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OOC: This post was made possible thanks to the Arcane Displacement Feet– I mean feat. Naturally this is not common knowledge ICly. Credit to ScoutTheWitch for the page divider and the art border. Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QwxYiVXYyVs “Are you ready?” Questioned Valindra, as she finished the etching of the final occult rune on the circle situated in the very corner of her quarters. The sigils were truly of no immediate origin, and seemingly a collection of random inscriptions devised from the mind of the ‘aheral. Candles of numerous lengths sat lit on the very edges, and a line of salt was scattered around even these, as to deter any cosmic horrors that dare try to follow them back to Aos and Eos once their glorious expedition had been seen through. “Ti!” Responds Ryvel with a nod. A look of nervousness and excitement spread across his features and was even clear in the tenseness of his body language. After, he steps into the circle with Valindra, bag full of supplies in hand, as well as a Celianorian flag. Trepidation was visible betwixt the pair, the tension so thick, one might ponder if it could be cut through with a knife. “The cosmos is a beautiful place, Ryvel. You will see.” The ancient magus assured, blowing away the wood shavings from her carving efforts. Striking a light to each candle, she rose to a stand, stepping into the very centre of the circle and wordlessly bidding the ‘ame to join her via an outstretched hand. Readily accepting the offer without so much as a second thought. Nods were exchanged between the pair, and Valindra cleared her throat, speaking forth a phrase that only she knew the true meaning of. “In mundo confidimus, quid agam nescio.” A pause came, and nothing appeared to happen. For a moment, the walker was filled with worry that her ritual, one she’d practiced now several times over, had failed at the very last hurdle. Confusion crossed her features, followed by irritation. With a stomp of her foot, she bellowed out one final word, a warning to whatever cosmic forces powered the ritual. “Perge!” The runes etched upon the ground suddenly flared with an occult indigo glow that rose up and curled around the frames of the two would-be adventurers. Higher and higher, brighter and brighter.. And with one final flash, they were gone, having bid their home realm of Aos and Eos a temporary farewell in their search for extra-planar glory! For a while, there was naught but darkness for the pair, the light that had consumed them having dazzled their vision. All that they knew, at least for a few seconds, was the most ghastly, fungal stench. After a few moments had passed, the pair turned to one another holding their breath and suppressing gags, wretches and even expelling the fine lunch they’d enjoyed just a few moments prior. Their vision began to return, the initial stun dissipating, though at what cost? Almost immediately, hands darted to backpacks to cover their faces with those air purifier cloths, as to at least negate some of the horrid odour that surrounded them. The smell hit before all, though as the pair eventually got a grasp of their other senses, they stared around in joint horror. Before they had felt a soft, supple ground, with a few tall grass-like bristles, yet so very different. Now they had all too quickly come to realise that that squishy ground was flesh, those bristles were hair, and that putrid scent came from nothing less than the mountains of feet they were surrounded by. Toes towered above them, attached to the end of one particularly large foot, dwarfed still by a number far off in the distance. It was feet, toes, legs and ankles as far as the eye could see. And with every second, the pair were covered in a snow of athlete’s foot. The pair exchanged but a single glance, for that was all that was needed to convey their awe and disgust (though mostly the latter). As beautiful as the cosmos are, nobody would dare refute the vile, ungodly nature of this plane. With Celian flag and climbing gear in to(e)w, the pair began to scale the biggest of the five toes before them, clinging onto the skin to support them for dear life. “I refuse-” Valindra began, though choking breath follows the cut off words, unable to suppress her body’s natural reflex to gag at the scent. Even with perfumed respirators, the stench proved too great, a truly vicious adversary. “..to die here!” Ryvel finishes for her, a similar gag taking place with the ‘ame before breaking into a coughing fit. A hand raised to place over the cloth that covered his face, trying to close off the putrid air from reaching his lungs. Finally, after cresting the final, yellow toenail that marked the top of the mountain they aimed to scale, the pair were finally able to get a good glance at this abomination of a plane they’d landed in. Toes here, Bunions there.. Feet everywhere. With a brisk, impatient wave of her hand, Valindra motioned for Ryvel to sink the pole of the Celian flag he carried into the flesh atop the toe, sparking a jerk of that appendage in pain. As to avoid being thrown off from the peak of Mt. Footsuvius, the pair deftly rappelled down the side of the fungus-laden toe to rush back to their point of arrival. One final look was all it took, to convey their overwhelming desire to both leave and unsee the realm they’d unfortunately landed themselves in. With a final, victorious battle cry betwixt gags, wretches, and groans of repulsion, Ryvel and Valindra disappeared in a flash of purple light, covered in footly stench, dead skin and spores of fungus. “Ay’Celianor!” As quickly as they had vanished did both Ryvel and Valindra return, physically fine, but mentally changed. The pair had danced among the stars as aengudaemons so did… But at what cost?
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 OOC Note: This particular roleplay instance is restricted in-game knowledge, not to be meta-gamed. A step through the threshold and Cunimund felt his foot plant, but saw the arch of his foot span towards the visible horizon. His breath caught as he visually experienced himself lurch forward into an archway filled with colorless black. In a split second, he felt a hand against his chest hold him in place as he and Um'thraka shunted through to a new plane. A second after, Cunimund felt himself lean forward half-expecting to fall and his breathing become agitated, excited. The elder Ork appeared next to him, still with his arm braced against Cunimund's chest, unflinching and unaffected by the sojourn between the mortal plane and where they stood now. The first step after the sojourn tossed fresh embers and smote wood up as if the earth beneath him belched the fiery remains of a forest fire. Cunimund's breathing grew exasperated as black dust choked him; his eyes welled with tears agitated by the odious air beneath a forehead already smearing with dust and debris. He closed his eyes and batted his lashes as ash blew with forge-bellowed winds and danced across the ground in front of him in little dust devils and harmattans. The surface of the ground both Cunimund and Um'thraka stood on spread unevenly, alternating in color between pitch black and a rich, striated orange one might see when an ember is fed a blown breath. The firmament above them ran the same alternating colors; the two of them had shunted into a cavern. Um'thraka bade Cunimund to follow, having found a solitary exit from the chamber they just arrived in. The two approached the mouth of the cave by shuffling against the cavern walls towards both sides of the opening. A dull, grotesque drumming echoed into the cavern they shared; its sound low enough to indicate a far distance. They both peered out and onto an expansive plain whose sky glowed a sickly pink and towered overhead starless and unremarkable. The Ork grunted and jabbed a thumb to the horizon where the sky and the open plain met. Cunimund's face sagged with the weight of forlorn and regret. Two-hundred yards from them marched a wicked host. The demons that comprised this host varied in size and in form; some marching on two feet while beasts of burden pulling unwieldy siege engines dragged them on four or eight feet. Some carried polearms and zweihanders with two hands while others carried smaller arms in four hands total. Their bodies were scored with eldritch tattoos and jewelry, some had grotesque horns and appendages of bone jutting out from their heads.
