ataraxionlogs | EVENT: MELPOMENE ▒ THE CORRIDORS

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EVENT: MELPOMENE ▒ THE CORRIDORS

CHARACTERS: Ensemble production!
LOCATION: Corridors in the belly of the Tranquility
WARNINGS: Creepiness, paranoia, disturbing imagery, violence.
SUMMARY: Characters head out into the corridors in the hopes of rescuing their lost and begin to experience strange and harrowing phenomena.
NOTES: Open to all! Covers Stages One & Two of the plot, June 22 onwards.

The hallways stretch on into a deep darkness ahead of you. You've been out here before, or heard of what happens to those who do — it'd be enough to make anyone turn back. But there are people lost out there that have called for your help, and you're prepared to do what you have to to save them. Aren't you?

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Fenris huffs his agreement—it's not blood, not any kind they're used to—and turns the light back and forth along the wall to see how far the marks extend. He can't see color in the dark. "Now say, 'It could be worse,'" he suggests, and then goes still on perfect cue, head canted and one long ear turned toward the distant end of the corridor.

Something moved down there. But it did it silently, or at least more quietly than the tapping, and now everything is still.

Her hearing isn't as keen as Fenris', but Hawke has something of a sixth sense when it comes to danger. You don't have it follow you or rush toward it as long as she has and not get used to the signs that it's about ready to descend. (It's always ready to descend where Marian Hawke is concerned.)

"Looks like I didn't have to." There is no humor in that tone of voice. There's nothing funny about red smears on walls and figures lurking in the dark, and she won't do her friend the disservice of pretending that she thinks there is. Not this time anyway. Hawke raises her bow. She isn't about to take a shot in the dark, but by Andraste, as soon as whatever it is comes into the light, if it isn't waving a white flag, it is going to meet the business end of her arrows.

He waits, quiet and as taut as her bowstring, but nothing happens. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something, and the something is waiting for them to come closer. Either way, they're not getting less lost and he's not getting less uneasy by standing here.

He shifts on his feet, and when he says, "We should move on," it's edgier than usual.

Hawke is reluctant to move at first after he indicates that they should do so. She waits the space of two more heartbeats before she relaxes her arm, lowering her bow once more. "To where, precisely?" She isn't quite irritable, but like him, her tone is edged more sharply than usual. Something is following them. She can't say how she knows it with such certainty, she just does. And clearly something is waiting up ahead.

"I'm sorry, Fenris. I'm sorry that I've dragged-"

Something rushes toward them out of the dark. Someone. The figure is human, by the looks of them. They're panicked, covered in grime and blood, but dressed in one of the jumpsuits that marks them all as passengers of the Tranquility.

The instinct to fire a shot through the encroaching person is stayed with only minimal difficulty. If she shot everything that rattled her, she'd be out of arrows constantly. "Whoa! It's okay." Hawke reaches out one arm to try and stop the passenger, to catch them and find out exactly what's happened to put them in such a state.

But they pass right through her outstretched arm, and part of her shoulder. Hawke's weapon clatters on the ground as she recoils, hissing in terrible pain. "Maker!"

In another time or place her apology might have made him feel ashamed of himself, for doubting her, but here—there's a flicker, unbidden, of she dragged you here and she'll drag you further. He's only saved from saying something cruel by figure fleeing toward them, through Hawke's outreached arm. Fenris, fortunately enough, doesn't share Hawke's instinct to offer aid to strangers. He's fight or flight, or in this case one and then the other: he takes one step backwards, startled, and then settles just as quickly into more aggressive posture.

His fist flares blue-white, first, out of instinct. The light fades and he touches the grip of his unused gun instead.

"Hawke," he says, alarmed and meaning are you all right, and swings his flashlight beam to try to find the passenger. He's too late. He turns it back on her, focused on her arm and shoulder.

Here is one figure who is not incorporeal. Rather pitifully armed with her father's dagger (which she knows not how to properly wield), Lizzie has alternated between hiding around bloodied corners and muddling through the halls. By this point, she is both wild with fright and utterly lost. A flare of light shines through the murk after a while, and she moves to investigate. It is the source of that light rather than the figure who slinks away from Hawke which halts her.

What in the name of God was light doing emanating from the arms of this elf? Extraordinary abilities are all-but unheard of in her land and time. Even then, such abilities were always limited to magic. Witchcraft. Such as her own. She can not conceive of any other manner by which he might be able to so easily conjure such a dazzling flare of light. And such a colour! She mentally files this away, to either wonder or ask about at a later time. For all this, Elizabeth is not afraid. In fact, she merely checks her manners, and gives them a bright smile while fighting the urge to sag in relief.

A rose of York never wilts. She will show only bravery. Never fear.

"Lady Hawke.. and Fenris. How very fortuitous that I meet you here." She gazes forward, in the direction of the transparent figure, and shakes her head.

"The tribes who once populated my land celebrated a festival once a year called Samhain. During that day, the barrier between my world and that of the dead were meant to be erased and spirits to be able to walk among the living. I had not thought to see such for myself."

It is terrifying. The fact that she moves to stand beside Hawke rather than before her might tell such, a little.

Hawke bats at the affected arm with the opposite hand, eyes wide and panic-stricken. "It's like being on the receiving end of a flame blast!" But she isn't on fire, so her attempts to extinguish the non-existent flames cease before long. Though the breath she takes in is shaky, as is her voice, she still assures her partner, "I'm fine."

Any desire to expound upon that assertion at length is cut short when a far more familiar figure arrives. "Lady Elizabeth! What are you doing out here?" This is no place for a princess, or something. Hawke decides to mask whatever fear is left in her expression by dipping down to retrieve her longbow and electric torch.

Fenris is no healer. He wouldn't want to be: spirit healers are dangerous, as recently underscored in Kirkwall, and no convenience is worth being a mage. But for a moment, watching Hawke react to a wound he can't see, he feels helpless and uncertain and almost, almost wishes one of the mages were here with them. Bethany, maybe. Bethany would know what to do and probably not kill get anyone killed, unlike the other two.

When Elizabeth first speaks, he doesn't flinch, but he does immediately swing his flashlight to shine into her face. She's smiling. One of his dark eyebrows raises, but he politely lowers the light until she's only illuminated by ambience, rather than having it directed straight into her eyes.

"What are any of us doing out here?" he grumbles from behind Hawke, but though he doesn't look friendly, exactly, the nod he gives Elizabeth is at least sort of companionable.

Elizabeth can usually be seen smiling. At court it is better to allow the viper's nest to think she is a cheerful simpleton than to let them see what she thinks or feels. Her fear is very real, but she manages it admirably. She still does not know Fenris well; and so she does not feel comfortable allowing him to see her weak. She counters his dubious expression with a small nod of her head.

"Here comes the place where cleaves our way in twain. Thy road, the right, toward Pluto's dwelling goes, And leads us to Elysium. But the left Speeds sinful souls to doom, and is their path To Tartarus th' accurst."

The quote is word-for-word the prose of Virgil, first mentioned by the phantom lurking within the technology of this ship. And now, perhaps, it makes a little more sense.

"The tale is one from my world, of a man who survived the fall of one mighty city and went on to found another. To explain, the place called Elysium was the Heaven, or Paradise beyond this life for the Greeks. Tartarus was where the Damned dwelt, forever in torment."

She tilts her head. "Perhaps the phantom meant that we must be very careful which direction we might take. We might arrive in Elysium, or in Tartarus depending upon where we go. Or whatever version of it this ship believes is true."

For once, the fact that she is the medieval version of a book nerd might come in handy.

Hawke shoots a look to Fenris. Play nice. Some of them are more equipped to be out here than others. She might argue she's currently leading this admittedly small pack in that respect. Fenris' weapon is alien to the both of him, and she isn't confident that it (the gun, not him) can provide adequate protection, should it be required.

And judging from what she's just experienced, it will probably be required.

"I don't tend to let this star ship decide my path for me," Hawke asserts. She's had quite enough of her path each fork in the path leading to the same destination, thank you very much. "You believe that thing isn't just spouting nonsense, then?"

Fenris glares back at Hawke, but he quits grumbling masking her fear, even with cheerfulness he finds inappropriate, has earned Elizabeth that much courtesy. That and her kindness when he first arrived. He listens to her recitation and explanation with his hand canted—he's only heard it once, insisting Hawke read it to him, and he hadn't understood it.

He isn't sure he likes it any more down that he does.

"So far every direction looks the same," he points out.

"Indeed, we should not. But I believe what we might take away from the usage of that quote is that we should choose our path carefully."

She agrees completely with Hawke. All her life, her path has been directed for her by others. Her parents, her Uncle, Margaret Beaufort; no more. Galadriel has urged her to choose, and so she shall. Beginning with small choices here which just might save her life. From the beginning, Hawke has proven to be both intelligent and capable. She trusts her to lead them to safety. In this matter, she will gladly defer to the older woman's decision because it beats relying upon her own inexperience.

Her eyes turn to Fenris next, and she nods. "As might be expected of a labyrinth. It is a pity we do not have something to mark our path."

Like Ariadne's red string. Smiley's reference to the Aeneid has her thinking more of the Greek Myths she has read about.

Elizabeth releases a soft sigh, and shakes her head. "Nay, I do not think it nonsense. This phantom speaks in riddles as a rule. It is a herald of bad things."

To be fair, Hawke hadn't understood the passage without the proper context to apply either. In this, she's most grateful to Lizzie. Her gratitude is extend to Fenris for not playing antagonist any further.

Gingerly, Hawke seats her bow into place along her back, opting instead to reach for one of the knives strapped to her armor. With her arm still aching as it is, she doesn't trust her ability to line up a shot swiftly enough in these close quarters. She does trust that she can still find a way to bury blade between ribs, however.

Elizabeth's words are taken into consideration with a thoughtful nod. Then, she turns her gaze to Fenris. "Well then. Shall I choose a direction for us, and follow you down the opposite path?" Since she seems to have a knack for choosing the path that brings the most trouble, as he's pointed out so often.

"Now that you've volunteered the idea, I'm sure it's a bad one," Fenris says. He's teasing. Straight-faced and solemn and tense, but teasing. In case that wasn't clear—to Elizabeth, whose faith in Hawke doesn't want to undermine—he adds, "I trust you."

That trust is wavering under the ship's influence, but not so much that he's prepared, already, to forget six years of loyalty.

He turns his light back down the corridor, where ahead of them it does appear to branch: one path to the left, one to the right. They've already tried turning around to go back the way they came, once, and it didn't help. He looks at Elizabeth through the dark. She's murky and colorless, to his eyes, but he can see her well enough.

"Do you have a weapon?"

"And I, as well." They have no Cumaean sibyl to guide them as Aeneas had, so long ago.

Her trust in Hawke is sufficient for the task; meaning that she can feel safe about leaving her life in the hands of so capable a woman. The fact that Fenris is able to do the same makes her feel much more at ease.

Without them, she would be alone once more. That is no option for her. In response to Fenris' question, she pales, but gamely nods her head.

"I do." Balancing the dagger upon her palms, she reveals it to them. "It was my father's."

It is dark, and she is nervous. She has never before wielded a weapon in her life.

"We may have need of them. The passage quoted by the phantom relates to the part of the poem where the hero journeys through the Underworld."

She would never admit it. But she is afraid.

Hawke is swift with an assuring smile for Lizzie and an appreciative gaze slanted in Fenris' direction. By her estimation, the elf has a number of reasons - good reasons - to cut her loose. The fact that he doesn't is not something that she takes for granted.

"Well," she says to the fairer woman, "rest assured that you're in the best company you can be when faced with the possibility of imminent danger." Fenris may not have a sword, but he's still able to put his innate skills to good use, Hawke is certain. She rolls her shoulder once, subtly testing her range of motion, and just how much lingering pain there is. "We will keep you safe. But it's best that you keep your weapon at the ready."

Hawke draws in a deep breath, and exhales theatrically. "Right. This way, then." She begins to head left.

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EVENT: MELPOMENE ▒ THE CORRIDORS

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