entire week?

[ This is a genuine question, and not meant to be any kind of a dig.

The black lion that's not too far behind Richard eyes the white dog with a sort of withering look. It's probably fine. ]

[remainsilent]

[ This may not be a good idea with Blade being like this, but he will step closer before kneeling down in front of him. ]

Didn't you want to try to see what else is there?

[ Lifting his hand to card it gently through Blade's hair ]

Are you really going to let pictures decide that you can't do this?

[divineth]

[Whoa, another dragon! Urianger looks on with interest while his carbuncle trots up near it to sniff at it. Hopefully it doesn't mind.]

Verily, I did. Many somethings, in fact. [He directs Dan Heng to his pile.] 'Tis a boon to be granted the opportunity to read of another world's poetry and astrology.

[He's living his bed nerd life right now.

His gaze drifts to Dan Heng's selection.]

Dost thou seek to educate thyself on the subject of medicine?

[remainsilent]

[ It doesn't seem to mind and will even give a curious sniff back ]

Indeed, it is. Information about a world isn't normally so easy to access.

[ Usually they have to find out the hard way...

Looking at his own books and giving a slight nod. ]

It would be useful to know so I may be of better help to my friends.

[divineth]

[Much like Yoonhee, Urianger wonders if Angelo ever has a positive thing to say about anything.

He shifts to look over his shoulder before rising to his full height. Meanwhile, his carbuncle peers out from behind his robes.]

Well aware am I that yonder shrine shall not reverse the course of events, but 'twas never the intent in the first place. 'Tis a token of remembrance, nothing more.

[simulacres]

Admire doesn't mean like. He probably doesn't like them, but that doesn't mean he's not trying to get as much out of us as possible.

[divineth]

[Oh, some company! Urianger's always happy to see others in the observatory.

He turns his attention away from the telescope.]

The star charts remain as indecipherable as ever, even with additional resources filling the library's shelves this week. I am beginning to wonder if Ish hath never seen a genuine star chart and simply crafted this inadequate simulacrum based on limited knowledge.

Similarly... [He directs Richard's attention to the book.] I have been able to locate pieces of these constellations in the night sky, but never in a complete state.

[Basically, Urianger is wondering if Ish used generative AI magic to make this pocket dimension.]

[divineth]

[Urianger nods back.]

A wise course of action. Given how valuable medical knowledge hath become of late...'Twould behoove us all to familiarize ourselves with the basics.

[It's becoming increasingly (and unfortunately) clear that people aren't going to stop getting hurt or worse anytime soon.]

cw: gore

[arbalestrier]

[The vagueness of the message is not promising at all, but the Wednesday activities in the past two weeks weren't particularly threatening, so he approaches the photo studio cautiously. And while the sign arouses his suspicion, he peeks into one of the dark rooms before going inside fully, all senses on high alert.

When the door falls shut, his immediate reaction isn't to look at the photographs--it's to force a way out.

But nothing's that easy of course, so the polaroids beckon. The vast majority of the photographs show a variety of people dead or dying in various ways, whether it be through a simple gunshot, or methods more prone to leaving bodies nigh unrecognizable. Explosions, bodies shredded by shrapnel, and even some that appear like they were simply squashed flat, their viscera staining the sole of a humanoid machine.

There's also another notable theme with certain faces appearing more often than others, with a girl in a school uniform appearing the most often of all. Even in pictures where she isn't dead or otherwise maimed, her eyes are empty and lifeless, as if she were nothing but a broken doll.

But the largest picture is affixed to the wall opposite to the entrance, depicting an image of a bedridden man that appears to be missing all four limbs--not that it stops him from looking over with his remaining eye and grinning widely at whoever enters.

Chances are that anyone hovering outside the room could snippets of the man's mocking chatter, but that halts the moment someone else steps inside, as his words and attention are now for them.]

Hey. You're Kashim's friend, aren't you?

[Sousuke, meanwhile, completely ignores the man's picture as he searches the rest of the room. Even so, there's a clear tension in how he holds himself, and any glimpses of face will show that there are small beads of sweat clinging to his skin.]

[perfectpower]

[Holy shit Hwy

Brad isn't one to hesitate, so he doesn't waste a moment before walking into the room. Sometimes just being there is enough. Maybe it will be enough today.]

Looks like those old fogies were assholes to you too.