Realistic or Modern Inter-dimensional Tale (RP)

[Troldmand]

They were breaking through the fabric of our earth to see a new one. Once upon a time, they performed a ritual; cast a Mark on their souls; vowed to reach the Wastes should they fall out of favour with their origins. Their souls were now free, albeit chained still to plights and gripes of human body – cold, fright and worry. Their teeth chattered with the cold as they drifted through a fathomless abyss immobile and alone, and shuddered at the thought of this cosmic voyage being “the promised Paradise” itself, in all its ironic glory. Indeed, what they eavesdropped on resonated with a haven for all beings and doings Arcane – passed on through the word of a commoner – but what they bore witness to could seem akin to Paradise only to a chap they’d consider disturbed, if not sadistic. Not to mention they could not move a muscle -- almost a bad case of sleep paralysis. Yet still, this circumstance persisted and no light at the end of the tunnel brightened their misery until a lucid voice disturbed their subconscious.

"Cast aside your fears, my dear sage," said the Voice. "We feel your presence in the realm of Arcane. You need not worry, as you have made the grade against all odds. Lay dormant now, and you will wake up in your new... home, [ Sarathryn , see Spoiler]" the Voice let out a sudden snicker and dissolved as it took shape -- an abrupt standstill and a confused gaze on ethereal faces of ascending souls.

A flash of light blinded all a moment later; a herald of triumph and breaker of the blasphemous monotony of existence beyond life and afterlife they all were subjected to against their will. In a flash they felt merry; they found comfort being bathed in a chambré shine as they assumed a corporeal shell; a new and unscathed body. Cosmos be damned, this sense of tranquillity vanished as soon as they could twitch and thrash -- their bodies as real now as their sense of self -- and gave way to a thorough slumber.
An eternity had just passed, it seemed. Each one of them -- and there was five -- breathed in as if about to choke on a mouthful of tea. Vision came to them a few seconds later -- and so did other senses -- only for them to find themselves confined in frigid coffins sealed in such a way as to merit the use of their spells. Come to think of it, what a crackpot would stuff a sage into a coffin? What for? To see poor lads and lasses suffocate and die and in the realm of the dead? Questions, questions. Tis a realm of wonders, no less.

Spoiler: For Paovun

"You, my dear Paovun, I beg to seek out a dame named Ewa Mazur. You tore your soul out of your body with your own hands to see this earth; I admire your enthusiasm, if you will, and wish to see your skills made use of in the right place, at the right time, for the right cause. Do not brush off my offer lightly."

Tags:
Noble Scion The Mechanist wafflegirl Sarathryn myst.erion

 

[Noble Scion]

Kirin Fowl

Spoiler: Appearance

Life after death was a strange sensation that seemed to be unpleasant yet comforting simultaneously. The restrictions on her movement being mortifying as time seemed to do not but pass as slowly as it ever had, which led to more frightening thoughts such as 'did I perhaps mis-cast the mark? Despite all the preparations?' or 'Did I leave the stove on?', yet there was nothing that could be done for it now, considering she was no longer among the living, yet just as the line of thought was about to continue, her body's control briefly returned to her as she neared the journey's end, and fell something akin to sleep with a blinding light that, despite all the symbolism she had seen in her light, frightened her.

The purple-haired woman, clad in white and gold formal clothes that she had been wearing upon the time of her death that were now seemingly repaired, slowly rose from her undeath, her eyes shuddering open to a visible darkness as she moved her hand around to feel whatever she was lying in, yet her opening thoughts were not ones of curiosity, but one of a much different kind, one that, given the circumstances, made rather logical sense considering what Kirin Fowl, the Veterinarian and animal activist had most recently gone through, despite the feeling that it had happened a very, very long time ago.

"THE IDIOT SHOT ME?!" she yelled into the darkness with a jut, slamming her head against the roof of the small wooden structure she resided in before releasing a small moan of regret at the sudden movement. After recovering from the accident, she noted that the thing she was in was most likely a coffin, and made from wood, and, while Kirin wasn't exactly afraid of tight spaces, made her feel very uncomfortable indeed. Enough so that she polymorphed her hands into hooves and began beating her way out of the wood and into a strange place that most definitely looked like paradise. Not exactly a graceful method, but it worked in the end as the lid gave way and the woman clambered out after returning her arms back to their normal appearance and giving the surrounding area a glance, making note of the other coffins around her and pondering if they might require assistance, electing to wait until she possibly heard someone else cry out for help, or perhaps, like she had, do something silly like slam their head.​

 

[The Mechanist]

“Hmmm....I should’ve had more controls and protocols set in place...” thought the scientist as he resided with his wooden domain, an object that he deduced to be a coffin. He had been lying within it for some time, nearly having a moment of panic before remembering what had happened upon his waking from a bright light. “Should’ve known a bear made out of lightning was a bad idea, yet my own curiosity got the best of me....needless to say I can conclude that experiment with the mark is a success. I have passed and reawaken on the other side....now why is the otherside a small cramped coffin?” Constantly talking to himself was his comfort mechanism, as well as going through the information of what he knew given his current circumstance.

 

[Sarathryn]

Shakily, attempting to reach out and brush the sides of the wood surrounding them, Paovun began to assess the situation. The experience of transporting across that eerie cosmos of nothing still playing out in mind, echoes felt in body like an ailing memory. Breathing shallowly and with some trouble, they centered their self and began to exert intent- willing the coffin to open out in front of them over what could have been minutes or hours. Finally, the wood creaked and began to warp, allowing the magician to step out. Stumbling and shuddering against the cold, eyes closed against the new and unfamiliar ambience, they adjusted and stood up, taking the first full breath in what seemed like ages.

Puzzling over the directive/offer of the Voice as they turned, they began to take stock of their surroundings and call the familiar from it's psuedo-temporal space; taking the shape of a feathered serpent, the creature coiled out of nothingness and settled within the jacket's hood, then slithering out to dangle from the magician's arm and mantle. "Ewa.... Interesting start to our journey, innit?" Pao pondered, beginning to draw their intent inward and pushing away the bite of the environment in order to focus.

 

[Troldmand]

Immediately all but a few of the escapees could breathe in a swath of stale and clammy air that filled their confines to the brim. Speaking of confines, they could eye now a foursome of walls some 8 feet tall; adorned with a battered and tattered wallpaper even a houseman would never trammel themselves to slumber by. They stood on a rickety floor laid with planks that, when under pressure of a man’s foot, seemed to alert the entirety of this magical dimension and beyond thanks to loud creaks and pops. After some further examination, they could picture exactly the place they gladdened with their presence – an old and withered chapel only a wraith would use for prayers, and none of the sages felt ethereal. Another treat for prying eyes was the sheer number of coffins still sealed and tucked into dimly lit corners of the chapel. Frankly, not a single one appeared loose – an archaic but effective mojo permeated all these wooden constructs but three which the escapees managed to emerge from.

Out of the blue, a stranger flung the sluggish doors open – followed by an escort of two brutes – and briefly let a wave of morning breeze to banish the stench of an old and rotting chapel. For a second, all three escapees could inhale and feel alive once more – as if they never had a Mark – and then plummeted back to the bitterness of this afterlife as the brutes slammed the doors shut.

Clap, clap, clap – Stranger clapped as they strolled closer to newcomers. Clap, clap, and clap.
“I see now,” Stranger spoke, and took no more steps. “Viscount’s right; Serfs are right; you’ve made it here!” they said and grinned. Wrapped in a formal attire of a Central European; sporting shoes of an Australian bloke; with an untimely American boater to shadow their eyes and expose only the flash of their teeth. Unlike the brutes, whose patchy garbs told of low-class origins, this Stranger radiated 20th century fashion – an evident clue on their past life.
“Now, now,” they began anew. Stranger’s patent baritone suggested male physique, though all those elaborate garments did a good job at concealing the man’s purposefully hidden identity for a brief while.

“Name’s Helmut. Baron Helmut, to be exact. You might’ve lived in the age of what many entrants call,” he coughed. “Hipsters. But, and make no mistake, we still demand subordination around here. Frankly, you don’t seem like the noblest lot. No wonder, given you practice these, eh,” Helmut followed this sudden stoppage with a stutter. Clearly, modern workings of the realm of the living bewildered him. “Democracies! That’s the word!” he exclaimed, finally enlightened. “Furthermore, I’m here to tell you that the Viscount itself ordered me to, eh, show you the ropes. You do not want to get lost and die, do you?” he went on and on, all the while running his eyes over all three sages. A quick look-over, perhaps?
“Oh, by the way, fear not these two,” he pointed at the brutes. “They might look dangerous, but they’ll only snap your neck if I tell them to,” Helmut chuckled. “As you say, eh, let’s get down to business. Tell me about yourselves; tell me how you died and,” for a second, Helmut appeared serious. “How did you not get lost in the… the Abyss?” his smile made a return. “Go on!”