Halloween Special Pt 2 - The Nightmare Carnival

[pumpkinhollow]

THE NIGHTMARE CARNIVAL

The Blood Moon Rises

Ah, Pumpkinfest. Pumpkin Hollow’s hallmark event.

The festival was created early on after the town’s inception, both in light of the abundant pumpkin harvest for which the town is named and to mark the Season of Spirits as having truly begun. It is one of the few times of year when staying out after dark is encouraged--- Jack-o-Lantern night and raucous merrymaking seemed to drive away much of the danger. And for just a few blessed days, all seems well. No monsters to devour, no horrors to haunt, no tragedy to endure. Just one week of food and music and joy, surrounded by warm light that the darkness beyond cannot seem to touch.

The light of the full moon is set as the indicator of the festival’s culmination, and the final night of Pumpkinfest is now underway. There is an air of bittersweetness today, the knowledge that this haven will dissipate tomorrow hanging unspoken over the festival. It is a blessing and a curse, encouraging more vigorous celebration from those with a fear of missing out, but also a layer of anxiety about what is to come. Things have been too peaceful for too long. What horrors lay on the other side of this temporary joy?

As it turns out, no one will have to wait all that long for the answer.

Hail to the Prince

[ Content Warnings: Rot, viscera, blood and other bodily fluids, clowns. ]

When the orange light of October sunset fades to a deep blue twilight, the merriment is proceeding as they had each night previous. However, the moment the sun dips fully below the horizon, all its protection goes with it.

The Sanguine Moon shines a brilliant orange overhead, looming close.

The clock tower chimes the hour of 7pm, but the bells sound sour. Too loud. The first hint that something is wrong, as if to get everyone’s attention before the trouble begins in earnest.

Once the seal is broken, the festival begins to change. Jack-o-Lanterns pop one at a time in a shower of black and red confetti, replaced by garish red and orange balloons wearing crudely drawn and monstrous faces. Food and drink are transformed in puffs of hideous chartreuse smoke, becoming other substances. These range from benign things such as clumps of peach jam, rotten fruit, or stagnant lake water to obscene things like unidentified offal, bile, and slimy filth. Carnival games inexplicably go up in flames, or are swarmed by bats or bugs, or simply turn to mud or sand and collapse. And the stage, which had been all prepared for Grace Holloway’s final festival performance, is briefly covered by a hideous theatrical curtain covered in chaotic patterns. When the curtain rises again, it has been completely redecorated.

The stage is now set for a harlequin act. A checkered-diamond drape now lines the back of the stage, framed by other swooping fabric swags in colors which are poorly matched. Unlit braziers are seated on either side, spilling over with copious handfuls of pumpkin guts in lieu of fire. Garlands made of foul-smelling seaweed, river reeds, strips of moth-eaten and blood soaked gauze and wilted poppies dangle in an intricate web from the rafters, rotten apples hanging from them like holiday ornaments. Animal bones and insect corpses hang from threads and litter the floor. And in the center, there is a vile and wretched mockery of a throne. It is constructed of more bones, bearing cracked halves of a broken skull on each armrest and draped in tattered silks and cobwebs.

On the throne, there sits a strange jester. His skin is a deep, dark gray, which stands in stark contrast against his gleaming white voids of eyes and enormous, crooked, toothy grin. He is wearing a patchwork costume of cobbled-together fabrics, some of which look more like thin strips of raw meat sewn to the velvet or brocade of the other pieces. His hat is enormous and seems to defy gravity, the bells jingling out abrasive and sour notes as he moves.

The jester stands, taking a bow and cackling.

“Hello, Pumpkin Hollow! Such a pleasure to meet you all at last. Do allow me to introduce myself--- I am Mendel, the Prince of Fools, and your Master of Ceremonies for this final night of Pumpkinfest! My family and I have had a special fondness for this place for many a year now, and as such, I felt it only right to liven up your party. I’ve added a whole host of unique games and a number of my helpful staff. I do hope you enjoy it! You won’t really have any choice. Ta-ta!”

Reeling back, he tosses a smoke bomb onto the stage, releasing an enormous, choking plume of rainbow-colored smoke. He vanishes, and so do you. When next you open your eyes, you will find yourself in one of Mendel’s torture games now littered around town.

Welcome to the Nightmare Carnival.

TOPSY TURVEY TERROR

[ Content Warnings: extreme likelihood of character death by ice, fire, poison, crushing, physical or supernatural violence, or by accident. Mind/body control. Disrespectful treatment of the dead. General torture. ]

A procession, raucous and grand, pushes through town. Ghouls and infernal creatures from another world throw themselves into the crowds of people, snaring people in one-armed embraces, twirling them in energetic dances, tossing arms around their shoulders and swaying with joy.

And what a joyous day it is, for the Carnival is to begin.

It seems in an instant that the colorful banners of Pumpkinfest begin to change, though whether through the light or the color itself was up for debate. Crimson torches dotted the streets, burning bright and crackling in the wind, and on the horizon, the Effigy was raised.

A mass of twigs, sticks, and foliage, in the shape of a person reaching to the sky. In its strange way, the pose almost looks almost reverent. With hair formed out of browned strands of weeping willow and a linen garment fashioned to look like the robes of the Temple, it seems to represent the late Merrick Gladwyn--- an act of further disrespect by the infernal invaders.

As it is lit, this reverence turns to a burning despair as its face is warped and distorted by heat, silent laments and pleas for aid to the Goddesses themselves that would go unheard.

Let the games begin.

The games in the carnival are all seated by unwilling participants, placed there by the Carnival Master, the Prince of Fools. The placement happened in a blink of an eye - one moment, the villagers were scattered about the streets, and next, they were randomly assigned to grim games with dire consequences--- and no escape.

Any unfortunate souls at the Nightmare Carnival will find themselves cast into one of the following games and spectacles to have their unfortunate souls:

Misfortune Teller Not all predictions of the future are particularly fortunate. The figure in the fortune-telling tent, hunched shoulders and face hidden beneath an ornate hooded shawl, slowly moves to begin drawing cards. They at first appear to be classic tarot cards, but drawing them reveals that they are… strangely specific. Do those depictions of people on them look familiar? They almost seem to shift as they're looked upon. How odd.

The misfortune teller will provide a reading that portends all manner of harrowing fates, seen below.

1. Death's Unwavering Grasp: You begin to wither at a rapid pace, losing strength with every passing second. At the end of it, you perish. This is (debatably) the worst possible outcome.

2. Visions of Plague: You fall ill, the severity of which is chosen by the player. Your escape is made more difficult by this, and it lingers beyond the carnival, as long as a normal illness of whatever chosen type would.

3. Once Frostbitten, Twice Shy: An unnatural hypothermia begins to set into you. Heat seems to do little to cast it away, but the rise of morning will thaw the curse. Can you manage to stave off the cold, or will you freeze to death in its wake?

4. Aching Hearts: An opinion of one of your loved ones has completely shattered, and you can't seem to understand why, nor shake the feeling. All you know is that somehow you are overcome with the notion that this person has hurt or betrayed you, currently feeling beyond repair. Drama!

5. Thousand-Mile Dash: You run. You run, and run, and run, until your legs no longer carry you. When your legs can no longer carry you, you crawl until your fingers bleed. (Think the dancing plague, but much... faster???)

6. Turning, Burning: In your eyes, everything is becoming consumed by flame. This doesn't impact anyone else, but if anyone is feeling skeptical, you'll receive actual burns from the invisible fires!

7. Crystalline Consumption: Starting at one small point, shining crystals in any given color begin to consume your flesh. If allowed to go on for too long, you will become a crystalized statue, and perish.

8. Stygian Awakening: The crimson flame burns in your heart. You find yourself hearing the true jubilation around you, instead of witnessing the horrors. You have fallen under Mendel's thrall. May the Goddesses have mercy on your fellow villagers you come across in this state, as you will take on both a demonic appearance and an infernal mindset.

9. Splitting Your Sides: It starts as a chuckle, a chortle, a snicker. Did the misfortune teller say something funny? All you know is that, now, you can't seem to stop yourself from laughing, growing more and more intense with every passing moment. Your lungs burn for air, your side hurts, your lips split, your face aches, but you simply can't help yourself. You laugh into the long, dark night. (Though unlikely, your character *can* die from this!)

10. The Path to Freedom: You abruptly learn the exact directions through the darkened forests to one of the abandoned cabins, isolated and away from the carnage. Congratulations! Now, just make sure you can actually make it there...

[Players may choose a misfortune if they have a specific one in mind, or roll a D10 to let chance determine their muse's fate! The method of breaking the curse can also be whatever players deem situationally appropriate as long as it isn't too simple. Use your best judgement!]

Hall of Mirrors

You find yourself in a complex maze made of mirrored walls, tasked with the objective of finding your way to the exit. As if this weren’t disorienting enough, there is an added, dangerous twist--- you are being followed. Not by any monster or specter, but by yourself. Indeed, one of your many, many reflections has gone rogue, and seeks to corner you too close to the glass pane which contains it and attack you. It cannot fully emerge, but its hands are capable of grabbing you and attacking!

However, in the distance, you can hear something. Perhaps a scream or the scuffling sounds of violence. There are other victims in the maze with you! It’s possible you can reach each other and put your heads together to escape, but beware: this doubles the danger by allowing your reflections to collaborate as well.

Knife-Throwing

A test of dexterity and skill, you are tasked with throwing knives at a slowly spinning round board with targets painted onto it. However, this game comes with a dangerous consequence: one of your fellow townsfolk is affixed to the wheel, and a lack of aim could spell their doom. Roll a D20 for one of the following results:

1-3: You miss your target. Instead, the knife has pierced a vital organ of your companion, and they die.
3-5: A miss, off the board. Your ghastly audience isn't pleased about this.
5-10: A miss, with impact on your companion, though non-lethal. Ouch!
10-15: A miss, on the board. A boring result that leaves the crowd in a grumbling huff.
15-20: You hit your target, and your companion remains unscathed! Success! The other person is released, and the two of you may attempt to escape the Nightmare Carnival.

You have as many rolls as you need to finish the game, which happens either when you hit your target or kill your counterpart.

Escape Room

You and one other resident have been placed into a room, decorated with assorted puzzles lining the walls and furniture within. An hourglass sits upon a table, counting down, and all the doors and windows are locked. Working together, you must solve the puzzles before the time runs out.

The puzzles within and their solutions are always randomized! Therefore, no guidance will give you any hints on how to get out.

[This means you can make up the puzzles and their solutions yourselves rather than relying on a mod or hidden secrets. This should make it flow a little easier for you. Enjoy!]

Those who fail to complete their challenge in time find themselves in an equally random peril that will result in their deaths if they don't take the last few seconds to escape. These things can include spikes dropping from the ceiling, the room being filled with smoke, flames, water, or noxious gas, or the walls closing in to crush those inside.

Duel to the Death

The Prince of Fools knows your heart, and has used it against you.

You've been placed into a combat arena, stone walls lining a dirt floor in a wide circle. Across from you is another competitor, but not just anyone - someone you hold dear. Weapons hang from imposing hooks scattered along the walls of the arena, and the horn has sounded. No words are needed to understand what is at play, in this horrible place: this is a battle to the death.

A few things are readily apparent upon entering the ring: both you and your opponent are feeling stronger, meaning that you can take far more licks than usual before falling. Many of the weapons dotting the walls are strikingly familiar, but there is something off about them.

Upon taking a weapon, the strange energy about the weapons becomes clear: they crave blood with a near-sentience, and your movements are no longer solely your own. No matter how your mind wrestles with them, they will charge into combat with reckless abandon with intent to kill.

Should you succeed in killing your opponent, you're celebrated by your monstrous crowd! A gate lifts, and you're given a few choice moments to escape the arena and attempt to escape the town entirely before you're dragged into a new terrible happening. Should you and your opponent try to refuse the fight, the crowd takes matters in their own hands and makes sure both of you suffer your fate together. Seemingly infinite and not felled easily, they rush into the arena, joined by warped beasts released from the iron gates, and intend to make your and your friends' blood spill one way or another.

| SPECIAL THANKS: Thank you, Harvey, for writing the games section! |

Comments

QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/CONCERNS

[pumpkinhollow]

[daddy_topside]

Can Delta use telekinesis to cheat at the knife throwing?

OTA

[witheredpeonies]

1. Still as boulders laid to the side till we pass by [Mendel's Introduction]
She sees the harlequin figure appear and realizes with a visible shudder that she has seen him before. Mendel, Demon Prince. Lies and tricks and ignorance are his domain.

And that means she knows who his enemies are: his brothers. Perhaps, perhaps there's something to be done. Immediately she steps into the form of her spectre, the cold air an extra chill on top of the merry colors and foul decorations. She will face this night as the malevolent shade she is, even if that means making distasteful alliances.

Hasn't she always done just that? Montressor and Will and Prospero. They were those who had power who she could work with. And now, now who does she have?


2. He has hoisted out of the mire every child [Misfortune Teller - Closed to Jean]
It is after Jean stumbles out of the tent, cursed, that Annabel Lee (still Lady in White flavored) finds them and swoops in. Right, they're one of the ones that needs to be here, physically and mentally, for the best chances possible.

"Jean? Jean! I need you to listen to me."


3. So lift your voice with timbrel and lyre [Hall of Mirrors]
Unfortunately, even with her plan, Annabel is still susceptible to being drawn into the trap of the games, still weak to the power of demons. She finds herself in the Hall of Mirrors, and sees the vision of half-fragmented memories of her own past. A version of her in that wide-brimmed white hat smiling over her tea before throwing the hot liquid at her. A version of her bound up in blue ribbons, tying her wrists and ankles. The one attacking her has daisies pinned in her hair and a dress styled like a backgammon board.

She doesn't remember backgammon being important to her. Why that, why that? Caught in her confusion, she almost forgets to flee, the not!Annabel grabbing on her veil and yanking her closer. Annabel Lee screams.


4. "We will abide, we will abide, we will abide" [Wildcard]
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee

2. He has hoisted out of the mire every child

[restingslasherface]

Jean is not doing well. Their first reaction to Mendel was an attempted attack, without the slightest bit of hesitation, the end result of which was being one of the first thrown into a game.

Trying to attack the Misfortune Teller didn't go well either.

They thrash as they stagger out of the tent, trying to reach a spot on their back. The soft sound of ripping cloth keeps sounding out with every move; their shirt is being cut by something, dragged across some kind of edge...

But they do stop at that voice, face snapping in Annabel's direction. Their expression softens just the faintest touch when they recognize her. "Comrade Whitlock, hahaha, ha...I might be in trouble."

3. [cw: needles]

[lovinglefthand]

"Let go of her, let go!" First Aid cries, grabbing Annabel's veil in one battered hand and her waist in the other, trying to hold her steady but gently while he tries to pry the ghost's hands open. His own double tries to join the fight, making a grab for Annabel with the needles in his fingertips fully extended -- First Aid yells and yanks hard enough to tear the veil, dumping both himself and Annabel on the floor as he scurries away from the mirror.

"Oh my god," he gasps, fans whirring with shock and the need to dump heat. "Miss, are you okay? Can you hear me? Please say something." He tries to check Annabel's pulse, her pupils. He doesn't think she hit her head in the fall, but who knows what happened before he got here...

Mirror Maze | Chris Freeman | OTA

[thelatechrisfreeman]

[Content Warning: canonically, the first iteration of Kid Eternity was killed at sea by Nazis.]

These faces are not their face. Chris knows this from the moment they lock eyes with a reflection, after stumbling and falling at the very first -- he's what Chris used to be.

Is it just one reflection pursuing Chris? They have had so many faces over the years --

Years and years. Died too soon, seventy five years too soon! Shouldn't be alive, never should've died!

But that's already passed, hasn't it? Turning a corner Chris sees himself -- too young, far too young, struggling against rough ocean as a German U-boat surfaces. They stumble on, but can't escape the sight of their own reflection as machine guns are turned on the survivors -- as they, as he, the small boy he once was... is hit by the bullets. Chris reaches out, and the reflection flails, bleeding out and trying to stay above the water --

And then their hands meet, and memories pour into Chris's mind as if this reflection was a ghost. (Perhaps he is; a ghost from a dead world.) Chris stumbles back with a horrified cry -- cracks a mirror behind them when they fall against it.

They must keep moving. They have to find the exit.

As they run, they catch glimpses of themself, twisted into forms so obviously male and wrong for them. One lowers his red-lensed glasses and stares at Chris from eyes that are simply spilling over with blinding white light. Another thrashes through some horrifying birth simulation ritual. Another stumbles through a sewer trying to escape certain death at the hands of Mordru.

And every time, those twisted reflections reach for Chris and try to grasp their hands -- try to engage their powers and pour the memories of whole lives that Chris has somehow lived before into a vessel too fragile, too small to contain all of it.

Chris isn't sure of the way forward anymore. Their head aches so fiercely, vision dimming with each throb of their heart, which is running at a too-fast pulse. And yet they crawl, in likely vain hope of the exit.

Is this how you find them? Dare you help them?

[lovinglefthand]

First Aid picks them bodily, tucking Chris against their chest as they keep moving, looking for the way out. A cracked and jagged giggle follows after them, a familiar silhouette painted black and poisoned-apple green slipping between the visions of Chris's past lives.

"Oh come on!" it cackles, voice rich with delief. "Don't tell me you're really wasting your time on them! If you're going to run, run! Don't be a coward and a fool!"

"Don't listen," First Aid mutters into Chris's hair, holding them as close as he dares without hurting them. "It's fake, just ignore it --"

"You're fake!" the voice snaps back, shoving jackbooted thugs and crying humans out of its way to keep up the pace. "This is all, heheh, this is just a bad trip or something, I'm the real First Aid, I'll prove it if I can just -- get out of this thing --"

It grabs a human by the neck and begins to smash its skull again the mirror, shattering bone and crazing glass. First Aid flinches and groans, in his revulsion nearly straying too close too close to the other side of the corridor and its own field of grasping humans, only snatching Chris away from their straining fingers at the last possible second. He whirls in place, looking for the next turn in the hall to get them hopefully out of this maze...

Oh Fuck This [OTA]

[somebodychildofanyone]

Fuck That [Mendel's Arrival]

There's a heckler in the crowd. River was having a good time and she is fucking displeased to see that this absolute fucker of mothers has both decided to attack the citizens and that he's an overdramatic bag of festering weasel cocks about it too. But she's recently learned another name, hasn't she? Someone people usually try not to call...

Someone who'd said, This is my home too.

"HEY SMILING JACK," River calls out in the middle of Mendel's speech. "YOU GONNA LET THIS TWO-BIT FOREIGNER RIP OFF YOUR ROUTINE LIKE THIS OR WHAT?"

Fuck Y'all [Hall of Mirrors]

Hey, are you looking for backup in the Hall of Mirrors? Good, so is River. She's not inclined to run like a rat in a maze, which means she's in a brawl for her fucking life against herself. The other River is dressed down - shirtsleeves and pants, scarred but missing your River's distinctive sigils - and wears a mask of fury to match River's own. Out here on this side of the mirror, the flurries of blows and grapples lead to loud impacts and high-pitched swearing in River's melodious native tongue, matched by the curses of her reflection.

Bruises are accumulating.

I'm Out [Tactical Retreat]

River's outgunned here, she's not gonna stand her ground. Once she manages to escape the hall of mirrors, she's looking to Fucking Leave. If she can rescue others on her way out, even better. Want a helping hand? Here she is.

Then again, she might be waylaid by someone with a nasty curse...

[OOC Note: If you wanna fight with River this is probably the prompt for it but do keep in mind she's gonna go for the hellfire real fast.]

Mirrors

[lordoftheozarks]

Contrary to silly myths and legends, Erik can see himself in a mirror just fine. And, for once, he sincerely wishes that weren't the case. The version of himself stalking him through the hall is a twisted visage of long exposed teeth in a malicious smile dripping with blood. The collar of his once-white shirt is stained crimson, all down the front. But more alarming, still, is that the sides of his face are covered in a soft down of feather. His hair resembles a red-tailed hawk's plume. And his bloodied hands in the mirror aren't so much hands now at talons. Oddly, the man in the mirror hasn't attacked yet. He's just staring out with those too-wide yellow eyes, and smiling. Smiling and smiling.

Aren't you going to say something, he wants to ask. But a different sound has captured his attention first. That's River's voice! And the sound of a scuffle. Dammit River.

He takes off at a human run because going faster than that would be perilous. God, this feels so unnaturally slow. He glances aside to see his birdlike reflection following him. Can't be good, but he doesn't have time to waste worrying about it.

"River!" Erik calls out, "I'm coming. Where in this godforsaken place are you?" He hopes she hears and responds. He closes his eyes, deciding to run this gauntlet blind and let the sound lead him rather than his untrustworthy sight. "River!"

cw: mutilation of the face and torso in somewhat graphic detail

[daemoniumexmachina]

At the interruption, Mendel actually stops. Just stops, completely, one might even go as far as to describe it as polite. He clasps his hands behind his back, wearing a thin smile and waiting with a strange patience.

Smiling Jack makes an appearance almost immediately upon being summoned, delighted by the attention as he steps out from a shadow and onto the stage. "Who dares to steal my killer act?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, though, Jack realizes that he has made an extremely grave mistake in answering River's invocation. He takes a step back from Mendel. "Ah--- P-Prince Mendel."

Mendel's grin widens. "You were saying? About me… stealing your act?"

"No no, I-I misunderstood, I didn't know it was you! Please, sire, you have to believe me, I didn't know---"

Mendel simply chuckles as Jack continues to plead with him, fear rising in the specter's voice. Still wearing a cheeky grin, the Prince of Fools shoves Jack into one of the braziers. This shatters the pumpkin he wears over his head, revealing the ghostly face of a man. Just a normal human man, with choppy taupe hair cut short and messy and sunken green eyes with dark bags underneath. He would look more or less like a man in a costume if it weren't for his slight translucency and Glasgow smile. He gawks up at Mendel with an unspeakable terror on his face and begs the demon for mercy as tears stream down his cheeks.

Jack's incorporeal nature doesn't seem to hinder Mendel, who shoves his claw-like fingers into Jack’s mouth and pulls open his facial scars with a short but sickly rip. The louder Jack screams his agony, the louder and more frantically Mendel laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs as he tortures the already long dead man in a way that only devils can.

Deciding he's had his fun, Mendel rams his hand into Smiling Jack’s sternum, ripping out what could presumably be his heart with a slimy crunch and wet scraping. As Jack fades from consciousness, his form fades from sight, and Mendel lifts his hand to reveal the handful of pumpkin innards where Jack’s heart should have been. He is still laughing hysterically, free hand over his eyes as he cackles raucously. Finally, he composes himself, wiping away mirthful tears.

"That was very plucky!" He praises, grinning up at River. "I admire your tenacity. And it was also very, very funny. You will regret it, though."

The last sentence is said so casually that its weight will take a moment to process. Something Mendel does not give River before he snaps his fingers, sending her off to his games alone while he finishes his spiel for the remaining, more well-behaved audience.

OTA

[lovinglefthand]

Hall of Mirrors [cw: needles]

Who can say how long First Aid is trapped in that glittering maze? He finds the exit and turns away from it again and again, pushing friends and strangers to safety before turning back to chase down another set of screams, another sobbing civilian that can't fight off their phantoms alone. His own reflection dogs him the entire time, green and shining as a witch's poison-gift. The false First Aid hurls insults at him, denigrating him and the people he's trying to save, and whenever First Aid gets too close his double tries to grab, scratching at his paint, busting his visor, sliding shining needles into his neck --

This is how First Aid knows it must be a fake. He would never, Ratchet would never let him, but the fake injects viral code directly into First Aid's mind, scouring him like steel wool, sabotaging his joints and coolant lines, and every time First Aid has to stop and cry and scrub him back out. He leaks steam and stray sparks, systems beginning to overheat -- he'll have to be so careful now every time he picks up an organic, he can't let them get hurt -- but still he persists.

He's a Protectobot. He can't leave anyone alone in this horrid place.

Knife-Throwing

First Aid is half-blind and so tired he shakes, but there's a knife in his hand...and an innocent person chained to the wall. As soon as he understands that he's meant to throw the knife he groans and tries to drop it, but it sticks to his hand. No easy way out there.

"I can't," he begs, trying to press it back into the booth keeper's gnarled hands. "I can't, please, take me instead. Put me up there, you can throw anything you want, I can take it -- just please, please --"

Misfortune -- Once Frostbitten, Twice Shy

At first the cold seeping into his lines seems almost a mercy, foolish though it might have been of him to expect anything of the kind. He is tired, and every vent he has is wide-open, fans whirring as they try to diffuse the heat from his efforts. His engine chugs, nearly dry -- didn't he refuel just this morning? But then it seems as though his coding found a hidden pocket of coolant somewhere in his body, because the heat begins to fade...

And fade...

And his plating begins to clatter, fans whirring higher and beginning to struggle...

And he gasps, collapsing to his knees with his arms wrap tight as they can around his torso, as the cold begins to burn in his chest, just beneath his spark. His rubber components stiffen and turn brittle, his tires flaking away to nothing while his plating grinds against itself, desperately trying to generate heat. Kicking up sparks that flicker and fade as soon as they touch his plating, where already the metal has sunk to a temperature that will sting and stick to the skin, if anyone is foolish enough to touch him now.

Knife Throwing

[graveling]

The person on the board for him to throw a knife at, the target, is Angel. At least you know he's not going to breathe into the knife somehow. He's not even squirming, just watching First Aid with that uncanny stare.

"They're not going to let us go, not just like that."

Once Frostbitten, Twice Shy | CW Burning To Death

[somebodychildofanyone]

River's deep in her Get The Fuck Out Of Here arc when she finds freezing body of First Aid. She's stressed, beaten down, and otherwise not thinking straight, which is why the thought that runs through her head is: I know how to thaw him.

She touches his body with a fistful of hellfire, which spreads eagerly across the metal, and then she realizes.

A long string of musical swear words in her native tongue follows.

Hall of Mirrors (CW: mentions of cannibalism)

[needmetodoanyattacking]

He entered by choice--how could he not? When he could hear the screams, when the smell of blood still clung to the inside of his nose...

He was back in that noxious little room, hung with plastic and filled with--monsters no alien race could ever conceive of. Monsters that were singularly, uniquely human.

It didn't matter that death would not linger--he felt the same cold calm he did that night as he stormed in to find the source of the screams.

His reflections come for him pretty quickly, but to attack Ianto--they do not have to come after him the way they do others. When the grasping hands reach for him, they push him towards the exit. Their faces, twisted with sick joy, whisper to him about all of the unspeakable things happening to those inside the maze, and how he will be safe outside.

Dahlia will be delicious. Jack will be a feast. Nieve will be delectable. Toshikio will be flavorful.

You...you are not for eating.

He fights the hands that propel him towards the exit, tearing and scraping and clawing to free himself from his own reflection, hell bent on letting him know precisely how his people will be tormented and murdered while he alone survives yet again.

He fights not to escape, but to reach the screams that he can hear, not realizing that some of them are his--not until the horrifying snarls of his own voice describing the meals his loved ones will become finally collides with the hollow, shaking feeling in his limbs and the knots his stomach is in and he collapses to empty his stomach yet again, feebly fighting against the hands that reach through the mirror to try and haul him to his feet so they can continue to force him towards the exit.

So he can go mad, imagining his whole world being offered up as a very literal sacrificial lamb.

Rachel Dawes | Nolanverse Batman

[lawes]

• Intro •
Rachel Dawes had spent a fair amount of time grieving her past life, but she's not one to wallow in despair. Her optimistic mind sought hope in the many aspects of this new place, and where better to start than a local festival?

Rachel, though, is no fool. She understands and respects that everything requires balance, and if she'd been given a second shot at life, she expects there to be a rather unexpected price to pay.

Having just arrived, the tolling of the bell didn't faze Rachel, but the reactions of those around her piqued her curiousity. The sound held an unusual quality, not entirely pleasant, yet not sour enough to easily connect with the startled expressions it elicited.

Little did she know, this marked only the opening act of an extremely chaotic scene.

-

Her heart sinks at the sight of the jester and the sound of his cackle, awakening in her a trauma tied to clowning figures and sadistic laughter that she didn't know she had.

Welcome to the Nightmare Carnival, indeed.

[ permissions | open to ideas! ]

TOPSY TURVEY TERROR
Optional-mix-and-match prompts
A. Meeting in the procession. Rachel will be found with her guard up and a determination to understand the unfolding situation. She's willing to navigate through the crowd to approach others ("Excuse me! Hi.") or be approached. She'll have questions, and she'd maintain a watchful eye for a potential ally. She's the type who needs a reason to trust—any, really—but that might demand time they likely didn't have.
B. Meeting at the games. She's really not up for dying today. In every scenario, whether she's the one impacted, witnessing another being affected, or both parties in dire straits, her innate sense of compassion drives her to take swift, desperate measures to aid and rectify the situation.

1. Hall of Mirrors. Open to threadhopping for this one! If not your thing, please mark the thread as locked to let others know. Also, feel free to disregard the starter below and send me one of your own:
[ Rachel is only 31, but she's really feeling it. Running like this hasn't been part of her routine for some time, if ever. She realizes that her usual 30-minute yoga sessions have fallen far short. Despite her body's protests, a blend of will and fear launches her forward. They say that if you encounter a duplicate of yourself, you might not even recognize it. Although she's uncertain about what's chasing her, the idea that it could be a version of herself is considered. It's a thought that would swiftly be dismissed if she hadn't already encountered a handful of absurdities during her short time here.

Her ear catches something that somehow resembles both a scream and a laugh, and directly by her cheek, she hears a whisper, finders keepers. It startles her, causing her to turn her head. There is nothing in sight, and before she can even process it, she collides with an unseen presence, and a grunt escapes her as she tumbles onto her back. ]

2. Escape Room. They'll likely make it out of this one, but their escape will demand teamwork and communication—a challenge that one person alone couldn't overcome, anyway (think It Takes Two but the Christopher Nolan version). They might need to forge a deeper connection, whether they hit it off or not. Either way, their survival depends on it.
3. Wildcard. If you have something fun in mind, feel free to pm this journal!

A) Procession

[batteryacid]

Eddie struggles to shove away the monstrous creature that snatched him away from Angel, but it's too strong and Eddie is swept away in the dance. The sound of baby Gwen sobbing somewhere in the bedlam makes him see red -- for all that Eddie isn't the best of fighters, they've still got a protective streak a mile wide. And he takes the next opportunity possible to aim a kick right between the creature's legs. It staggers and howls, and Eddie bolts, trying to find Sally and Gwen in the confusion --

But another ghoul grabs Eddie by the shoulders and swings him violently into a pile of mud, crawling with bugs, that used to be a normal carnival game. Eddie struggles to his feet in time to see the Effigy raised.

It doesn't fill him with the personal affront and horror of the locals, but he knows enough of the recent history to put the pieces together when the Temple-goers begin to shout and wail as the Gladwyn effigy burns.

"There's nothing good this place won't try to ruin..." Eddie growls. He's probably in earshot of Rachel by now. (Good time to ask questions if you've got 'em...)

Escape Room

[thethirteenthchild]

When Rachel finds herself in the escape rooms, she will see that a rail-thin blonde woman has also been inserted into the space.

The pair of them are cuffed with iron shackles to tables across from one another. They're close enough to reach one another if they stretch, and there are puzzle boxes placed on the wall behind each of their backs, creating a situation where each of them must operate the mechanism without seeing it. However, they can easily see each other's puzzle boxes. The solution, while tricky, seems obvious. Like a trust exercise or a game on Survivor.

Dahlia smiles sympathetically. "Well, this is one way to make a first impression, huh?"

Lord Erik Osborne | OTA | Multiples Fine

[lordoftheozarks]

Misfortune Teller [Rolled a 9]
What does one do when he does not actually need air to breathe and yet he simply cannot stop laughing? Guess we all get to find out together.

It starts as a low chuckle, but it builds. And builds. Until he's clutching himself in pain, light pink tears trailing from both eyes as he belts out an endless belly laugh that strains his throat until raw, only to have it heal and re-open, an unending cycle of pain and renewal.

He falls over out of his chair, stomping his feet against the dusty ground. "Ha, ha, h-elp!" he laughs. He can't die like this, but he almost wishes he could.

Knife Throwing
He finds himself pinned down to a board with targets placed uncomfortably close to his head. At first, he tries to yank his hands away. Bonds like these are usually no match for him. Not today. Today he is stuck no matter how hard he tugs with all his strength. So, he supposes there's only one way out of this game.

He looks to the person across from him, the one holding knives, and says in a near-deadpan tone, "I certainly hope your aim is steady."

Duel to the Death
In what he can only view as a horrible mockery of his long-ago fate, he finds himself in an arena holding a spear. He can feel its thirst for blood as if it were his own. He has long since mastered the feeling, but there is too much wildness in this weapon, he does not know if he can stave it off for long.

"Seems we must fight," he tells his opponent through clenched teeth, with fangs in full view. "No hard feelings, I hope?"

Duel to the Death

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Knows your heart, huh? Even things Chris doesn't want to admit to themself, it seems.

Here's an interesting thing, though -- those mirror-selves back in the maze had meant to torture Chris with all the memories shared, sharp and true like Chris had lived through them. Sure, a lot of it was bad. Imprisoned for thirty years in Dis is never going to be an easy time. Death at the hands of those so much more powerful. And the horrible ordeal of being trapped on a ship with a monster even before death.

"No hard feelings," Chris agrees, as they select a sword. (Sword versus spear probably won't go well for a swordsman, but there's only so much knowledge Chris can draw on.)

That one who died first... the one who'd turned against the other mirror threats for the fun of it. He learned all sorts of interesting things from the ghosts he'd called up in his second, superpowered life. Here's hoping that Jeanne d'Arc was as good as the stories say...

Chris's eyes film over with that solid red color, at a dull glow. Are they fighting the compulsion of the weapon, or giving in to it? Regardless -- here they come!

(It looks to be a head-on charge, until Chris steps out to the left and tries to attack Erik from the side by slipping past the reach of the spearhead.)

Knife Throwing

[300kgbackpack]

The fallout of the carnival transformation has thrown them in all directions, and now, here Sam is, with a straight blade in hand, staring at the man strapped to the board. How the hell did they even get him up there to begin with? Where did the blades come from?

He can't drop them, and that's perhaps the more concerning fact. Given the choice he would prefer to have some other option of what to throw...

"Aim's pretty good for moving targets," he offers, grimacing as he tosses the knife end over end, catching the blade then whipping it over his head without giving himself the chance to hesitate. The impact within an inch of Erik's ear would probably terrify most people.

[Lucas Kovach || OTA] CW: Body Horror/Transformation, future CW will be in headers

[woocas]

This is fine (mainly for reaction)
Halloween in a cursed village, what could go wrong? The week leading up to the day in question Lucas has been quietly on edge. Something's going to go wrong, because why wouldn't it? They've already had to survive creepy spider creatures and leaf monsters, giant crabs and cursed treasure. If this place follows the same logic as back home then the distance between natural and supernatural is at its thinnest.

And most dangerous.

The bells begin to chime and rattle his very soul. Lucas grimaces, hoping the moment will pass, but like a sneeze that never fully manifests his chest tightens and never releases that tension. The decorations shift, rot and tatter, before the jester himself is revealed and ushers them all into a carnival unlike any other.



Misfortune Teller - Stygian Awakening
Finding himself seated against his will, Lucas squirms in his chair. Home has fortune tellers too, but nearly all of them are fakes. With the bloody undertones of the Prince of Fools, Lucas has little doubt this is fake and whatever card is drawn is going to usher in some horror he can scarcely imagine.

Set face up the card reveals a figure that looks suspiciously like himself, flames curling around him and arms outstretched. Instead of inciting fear a strange thrill washes over the Medium. Why should someone like him worry about these ghoulish festivities? This is his bread and butter! he shouldn't be afraid, no! Revel in it! Rejoice in it!

Lucas doesn't recall leaving the tent, but with heart alight in this newfound joy Lucas is unaware of how the fortune has twisted both body and mind. Taking on a ghoul-like form, one that Erik would recognize from back in their shared world, his arms pull longer, fingers ending in darkened, claw-like fingers, his skin a deathly pallor. The Medium's modest height is unnatural stretched, leaving him a lanky towering demon stalking merrily through the carnival. With his powers of retrocognition still at play, he nabs a shrieking villager and drinks in their terrified screams as they're forced to relive the very worst of their memories. Once they've screamed themselves hoarse they're tossed aside like trash, steely blue gaze turning his sight upon a fresh victim...

((ooc: feel free to make liberal use of Lucas's memory seeing ability for this one!))



Escape Room
"Aw shit, man. I thought these went out of style a few years ago," Lucas whines. he's been in an escape room or two in his time, but the stakes were never this dire, he glances around the small room stuffed to the brim with knick-knacks and strange maps tacked the walls. No doubt all full of archaic symbols, ciphers, and other creative ways of getting them to waste time until the bitter end.

Lucas glances to his fellow escapee with a frazzled smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "I hope you're good at brain twisters, dude."

Wildcard!
((Feel free to hit me up for a custom starter!))

Escape Room

[300kgbackpack]

Sam had believed that he'd gotten far enough away from the epicenter of the disaster that the festival. He'd tried to leave when things had begun disintegrating and transmogrifying, refusing to stay and listen to Mendel's monologue (he knows better, he knows a fucking villain when he sees one) but here he is, ported into a weird little room with someone that he's never met.

Lou isn't with him. Her sling is empty. He hopes, for the sakes of everyone else, that she's being kept somewhere safe.

"Fuck is this?" he mutters, his stance low and his eye on the hourglass that's already starting to trickle their time away. Escape room? He's never heard of it. It seems like the other guy has, though. "What, like riddles?"

Ianto Jones | OTA (CW: mentions of cannibalism, allusions to PTSD)

[needmetodoanyattacking]

Misfortune Teller

The aftermath of the...transformation...is almost more than Ianto can bear.

It didn't bother him. It didn't. Not remotely, he'd seen worse. He'd seen so much worse.

(Meat. So much meat, that's all they were. That's all any of them were...the smell is back in his nose and it won't go away...)

Finding himself abruptly in the presence of the bloody fortune teller is almost a blessing. Almost.

He can still smell the blood. He's not sure he'll ever stop.

And when the cards are drawn, showing him his alleged future, Ianto doesn't care. He doesn't believe it.

He doesn't make an immediate connection, because there's blood in his nose and the harlequin's display is still in his head, and he can still see that woman's smile, still see and smell all that meat...

He makes it a few feet from the fortune teller's tent before he manages to duck around a tree and drop to his knees to empty his stomach just out of sight.

It's not the first time, and it won't be the last. Not for quite some time.

(Ianto has been afflicted with Visions of Plague. Please feel free to encounter his monstrously stomach flu-riddled ass. :P)

Wild Card

[Pick one of the other events and write a starter! Ianto will join you. Otherwise, the sickly one shall be tagging about the festivities. :D]

Misfortune Teller

[thelatechrisfreeman]

[[ OOC: Just because I like a timeline... putting this interaction after the Hall of Mirrors but before the Duel to the Death. ]]

Chris is feeling... less horrible than they did in the Hall of Mirrors. The too-many memories of those mirror-self ghosts are still swirling in Chris's head, but they've integrated enough that the pounding headache has subsided. There's got to be a way to get out of the carnival grounds, to escape the cavorting demons...

The sound of someone groaning in pain, and the sharp smell of sick catches Chris's attention. They waver for just a moment, but do head over to investigate. They're a doctor, or at least a medical assistant, on this island. They can't leave someone to suffer.

"This is Chris Freeman," they call out, as they approach in the dark, "I work with Dr. Winterbottom. What's happened to you?"

Jon Sims | OTA

[apocryphalarchivist]

Misfortune Teller
( Rolled 8 - Stygian Awakening! )

From the moment the Prince of Fools began his speech, Jon felt his stomach twist with dread. It wasn't the first time he'd stared down a manifestation of evil, but it never got any easier.

He had no idea just how bleak things would become, though.

It all happened in a flash: the smoke bomb, the shift in space, his arrival. His mind reeled at his displacement, even as the teller drew their cards, gnarled hands laying one out at a time. They were unlike anything he'd seen in a standard-fare tarot deck, the symbols strange and warped, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from them.

As the last one was drawn, he felt his breath catch in his throat, and he staggered away.

The change began.

Yet, how much of a change was it, truly?

The burning crimson flame, cruel, tore at his heart. It felt as though it fueled parts of him that he'd desperately tried to snuff out.

He'd been changing back in his prior life, and he knew it. It was a truth he'd tried to deny and cover up here; this was a new leaf, after all, and beyond his connection to the looming Fears that lurked just beyond the edge of the world, no one needed to know the true depths of his nature.

What humanity he clung to was being burned in the flame, however.

Two eyes were not enough to truly See.

He was losing himself, and he couldn't resist it any longer.

He, who watches and knows and understands none. He, who listens and hears and will not comprehend. He, who waits and waits and drinks in all that is not his by right.

The Archivist joins the infernal masses, drinking in all terror he can See.
(Warning: slight eye strain!)

-

His horrible feeding isn't aimless, unfortunately. Should he see a familiar face, he'll waste little time to seek them out. With his Knowing and Seeing thrown severely into overdrive and his appetite ravenous, he'll pull painful knowledge and recollections of terror from anyone he can get his hands on.

From your nightmares poured forth, the Archivist will thrive.

(Perhaps, with enough determination, he can be pulled from his state - but what a horrible risk to get so close that would be.)


Wildcard

( I'm plagued and my brain doesn't work too good atm, so this top level for ol' Jonny is all I got - if you have any ideas, though, feel free to hit me up! :D )

Misfortune Teller

[batteryacid]

Eddie's plan was simple: get in, find Sally and Gwen, get out, hide them in Angel's house in town... or run to his own farm if the house isn't safe.

But, as he'd observed to himself about Rachel's willingness to accompany him back to Carnival... would the newcomers even be here if they weren't the sort to run in and help?

Eddie sees one of the locals screaming and trying to crawl away from a... humanoid shape with too many eyes, and he can't stop himself from running in to grab them and pull them to their feet. He pushes them to stand behind him and glares at the... thing.

"Last time I faced off against something eye-based, I ended up stomping all over it. You wanna try me on for size?"

Eddie is frightened, don't get it twisted. But he's got plenty of practice in shoving down his own fear to protect others.

[[ OOC: So hey, wanna do some of that 'address the first statement Eddie submitted' here? :) ]]

Closed to Sally

[batteryacid]

Eddie struggles to shove away the monstrous creature that snatched him away from Angel, but it's too strong and Eddie is swept away in the dance. The sound of baby Gwen sobbing somewhere in the bedlam makes him see red -- for all that Eddie isn't the best of fighters, they've still got a protective streak a mile wide. And he takes the next opportunity possible to aim a kick right between the creature's legs. It staggers and howls, and Eddie bolts, trying to find Sally and Gwen in the confusion --

But another ghoul grabs Eddie by the shoulders and swings him violently into a pile of mud, crawling with bugs, that used to be a normal carnival game.

But it doesn't matter how often the demons intercede to keep Eddie from his goal. He is determined to find Sally and Gwen, and get them to safety. The spare key for Angel's house in town is heavy in Eddie's pocket, a promise of a place to hide, if all goes well.

[[ OOC: Partly taken from my reply to Rachel Dawes, but I figure it works as an opening as well. Eddie will be bouncing around to others' threads to cover the time before he manages to find Sally :) ]]

[sunshinesally]

Sally can be found in one of the escape rooms.

Whoever her partner was, they're already dead, and her time has run out. Gwen is wailing because Sally is shouting, sobbing, begging for freedom as she pounds at the locked door.

"HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP, I HAVE A BABY!" She really does not want to let Gwen come to any more harm.

Snakes Tolliver | The Wild Wild West | OTA

[worstorganplayer]

Hall of Mirrors

Snakes wanders the funhouse, heart pounding, trying not to cringe and shake. "I knew something was gonna go wrong! I knew it, I knew it!" he snarls to himself.

One of his reflections starts to laugh, his expression twisted in sadistic amusement. "You knew it, huh? But you didn't stay on guard enough! You're soft! You've always been soft and stupid! Why do you think you messed up getting rid of Posey? You're no good at murder!" And he reaches out through the glass with a leer.

"What the ... ?!" Snakes yelps as he turns to flee. Why do things always get worse for him?

Knife-Throwing

((OOC: I rolled an 18, so whoever is here is safe with Snakes, to Snakes' shock.))

And of course, things get even worse. Now Snakes finds himself staring at someone he knows tied to a rotating thing with targets. As he's handed the knives and told the rules, he almost drops them all.

"You've gotta be kidding, Pal! I'm no good at this!"

But he has no choice but to do his best throwing. He grips the knife, his knuckles white. Sergio back home might be able to do this. Not Snakes. He can't.

He draws a deep breath. This is the only way. Just like at the parade, he has to do this for both their sakes. He prepares to throw, studying the moving target very carefully.

Knife-Throwing

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris seems rather calm for someone tied onto a rotating board, about to have knives thrown at them.

They manage to send a smile his way, even though they are scared. And their voice is firm. "I trust you, Snakes. I know you'll do your best."