Snippet #2768481

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
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »


Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

The volunteers would be interrupted by a blood-curdling cry, coming from the fourth bed. Once unoccupied, now it held the vague shape of some sort of humanoid being with fin-like ears and huge, bulging eyes, like that of a mutated goldfish, batting at invisible demons with one claw and clutching the bedsheet with the other. Continuously, it cried out in terror, "No! Get back! Get back! You can't take me! No no no- AAARGH," before it abruptly vanished, the bedsheet deflating into its original shape.
Perhaps unbeknownst to the volunteers, that was not the only phantom currently haunting the ship. The numerous, unoccupied cabins rang with the cries of dozens of different throats. Another phantom ran down the main corridor, which was now bending and swaying as if it were a snake in motion, towards the now incandescent technicoloured light of the engine, crying out, "Turn off the engine! Turn off-" before it too would vanish. As time knotted, and reality crumbled amidst the crashing waves of the Threshold, spacefaring souls that were imprisoned within the Edge, unable to find their way to the afterlife, were forced to relive their last moments within the twisting bulk of the S.S Victoria.

Meanwhile, within the bridge, Jonathan had now partially recovered his senses enough to determine the direction they needed to travel. This is proving to be difficult, as most of the dials and buttons have now crawled from the control panel, now dotted around the walls and the floor; he was now left with only the basic controls needed to sail the ship, but with impaired awareness of the ship's conditions in terms of valve pressure and gathered heat.
With a front-seat view of the prismatic hell of the Threshold, it would come to surprise to many, including himself, that he was still at least partially coherent in the face of maddening circumstances. Those who have known him long enough (this also included himself), however, would surmise that this was mainly because he had already passed the madness horizon long ago and had reached the opposite side of the spectrum from the wrong way; in short, he is now in possession of a very special type of sanity, one built out of the fragmented pieces of his broken mind, sane thoughts constructed out of insane components.