leftright_a: (pic#11526890)
[personal profile] leftright_a
The day is (probably) quiet.

Right up until... around the most center courtyard of the garden, there comes an electric buzzing, and then a sound like electric beeps and booping--almost as if a motherboard became sentient in a cheap early 2000s movie, which is very out of place given the castle's whole aesthetic. A swarm of red, blue, green, and black pixels starts to form around the very center stones of the courtyard.

konami )
lyseandpurge: Image of a diamond-shaped object with branches and tubes protruding from its surface. (lysis.)
[personal profile] lyseandpurge
The immortal cell is hidden in plain sight.

In the middle of the gardens, where the hill of glass stands shining in the sun, where there are fountains of sparkling water and trees heavy with bright fruit, it is hidden.

There is something strange about the fountains if you look; the water is tinted an unusual colour; instead of the sunlight sparkling in them there is a fierce unnatural radiance, as pink as raw flesh, that hurts your eyes to look at it.

The water ripples as if stirred by an earthquake. It resonates with a sound that you cannot hear unless you touch it. The water is filled with the song of the immortal cell, synthetic and excruciating. It is calling to you.

The water ripples with a deep throbbing pulse, like a great heart straining to beat.

If you touch the water, you feel the song. If you touch the water, it is because the song has called you through the ground, through your skin, through your bones, through a memory that was not yours.

And the song in the water shows you the immortal cell.

The immortal cell floats at the apex of the glass hill, wounded with broken pipes, bleeding a thick stream of molten pink blood that falls up, up, up into the sky. The sky is red. The whole world is red, tainted by the cell's pulsing light, and lit by no other. The path beneath your feet is slick with oil, and Judgement in the form of smoke coils around the cell, watching you.
hawkwardness: (glare)
[personal profile] hawkwardness
One minute he's doing what he usually does in the afternoon: riding the thermals, drifting, watching those delicious mice and voles and lizards go about their days, down below. Exactly what he did yesterday. And what he will do tomorrow. It satisfies the hawk part of his mind. That's all any bird of prey wants to be doing. Always, always looking for food, and the human in him can easily lose himself in the hawk.

Anyway, time passes and the world keeps on turning whether he's bored or not...

And then the ground is suddenly much, much closer to him. Even more alarming is a sudden wall of stone far too close--he flares his wings and veers sharply, barely managing to avoid splatting himself against the side of the castle. Well, now he's awake... and furious. Pretty damn obvious who's behind this. The Ellimist, who else? Hasn't he done enough for the universe?

Anyone within range as he flaps, trying to gain air, will hear a voice that seems to bypass the ears yelling at them.

< Alright, I know you're watching me! Just come out and tell me what you want this time! >
moonsmile: (the wall is more interesting)
[personal profile] moonsmile
The smooth stone beneath her feet shifts to grass. That's a little strange.

The sky goes from dark and star-speckled to...not quite sunny, but clearly day. That's more like it.

nothing new about hanging out in the sky )
dustless: (quiet surprise)
[personal profile] dustless
The air is hot, the atmosphere heavy. Soon as the sun sets, the whole castle feels like a storm is ready to break.

It won't be a surprise to many, then, when there's an explosion of sound once the sky is dark, and blinding flashes through the sky.

And then more, and then more, and they're all sorts of colors...and as it turns out, it isn't lightning at all, it's fireworks. Flying from beneath the castle to explode high. Dropping from above the castle to burst just below the Edge where anyone who gathers can nearly touch them if they dare to get close enough to risk a fall. Some from the sides in a way that should be impossible--there's only clouds in every direction, isn't there?

It's not only the sky; here and there are piles of the stuff on the flat-topped towers, littering the grass along the Edge, with tinder and matches where anyone can reach. Simple little sparklers and poppers, too, for those who can't or won't risk anything larger.

 
[🎇]

It ends when the horizon begins to lighten...but the fireworks people can use on their own are still strewn about.

The sky sears again the next night, just as loud and bright if not moreso.

And the next, and the next, and the next...



//For a week, which irl will be from about July 23rd to July 30th, there'll be fireworks lighting the sky every night! Here's the post to have your characters hang out and enjoy them together! Or not.

makesdestruction: (escape)
[personal profile] makesdestruction
Time, [Pokémon] and other living things with life to absorb, long nights and room in the gardens enough for even something as large as itself to hide--all have done plenty for Yveltal's strength. It knows it will neither completely die or fall into a centuries-long sleep again.

Yet, still not strong enough to escape. No matter how hard it flies away from the castle, it never gets far enough to get anywhere else; the building and island are the only place it ever finds to land, even after hours of flapping and gliding. It can barely tell which direction anything is when the sun is down. 

It doesn't get it, nor does it like it. Yveltal keeps trying even so. 

If it didn't, then maybe it could've preserved its dignity.

If anyone is watching the skies or generally living in the area, they will witness a giant silhouette cruising across the sky, dipping down and down and down until it's low enough to clip the castle. A sharp turn midair and a careful landing directly on top of a tower, and it cuts an impressive figure, massive wings holding the edge like arms and claws digging in, sending bits of some sort of roof tile skittering down as it surveys its domain and prison.

For about ten seconds. 

There's a sickening crack followed by a dozen others. Yveltal barely has enough time to unhook its claws and screech its alarm, not enough to spread those wings, before the roof caves in beneath its huge body.

Strangely, it does not fall far. It lands in...branches. Atop a massive tree, though many of the branches shatter under its weight as well, so it ends up about a quarter of the way down before it stops.

Yveltal screams again, struggling to get itself upright instead of sideways, but it's drowned out by the angry calling of hundreds of birds now swarming the tower and flying out of the hole it tore open and--swooping to strike at its face, leaving it awkwardly twisting its unusual wings to block its eyes.

How embarrassing. 
boogerman: (pic#10455419)
[personal profile] boogerman
Something else new, a bit out of the way this time. It's a mirror, in between the two thrones in the dusty old throne room. It's cleaner than the rest of the room, and tall, with clawed feet at the bottom. Taller than anyone residing in the castle, in fact.

There are words inscribed along the top of the mirror: ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI

Naturally, one is going to want to walk up and look at themself, aren't they? It's what one does with a mirror.





(( Yep, it's the real thing! Looking into Erised will show your character's truest desires. Make top levels, play with each other, and try not to smash the mirror.

Edit: And for the sake of making it interesting, everyone else can see what your character sees too. :> ))

gospel;

Jun. 27th, 2017 07:23 pm
encre: <user name="dashiroll" site="tumblr.com"> (𝓭)
[personal profile] encre
Some time has certainly passed. How long? No idea. How's he supposed to keep up with the schedule if there is no calendar, no clocks, nothing to go by? And still not a single familiar face from the crew in sight. Not even any of his fellow cast members. No, in all the long days he's been here, there hasn't been a single word from any familiar face at all. And that's more than a little concerning.

How is the show supposed to stay on the air if nobody's showing up to work? How is he supposed to follow a schedule if there is no schedule? What are his lines, what's the setup, what's his motivation and goals and especially his costars?

What's the point in any of this?

It's thoughts like that, that have been plaguing his mind not long after his arrival. And lately, it's becoming more and more likely that this - all this, this strange world full of strange people and strange sights - were not actually part of the show at all. That maybe, just maybe, this is real. And that's the troubling part. Because if all of this is real, then that means he's real, not waiting for the artist to get out the ink and brush and start making the magic happen with him and his costars. He's actually existing, in the real world, walking and talking with other real existing people. What in the seven Hells was Sammy up to?

As it consumes him, possesses his every waking thought and haunting his dreams at night, the mess starts to get ... much, much worse. The small leak at the top of his head was ignored for the longest time, but now, only the wide toothy grin is visible as the ink pours over the rest of his face. His long arms and legs appear to be melting, dripping black splotches of inky liquid to the ground, and leaving a very obvious trail behind. It starts out in the graveyard, wandering haphazardly between gravestones, before eventually heading back into the castle. Flashbacks hit him all at once, everything from the circular markings on the floor to the chanting and praising, that when he eventually reaches the castle's thrown room, he appears to be nothing more than a massive, grinning blob slinking across the floor.

It's not entirely clear what said blob is trying to accomplish. But, an existential crisis is an existential crisis.
voidsir: (Default)
[personal profile] voidsir
Birds are singing, flowers are blooming... and one useless old man is playing cards against another faceless (and useless) old man, outside in the gardens.

It seems the real thing has finally made peace with his double--or at least taken pity on him enough to stop ignoring him. It's wearying, carrying around all that animosity for someone who literally can't venture too far without being summoned back, and who can't help what he was created for. (To nag and nag him to murder a friend.) Life has been rough and he's... lonely, in a sense. It's good to have someone to play a game with nearby, and who has nothing better to do.

They've brought a little table and four chairs with them, on the off chance anyone wants to join. It's nice here, in the shade of a tree, sun shining through the leaves. Sit with them and wonder how in the world the rune-faced Gaster sees his cards without any eyesockets?
mettaton_rex: (realised I was... not the best)
[personal profile] mettaton_rex
It's been - a month? More? Time keeps slipping away from him - since Mettaton was last in the music room.

He's been here a few times, since then. Standing outside the door. But every time there was someone already inside, and he wouldn't want to interrupt. He could always come back later.

Later is now. There's no sound from inside.

There's no one inside.

Adam isn't here. Adam's gone. Not lying in wait, with his gun and his smile and his tools for dealing with a disobedient robot that wandered off all by itself.

It's safe now.

...

Just open the door.

...

How long has he been here?

There's a sound. High heels, clicking on stone. Getting closer.

That's me, Mettaton thinks, and his SOUL lurches in panic. The real me. Please don't let him see me like this. Oh, but he doesn't even think of trying to run. Running away leads to getting caught.

If he's very still and quiet, he'll be safe, won't he?
luckytobealive: (pic#11421522)
[personal profile] luckytobealive
(Well, not really. Eliza's no General--not of people, of armies and citizens and states. Keeper, perhaps, would be a better term; of stories and legacies, most of all her family's. But that's beside the point.)

Eliza's established herself a routine. Knowing where to go, when, how, is almost exactly the kind of stability she figured she needed after the past years. Some solidarity, something that wouldn't change without her permission. It's more than welcome after the past few years.

Of course, it doesn't stop her from furthering her work in furthering the family legacy. She has plans. Or. Well. She did (still does) until suddenly the gravestone in front of her was the wrong one. Until the whole graveyard was exactly the wrong one.

That's not good. 

Rising panic immediately floods into her chest, but she grits her teeth and (mostly) keeps her composure, looks around to see if she's made some mistake, but there is none. This is not the Trinity Church graveyard. There is no city, only--the bones of birds long dead, a forest, and... a castle. There is no castle in America. And this is nowhere in England, as far as she can tell, why would she be in England--why would she be anywhere but the city?

No, no, she can't be lost, she can't be gone, she has children, they need her, the oldest is not prepared to take on her duties in her absence (absence! how long will she be absent?) and there is--there is so much left to be done.


Breathe, one, two. A day to come home can be spared. The children will be concerned, but… while not fit for long-term, her eldest can take care of the house just fine for a night.

But she needs to find out where she is.

Eliza, dressed in black mourning dress outdated by centuries, heads towards the castle. 
dustless: (make like alphys and freak)
[personal profile] dustless
//big ol' warning for illness, blood, death, and the use of font shades.


[ for [personal profile] sansational ]

farewell )


[ for anyone who cannot or will not stop them ]


so long )


[ for [personal profile] silvermists ] 

have a nice day )
realkidswearstripes: (12)
[personal profile] realkidswearstripes
One week shy of someone's fifth month anniversary here in 'Castle Skyland', as they (and a certain Chara) are calling it. Alone. No parents. No big sister. None of their schoolfriends, human or monster, except a Frisk who doesn't remember the whole year they hung out together.

It's been...

Well. Not great. Not good at all, really, but they have to keep their spirits up! Which is easiest while keeping busy! And doing their best not to be alone--it's terrible, not to have anyone to chatter at.

Right now, there's no one. They're busy anyway, prodding and scratching at a slightly discolored stone with a toeclaw. This is Very Serious Business. It's a magical castle. There have got to be secret passages somewhere!!





((What if raptor feets.))
dunwhale: (Default)
[personal profile] dunwhale
Daud has found a sword in a small room that looks to be an armory.


It's roughly similar to the Whaler blade he left behind back in Dunwall, crosshatched shaft and all, but the castle can only offer up so much and so it is not a picture perfect reconstruction of his memory. It's light for a sword; their blades have always held a brutal simplicity, elegant and vicious in one, and Daud finds the balance satisfactory. He scrounges up a sheath for it and sets out to the gardens for some much-needed practice, but not before taking the one laying next to it—a rapier with a basket hilt, the guard extending up and back like the petals of a flower. It strikes him as gaudy and pretentious, but to others it would likely just seem a tad overornamented.


But it is a sword, and he has learned to respect them. He slips that one into the sheath and carries his blade in an easy grip, letting it drift near his leg. He dearly hopes that no one sees and follows him on his quest for the courtyard, watches his pacing through the gardens—they’re not as ostentatious as the ones at Dunwall Tower, but he sees similar fruit trees and cheerfully blooming flowers. Somebody’s been taking care of the place and so he carefully avoids stepping on anything. It takes five minutes of wandering before he sees an open-enough brick-studded area to practice in. He sets the rapier down on the ground at the edge and takes his place in the center, sword out in a guard position. The uneven ground is no bother for one used to fighting on rooftops, and so he takes a minute or two to practice footwork against the lips and dips of the ground. There is a technique he learned in Serkonos , as a boy, that kept him from kicking up dust, and he uses it now.


It’s only been a small stretch of time before he feels the telltale prickling on his back that means he’s being watched. He finishes his set—twirls the blade elegantly, a movement that Whaler blades aren’t meant for—and twists on his heel to point the sword directly out at his observer.


“Well? You’re not stealthy, you know.”


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Castle Perrault

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