adari | (no subject)

OTHERWORLD:

Welcome to Heaven. Or what used to be Heaven. Normally, when one thinks of the Paradise, it calls to mind blue skies, a warm sun, lush, radiant gardens with angels and pure souls laughing and singing along the walkways. But something's wrong. Like there's a filter over the sun, all the light gone gray, air still and thick. As though a fog has rolled in and settled to stay. It's thick enough to get lost in, and if you aren't careful, you just might. It's almost stifling, crushing, an oppressive weight on your shoulders. If you can make it to your feet, it's possible to avoid it. But not for long.

The once beautiful gardens have become darkened silhouettes, paved walkways cracked and fragmented, stone benches and marble archways broken and crumbling. Nary a soul in sight, looking almost as if it's been left abandoned for centuries.

It would almost be believable, if it weren't for the singing. Barely audible strains of eerie, ghostly singing can be heard coming from around corners and behind trees, but to follow the sounds would bear no fruit; the sources can't be found. And pay no mind to the rustling in the trees - once you become aware of it, it becomes aware of you. And you really, really don't want that to happen.

MONSTERS:

- The Faceless: (guilt, emptiness) People who will appear behind you, next to you, a few feet away in the fog. Always just standing, with their heads bowed. Dirty, bedraggled clothing, hair tangled, silent. They won't hurt you, though. Not until you look at them and see that they have no eyes, no nose. Simply a gaping mouth that will start wailing as soon as you look into their faces. They aren't lethal, but they'll start clinging to you, drawing attention and calling others to weigh you down. How could you let us down?

- The Unknown: (fear, self-deprecation) A rustling in the bushes and trees behind you, around you. It won’t pay you any mind, but you can’t help running from it. You may hear murmurs and whispers - things you’ve suspected people of saying behind your back, of thinking to yourself in the darker moments. Whether or not they’re true, if you turn around to confront it, it will come after you. And if it catches you, it will devour you whole.

- The Retribution: (failed duties, punishment) If you are very, very unlucky, you will see a light through the fog. A will-o-the-wisp? Or another person just as lost? It is neither of these; instead, a looming figure that moves in silence and is cloaked in all black. This is the shadow of Mihail, the avenging angel, and his flaming sword will not hesitate to run you through for your crimes, imagined or real. You’ve failed the Host of Heaven. Traitor.

Be careful in your travels through the mazes of Heaven though. The fog may lead you to a pitfall, or you may find an elaborately carved door. Maybe you’re skilled with mazes and have found your way out, or the things lurking in the fog have made a meal of you. Either way, the nightmare isn’t over yet.

OTHERWORLD:

Warmth immediately prickles at your skin, overbearing and strangely soothing both. It’s like a permanent touch you can never be rid of, melting into your chest, into your pores, and the scent around you is strong. Sulfur? Flesh? It’s always going to be there, right at the edge of your senses. It’s never going to get better. Welcome to Hell.

The air is dead here. Nothing moves, and certainly, nothing lives. It’s a barren waste that extends into void for eternity, a monotony that’s intent on slowly driving you insane. There’s only the looming sense of dread and the dim, candescent lighting to keep you company. Even your footsteps have fallen quiet. The feel of your heartbeat is heavy against your ribcage, but it, too, is silent. Is there a pulse? Are you breathing? Perhaps you're dead, and you just don't know it yet. All you know is that you must keep walking.

Everything eventually gives way to a city. At least, it seems like a city. The homes are in shambles, leaning upon one another and lacking any true structure. Rust and decay have been breathed upon them as well, veritable shacks that has no business housing those living inside them. And the people—they are as hopeless and broken as the places they inhabit. If you want to call them people, that is. They're shadows against the backdrop of the buildings, moving and motionless all at once. Swaying and crooked. Children cry the faster you run, and if you happen to look back, there's never anything there. Not even if they speak your name.

Wind through the slums, and perhaps you tumble onto the banks of a river. Yet, this isn't any river. It's the Styx, River of the Dead, and you don't want linger here. The water, though first calm and eerily at peace, churns with the souls who have been misplaced, misguided, and lost. In the distance, the faint sound of bones breaking - or is that grinding? - can be heard. A boat drifts not too far away, creaking and abandoned. It looks as if it'd sink, so you're not sure how it's remaining afloat. Only the reckless seek to swim to it to cross to the other side. However, only the foolish think to stay.

On the opposite side looms a rather magnificent mansion cloaked in the gloom of Hell—not like the city before it but nevertheless bathed in the touch of the Damned. It calls to you, beckons to you through its doors, and inside, beyond the staircase and the speechless figures in the welcoming hall, there's a party. A masquerade. But you're the only one without a mask. You don't have an invitation, and only when they stop to stare, empty eye holes focused directly upon you, do you realize your mistake: you shouldn't have come in. Try to flee the way you've come. Knock the party-goers aside and run deeper inside. Regardless of your choice, once Hell has you, it refuses to let you go until there's nothing left.

MONSTERS:

-The Lure: (lust, greed) In the slums, in the shadows of the party, they are the incubi and succubi of the world. They’ll seduce you with their pretty faces and cool words, suck you dry until there’s barely an ounce of energy left. If you try to escape or fight them, their true nature slips through the cracks, and what was once an attractive being is now the center of your nightmare. They will have you or kill you, and no one can stop them.

-The Eaters: (overindulgence, sloth) At the bends of the Styx and in the corners, they slide and take and consume. The flesh of the dead, the flesh of the “living”. They’re brothers of slime and decay, Ashurat and Ammurat, and once they sink their fingers into you, it’s impossible to run. The bad part? They start chewing while you’re awake. After all, your screams make the blood sing and the meat sweeter.

-The Filth: (lost of self, weakness) Beneath the waters, amidst the fragments of souls floating haphazardly into the abyss, they lurk. Sticky and cool, it’s a passing touch on your leg or around your wrist. A firm grip, and you’re beneath the choppy surface to sink to the bottom until you drown. They feed on the useless parts, and they most certainly won’t think twice about doing the same to you.

-The Hounds: (infidelity, untrustworthiness) A growl, a nip at your heels. You only feel a brush of something like fur before they're upon you. Their breath is hot, and their teeth as sharp as razors. These dogs make no exception when it comes to their target, and they obey one master. Unfortunately for you, that master doesn't care whether or not you beg for help. You're at the mercy of the hellhounds.

- The Faceless (Part Duex): (extravagance, jealousy, vanity) The partygoers dance and dance and dance endlessly in their finery. Bejeweled and flawless, the only thing missing is something hidden beneath the masks and false smiles. Nothing but an empty void remains of what once was, and because they crave your nose or your lips or even your eyes, they won’t hesitate to slide the masks from their heads and suck yours into it. Become one of them, or die.

- The Cahri: (wrath, arrogance, impatience) Of dry bone and rotting skin, Kumos watches from the depths of the Styx and inside the mansion’s walls. The tendons and muscles of its fingers are evident without flesh to conceal them, and it whispers your name under its breath. It only looks, never touches, and that’s more troubling than something that wants you dead in this place. However, crawling in the shadows, in the very pitch of the darkness remain the saadori - a living, breathing mass of bodies as dark as the shadows they live within- and their master, Lirec. Unlike Kumos, he dares to touch and take and seduce. There’s no limit to his cruelty or depravity for he serves the Price of Lies and deems no one but he worthy of his power.