EVENT ∞ LOG — July 125

[thediadem]

Event ∞ Log

In the Flesh

Jump ⇅ :: Visits — First Contact — Hitchhikers — Notes

∞ Prologue ∞

It's not real, it's not real.

Somewhere in the Blocks, late at night, a young woman repeats the words over and over, fumbling with her room key. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder again, begging her hand to obey. Her fingers are stiff and smooth, and it makes each movement more difficult. Eventually, the door gives way. She stumbles into the apartment, slamming it behind her and locking several bolts.

Leaning back on the door, she lets her key ring fall to the linoleum as she holds her hand up to her face. It isn't just her fingers now. Painted plastic has taken over her entire right hand, spreading up her forearm toward a ball-jointed elbow that creaks painfully. She grabs her neck with her flesh hand, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to steady her heart.

It's not real, it's not real...

She takes another breath, then turns on the light. The bulb flickers. Hazy light flood the room with an incessant buzz.

She freezes.

A figure stands in the opposite doorway. It doesn't move, stuck in a pose with an outstretched hand—one made of flesh and bone. Her hand.

She screams.

Info & Mechanics — NPC Forum Post — Event Interaction ::: ⇅ Top

Strange Visits

Panorama

For the first week or two of July, life goes on as usual. You have a lot on your plate—jobs, loans, rent, that creep who won't stop staring at you when you're filling up your car—and the last thing you've got time for is other people's problems. Or maybe you find room to listen, anyway? Whatever the case, it's mostly a lot of stories and pointing fingers: a shopkeeper accuses his friend of stealing from him, somebody claims their boss must've skipped town to avoid paying the employees, and a woman is frantic about her missing husband. He never goes anywhere without telling her.

If you decide to look into it, none of the incidents seem connected. After all, people frequently go missing in the Diadem, friends betray each other, and businesses often go bankrupt, leaving their workers to pick up the pieces. Funny thing, though: here and there, you swear you glimpse a figure who isn't entirely flesh. Their features are just...a bit odd. Is it your imagination? When you move in for a closer look, something gets in your way and the figure disappears.

On the other hand, you think to yourself, it's not as though everybody on this planet looks standard. If a man can have horns, why can't his skin also be a bit plasticky?

Use the Event Interaction comment any time you need specifics or some direction for an element you're engaging within the event. This can be an NPC victim your character is questioning, an aspect of the diffusion zone your character is testing, or anything along those veins. While you're encouraged to make things up on your own, too, if you're ever unsure of the results or the answers you might get, approach us there!

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First Contact

The Fringes

Inevitably, you take the risk and head back into the Fringes. It has what you need, and the bizarreness in Panorama isn't making the city feel like much of a refuge, either. Besides, long trips aren't unusual for anyone in the Diadem. As you drive, you might even find yourself reluctant to return to the city. After all, there's so much across the multitude of diffusion zones that regardless of how dangerous it can be, perhaps some part of you is attracted to the thrill of the unknown.

If the promise of loot isn't enough, a note on the Forum might be. Here, you'll scroll across a brief message from who else but the ever-eager Felix Bjurstrom, joined by his daughter, Olive "Ollie" Bjurstrom. (Looks like he's got a new phone again!) If nothing else, the investigative or curious nature in you gets you going. What if this is a piece of the puzzle you need to go home?

If you want your character to scavenge items, check how that works. The Map identifies where each Quadrant is located.

Among the Shadows — Abandoned Mall

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 10-hour drive from Panorama, a standard American shopping mall rises through the cracked and broken highway. A portion of its vast parking lot melts into the road ahead and behind. There are cars in the parking lot, each one perfectly preserved: no rust, no dust, nothing.

The mall's lights are on. The moment you step inside, you'll notice that you're not alone. Inside, shadow corpses are everywhere, frozen in time. Their bodies show no signs of distress. If you try to touch them, a dark, ashy residue coats your fingers. You see a young couple linking arms, a mother bending over to pick up her child, and a man ordering his last meal at the KFC. It's as though they all just...stopped. While eerie, whatever force swept through here is long gone.

The upside is that nobody will bother you while you look around—aside from other fluxdrifts, of course. The shops and their offerings are stuck in the 90's. Big electronics are cosmic touched, rendering them worthless, but smaller electronics like cassette tapes, CDs, and Walkmans are all viable. You can also grab clothes, snacks, and (cheap) jewelry.

And, as you pass by the store windows, you see many mannequins on display. That's normal, so you don't think twice. At least, until you swear one of them keeps moving around the store. Though its pose never changes, it almost appears to...follow you? That can't be right. You must be seeing things.

Zone Effects
Touching any of the frozen shadows will cause the victim to believe that their companion(s) have transformed into monstrous creatures. Attempts to approach you will only register as an attack rather than placating gestures, while words will sound like snarls or spoken threats. An induced panic will make it more difficult to think logically and see through the hallucination. The illusory creatures can take the form of anything that might frighten or threaten you the most.

You can break free of the illusion through a variety of methods, including your own willpower, being knocked out by your friends, or seeing/hearing something that makes you realize it isn't real. The hallucination isn't overly intense, but it can cause a bit of havoc among you and your companions...and increase the likelihood a mannequin might make contact unnoticed.

Wall of Refuge — Strange Temple

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 6-hour drive from Panorama—and on the way to the abandoned mall above—stands a geometric structure made of metal and stone. Sharp angles shoot up from the ground to form a distorted hexagon. The gateway is littered with sigils: some weathered by time, others freshly carved into the rocky surface. They glow when you drive forward, beckoning you closer. Come in, whispers an unknown compulsion in your mind. You are home.

You may succumb to the whispers for any number of reasons: sleep deprivation, desperation for a place to rest overnight, or a need to hide from raiders or dangerous creatures lurking in another nearby zone. Regardless, you give in and enter the triangular entrance. The stone gate lifts to grant you passage, revealing an effigy of a multi-limbed being. A deity? A symbol of power? Though you're unsure, you continue deeper. Your footsteps echo across the cavernous halls.

Behind you, the heavy gate slowly closes with a rumbling finality. Despite the chilly entranceway, the interior of the temple is warm and inviting. Candles line the walls. Fountains flow peacefully. You can enter one of the many rooms to find a soft bed, fresh cakes, succulent meat, and fine wine available for you. Behind a silk curtain is a steaming bath lined with soothing floral herbs and oils.

Meanwhile, throughout your explorations, you might sense a figure or a shadow in the passageway. A glimpse of shiny plastic appears oddly out of place in a temple of this kind.

Zone Effects

• If you are a believer and decide to trust the gifts bestowed upon you, then you may safely indulge. The wine will warm you up, the food will fill your belly, and you can sleep through the night. When you awaken, you can safely leave the temple refreshed. Your vehicle will be outside, untouched, as if some power within was protecting your belongings.
• If you are a heretic and doubt the offerings you've been graciously given, the gifts will begin to rot and all amenities will crumble to dust. The more your cynicism betrays you, the more the temple will take until nothing remains except the oddly textured walls bearing down on you. As you examine the surface, you realize the stone is built from a manifold of dozens—no, hundreds—of twisted bodies. Their arms are raised in reverence, piled upon each other like human bricks. Their gaping mouths are frozen in a silent scream. As for you and your companions...what fate will await the nonbeliever?

The Last Stop — Foggy Town

©

In Quadrant 4, about a 3-hour drive from Panorama, east of the currently unused train tracks, a thick mist rolls through the highway. Here, the sky darkens rapidly into night and the temperature drops. If you've traveled unprepared, presuming the heat in Panorama spreads into the Fringes, you'll find that's not so. A chill spreads into your bones and creeps up the back of your neck.

Then the ground rumbles. The tremors shake your vehicle. Maybe it even makes you lose control briefly or sends you swerving off-road, straight into the fields. And in the middle of the fog, you see it: a figure standing in the middle of the field. Behind it are a few houses, making up a tiny rural town. The houses are dilapidated, many crumbling. Supplies within are minimal, and many items are broken or spoiled.

Do you approach? Do you drive past? Merely staring for a second too long will be enough for the hitchhiker to choose you as its ride, but its appearance may not be all that keeps you in place. In the distance is another bigger shadow. A much bigger shadow. It looms in the distance without true mass or form. Within the void of its body, a searchlight sweeps over the misty town. It does not move. It simply looks while the ground shakes. Each time its light catches a glimpse of something that doesn't belong—an animal, a vehicle that drove too deep into the tall grass, a raider that went too far into town—a sonorous howl reverberates through the zone.

Then the shadow will teleport to its target and crush the intruder without mercy before retreating back to its watchful post. And the intruder is indeed crushed: any living organism caught by the Light Guardian will be flattened with a horrifying crunch of broken bones and squished organs.

Zone Effects
While the Light Guardian can't be defeated or confronted, you can outrun or hide from its sweeping beam. If you stop far enough on the side of the road, it won't notice you...but you can still watch as it mangles an unfortunate raider or traveler. Possibly, you see the spray of blood or hear the screams before you run. Perhaps you realize how easily you could've met your own gory fate.

If you've left your car and gone too deep into the town before you realize the danger, you can do one of two things: you can risk hiding in an abandoned house in the town and hope that the sunrise comes. In zones like this, the day/night cycle is unpredictable, and many places are permanently cast in darkness. Or, you can try to run back to your vehicle and pray you don't get caught.

Alternatively, you've plowed directly into the field when raiders in pursuit force you into the zone. Should fortune favor you, they'll be obliterated by the Light Guardian while you flee. The beam tracks quickly, but can only shine in one direction at a time so the key is to bob and weave.

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Hitchhikers

Anywhere

Not everyone who enters the diffusion zone will pick up a mannequin, but the possibility is there. Once you make first contact, you will gain a hitchhiker. Unlike most aspects of the diffusion zones, this one has gathered into a storm, meaning the effects will breach even normally stable and anchored strongholds like Panorama.

Some fluxdrifts will brush off your problems while a few might believe you. Others will offer solutions in their own way, including a doctor who'll pay to obtain strange plastic limbs. Not everyone will pitch in to help. The city's big, populated, and somebody on the street turning doll-like doesn't affect them (...until it does). They've got a job to get to and mouths to feed.

Unwanted Passenger

When do you first notice your passenger? At any point, really. Perhaps it goes like this:

You glance in the rearview mirror and glimpse a figure in the backseat. When you spin around, there's nobody there. Then it happens again. This time, you realize it's not a person, but a dummy. A mannequin. It's sitting upright. And is it...wearing a seatbelt? Or maybe it's thrown itself across the back bench as though somebody tossed it there, uncaring.

This time, when you look back, it's still there. You pull over and dump it on the side of the road. That's taken care of, you think. You drive some more. For a few hours or even a day or two—depending on how long you've traveled—you don't think much of it. Then suddenly, it's back. And it keeps coming back no matter how much you try to get rid of it.

Or it goes like this:

You return from a standard trip into a diffusion zone. It went pretty well, you think. You found some clothes at a creepy mall and now you're ready to get some sleep. When you open your trunk to retrieve your belongings, you notice a mannequin stuffed inside, limbs bent at odd angles. You're a little weirded out, but you decide to dump it on the street and move on.

You shower. In the bathroom mirror, the mannequin suddenly appears behind you. Over the next few days, this continues. The mannequin appears in a booth across the diner as you're eating your eggs. It's behind a shelf in the corner store. It's in your closet. Each time you check, it vanishes...but then, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's right there in plain view. It'll even let you throw it away, burn it, anything you can think of. But it always comes back.

However it plays out, you realize that people around you do notice it...sometimes. That doesn't mean anyone will believe you that things are just that weird. Most people have better things to do. They don't know you, after all, and even if they did, well, this place does have a habit of driving people a little crazy. Witnesses casually push the mannequin aside and tell you that's a funny prank. Your regular waitress pats your shoulder and suggests you get some sleep. You're not looking well. The shopkeeper demands you take that thing before you go. He's not responsible for your junk.

But there's a small chance you run into someone who seems to be going through what you are. Unfortunately, they seem to actually have it worse and aren't making much sense. Still, you can try questioning them and see what answers you get. At least, before you lose them for good. For some of you, the victim you run into is in especially bad shape...and you have to wonder how long before you end up the same.

Trading Places

For some of you, the mannequins might not do more than be a nuisance. While that's not ideal, either, it doesn't completely upend your life. Others are less fortunate. If you're one of the latter, you'll begin to notice symptoms.

The first time it happens, you're startled to hear the mannequin speak. To begin with, its voice might be guttural and unnatural, incapable of stringing more than a few words together. Then it seems to learn. It talks in full sentences. Its voice smooths out. It starts to sound more and more like you...right down to your speech patterns and accent. As symptoms progress with varying intensity—over days or weeks—you realize with dawning horror that you're losing parts of yourself. When you wash your hands, you notice a part of your skin is smooth and shiny. The next time the mannequin appears, its previously plasticky appearance is more flesh and blood.

Eventually, the mannequin becomes independent. It shops with your money. It steals while wearing a face that looks nearly identical to yours, especially from a distance. It calls your friend and says the things you would never say out loud to them. They're thoughts you've had, sure, but you know better than to hurt your friend's feelings...except apparently, you have. And now you can't even use your own voice to explain yourself. Your leg has been getting stiff. Your joints don't bend properly.

Meanwhile, the mannequin is now striding around smoothly. Its appearance is still uncanny and odd if anyone pays attention, but at a glance, it easily passes as a part of the crowd. As its final act, it's even absorbed small bits of your abilities if you have any. Not all of them, but enough to cause trouble. Throughout everything, you cannot harm your hitchhiker. Some unknown force stops you any time you think about it. You simply can't.

Related Incidents

The impact isn't contained only to those directly affected. The hitchhikers' influence spreads through the city. For some incidents, it's difficult to trace back to the source. For others, that's a little easier. Regardless, these occurrences could help you determine how to solve your own situation. Alternatively, if you've escaped unscathed, you can still find yourself dragged into a situation involving someone else.

Return to Sender

July 11 — The Forum: An anonymous poster contributes this bit of information that might catch the eye of those affected. You can try the same method, but it's a risk going back into the diffusion zones. No one can guarantee the specific zone you found the mannequin in is still standing. Further, you have to remember where you made contact to begin with.

If you decide to try it, be sure to take a friend. The less independent the hitchhiker, the more likely it will stick to your side even as you return it home. If the assimilation has progressed too far, though, you might have to utilize methods such as duct taping inside your trunk or strapping it down with ropes. It may struggle and say vile things to you or your companion.

Victimless Burn Victims

July 14 @ 03:00 — The Pavilion (East End): A handful of troublemakers grabbed some freaky mannequins wandering the street and, in a drunken stroke of genius, set them all on fire for no reason other than that they wanted to. Not only has this resulted in damage to the corner store nearby, but Enforcers have linked the incident to four hospitalizations at roughly the same time. Doctors from Saint Margery's Hospital (located in the Blocks) report that all four individuals suffered massive shock and claim to have endured unimaginable agony as if they had been "set on fire."

Curiously, none of them bear any physical wounds and, by all accounts, are completely fine (trauma aside). Notably, all four individuals were also suffering from various stages of "joint stiffness" and "hallucinations"...which have since completely vanished. You might wonder, is this the solution? Or perhaps the better question would be, is it worth it?

The Sculptor

July 15 — The Pavilion (Medical Clinic): Around July 14 onward, word begins to spread that a Dr. Maggie Wright (who insists on being called the Sculptor, though nobody seems to heed this request) will not only do an amputation for free, she will pay you for your limb if you are boasting an "unusual trophic change to the skin, resulting in a smooth and shiny texture." All she asks is she gets to keep the sample. Her promise is that she will study it to find a more permanent cure and, if she does, she will return the limb to you for reattachment.

Some end up trusting her. You wonder, maybe she could help? Dr. Wright will happily accept you as her patient if you agree. Her methods are indeed proper and sterile: she'll put you under and provide you with plenty of pain meds. She appears to have all of the equipment required to preserve the limb, too.

If you're suspicious, you can also pay her a visit, but you won't have much luck getting her in trouble or sniffing out any evidence of nefarious deeds. Her office hasn't got anything strange, she is indeed a real surgeon, and there are testimonials from patients who've had success under her care in the past. Plus, nobody's going to her who isn't doing so voluntarily (they've signed waivers)—even if you could argue how much desperation plays into their decision. Still...the thing about her "title" is a bit weird, right?

Dr. Maggie Wright is 5'2, Caucasian with a light Northeastern accent and silver hair often worn in a bun. She's in her 50s and looks fairly good for her age. Her voice is soothing. She has intense, wide blue eyes, which some might find unnerving, but that's not necessarily her fault.

∞ Notes ∞

• Mannequin contact is not required. Not everybody who goes into the diffusion will make first contact, and many won't. Characters can explore the mall, the temple, and the foggy field without ever picking up a hitchhiker.
• The diffusion zones described are only examples. Others will exist where mannequins can be found, including grocery stores, gas stations, abandoned parks, and more. You can make up your own, but check with us if you have any questions about limitations!
• The speed and intensity of all mechanics are entirely up to you. Generally, the earlier a character makes first contact, the more severe their consequences.
• Investigating the zones or helping others are perfectly fine ways to participate! Since the hitchhikers are meant to be more insidious, it won't be strange if your character isn't in the middle of the action right away or notices things a bit late.

Questions? Ask here

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Comments

[unsunder]

[ The strangeness of the town, the area around it, had been a curiosity. Enough to make him pull over his vehicle, but it became apparent very quickly that he wasn’t alone. However, he has the benefit of being able to see in the dark – and more than that, the unmistakable crimson hue of the soul of one G’raha Tia would be obvious to him anywhere, no matter the darkness nor the distance.

Considering he’d rather not deal with any more snide remarks, he’s happy to stay where he is and leave the other man to… whatever he’s doing, the minute ripples in the aether suggest he’s reaching out with a bit of magic. They can pass as ships in the night and be none the wiser.

That is, until several more souls make themselves apparent in the darkness. Like… quite a few. In the dark and the quiet, someone cocks a rifle.

He could just pretend he doesn’t notice them, slowly creeping closer to the town instead, one eye on the cat-eared silhouette in the distance. ]

[exarched]

[ G'raha, unfortunately, does not have soulsight, leaving the fog as the perfect blanket for nefarious activities only a few yalms away. But his ears are keen and the strange stillness of the realm does mean that sound does travel. It's enough to make him pause.

He narrows his eyes, looking down the road. It is dark...too dark and too far for G'raha to make anything discernible. There's a pause in his ministrations before he allows the spell to die entirely. Making himself less visible seems preferable all of a sudden.

G'raha steps further off the road, allowing a ditch to help conceal him a bit further. He draws closer, slowly and as quietly as he can to see if it's merely his mind playing tricks on him...or worse, that thing has found him again.

Yet as he does, another rumble shakes the ground--somehow it feels shallower. And closer.

Even further in the field, something looms, a heaviness in an already bleak night.

Despite his efforts and innate dexterity provided by genetics, he is no match to a group more familiar with the area. Triangulating around him doesn't take long and G'raha ears the cocking of another gun before a voice calls out to him seemingly from no where. ]

Get your hands up where we can see 'em.

[ Ah. Lovely.

G'raha pauses, sighing lightly, before raising his hands. He speaks evenly: ]

I'm unarmed.

[ A scoff. ]

Well that was your first mistake.

[ The group closes in--six...no, seven of them in total. Not ideal. ]

[unsunder]

[ Add to that four more who have begun not-so-subtly herding Emet-Selch closer to that swatch of red in his vision. This is not ideal for either of them, with raiders closing in from behind and something terrible and dark looming up ahead.

One of the men barks at G'raha to raise his hands, which he does. ]

You too.

[ Demands another, and now that he's close enough for the jig to be well and truly up, Emet-Selch heaves a sigh, hands lifting. A couple of flashlights pop on to cut through the gloom. Emet-Selch squints a moment, eyes adjusting, and cuts a look at his now fellow prisoner. ]

Well. This is embarrassing.

[exarched]

[ Of course Emet-Selch would also be here.

The look G'raha gives him is one of minute surprise, controlled only because of their circumstances and not wanting to give their would-be assailants too much to work with. How much of a coincidence can this be? If there is one thing to the Ancient's benefit, it's that G'raha does not honestly believe the other man is actively seeking him out. There is no point to that now. ]

Enjoying a refreshing stroll through the mists?

[ He asks off-hand as he turns his gaze back to the weapons pointed directly at him. ]

Shut up.

[ The only benefit here is that neither of them are as easy targets as they might seem. And Emet-Selch is not ever known to play his full hand on the first round. ]

Empty your pockets. And do it slow-like.

[unsunder]

[ In a normal world, he'd simply teleport away — with or without the catboy in tow, whatever suited his mood at the time. Here, however, he hasn't that luxury.

No, as ever Emet-Selch is simply convinced that he's on the receiving end of one of fate's cruel jokes. As if being here was not enough, as if being here with several members of the Warrior of Light's retinue was not enough. He seems to be destined to be stuck in situations with this man in particular, situations where they are better served by working together than being at odds.

How annoying. ]

If you've a particular fondness for pocket lint and old receipts, then by all means, help yourselves.

[ The remark earns him an unkind jab between his shoulder blades with the business end of a rifle. ]

No one asked you, smart-ass.

[ Emet-Selch simply lifts a shoulder. ]

Suit yourself.

[ With his hands still raised above his head, Emet-Selch simply does what it is he does best, and snaps his fingers. There is a brief moment of silence, enough for someone to start to voice some sort of question or further demand, and then quite suddenly, a hail of purple, luminous spears rain down on the men surrounding them.

Some of them strike true, some don't, but either way, the scene is chaos between flying magicks and the cloud of dirt and viscera kicked up by the repeated impacts. Now would be the time to run, but in the distance, drawn by the sounds of chaos, a beam of light begins to sweep over the grass. ]

[exarched]

[ Clearly that leap of faith G'raha had in their mutual desire not to get in over their heads was taken a little too soon. Though neither of them are eager to empty their pockets or whatever--if nothing--is in them, it is seeing Emet-Selch raise his hand in his peripheral, not the guns pointing at them, that has G'raha suddenly sweating.

And reacting before their would-be captors.

Wicked white!

He summons up an aetherial shield and holds it above his head, deflecting any stray spears that were likely only avoiding Emet-Selch. G'raha Tia is ever a fair target, isn't he? (Or is he just assuming he is?)

G'raha grits his teeth and makes to flee. ]

This could have been managed with a little more delicacy!

[ But not without a comment.

He is...not unaware that Emet-Selch is, mayhaps inadvertently, helping him again. Damn it all. ]

Just up the road--

[ He doesn't finish the sentence, almost wanting to share the fact that his own vehicle is parked up there, prime for a getaway. For the both of them. If need be.

Yet he doesn't get far away from the chaos--the raiders screaming and a few guns going off like they can shoot the aetherial spears that had rained down upon them--when he skids to a step. A large beam of light hits an old rusty car in the field. It explodes. ]

[unsunder]

[ While Emet-Selch just sort of figures by default that G’raha and his companions will expect the worst of him, he is not actually trying to live up to that. He’s not trying to actively be a better person in some fool attempt to put them at ease, either, but right here and right now, he’s not trying to hit G’raha Tia with his rain of spears.

He’s wise to shield himself, regardless. In all the chaos, the raiders start shouting and bullets start flying, pinging off Emet-Selch’s own barrier.

Well, his very reluctant and very temporary ally has the right of it. Before the surviving raiders can gain their bearings, he takes off, hot on G’raha’s heels. ]

Oh? And what were you going to do? Invite them to tea?

[ He has no delicacy nor patience to give when it comes to people who would rob him and just as soon use him as target practice, and since this place has removed his option for simply leaving, he has and will resort to force. What does he care for a few dead raiders?

His pithy comment gets no further remark, because G’raha skids to a stop, and Emet-Selch nearly runs right into him as a result, managing to halt himself just before that happens. ]

What are you— [ and then that beam sweeps by, landing on something that its owner believes shouldn’t be here. The effect is instant, the old vehicle obliterated by a thing made of such inky black that even Emet-Selch’s eyes cannot quite tell what he’s looking at. ] Hells.

[ Wherever they were headed is no longer an option. Emet-Selch sets his sights on the nearest dilapidated house and turns sharply to bolt. ]

[exarched]

[ He is unsurprised by Emet-Selch's quip and equal parts unamused--through G'raha will use lethal force when necessary, it isn't his default position. Considering the state of things in this world, it is entirely possible that these people are low on supplies and are just looking out for their own.

That doesn't mean he plans on making himself an easy target nor forgoing what he has found, but still.

(Then again, Paradox is tempting.)

But they clearly have bigger problems than some raiders who clearly picked the wrong victims. G'raha doesn't give it a second thought and rushes after his former adversary, eyes darting between the broken down building and the strange form in the mists, obscured and vanishing quickly once the light of whatever that great beam was diminishes.

With some forethought, G'raha reaches out and sends a gust of wind towards the entrance to the fallen house, sending the door flying open, but clearing a path for them. He leaps over some debris on the way only to skid to a stop once they're inside. ]

By the gods, what was that!?

[ The sounds of gunfire seem to have paused, but only for a few seconds. Peering through holes in the siding, the shots quickly turn out into the field. ]

[unsunder]

[ This world is largely unforgiving, and a starving raider is still a raider who will do the unthinkable and worse for a bit of coin or a scrap of food. The sooner the more heroically-inclined among them come to learn that, the better off they'll be.

Their mad dash sees them safely into the dilapidated house, thanks to a bit of help from G'raha's wind magicks. A wave of Emet-Selch's hand slams the door shut behind them, and the whole structure gives a mighty creak but holds. ]

How should I know?

[ It's rude to assume that all eldritch horrors are acquainted with one another, thank you.

Emet-Selch moves to a smashed out window and carefully peers outside. The raiders seem to have captured the attention of that sweeping searchlight and the creature it's attached to. Gunfire kicks up again, but it does them little good. That dark shape moves far too fast, reducing anyone it touches into paste in moments. ]

As least it's doing us a favor.

[exarched]

[ How should he not know? Though, to be fair, G'raha had been asking with little expectation of an answer, even from Emet-Selch and his potential connections to otherworldly abominations. G'raha doesn't push the matter, at least.

The truth is whatever is acting out there, it is doing a great job at keeping itself concealed. Whether it is on purpose, simply a by-product of its existence, or pure luck is hard to tell. But it is definitely wrong in ways that his very bones can recognize. The hair on the back of his neck stand on end, his tail growing fuller than he would admit. ]

For now...

[ He isn't convinced. What if it had seen them? Does it have those sorts of instincts, or is it just responding to the loudest stimuli? ]

That attack, it feels like a beam of pure, highly condensed aether. [ No wonder the air feels electric and thick despite the musty interior of the old house. ] Could it be responsible for what happened to this town?

[unsunder]

[ To Emet-Selch's eyes, it seems the darkness is the thing. He cannot make out any more than that, there's no way to track its movements or guess what it might do. What is clear is it does not tolerate trespassers, and the longer they linger, the more of a chance they have at getting caught. ]

'Tis not a mystery I care to stick around and solve, thank you. We should go while it's occupied.

[ "We," he says, quite without thinking. This marks the second time the two of them have been thrust into some sort of life or death situation together, so perhaps he's simply resigned himself to the fact that this is going to keep happening and he might as well accept it. ]

[exarched]

[ "We." That doesn't escape G'raha's notice either, but mayhaps simply for his own benefit, he doesn't mention it. Whether they asked for this or not--and they most certainly did not--we is likely in both of their interests.

But there is a moment of hesitation on G'raha's part, though it isn't because of a short truce--it's that he feels that this being should be understood at least to some degree. What dangers might this pose to others? How do they know they can so easily slip by?

Well, one of those is about to be put to the test. ]

...Yes.

[ He admits as he moves back from the wall, unable to shake that unnerving feeling. ]

Mayhap if we avoid the fields where it came from it won't track our movements in the town.

[ They stood out easily along the side of the road, he tells himself. ]

[unsunder]

[ That brief moment of hesitation has Emet-Selch watching G'raha with no small amount of scrutiny. He half-expects him to start in with some drivel about how they shouldn't leave the raiders to their fate, which is where the Ascian would have most definitely drawn the line.

Well, whatever he was thinking, he makes no move to voice it, which is just as well.

A nod. ]

Very well, but stick to the shadows. And avoid that light at all costs.

[ Though they may be running out of time for a swift exit, as the sounds of harrowed shouting and gunfire seem to be getting closer. Some of those raiders have managed to survive and are quickly closing in.

Emet-Selch practically shoves G'raha toward the door. ]

Go. Go.

[exarched]

[ Avoid that light seems like a given, but G'raha stumbles a few steps as he's shoved. A short glare over his shoulder is automatic, but G'raha manages to bite his tongue as he yanks the door open and rushes out.

For a fleeting moment he can see the few raiders that remain, one with a long-barreled gun pointing directly up to the sky where the massive shadow looms. The beam of light burns the air, swinging wildly and obliterating the raider in an instant. One second he is there, the next he isn't. ]

Gods...

[ G'raha hisses under his breath as he rounds the building and into the town. It's closer. It's gotten so much closer in a suspicious amount of time.

He doesn't check to see if Emet-Selch is following as he ducks under the broken awning of the next building. Fallen boxes and part of the wall create a bit of an obstacle, but his natural dexterity comes into play as he deftly leaps up onto them, his footfalls a practiced quiet. Yet as he's about to hop down in front of the building, the light makes a sweep to the street directly in front and G'raha holds his arm out, freezing in place.

Could it be tracking them?

But a second later, one of the raiders stumbles forward onto the dusty ground. Coughing, he rips his mask off and looks up to the two men slinking about. ]

Shit, you gotta help me!!