Completed Storehouse Massacre

[Hwyn]

Hwyn Making it about halfway through the main room Hwyn's courage, what little of it he had left any way, began to ebb out of him. The sounds within the room went from odd, to malevolent in a short frame of moments. One sound Hwyn heard that didn't sound like it was coming from the house or the storm was a fain scratching that came from the other side of the room. As Hwyn was half creeping half crawling through the darkness fumbling past boxes covered in ancient dust. Then, the door behind him opened and lightning crashed illuminating in the doorway a great beastly visage with wings and fur. Was this the domicile of some monster? Nearly jumping out of his Skin Hwyn bolted for the door he had been heading for Praying that Shimoje was on the other side, he no longer cared if he would get scolded for following the man, he just wanted to find a familiar face. Going towards the back of the room towards the scratching sound that Hwyn had heard, that sounded like an animal or human might make Hwyn tried to open the door he found in the darkness. his fingers scrabbling for a handle. When turning the handle alone didn't open the door Hwy slammed of his small shoulders into it effectively opening it. He was met by a frigid chill running up his spine and the door slamming back shut behind him. If possible the room he found himself in now was even darker than the previous one. It fell oppressive as if the very air was leaden with weight. visible shaken Hwyn swallowed again and mustered his courage to keep moving. Making his way forwards Hwyn found a railing, and stairs that led downward. Moving down the stairs as quickly as he could Hwyn's foot caught something and he managed to descend the second half of the stairway face-down. Upon entry to the basement Hwyn fell face down unable to catch himself. A stinging palm informed him that he had managed to cut his palm on the way down, perhaps on a nail or box or something, the room was still too dark for Hwyn to be able to tell a thing. Then came a disturbing sound that made Hwyn's stomach sink. the door behind him slammed shut. Perhaps the thing he had saw coming in had locked the door behind him? Maybe it was in here with him. His whole frame shaking Hwyn began to crawl through the room hoping to find some where to hide from the whatever had trapped him in here. Unknown to him he was leading a trail of bloody hand prints behind due to his wounded left palm. As Hwyn was crawling Hwyn bumped into something that was not quite as aged feeling as the rest of the things that resided in the building, it was a leather bag, in the darkness it had something familiar about it. In the damp wet decaying smell that filled the basement Hwyn picked up on the familiar warm smell of sawdust, the smell that Shimoje practically wore, this had to be his, Hwyn thought to himself. But if this was his, where was he? Then came the whispers. All dead, dead by fire, leave, we all die... Are they gone? Hwyb didn't know what to say, what was their to say, the voices, were speaking as if death was inevitable and that nothing could be done about it, He just wanted to find Shimoje and leave, this place was horrible, it smelled terrible his hand hurt, he felt bruises forming from his fall, there was a monster up stair. It was all too much. Crwaling until Hwyn felt he had reached a corner Hwyn pulled his knees to his chest and softly wept in fear for his life and the life of his friend who he had yet to find the courage to save. What if Shimoje was already dead, what if he needed Hwyn. He was not a hero, but could he forgive himself if he let a friend die? was living important if he did. Sucking up his tears Hwyn tried to think in the silence of the basement. Hwyn thought, one of the whispers he had hear sounded like a child. Maybe Hwyn wasn't alone down here, maybe.. he could find an ally, someone else to crawling through the darkness with. Even with a stranger the darkness was less scary. "I'm... still here, but I can't see.... can you?" Hwyn shakily held out his bleeding hand while still clutching Shimoje's bag in the other. He might die, maybe his breaking the silence had invited death. If it had, he wanted to die holding with some good memories. So he pressed his nose into the leather bag in the darkness and hid from the scent of death thinking of wood and sawdust.

[Shimoje]

Aranta Arrives

Floorplan and description of the area

Secret :

http://www.mizahar.com/forums/gallery/pic.php?mode=large&pic_id=52155

Maniacal laughs were heard from the bottom of the basement as Hwyn crawled with his bloody handprints leaving a distinct trail. The spirits had most definitely chased him down there. As if there was something down there they did not want Hwyn to see or get at. As Hwyn found Shimoje's pack and started to fondle it, the spirits seemed to watch with a careful eye. Now a bit more relaxed knowing that Hwyn was just a lost child relishing in this bag's smell for some reason.

Suddenly whispers turned to more of a darker and throaty voice. A series of different spirits surround Hwyn as he dared them to show themselves. "See! See! See! See!" after each word the throaty voice let out a laugh of mass hysteria. Soon before Hwyn a manifested set of bodies appeared. They all looked very grisly and disgusting, showing signs of being burnt to death. They charged towards Hwyn and suddenly dissipated into a cloudy shadow that quickly shot upwards into the ceiling.

* * *
The child ghost by the stairwell on the main floor once again asked "Are they gone." Her voice calm and subtle, but far reaching as it echoed all across the entire storehouse.

Speech Thoughts

[Aranta]

Aranta had heard the same door he had come through banging open and then slamming shut several more times, revealing brief flashes of the interior of the building, but never enough for Aranta to actually gain any knowledge or details, nothing he could actually use, and fear was beginning to crawl up from the Zith's belly, though he tried his best to throttle it back. He could not afford the distraction that it would cause, not now, not when there was so clearly something dangerous going on. Gods, but Aranta should have never stepped inside; the screams and wails grew in intesity as he made his way farther into the dark, trying his best to pick out anything, even the tiniest little detail, but without some light, it was all but impossible. When the boxes and other items began flying about the air, rearranging themselves and all seeming to converge on a central point that Aranta couldn't place; the Zith screeched in fear, trying his best to dodge the flying debris that he could not see. In the end, he crouched down in a fetal position, wings curled protectively around himself as he hoped that nothing sharp would strike them; a downed Zith, a Zith who could not fly, who was not whole, was as good as a dead Zith. When the chaos eventually died down, Aranta finally dared to look up, drawing his hands back from where they had been curled protectively about his face. He could still see very little, and there was no sign of the small human he had followed into the storehouse. The scent of blood, however, was thick and sharp in the air - both fresh and old blood, and some other scent that he could not place. Carefully getting to his feet, the Zith began to make his way forward, ears and eyes straining for any hint of a clue as to what could be going on; he heard a voice ask, "Are they gone?" It sounded like a human child, the sound echoing in an uncanny way that sent shivers spiraling down Aranta's spine. Determination firming between his shoulders, the Zith began making his way towards the voice.

[Shimoje]

Aranta Arrives

Manifesting in and out form the child, trying to hide by the staircase, upon arrival of the winged creature let out a shrill scream and dissipated shortly only to reform in the fragments of a voice that faded in and out. “They killed… in basement...” was all that could be made out before the child’s voice began to weep uncontrollably with a muttered word of “mother” amongst the crying. Finally, the child was embraced by another form as the ghost which had appeared to Shimoje catered to the needs of the child, whispering sweet nothings to it. The whispers would sound almost malevolent to the group there, but this was really the child’s mother.

She turned towards the Zith and reacted in a way of self-defense upon seeing the wings. Grabbing the child she turned and faded away, not wishing to actually harm the Zith.

Speech Thoughts

[Jade Laken]

Jade gasped when she was suddenly knocked flat on her arse. Quickly she crawled in a random direction. The only reason that the blond stopped was due to the fact that boxes had started flying. Putting her arms up she tried to stay clear of the boxes. Unfortunately one clipped her on the head knocking her to the ground and cutting her head open. Crawling more she found some kind of stairs, growling gently she managed to get on them and out of the way. Hearing a sudden screech made the blond climb to the top quickly. Several times she lost her footing and her knee slammed on to the stairs. Wincing the woman finally made it to the top, the only thing that greeted her was another round of noxious odors.

Gulping down the bile that had risen in her throat she crawled in and away from the door. Content with where she was Jade stood up only to have her first step be interrupted by something warm and squishy on the floor. She screamed while toppling to the ground again. Groaning she shifted some and held her ankle panting. A slimy weird feeling sent a shiver up her spine, gently moving her feelings the woman let out another shrill scream. Her fingers had just found their way into somethings mouth. Scrambling to get up the woman became disoriented again falling onto her back side. Coughing from the dust that was beginning to stir up she sat there trying to figure out what was going on.

"All Dead, Dead by fire, leave, we all die...."

That was all the blonde heard from the darkness. Jade was not easily brought to tears, but something about this place made her want to just sob uncontrollably.

"Wh-who are you? Wh-what happened here?" Jade called out forcing her voice to stay strong for her.

[Shimoje]

Corpses come to life?

Decaying corpses and freshly killed animals plagued the entire upstairs room. Their scent known to be almost unbearable. Suddenly all of the corpses started to shake and move, some standing up in a crude joke that the other malevolent spirits were playing on the two, a few managed to make their way to the stairs and they moved in an almost zombie like, slow fashion, shadows surrounding their body.

Their deathly visage of faded white turned towards Jade as she scuttled across the room, and one of the dead animals managed to get thrown upon her as if tackling her, scratching at the floor next to her head as she struggled during the process. Another went and attacked Shimoje who was utterly in shock from the whole ideal. It just made the process even more traumatizing. He responded by standing up in fury and tears and relentlessly swinging his daggers towards the unresponsive corpse which caused blood and guts to spew all across the room in a shower of crimson.

Soon enough the animals attacking Shimoje and Jade subsided as a group of new dead corpses rose, as a collection of ghosts in and out of materialization could be seen puppeteering the animals. All of them, managed to work their way down the stairs and headed towards both Ferrin and Aranta. There were about 2 dead cats and 3 rather large stray dogs which had met their demise earlier now being played with as they made their way to the group below.

Speech Thoughts

[Ferrin Al'Mandrikan]

Timestamp

As the Kenashian attempted to reason with whoever slammed the door on him. Things changed with tremendous velocity. It was mainly a blur to Ferrin. The voices. Whispers mainly. In fact, Ferrin didn't really know who he was even talking to at that moment. It was all strange and weird. The Kenashian was pulled and dragged across the stone floor. His chin scrapped against the tiles that was exposed to this... activity. He was thrown against the wall and landed with a thud and a moan of pain and shock. Then, the room had things flown about it creating a noisy mess of things banging against the front door.

Everything had happened so quick to Ferrin that he couldn't quite interpret what was really going on. Everything was dark, and musty. Ferrin felt his face to make sure anything was not broken or bleeding. Then the rest of his body. Only a few scrapes and bruises on his arms and legs, but he was missing something... His shirt broadsword and his shield. Petch. If anything, he wouldn't mind a broken bone, but without his weapons he was utterly useless without them.

Ferrin slowly got on his knees and started searching for his blade, maybe it had skitted somewhere. He looked like a person who had lost his glasses, but can't find them and was moving his hand around uselessly. He never liked the feeling of being useless. It didn't do him any good sitting around and doing nothing. But, he wasn't doing nothing. He was doing something, trying to fight for his life. After a few horrid ticks. The Kenashian managed to find his sword as he gripped the hilt if the blade tightly.

There was thumps coming from downstairs and echoes with whispers coming from both upstairs and downstairs. Ferrin shuttered, his hairs on his back grew long and stiff upright. The room almost felt like a cellar. A place like the Tank in Syliras. Where the criminals of the Fortress City of Peace would be contained and held before trial. A cellar that contained the smell of death and decay. It was humid, not only from the weather outside, but because of its stone like infrastructure. Wet mainly, dripping water from the rains outside.

Ferrin couldn't gather the wits to speak. His throat was building up with bile and Ferrin also had this peculiar feeling of wanting to fall unconscious. Though, with his knees buckling and his arms shaking. He managed to swallow in whatever meal he had last and spoke. "Please, we don't mean you any harm. No death!" Said Ferrin a bit childishly. His voice cracked at the last word. Death. It was something he did not mean to think much of. Ferrin was a type of guy who always viewed his glass as half full.

Some time had flew by. A devilish sound of low hued growls and snapping crooked teeth came down from upstairs. The scent of blood and death and even decay lingered heavily and Ferrin gagged. "I can't be... Alone." Said Ferrin cowardly as he had squinted through the darkness as dead animals suddenly poured through from the staircase. A dog snarling could be heard just a few feet from where Ferrin stood, and a few cat hisses can be heard as well. Ferrin grasped his short broadsword tightly with sweaty palms around the hilt. Ferrin couldn't quite figure out how to fight what he can't see, if the Gods were on his side. He'd pray to Sylir and Priskil for strength and hope, as well as the light. "Oh may the Gods help me." Then the fighting of his throat grew tighter and more warm. With the aroma if decay intoxicating his breathing. The bike poured all in front of him as the Kenashian stood weakly. He crouched on one knee to attempt to breath, but couldn't contain himself. It was either him, or these beasts. No, it has to be... The beasts of the undead. They can't take Ferrin now. Not now...

[Shimoje]

The entity reveals himself.

The ghosts manifested themselves and puppeteered the dead animals as if they were one with them. Their manifestations almost instantly reacting to every action that Ferrin or Aranta would make. Every tantalizing gasp for air amongst the humid storehouse would surely cause them grow nauseous. The smell of bile now amongst the smell of horrendous death.

Suddenly two tongues were ripped out of two of the canines mouths by the spirits and thrown at both Ferrin and Aranta, in some crude joke. Marking their prey before they strike. In a rough motion and poor dragging of their feet the ghosts then proceeded to make their animalistic and mad natures that much more benign. The ghosts wanted to play with everyone’s mind, to make the susceptible for being possessed. A weak mind would surely be taken over. Suddenly a dark mast of shadow like no other appeared before the two, and with the spewing of guts each animal was quickly ripped apart and thrown at them in pieces, much more violently than the tongues had.

The very dark figure seemed to grow larger, and with it a sudden bright manifestation of white showed his form. It was humongous, and not even of a human form. The white mist illuminated just enough to show everyone their surroundings then quickly dissipated, but the form… the form was one of a sort of hairy beast. A gorilla, and he was gone after saying but one thing in a tone that was both knowledgeable and assured. “Yes. Death.”

Speech Thoughts

[Shimoje]

First Possession, but not the last.

Shimoje cried out for help as the dead animals began to lash onto him. Amongst his scramble her heard another voice. A recognizable voice. “Jade! Help!” He cried out and crab-walking backwards to get away from the various animal parts that were marauding him, leaving a few shallow scratches. Sweat profusely started to drip, and in turn mixed with the dried blood and guts that covered his body. As it dripped down some got into his mouth, and instantly he began to dry heave, and eventually throw up.

He sat there, overwhelmed as the attacks finally subsided daggers clutched in his hand which he had no idea how to respond with now. He was reaching his breaking point, when finally visage of mother and her daughter in full human form appeared before him. She spoke quietly and in her white visage calmly approached Shimoje. “It… Alright… Help, clear… Mind”

Shimoje was relieved to actually be able to see something, but the utter disgust and taste of bile and blood in his mouth was overwhelming. He had a headache and a very bad feeling as if he was growing dizzy. Suddenly the female ghost flowed her body into white mist and charged into Shimoje, and Shimoje’s vision went black once again.

Suddenly as if dreaming images of the woman appeared. She granted him memories and visions of her past life as a spiritist. Before him like a dream showed various images of making some sort of food in her mouth and mixing it with her blood. It turned into a white dough which she then showed images of her combating against various ghosts in the flurry of motion with various scenes using different tactics. Suddenly Shimoje collapsed, not strong enough to take the sheer power into him. His body fell lifeless to the floor and her white visage once appeared before the room to Jade.

She approached with a sad face and spoke out loud. “I… try.. Help, The Jamouran… ghost. Killed us all….” Her voice grew tired and the toll of the possession and manifestation began to tire her. “help us… others… not self. I help … you… later.” She stated before disappearing with her child.

Shimoje woke soon after and began to crawl. The images still running through his mind. He threw up once more, now getting rid of all of the contents of his stomach. He began to shake violently in the process while dry heaving. He knew what had to be done, but couldn’t even talk. Regardless his hoarse voice attempted anyways, as he crawled towards Jade and latched onto her as if pleading for help like a child. His head resting against her stomach in a desperate attempt, almost reviling in the human touch.




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"My Speech." "Other Speech."

[Hwyn]

Hwyn Hwyn had asked to see them indeed, but getting what he asked for was perhaps worse than being given his request. Appearing before him were several corpses all blackened and charred like embers lest to cool. The sight was gruesome but not perhaps the worst thing Hwyn had ever seen, charring fire and the smell of burnt flesh were all to common in his homeland and for once Hwyn was almost glad that he had grown up near the slag heap of Sunberth. Clenching the bag tighter as the emanciated corpses surrounded him Hwyn was about to give up hope when at once they were gone, again, he was alone. Sitting in the basement in the darkness Hwyn's fear ebbed out of him, he was less afraid because he realized that the only thing that had hurt hi so far was his own clumsiness, and more than that, His friend was here, and he might need him. Hwyn knew that Shimoje must be near after all he had found his pack of tools. Hwyn had yet to see him go anywhere without that bag. Shakily taking to his hands and then standing in the darkness Hwyn pulled out the short sword made from dark steel, he had heard once that ghosts feared such metal but he had never had or wanted a chance to test it out. In his other hand he held the leather bag, staining it with his blood sadly but it was a source of courage for him, without it he really would be alone. "W-w-whoever is out t-there. I-I'm not afraid of you! Holding out the bag You took the man that this belonged too, and you had better give me him back! Or I-i'll be forced t-to Kill you... Again!" The bravado was faked but Hwyn hoped that he could bluff ghosts just as easily as he could guards. Clenching the bag tightly his wounded hand stung but by the same token it gave him something other than fear to focus on. It gave him anger, which gave him more strength than any Adrenalin caused by fear could. Standing their in the dark Hwyn adopted a loose defensive stance ready to strike out at anything that might approach with malevolent intent. "Shimoje, were are you?" Hwyn whispered to himself. Alone in the dark the child stood sentinel whilst chaos reigned two floors above Hwyn fought a much darker battle, one against himself and the weighted darkness that threatened to again rip away some of the peace he had found. He would not fall so easily, not to fear and not to the darkness. He found solace in the fact that no amount of dark could scare him more than the desolation he felt at the thought of being alone again.