Snippet #2767711

located in The Threshold, a part of The Imagiverse, one of the many universes on RPG.

The Threshold



Characters Present

Character Portrait: Adam Skelecoot ((Roleplay Creator)) Character Portrait: John Skelecoot Character Portrait: Max the Robloxian Character Portrait: Jack "The Ducky Boy" Quackers Character Portrait: Fancy Pants Character Portrait: Skitters Character Portrait: Sir Betelgeuse Grimms Character Portrait: Vragi Odd
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No one would have believed that, since the first mortal of fantastic origin was brought existence by the young Creators, that sapient affairs were being watched from the timeless gulfs of space. Perhaps from those damn aliens from the red planet and neighbouring galaxies, yes, but the idea of an intelligence infinitely greater and nastier than man, woman or in between studying them with the utmost hatred was lost on the vast majority of all sentient life in the Imagiverse. Of course, the Hand Druids knew of said intelligence, as well as the blissful ignorance of the rest of the sentients, and kept it a closely-guarded secret, that is, until they were greeted by their first and, as of currently, only visitor, who was of less skin than any living thing should be...
And yet, across the infinite gulfs of deep space, a near-omnipotent being, chained to the rim of the universe like the beast it was, regarded all beings of Creation with immeasurable hatred. To attempt to fully understand the extent of it's rage, think of someone you really,
really hated, so much so that you would locate them on every piece of social media, every article, every scrap of conversation, and vent your utmost abhorrence in stunning length, send them messages filled with venom and vitriol, and never avert your attention from them. Can't think of anyone? Well, in which case, merely consider this scenario, then multiply it a thousand-fold. Then, you might have an inkling on how much the malignant being despises all that is formed of Fantasy, of the Maker's dreaming.
And slowly, and surely, the Maelstrom drew its plans against the Imagiverse, or, specifically, against the minuscule capsule, with a small crew of insignificant mortals, that was reaching it's realm of influence...

Stars. But not stars. A whirling sea of colours, some from the rainbow, but others that corresponded to no pigments of the mortal eye. A whirling sea of Creation, forming and unforming into ghastly creatures, faces howling in unnatural frequencies. There were no stars in this realm. Nothing but Creation, the burning waves of a mad god's restless dreaming.
Of course, the passengers could not properly see into the sea, as it burned to even glance outside. What they could see, however, was that the porthole was now a screaming mouth, contorting and shivering inhumanely. There were more coming out of the walls, the metal now slowly resembling flesh. Out in the corridor, voices whispered, forming a susurrus which haunted the ship.
From the gramocon, there was a brief noise, somewhere between a scream and a wild laugh, before it abruptly stopped. Jack was hiding under the covers of his bed. The others were staring at the walls. Max had attempted to fight back the faces, but stopped when one bit him.
None of them bothered to ask the most commonly-asked question in these situations, which was "what the hell is going on?", because they were already given the answer prior; the wild currents of an ancient Imagination was distorting the reality around them. There was an affliction associated with space travel, similar to cabin fever, referred to as space madness, in which long periods of travelling the empty, infinite planes eventually wear down a man's resolve and causes him to turn against his crewmates. This, however, was the term approached from another, terrible angle; it wasn't them that were going mad, it was time and space itself.