[ GM PRP ] Smoke and Mirrors

[Zoobey]

The hatred was intense. A coiling hatred, an agony, pain and cold, a part of their very being, a thick, unrelenting, uncontrollable emotion, rampant at the slightest stir.

The hatred was intense for all of them, but for some, there was also something else. It was not the hatred that spurred them, for they were horsemen, they were the proud race once known as The Four Clans, they did not act and move to mere whims alone. It was not the hatred that buckled their resolve and make them unstable, no, this element itself was new, something else.

After the phoenix had disappeared one last time in its quest for its new home, after bits and pieces of it had crumbled, after the entire incident and chain of disasters, it was now painstakingly clear it was not the hatred that was talking to them.

No, it was the Insanity that fueled and farmed the hatred.

The worst was in the aftermath, and just beyond it. Clan members, focusing to work together, united by a single goal, and just barely able to contain themselves under the thinly veiled surface. A surface that teetered and veered, that peeled and cracked to reveal an insatiable pain, longing and insecurity underneath. A surface that was easily torn by strange whispers, voices of nothing that fueled only pure emotion.

It wold only be a matter of time before those plagued this Insanity would break.

He had even predicted this: he was an Ancient after all, they had lived eons in legacy: the rise of Insanity was simply another small event, a tick, a crease that needed to be treated before it deepened. Take care of their own kind, of the Clans, and don't let them fall to the Insanity.

Easier said than done as they both knew that Insanity was still in all forms, Fear. Medea had a simple nervous habit: a folding and unfolding of her robes as she waited, checking the pyre again, once, twice, just to make sure all preparations were as correct as she could manage. The gentle fabric, dark and pliant, creased in her hands, ripples coiling and uncoiling as she moved each finger. It was a methodical exercise, a way to calm nerves and lay to rest memories that were simply too long.

She survived again, like she had always, she survived, and had followed Hades the first time, and then the second, third, fourth until his name changed to Death itself, and then of course -

- This request. She hated it. She did not want to lead something so weak and teetering, she did not want to build an empire that was ready to break apart any second. Medea would rather bury herself in extravagance in the kingdoms created by others until they lay to waste and burned. Healing was only second to destruction and revenge.

And when she doubted herself further: doubted first and foremost her survivability, the first of those troublesome infected had already arrived. It wouldn't be soon now until the rest filed in as well. The infected clans members. The survivors. Her responsibility now.

She restrained a sigh, mirroring an age-old expression of peace and tranquility, something easily obtained over time. The Head Priestess moved one arm towards the arrivals. "Come sit with me, we have much to accomplish today." One hand remained coiled within the fabric of her robe, folding and unfolding. Creases, waiting to be ironed out.

OOC

- If your horsemen has a permanent stage 1+ insanity infection (ie: won from auctions OR former Heirs), they have been summoned to this tent. Have them take a seat around the tent (with a pyre in the center of the tent and Medea waiting) to await further instructions, though feel free to post IC reactions, such as their current POV's and their battle with Insanity

Kuromeez

Ravvlet

Nerpin

iizbot

kuriptama

Beejoux

Grey Dragon

x_Nata_x

demon_pachabel

Random Artist

 

[Ravvlet]

Taomin entered the tent slowly, hands carefully folded inside the sleeves of her kimono. The summons had interrupted her work, something that even now had her gritting her teeth in distaste, but it could not be ignored. Medea was no waif, no underling to defy. She was their uniting force, their leader. And so Min had complied, leaving the quiet and peace of her work behind. The dark circles under her eyes belied that this was a peace not oft gained. Her black hair, piled and tied neatly atop her head, contrasted with her pale skin, skin that was slick with sweat.

The whispers had followed her here. They often tortured her, noises almost-heard, when she didn't have a task to mind. Worse still were the night terrors, which had melted together in a sea of confusion and horror, an endless parade of terror that had her resting at odd intervals in her battle to stay awake, to stay focused, to stay busy. She had to keep it contained. To remain calm. She shook her head slightly, allowing her bangs to fall limply across her face, shading her eyes. She bowed respectfully to the head priestess before taking a seat across from her, where the light of the pyre fell strongly against the tent wall.

She stared at the flame, counting the seconds, ordering them to stay in line. To ignore the chaos eating at the edges of her awareness. The uncertainty.  

[demon_pachabel]

It was going to be a slow start to rebuilding at the pace they were going, and to some end it crackled and hissed through his veins at every passing, every moment, every whim. It had whispered through him in every living moment, it seemed, since he'd risen from the fog of Deus Ex Machina and even now as he pressed forward to answer the summons that had been given to several of the more peculiar clansmen.

Infected, but functioning as it was. He would not be the only of the once heirs to arrive in this place, stepping in calmly as he made his way forward towards the pyre. First, he looked to Medea, folding his arms behind his back and bowing to her in a respectful greeting, before he looked to one of his former clansmen and bowed to her as well. Manners - they were as much a part of his blood as the insanity was then.

They all crackled through him like a slow IV that was forced deep into his veins and could not be removed, constantly refilled, always dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. Like the water that tried to cool his head, trying to put out the fire that raged like the one he soon sat before as well, his hands on his knees as he sat straight - purposeful.

He wouldn't be sure what to expect from this meeting, but he would be prepared for it, no matter what it was.  

[kuropeco]

There were times when he thought he could control it.

And then there were times when he truly believed he could not. In those times, Mengyao simply stayed by himself, away from the rest and from those he knew, and let the thoughts in his head run rampant. They were always there, the voices, and he could not get rid of him. It was like having a constant buzzing noise that thrummed and shivered in his mind, never to be erased.

Silent as he approached the gathering place, Mengyao stood with his hands tucked into the long, draping sleeves of his clothing, the fan hidden beneath the varying blues of the cloth. Though he was not inclined towards acting a certain way, even Mengyao did not dare to say anything unpleasant to Medea. She was the head Priestess, deserving of the place she held, and a bow of respect was given in her direction. A small nod was then given to Invictus, standing a few feet away; Mengyao had hardly ever spoken to the Heir - no, the Protector beforehand, only a few brief, few and far between conversations.

Mengyao could not get rid of the tenseness that made his shoulders stiff, made his back ache unpleasantly as he peered at the pyre, lips pressed together in a thin line. A small sigh escaped his lips as he looked around.

But then there was Lifen, and some of the tension - just a small amount - eased away. Mengyao stepped towards her almost automatically, his robes sweeping across the ground as he took the seat beside her. He did not make a motion to take her hand or hug her or any such thing, but just sitting beside his best friend made him feel more comfortable, a little more relaxed.

"...good day," he said quietly back to her, for once not saying anything extravagant and merely sitting there in silence.  

[Molten Tigrex]

Mahir had certainly noticed when it began. His hands - what was a doctor without his hands? Over a matter of days they lost color and simply faded, crumbled away, leaving only the fragile bones beneath. They constantly unraveled, as no amount of FEAR seemed to reform them.

Not that he cared as much now as he had when it began. Now he just hid them in his cloak, and grinned to assure everyone he was just fine, and he felt fine, he felt wonderful. Maybe it had deadened something inside him, this disease of his that had taken his hands. Rather than grieving like the others, he sought distraction, in music, in trying to never be alone again. Ever. Because when he was alone he thought he heard the sounds of the colony, as if he was right back in those dirt tunnels again. Sometimes a single voice, sometimes many, in that gentle hum too quiet to overhear, too loud to ignore. It had gone from nostalgic to unpleasant when it persisted night and day, everywhere he went. And until he could diagnose it, cure it, he would simply drown it out with real voices belonging to real horsemen.

So he was glad for this invitation, and he smiled at the others before he sat down in front of the pyre.

"Hello," Mahir immediately spoke, turning to the conquest girl next to him. Her skin seemed to shine an awful lot in the light of the fire. One of the shadowy hands reached out and ran a finger down her cheek, testing an unspoken hypothesis. "Yesss, that is sssweat, quite a lot of it. Are you ill?"

There was a pause while his bright yellow eyes searched the rest of her for clues in the most scientific way possible. His gaze moved around the others, all formerly of Conquest, and all in their puzzling and seemingly cumbersome ceremonial outfits. "How do you all regulate your internal temperature in sssuch heavy clothing?"  

[Ravvlet]

Taomin bowed deeply at the waist from her sitting position as their formal heir entered, followed by other fellow clansmen. Was this a meeting of conquest then? But no- a cloaked figure with a very different bearing took a seat next to her. She hissed and recoiled as a shadowy finger traced its way down her cheek.

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she bit her lip, pain reminding her to remain in control. Always in control. "The fire is warm," she responded dully. That was not entirely truthful, nor was it a lie. "I am - these clothes suit me. Your-" she paused, "appendages do not." She could not say she was well, but she raised a hand to her forehead, dabbing at it with her sleeve.

The greying cracks in her exposed hand cast eerie shadows across her fingertips in the firelight, and she hid them quickly again.  

[keiifuu]

Senga hated it, the idea of crowds, of others, of so many in one place.

And yet he'd come, answering the summons like an obedient lapdog. The hood of his pelt lay limp on his shoulders, tawny hair reflecting the hollow, dim glow of night. He puzzled over the reason for their being called here tonight, watched from the shadows as others began to file in through the tent flap. He hadn't yet built up the courage to go closer, hands folding over one another, pausing as he examined the gray markings over and over again, memorizing them, remembering them. It only made sense that this seemingly private gathering would have something to do with them, but the voices in his head buzzed like angry wasps at every thought in his head, vicious tonight even though they'd been quiet earlier that day.

Senga closed his eyes and shook his head like a wolf trying to rid himself of an annoying group of fleas. His eyes flashed upwards, catching the dim outlines of others surrounding the fire. All of the attending now were Conquest or Famine; none from War were here. Had any others been invited? The young executioner ruffled his wings nervously. He couldn't wait any longer, but his feet felt like lead and his gut knotted uncertainly over and over again. Sighing, Senga rustled his wings and opened them, giving a tentative flap before moving forward, out of the shadows and towards the firelight. His bones rattled hollowly together as though to announce his presence for him; he'd no use for hiding anymore.

He hovered quietly on the edges for a moment, just within the tent flaps. He surveyed the others without scrutiny, but with a fair bit of uncertain curiosity instead. One seemed familiar; a Conquest member that he'd accidentally managed to land on. But there was a sense of loneliness here; if not for the Famine member and the priestess herself, this could easily just be a meeting between members of that one clan. Hoping quietly for another member of War to appear, the young executioner tapped fingertips nervously over some of his skulls, hovering just a moment longer. Finally though, Senga moved and settled himself in a vacant seat near the flames, his wings extending just enough to fold around his torso, a sort of subconscious comfort. He had never been a master of conversation, and so he simply bowed his head to the others in a sort of greeting, golden eyes watching in quiet observation, not quite there, not just yet.

 

[revenant aria]

Aisa did not seem bothered or even affected by the heat of the pyre, as she stepped into the tent. She did not make any more of an entrance that others did, as the art of discretion was a well-used one. Her red dress flowed behind her, lowered iris eyes taking a sweeping glance of the members gathered around the room.

Many could guess what this meeting's contents might lead to but when it concerned Death and Medea, there would always be surprises. However, the heirs knew that there was a single individualistic essence, a plaguing force, that would be brought up.

Insanity.

Never had the heir ever imagined that the clans would be infected, the rampaging force running through it out, like a land starved of water now flowing. Only the heirs had first succumbed and now .. It wasn't a fate that Aisa wished on the group of members before her. But perhaps, it was the vindictive aspects of Insanity, that sparked a soft chuckle from her. It was the resent, the bubbling vengeful emotion that never left since the island of hunters .. Some would break. Some would make it through and some would follow the lines of fate that insanity had drawn in a confused, mysterious jagged manner. She almost wanted to drape her hands on Cym or Connie and whisper sweet nothings, nothings that they would understand.

The heirs had been so long infected, that Aisa could no longer tell the difference between her own voice and the other voices at times. But the other three hairs had a new something, that enabled them to work alongside their newformed insanity. Aisa did not.

When her eyes glanced upwards to Medea, it was instant. Aisa took the seat closest to the head priestess, making no show of comfort, as she recognized Medea's uneasiness. To offer a comforting pat or a sideways glance was to undermine her position .. and also, the heir was of little use in such ways, picking up the distanced habits of Death.

However, what she did do, was tug on Medea's robe, unfolding a crease Medea would make once again. In the moments to come, arrivals trickling in, Medea's hand folded and unfolded from her robe, she would find a purple flower tucked meticulously inside.

zoobey

 

[x_Nata_x]

The heirs were no strangers to Insanity. But for three, what they had felt before, what had tormented them for years, was nothing compared to the affliction which now consumed them.

The beating of two sets of powerful wings outside the tent would have been enough for most to assume her arrival, the gentle sound of feet touching the ground following shortly after. A few moments of silence, and the cloth flap covering the tent entrance slid to one side, revealing the once-Heir, now Protector of War. Eris lifted the material a little with the backs of her blackened fingers as she bent slightly to step through the doorway, folding both sets of jet-black wings as she step through. The tent was relatively large, large enough to comfortably fit the occupants who now lined the room in addition to the pyre at its center, but the horsewoman politely kept her wings tucked neatly to her body regardless -- despite the harrowing voices which touched the back of her mind, she was not so far gone as to insult Medea nor the clan of Death. In fact, Eris had been adapting surprisingly well to the power which had come from being embraced by Insanity. The brightness behind her eyes and the rippling tempest of voices had made her all the more volatile, a hotter temper and all the more quick to anger, but when she was not agitated War's mood was remarkably languid and warm, no logic lost to the insistent gnawing at her mind. Indeed, the aspects of her personality merely seemed amplified with the wave of power, feeding her as it fed her other two kin.

The pyre flared for a moment as Eris took a cursory glance at the attendees, matching the unrelenting flame which now burned in her eyes. Taking a few steps into the room, Eris turned to face the woman who now arguably lead the Lost Clans, extending her wings wide only momentarily to bow low at the waist. "Priestess," She greeted Medea in a silken tone, her eyes lowering in a gesture of deference. As with the other three heirs, she had been familiar with Death's attendant, along with a few other notable figures of Death, Famine and Conquest, despite their being of a difference clan. While their interaction was limited, there had still been a certain amount of familiarity between them, since the Clan Heads held conference for the apocalypse. Still, as with most of the clans, there had always been a great deal of caution and suspicion with respect to their kin. And although her expression was unmarred by distress, there was a hint of that suspicion now simmering in the back of Eris' mind now, even as she rose from her bow. Neither Death nor Medea were at the conclave which resulted in the... dissipation... of the majority of the horsemen population. It did not help that this suspicion was fueled by a slight resentment of this fact... nor the heavy weight of guilt that she alone survived, by the grace of her own Lady. Aisa's connection to Medea afforded her a small amount of trust, but even so, it was thin, held only by her adoration of Death's Protector.

Moving away from Medea to move to seat herself, Eris offered Death's former-Heir a careless smile as she sauntered past, lifting her blackened hand to wave coyly. Lately, the horsewoman of War had felt particularly mindful of Aisa -- she knew it was trying, having had to witness her and the other Protectors' transformations, and likely somewhat awkward. Since Death had not perished with the others, the vacuum of power had not been present. Aisa had not received the gift and the curse which had come from each of their Clan Heads dying. For now, however, she let her alone. Invictus, too, she merely gave a dip of her head, offering him a little wink as well as she moved passed the ivory-haired Protector, although both she would have gladly seated herself beside him as well. No, for while such was a time for the unity of the Lost Clans, it was unlikely that their kin understood their bond -- a time would come later, but for now it would be inappropriate to be overly affectionate. Pausing for a moment by Senga, Eris cocked her head to one side momentarily in a thoughtful gesture before seating herself beside him, whatever having crossed her mind clearly forgotten.  

[WE ARE HALLOWEEN]

Though very few spoke, their expression was clear enough, betrayed by the very Insanity they believed the controlled. Why were they, out of all the others, singled out, why were they here?

Clearly only those who had done something wrong would receive just treatment.

Aisa's small memento, even the familiar aura of Invictus and Eris helped soothe Medea's nerves, just slightly. She closed her eyes for a second, breathed deeply the spell of incense - of Trance - that she wove, felt it lace around, support her Fear -

- And felt confident once again. She was not a leader, but she would by no means follow pure whim and fancy. Civilizations had to grow, be nurtured and cultivated, trimmed and weeded, before they collapsed. It was still early, too early.

"Those of the Lost Clans, thank you for seeking my call." Medea spoke formally still, words and action piece by piece more confident as the room began to immerse itself in thick incense, in a fragrance so thick and sweet it pervaded every sense, from sight, hearing, touch, to even the light tips of Fear being changed and distorted.

A second later, the Trance was complete. There was no longer a tent, they were no longer sitting in a tent, but in a serene expanse of green, a grass field, simple wildflowers growing at their feet. A gentle breeze pulled at their clothing, though those rehearsed in Trance knew this to be false, a mere illusion, it felt by all means real.

She was in her element now, she had nothing to fear. She would control this exercise to her liking. "There is nothing inflicted, tainted or infected about your being. We are all the same, we bear the same name and responsibility, we bear the same tasks, and eventually, the same end. Yet, sometimes, the path towards the end becomes clouded. I am here to help guide you through the fog, through the haze so you can find yourselves again, just a little further, just a little longer. You are here to gain focus."

There was a forest behind them now, dark, covered in fog, looming behind them. A single path lead into it. Medea pointed one hand towards the path. "You are a traveler now, it is time to continue walking, and face your own insecurities. You must make your way into the forest and through it, to the other end. You are here to discover how to move through the path of your own accord, through the unknown, the fog. Now come, allow me to bless you once before you leave."

She stood up, not waiting for them to follow for too long. In the folds of her cloak were small red spheres: a ball of thin red yarn. She gave one to each traveler. "Unwind the string behind you as you walk, that way if you get lost, you will still find your way back. There is no time limit, work at your own pace, but remember it is important that you do not veer too far off path."

That was all she said as she nodded to each traveler. "I will see you at the other side of the forest."

OOC

TRAVELING THE FOREST:

- All horsemen will have to learn how to navigate their own Insanity (the forest), by attempting to take the path through it. Voices whisper out to them inside it, the path occasionally disappear and branches off, it is up to each of them to find the exit and meet Medea on the other side
- Roll a 100-sided dice. Match your dice roll to the results below and RP OUT YOUR ACTIONS. IF you roll EXIT, you can now exit. IF not, you will need to continue to wander/ backtrack using the red thread given to you until you finally find the exit. If you roll more than 5 times, you default find the exit in your next roll.

1- 20: You head down the path - and begin to hear voices. Manifestations of those you knew from your Clan, of those who are supposedly dead begin to call to you. They ask you to return to them, to come back home to walk away from the path, but you remember Medea's words. However, their voice is tantalizing, you can't help but stop, and reminisce, even call out to the voices...

21 - 40: Your path suddenly splits into two equal paths. You hesitantly take one of the two, confused as the fog gets deeper and deeper until everything is white. You hear voices whispering to you: is it someone else, or yourself muttering out loud in doubt? Only the red string is invisible behind you: it is obvious that you are entirely off the path.

41 - 60: You see a large tree blocking your path, but as you go around it, the other side reveals no path at all. In, fact as you turn around entirely, the path itself is gone, and so is the string! You see someone walking a few steps in front of you, a shadowed out, grey figure, they beckon to you and lead you back to the path but who were they?

61 - 80: Your path reaches bridge, an arching stone bridge with deep black water on either side. As you cross it, you see the surface ripple, and distort as suddenly thousands of hands, arms, fingers and faces pour out from the water. You recognize some of these faces: your Clans folk, those you left behind. They cry out to you from the water, grabbing onto you in attempts to pull you down. Only sheer willpower allows you to continue onwards past the bridge.

81 - 100: At last, or perhaps at first, the walk is quiet. Deathly silent. And then as the fog grows thick around you, you hear the voices. Voices that call in your voice, in those you recognize, asking you to turn back, to go home. That you left everything at home, that you do not belong anywhere but home. Your body begins to slow down, and you realize your legs are barely moving: as you look down, you see that both your legs have turned the same oddly discoloured grey, literally resembling solid stone. You feel heavy, leaden, as the grey spreads into you, taking away any semblance of coherent thought, taking away your freedom and replacing it with a stagnant nothingness.

As you close your eyes completely, overwhelmed by the grey, you realize your petrified hands are still holding the red ball of yarn. It is pulling you now, dragging your frozen body forward, down the path. As you are dragged forward, bit by bit, you feel your body return back to life again, mobile, the greys in your body receeding. Slowly, you see the exit, and as you reach the exit, Medea waiting for you at the exit, you feel normal, or relatively normal again. The voices are still there, but they are quieter now. They can not harm you now. [ YOU HAVE FOUND THE EXIT ].

x_Nata_x

Random Artist

Beejoux

Kupuritama

Ravvlet

iizbot

kuromeez

Nerpin

demon_pachabel

Grey Dragon

 

[demon_pachabel]

He'd been an adventurer before. Even taking an arrow to the knee hadn't stopped that, though that had been a self inflicted arrow in his knee. Never the less, Invictus took the state of TRANCE in calmly. Perhaps he had even been expecting of this variety given the variety of those who were brought into the tent. Though the company of the girls was never unpleasant to him. He offered both Aisa and Eris a smile as they too took up places around the pyre - a flame that crackled and burned with the same kind of white noise that filled his head for possibly eternity.

Would one go mad with that kind of noise in there?

He would not be waiting to find out, taking the ball of string as it was offered to him and seeming to smile knowingly. "Then it is time for us to find our way past the minotaur, is it?" he said lightly, passing a look to Medea - it seemed just the kind of reference she would have made, after all. He wasn't sure what it was about her that gave him that impression, but it certainly did. But if this was his symbolic lifeline, he would have taken it willingly.

In fact, Invictus, always the first to lead any sort of trial, just as Conquest did in mythos, found something to wind the end of the ball of string around, to keep it from dragging behind him, before he made his way into the woods. The once-heir was methodical about how he approached everything. Whenever he felt he had made progress, he'd find something new to wrap the string around so that it would not become misguided. Landmarks to refer to should he need to backtrack.

Things of note.

Things that seemed solid. Safe. Familiar. If this was symbolic, well...it certainly said a lot about him. Even the bridge seemed to be something rather mundane as he approached it, pausing to wrap the string around one of the endposts of it before he began to cross it. It was only when he was on the bridge itself did he feel like he was one of the Billy Goats Gruff. A small glance into the water was all it had taken.

"Invictus." A dark hand suddenly grabbed the edge of the bridge, and each finger seemed to split into other fingers, and then into even more fingers which spilled out across the stone walkway. They seemed to expand, eyes, faces spilling across them, their faces warping between expressions he'd seen on different people's faces - horsemen he knew well, some he hadn't passed by in years.

"Your job now is to protect them," a deep voice he knew well hissed, "but you failed to protect them before." Disappointment. He was always disappointed in him, but the other voices seemed to hiss in agreement. He had failed. He had failed. He had failed them and now was only going to ring 'true' in his attempts to mask his shame.

"Had I named any of my other children as heir, they would have looked ahead and known it was coming." he continued to hiss, but a more soothing face seemed to wrap itself around the face of his father - always kind. Always forgiving. "Shhhh, shhhhhhhhhh.... he did not see it coming either, my child." she spoke.

Mother. Always gentle, she always knew what to say. He paused, reaching out to touch that face. His fingers brushed over the familiar curve of her cheek before more hands oozed out of the blackness, wrapping themselves around the grey of his insanity ridden arm, digging in, leaving marks of their own as every mouth opened in unison, screaming all at once.

YOUR FAULT

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE OUR LEADER.

YOU LEFT US

YOU HAVE BETRAYED US

I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME.

For a brief moment, Eris's face joined the others. Eris. Eris was alive. He'd gone to her before it was too late. He hadn't lost her. He hadn't turned his back on her. No, he wouldn't turn his back on her, or Aisa, or Cymbeline.

They owned him as much as any of the dead did. But only for a brief moment did his thumb brush against that dark amorphous spot where his mother's face had been.

"We love you." he whispered, "We will be the son you always knew you had."

It took a lot of effort, but he pulled his hand out of the mass, gave the faces one last familiar look, and then moved on, trying to force the guilty weight out of his chest.  

[demon_pachabel]

It was hard to keep walking sometimes. Not impossible, but difficult. There was a certain burden of failure that was weighing down upon him, but he had to force it down. Keep walking, keep looking forward - it was the only direction he could look in if he didn't want more of the faces to appear. More of the voices. More of...everything. Yes, there was a certain niceness when one got more of certain things, but he had to ignore those now.

He couldn't have more. He needed to sacrifice for the sake of the whole - even if it was a piece of his heart he was giving up. The greatest of his loyalties being passed on to a new and strange thing he had to wrap his head around. It was hard to lead a group he didn't know. Who didn't know him. They had no reason to trust him beyond that the Horseman Death had said so.

But did that mean anything?

His thoughts nearly caused him to walk into a tree, pausing to wrap his string around one of the branches before stepping around it to find that - the path was gone. In fact, he couldn't see behind him either when he looked back to his ever loyal string. Invictus waved a hand in front of his face. Okay. He could see that. So his eyes weren't broken.

For a few steps, he walked back the way he'd been coming when the sound of rustling fabric caught his attention. He turned his head to look towards them as they spoke some hushed language he couldn't quite catch. He understood pieces of it, yet not all of it. Never the less, they seemed to beckon, and he couldn't help but follow.

It probably wasn't safe, but the only place they could take him was further into being lost. It wasn't far off from where he was to begin with. But it seemed that his choice to follow the stranger had instead taken him back to the path he had been walking before the tree. Curious. But he wasn't ungrateful for the help. However, he had no idea if that helper was a figment of his imagination or something else entirely.  

[demon_pachabel]

Things had grown quiet after his one true venture from the trail. The one unintentional blunder that perhaps would have drawn him to be lost for some time had providence not put him back onto the path he had wandered from. Not that he paid much mind to the silence. He had sat in the quiet of fog covered nights for a long time.

There were things to be said about restless minds that always needed noise and interaction though. No, his mind was fine with some silent to dull the ache of the constant noise that hissed in the recesses of his brain. However, after that felt like an eternity of simply no noise, not even the hiss of his own voices, a certain restlessness was to be expected.

With the restlessness seemed to come to sudden buzzing. It was as though a plague of locusts was suddenly thrust down upon his brain, a wild hum slowly spreading throughout his brain.

Invictus Invictus Invictus Invictus Invictus Invictus Invictus Invictus INVICTUS

Invictus, why are you leaving?

You're not ready to go out on your own yet.

I didn't tell you that you could leave.

Come back, we need you.

How do you lead us to conquest if you are leaving us?

Come back.

We really need you at home.

Don't go, you're our leader.

INVICTUS, COME BACK. COME BACK. COME BACK. COME BACK.

Even as the voices continued to fill his head, he could feel them pulling him back, his walking slowing down ever so slightly with each urge to turn back slowly spilling into his mind. He could go home? Was that even an option? No, he needed to move forward, but it was getting harder and harder to do so sometimes. Even if he struggled through this every day. Even if every time he had to force himself just a little bit harder to move.

But it was getting increasingly more difficult to move on with the voices of the dead sinking their claws into him and urging him to move back.

As he continued to try and press forward, he looked down, trying to not be startled by what it was he saw - his legs were heavy, grey, solid. Almost unmoving. It was like a flood of grey slowly spreading up his body. Twisting and turning up from points he'd already been able to see as greys on a day to day basis. Curling up across his limbs, through muscles, tendons, surges of FEAR being forced down into his gut. Heavy, thick, and maybe to some extent it was calming.

Calming to not have to try so hard because it was futile - though that did not mean that he did not continue to try and force himself forward. Even as the grey spread up from his hands, across his chest, and then nothing.

Silence. The kind of silence that his mind had embraced even to begin with. Silence was good. It was peaceful. Restful. He did not have to worry about anything, not even the most faint of white noise.

His eyes slowly shut, focusing only one the one shred of color that he seemed to still possess - the ball of red string in his hand. It felt like gravity - a pulling force that seemed to urge itself on - forward. Perhaps it was the string itself that had the willforce that pulled them forward, slowly. Inch by inch. It felt like an eternity in which it kept struggling. In which it said that they did have to move forward. A life of its own.

A life of his own.

The sensation of feeling returned first to his fingers as the slow and almost agonizing progress was made,clenching the ball of string tightly as a lifeline even as they were forced forward - no, it was progress, not force. They were forging a path, not being taken against their will. It was like a rope to freedom. Something not the stagnancy of grey and nothing. Uncertain fate. The feeling slowly spread up his arms after what felt like a millenia, then down his chest...his legs... his feet.

It took too long for it to feel as though it was him walking again, even as he made his way forward. Onward. Away from that cold feeling that had overtaken his body.

On to the end of the path. The end of the forest.

To where Medea was waiting.