[Group Four] I am stories told by twilight, I am torture as an art...
The day goes on, the stars unmoving overhead, the wind still blasting columns of snow against the sides of the clearing without penetrating.
And then, almost twenty-four hours later (if anyone is counting) the wind dies. Snow drifts lightly into the clearing in silk-thin streamers and the wood goes quiet. From the darkness between the trees a wolf emerges, its eyes very wide and very blue. It walks the edge of the clearing, inspecting the people inside with more curiosity than hostility. The tracks it leaves behind are too large, circular, with two deep marks protruding from what should have been the rear of its foot. Almost like the print of a raptor left backwards in the snow. It stops again, its eyes on the arch, and then turns and vanishes into the trees.
Ten minutes later, the spheres appear. Hovering blue lights darting in and out of sight, pausing at random intervals, speeding past each other and vanishing again. The arch brightens, whether from its own light or the reflected light of the spheres is impossible to say. They vanish, and the arch stops glowing entirely.
Silence and darkness again. Between the trees, a half-dozen shapes in lupine white masks. Most hang back. One walks to the edge of the clearing and stops there, carrying the heavy smell of rotting flowers and animal musk. It hunkers on all fours, watching the people under the arch with yellow eyes. It looks like a man might, if he wrapped himself in the ill-fitting muscle and flesh of a wolf. Arms too long, legs twisted and bent out of shape, fur more like long spines than anything else. The creatures behind it shuffle and sharpen their claws on the trees until the plants ooze clear sap over the offending paws.
It grins, the expression stretching and stretching until it takes up most of the mask. Too many teeth, meshed and mashed into one overlarge mouth. The darker parts of the forest have taken notice of these strangers and come to say hello.
[OOC: These guys can’t be beaten. SORRY KIDS. They can be beaten back, but not defeated; any attempted injury dealt them will be greeted with curiosity and amusement. They will kill you if you stay and play. In addition, they have an ability to bind a person’s spirit with thorny, incorporeal vines. You can pull free, but expect it to hurt in your soooooul. No, we’re not kidding. You’ll lose a piece of your soul, and the more tangled you are, the more you’ll lose. No worries. It’ll grow back. :| You might just feel emotionally numb and traumatized for a week or so, and have a hard time recalling anything but unhappy memories.
SO BEAT THEM BACK AND GET RUNNING, CHILDREN. Fortunately they’re more invested in tormenting you than actually getting you dead.]
And then, almost twenty-four hours later (if anyone is counting) the wind dies. Snow drifts lightly into the clearing in silk-thin streamers and the wood goes quiet. From the darkness between the trees a wolf emerges, its eyes very wide and very blue. It walks the edge of the clearing, inspecting the people inside with more curiosity than hostility. The tracks it leaves behind are too large, circular, with two deep marks protruding from what should have been the rear of its foot. Almost like the print of a raptor left backwards in the snow. It stops again, its eyes on the arch, and then turns and vanishes into the trees.
Ten minutes later, the spheres appear. Hovering blue lights darting in and out of sight, pausing at random intervals, speeding past each other and vanishing again. The arch brightens, whether from its own light or the reflected light of the spheres is impossible to say. They vanish, and the arch stops glowing entirely.
Silence and darkness again. Between the trees, a half-dozen shapes in lupine white masks. Most hang back. One walks to the edge of the clearing and stops there, carrying the heavy smell of rotting flowers and animal musk. It hunkers on all fours, watching the people under the arch with yellow eyes. It looks like a man might, if he wrapped himself in the ill-fitting muscle and flesh of a wolf. Arms too long, legs twisted and bent out of shape, fur more like long spines than anything else. The creatures behind it shuffle and sharpen their claws on the trees until the plants ooze clear sap over the offending paws.
It grins, the expression stretching and stretching until it takes up most of the mask. Too many teeth, meshed and mashed into one overlarge mouth. The darker parts of the forest have taken notice of these strangers and come to say hello.
[OOC: These guys can’t be beaten. SORRY KIDS. They can be beaten back, but not defeated; any attempted injury dealt them will be greeted with curiosity and amusement. They will kill you if you stay and play. In addition, they have an ability to bind a person’s spirit with thorny, incorporeal vines. You can pull free, but expect it to hurt in your soooooul. No, we’re not kidding. You’ll lose a piece of your soul, and the more tangled you are, the more you’ll lose. No worries. It’ll grow back. :| You might just feel emotionally numb and traumatized for a week or so, and have a hard time recalling anything but unhappy memories.
SO BEAT THEM BACK AND GET RUNNING, CHILDREN. Fortunately they’re more invested in tormenting you than actually getting you dead.]