IC Log Post

[semilethal]

Kidnappings

⚛ kIDNAPPINGS ⚛

It's been days. You're not even sure what section of Folkmore you're in; there aren't any windows, no sounds or smells. Just this small cell with a (thankfully) enclosed restroom, a bed, and that strange purple shield that feels simultaneously warm and cold whenever you touch it. Or hit it. Or kick it, or try to bash the lid of your toilet tank against in an effort to break through even one of the panels.

As far as kidnappings go this could possibly be worse, but somehow not knowing what's going on is worse. Why the accommodations if whoever this is will just kill you? The food's even kind of good, reminds you of some of the farmers market stalls around Willow's marketplaces. The little drones that zip through the barrier with food containers drop them off kindly before buzzing along their way. Destroying them doesn't do much other than dropping your food on the ground.

But it's still been days. And you're still sitting here on the edge of the bed with nothing more than the clothes on your back to occupy your mind. Imagination's done more with less. Maybe you've managed to strike up a conversation with one of the prison-mates on either side of you; not visible around the walls, but audible for those neighbors nearby.

Finally, when it feels like the cabin fever is going to tear you apart, a voice cuts through the air, emitting from one of the Donatello constructs standing before your cell, seams around its joints as if it were built from alloys but still glowing that same bright purple light as all the hexagonal barriers.

"All right! says the bipedal turtle nerd cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "Your turn. This should be painless, moreso if you don't give me any grief. Should I use the gas or will you just come with me?"

Lab Assault/Investigation

⚛ lAB ASSAULT / INVESTIGATION ⚛

Most huge occurrences in Folkmore are precluded by instructions from Thirteen; at the very least, some iteration of her will scoop up her precious Star Children to whisk off to relative safety...most of them, at least. The environment-melting events of a few months ago aside, Willow has never been home to any of the typical strange terrors of, say, Cruel Summer or Exile.

The dome doesn't look threatening either. But it does look like it's not supposed to be in the middle of some farmland, and neither do the robots and Donatello-looking purple-light constructs that begin patrolling its perimeter. Curious passers-by will be discouraged from getting to close with a little posturing, but the robots in particular have no qualms roughing anybody up. Individuals who get too curious will be dealt with summarily and without hesitation.

Anyone who has noticed their friends missing for the last week might be more inclined to gain entry, but inside the dome is no more welcoming. More constructs, more robots, and traps that do anything from belch forth poisonous gasses to crush the room's occupants litter the labs floors, walls, and ceilings. The prison cells are deep inside the lab, past all these obstacles, and inside those cells are the missing Star Children.

Deeper still is a curious room with a ring buried in the ground, humming deep as if preparing to shake the entire structure apart. Something about the ring is almost threatening; it's clearly sucking up a lot of power, clearly important and, to anybody who manages to force their way into the room, very clearly booby-trapped.

Memory Traps

⚛ mEMORY TRAPS ⚛

Perhaps you were minding your business, talking a walk through Gram. Maybe you're enjoying a cup of hot chocolate in Wintermute, cozy by the fire in one of their welcoming taverns. It could even be that you're under the sea in Tides, somehow roped into modeling for another painting, again. You could've known about the kidnappings, about the strange dome that appeared in Willow, and you could've decided that it wasn't any of your business. Or maybe it was just the Fox again, up to her usual tricks and Trials, and you wanted no part of it. But maybe instead you're in the lab, bloodying your knuckles on panels made of light to try and reach one of your friends before the guards catch up to you-

Wherever you are and whatever you're doing, something suddenly makes the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stand on end.

And then, for some of you, no matter where you are, you're suddenly not there.

The small space, filled with visions and sounds and smells that aren't your own, might remind you of Trial 18 a while back. You were suddenly sucked into a world that wasn't yours that time too, but there had been at least some warning beforehand from Lavender, some instructions with an invitation (and an opportunity to decline). A reward for finding the exit with your guide.

For this...there's nothing. A shimmer in the air around a nearby fellow Star Child, or just that hair-raising sensation. Between blinks you are moved from the familiar to the unfamiliar...or the very, painfully familiar. This is a place made up of memories how the soul perceives them; your own, or those of other Star Children. There's no guidance here, and the places, the events, they feel so vibrant, so visceral that it might be difficult to believe you haven't been sent back home, or mistakenly to someone else's. Something as innocuous as a walk in a park in the middle of the day feels as horrific as a battlefield strewn with bodies, because this is where your (someone's) life was destroyed. That kind of agony leaves a mark on the soul and the memories it carries.

You taste sand in the air on the back of a gargantuan sand steamer, sunlight scorching the deck as you throw yourself behind a bulkhead to avoid a shower of bullets. The cobblestones scrape beneath your boots as you make for The Hanged Man, trying to ignore the sight of the giant chained statues that loomed overhead on your way into Kirkwall. The polished halls of a high-tech building, uniformed schoolchildren of all odd shapes and sizes and colors bumping into you as they hurry to their classes before the final bell. The cold, dark, rocky surface of a planet, its sky above a weak shimmer of grays and ghost-white above a navy backdrop, the stink of sulfur pressed into your nose with every breath.

A small world created within this small pocket, ripped from the essence of a Star Child's soul and memories therein...a small world in which you are now trapped.

You could spend mere hours in these other memories. Maybe days, weeks, months. You might even spend years; reliving them over and over, or experiencing the lives of your friends and family as if you were always there. Maybe, in some cases, you were only a ghost, unseen and unheard by everything and everyone, for years, and years, and years. Perhaps you're ensnared in a battle and run through with a sword, and it feels just like you always thought dying might actually feel. Maybe death is a comfort after everything you've been through. Or, maybe you know this isn't real, or suspect at the very least. Nothing can hurt you.

When you emerge from the world, it has been only seconds.

You're still mid-step in your walk.

Your hot chocolate is still steaming in your grip.

The painting isn't even half-finished.

Whatever you experienced, if it was perceived as real, any wounds and joys and agonies will be inflicted upon your body as it was reflected on your soul. Maybe you're fine; maybe the time spent was calm, serene, comforting. Maybe you thought of it as just another Trial; something confusing but ultimately harmless.

And maybe you die all over again.

[[ OOC Plotting Post with plot details! ]]