'Children of The Shroud' - A Dark Fantasy RP (Interest/Recruitment - CLOSED AND STARTED)

[Terratina.]

Suddenly, with one sniff, the rising panic that would overwhelm Skylar was quashed by something even more overwhelming: the calming scents of food, perfumes and even embraces. She spotted some nobleman about to call the guards. She knew what to do. Skylar took a loaf of that goddamn bread out of the snack and promptly threw it at him. Amazingly, it hit and knocked the self-important fellow out. With no delay, the waif then ran into a quiet corner and hid there as she caught her breath back. Even after a few minutes, the smell of all those wonderous things was still intoxicating - by itself, it kept Skylar calm. As soon as it appeared that the coast was clear, Skylar took off, following the trail of the scent.

 

[Fappy]

"I say yes."

Selena, still wary from her encounter with Demeter, straightened herself up at the sight of the girl's resolve. She'd done it. She'd killed a man. She knew she could do this. They knew she could do this.

Stepping forward beside the girl, Selena looked to the old man. "The gods have forsaken me," she announced. "Without a god, my soul is forfeit. I give myself to Mylaviss so that I may have some purpose in this world."

A little too flowery, but Selena supposed it got her point across.

 

[Rufio's Ghost]

"The gods have forsaken me. Without a god, my soul is forfeit. I give myself to Mylaviss so that I may have some purpose in this world."

Selena's words resonated deeply with the young man. Up until now Langston had felt pretty lost, unable to figure out what he thought or wanted- but with one simple sentence, Selena clearly expressed everything he'd been struggling to understand. Mylaviss choosing him was no mistake... he wanted this, he wanted a purpose.

Langston quietly stepped forward and joined the others. He didn't know what lay forward, but it had to be better than what he had left behind.

 

[Ruedyn]

"That is what it means to be one of us, and there is no rubbing out or masking over the mark that will tie you to us, and to Him. If you are ready to accept it, then I will lead you to the Chamber of Communion, and present you to Him. From there... he will do the rest."

Giles tried to hold back laughter. A home, food, and what, 'divine blessing', great power? The others gave their answers, so far a unanimous and resounding "yes" from the starving, forgotten dredges of the Drowned. Because why not? Where the hell was the downside to all this, where was the damned catch? Murder daily, and apparently a lack of sanity judging by the twisted robed fucks all around him, that damn unnerving giggle...

"Fuck it, fuck it all, yes, give me this mark and a warm place to sleep tonight! I'll do whatever's needed. I'll earn my keep." Giles pulled his hat down, and stared at the ground. This life had better be better than the last.

 

[Terratina.]

The olfactory trail that the hooded figure had left for her led Skylar through the twisting, narrow maze of side streets that cluttered the lower side of the financial district. His presence followed her, peering down at intervals over the steep, man-made canyons to track her progress, and by degrees, he brought her far away from the street where she had caused a ruckus. When he was satisfied that Skylar was well and truly out of trouble, he vanished, and appeared unexpectedly by Skylar's side a moment later, just as she stepped out of the dark alleyways into the shining midday splendour of the Plaza of Stone and Silver. Ahead of them, across the intricate expanse of sharply cut flagstones, the Temple of Juiniss stood proud, unperturbed by the black banners of mourning that hung from each to its five spires.

"Normally, when a person wears a disguise, the aim is to not attract attention." the man teased.

Once more out of the darkness and into the light again. Nevertheless, the man who had snuck up on her was far more intimidating than anything in the plaza. Skylar suppressed a shriek as the hooded man announced his presence with a quip, one that soured Skylar's mood.

"Easy for you to say. Just who are you, anyway?" She said. The man was probably from the Shroud, but who knew how many dark secret sects there where in Kragenau? Even if the answer was a lite, it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"You can call me Sigmund, if you like." The cloaked figure answered. There was something delectably smooth about his tone of voice, neither the guttural dialect oft employed by Kragenau's less fortunate citizens, nor the reedy, pompous tones of its social darlings. His mastery of the language imparted with no regional of class imperfections, almost certainly marked him for a foreigner.

"I'm here for your answer." he said.

"My answer? Right..." Skylar began. There wasn't really much to think about, it was a choice between staying in the grim darkness of the Drowned District, possibly maybe getting an ill-paid job licking dirt off the ground and just surviving versus joining an organisation that would give her everything she needed for the mere price of everlasting loyalty - until the afterlife and beyond - and taking lives. However, that would have to wait. Her voice when low as she asked him, "First off, you are from the Shroud, right?"

"I am." he replied simply, removing a glove and holding up his hand, so Skylar could see the mark. Where they were standing, they were still in the shadow of the buildings behind them, and so the skull was bare. However, when he moved his hand to where a lance of light broke through between two overhead canopies, Skylar could see the face take shape.

Skylar nodded, satisfied. Her answer was a simple one, said in the same hushed tone as before, "I am ready to join, that is my answer."

Sigmund smiled a confident smile, before taking Skylar's hand in his. The two of them surveyed the plaza for just a moment longer, before they vanished, to reappear back under the Drowned District, where all the others were now gathered, and busy raising their voices in ascent.

"Ah, just in time!" Sigmund said, satisfied.

 

[lacktheknack]

"We can always still give it a few minutes."

Andra couldn't join. She just couldn't. It was a death cult, brimming with maniacs and murderers, ready to unleash chaos on the whim of a dark forsaken God. There was no rational reason to join these lunatics.

Except... family? People that truly had her back? Power to protect people against evil gang lords and robbers on the street?

That was very, very tempting indeed. Too tempting.

And she'd have a mark on her... well, it's not as if that would detract from her oh-so-lovely face.

Besides, you kind of want to die anyhow.

...Andra began seeing it in a more opportunistic light. Power didn't fascinate her, truly, but the possibility of ending her worries about being killed at any moment? The ability to save the mothers of debt-babies?

...The possibility of revenge against the Whore Goddess, blessings be upon her?

This is the worst idea you've ever had, and the list includes stabbing a man of status to death in public.

"I... I accept these terms."

 

[Daystar Clarion]

As the others stepped forward to accept Mylaviss' offer, Sparrow kept her head low, wringing her hands anxiously as the situation suddenly became a lot more real in her mind.

Rubbing a thumb over the back of her right hand, she pictured the image all the Shroud members appeared to be marked with, the idea of such permanency quickened her breathing slightly as Darius' words echoed in her mind.

"When it was my turn, I felt how I believe a newborn must feel, when they open their eyes for the first time. In that one moment, my soul felt the full extent of a cosmos beyond what my mind could fathom; and rather than being blinded, or seared by it's intensity, the cosmos embraced me... It was magnificent."

A small smile curled the girl's lips.

"I believe it will be the same for you."

"I wanna see it." The girl whispered to herself as she let her arms fall by her sides. Clenching her hands she stepped forward, joining the others, scanning the crowd of Shroud members, Sparrow's eyes found Darius. 'I hope you're right about me.', her expression belying her nervousness.

Returning her eyes to the blind man, Sparrow clenched her jaw, nodding. "I got note else better to do." She shrugged nonchalantly, "I'm in."

 

[The Funslinger]

"We can always still give it a few minutes."

Will listened as everyone clamored to the contrary. When everyone fell silent, he said, "I don't need anymore time either. I'll take the deal."

 

[Terratina.]

It didn't take long for her to figure out what was going on.

This was the last chance to refuse, the last chance to turn around back to normality. If not for the seriousness of the situation, Skylar've gotten a bit annoyed by now. After all, she had already made her mind up. She had rejected normality from birth in a way, regardless. Here, Skylar was able to stand strong - no giant rats or other undesirables down in the Shroud's sanctuary, and soon enough she would have the power to deal with them on her own.

She stepped forward and joined the rest, "I accept as well, and relinquish my soul to Mylaviss."

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

As all voices rose in confirmation, the Old Man nodded solemnly.

"Then I shall impede you no longer, and am eager to welcome you into our family. It is time."

From there, he lead them silently, on a route that some were already familiar with, to the Hall of Communion. The other children did not follow. The Old Man was needed to summon their Lord. Beyond that, this was a journey for the initiates to undertake alone.

Before long, they had arrived once more in the spherical room bathed in cool blue light, with it's two-faced portal that faced inward from the poles. No detail whatsoever had changed since the last visit; and yet, it was different. Something about the thickness of the air, or a restless stirring of the stones, changed the atmosphere markedly from the playful curiosities of before. It was as if the room itself was a living, hungry beast, sniffing the air groggily as it stirred, in response to the presence of fresh meat.

"Stand at points all around the equator, equidistant from each-other." The Old Man commanded them, his voice sterner than before. "Quickly now."

When they had done so, he took his own place at the back of the room, by the door. Slowly, he raised his arms and voice towards the centre.

"For those who make darkness their haven, You are divine!" he bellowed "Blade of the Vengeful, Succour of the Starved, and Embrace of the Spurned... Mylaviss, hear my call!"

The stone faces, one flesh, one bone, began to glow.

"Those who stand before You are shunned from the city above! They have been chased of the street, denied refuge by Temples who would not waste good food on them, and have been forgotten by all those styled as Gods. Yet they remain bold at heart, and cunning in deed!"

The tendrils of light snaked towards each-other, until they met at the chamber's core.

"For the feasts that would fill their bellies, for the robes that would warm them in the cold dark, and for power to match their spirit, they would seek greatness, and wield it from the shadows in Your name. They would become brethren to us all, Your Children of The Shroud! What say You?"

No jovial and sarcastic quips this time. No sooner had the Old Man's sermon finished, that a terrible black form exploded out from the light. A writhing mass of skeletal, grasping hand that dripped foul black ooze.

"I find them worthy, and accept these terms!" The disembodied voice of Mylaviss called in reply, high-pitched and rasping. At once, the black hands began fastening around wrists and ankles all around the room, quickly rendering the initiates powerless to struggle, as they were lifted on their feet, flying around each-other in a grisly puppets dance. As they were tumbled this way and that, from the centre of the room, a great eyes bust open, wreathed in indigo flame. I would have been impossible for anyone to say for sure in which direction the eye faced. For all who looked upon it, it appeared to be staring directly back into them.

What they would see within its depths, how Mylaviss would choose to make his mark upon them, would be unique to each of them. Their own bond that only they would share with Him for all eternity.

 

[Daystar Clarion]

Panic began to quickly rise in Sparrow's throat as she was held aloft, the burning eye boring into her as what felt like immense pressure began to weigh down on her mind. As much as she wanted to close her eyes, as much as she wanted to pull her gaze away from the flame-wreathed abomination that that now penetrated her very thoughts, she could not. An unfamiliar voice began whispering in her ear in an incomprehensible tongue, then another, the same voice, now only two of them, then another, and another, until it felt like hundreds of voices, all the same, all whispering. Combined they created a intangible cacophony of noise that only grew louder and louder with every additional voice that was added, louder and louder it grew until it was roaring in her mind. As the voices began to crescendo, Sparrow felt her consciousness wane as her senses were overloaded, her eyelids lulled slightly as what felt like her own mind was being pushed aside to make room for all the noise in her head. Her eyes grew heavier, and heavier, until they closed.

Then there was nothing.

Opening her eyes wide, Sparrow found herself standing in darkness. Standing was perhaps the wrong word, as she felt the sensation of complete weightlessness. Holding her hands out in front of her, she could seem them perfectly, so perhaps she wasn't in darkness? Perhaps there simply was nothing else in this space other than herself. Stepping forward, the girl marvelled at the feeling of nothing beneath her feet. How could she be walking if there was nothing to walk on? It was then that she realised she was barefooted. Not just barefooted, completely naked.

Sparrow furrowed her brow as she tried to gauge where she was, but it was impossible, there was no point of reference, she could have been in a small room, or in the middle of a vastness she couldn't even comprehend, there was just no way of her knowing.

"'Ello?" She called out, her words echoed for what seemed like forever, bouncing around as she heard it from all directions, the frequency between echoes increasing, as if her voice was travelling faster and faster. After a few moments the words she had spoken were intangible as the noise echoed faster and further away. Eventually, every echo seemed to leave its mark, like a star in the night sky, thousands of them, one after every echo, until she was completely surrounded by them, still none the wiser on their location in relation to her.

As the echoes finally stopped and silence began once more, Sparrow looked around in awe. It was if the night sky had taken her within itself, every part of the infinite blackness was dotted with stars. Stretching our her hand, Sparrow attempted to grasp at several of the small specks of light, but to no avail. As the girl began to feel a tinge of loneliness, she heard a small noise pierce the silence. It was quiet at first, like someone humming in another room. Looking for the source of the noise, Sparrow tilted her head slightly as her eyes fell on a star that was seemingly larger than all the others. As the noise grew louder, so too did the size of the star, until the girl realised that it was not getting larger, but getting closer.

The humming seemed familiar, it sounded very much like something her mother would hum, but it was not her mother's voice, yet familiar it sounded all the same. As the star came closer and closer, it began to take shape, a perfectly formed sphere of light. Instinctively, the girl held out her hands, until the light, as big as her head, came to hover gently over her palms, emitting a comforting warmth. Abruptly, the humming ceased and the girl stood in silence as she tried to comprehend exactly what it was she was holding.

The young girl's eyes filled with wonder as she stared at the strange orb. "What are you?" She cooed, tilting her head slightly. The orb seemed to hum in response, not a human noise, but more like an instrument, maybe a harp. Strangely enough, she felt like she understood its response, a small giggle escaping her lips. "Me too." She grinned. "What are ya doin' 'ere?" She asked curiously. For a few moments the light didn't respond, the girl was about to ask again, until suddenly a small, perfectly spherical piece of the orb broke away, then another, and another, hundreds of perfect tiny replicas until the original orb was no more.

Each piece hovered in place, each reacting to the other orbs around it. One of the tiny lights began to hum, followed by another, and then another, the same tune as before, but this as if performed by a choir, each orb adding its own part to the song. The little orbs sang and sang, it was beautiful sound, like nothing the girl had ever heard before. As tears trickled downs her cheek, she found that she too, was adding her voice to their song. Never had she felt belonging such as this, never had she felt so loved, and as the hopeful tune came to a close, the tiny lights began join with each other.

They were not returning to their original shape however, while they were indeed all joining into one, they were taking on a difference form, the light was much brighter and condensed, albeit smaller. As the final lights joined the singular entity, the disk shaped light slowly lowered itself into Sparrow's right palm, the light beginning to slowly fade from it, detail began to take shape as if it was being engraved before her very eyes. At the same time, Sparrow felt a needle-like sensation on her left palm, something in black was being scribed into her skin.

What was left behind in her right palm was a small circular brooch, silver, the intricate design of a bird mid flight engraved into it. On her left, Mylaviss' tell-tale mark. Smiling, Sparrow clenched her left hand, while gently wrapping the fingers of her right around the brooch. Raising her arm, she held the bird against her chest, right where her heart beat under her flesh. Sparrow began to hum the same tune from before, a happy smile curling her lips as her body was slowly wreathed in shadow. The stars in the sky faded, one by one, until eventually, they had all extinguished. Looking down at herself, she saw the robes she had been bestowed. They were raven black in colour, with all manner of small intricate details. A pauldron on her right shoulder made of slim interlocking plates made from what appeared to be some kind of chitinous material. Around her neck was a dark red scarf, its tail ends draped over the back of her shoulders. On closer inspection, her armour was engraved with a avian motif. Several intricate patterns of birds were on the cuirass and armguards above fingerless gloves. The cuirass was a part of a jacket, form fitting as it was, it trailed off in the back into two thin tails that fell to knee height. The hood that now covered her head was perfectly shaped and did not block too much of her peripheral vision, while still hanging low enough to obscure the top half of her face. On the right side of the hood, there was a brooch of long brown feathers that followed the line of her hood.

Removing her hand from her chest, the brooch now a part of her robe, she reached for her neck, her fingers felt the soft cloth of the scarf. Wrapping her fingers around it, she pulled it up over her chin, mouth, and finally her nose. Lowering her arms, Sparrow felt in indescribable joy, until finally, darkness took her.

Opening her eyes, Sparrow found herself back in the chamber, standing before the old man. Now clothed in her new robes, the sparrow brooch a less glistening, and more tarnished silver, still beautiful nonetheless, she looked up at the man, a content smile on her face as she nodded silently.

 

[Dogmatic99]

Maggy cried out in surprise and terror as once again she found herself bound and at the mercy of powers far beyond her. She may as well have been a toy in the grasp of the dark tendrils that were throwing her about with such ease. The room was ablaze with impossible fire and the air itself seemed to turn against her. The eye bore into here, not with malice or hate but something far worse, as if it truely saw everything, could scrutinise every piece of her and didn't even care enough to find her wanting. Here it was, all she could see and hear was bearing down upon her like the weight of an ocean, in a display of raw power and none of it cared. Not about her. Nothing ever did.

The pressure was building and Maggy felt as if her head would burst and her body be crushed. She tried to scream, to force it all out, to close her eyes and at least endure the agony just a little bit but nothing came. Her voice and the world around her was muffled, faded. Except the eye. It still burned but seemed much calmer now. It was as if, this time, they saw each other.

The calm was broken and everything came to a head! The great weight fell upon her and the light was banished, dragged into the distance. All this time it had felt as if she had lost underwater. Now the water had caught up. Maggy was drifting through the depths. Neither cold nor hot, dark nor light. It simply was. A shade sea.

She was sinking, Maggy could tell that much. Deeper and deeper as the water filled her lungs, filled her hands, her eyes, her hair, her legs, every damn inch of her being! She was like lead, like a soaked rag being abandoned to the current. It didn't hurt. Maggy knew she should care and fight against this but she couldn't bring herself to do it. This was her end. She'd accepted it last night, she could do it now. This was quiet, this was nice. A better end than she could hope for.

She was about to close her eyes and resign herself to oblivion when- movement! Out there in the dark! There was something with her! Watching her! Stalking her! Hunting her! No! No! No! It was getting closer, toying with her before it made for the kill! This was what they always did, made her squirm, laughing all the while! The waters that had once held her like a blanket had rippled and whipped around her, fierce and unforgiving. This was her moment of piece, her doom! Why couldn't they let her have it?

Well she would fight. With tooth and claw and let the depths take them both!

It was upon her soon enough. Some ink black demon that cut through the water like a knife. Man like in shape but so wrong in other ways. Its mist form lacked any details as its body seemed to seep away from itself to join the waters around it, trailing out like wings or a second shadow... Or the seeking limbs of some fell predator. It gently came to a stop in front of Maggy and she saw it clearly for the first time. And he saw her and she wasn't afraid anymore.

He was beautiful. His shone with the same fire as that in the chamber. He was pure and raw but to her, he was gentle. He reached out, the sea itself pulling her closer to him. She did the same and laid a hand upon his featureless cheek. Her other hand was in his and she felt safe. Then it was gone. The darkness took her and she was being pulled upwards higher and higher, onwards until the cold air came crashing in to meet her.

Maggy gasped desperately for air. She was back in the chamber, had she ever left? She must have, she was soaked to the bone. She looked like a drowned rat but despite that she felt wonderful. Each breath filled her with new energy. Maggy found herself standing tall and proud. Invigorated, feeling more alive than she ever had before. The shadow water fell away from her, lifting and coiling around her as gently as it had before and coming together to thinken and take on a new shape. Bit by bit it turned blue and solidified, becoming dark blue robes that still gently rippled with their old life, her sodden hair became light as her hood formed and fell across her brow. Soon enough she was dry, except for her left hand. There it had spaced in and Maggy held up her palm to see the skull mark take shape.

She smiled with joy for the first time in years.

'My soul for Mylaviss.

 

[The Funslinger]

Blinding darkness stamped down on Will's vision, and he felt a crushing pressure, as though he were being squeezed by a god. But then, he supposed he was. Light blanketed the lids of his closed eyes, and when he opened them, daylight filled them, and the pressure vanished. He was standing in the open sun, being led to a courtyard, with wide eyed crowds either side of him.

He was being led, he noticed, and when he looked down, he saw his wrists were manacled in front of him, a on the irons pulling him along. The man leading him had dark hair, and was even taller than Will himself. When he was brought into the courtyard, the man with his chain led Will to a stone block, stepping around it. A man behind Will delivered a sharp kick to the backs of his knees, which he promptly fell to. A jerk of the chain laid Will's arms across the block, and the dark haired man was standing over him, a branding iron in his hand. The brand looked to Will like a skull and cross-bones. He tried to struggle, but his arms were leaden, and wouldn't respond. The brand flew down, burning into his skin. Will closed his eyes and screamed as manic laughter filled his head.

When he opened his eyes a second time, he found himself chained tightly to a stretch of rock on the edge of a cliff. He was stripped to the waist. Looking up, he made out a cloud of black specks standing out against the skyline, slowly growing larger. It was then that he heard a voice in his head.

'To feed from death itself, you must feel the ravens feed from your own.'

It was then that he made out the cawing. A flock of ravens were flying towards him, preparing to feast on his bound form. Soon they surrounded him, tearing strips of flesh from his torso with blade-like beaks. Then one flew straight at his head, like a thrown spear. It consumed everything in his field of vision as its razor-edged maw took his eyes.

Eyes that Will opened for a third time. No bright sun, now. But no darkness, either. The compromise was the dim light of the Shroud's inner sanctum. Peering at the branded hand, he saw nothing where the iron had bit him. Then he turned the hand over, and the skull and cross-bones smiled up at him, standing out more like a tattoo than a brand, bright and clear on the back of his left hand. Making to look around, Will felt a great shifting of material about his body, and then a sensation of something coalescing around him. Feeling his clothes, he looked down.

He was clad in a heavy, strange brown cloak. Although truth be told, his first thought was that it was more a coat, than anything. A heavy cloak-overcoat, covering the blue military cut jacket he'd been wearing, which he now realized he could not see. Instead, he saw... scales. Reaching out to touch them, he felt a cool, hard surface, not unlike metal. His touch traveled up his arm to his shoulder, where he felt a three tiered pauldron of a similar material, albeit not in scales. Raising his arm experimentally, he felt the smooth chitinous plates slide under each other, apparently to allow flexibility. It was then he felt gloves of fine leather forming on his hands. He didn't need to look to know they'd be as brown as his duster and armour. Taking some steps, he noted that despite his heavily cloaked and decently armoured attire, he felt light as a feather.

He couldn't say quite how, but he felt... powerful. A grim smile spread across Will's face. 'Perfect.'

 

[lacktheknack]

Andra was suddenly alone in the pitch black, except for a giant eye that stared at her. She felt incredibly self-aware as the eye glared at her, scrutinizing her, but at least the black hands had gone away.

The eye blinked out. Suddenly, red and faded twilight exploded around her. It was still far too bright for Andra, and as Andra covered her eyes, trying to adjust to the light, she heard gasps. The coughing. Then small peals of laughter. As she uncovered her eyes, she found herself amidst a large group of people - naked.

Naked.

NAKED.

Andra shrieked a grotesque and raspy shriek as she raised her arms over her disfigured breasts and crotch, trying to hide. It was no use. People muttered in fear, pointed, and looked at her with utter disgust. Andra felt that she would die of shame.

Why must they see me like this!

Andra turned, looking for a way out, and saw a gap in the crowd, but as she prepared to make a dash for it, her breath caught in her throat. Marching up through the gap were... were...

Gilliajlia preserve me! Your priestesses!

They were coming. They roared in fury and anger as they began to charge at her, ready to beat her to death where she stood.

If only I looked as beautiful as I did before my beauty was stolen from me! I wish for nothing else other than that right now!

As Andra cowered, she wished and wished that her burns would be gone, that her figure was more pleasing, that her skin was less pale. She clearly pictured a priestess that had taught her in the temple - Andra had always been taken with how delicately understated she was, yet beautiful all the same. If only she could be the same! With the slightly pouty lips, the green almond-shaped eyes, the hourglass figure, the long hair with the natural waves...

Andra was suddenly aware that the crowd had gone silent. She looked up - they no longer glared and muttered. They all merely stared as if they were in an art gallery. Andra looked down - there wasn't a single scar to be seen. Even the priestesses had stopped their advance.

As Andra raised her arms in shock to stare at them, they suddenly began to scar again, with ridged lines drawing up and down her arms like they were being cut with a knife.

No... clear skin on my arms! Come back!

It did.

Andra willed with all her might for everyone nearby to see her as a beautiful, and they continued to do so. As she looked around, people kept looking at her with curiosity and aw.

Perverts!

"Hey!" The awful rasp that sailed from her throat didn't match the figure that stood before the crowd, and they winced. Andra cleared her throat and willed beyond all hope that her original voice would somehow return to its original tone and clarity. "Hey!" This time, while the Andra could feel the rasp very clearly, a bright and flute-like voice rang out. "Stop staring and bring me something to wear!"

Before anyone could respond, she suddenly felt exhausted beyond belief. Dizzy, she keeled over to the ground, and thousands upon thousands of scar folds boiled up from her skin as her hourglass figure filled in again. There was a roar of indignation from the surrounding crowd, and Andra felt a nauseous wave of shame and fear well up again.

Then, in an instant, it all mercifully blinked away into blackness. Andra tried to stand up, but she felt so weak.

Stand up.

Andra tried again. Dazed and confused by the ethereal quality of the floor, she failed.

You've done well, Child. This wasn't Andra's inner dialogue, this was something else.

Andra suddenly was picked up off the ground and dropped onto incredibly unsteady feet. She felt her strength flow back as the shock of her mental exertion wore off.

Suddenly, a long black piece of cloth flew at her from out of the darkness. Andra raised her arms to defend herself, but it merely arched around them and began tightly wrapping around her torso. The cloth wrapped itself tidily around her bust, but became more and more overlapped and tight around her abdomen. Two more black cloths sailed from the nothingness and began wrapping around Andra's arms, then two more began wrapping around her legs. Moments later, they tied themselves in place, leaving her entirely covered from her breasts down to her ankles and wrists.

She had last been wrapped like this in that horrible hospital. She hated them immediately, and felt sick as she thought of her awful days in the burn ward. She began to try to unwind them.

Leave them. They are symbols.

But they're symbols of something I hate!

Leave them.

Andra resisted the urge to loosen her black bandages, and wait. A moment later, a dark green robe floated out of the ether and dropped gently over Andra's head, reaching all the way down to her ankles. It was a rich, leathery material, both velvety and light yet it felt incredibly strong at the same time. The robe was had a strange and snakelike diamond-patterned trim, and was strangely asymmetrical - the weight of the robe rested on her left shoulder, like a toga, but the robe reached over her right shoulder as well before tucking under the sweep of the left. The whole robe was perfectly cut, wrapping around her several times at varying angles in ways that confused Andra's seamstress instincts before reaching underneath back up her sides up to her collarbone. The whole arrangement was tied together at the front with a necklace that resembled a snake biting its own tail.

Abruptly and of its own accord, a dark green cowl rose out of the front of her robes, wrapped itself over her lower face and tied itself behind her head. She couldn't see it, but from what she could feel, she must have resembled the royalty with their face veils.

Andra looked down at herself. She was wrapped in strangely pretty robes and a black bandage-like wrap, leaving her looking quite... pretty! The robe, cowl and wrap completely covered up her scarring and arranged themselves as something aesthetically pleasing in the end - a great achievement by any standard, even a trained tailor. Andra lifter her foot - black leather boots. And in the back of the left one - yes, her concealed pistol.

Suddenly, her hand burned. It burned with the deadly fire that had missed her hands before, but seemed to come back with a firey vengeance. It left as soon as it arrived, leaving a skull symbol engraved upon her hand.

Andra suddenly snapped back to reality, surrounded by the other initiates.

They, too, had robes and were examining their hands.

They were all inducted.

We are the Children.

Mylaviss preserve us all, what have we done...?

 

[Ruedyn]

Giles heard a sound among the screaming, as they were picked up like dolls and examined. New sounds arose as his sight when darker. A still blackness with a cacophony of screams, at first like those that had joined him on this stupid pact, grasping at anything to give him power, a way to just survive, something to make him the gold shitting fancy-pants his mother had told him time and again he would be, whenever his good for nothing father came back! ... The voices were different now. The dead dealer, old friends who taught him to steal, his mom...

A voice he didn't recognize. He hated that voice, deep as the ocean. It stopped screaming, instead panting as though for air, each breath causing a white line to ripple out. The heavy darkness started to twist into something else, a sight Giles found familiar. The ocean, darker from a moonless night but he recognized the waves, and could even see his face in the water, just barely. The last voice had left, leaving only one sound, laughter. His own. Giles coughed and looked around, he was on the docks? And what were with his clothes, they were nice? Giles sat down and noticed a pair of men dressed like guards on either side of him. They both stood still, too still. Like they weren't breathing. Giles got up and lifted up one of their helmets.

He had no face. Giles jumped back in surprise, as it called out to him in that hated voice. "Yes, master?" Giles blinked, holding his hand up and swiping,

'March.'

And he did so, moving forward, stopping and turning around. The Magician chuckled nervously, cracking his fingers. He snapped, and the man started to dance. "We are not your toys," it stated evenly, Giles blood froze. He turned quickly to the other, it had grown a mouth and teeth like a shark, Giles tried to stab it as it slowly shambled towards him. It went through. The hungry mouth curled into a devilish smile, its hand darted out and grabbed the boy by the palm. It burned. It burned a small symbol in his hand, a brand.

"FUCK OFF!" Giles ordered, his voice cracking, and to even his surprise... it did. It froze and took two steps back, withdrawing an obsidian rapier. It stuck the blade through his jaw, coming out the top. And then the world changed again. The surroundings changed color, everything into a uniform, dark purple color. Some of the cobblestones flew up, stacking on top of each other, forming an airless prison around Giles, so small Giles could only bang his elbows against the sides as he started to scream. And it was only getting tighter, and smaller, Giles couldn't breath, he couldn't move, all was that fucking color! It seemed to wrap around him, becoming weightless, and finer... silk, almost. Clothing.

Giles could see himself, but everything was back to black. He was wearing new clothing, again, same dark purple color. The robes were fancy, more so than any other clothing he had. The robes ended just above his ankles, and were overall form fitting. It had a dull, ash grey trim, the sleeves were the same. He also had a small cape hanging off his shoulder, covering his arm and ending around his hip. Was this what his soul was worth?

 

[Fappy]

Spoiler: Creepy

Selena darted her eyes frantically around the chamber as the dark tendrils pulled her limbs taut. It was a remarkably unnatural feeling, and though she wanted to scream in terror, she found herself unable to speak. The others, she noticed, appeared to be just as disturbed as she was, and yet none of them made a peep. Then, as a profound darkness overwhelmed her vision, all the booming that had enveloped the chamber suddenly ceased.

Then, the darkness...

Though she only existed in the void but for a moment, it felt as if she'd spent an eternity in its infinite emptiness. It was not where she belonged, however, and she was immediately expelled.

Before she knew it, her senses had returned to her. First, she could hear the rhythmic scribbling of pen on parchment. Next, the nauseating smell of copper had filled her nose. And finally, once her vision had returned to her, she could see her hands out in front of her. Noticing the frilly, black fabric on her hands and wrists, she followed it's design up her arms and then to her torso and legs. She was wearing an elaborate and beautiful, black dress. It's design was that of a wedding dress, but the color lent itself more to a funeral gown.

Perplexed by her sudden change in wardrobe, it took Selena awhile before she noticed the wet, warm sensation on the bottoms of her feet. Lifting up her dress above her ankles, she examined her right foot. It was bare, and covered in a thick, red liquid.

Her eyes widened in horror.

The ground--the whole room--was covered in a thin film of blood. Trembling, the young woman scanned the narrow chamber. It looked to be some kind of hall. The walls, if you could call them that, had an empty, almost ethereal existence. It's deep, unnatural color could only be described as 'darker than black'.

Selena could sense a terrible force from beyond them. It was as if they marked the boundary between this chamber and the infinite void of death.

Along the walls, five on each side, stood tall, emaciated figures garbed in black robes. Their eye sockets were bare, with bright blue lights shining where their eyeballs should have been. Their faces, while they had flesh on them, were skeletal and lifeless. None of them looked to their guest. In fact, the glowing orbs in their eye sockets seemed to be focused completely on the impossibly long scrolls in which they had all been writing on.

Watching their atrophied hands work, Selena noticed red liquid trickling off the edges of the scrolls and onto the floor. These aberrations were writing in blood.

'Unlock and open the doors.'

Selena hadn't heard that voice with her ears. No, she was sure it had been broadcast directly into her head. It was her God--her new God--and he was beckoning her forth. And like that, her anxiety was gone. The trembling had subsided. Looking ahead, Selena saw a black, formless figure standing by a podium at the back of the room, between the ten undead scribes. She clenched her jaw and approached the podium.

Taking her place beside the dark figure, she could tell it was looking at her, despite not having eyes or even a discernible face. It signaled to the podium before them. On it, there was a piece of parchment.

'The keys are in your hands.'

Selena nodded. Picking up the quill next to it, she ignored the fact that there was no ink to dip it into and placed its tip against the parchment. As she pressed the sharp tip into the fine material, she could feel it give way, as if she'd pierced flesh. A small dribble of blood bubbled up from the tiny puncture she'd made in the parchment. It was like writing into a man's flesh, but came far more natural to Selena than she'd expected.

Blood oozed, pooled and poured over the edge of the podium as she signed her name into the profane document. And like that, she'd signed away her soul.

Though the twisting void of a man had no face, she knew it was smiling.

'The rebirth is near completion...'

Selena blinked, and when her eyes opened again she was falling face first into a sea of crimson. Elated, she swam through the thick liquid in an aimless fashion, savoring a moment she'd never believed she could treasure. And then, she rose back to the surface. Her eyes were closed and her consciousness was hazy.

'... as you slowly awaken from slumber..'

The featureless being, the darkness within him now writhing as if it were alive, reached out and took her by the wrist. Pulling her to her feet effortlessly, she stood up straight on the surface of the sea. Though her eyes were lost in the figure's infinitely complex emptiness, she could see in her periphery that the liquid under her feet had slowly warped into a greenish-black color.

'... to receive the light that shines in darkness...'

The chilling, frigid air that filled the dark hall bit her exposed chest. Her dress had vanished, and she now stood naked before this figure. Holding up her hand in front of her, she noticed an odd symbol begin to take shape. Its light was impossibly bright.

'... The light that shines forevermore.'

As the light grew brighter still, the figure fell upon her. Its ambiguous shape expanded out around her, wrapping her entire body in its darkness. The cold, empty shadow sent a shiver down her spine as it slithered across her skin, slowly warping and writhing in an attempt to find a permanent form.

And then, before she knew it, she was standing in the chamber once more, surrounded by her fellow initiates. Instead of the dress she'd arrived in earlier, however, she was now garbed in an elaborate, dark outfit. Like some of the others, she wore a robe that connected at the shoulder with a chitin-like, black pauldron on her right shoulder. A silver pendant in the shape of a rose held the two halves of the cloak together, and a large hood hung back, behind her head. The black cloak was flung over one shoulder, and open in the front, revealing her cloths underneath. A form-fitting dark grey leotard started in the middle of her throat, cut down across her collarbone and through the bottoms of her armpits, exposing her shoulders completely, and covered her entire torso. Though a leather belt sat snug around her hips, the grey leotard continued down like flaps on either side of her, both sides hanging between her legs, almost to her knees. A black thin fabric covered her legs and arms, starting halfway down her thighs and midway down her biceps. She had vials and sheathed daggers strapped there on bother her arms and legs. Dark leather gloves and boots covered her hands and feet.

And finally, her hair appeared to be held up in the back, with a thin, wavy black bundle of hair dangling between her right eye and her ear. Her make-up too, while clearly done by a force beyond her comprehension, did it in a way she'd approve of. Like always, its dark contours accentuated her feline-like features.

Looking around the chamber, she noticed the others were similarly dressed. "What the hell just happened to us?" she asked rhetorically.

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

No flinching, no fighting, no foolish struggle.

As the dark tendrils flung him about the room, Ezrah's body grew slack, muscles relaxed and yielding. If this dark bargain required bashing him against the stones of this place until every bone in his body was powder then so be it. If the unholy eye conjured up at the center of the room needed to raze every inch of his mind, so be it. Ezrah was no stranger to the blood price for power, for knowledge. He knew pain, pain he could understand, reign in, endure, secure in the knowledge that what lay after the pain, the prize, was all that mattered. And this prize promised to be greater than any other he could imagine. The eye at the room's center became a blurred thing, as did the bodies of his fellow recruits, the whole room soon dissolving into a storm of colored smudges. The bonds about his wrists and ankles slackened and then snapped, Ezrah tossed aside, like something discarded, something unclean. He struck the ground with a sharp grunt, but little else, if this was to be the extent of his discomfort, it was no discomfort at all.

The world came to a halt little by little, the mad spinning slowing with each revolution, the blurred colors resolving into definite shapes once more. The world ceased it's spin, but Ezrah's stomach carried on, twisting and twisting and twisting about, the nausea lying thicker and heavier in his gut as the seconds passed, leeching the strength from his limbs. He tried to rouse himself, to pull himself to his hands and feet at least, tried and failed. His body felt... strange, beyond the nausea in his gut, too strange, too weak, too small. Strange fingers bit into strange earth as another gripe tore at Ezrah's stomach, earth... dust... not the ethereal stones of the Shroud's Inner Sanctum. A gasp punched itself free from the boy's lungs as his stomach took another wretched twist, and in the panting that followed there came a smell, a smell Ezrah knew well, a smell like dust and bone meal. A shack, a shanty, four driftwood walls barely fit to stand against a bitter wind, the light dim and dirty as it filtered in through the slats of the docks above. With a start, the marked boy knew where he was, knew the arena this fell god had chosen to prod him, to test and bind him, and the boy shuddered.

This was the first hell and the smallest, a hell and a home, the first home the boy could recall, the first he'd known. And this body, these rags where his clothes had once been, these were the uniform of this little hell, the first dilapidated hovel where the Crone and the Boy had sought what little shelter could be found among the Drowned. Ezrah could place the setting, the date, and now also, the terrific twisting that made knots of his insides. This had been... the first... the fir- Something like hands reached down Ezrah's throat, took hold of all they found there and in one violent surge twisted counter to one another. The boy's frame, small now, tiny, arched where it lay on the floor, writhing in the bitter dust. The convulsions drove out all other thought, all other awareness. A horrific feeling welled up in the pit of the child's gut and roared ever upwards, a vicious fountain. Ezrah found a desperate sort of strength, a wailing fury, a want of life, a refusal to lie still and drown in his own filth and managed to turn himself, to prop himself up on young, trembling arms as the black tide came to bear. It streamed through clenched teeth and burst forth from his mouth, a foul black brew, dark as pitch but half as viscous, steaming hot and pouring from the lad in great gushes. Where it fell and puddled it pooled ever outwards, and as it seeped into the ground, it took shape. Symbols, glyphs, characters, a cipher Ezrah knew well, and yet as soon as he would try to focus upon any given verse or phrase, another spasm would strike, and another painful jet of wretched ink would spew forth from his body. He coughed and choked as the purgative did its brutal work, and soon felt gentle hands upon him, warm and weathered, gnarled, but possessed of a quiet sort of strength.

Spoiler: A music in an old and tired voice, a bittersweet melody, a small comfort in a smaller sort of hell

"Let it flow, boy, let it flow. Tis a bitter medicine, but it'll purge the flux and the pox from you, and see to it that they've no place left to take root."

Tears sprang to Ezrah's eyes, tears from the wretched twisting of his belly, and tears from the words. From the words that could not possibly be spoken, from the touch of the hands that could not possibly hold him as they did. The torrent of muck flooding out from his insides waned and tapered off, the hands easing the last of it from the boy's system with firm strikes and presses along the back. The nausea died away slowly, but in its place welled a terrible emptiness, a hollow aching that replaced the wretched twisting with a sharp, cold, bitter pain. Hunger lanced through Ezrah's mind and body, a thing made all the more sour and mad by the knowledge that no sustenance may ever be found. Yet even as this new foe threatened to engulf him just as the last had bleed away, Ezrah felt the same strong hands pull him up and away, felt them press him tenderly into a bosom, withered yet warm, smelling of dried flowers and bitter herbs. For a moment, Ezrah forgot the ravening pain in his gut, could hardly call it to mind, not when his heart was being squeezed in the vise of this old woman's embrace, not when the tears were pulled open and shameless from his eyes, by the soft coos and croons of this old crone, his Crone.

This was not real, could not be real. This was some cruel jape, the thoughtless torment of a demented god. Ezrah should have known fury, should have hated Mylaviss to his very core, should have screamed in outrage at this mummer's farce. And yet Ezrah could no more conjure up an angry thought, than he could focus on the hunger gnawing at his middle. This flesh was not the Crone's, but the comfort in the embrace... that was real enough, and Ezrah could sense no... no malice, no malevolence in this, only the comfort. Puffy, red eyes looked up at their comforter, and found a kindly gaze staring back at them, the Crone's gaze... but something more, something deeper, and in its depths, burning with a familiar indigo flame.... Yet along with the flame, a concern burned in those eyes, a caring, deeper than oceans, vaster than worlds, and perhaps... perhaps it was merely the concern of a craftsmen for a potentially useful tool, perhaps it was a somewhat selfish thing, but it was concern nonetheless, the look the Crone had oft given to her Boy, and the only love Ezrah had ever known. It was enough.

"Ahhh, my poor fool boy. Dying to know. Dying of hunger. Dying of thirst," Ezrah found himself cradled in the old woman's lap, this Crone who was Less, who was More. He watched as she stirred a pool beside her with her free hand, the other wrapped about his waist, clutching a small hand that held on to it just as desperately. The surface of the pool at the old woman's side was tranquil, but in its depths, something seethed, and twisting about within it was darkness, but light also, a confluence of color and motion and fury. The old woman brought forth the black water in a cupped hand, and as droplets fell from her withered palm, they sparkled with the dancing light of gemstones. The Crone brought the water to Ezrah's lips and he drank, greedily and without hesitation, the water a balm to hurts he hadn't realized he suffered, "Dying of hunger, dying of thirst, drink of Eternity, and pray that it works."

Ezrah drank his fill of the nectar the Crone offered, drank in one long, deep draw far more than one small palm should have been able to proffer. The taste of the draught was odd, sweet at times and bitter at others, ever changing but ever rapturous, weaving stories, melodies, that never ended, in sounds and colors Ezrah had no name for and would never be able to describe. Ezrah drank until his strength returned, multiplied, growing exponentially until it burst his seams and yet grew ever more. He stood by his own power now, and he was small no longer, returned to his true age and stature, and as he swallowed the last mouthful of the Endless, he felt the tattered rags still clinging to his body burn away, and yet did not feel naked, exposed, vulnerable. The embrace had become something more, coalesced into a mantle still formless, but supple, strong, and more than apt to bear whatever burning missiles the world might conjure against him. Ezrah looked up once more, now into great, burning eyes, and yet he did not fear, did not quail, did not flinch, because those eyes were the Crone's eyes, even as they were so much more. He stood for a while, hand in hand, with this figure wreathed in the dark, esurient flame, and looked out at the domain that lay at his feet. A vast expanse, of darkness yet, but of darkness as a living thing, a world of white hot motion, of music and movement and madness unending, a maelstrom of all that was, this is, and ever would be.

A voice spoke between the boy and the being it took for its father, a kindly thing that fluttered this way and that, as though blown by some strange breeze though none could be felt. It was difficult to perceive the nature of that voice, whether it was male or female, whether it belonged to Crone or this figure aflame, but its words were clear enough, and they lingered long in Ezrah's breast, and he cherished them all the same, "Beloved fool, your hunger, your desire, weakens you, but in Hunger, in Desire, you shall know strength. The waters of the pool are Endless, and so are the thirsts they quench."

The boy and the being it took for its father, walked hand in hand from the world of sound and fury, and as their steps lengthened the world grew a semblance of order. Within a half dozen strides, Ezrah found himself in the hall of the Sanctum once more, surrounded by those who were now peers. He looked for the blazing figure and found nothing but air, though in the palm of the hand that had known its touch, the skull mark of the Shroud now smiled. The boy pawed at his face quickly, wiping away the remnants of tears and pressing back those that threatened to spring forth anew. He paused and blinked at the the sensation of fabric against his face, and noticed now that while all else of his vision had faded, the feel of the embrace never had. He looked down on strange garb, and though nothing remained of his old clothing, the new attire felt... comfortable, familiar.

A robe and cowl graced Ezrah's shoulders now, a long garment that flowed nearly to his ankles, wrought of a rich, sinuous fabric, its sleeves long and its interior rife with a myriad clever pockets and caches. Something regal, princely, lingered in the look of the robe, though its edges were tattered and frayed. The fabric itself seemed little more than a deep, abysmal black at first, but as Ezrah moved and the light struck it a certain way, he could make out a multitude of symbols, glyphs and images scrawled in a fine tracery of burnished bronze. They seemed to move and dance with a will of their own, changing with every movement, hypnotic in their own way, spinning a tale of glory, glory long past, glory fallen, but perhaps... glory to come again. The robe hung open on Ezrah's shoulders, the hood thrown back, and beneath lay other garments, less ornate but perhaps more functional. A simple black velvet tunic with a baldric of hard, dark leather slung about it, full of even more clever compartments and bound to a larger satchel that hung lightly at Ezrah's hip. He got used to feel of new pants of a course, black weave, and bearing all the more pockets and buckles wrought in bronze. The new raiments ended in the best pair of boots Ezrah had ever known, comfortable, snug and of a hardened leather either black or so deep a brown as to make no difference, buckles in bronze and toe as well.

Ezrah chuckled lightly to himself, even with all the contents of his old sack now scattered about his person, the clothes remained light and moved easily, and given the robe, Ezrah suspected he could play quite the magnificent wraith or specter given a good enough breeze. Yet more than the lightness of the clothing, an easiness lingered in the young man's manner, one that left a small smile on his features and drew some of the sting out of dark eyes, replacing it with the slightest twinkle, a glimmer, a hint at some hidden joy. For what felt like the first time in waking memory, Ezrah felt at peace, and he knew the joy of the parched man who drank dew at the desert's edge, and he knew no hunger, and he knew no thirst.

 

[Terratina.]

Nothing had prepared Skylar for the Shroud's initiation ceremony. She shrunk away as something emerged from the darkness but to not avail as the black hands found her flesh. The more she struggled, the tighter their grip became - even to the point where numbness began to take the feeling from her arms away. Soon enough, Skylar just hung there, all resistance destroyed. Mylaviss toyed with her like the others, but a ragdoll in His hands, swung about to and fro. Dizziness started to get to Skylar as her surroundings spun round and round, however, even with her head low, she couldn't escape the flaming eye's gaze. Even as the ceiling seemed to stretch off to infinity, the eye remained ever in sight, its intense stare focused on her.

That eye wreathed in indigo flame was now her sun. Her new eye of heaven.

Nevertheless, the eye became covered in the same black ooze from the black hands as it rained down from the ceiling, or was it the sky? Skylar wasn't quite sure. Anything could happen went it came to Shroud business, after all. All she knew was that her world was going to be covered in the ooze very quickly. A particularly large drop splashed on her face, confirming the fact. Skylar tried to wipe it off but smacked herself in the face with her forearm instead, caught off guard by the sudden disappearance of the black hands. Must've melted away at the last minute. Slowly, taking care to not to trip, Skylar stood up, bits of ooze dripping down her legs. As if to welcome her recovery, a multitude of whispers invaded her ears, repeating but one sentence.

"Darkness consumes everything."​

Skylar found herself repeating those very words as she took tentative steps forward, through the ooze. They echoed through her emptied mind, her skull an echo chamber. After all, she was in no position to resist. Suddenly some light flickered, catching Skylar's attention. Normally, she would've gasped as turned around. Instead she cast an empty glare at what and whom the light belonged to.

A lone lantern, in the hands of Gilliajlia's frenzied followers and among them were her parents.

Without wasting any time, Skylar turned around and ran. But she was all too hasty and slipped, bloody ooze. As Skylar tumbled, she managed to get one last glance at them. Then all faded into darkness. Skylar slowly opened one eye and then the other, finding she could see and there was a distinct lack of burning going on. She blinked and stood back up. Loud splashing could be heard as the Gilliajlian gang stumbled about in the dark. However, it wasn't long before they found again her. This time, it was one of them who fell over but as he toppled to the ooze-ridden floor, he flung his arm towards Skylar's leg in a desperate grab. It connected. Once more, she fell, dragged down by the faceless Gilliajlia goon.

Except, suddenly he wasn't there anymore.

The goon had been consumed by shadow; tendrils and more burst out from the man's flesh, bringing more of the black ooze with it. The tendriled being coiled itself around Skylar, pinning her to the ground. She screamed. The rest of the Gilliajlian gang ran towards the scream only to meet the same fate as the one who'd grabbed her. Now the being was larger than ever. It towered over her, the mass of dead bodies caught in the tendriled bring moving with it in an eerie mockery of life. However, the being quickly threw the bodies away, like discarded ragdolls. Skylar tried to be brave as the tendrils slithered over her, they seemed to be searching for something. Abruptly, they stopped and then striked, piercing her abdomen and left hand.

Another scream, then in a flash of light it was all over.

Skylar stood up once more, shivering. As if to remedy that, a piece of cloth spun itself into existence and fell onto the young woman's shoulders - an embrace from behind. Immediately, she examined it, finding it be a robe of some sort and put it on. The robe felt strong yet light, certainly not made of a material Skylar had encountered before but that was irrelevant. The shaking young woman was just grateful for something to cover herself in after being exposed to the raw power of a god. But, she hadn't time to examine the piece of clothing as the ooze-filled room dissolved and was overwritten by reality. Skylar looked around, it appeared that everyone had gotten a robe of some kind but she wasn't quite sure if they'd gone through a similar experience. At least she'd gotten a piece of wisdom out of it.

"Darkness consumes everything."​

 

[Rufio's Ghost]

Langston flinched as the inky digits moved across his skin. He knew he should be afraid, that he should struggle to break free, but a slight, uncomfortable twitch was all the resistance he could muster. As his feet left the ground he closed his eyes. It didn't matter if this was a beginning or his end- whatever happened now was out of his hands.

The creeping hands were rough, tugging at the boy's limbs and clothes unceremoniously as they rose higher and higher. When the ascent came to an abrupt stop the hands pulled his arms and legs taut. And then... nothing. Nothing else was happening.

'Is... it over?'

Cautiously, Langston peered out from under his thick lashes to find an eye wreathed in flame staring back. His eyes widened as the alien gaze bore into his soul. What he looked upon was something wholly unnatural, something that sent a cold, deathly chill down his neck. This being was not governed by common conventions of time or space- past, present, future, it didn't seem to matter anymore... It could see everything and it was focused directly on a man who preferred to go unnoticed. After a few seconds he couldn't bear to look at the thing any longer, or rather, have the thing looking at him. He squeezed his eyes tight, but still couldn't escape it's sight, the image burning bright behind his shut lids. His chest tightened as primal fear began to take hold. Like a cornered animal he tried to lash out, against the shadowy hands that bound him and the eye that scrutinized him. Squeezing the shadowy limbs tight he leaned forward yelled defiantly, with a tone demanded compliance, "STOP!"

Spoiler: It's optional!

With that, the eye disappeared from his mind, as did the shadows that bound him-- but something still felt off, something he couldn't quite place. Another chill ran up his spine, although this one was different than before. He wasn't afraid... just cold, he was really fucking cold. Instinctively, he moved to rub his arms, loosening his vice-like grip and stretching out his stiff fingers. He was squeezing those phantom hands pretty hard so it-

'Wait... the shadows are gone... aren't they?'

A warm soreness passed through each joint, as he gently released the object from his grasp.

'Then- what am I holding?'

His apprehension heightening, Langston increasingly became aware of his peculiar surroundings. His clothes and hair clung to his body uncomfortably- completely soaked through, cold heavy bands rested against the tops of his wrists, and his lower half felt different than the rest of him, like he was standing in a cold bath. Taking a deep breath he slowly opened his eyes. He was afraid to look, but he couldn't just stand there ignoring whatever situation he had gotten himself into.

Once again his eyes met with another's, only this time the stare was flat, vacant. Letting out a surprised yell, Langtson reeled back from the slouched form, his retreat stopped by the lip of the marble ceremonial pool. Slumped against the opposite side of the small pool, the woman remained motionless, her gazed fixed, but unseeing. Dark purple bands crossed around the front of her neck, blemishing her porcelain skin to match the purplish hue of her lips. Langtson placed his hand against his chest, attempting to slow his erratic breathing and reason through what exactly was happening. The last things he could remember were the black hands and flaming eye, so how the hell did he end up here? In the middle of god knows where, drenched from head to toe, and standing waist deep in water with a random strangulation victim.

'Oh gods, she's really dead isn't she?'

It suddenly hit him like a brick, this poor woman was dead and there was nothing he could do to help her.

'Wh-what do I do? There's got to be someway I can- uhm. Uhhh...'

He didn't know who could have done this, or why anyone would do such a horrible thing. It was when he tried to nervously comb his hands through his hair, that he noticed the shackles that bound his wrists. He gasped as the truth dawned on him. Looking back at lifeless form across the pool, he noted the purple bruises that were a similar size and shape to the links that made up the chains that bound him... and he was the only other person here...

"Did I... Did I-" he couldn't finish the sentence, he doubled over as he was overcome by an acute nausea. He held his stomach and began rocking slightly, attempting to console himself. "No- no, this doesn't make any sense. Why.. why would I do this?" he whispered, "I wouldn't- an- and even if I would, I couldn't." Even though everything pointed to him being her murderer, he couldn't let himself believe it.

"That's right I would never do this" he paused, letting the words sink in. Regaining some of his composure, he continued, "there is something else happening here- I- I just need to get my head straight." He reassured himself as he tired to piece everything together, "I just need to think..."

After a few long seconds the pale man yelled, pressing his fingers against his brow, "God Damn it Langston, THINK!" He knew he couldn't have killed her... but if not him than who? He had to calm down and figure this out.Taking a deep breath he began to scan the room, looking for anyway to shift the blame. The room was pretty bare, the above floor ceremonial pool sat at the rooms focal point and the walls were lined with candles. An assortment of random objects sat on the lip of the pool, many of which that were knocked over... a few broken figures, scattered herbs, and a shattered hourglass- all signs of a struggle that further implicated Langston. This still wasn't making any sense, maybe he just needed another perspective... no- what he needed was to clear his goddamn head, and if he wanted to do that he was going to have to step out for a second and put some distance between himself and the body. Ignoring the obvious evidence of his guilt he slowly hoisted himself out of the pool. Chains clanked loudly against the marble sides as he struggled over the lip and eased himself to the floor. As he moved quietly toward the exit, he stopped abruptly, doing a double take of the scene. This was all wrong, so very wrong.

"What the fuck?"

The small objects that were knocked over the edge of the pool were still falling- or had stopped falling. Water splashed over the side, hanging in the air in thick clumps. A thin stream of sand spilled over the edge of the bath, a suspended permanent trickle from a shattered hourglass. Langston took a step back from the scene. This couldn't be real... "How is this possible...?" He whispered as he backed towards the door.Time's progression can't be stopped or slowed. He was not a child anymore- some dull kid who worried that he'd be stuck in one moment or the next. Time doesn't stop, not because of a busted mantle clock, and certainly not because of Langston. Every moment ends, so why wouldn't this one?

"It isn't possible... right?" He asked aloud, his panicked mind slipping back into a state of confusion. When his hand found the handle he opened the door and ran. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he couldn't stay here.

His flight took him through empty, cavernous halls that eventually lead to an altar covered with religious icons. Langston paid little attention to the icons, more concerned with escaping than figuring out why he'd been there in the first place. Squeezing past the altar, he ambled into a large area filled with pews and a walkway that ended in double doors. A statue of a beautiful woman looked on as the lanky man threw his weight against the doors and stumbled out into the streets.

The winded boy leaned against the other side of the doors, trying to catch his breath as he surveyed the area. Hundreds of people crowded the square, practically falling over one another as they fought to gain admittance into their church. Poles and a thin rope kept the masses at bay. Huddled in front of the steps, they waited eagerly for their chance to be blessed by the gods. Langston felt a twinge of despair as he looked out across the street at the faces of Kragenau, all suspended in their own twisted animation. A range of strong, contrasting emotions were painted across the faces of the congregation as they clawed and fought one another for a chance at salvation, or at least, momentary reprieve from the lives they lived. Even though they were frozen in time, the last place Langston wanted to be was amidst a crowd of zealots.The young man made his way to the edge of the crowd and took a deep, calming breath as he stepped over the rope line. There was no way around the mass of people, so he would have to go through them.

Thankful for his slender frame, Langston began ducking and weaving his way through the disorganized mess of people. He kept his mind focused on the path ahead, fearing that he'd lose his mind if he lingered in the crowd for to long. Hair stood up on the back of his neck as he caught a slight movement in his periphery. He stopped in front of a man who was staring directly at him, indigo eyes burning directly into Langston's. Looking around the throng of people, he noticed that this man wasn't the only one watching his escape. Langston moved a few steps forward and watched as the herd's eyes followed his movements. He needed to get out- Now.

Terrified, Langston began running through the crowd, bumping and pushing against whoever stood in his way. The people fell out of his way easily enough and they stayed down, but their eyes still followed. An empty alleyway came into sight as the crowd began to thin. He pushed past a few more civilians and then stopped, hearing a small clinking noise from directly behind him. The only noises up to this point were that of his heart beating, his breathing, and the few words he'd spoken... He turned to see a small bronze clock roll towards him, stopping a few inches from his feet. With one fluid movement, he snatched the watch by the chain and turned on his heel, sprinting out of the crowd and into the alleyway.

His breathing ragged, he leaned against the alley wall to rest for a second. He dangled the watch in front of his face by it's chain, watching as it spun around sluggishly. May as well look at it, he had to catch his breath anyway. The watch was plain apart from the Shroud insignia and it seemed really old. Definitely an ancient thing, but aside from some mild tarnishing it looked to be in fairly good condition. The young man admired the simple piece, the old thing really seemed to stand the test of time."I wonder if it still works," he mused as he grabbed it in his palm and began to wind it. When it was completely wound, Langston was greeted by a satisfying tick. He stood still, completely enamored by watch's pleasant rhythmic sound.

tickticktick

The small simple smile that creased his lips was suddenly replaced with a angry scowl. He yelled out, throwing the clock against the ground. It burned him! How in the fuck did a watch burn him? Holding the wrist of his injured hand, he slowly began to open his fist, revealing the symbol burned into his palm. Cringing at the sight of the mark, a knot formed in his stomach. It was the Shroud... Why did he agree to this? He didn't crave power, or care about magic, and- he didn't want to kill people. All he wanted was to be allowed to exist, was this really the only way? He let out a low dissatisfied groan, he didn't want any of this.

"Sweet apathy's black toll, you'll mourn the traded soul," shrilled a voice from overhead.

Langston looked for the source of the voice and saw nothing but skyline. Maybe if he could find Mylaviss he could reason with him, tell he made the wrong choice that this all was a big mistake. Purposefully, the determined man exited the alley before immediately scrambling back in. He flattened his back against the wall in a sad attempt to hide. Time had resumed, though not on it's normal course. The horde of people who had been in the square were moving again, and were headed straight for the alley in a strange, disjointed fashion. They looked mangled, or broken, each pivoting their weight around each joint as lumbered forward with an inhuman gait, eyes burning a brilliant purplish hue.

tickticktick

Langtson looked on helplessly as the demented throng filed though the alley entrance, their every movement in sync with the ticking of that godforsaken pocket watch.

"The watch!" he exclaimed, scooping it off the ground and retreating to the very back of the alley. It started time, surely it could stop it once again. When he reached the back wall he desperately began fiddling with the watch, his nerves causing him to fumble stupidly with the small device, "Damnit, no. Please, please work. I don't want any of this."

"Be patient, and you'll come to understand."

'Understand what?'

He looked up to the sky to reply, when the watch slipped through his sweaty fingers. "Shit!" he fell to his knees, grasping and crawling after the rolling watch, before it moved into the cramped mass that filled the alley.

"Everything appears as random, unadulterated chaos, but beneath the surface lies a sliver of truth."

The deranged citizenry began encircling him... he was out of time. Watch back in hand, he raised his arm back behind his head and bashed the antique against the ground. The ancient watch exploded into little pieces...

tickticktick

However, the ticking did not cease.

A heavy hand fell on Lanston's shoulder, sending a deathly chill down his spine. He couldn't move or cry out, paralyzed by fear as the mob took hold of his arms and legs. Within a few seconds they engulfed him, falling in on his feeble kneeling form. Their twisted forms blotched out the sun, they filled the space leaving no room for any light to shine. In the darkness, their grasping hands tore off his clothes and clawed at his flesh, but still the frightened boy did nothing. Mylaviss' voice rang clearly through the chaos.

"That it is better to die quick, fighting on your feet, then to live forever, begging on your knees."

The ticking ceased, as did the clawing hands. Langston lay on his bare back in complete and total darkness, Mylaviss' words still ringing clearly in his mind. Tears started trickling down his cheeks as he stared into the nothingness, 'I've made a huge mistake.'

As if replying to the weary boy's thoughts, Mylaviss spoke out in a cold raspy whisper,"Come to understand this, or take your place in the line to be ground by the gears of the masterpiece."

Langston felt a great weight across his chest and at random intervals over his entire body. A lonesome metallic sound screeched overhead and Langston screamed back in reply, matching the screech in both shrillness and volume as the heavy points of pressure bit into his flesh and crushed bone.The pressure points shifted to different positions and the metallic sound resonated anew. He closed his eyes, anticipating the pain... but there was none. Once again there was nothing.

When he opened his eyes he was back in the sanctum with all the others, holding the bronze pocket watch in his hand. It was an ancient, but simple thing. The only part that could be considered decorative was the inscription on the back of the case that read "Chaos is order, yet undeciphered." He shoved the clock deep into his pocket, Mylaviss' words once again ringing through his head. He pulled his hood over his eyes and his dark grey cloak around him, noting the strange hybrid of cloth and leather armor that crossed his chest in bands. His gaze drifted around the room- everyone else looked self-actualized, or at peace... Even though he was in a room full of people, Langtson felt completely alone.

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

Mylaviss was not inclined to stand on ceremony in this particular instance. What the new children experienced inside their own realities was enough. As soon as the transaction was complete, the arms retreated back through the portal, the flaming eye guttered out, and the cool blue light returned to the Chamber of Communion.

As the Old Man 'watched' them all, processing what had just happened to them and examining their new marks and uniforms (some with trepidation, others with pride), he felt a swell of happiness at the sight of a new generation coming unto his family. There was, however, a small twinge of sadness to go with it all, for they would not be the last. No matter how the world changed, through the centuries he had already seen to those still to come, there would always be children, thin and sallow, huddling in the dark places of the world, yearning fro someone, anyone, to extend a hand. For those children, The Shroud would be there, and the Old Man would promise them power, vengeance, or else just full bellies for the rest of there days. The only thing that he could never promise, was that they could ever change anything.