Now and in the hour [OPEN]
Who: RJL (lumenrelegandus)
When: After this
Where: Entry Room
Format: Paragraph
What: Ow.
Warnings: This'll be widely noticeable, inside the building and out.
..
Found: man, tattered, scarred, indeterminably aged, crumpled at the foot of the Door, abject - and dead. Clutched in hand: a broken branch with a glimmering core. When they try to remove it, he suddenly breathes. If the breath is not immediately repeated, it's still enough to move him to a holding room. By then there are signs of a pulse.
A scarecrow of a man: very tall but gaunt and stick-limbed so easy to lift; face lined and hair greyed over skin still taut and bones still strong - a disconcerting unnatural agedness. Unlovely face would be strangely endearing if expression weren't contorted. Physique and clothes suggest someone pitiable, and harmless.
..
A wind whispers under the closed door.
You called me - I heard you
..
That's not what wakes up.
..
The gale explodes. The door bursts off its hinges and windows shatter out and down. Good thing this is the top floor - or not: the roof is holding on for dear life and howling.
The wind swirls in upon itself, into cloud. Through the empty eyes of the windows, lightning crackles at its center. It does not bolt out: the spinning is tightening, condensing ever inward.
At the center of the cloud, a chorus of voices start screaming.
The instant any living thing touches the edge of the cloud, the cloud vanishes.
..
Maybe it rejoins the Mist.
I hear you
..
With shuffling steps, Forge and wand equally forgotten in either hand, the grey shabby man walks quietly out of the blasted room.
..
[ OOC: I didn't realize until I'd already written it, but both my characters begin their time in Anatole by breaking the doors and windows of their rooms. I'm really not a violent person... ]
When: After this
Where: Entry Room
Format: Paragraph
What: Ow.
Warnings: This'll be widely noticeable, inside the building and out.
..
Found: man, tattered, scarred, indeterminably aged, crumpled at the foot of the Door, abject - and dead. Clutched in hand: a broken branch with a glimmering core. When they try to remove it, he suddenly breathes. If the breath is not immediately repeated, it's still enough to move him to a holding room. By then there are signs of a pulse.
A scarecrow of a man: very tall but gaunt and stick-limbed so easy to lift; face lined and hair greyed over skin still taut and bones still strong - a disconcerting unnatural agedness. Unlovely face would be strangely endearing if expression weren't contorted. Physique and clothes suggest someone pitiable, and harmless.
..
A wind whispers under the closed door.
You called me - I heard you
..
That's not what wakes up.
..
The gale explodes. The door bursts off its hinges and windows shatter out and down. Good thing this is the top floor - or not: the roof is holding on for dear life and howling.
The wind swirls in upon itself, into cloud. Through the empty eyes of the windows, lightning crackles at its center. It does not bolt out: the spinning is tightening, condensing ever inward.
At the center of the cloud, a chorus of voices start screaming.
The instant any living thing touches the edge of the cloud, the cloud vanishes.
..
Maybe it rejoins the Mist.
I hear you
..
With shuffling steps, Forge and wand equally forgotten in either hand, the grey shabby man walks quietly out of the blasted room.
..
[ OOC: I didn't realize until I'd already written it, but both my characters begin their time in Anatole by breaking the doors and windows of their rooms. I'm really not a violent person... ]