"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
They come because they have no option, the small group of them. They are chosen at random, by the happenstance of magic. One by one, they ascend to the mountaintop, their movements mechanical and unchanging, with only the whites of their eyes betraying the truth of the matter.
Usually, this is where he would show himself. Their dark god, here to give them their mission – go to the afterlife, swim to the bottom of the ocean, dig to the center of the earth. But he likes them like this, compelled and confused, and so he does not let them know they are at his whim.
Instead, he opens the door.
Before them the portal appears, small at first, then widening into a gaping maw. Inside, there are glimpses of green and the scent of lush vegetation.
Once more, he moves them, his puppets, and walks them from this realm into the next, each into their own separate parcel – let them start alone, and discover the world and all its wonders.
And oh, what a world it is!
Carnage usually prefers a wasteland. He has always enjoyed salted earth, a bare and lifeless expanse. It was the private home he once made for himself, a place he sometimes revisits. He has never been one to revel in the fecundity of nature (except his own, of course).
But there’s a time for everything.
So he has built them a jungle, trees dampening the light, the ground. The trees rustle with unseen creatures, and strange insects trill. Flowers bloom and release their intoxicating scents, their perfume weaving amongst the scent of greenery and decay. It is a place very much full of life.
He has added his own spin to it, of course. He must keep it interesting.
But he thinks he’ll let them discover that for themselves.
And so, he cuts their puppet strings, gives their bodies back, and shuts the door behind them.
OOC:
Welcome to the Jungle That Wants Your Skin! Carnage has created a beautiful jungle full of strange flora and fauna, and pretty much every single thing wants to hurt you and strip you to the bone. Write your characters path through the jungle, where they must encounter something (or many somethings – plant, animal, insect, whatever) that ends up stripping them to a skeleton. How that happens is up to you – acid, mauling, magic, whatever. As a skeleton, you are still sentient, and have all your basic senses, because magic.
End with your skeleton character finding a huge, impassable river.
Round III will go up no earlier than October 10th around 6pm CST. Will probably be a day or two later than that because I am horrible.
If you have any questions, message me here or on Discord!
10-02-2025, 06:50 AM (This post was last modified: 10-02-2025, 06:51 AM by Wayfair.)
chaos in your soul & lightning in your veins...you my dear were made for wild and wondrous things
Magic settles in around the top of the mountain. What air there is becomes almost thick with it, and every labored breath she drags in tastes metallic and foul as it goes from nostril to tongue. For a minute, she thinks she sees the air shimmer, but she can't be sure. This is the type of night to make imaginations runaway, after all. Panic fights for a spot in her chest, and the burning at the back of her eyes tells her that tears would not take much encouragement to spill down her pretty face. She does not, will not, allow herself that childish reprieve though. While her journey to the peak of the mountain had been wholly involuntary, a small corner of her heart still longs to prove that she is more than a silly girl who can talk to the wind.
The air thickens again as the dark magic dances amongst the molecules of oxygen. It sharpens, somehow, and the shimmer she had once thought to be imagined suddenly becomes something more. Not quite tangible, but there is no denying that the darkness is opening. A portal, but she doesn't have the words to articulate that. Of course she knew that Beqanna was ripe with magics both new and old, but this is something else entirely. Instead, her pretty head tilts to the side as she watches it grow, frozen in both fear and curiosity. Within the opening she can see a rush of green, and a rush of damp, moldy air seems to breath out of the split.
She has almost made up her mind to go backwards, when that strange compulsion she had felt before drags her limbs forwards.
Into that great unknown, with nothing more than her wits to guide her. She thinks she feels electricity bite her skin as she steps though, but there is no time to pay that much mind. She can pass that off as imagination, too. As soon as she is through, a snap! rings through her, and she knows even without turning that the opening has now closed, leaving her trapped in whatever Hell she's walked headlong into.
The air is hot, though it is a welcome reprieve from the metallic bitterness that had been at the top of the Mountain. She shivers slightly as she begins to warm, and it is that involuntary movement alone that tells her she's been released from the magic. All of her senses are assaulted as she tries to take in her predicament. This is a jungle, that much is plain to see. Though she has never visited the jungles of Beqanna, her mother had told her tales of the mighty women who lived amongst the trees and ruins. Perhaps this is it? She cannot figure why anyone would voluntarily live here though. The screaming of the insects is enough to drive her mad. So with a scowl and pinned ears she moves forward into the trees. So far, forward has been her only option. It seems silly to go backwards now.
The seconds give way to minutes before bleeding into hours. Time seems to have no meaning here. She has seen all manner of strange creatures and plants, but nothing yet has seemed to bother her so she has returned that courtesy. Even a large golden cat with black rossets covering its velvet pelt had let her pass, though it had been sure to show her its wicked teeth and claws. Some of the plants seem to make her itch, but there are so many she doesn't know which ones are the offender so forward she goes.
She goes, until she's forced to stop.
The path ahead is suddenly occupied by the strangest creature she has ever seen. It is a huge thing, and looks as if someone has laid leather over boulders and then gave it legs. On its head are large, flapping ears, small beady eyes, and something that she can only assume is a nose. It is long, nearly dragging the ground, but seems articulate in a way most noses are not. Beside the nose are two massive, ivory swords. To its right is a mosquito-filled pool that she has only noticed. The edge of the pool is muddy and well-trodden, as if it belonged only to this massive creature. She watches it quietly, hardly daring to breath; maybe it hasn't noticed her, though how it couldn't she does not know. She is standing in the middle of the path, and her snowwhite coat is almost blindingly white in this green world.
Her worst fears are confirmed when the creature turns its massive head and those beady little eyes narrow as they find her face.
She tries to wheel around, to use her agility to provide her an escape. Surely something so big must be slow and cumbersome! But in her fear she forgets that magic does not play by their mortal rules. The creature moves fast, faster than she could even blink and that horrible nose is suddenly wrapped around her throat. A scream leaves her mouth as she feet leave the ground, and she tries to call on her own magic, but the wind isn't hers in this realm. She is only a victim to it as she flies through it. It will provide her no soft landing this time.
The stagnant water feels like a solid wall as she slams into it. The air is forced from her lungs in a great whoosh! and stars swim in her eyes. Eyes that open under water. Pure instinct drives her upwards, and as soon as she breaks the surface she drags in a painful breath. Her ribs feel as if they are busted but she breathes anyways, grateful for that hot muggy air that fills her lungs.
This is not a land of reprieve, however.
Before she can find her feet, that horrible nose is shoving her downwards once more. She is powerless to stop it, though instinct forces her to try. Again and again and again. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Allowed only enough air to survive. Not quite drowning, but close enough.
Hours bleed to days. She suddenlu awakens on the shore line of a raging river. The filthy water is white capped and moving quickly, and she is sure she sees things just below the surface. The creature is gone, however, and with it? Her flesh. Hollow sockets glance over her body...or what is left of it. She is bones and nothing more. No pure white hide, no raven black mane and tail. No startling blue eyes. No muscle, no sinew, no fat or organs. Just bones. Bones with magic crawling across them like graveworms. A laugh spills across her teeth, because for a moment she thinks "well, at least I have no need for air now"
10-06-2025, 01:41 PM (This post was last modified: 10-06-2025, 01:42 PM by Tipitina.)
Her steps had not been her own on the mountain; like a husk, her movement was mechanical and hollow, her own chaos muted under another’s hand. But when the strings are cut and the jungle swallows her, she gasps as though she’s been dropped into a dream too thick with breath to escape.
The air clings to her before the ground even steadies beneath her hooves. It’s heavy, humid — a second skin of moisture wrapping around her, sliding down her neck and collecting at the hollow of her throat. Each breath tastes of green rot and sweetness, like the jungle is breathing with her, through her. Leaves crowd close, broad and dripping, trembling with unseen movement. The light here is fractured, fractured — gold bleeding into emerald, shadow laced through both. The earth gives underfoot, soft as flesh, and every step sinks deeper than it should.
“Too close,” she murmurs, antennae flicking as though trying to push the air back. “You’re all too close.” She moves through the thicket, neon mane snagging on vines that feel almost eager. Petals brush her flank, wet and sticky, leaving streaks of pollen like fingerprints. A droplet falls from above, honey-thick and glistening, landing on her shoulder. It sizzles.
She freezes.
The pain doesn’t come all at once. It spreads, slow and creeping down her body like fire tasting its way up a fuse. Then it ignites. The acid eats through fur, through skin, burrowing deep enough that the sound of it bubbles and crackles fills her ears. Her breath stutters, "No, no, no..." She staggers back, shaking it off, but the vines have already decided she’s theirs. They entangle her legs first, then her ribs, coiling like serpents that pulse with life. Where they touch, they burn. The heat blossoms, unbearable, crawling beneath her hide. It’s not just pain, it's a hunger.
Her scream rips free, torn and raw. The air drinks it in as steam curls up from her skin as it melts away, ivory gleaming through where flesh had been. The jungle hums louder, almost delighted. Flowers quiver and something in the canopy croons back. Tipsy thrashes, hooves gouging mud, but every motion tears more of her away — strips her down to the bone. The acid licks up her throat and she can taste herself burning. It’s sweet, metallic, unbearable.
Then the vines loosen. What’s left of her slumps forward — a skeleton slick with acid sheen and moss, breaths she no longer needs coming in phantom gasps. Her body shivers with a ghost sensation, as if her body still remembers what skin felt like. “I’m… still here?” she whispers, voice a hollow chime against her skull. The jungle watches in silence. Even the air seems to pause, waiting.
When she finally moves, it’s with the faint rattle of bone against bone. The ground no longer yields, it recoils to her. She passes through hanging ferns and phosphorescent roots until the trees fall away and the river reveals itself, a wide black surface moving like muscle. She stops at its edge. The humidity clings tighter now, condensing on bare bone, beading and dripping like sweat she can no longer make. Behind her, the jungle hums softly, hungry still and ahead the river roars.
10-10-2025, 05:46 PM (This post was last modified: 10-11-2025, 05:29 PM by Fret.
Edit Reason: i should proofread before i hit post.
)
i'm torn from the truth that holds my soul i'm down in the grave where I belong --
The longer he is held captive in his own body, the more a strange emotion begins to take hold.
It is fear, though he does not recognize it right away.
Fear is not something he really felt, but he had seen it plenty of times on the faces of others. They did not like the way he appeared as more monster than horse, or perhaps they were of the rare few that managed to escape when being hunted by the others like him.
He knows that if he could look at his own face that he would see, for perhaps the first time, a ring of white around his black eyes, when he sees the others being guided towards portals, and his legs once again refuse to move. When that same invisible force compels him forward he tries once more to fight against it, his wings jerking awkwardly, but before he can comprehend it he is falling into nothingness, and landing Elsewhere.
The tether between himself and his tormentor snaps in a way that is nearly tangible, but the relief that rushes through him is short lived.
This place is far too beautiful — the green is too lush, the flowers too vibrant, and the floral scent that hangs heavy in the humid air is too strong.
Nothing so idyllic had ever existed without consequences, but there is no going back.
He walks, and while he is not sure for how long, it is long enough for him to realize what he had thought was nightfall was simply the sun being unable to penetrate the canopy of the trees. The world is plunged into an impossible darkness as real night comes, and the shapes of the creatures that rustle and creep come to him in blurred shapes of reds, yellows, and greens with the aid of his thermal vision. Some of them he can recognize — a slinking jaguar, a roosting bird, the hum of insect wings. Others are strange and unknown, but he avoids them all the best he can, tripping over the web of vines and brush that make up the pathless ground.
He hears only the hush of their wings at first, and then they are flashes of red streaking through the trees. They swarm him before he has a chance to grasp what they are, hundreds of them latching to what pieces of his skin they can find once they discover they cannot penetrate his armor. They are larger than the bats he is accustomed to back home, and far more vicious. It is not just his blood they are after, ripping and devouring his flesh. His tail, barbed and poisonous, is no match for the sheer swarm of them, and soon the ground around him is torn and bloodied as he twists and turns in effort to dislodge them.
His undoing is his own blood; acidic and corrosive, it eats away at his armor, a weakness the mutant bats gleefully take advantage of.
When they are done he is left as only blood and bone, as he stumbles from the thick canopy of trees and into a small clearing. The moon hangs in the sky, casting a silver glow across the wide, rushing currents of the river. In the moonlight his bones glint, black just as his armor had once been, and beneath the slick of remaining blood there is the faintest galaxy tint.
(Warning: ants. Because why not write about something that scares me before bed)
The intoxicating presence of everyone else’s fear doesn’t erase that Harrowed is experiencing it too — just distracts him from it; dangling the idea that if only he could feed on their fear he would be strong enough to escape whatever is happening to him. A belief forged by a life in an easy Beqanna, one where he’s only glimpsed magic that doesn’t belong to his family and has no true concept of the powerful things that exist in the pockets of this universe and others.
There is no existing metric in Harrowed’s experience to prepare him for what he has become ensnared within.
The hunger continues to dominate his mind and though he is so incredibly focused on the presence of every one else up here he doesn’t absorb much in the way of details about them. Even the portal that appears before them is almost missed. Only a glimmer of curiosity existed for it, not one strong enough to encourage him to enter if it was up to him.
Ignorant or uncaring of his wishes, his body moves once again — straight into the portal. His mind is such a slurry of thoughts (fear and intrigue and hunger and anger and confusion).
Until he steps through the portal and is on his own and one of those thoughts is dropped and the others amplify their voices.
The force commanding his movements leaves and Harrowed looks behind him, eager to return home, and it is just more of this strange forest. The air is so thick and humid, the colour so bright and vibrant, it is unlike anything he has ever seen. A dream world?
It’s a naive thought he can’t help but hold onto. The hope is not nearly loud enough to drown out all those other thoughts, it’s just nice to have there.
After a few moments, standing still feels worse than moving so Harrowed steps forward. (and then stops, just to make sure he can, before continuing on.) His senses are bewitched by this forest — there is so much to see, to smell, and to hear. There are rarely any truly silent moments in the forests he’s been in and yet all of Beqanna feels muted compared to this place.
He doesn’t see any of the others, or any animals at all except the brieftest of glimpses of wings through the leaves. Even the ground and shadows are different than what he is used to and the faint white glow he emits looks wrong when it catches on the vibrant foliage.
Golden pollen rains down upon him as he passes beneath some low-reaching branches, the flecks catching in the filtered sunlight and glittering as they fall all across his body. It’s a beautiful moment and then forgotten.
Until he starts to itch.
When the twitching of his muscles becomes so intense that he can no longer ignore it, Harrowed looks back with the intention of scowling at the offending gold dust only to find that his body is now covered in ants. They are larger than any he has seen before and their exoskeleton bodies are an iridescent gold that matches the pollen they were attracted by. Their legs tickle and bother him as they swarm up his legs and across his body, a few adventurous ones so close to his crimson eyes they are just golden blurs. Annoyance grows into fear as he watches them and the itching shifts to pain. These ants may have been summoned by the pollen but that is not what they are here for. Hundreds of tiny little mouths bite into Harrowed’s flesh, a gnawing that is so constant and intense he releases a loud shriek that startles some nearby birds and gives him his first glimpse of other wildlife.
Now he’s afraid. Truly and deeply.
He shifts, becoming a shadowy canine, but somehow the ants won’t be shaken. They are inside of him, not just on the surface, chewing and burrowing and Harrowed screams again as he leaps into a run — desperate to escape this agony. He runs and howls, heart thundering with his paws as he dodges trees and plants just in the hope he can escape this if he just runs fast enough. It’s not until the river is directly in front of him that he realizes that he should have been looking for water this entire time to wash both ants and pollen off.
Only as he thunders to a stop on the banks he realizes the pain is gone.
And he is only bones.
He shifts back into his equine form, expecting to see the white of his skin and hair, but it is still only bones. Changing forms has not helped him once since this began and still he tries.
The fear still has a firm enough grip on his now-metaphorical heart that he doesn’t find this fascinating or even mourn his body.
Harrowed feels lost and has no idea how to puzzle his way out of that emotion. Lost had never been a problem before. And it is certainly one now as he stands in an unknown land before a river he cannot cross, with a carnivorous forest behind him.
Her eyes widen imperceptibly as the portal grows in front of her, the only hint of anything more than apathy showing on her face. Why care when there is nothing she can do about it? Why bother when it is clear she cannot truly escape whatever is ahead of her? Maybe the others tremble with trepidation or gnash their teeth with the uncertainty of it all. Sirin, however, will not give whomever led them here the satisfaction. Not because she is brave or strong or ready for a hero’s journey to save the world (isn’t that what usually happens here - their world is in peril and only a chosen few can pull them all from the darkness?). She is quite certain only a complete and utter fool would want to potentially throw their life away for accolades that would be lost to both time and the next threat on the horizon. No, she will not quake because her pride is all that she has ever had for her entire existence.
She has earned nothing more and nothing less.
A guttural howl and the smell of damp earth assaults her senses from within the tear in reality. It is clear they are meant to go through. It isn’t clear, why, of course. She cannot imagine what answers any of them will find in a place beyond their own (if it even is beyond Beqanna; hadn’t there been an island kingdom before?)
Her feet start to move of their own volition again, dragging her towards that small glimpse of the unknown. Sirin tilts her head towards the stranger to her left, ready with a sultry, luring grin before she is swallowed by the portal. But as her head passes through, then her shoulders, then her hips, it is clear that there will be no alliances to be found through wit or strength or seduction, even.
The jungle faces her and she faces it back, alone.
The hold on her slips at the same time this realization washes over her. Without it, she has no compass, no way of knowing where to go next. She cocks one foot against the ground and her lips push into a pout. “Pretty fucking rude, really.” She has half a mind to stay where she is and see how long it takes the Powers That Be to come get her. Maybe they don’t realize what they’ve gotten themselves into with her. She is no damsel, but neither is she meant to save one. What will happen if she just…doesn’t participate?
The roar of a likely monstrous beast rattles through the thick trees and silences the birdsong that had just woven through it before. Sirin catches her breath but remains rooted to the spot, unwilling to move. It’s not real, anyway, is it? This is all just a dream, or in their heads. All great stories are just that - stories. Allegories and fables, not actual accounts by actual beings. All of their so-called gods were just delusions made up by those that trekked up the Mountain before, she is certain.
The ground softens under her no sooner than she thinks it.
She flails to remain upright as the loamy earth becomes even finer, like sand that is being sifted out beneath her. Sirin attempts to go airborne, flapping her wings as quick as she can, but it is in vain. The ground is disappearing too fast and it is trying to take her with it. All too soon, she feels the sand embrace her ankles, then her knees. It holds her like a vicegrip, even as she struggles against it, bucking and thrashing wildly. It draws her deeper into the pit of it, sucking her down, down, down.
And then it gets worse.
There is a gnawing she feels on the parts of her body where the sand has completely gripped around her, like something is tearing into her flesh. Pain and panic are new to her, but inexperience does not dull either of their sudden intensities. She only wonders how she will die: if she will drown on the sand cascading down her neck first or if she will be eaten alive instead.
When the hole is almost closed and sand clogs her ears, (and then suddenly, she has no ears, as she feels them chewed away) Sirin sees the last bit of dampened light blotted out above her. In one last starburst of pain, her eyes, too, are taken.
All goes still, for a moment. But the pain is gone.
Sirin exists in her tomb, comfortable in her cradle where pain has become a memory she never wants to revisit. She is sure she is dead, anyway. The ground had feasted on her - who could survive that? But this doesn’t feel like any sort of afterlife, she thinks. In fact, is that muffled birdsong starting back up just above her? She flexes one foot and finds that she can move it. Panic builds in her again. The need to GET OUT rushes like a flood through her until she is scrambling against her early grave, digging and pushing and wriggling until she is somehow free.
It is when she pulls herself up from her knees in the loose sand that she sees that her knees are only that - pure bone - and a scream cuts from her.
Sirin takes off into the gloomy jungle, no longer caring about her pride or propriety. She’s not even sure if she is alive or not; damn her blase attitude to hell at this point. She screams like a creature without the imposition of lungs because, well, there aren’t any. Maybe she’s been holding it in her whole life, anyway. But as she crashes through the strange forest, neither poison-dart animal or toxic-hued plant stops her. It is only the fat, swollen river that finally stops her in her tracks.
(I know you said stage 3 not before the 10th... hoping its still ok to post)
The chestnut mare was watching, still trying to work out what was going on. Her mind was loud but her voice was quiet, still, unnerving. She watched with wide eyes as other were push through portals that closed, everyone moving willingly, just like she did when it was her turn.
She walked through the portal into a blackened wasteland, ash littered the ground and what tree's were left were still burning from a fire she couldn't see. She had only just crossed into this scorched land when she felt her body sag, as if coming out of a trance. She had control over herself again, that combined with being put through a portal, that couldn't be a good sign.
She span, aiming to rush back through the portal but was too late, lunging forward to land on scorched, ash covered ground. The portal was gone and she was stuck here, where ever here was. Glancing around she frown, so much evidence of a fire, the blackened burning trees, scorch marks on part of the ground and ash that littered the floor, shifting as she moved, all this evidence but no actual fire. The irony didn't escape her that she may have been sent to a fire dimension... and her name was Fyrefox. "I guess this is someone's idea of a joke" she muttered to herself.
She glanced around, scanning each horizon hoping it would tell her where to go, but everything just looked the same, there were no clues and she didn't think playing eenie meenie miney mo would help in this situation. Eventually she just had to guess and pick one direction at random and start walking.
She hadn't been walking long when she started to feel like the temperature was rising as sweat settled on her skin. Glancing around she noticed an odd glow in the distance before her but couldn't make out what it was. Turning to glance behind her she noticed it was coming from that direction also, actually it was coming from all directions and getting closer. With horror her eyes widened as realisation of what it was slammed into her, fire!
It had to be 10 foot tall flames at least, closing in fast from all directions. She span in a circle, looking for some break in it but there wasn't one. All she could do was wait, though not for long and close her eyes as the heat intensified. This was it, she was going to burn to death... again the irony!
She sucked in a breath as she felt the first lick of flames connect to her skin, waiting for the agonising pain that didn't come. That couldn't be right, fire wasn't a painless death. As she felt the heat receding she risked opening her eyes, looking at the retreating glow and the still flaming trees left in it's wake. That was.. odd.
But nothing could have prepared her for what met her eyes as she glanced down at herself! She wanted to throw up, sadly that was impossible with her kind, some cruel twist of fate deemed what went in couldn't come out the same way.
She was bones... the fire had quite literally fried the skin, muscles and.. well everything else, to dust. Her brain struggled to compute what it was seeing as she turned to look around her, everything was gone... wait how was still still alive? How could she still be breathing, heck thinking when nothing was there.
Her mind was screaming at her that all this was wrong. Unable to do much else she once more started to walk, having no idea where she was going or why she had been dumped here by some maniac.
When the heat flared again she kept on walking, watching as the fire flash through the area. No pain, no nothing. She didn't bother to check her body this time... if she was still walking she was still intact bones for lack of a better word. The fires came twice more as she walked until a noise caught her attention. It sounded like.... running water? Confused beyond belief she followed the sound, coming to a wide fast moving river. She wasn't even surprised at this point, just accepted it was there.
She watched as the water crash upon jagged rocks, it was quite... tranquil for some reason, what reason she had no idea. She'd given up guessing, although she did wonder if it was even possible to cross to the other side.
![[Image: frickin-bats-i-love-halloween.gif]](https://media1.tenor.com/m/3jIYJsajHjQAAAAd/frickin-bats-i-love-halloween.gif)
