asgard genesis, test drive meme #6

[asgardmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME ❧ basic info. Anyone can post to the test drive meme, including duplicates! Please put your character name and canon in the title of your comment. All threads are considered open to everyone! Tag around and make some friends (or enemies)! If you decide to apply to the game, you can use your TDM threads for your app samples! You only need to provide seven comments if you use TDM samples. You can't really be late to a TDM! This will be considered open until the new one is posted. You can make up your own scenario, interact with one of the locations in the game, use the welcome process of your character waking up or selecting a god house, or use our optional prompts below! You do not need to pick a god house to play on the TDM! You can have your character still in the process of discussing/deciding/despairing instead. Note, however, that characters aren't allowed to leave the palace unless they've chosen a god! It's for their own safety... and anatomical integrity. If you are accepted to the game, you can keep TDM threads as game canon as long as you fudge some of the details depending on your original thread. Optional events this month can be considered game canon as well! We've specifically structured these prompts to fit in with the IC timeline of Asgard itself. ( ! ) The FAQ is currently undergoing extensive reworking! Please check back closer to application time if you want to to make sure you have the latest info. (The only immediately relevant adjustment is that we've eliminated the 10-minutes-of-screentime rule for characters - those with little canon will now be judged strictly on how well their app represents them as a fully fleshed-out character.) Casts currently at/approaching the 8 character limit are: ASOIAF/GOT: 6/8 Devil May Cry: 5/8 Reserves open on February 1st at 12:01AM EST and close on February 7th at 11:59PM EST. Applications open on February 8th at 12:01AM EST and close on February 14th at 11:59PM EST. Please always feel free to contact the mods if you have any questions! Have fun, dear (future?) Wanderers. ♥ ❧ THE ARRIVAL. ( You're welcome to use a character's arrival as a prompt! Some general information about the arrival process is here. They're then free to explore at least some of Gladsheim Palace, given space enough by the local gods to (in theory) consider which god they'd like to choose to affiliate with. Though most days, Wanderers aren't to step inside Gladsheim Palace without direct permission, the day of arrival is an exception and both new arrivals and Asgard veterans alike can be found wandering the halls, as well as any number of curious-eyed natives who work within the palace walls. Unfortunately, while the natives and the veterans may come and go as they please today, your character isn't permitted to leave the Palace grounds - whether inside or outside on the hedged-in lawn - without choosing a god... or, if all else fails, allowing a god to choose them. Feel free to ask the mods questions if you encounter any - for example, if you'd like to know how the gods (or a specific god) would've answered X and Y questions from your character! ) ❧ MINI-CURSE: SIGYN. Every god has been able to feel it. A certain energy has been emanating from Skadi; a type of aura that one ethereal being can recognize around another, and this particular atmosphere she'd surrounded herself with wasn't...positive, to say the least. Most gods known how to deal with her in this mood, as it isn't exactly a rarity for Skadi to give off the impression that a storm is brewing around her, quiet or monstrous. Others, however, aren't so old or wisened to her ways to know steering clear might be the better option. In this instance, Sigyn has taken it upon herself to try and neutralize any impending situation. Albeit good-natured and well-meaning, her methodology is one that might not have the desired effect on the elder Goddess -- in the center of town now exists a large, curved wall of blank concrete, spanning a distance where standing right at the middle mark means you can't see the end in either direction. Every 10 yards are detached, smaller concrete canisters extending from the ground that contain a myriad of art supplies, including paint, pastels and assorted artistic means. Etched into the side of each concrete canister is a message: TO ALL WANDERERS: MAKE ASGARD YOUR OWN INTRODUCE YOURSELVES SHOW EVERYONE WHO YOU ARE It's an open invitation to do whatever you would like to this blank wall in front of you. Maybe more open than you initially think, as reading the simple words create a certain need within you. It's suddenly not just an offer, but a necessity to paint something. Write a message, doodle, express some sort of creativity; this new world('s blank mural) is your oyster, and this sudden compulsion doesn't mean you've become the next Picasso. Once you finish your soul's magnum opus, a pleasant buzz enters your brain and lasts for the rest of the day. Your spirit is lifted, at least until a strong enough catalyst harshes your vibe. You'll also find that no matter how much of a chalk you might use, these art utensils never seem to whittle away -- perhaps they're worth pocketing, if your neighbour doesn't mind. ❧ ANOMALY DISCOVERED. It doesn't take you long to find the woods. No - that statement's a bit misleading. The woods are everywhere, surrounding Asgard in its entirety. Really, it's more notable how quickly you found this patch of woods. You're not even positive quite when it became 'the woods' rather than the friendly, approachable clusters of trees at the far reaches of Honir's district, but here you are. You feel... drawn here, almost. An inexplicable tug, like a sort of gravity that only seems to pull at the base of your spine and the air in your lungs, draws you deeper in through the trees. You're beyond the city limits now, some part of you can feel it, but whatever you're seeking is just ahead. When you arrive in the place to which you've been drawn, it's... just another patch of woods? At least, that's how it appears. Nothing to see, nothing to hear. You feel it, though - there's something off about this spot, as if the air itself is charged differently. Charged urgently, as if the spot in which you stand thrums with a deep and powerful life force. It's as if you've climbed a mountain, only to discover that mountain is the jagged back of a vast and ancient creature - but instead of a mountain, it's the entirety of the world on which you stand. Is this what they meant by 'the Mother'? But though you seem to have been summoned or pulled to this spot, that's where the guidance ends. You're left at a loss for what you're expected to do now that you've arrived. It's only when you try to take a step to leave that you notice that tree roots have grown up from the dirt, taking the time in which you wrapped your mind around the immensity of what you're feeling to subtly but definitively wrap around your foot and ankle to trap you in place. Fighting against them alone is no use. They seem to thicken under duress, and if that's not enough to resist your blade or your claws, you find that your joints no longer seem to bend quite like they used to. They stiffen to near-immobility, especially your knees and elbows, and though it aches a little it's mostly just to dissuade you from fighting. Shouting for help (on purpose or just by virtue of yelling at the roots) is a bit more useful. Many other Wanderers find themselves drawn to this exact spot, and two sets of hands fighting against the roots might just be enough to free you. Then again, you could just give in. (Or maybe you have no choice but to, if your rescuer gets caught too.) The roots will release you in about an hour's time all on their own, and you'll be free to go, feeling somewhat more tired but otherwise entirely unharmed. ❧ NETWORK. ( Network posts are fair game, in this test drive! Network access information can be found here. Note that characters' names are shown - as opposed to choosing usernames - and that the network can't be accessed accidentally. Consider mentioning whether your post is text, audio, or video for clarity! ) navigation.

Comments

iris amicitia | ffxv | frigg

[carrotkeeper]

Mini curse

[Aligning herself with these unknown gods feels bizarre and odd. The only reason she did it was because being trapped in some weird gigantic mansion wasn't on her list of things to do. She has people to find-Talcott, for one. Her brother. Her friends. Anyone else who might've been pulled into this strange world.

And then-

Then she reads those words and feels compelled to do anything but search for them. She needs to put her mark on this wall and honestly, it makes sense. Maybe they'll see it, maybe they'll also need to draw, maybe this could work out, so-

She gives into the compulsion, finding small areas in between other grand feats of art to doodle on, unable to really get a clean spot from her position. But mama didn't raise no quitter. She will put this horrible moogle doodle on the wall before she leaves today.

And when she spots someone walk up, the plan's set in motion-]

Hey, you gotta second? I could really use your help.

Anomaly

[She doesn't appreciate this.

Tugging her foot free of the roots is doing nothing-it's almost like she's becoming part of the tree itself and it doesn't help that she has very few items on her. No knives, no swords-nothing. She relies so heavily on her own two hands to get the job done that-

Now she's stuck and that's the worst, actually.

She tries to stomp down on the roots around her trapped ankle with her free foot, quickly realizing that wasn't the best plan. All it did was make the plant realize she still has some free foot real estate and despite her 'Hey, don't you dare-'

It dares and now both her legs are caught and though she's trying to pull at it with her hands, she finally yells out-]

Hey, can anyone hear me? If you can just-look, just watch out for the roots!

Mini curse

[thermalwind]

[Keith blinks and glances around. There's no one else but the two of them.] Uh, sure.

[He continues his approach, walking directly to her. She asked for him. He glances up and stares, his eyes widening faintly. Countless drawings span the wall ahead of them.

There's no pattern to the art. It feels a bit like those yearbooks back in public school.] What is this?

anomaly! hello again

[skittering]

❰ lalli, as a general rule, has gotten very accustomed to following where the forest leads. he doesn't question it. he's been scouting these woods for months now, and the worst they've done is allow him to run into danger - never led him to it.

all of which sparks a keen and throbbing sense of betrayal as he stumbles to a stop and the roots of the nearby trees burrow free of the ground to reach conspicuously for his ankles.

his next exhale is not unlike a cat's hiss, fingers scrabbling at a nearby tree trunk to haul himself up into the branches before the roots can quite grab him. from the safety of that branch he assesses, brow knit - he looks at the vines, still but for the ones still reaching impotently for him and the ones ensnaring the girl not far off.

...the girl. she called out a warning. in fact, that warning is the only reason he wasn't caught off guard, held down by the roots just like she seems to be.

and so, dutifully, he's crawling farther out along the branch until he's nearly above her, though not quite so much to make her crane her neck. ❱

Are they hurting you? ❰ that note in his voice might be concern, but he's mostly just asking to know how urgent it is to get her out... especially considering doing so might force him to drop back down to the ground himself. ❱

Malcolm Bright | Prodigal Son | Odin

[prodigalmess]

I. Arrival
Malcolm Bright has definitely had worse dreams than this. In fact, he hasn't actually had a good dream for a really long time. Maybe it's because he's unconscious. The last thing he remembers was being hit over the head by a serial killer and knocked out. Maybe for once his brain is being kind to him before he wakes up in whatever hell awaits him.

This has to be a dream though. He's somehow awoken in a magical palace filled with Norse gods and goddesses, one of whom he apparently needs to choose as his patron. It's kind of fun, actually.

It really doesn't take him long to decide on Odin. None of the other gods appeal to him except for Heimdall, briefly, but the God of Knowledge is an obvious pick for him in the end. "Great," he says to whomever happens to be near him. "Glad I got that figured out, I guess. You know, most dreams aren't as well-structured as this. Everything seems to make sense so far."

He's much more used to trying to fit fragments together in order to try and figure out what his brain is trying to tell him.


II. Mini-Curse
Malcolm is sitting crossed-legged in front of the wall, sketching a very detailed drawing of a human brain. He's not an amazing artist, but he can do these sort of anatomical sketches, something that he unfortunately learned from his father. He could label all the parts of the brain, but he won't. This feels as if it's supposed to be more creative than scientific.

A brain represents him well. He's always been one, he likes studying them, and his father destroyed a few, including his own. Malcolm reaches for a pink pastel and starts shading the folds and curves of it. Finally, he adds a few lines coming out in all directions. He's not really sure what they're supposed to represent. Rays? Brain power? They felt right to draw, at least.

He leans over to look at whatever the person next to him is drawing. "I know we're allowed to be doing this, but I still have the weirdest feeling that my mother is going to show up and have a fit that people drew all over the wall," he says.


[ ooc: Also open to wildcard options! Feel free to message me via PM or sparks_fly. ]

2

[baisunas]

With an array of colored pencils, Hannibal meticulously recreating the Triumph of Death in vivid color. He'd seen it once during a visit to the Palazzo Abatellis in Palermo. It's hardly an original piece, but he's always preferred sketching things already in existence than creating them from his imagination. For creation, he vastly prefers the mediums of music and murder, neither of which are suitable at the moment.

And Triumph certainly does a fair job of "introducing himself to everyone."

The comment from the man next to him draws his attention away from what he's doing, though Hannibal looks first to the drawing instead of to the owner of the voice. An accurate image of a human brain drawn with skill. A nod to his profession? His intelligence? It's enough to pique Hannibal's interest.

"Does your mother often interrupt your work to offer unsolicited opinions and critiques? Or does she simply haunt your recollection of childhood?"

Hannibal Lecter | Hannibal

[baisunas]

1. Arrival

[ With the unsatisfying explanation still running through his mind, Hannibal steps into the doorway that will take him out of the palace. It isn't until he's standing there, the air moving over his skin, staring up into the sky above him, that the unreality of the whole situation resolves into something real. He can feel the truth of the woman's words, smell it in the air. He's neither dead nor grievously wounded and impossibly, he isn't anywhere on Earth anymore either.

With that acknowledgement comes the loss, so crushing and suffocating that for an instant, it nearly overwhelms him. He hasn't felt this hollow aching feeling since his sister's death and just like then, he has no means of coping with it, save to slam the doors of his memory palace on those rooms until...

Perhaps forever.

There's more than enough to deal with. Clothing, shelter, familiarizing himself with this place and its people, further examining what exactly these bracelets are meant to do, learning the way this strange new world works. Investigating these gods. He doesn't have time for inconvenient emotions he doesn't want in the first place.

Resolving to explore on foot first, Hannibal steps out onto the vibrant lawn, somewhat more distracted than he would ordinarily be, and promptly walks right into someone passing by. ]

Ah, I beg your pardon. [ The apology comes quickly, along with an appropriately contrite smile. ] Still getting my bearings in this place. Forgive me.


2. Anomaly Discovered

[ Looking back on it, Hannibal cannot say precisely what possessed him to walk into the forest. He's not ordinarily given to hiking or wandering about in the wilderness. Yet here he is, so deep in the trees that the sounds and scents of his city are far behind him. And for what? He doesn't know. Whatever whim has led him here is gone.

Shifting his weight in preparation of leaving, he finds that he's tangled in roots. Roots that he's quite certain weren't there when he arrived.

A few frustrating, inexplicably difficult minutes later, Hannibal gives in to the inevitable. The tangle of roots has only gotten worse in his struggle to free himself and he feels as though arthritis he knows full well he doesn't have has flared up. He may not be able to explain it, but he's clever enough to get the message: stay here.

Does it come from the gods of this place or is it some other form of magic?

Hannibal shakes the hair from his eyes, exhales a heavy sigh, and at the sound of approaching footsteps, calls out. ]

Be careful where you walk. The flora in this area are not entirely friendly.


( ooc: i'm happy to tag in brackets or prose! )

1

[sanityinruins]

[ He was not the kind of person who found it necessary to show up when the stupid tree decided to spit out new people. Ye Zun much more preferred to hover over the feed off the bracelets and maybe spend time in places he was sure people would drift towards - the Library or the bar - to catch the latest gossip. But today, he was feeling restless and annoyed, and what better way to spread his annoyance than to see what new human was getting spit out into the brave new world of the gods?

But of course that meant he would have these sort of encounters due to his curiosity. Another time and another place, he may have done something else, but he promised. So he instead gave a thin smile in advanced, eyes shadowed by his mask as he gave a slight bow. ]

No harm done. I can imagine that this is disorienting from where you're from before.

Imoen | Baldur's Gate | Honir

[buffleheaded]

Mini curse
The rogue barely needs a nudge. Only a moment’s pause before the blank slate, hands planted on her hips and lips twitching in a smile, then Imoen is stepping forward to collect several colors of chalk. She has always been an impulsive sort, or worse, she has always been creative. Whether or not others appreciate Imoen’s self-expression...well, that’s not her problem.

It starts with a simple, almost childlike drawing of herself. A pink scribble for hair, limbs akimbo as though shuffling in a little dance. The second figure leans out from behind the dancing girl, gesturing to the left. It earns a steadier hand, almost worthy of feature on a tarot card. Robes provide an excuse not to try dealing in too much detail, though a brush of pink locks are added at the hood. A golden halo of light is shaded in around this one’s hand.

The final figure leans to the dancing girl’s right, and this time Imoen bites her lip as she draws the image she cannot get out of her mind. Linework is jagged, colors dark – once or twice, Imoen looks on the edge of snapping the pieces of chalk she employs. This time the figure has golden eyes, and a crooked smile. It holds up a red-bladed dagger like an offering.

At last, Imoen sighs, licks her lips, and picks out the last color. A purple diagram must ring the drawing, arcane symbols carefully inscribed around it. It takes some time, occasionally scrubbing away chalk to ensure the symbols look just right. But when she steps away, the same inscription she painstakingly copied into her spellbook back in Faerun surrounds the three figures: the spell for Mirror Image.

Imoen’s head tilts as she considers her work, humming lightly, before giving it a nod of approval – and, yes, starting to collect chalk to squirrel away in the pouches at her belt. “Just about got ‘em...ooh, that’s a nice color.”

Anomaly discovered
It’s not the first time magical roots have tangled about her feet, but it is the first time she’s felt this useless in them. Once, she could have burned away the plants. Cast a spell and wriggle out of the pinch like a proper troublemaker. Or at least her adventuring companions would be there.

Instead, Imoen finds herself with feet rooted (har) and nothing to do but wait. Perhaps the worst part is the waiting, anxiety and panic of the situation waning into a strange boredom. Every once in a while, she exclaims a simple, “Hey!” But until she’s certain she sees a figure, Imoen does not waste energy on further hysterics.

Spotting that figure, though. Oh boy. This time Imoen whistles, and dares to draw on beginner’s scraps of power that she has been allowed, flicking a hand at this person as though throwing dust in someone’s eyes. Prestidigitation: a simple, harmless display of sparks flare in the air, to annoy this person and make sure that she has been spotted.

((OOC: Prose or action tags, will match style.))

anomaly discovered

[skittering]

❰ in her defense, his figure is small, narrow, and moves like a silent shadow. especially in these woods - a place where he finds more comfort than the city itself, despite the ambiguous ways of the forest at large.

finding a person in it, though, that's not quite as common. the forest seems to be leading him to her, tugging him along with no real resistance (he's used to following the paths that the forest yields to him, by now), and there's a brief moment in which he considers why he was led to her -

but that's when she flings the sparks. he hisses a surprised breath out through his teeth, hand whipping down to draw the knife at his waist as he flinches back on the distinct chance that it's more than just light... but as his second foot tries to follow, he finds that it's caught. roots wind up around his boot, and he glances down at them first in alarm and then in something that looks very much like betrayal before turning his wary gaze back up to the person a few short yards away. roots or no, he's more worried about a human than the forest any day. ❱

How long have you been here? ❰ a thin layer of relevance draped over the actual question: how long should he expect to be here? ❱

jet star | the true lives of the fabulous killjoys | heimdall

[trafficreport]

i. mini-curse ; beyond the cover, the pages give you color

[What do you get when you surround a Fabulous Killjoy with color?]

[Sometimes you get a work of art. Sometimes you get a mess. Most often, you'll get a real thorough mix of the two, because to a killjoy, those concepts more or less interleave and overlap and that right there can be a right mess in and of itself to sort through.]

[And Jet Star? Well, he hardly needed the prompting. He's not as artsy as some of his desert-running kin, but he's a zonerunner, and that comes with a certain set of skills. Right away, he starts throwing up a few symbols just to mark out his territory. That blue star of his is the most frequent, but the other three make regular appearances. He hasn't seen any of them around since he got here, see, so he might as well commemorate them while he can. And if they happen by - hey, they'll know there's a friend about.]

[The rest doesn't have much in the way of rhyme or reason. A sprawling, black spider with a lightning-bolt abdomen, a plethora of seemingly random words and phrases that Jet just kind of splashes up there with impunity. He prefers the paints, generally, but sometimes he'll stop and consider one of the pieces of chalk in his hands before pocketing it absently, more out of habit than anything else.]

[You'll have to forgive him. He's from the Zones, the post-apocalyptic, radiation-blasted deserts of California. Out there, you take whatever isn't nailed down, because if you don't, someone else will.]

ii. anomaly ; shadows are cast over our bodies and we lose ourselves

[Don't panic.]

[Externally, Jet Star looks very much as though he isn't panicking. His features are relatively impassive as he studies the interlocking roots that have worked their way around his feet and ankles and more or less bolted him to the ground. But it's a killjoy's worst nightmare - stuck in place with nowhere to run. Just because he hasn't seen any sign of dracs or crows since he got here doesn't mean that this place is danger-free, and he's all but assured of that fact now.]

[The stiffness in his joints isn't helping. He doesn't have anything to cut these roots open with. That doesn't mean he's helpless. He starts to sink to the ground as best as he can, breathing out slowly through the ache in his knees. It puts his feet at an awkward angle, but it conserves his strength.]

[It'd be nice to get a good look at all this woodland. He hasn't seen this many trees in...well, maybe never, he doesn't think. He can't afford to think about that right now.]

[Focus.]

[If anyone draws close, Jet's eyes will flick up, trained unerringly on whoever might come near. When he speaks, the words are measured and even, though his stare is unblinking and there's an incredible tension now clenching around his muscles as he sits poised for the expectation that this exchange might not go over well. Again - you'll have to excuse him. This is standard practice where he's from. You have to assume everyone's out to get you until they prove otherwise.]

Don't get too close.

iii. network ; text

[Fancy radio transmitter. Not what he's used to, but it'll do in a pinch. Even better, this one's got some fancy bells and whistles. He doesn't even have to hit a button to talk into the thing. Call that a bonus.]

[He's no DJ. Broadcasting is risky. Hopefully this risk'll come with a reward.]

fancy tech.

missing 8 legs.
red green yellow & 2 pint size.
if anyone got eyes on those colors wave jet star.

[Hopefully literally anyone will be able to figure what any of THAT means.]

anomaly, because if lalli texted back it would just say "what"

[skittering]

❰ lalli (stupidly, naively) has long since come to trust the forest. it leads him away, then back home again. it leads him to discovery. to water. to food, in a pinch. it hardens against the efforts of those who intend to fight, sending them looping in circles or back off in the direction from which they came. it means there's a pretty strong learning curve for anyone looking to scout, or even just to explore the trees - bur for lalli, it means peace.

usually.

today, he's trusted the forest just far enough to hear a tense and level 'don't get too close.' and lalli stops short, all but freezing in place as sharp eyes zero in on the person who spoke. a man - a tense one, ready. for lalli, or for something else? it's the latter possibility that has him silently drawing his knife, breaking eye contact just long enough to scan the rest of their surroundings.

then it's back, gazes locking, and lalli's eyes narrow. ❱

Why? ❰ a single word, equal parts wary and belligerent. to his credit, he hasn't come any closer? ❱

Keith | Voltron: LD | heimdall

[thermalwind]

Mini Curse

[At the right side of the wall right at the end, Keith has made himself a space. He sweeps his arm up in an arc to separate the other sketches, paintings, and writings with white chalk. He won't silence anyone else's voice.

It wouldn't be right. He fills in his space with black chalk using the side of the chalk to rub it into the wall. His mind blanks of the need to find out everything he can about this city and the people. He needs to put his own marks on the wall.

Express himself.

Keith folds his legs under him, six pieces of different colored chalk by his left knee. He leans forward, adding dark blue and purple to the black space until it looks deep and dark. Keith smiles just a bit and reaches for green and brown chalk when he realizes he isn't alone. He looks over his shoulder and says,]

There's a spot to my left if that's what you're after. If you want the chalk, I'm going to be using it for a bit.

[Then he pauses, turning slightly in place. His motions shift his helmet resting at his side and he briefly glances at it.] Uh, hang on. How do you feel right now? Just curious.

Anomaly

[Years ago when he was lost and didn't know what to do with himself something called to him from the desert. He'd followed it without a question to why. Keith stares out at the trees beyond the city with open suspicion.

This isn't his home universe.

He shouldn't blindly follow anything but the call pulls at him. It hooks into him and tugs like a hand on his arm. He takes a step. Another step. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to stop moving. When he spots another person he speaks up,] Hey, do you feel it too? I think we should get back inside.

[His shoulders tense as if he attempts to do just that. But he's stuck in place, bound by the call.]

Wildcard
[Have an idea? Pitch it to me in pm or hit me up on plurk skyheron]

mini-curse

[sassery]

[The person Keith speaks to hilariously enough has a prosthetic right arm, and is sort of looking the concrete over with a bit of a curious brow raise.]

Don't worry about it, this kinda stuff really isn't something I do often anyway. [A beat, and he grins.] I'm gonna be here a while.

[Said as he has his own piece of chalk, not too concerned. He just has no idea what his supposed magnum opus is.

Though he does pause when Keith asks him the question, thinking for a good second before replying.]

Like I should be putting something on the wall. [Nero shrugs, obviously not bothered by it.] You feeling about the same or something?

Quentin Coldwater | The Magicians | Odin

[minormends]

1. ARRIVAL
"Okay," Quentin says, making his way down the hallway of the palace, clutching the strap of his messenger bag with both hands, trying to take in all the details of his surroundings as he goes.

"Okay," he says again.

He seems to be saying it a lot. It's just that he isn't certain he's not having some sort of a breakdown. This whole concept of finding himself in -- what, another world? He'd find the idea of it exciting if he hadn't already been there done that, and. No alright he does find it a little bit exciting still, but then there's the whole bit where it seems to be run by beings who seem to think of themselves as gods, and if they are gods --

If they are he will cross that bridge when he gets to it he supposes, but never mind the god part. Now he's stuck here for the next foreseeable future, and stuck inside the castle at that until he chooses which so-called god he belongs to. Which really isn't fair considering he has no idea who they are. The least they could have done was make this some sort of test from some sort of talking animal or otherwise mysteriously animated inanimate object. That's how they would have done it in Fillory, anyway.

"Right, okay," he says, and this time he thinks he really means it, because the doors he has just opened are at least to something resembling a library, and this seems a bit more promising. Research! He can do that. He can do this...

2. ANOMALY
Quentin had thought he had things under control. He is rapidly discovering that may not in fact be the case and he is in fact well and truly in over his head.

It may have something to do with the tree roots growing up over his foot. It may also have something to do with the fact that try as he might, he doesn't seem to be able to do any magic in this place. It's making the whole issue of being trapped by this tree root rather more of a problem than it might otherwise have been.

It's about at the point where he feels his whole body beginning to stiffen that he really begins to panic. And scream. He's not sure that the screaming is going to do him any good, but it sure makes him feel better about the whole situation.

"Help!!! Help!!!!" Quentin sounds about as on-edge as he feels, which is to say that he is still not certain that any of this is real or whether he's just having some sort of a breakdown (again). The full-body bind definitely isn't helping matters. Is there a chance this tree really could kill him? Is there a reason why this tree is trying to kill him? He needs to try and think clearly about this, and he tries, sucking in a breath and letting it out long and slow.

"Shit, shit, shit," he tones under his breath. Swearing seems to help too.

3. WILDCARD
Want to thread something else with Q? Shoot me a PM and let's plot something out! Also I default to prose but if you would rather thread with me in action that's fine!

Arrival

[demonicbeauty]

Ariadne liked the library for all the wrong reasons. Alastrians were an oral species, by nature. Their stories and songs and history weren't written down. The fact that she could read and write at all was a bit strange.

So, no. It wasn't the books that drew her.

It was the scent.

The wood, the paper, the candles. It smelled like...well, like home. She could never quite decide if she was homesick or not. It varied from one moment to the next. But the smell was soothing. Like she was in control, even though she clearly wasn't. The meditation of it all helped.

She was curled up in a corner, absently flipping through a book on botany without really absorbing it when the doors suddenly flew open and inside came...a very upset-looking humanoid. Ariadne quickly jumped to her feet, looking down at her hands to make sure she was in her Human form. Yes, yes she was. Pinkish skin. Brown hair, in a long, rope-like braid down to her knees. Nothing Alastrian showing. Thank the gods.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she took a tentative step in the direction of the stranger, her forehead crinkling in concern. "Are you all right?"

Shen Wei | Guardian | Heimdall

[hei_pao_shi]

He's waiting, and then he isn't.

i. mini-curse:

Cautious steps have brought him to this wall. Shen Wei doesn't need his glasses, but he takes them off anyway, cleaning them on the hem of his crisp shirt before he looks up again.

SHOW EVERYONE WHO YOU ARE

As demands go, it's fairly invasive, but as Shen Wei turns to go, he finds himself hesitating. Does he know who he is without his duty? Without Yunlan? Before he can think of what he's doing, he reaches into the art supplies, pulling out deep blues and purples and greys and a single tube of white. He lifts his brush.

In the end, it isn't a happy picture. The dark, swirling colors scream of grief and loss, but there, at the very top, a bit of light shines through. More satisfied than he'd expected, Shen Wei cleans his hands carefully and steps back from his work.

ii. tree:

He still feels the pleasant warmth in his veins, but Shen Wei knows by now that the blank wall had manipulated him. And without his powers to protect him, he fears he's been ensnared again. He's staring at a large tree, and beneath his feet thrums power unlike any he's ever felt. It feels like life, not his life but all life. He wants to go to his knees and collect a sample of both root and soil, but when Shen Wei looks down, he sees that is not to be. A long, thick branch has already wound its way around his leg, strong enough to hold him, and as another joins it, Shen Wei closes his eyes, breathing carefully.

This life does not have Yunlan. Perhaps he will simply let this tree take him, and wait for the next one.

1

[sanityinruins]

It was a stupid wall. Ye Zun did not feel like giving it any of his attention. In fact, he felt more like hitting it a few times, or maybe blowing it up, but noticing how many people seem to be drawn to the thing, he knew that it was probably one of the gods' pet projects. Which made it stupider in his humble opinion.

So he would have walked away from it, the compulsion sliding off his back like so much refuse, but then he noticed a familiar back. No, a more than familiar back. One that was attached to an even more familiar face. Ye Zun stopped, stared and then took a tentative step closer.

"Ge..?"

He wouldn't put it past the gods to want to mess with his mind now that they have gotten more use to them. But still. He could hope, couldn't he?

nathan drake >> uncharted >> tyr (or odin, haven't decided)

[craptastic]

[arrival. So maybe this whole thing is like. A weird fever dream, right? Gods- actual gods- are real and walking around and apparently he's already talked to them???? Uh. And this is also the beginnings of Asgard, the Asgard, the whole home of the Norse gods and eventually Ragnarok with the end of the world?

Nate really isn't sure if he's somehow been dumped into another adventure or he's accidentally high on something from the Tibetans. Maybe both? It wouldn't surprise him at this point. Especially after finding Shambala and fighting Lazarevich. What a wild trip that was.

So pardon the guy kinda walking right up to you and whatever you're doing, and throwing a quick grin. The castle sure is weird, but he can't exactly leave yet till he's picked a god to go with. It's kind of ridiculous.]

Hey, buddy. Can you believe this crap?

[Not that he doesn't fully believe it, but he's seen enough to not throw everything under the bus right away anymore. Stuff he touches may turn to shit, but at least for now, he'll play along. Figure out what's going on and what really is true about this place.

sigyn's curse. It's not too hard to follow what everyone seems to be doing, once he gets to the concrete. "Drawing what the heart desires," huh? Well, he's pretty sure he's okay now, with Elena going to be fine and already joking with him about him crying over her. So he easily takes a pastel chalk and begins-

And what passerby see is that Nate is actually drawing one of the temples he saw in Shambala.

It's a lot grander than he makes it out to be, but Nate's got the architecture down pretty well for a guy who kinda looks like a normal Joe Schmoe. If someone's staring at him or the drawing, he'll pause, then look back up and give a sheepish kind of grin.]

...uh. Got a little carried away, I guess.

[Nate you just drew a fucking temple from a land that's only been said to have been found in MYTHS????????

exploring. One thing hasn't changed, though- and that's Nate's curiosity of whatever is around him. It doesn't really matter if it's a remote place or in a large city, he'll do what he does best and explore. Which means you'll either find him climbing brick walls or grunting as he hurls himself across rooftops or from windowsills, grabbing onto something at the last minute to haul himself up further.

Or maybe he's really unlucky (which he usually is), and knocks off some debris while climbing. Which may or may not come close to hitting you. Sorry about that? It's not intentional, at least. But it does give you the right to yell at him or stare at him or hell, even follow after him if you want. He hasn't super noticed yet. Call him out on his shit.

wildcard.

Have an idea? Hmu, I'll roll with it.]

exploring

[sanityinruins]

[ It's one thing to have crazy humans doing their crazy things and climb all over the place. It's quite another to have said crazy human hanging off the chains that come part in parcel with his prison that the gods had decided to park just outside his window. Ye Zun was not at all happy about the stupid thing in the first place, but this? Was beyond rude.

How dare a human play around with his object of torment! If only he could actually swat the man away instead of having to deal with the human in a much more annoying manner - speaking to him. ]

Could you not climb on that?

jodariel | pyre | frigg

[bloodborder]

i. arrival ; never to return

[This is not the Commonwealth.]

[So much could not have changed in sixteen years. Not to this extent. It is not surprise that greets her, when she takes this all in, nor is it betrayal; it is bitter resignation. The entire Plan was too sanguine to be possible, right from the start. As if it were true, as if any of it were true. The Rites were a ruse. The Commonwealth would cast its people into exile, and they would never return. The Scribes had no part in any of this. It was little more than some pointless, hopeless endeavor.]

[And the rest...what of them? What of Hedwyn, what of Sandalwood, what of Rukey and the Moon-Touched Girl and the rest of the Nightwings? She can hardly warn them. Never to return...she hard heard the minstrel's words. There can be no going back.]

[This does little to improve her mood.]

[Jodariel is not easy to ignore. Part of this is due to the simple fact of her appearance - with her towering height, her cloven feet, and her large, curved horns, she has a downright demonic look to her. This would not be an incorrect presumption, either; that is, after all, her species.]

[She moves slowly about the grounds of the Gladsheim Palace, taking in the well-kept lawns and greenery. As far away from the decrepit wilds of the Downside as it is possible to be.]

I should not be seeing this alone, Nightwings. You ought to be here with me.

[Her voice is deep, and there is a low distortion laid across it, as though a darker tongue speaks the words alongside her. In spite of this, she doesn't seem to speaking to anyone in particular, but musing aloud instead.]

Did the Scribes foresee this, then?

ii. mini-curse ; i'm a captain not an artist

[Jodariel does not consider herself an artist. Even when she tries her best, the symbol she's attempting to recreate is uneven and poorly drawn. Perhaps it has something to do with her hands, which are large and have claw-like points for nails. They are broad and altogether more accustomed to wielding weaponry or, in some cases, a ritual tome.]

[After her third piece of chalk snaps beneath her overlarge hands, Jodariel lets it drop to the ground in a stream of colorful powder, her expression stony.]

These tools were not made for my hands. I am no artist.

ii

[baisunas]

[ Hannibal's walking along, idly checking out the artwork on the wall. He hasn't peered close enough to become ensorcelled by the mandate on the canisters and has no idea that that is a fate that awaits him if he does. He's passing by a woman making the strange design when her chalk breaks, which he does notice, and since he's close enough, he hears her reaction.

And really, it isn't any of his business. But he does genuinely love art and can appreciate a fellow artist's frustration. ]

It is the vision that makes the artist. Not the tools. [ He smiles at her in understanding. ] Perhaps another medium would serve you better.

kipo oak | kipo & the age of the wonderbeasts

[adventuring]

█ I (mini-curse)

❰ kipo was never really an artist. at least not a visual one, paints and colors and all that - but if a nordic god wants her to paint on a wall? you dang well bet she's gonna do it. (with enthusiasm! she honestly probably would've done it without the god aspect, she knows what she's about.)

anyone at or approaching the mural will find her crosslegged on an end table she found in a building nearby, an array of open paints around her. she's using a brush, but that doesn't stop her from being covered in smudges of varying colors, on her hands and shirt and face. her hair too, probably. she hasn't quite reached the 'wonder if asgard has showers' stage yet.

she has, however, reached the 'talk to her herself' stage - mostly because that stage encompasses pretty much all of the other stages of most anything you can ever find her doing - and anyone at or approaching the mural is regaled with a quiet but un-subtle narration of her process. ❱

No, your hair's not- hmm. ❰ she's drawing curly hair on a short figure with dark skin and a tiny smile (a+ wishful thinking, kipo), but it's not soft enough. wolf's hair is like a tiny dark cloud, not like this. then she switches brushes to scoop up some blue paint, her free hand smudging wolf-hair brown across an itch on her cheekbone. ❱ And, of course, your wolf. I bet it's pretty warm in there, huh? ❰ this comes along with the addition of a blue wolf-faced hood and cloak that all but swallows up the figure's body down to the knees.

a four-eyed pig comes next, then a lanky boy with short hair and music notes around him. last comes an alarmingly buff bipedal bug, to which she's saying, ❱ And there are your legs, and there are your biiiiiiig big muscles! So many muscles. Do I even know how to draw that many muscles?

❰ please, someone, tell her to shut up. or ask her what the fuck she's even drawing, because there's very little rhyme or reason to the assortment of figures in the squad she's visually assembled. ❱

█ II (network, text)

❰ this is-... is this-? it's some kind of communications network?! kipo has only ever heard of things like this, from before the burrows even existed. now she gets to try one out for herself. she can't believe it. whatever she writes now is going to go out to everyone all over asgard, all at the same time. this is the first impression she gets to make on a whole city of people. what does she say?

go with your gut, kipo. just be yourself!

she cracks her knuckles, and - ❱

KIPO

❰ ...well that was embarrassing. her gut has embarrassed her.

hastily, she tries again: ❱

My name, I mean! It's Kipo. Nice to meet you all! I was mostly just wondering, does anyone know what kind of mega-mutes to look out for here? I haven't seen any, which makes me wonder if they're INVISIBLE or just GOOD AT HIDING or some other dangerous thing.

I was also wondering! Does anyone know how to catch a cat? I maybe kind of accidentally chased it and it maybe kind of didn't really like that.

Thanks!!
- Kipo, but I said that already

mini curse

[syncopatedscore]

[ sync has been watching kipo go at the mural for awhile now in silence from his perch atop a nearby building's roof, fluctuating wildly back and forth between mystified bemusement and simple annoyance.

none of that is visible from beneath his beak shaped mask, of course, but it's the reason it takes him so long to speak up. her run on the bug thing's supposedly infinite muscles is enough to finally break his silence though. nobody can be expected to hold their tongue through that nonsense, after all. ]

Doesn't look like you know how to draw much of anything, why should muscles be any different?

sync the tempest | tales from the abyss | mimir

[syncopatedscore]

arrival.

[ if this is death, the afterlife, sync isn't terribly impressed. he's not especially surprised that death is just more of the same bullshit as living, but that doesn't mean he can't still be disappointed in it either. ]

Nobody told me dying meant consigning myself to some sort of rural suburban hellscape where I'm expected to play nice with the neighbors.

[ he grumbles from his hunched sort of perch atop a wall as he points his beak shaped mask all around in what could generously be assumed to be him surveying his surroundings with a deeply judging eye.

sync isn't talking to anyone in particular, doesn't seem to regard anyone passing by with much more than the faintest hint of the curve of a sneer from beneath his mask as he adds, almost idly: ] I would have made sure to take more of those saps with me when I went if I had known.

curse.

[ if left to his own devices, sync would have passed right on by the mural space without sparing it more than the briefest of glances, but that pesky curse has him itching to take a second, closer look and before he knows it he's holding a piece of chalk in his hands.

he glares hotly at the blank wall in front of him for a good minute as he tries to fight the impulse behind it, before finally giving in and starting to draw. just because he has to follow the letter of the curse, however, doesn't mean he's going to honor the spirit of it, and by the time he pulls away to reveal his finished piece there is a swirl of green lines on the wall that give off the feel of wind, with the words "FUCK OFF" blended beautifully into it.

as he drops the chalk to the ground at his feet, that promised pleasant buzz starts up in the back of his head and sync lets off a full body shudder at the feeling of it. ]

What the hell...?

anomaly.

[ for someone with such deep seated issues with the concept of predetermination, the number of times this place has forced sync to do something against his will almost without him noticing it is really beginning to become a thorn in his side.

the roots that have wrapped tight around his ankles without him noticing is just adding insult to injury at this point, an sync has long passed his point of quietly fuming tolerance for this whole thing. he rages and spits and swears and claws at the roots to no avail until his energy is spent and his joints are locked up tight until he's nothing more than a small, hunched miserable figure of living stone.

he doesn't call for help at this point though, as he hardly expects to receive any. just stews quietly in his rage and despair at his inability to escape the looming shadow of the score even now. ]

It's all just so... pointless.

anomaly

[carrotkeeper]

[Finding her way around a forest of clingy roots has been a task and a half-the one occasion she's gotten stuck, another person came out of the literal woodwork to help her escape. Leaving had been her first priority, until she realized how many other people were being drawn into the woods.

She can't just leave them and now that she's prepared, surely she won't fall for the same trap twice.

It's easier to sidestep the plants and the original thrall that brought her in doesn't seem to pull her in again, so-

She follows the sound of cursing, the scraping and tearing of roots, until the-

It's all just so pointless-

Reaches her, just as she stumbles upon the newly covered body.]

Hey, you okay? Don't worry. I'm gonna help you get out.

Vin l Mistborn (voice testing, unsure on actually apping but.)

[atium]

Arrival:

[A tiny young teenager, barefoot, probably dirty and hair messed from fighting and leaping around, windswept, arrives. She's muttering, something about not needing 'protection'. She doesn't seem too sure about all this, and glances around uneasily. She's really not sure what to expect with all this. It's....decidedly not home. She's never heard of Asgard either.

She stalks right to the doors, intending on heading outside to explore and figure this place out. She's just barely able to keep from staring at the castle itself after having been to all those balls back home, after a lifetime on the street. But of course she's stopped when she does try to leave.]

What? I can't go outside? Why not?

Anomaly:

Wh -- ngh....let go!

[For all that Vin is a Mistborn, she does generally need some mobility. To be able to reach to her vials to drink the metal flakes in their alcohol solution. She might need a hand, if anyone else is nearby enough to hear her attempts to yell at the tree. As if that will help her any. But given how tiny she is it doesn't exactly take long for the roots to entangle her ankles and spread up her body.]

Wildcard:

[Basically for anything else people might want. I'm still voice testing (and have only read the initial trilogy myself.) but I did love Vin so want to try her out a bit.]

Trahäym (Commander) :: Guild Wars 2 :: Probably Heimdall

[podfresh]

[[ooc note: Trahäym is the Player Character route, the story is linked on his profile. (I'm personally not at the newest story bit with the snow area, so no spoilers there.) He's here mostly as fun seeing as you can't do the PC route. Mostly for the image on his profile. He's eight years old, roughly...]]

[ ARRIVAL ]

[The concept itself of Awakening wasn't entirely new to him. It was how his people came to 'be' in the world, after all. But the strangest part—to him—was the lack of a Dream proceeding this Awakening. So you'll find a rather...uh...red-toned plant man (about five foot seven) walking around with a sort of confused look on his face. He also looks very tired in a world-weary sort of way. Trahäym is glancing at everyone's wrists and once he finds a Wanderer—perhaps even you?—he ambles over in a determined way that doesn't scream I HAVE QUESTIONS AND YOU HAVE ANSWERS sort of way.

(Once you get to know him and his backstory, it'll all make...a little more sense. Not absolute because honestly what is the Commander's life.)

Regardless, he's by your side now and smiles.] Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have a couple of minutes for a few questions, would you?

[His voice is very much Orlando Bloom, but younger.]

[ CURSED ]

[Trahäym finds himself at a blank section of the wall that calls to him, rotating a piece of dark chalk in hand. Dozens of instances of his story flash through his head, all of them clamouring to tell their story.

He closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment, wishing that Aurene and her grounding aura were with him. A smile crosses his face and he opens his eyes again, finding his hand already drawing the young elder dragon. Next to her he draws the beginning parts of this symbol, Aurene close to the purple one down at the bottom right. With each glowing pentagon he briefly draws their respective elder dragons, the purple one in the top left going with Aurene. The only one that remains vague is the blue pentagon+dragon.

There's one more thing that Trahäym adds to the mural, and it seems more like a "last sight" kind of drawing. And some—maybe the gods themselves—will notice that this one seems like a God.

He steps back from the drawings and looks at the first two dragons he drew, the two at the purple stone, with a soft smile on his face. Almost on second thought he adds two more dragons to that area, they all look similar enough to be considered "family".]

[ CURSED 2.0 ]

[Having done his drawing, finding himself lighter for having shared part of the chaos of his home. Almost like he removed it from himself. He stops at your spot of the wall, admiring it in its finished or unfinished state.]

May I ask what part this played in your story?

[It seems like everything is tied to them all in some fashion. But he seems careful to phrase it in a way that you can decline sharing.]

[ ANOMALY ]

[Where others find the woods uncomfortable to be in, Trahäym seems quite at home. And rightly so at first glance because he is born of a tree. The vines at first do cause a bit of alarm but what he can't feel any sort of animosity from them, no "you belong to me" in the possessive sense that Mordremoth seemed to possess.

If there's someone that's wandered in with him, the sylvari smiles a little at them.] Worry not, friend, they don't mean harm.

[Trahäym looks down at the roots.] Curiosity, is all. They don't seek to own us in our entirety like others have.

[Mordremoth was his own...evil.]

[ WILDCARD ]

[Make your own adventure with the Commander????]

Anomaly

[theprezident]

[ Probably a good thing too, because Rhys was definitely about to freak out. He's experienced enough of Asgard's weirdness to be very wary. Unfortunately, the urge seemed completely impossible to ignore, and now he just ... hates everything. Why is this happening again?`

And while Trahäym may have stopped the initial freak-out, he's not completely appeased. ]

Oh, you know that for sure, do you?

[ Yeah, Trahäym definitely looks like a tree, but that's honestly somehow not weirder than walking skeletons and dragons, so Rhys only barely bats an eyelid at it. Does looking like a tree mean the guy actually does know that for sure? Can he, like, commune with plants? ]

Imelda Rivera | Coco | Frigg

[la_matrona]

Mini Curse

It wants her to sing. Or it seems to want her to sing. The urge to sing is rising under her breastbone and threatening to slip from her mouth. But she absolutely refuses. She has spent ninety years not singing or even allowing music to her, and she will not start now. At the same time she will not move away from the wall. Let it challenge her. She will meet it and triumph over it. That is just what is going to happen and she will allow no one to say otherwise.

Anomaly Discovered

Though Imelda has tried to pull away from the roots, they will not release her. So she stands there, folding her arms and glaring down at them.

"You will get nada from me." This is her usual approach to life, but also, she's already dead. She has little to fear from toots and refuses to do so anyway. It's a battle of wills between her and the helpless plant, and she knows who will win. It's only a matter of time.

anomaly

[vagabone]

That voice...

He hasn't heard her voice in over a decade. It's rather like grabbing hold of a live wire, sending shivers up his spine, bringing him out of his characteristic slouch. Imelda. It's Imelda. She's here, within earshot. Not too far away, actually--he twists around as well as he can with his feet trapped by roots and spots her.

The years haven't been kind to him, but he's done his best to clean up a bit since awakening in Asgard. New clothes! No more duct tape, no more broken bones! He's as grey and faded as ever, though. A sorry sack of frail, pitted bones. The markings on his face used to be so bright and colorful...

"Im... Imelda?"

The Distortion (Michael, Helen, canon point depending~) | The Magnus Archives

[itislies]

Arrival (as Michael)

Michael-- It never has liked that name, not really, but It never liked any names, if It's honest. Humans so desperately need them, with all their neat boxes and categories, as if clinging to any of their classifications even matters-- is not sure what to make of what's happened. All this fuss about choosing Gods, as if It could die, somehow. That would mean It was human and It hasn't been human in-- well, ever. But even Michael hasn't been human in several years by now and the suggestion that It suddenly is human is simply absurd.

Still. There did seem to be some changes to It's form in this place. He can't access any of his doors here, and that is rather unsettling.

Arbitrarily, he chose Njord as his God, and isn't that the most laughable concept? Especially when It could be considered one in It's own right.

Now... well. Now Michael wanders through unfamiliar hallways. Another thing that is deeply unsettling. He doesn't remember the last time he didn't know every crack, corner, and turn in the corridors. Despite the foreign sight of it all, he doesn't look like he's particularly lost, just idly wandering. Getting his bearings.

"Have you been here long?" he asks a passer-by, his voice is light and airy, like a whisper that's turned to a full volume, and nearly overlaps with itself somehow without ever actually sounding properly like an echo at all.

----

Arrival (as Helen)


Well, this certainly was unexpected. One of It's doors have never gone to a place It did not know. Helen is intrigued more than anything. Something new, surely due to the Archivist and his meddlings. What had he done this time?

Njord had made the most sense for It, if It had to choose a God. It wasn't quite certain why that was necessary, but apparently it was important here, and Helen was perfectly fine with playing along with rules so long as it suited her. This one didn't seem to truly make much of a difference for her, either way, so she went with it.

It is still getting used to this form. This... body of Helen is still a new Vessel that It's adjusting to. She still has more of herself mixed in with the rest of It than Michael had. It had him for so much longer that everything that was once Michael had long since melted away. It doesn't like the way she still tries to have a say, somehow, and that seems so much stronger in this place. This place that feels so wrong, and off-kilter in ways that It isn't used to feeling.

Helen seems to almost appear from nowhere, her voice is quiet but not particularly soft, with a very business-like sound to it. "Are you new as well?"

Helen

[beloveddeath]

"New?"

On the other hand, his voice is soft, silky with an underlaying purr of amusement. In appearance, there is an almost unreal quality to his features as if someone had decided on what a human should look like and sculpted the results from flesh and blood.

"Aren't we all new from moment to moment? Or are speaking of this place?"

takame kesi | final fantasy xiv (oc)

[kesi]

mini-curse
[Takame was no artist, nor was he the best at conveying what laid in his heart. Or knowing what did at all. Still, the urge to take the suggestion given to him drew him into the crowd while he patiently waited for chalk to become available to him.

Show this realm who he is… he had no answer to that question if asked normally, honestly remembering that made frustration bubble in his chest that he swallowed down. But still did his hand move, sketching out a long line with a slight curve, stopping and then slanting an ilm downward only to trace backwards in a line parallel to what he just drew. At the edge of both lines he drew a rectangle connecting them, and in the center of that a smaller square on the outside of it.

A crude sketch it may be, but an object could still be made out from it. A sword. A katana specifically. But below it with a lighter press of chalk against the canvas, he drew a question mark. And then one more on the other side of the sword.]

… Hm.

anomaly

[Compulsion to follow wasn’t new to Takame. If anything it was an accurate metaphor for his life. It was somewhat different this time, not like following an order, er, a direction rather, he’s not had orders in years he must remember. But it was like someone was physically dragging him by the hair into the woods from the roads. With a gentle hand he was metaphorically dragged, though, on his own did his feet move closer.

A poor decision to make perhaps given how this realm seemed to worsen his eyesight.

He wasn’t sprinting, granted, but he was walking at a quick enough pace that someone of his height and stature bumping into someone would make a heavy impact, if not make them come crashing to the ground.]

Ah, my apologies, I wasn’t… [The impact was enough to break his focus for a moment, but he still looks ready to keep moving. He would if not for his concern for being rude. He must be sure of their wellbeing, Hina always told him. But considering his foot was half off the ground and his tone and expression were completely blank, it sure didn't look like he didn't give a shit even though he did.] Are you alright?

wildcard

[[ Feel free to hit me with an arrival response too if you want your character to react strongly to a six foot five dragon person running around the palace. House wise I’m waffling on Heimdall, Frigg or Odin for him if that helps you come up with something but if nothing else feel free to poke me at bonpuns. For those canon familiar: Takame is NOT the Warrior of Light.]]

ayyyyyyyyyyyy; anomaly

[verstoned]

Hrrrfffff-- [That? That's the sound of a Miqo'te unhappy with being bumped. Already rather unhappy with current circumstances, it's only natural that he would be grumpy. Though "grumpy" might be too mild of a word for Rhus' state at this point.

He's not pleased at all, and there may not be any words to describe how he feels in this moment.

One can only be glad that Rhus is... well, Rhus. More solidly-built than most, despite his short stature. He does stumble, but manages to keep his footing.]

Haven't been watching where you're going?

Isa | Kingdom Hearts | I will decide on the house when I read about them

[seekerofheart]

Mini-Curse.

Frowning, Isa quickly doodles the moon, the sun, and some stars, very simplistically, then sighs and turns away.

"Can I go now, and forget this stupid wall? This is inane."






Anomaly.

He shouldn't have gone to the woods. Currently, he's trashing, as the roots try and grab him, everywhere, and he's trying to summon his Claymore, but, really...he forgot he can't... this is all too much right now. And he can't! Still, he's not planning on dying, and - well, he's screaming, now, though he's really not planning on calling any help, either. Not that he'd oppose help, the thought just isn't in his mind right now, and no wonder! Just some incoherent screams for now.

Inara Serra | Firefly | Tyr

[companioning]

01 爱 NEWLY ARRIVED 

Inara just couldn't wrap her head around anything she'd been told by women who were supposed to be nothing more than an almost forgotten world's mythology. Nothing made any sense to her and for a moment she wondered if perhaps she'd had too much of Kaylee's moonshine and this was all nothing more than a drunk dream.

But no amount of pinching or anything of the sort was enough to wake her up.

And so she'd set out to explore the new place she'd found herself in... Perhaps come upon someone she knew from home --- not that she wished anyone she knew to actually be here, Asgard, but then again...

She shook her head and forcing a well practiced smile to her lips, turned to the first person she saw. "Excuse me.... But have you been here long?"

02 爱 Mini Curse 

Painting has never been Inara's forte, but she'd had a little practice while she'd been in training. She was standing before a large canvas painting how she saw the 'Verse. She'd painted Sihnon, Londinium and was working on Ariel. It's not perfect but it's still rather pretty with it's swirls of red, blues, purples over an inky black.

She felt at peace with her current situation as she continued to paint and it was truly something she needed. After a bit, she stepped back, head angling a little to the side as she took in the picture. There's a smudge of bright blue paint on her cheek but she didn't seem to notice.

"Hmmm... I think Sihnon needs a bit more red."

01

[demonicbeauty]

Ariadne really had no business in Nādhirhöll. But something about it was comforting. The wide, open meeting rooms with high windows and wooden chairs were just like the ballrooms of the realm. It reminded her of home. And thinking about home was helping her practice her powers, as of late. Since waking up, feeling funny one morning, she'd managed to go as long as fifty five minutes, looking Human in every way. She was hoping to shapeshift for longer, not because she needed to pass any more. She just wanted to test her limits. The problem was it was completely exhausting.

It helped to pretend she was at a ball.

In Valeria, fancy parties always found Ariadne tucked into a corner, waiting to run some sort of errand for the princess or her aunt. But she'd traveled enough to take part in a few galliards and pavans. It was then, more than any other time, that she knew it was important to pass for Human.

She tried to reapply that pressure now, spinning around the room with invisible partners, holding the flowing train of an imaginary gown.

When she heard another voice, though, she turned around. There was no embarrassment. Rather a smile that said, 'I was only having fun.' After walking around green for a few days, she'd lost a lot of her embarrassment. "I suppose that depends on what you mean by long," she replied, in a light, chirpy sort of voice.

Helgi Rhine | OC

[foxcurls]

❧ THE ARRIVAL
There's a brown fox in a black jacket, the jacket as a pawprint on the back surrounded by the letters BSCAA, he's sitting on the edge of the fountain in front of Gladsheim Palace looking at the silver bands on his wrists, the stones in them still uncoloured, his ears are flat and his brow drawn down in thought, suddenly he feels eyes on up and looks up.

"Oh." He stands, not looking worried, but just unnerved, which is understandable considering how new he clearly is. "I'm I... not meant to hang around here?"


❧ MINI-CURSE: SIGYN
Helgi picked up a piece of chalk just intending to leave something silly on the wall, a simple heart or 'live long and prosper'

....

Five minutes later Helgi was reaching as high as he could, which wasn't very high considering he's only four foot tall, trying to color the treetops of the forest he had drawn, his brown and cream tail wagging behind him.


❧ ANOMALY DISCOVERED
While it might not be obvious at first, but Helgi was capable of running on all fours, which was why when he found his feet trapped and the vines resistant to being pulled or clawed away he tried to use his hands to pull himself along the ground in the hopes of getting extra leverage... only for his hands to be trapped too, from there he tried to bite at the vines trapping his hands, only to pull his head away and hold it as high as he could when he felt a vine try to grow around his muzzle.

"No!"

Helgi whined and looked around for help. "Hey? ... Anyone out there?"

O hai

[dataset]

There were several new concepts that he was still trying to rationalize about Asgard. Most of them - magic and the alike - were still concepts that he couldn't quite bring himself to believe. They were just too outlandish. 

But sometimes he stumbled across something that was a little more difficult to refute, mostly because it was standing directly in front of him.

That seemed to be the case with - what he could only describe - as some sort of nonhuman creature wearing a jacket. They spoke quite clear English and seemed apologetic for being outside the palace grounds. He couldn't help but give the strangest looking expression when coming across them, but he answered their question without missing a beat.

"It's all right." He slowly raised a hand to ease their worry. "My name is Connor. What's your name?"

Roxy Lalonde | Homestuck | Sigyn

[tipsygnostalgia]

[Mini-curse with a network post]

[Roxy was pretty confused. They had been fighting, and actually won, and managed to travel to this sweet new Earth that was going to be totally awesome and great-

But then she blinked, and was here. Alone.

With a sigh, she wanders through the streets, scanning the magical bracelet thingy for signs of her friends. Finding nothing immediate, she uploads her own call-out post for them:]

lol
what did u guys do
i was promised one sweet new earth and sry 2 say but this one sux ASS
for starters not a single nintendo in sight
cant even make one w/my voidy thing powers coz apparently i got NERFED :(
also asgard
rly??
was this u dirk i know ur ALL about them earth histories
and those ass guards ;)
anyway lmk where u guys are
rolal out

[Posting the message, she closes it up before heading further into the town. Soon enough she comes across the giant murals, taking a look at them and even laughing at some of the stupid things drawn or written on them. She glances at an empty portion before walking by it...

Until she halts in place, turning to face it again as she suddenly feels this weird compulsion to put something on it. The internal debate doesn't last long.]

Fuck it! Got nothing better to do until I find out W T F happened here.

[So she picks up some giant markers and starts doodling all over the wall. First is her name, written in huge pink letters letters. Next are a few weird looking cats- one is even wearing a tuxedo. And now, she is part way through doodling some funny looking stick figures- ones that look eerily like her friends and relations, if anybody were to recognize them.]

[mindseer]

[Well, it wasn't often that she smelled something quite that pink, so she could recognize it easily enough. John's friend... or romantic whatever? She'd not had the chance to figure out what they were shaping out to be. Kind of hard to care about that when you were bleeding out, and she'd only really just met her.

But whatever. She was from home.]

N0P3 GU3SS 4G41N!
D3F1N1T3LY N0T PR1NC3 B0YS D01NG
BUT 1M F33L1NG JUST 4 T1NY B1T N1C3 4ND H3LPFUL S0 1LL SH4R3 TH1S MUCH
Y0UR N0T WH3R3 Y0UR3 SUPP0S3D T0 B3 H3H3H3

[She was from home. Terezi could be a troll with this one. It was allowed, yep yep.]

Eridan Ampora | HS | Heimdall? | Maybe this guy instead idk

[roemance]

[Anomaly discovered]

[Eridan didn't know what the fuck was going on, but it was at least a lot better than being dead. How DARE Kan do what she did!!]

[He doesn't even get to finish that train of thought, as he trips over a tree root and plants his face firmly into the ground below.]

Oww!! Fuckin--!

[a]
[He tries to get back up on his feet, wiping away a slight trail of violet blood dripping from his nose, yet suddenly finds himself drowning in plant-like restraints, that seems to be getting tighter and tighter with each passing second.]

He struggles some more, calling out to any passers by:]

Hey you! get ower here an' STOP this thing!


[b]
[After trying- and failing- to wriggle free, Eridan has just resorted to his fate, up against a wall and suspended in the vines and roots mid-air like a fucking tool. But nobody was answering his cries for help, and he ain't gonna keep it up because it's embarrassing. So yeah, if anybody happens to pass by there's just. A troll. Hanging out in some plants.]

B

[mindseer]

[Glob damnit. She recognized that voice from around the corner. Seriously, she'd been a little lonely lately without a single troll who 'got' what it meant to be a troll. Careful what you wish for, because you might just... why? Why him? He wasn't Equius (*shudder*) and he wasn't Gamzee the motherglubbing bastard, but was that enough of an improvement?

So, she dithered. She listened to him shout for help for near a solid half hour until he'd given up and was just sullenly trapped in the wall. It was definitely embarrassing, but a little funny too. Finally, she came out from around the corner and caught sight of him, raising an eyebrow from behind her blindfold because she wasn't going to let him know that she could actually see just yet. Tap tap went the cane, the first sign he wasn't alone before she resolved, sniffing at the air.]

You really know how to be a fine example of our species, you know that, you waste of space?

Wrathion | World of Warcraft | Mimir?

[blackscales]

❧ ANOMALY DISCOVERED.

While inconvenient, Wrathion does have to admit that this place is... fascinating.

The Black Prince has found himself an explorer in a strange new land before, but this really is... something else. Everything about the place is so far removed from Azeroth, the people and the culture -- the so called gods and the magic, too. Or, perhaps in his case, the lack of magic.

It's frustrating as much as it is intriguing.

He's explored the castle where they began, learned what he can of this deal he must make and now Wrathion is out assessing the lay of the land. His initial fear that this was some trick of N'Zoth seems so far unfounded. Nothing has attacked him. There are no signs of corruption, no whispers, no dark tendrils --

The thought is interrupted by what is, in fact, a tendril of sorts.

A root.

A tree root.

"What is this?" Wrathion mutters, and tries to shake it off. It twirls tighter around his ankle, and Wrathion begins to gesture -- only to remember his magic is restrained. This could be... a problem. "Enough!" he protests, trying to dislodge it with a more violent kick as another root slinks to grab his other leg. "Release me at once!"

Although if he is, in fact, addressing a tree this could be an awfully one-sided conversation.

[minormends]

Quentin has at least learned by experience at this point not to stand for too long in one place -- and on top of all things, definitely not to stand too close to any of the trees.

It would seem that he is not the trees' only target, however. As evidenced by the struggling figure in the distance. The guy seems -- kind of intimidating, if Quentin is being honest with himself. Maybe it has something to do with the commanding note in his voice, like he really does expect the tree to follow his orders.

Too bad for him that the thing's got other priorities in mind, Quentin notes, approaching cautiously.

"Hey!" he calls out, holding his hands up like he's approaching a wild Velociraptor. "So, uh. That's not gonna work. You've gotta stop struggling, okay, or you'll only make it worse."