[ Adolphe eventually sighs of relief as he looks at Taair treat his wounds. He doesn't really say anything else and merely looks around. Water would be good. He lost so much blood that he just hangs his head, resting his forehead on his knees and tries to get some quick rest that way. ]
[ hawke makes nyeh faces at taair, and yet still paps him gently when he's done in thanks. he goes on to sleepily eyeball the rather silent staff while adolphe gets his turn, distantly aware they're not even murmuring quietly amongst themselves. hm! wonder what's with that!
but he's also would rather focus on drinking and munching than poking that proverbial hornet so thank goodness, maybe ]
[Oh, four bowls for our four guys!! That's so nice. Richie grins over his shoulder at the gesture, but refocuses on bread boy.]
Ah, upstairs folk. I see. We've heard all kinds of crazy rumours about the man in charge. Guess no matter how out of this world he may be, he still eats fish and bread. Same as anyone else.
You don't have to run a hard track to get it up to him, do you? The way in was a bit inhospitable. I'm hoping for smooth sailing on our way up, but something tells me that ain't so...
[Look, maybe they're mute. Maybe their tongues have been cut out. But they're clever and they're listening, and they can catch a drift. This place doesn't seem like it'd breed a good deal of loyalty on the lowest rungs of the ladder. Could use that to their advantage, maybe get pointers about a less treacherous route inwards and upwards.
Or they could point them to a pit full of spikes. Equally possible.]
[The man by the stove carries the four little bowls of soup to each one of them, and sets a pitcher of water down near Taair. The boys may share it between them. Then he returns to his work, idly stirring more ingredients into the big pots of soup on the stove without uttering a single word.
Eyeballing the staff, Hawke makes eye contact with the man cleaning the dishes. Like everyone else here, he remains silent. But he still gives him a nod of acknowledgement, hello.
Bread boy gives Richie a weird look. Almost amused...? Perhaps he simply finds Richie's way of speaking funny, especially considering that it doesn't look like he gets much in the way of conversation from his co-workers. But even then, there is a bit of tension visible on his shoulders. More so, when Richie mentions making his way upstairs...
Either way, they have soup and water now. There door that will, presumably, lead them to the next area patiently waits for them to finish licking their wounds.]
[ very softly, he reaches up to touch the hand of the man by the stove in thanks, giving it a very light squeeze and showing him a warm, thankful smile. ]
Thank you, my friend.
[ waters everyone.... he'll eat a bit of the broth, though not much - too nervous to really fill his already small appetite. now that both the big boys are bandaged, he will quickly tend to his own injury, smile at richie, and then turn more seriously to the next door.
... ready whenever you are, gang. hp restored (?) ]
[ Adolphe eyes the stew for a moment. He would usually not eat something from someone he doesn't trust, but he really needs the energy right now from how much blood he lost. Adolphe thinks the water is a little more trustworthy from how clear it is, so he'll definitely drink water and then stand, ready to go. ]
unlike some paranoid members of their merry little group, hawke partakes and finishes everything given to him. what's it gonna do? kill him faster?? he's also at like, 1HP so here's hoping the healing power of food boosts him back to yellow status.
he pats his tum gingerly when he's done, giving the kitchen staff a tired thumbs up, and checks on his far more alive companions ]
[Aaah, touched a nerve. That does tell him something though: more trouble awaits, and it's enough to get the folks on the payroll antsy. Bad news all around.
Richie only smiles, collecting his bowl and saluting the kid with his spoon.]
Not to worry. We'll figure it all out. Thanks for the hospitality, all of you. We'll keep mum about it, never you fear.
[Last thing he wants (aside from all four of them dying in here) is to repay kindness with tanned hides. Richie will finish his broth and water, and collect all the bowls for washing. He brings them to the gent cleaning up.]
Thanks, pal. You guys are solid. Truly, you are.
[And he'll make his way ahead with the gang. What terror is on deck now?]
The broth is........... passable. Not great. Not bad. Just passable. There is a bit of a funky aftertaste to it, but likely nothing to worry about. Must be something in the mushrooms that were used to make it. It's warm and it sits in their bellies nicely enough. The group bids their farewells to the kitchen staff, who continue to go on about their business as if the group was never there, and then they try the door.
Time to head up to the fourth floor.
... Or not, because the door is locked. And at glance, Richie can tell that the tools he needs to unlock it are exactly the same tools he lost to the flooded mass grave downstairs. Wuh-oh.
They could cut it down. Or they could perhaps ask the kitchen staff for one last act of kindness. But when they try to do anything else — they find themselves feeling woozy. Disorientated. The ground beneath their feet ripples. The lights are too bright. Colors too intense. There's a sharp ringing noise.
(Maybe they should have worried about the mushrooms. This is Yves's cooking, after all.)
The kitchen staff turns to look at the group, their eyes now a bright red. And then, all of a sudden, they transform. No longer human, but horrible, beastly creatures. Screeching. Screaming. Advancing on them. Danger, danger, danger.
Taair, Adolphe, Richie and Hawke: Every atom in your bodies is screaming at you to get the fuck out of here. You have never been so certain of your own fucking mortality as you are right now. These monsters are a threat and they will kill you, of this you are sure.]
anyway that's horrifying! absolutely fucking horrifying! thankfully taair's first instinct is not to stab or hurt, it is to run when he is in danger. Hit da Bricks. so he jolts to his feet, dropping his bowl in a clatter. and then - he looks at the creatures, and stumbles backwards - one step, two steps, back towards the wall, putting a hand over whichever of the injured men are closer to put himself in front of them.]
The door. [ he says, a mumbled word against all the bright, awful colors, against the awful moving ground - pressing backwards, or at least he hopes so. he doesn't draw his sword. ] Door. Door, we have to - get it open, the door.
sorry this was inevitable [ Of all the times to eat food when he normally doesn't trust it made by someone else, it had to be one of them. He truly fucked around and found out. The monsters are a threat and they will kill him. He knows this. His body is screaming. The overstimulation of the senses makes him want to scream. But he doesn't.
hawke's smelling colors and tasting rainbows but he's still somehow? upright? he's basically invincible given the sheer amount of damage bouncing around his body from getting up so fast and having the world spin but you know what!!! he's still armed and dangerous!!!! he yeets one of the grenades at the former trustworthy kitchen staff
ari again🩸dehawked Request: `[1d20]` Roll: `[4]` Result: `4`
[FUCK CLAUDE VON REIGAN. EVERY TIME I PUT MY TRUST IN HIM BAD SHIT HAPPENS. CLAUDE IS MY ENEMY FOR LIFE!!!
Richie is furious. He's high as shit and he's seeing things and Adolphe is dead maybe? And he doesn't like fucking monsters, and Hawke is lighting a grenade and pitching it at the beasts when he ought to be chucking it to the door.
So you know what?
plabby 📻 russia toaster Request: [1d20] Roll: [14] Result: 14
Richie is intercepting that piss poor throw and smacking Hawke's grenade at the fucking door, FUCK THIS.]
[It's so cute of you to roll like I didn't plan on y'all to use one of the grenades here from the very beginning. Wipes tears... Thank you for doing this without me even having to suggest it to you. I love it.
Anyway, the grenade hits the door! But it is not the type of grenade that detonates instantly. There are a couple of seconds between the moment the string is pulled and the grenade goes boom — and those couple of seconds are more than enough for the dang thing to bounce off the door and land on the floor. It rolls away, towards our no longer trustworthy kitchen friends.
And then it fucking explodes.
Gore and viscera splatter all over the Four Fangs. In the scant few seconds before the ground literally crumbles and gives way beneath them, they catch a glimpse of the very human faces of the four they had befriended minutes before. Their faces oddly intact. Eyes wide and unseeing. Mouths open wide, an empty chasms where their tongues had been ripped out long ago. Expressions filled with shocked betrayal.
And then the third floor completely falls apart, plunging them into the darkness below...
[You fall, you fall, and you fall... And for a moment, you fall back into yourself. Your true self, your memories of the castle and heaven all forgotten.
Taair, you are a child. It is the middle of the night and you should be in bed.
But tonight, you suddenly woke up to the sound of screaming. Metal clanging somewhere beyond your door. The thunderous noise of heavy footsteps running down the corridors of your home. The one screaming sounded vaguely like your mother, you think.
You're alone. You may investigate, or you may cower in your room. But you must make a choice.]
snapping awake in the middle of the night is a very unusual experience for the young prince of the state of iria. he's always been a...mostly well behaved child, the sort who slept through the night as a baby, who rarely fussed - the majority of misbehavior comes from a sense of headstrong stubbornness and the fact that he likes to hide his luxite lamp under his bed so he can read under the covers long after the handmaids have put him to bed for the night.
but this is different, though. it's loud - the scream startles taair wide awake, and he clutches at his blankets, startled, heart pounding hard against his thin baby bird ribcage. but, while taair has been many things in his life - as a child, he has never been afraid.
his curiosity wins over, as it always does, and he slips out of the bed because his mother must be trouble. its all he can do to slide on his slippers and rush to the door, standing up on his tip tip toes to try and grab the handle and open the door, no matter how stupid of a decision that must be. he's only like. six. ]
He opens the door easily. It's unlocked. Though, I mean, why wouldn't it be? This is his room. This is his home. He's free to come and go as he pleases, within the restraints of what is normal for a 6-year-old with possibly questionable parents.
Does he open the door wide, or just a little crack?]
[You fall, you fall, and you fall... And for a moment, you fall back into yourself. Your true self, your memories of the castle and heaven all forgotten.
Adolphe, you are a child. You are also on a boat.
Your parents are angry. The waves crash violently against the sides of the boat, upsetting your already sensitive stomach. Your mouth tastes like vomit. Or maybe that's just the anxiety at watching them get so mad for no apparent reason at all. Honestly, you're not sure which one is worse.
Your mother and father speak to each other with raised voices and violent hand gestures, gesticulating as if they mean to strike but barely hold themselves back from doing so. Every now and then, one of them angrily gestures at you. The waves make it hard for you to pick up whatever they're talking about, but you know that it somehow involves you and that it is not good.
For all intents and purposes, you are alone. You can wander around the boat, or you can remain where you stand. But you must make a choice.]
[ His parents being angry was always the norm. They were either angry at him, each other, or something complicated that he didn't understand at the tender age of five. He goes to wander around the boat to escape the yelling. He's gotten used to it, but it never feels good. ]
[Off he goes to wander around the boat, trying to escape the yelling. He is only partially successful. While there are no clear words for him to pick up, the high pitched tones of his mother's screams are somehow even stronger than the violent waves surrounding them.
Some water splashes onto his face, when a particularly tall wave slams into the side of the boat he's standing on. It's salty. Goes well with the disgusting taste in his mouth.
Perhaps he should try to find something to wash that out, actually.]
[You fall, you fall, and you fall... And for a moment, you fall back into yourself. Your true self, your memories of the castle and heaven all forgotten.
Hawke, your mother has been taken. You must find her before it's too late.
Unfortunately, the man who took her is a slippery one. Brute force brought you to his hideout. But brute force will not help you navigate the dungeon you have found yourself in. There are four paths available to you: north, east, west and south. Each one is eerily identical to the other, with no distinction between them aside from the direction they would take you. Almost as if someone forgot to create enough assets for this world...
You are alone. Pick a direction, and start running. Your mother needs you.]
[You fall, you fall, and you fall... And for a moment, you fall back into yourself. Your true self, your memories of the castle and heaven all forgotten.
Richie, you are in the sewers. There is a giant fucking spider right in front of you.
Currently, your mind and the spider's mind are locked in a battle — and you are losing. Badly. Slowly but surely, you find yourself losing your grip on your fucking sanity, body convulsing and blood pouring from every orifice on your head, eyes included. There is a sharp, piercing pain stabbing through your brain, like perhaps there's something that does not belong there lodged inside your skull. Could be a tumor. Could be the giant fucking spider you're currently staring at.
You need to fight back. You need to call for help. But you're alone. How can you do either of these things?]
[if i have to be here do i still have katana proficiency
Richie — his true self, everything caged in the viscera of flesh and bone — is hooked into It's true self. Even in that plane beyond he's nothing compared to its vastness, and yet he holds on tight. Because if he lets it shake him loose, he won't come back.
Bill won't come back. The man he'd rushed in to save from the same fate he faces now.
He can feel It rallying. And he can feel his grip slipping. He can't do this alone. How was anyone supposed to do this alone?
He calls out, with no voice and only force of will alone, force of mind — please let it reach somebody please let it reach anybody please
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holyspirits) wrote2025-03-23 03:12 pm
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but he's also would rather focus on drinking and munching than poking that proverbial hornet so thank goodness, maybe ]
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Ah, upstairs folk. I see. We've heard all kinds of crazy rumours about the man in charge. Guess no matter how out of this world he may be, he still eats fish and bread. Same as anyone else.
You don't have to run a hard track to get it up to him, do you? The way in was a bit inhospitable. I'm hoping for smooth sailing on our way up, but something tells me that ain't so...
[Look, maybe they're mute. Maybe their tongues have been cut out. But they're clever and they're listening, and they can catch a drift. This place doesn't seem like it'd breed a good deal of loyalty on the lowest rungs of the ladder. Could use that to their advantage, maybe get pointers about a less treacherous route inwards and upwards.
Or they could point them to a pit full of spikes. Equally possible.]
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Eyeballing the staff, Hawke makes eye contact with the man cleaning the dishes. Like everyone else here, he remains silent. But he still gives him a nod of acknowledgement, hello.
Bread boy gives Richie a weird look. Almost amused...? Perhaps he simply finds Richie's way of speaking funny, especially considering that it doesn't look like he gets much in the way of conversation from his co-workers. But even then, there is a bit of tension visible on his shoulders. More so, when Richie mentions making his way upstairs...
Either way, they have soup and water now. There door that will, presumably, lead them to the next area patiently waits for them to finish licking their wounds.]
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Thank you, my friend.
[ waters everyone.... he'll eat a bit of the broth, though not much - too nervous to really fill his already small appetite. now that both the big boys are bandaged, he will quickly tend to his own injury, smile at richie, and then turn more seriously to the next door.
... ready whenever you are, gang. hp restored (?) ]
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unlike some paranoid members of their merry little group, hawke partakes and finishes everything given to him. what's it gonna do? kill him faster?? he's also at like, 1HP so here's hoping the healing power of food boosts him back to yellow status.
he pats his tum gingerly when he's done, giving the kitchen staff a tired thumbs up, and checks on his far more alive companions ]
Whenever you lot are ready to continue.
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Richie only smiles, collecting his bowl and saluting the kid with his spoon.]
Not to worry. We'll figure it all out. Thanks for the hospitality, all of you. We'll keep mum about it, never you fear.
[Last thing he wants (aside from all four of them dying in here) is to repay kindness with tanned hides. Richie will finish his broth and water, and collect all the bowls for washing. He brings them to the gent cleaning up.]
Thanks, pal. You guys are solid. Truly, you are.
[And he'll make his way ahead with the gang. What terror is on deck now?]
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The broth is........... passable. Not great. Not bad. Just passable. There is a bit of a funky aftertaste to it, but likely nothing to worry about. Must be something in the mushrooms that were used to make it. It's warm and it sits in their bellies nicely enough. The group bids their farewells to the kitchen staff, who continue to go on about their business as if the group was never there, and then they try the door.
Time to head up to the fourth floor.
... Or not, because the door is locked. And at glance, Richie can tell that the tools he needs to unlock it are exactly the same tools he lost to the flooded mass grave downstairs. Wuh-oh.
They could cut it down. Or they could perhaps ask the kitchen staff for one last act of kindness. But when they try to do anything else — they find themselves feeling woozy. Disorientated. The ground beneath their feet ripples. The lights are too bright. Colors too intense. There's a sharp ringing noise.
(Maybe they should have worried about the mushrooms. This is Yves's cooking, after all.)
The kitchen staff turns to look at the group, their eyes now a bright red. And then, all of a sudden, they transform. No longer human, but horrible, beastly creatures. Screeching. Screaming. Advancing on them. Danger, danger, danger.
Taair, Adolphe, Richie and Hawke: Every atom in your bodies is screaming at you to get the fuck out of here. You have never been so certain of your own fucking mortality as you are right now. These monsters are a threat and they will kill you, of this you are sure.]
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anyway that's horrifying! absolutely fucking horrifying! thankfully taair's first instinct is not to stab or hurt, it is to run when he is in danger. Hit da Bricks. so he jolts to his feet, dropping his bowl in a clatter. and then - he looks at the creatures, and stumbles backwards - one step, two steps, back towards the wall, putting a hand over whichever of the injured men are closer to put himself in front of them.]
The door. [ he says, a mumbled word against all the bright, awful colors, against the awful moving ground - pressing backwards, or at least he hopes so. he doesn't draw his sword. ] Door. Door, we have to - get it open, the door.
[ HIT! DA! BRICKS!!!! ]
cw emeto
sorry this was inevitable
[ Of all the times to eat food when he normally doesn't trust it made by someone else, it had to be one of them. He truly fucked around and found out. The monsters are a threat and they will kill him. He knows this. His body is screaming. The overstimulation of the senses makes him want to scream. But he doesn't.
horseki 🤦 adonephe Request: [d20] Roll: [1] Result: 1
He throws up on the floor and passes the fuck out. ]
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OKAY. COOL. COOL COOL COOL.
hawke's smelling colors and tasting rainbows but he's still somehow? upright? he's basically invincible given the sheer amount of damage bouncing around his body from getting up so fast and having the world spin but you know what!!! he's still armed and dangerous!!!! he yeets one of the grenades at the former trustworthy kitchen staff
ari again🩸dehawked Request: `[1d20]` Roll: `[4]` Result: `4`
ah ]
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Richie is furious. He's high as shit and he's seeing things and Adolphe is dead maybe? And he doesn't like fucking monsters, and Hawke is lighting a grenade and pitching it at the beasts when he ought to be chucking it to the door.
So you know what?
plabby 📻 russia toaster Request: [1d20] Roll: [14] Result: 14
Richie is intercepting that piss poor throw and smacking Hawke's grenade at the fucking door, FUCK THIS.]
> THIRD FLOOR...?
Anyway, the grenade hits the door! But it is not the type of grenade that detonates instantly. There are a couple of seconds between the moment the string is pulled and the grenade goes boom — and those couple of seconds are more than enough for the dang thing to bounce off the door and land on the floor. It rolls away, towards our no longer trustworthy kitchen friends.
And then it fucking explodes.
Gore and viscera splatter all over the Four Fangs. In the scant few seconds before the ground literally crumbles and gives way beneath them, they catch a glimpse of the very human faces of the four they had befriended minutes before. Their faces oddly intact. Eyes wide and unseeing. Mouths open wide, an empty chasms where their tongues had been ripped out long ago. Expressions filled with shocked betrayal.
And then the third floor completely falls apart, plunging them into the darkness below...
(Hold for incoming subtls.)]
>> TAAIR
Taair, you are a child. It is the middle of the night and you should be in bed.
But tonight, you suddenly woke up to the sound of screaming. Metal clanging somewhere beyond your door. The thunderous noise of heavy footsteps running down the corridors of your home. The one screaming sounded vaguely like your mother, you think.
You're alone. You may investigate, or you may cower in your room. But you must make a choice.]
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snapping awake in the middle of the night is a very unusual experience for the young prince of the state of iria. he's always been a...mostly well behaved child, the sort who slept through the night as a baby, who rarely fussed - the majority of misbehavior comes from a sense of headstrong stubbornness and the fact that he likes to hide his luxite lamp under his bed so he can read under the covers long after the handmaids have put him to bed for the night.
but this is different, though. it's loud - the scream startles taair wide awake, and he clutches at his blankets, startled, heart pounding hard against his thin baby bird ribcage. but, while taair has been many things in his life - as a child, he has never been afraid.
his curiosity wins over, as it always does, and he slips out of the bed because his mother must be trouble. its all he can do to slide on his slippers and rush to the door, standing up on his tip tip toes to try and grab the handle and open the door, no matter how stupid of a decision that must be. he's only like. six. ]
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He opens the door easily. It's unlocked. Though, I mean, why wouldn't it be? This is his room. This is his home. He's free to come and go as he pleases, within the restraints of what is normal for a 6-year-old with possibly questionable parents.
Does he open the door wide, or just a little crack?]
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>> ADOLPHE
Adolphe, you are a child. You are also on a boat.
Your parents are angry. The waves crash violently against the sides of the boat, upsetting your already sensitive stomach. Your mouth tastes like vomit. Or maybe that's just the anxiety at watching them get so mad for no apparent reason at all. Honestly, you're not sure which one is worse.
Your mother and father speak to each other with raised voices and violent hand gestures, gesticulating as if they mean to strike but barely hold themselves back from doing so. Every now and then, one of them angrily gestures at you. The waves make it hard for you to pick up whatever they're talking about, but you know that it somehow involves you and that it is not good.
For all intents and purposes, you are alone. You can wander around the boat, or you can remain where you stand. But you must make a choice.]
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Some water splashes onto his face, when a particularly tall wave slams into the side of the boat he's standing on. It's salty. Goes well with the disgusting taste in his mouth.
Perhaps he should try to find something to wash that out, actually.]
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>> HAWKE
Hawke, your mother has been taken. You must find her before it's too late.
Unfortunately, the man who took her is a slippery one. Brute force brought you to his hideout. But brute force will not help you navigate the dungeon you have found yourself in. There are four paths available to you: north, east, west and south. Each one is eerily identical to the other, with no distinction between them aside from the direction they would take you. Almost as if someone forgot to create enough assets for this world...
You are alone. Pick a direction, and start running. Your mother needs you.]
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he starts charging east. hopefully? he can mark the wall before darting down the path or ya boys getting lost ]
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cw: body horror, eye stuff
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>> RICHIE
Richie, you are in the sewers. There is a giant fucking spider right in front of you.
Currently, your mind and the spider's mind are locked in a battle — and you are losing. Badly. Slowly but surely, you find yourself losing your grip on your fucking sanity, body convulsing and blood pouring from every orifice on your head, eyes included. There is a sharp, piercing pain stabbing through your brain, like perhaps there's something that does not belong there lodged inside your skull. Could be a tumor. Could be the giant fucking spider you're currently staring at.
You need to fight back. You need to call for help. But you're alone. How can you do either of these things?]
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dies i guess]
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Richie — his true self, everything caged in the viscera of flesh and bone — is hooked into It's true self. Even in that plane beyond he's nothing compared to its vastness, and yet he holds on tight. Because if he lets it shake him loose, he won't come back.
Bill won't come back. The man he'd rushed in to save from the same fate he faces now.
He can feel It rallying. And he can feel his grip slipping. He can't do this alone. How was anyone supposed to do this alone?
He calls out, with no voice and only force of will alone, force of mind — please let it reach somebody please let it reach anybody please
help! I'm losing it! Somebody help me!]
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CW: blood, choking on blood
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CW: severed limb, blood, gore
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