Setting
The barrier between the Centre and the Edge, the Threshold is likely the most dangerous part of the Imagiverse. The foam from the deep seas of Creation crashing down on the beach-line of Fantasy. Do not venture here if you value your existence.
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
The Threshold is a part of 
The Imagiverse.
Grimms's body, or rather, his shell, braced him as they breached the Threshold barrier, a technicolor dreamscape suddenly searing into his eyes. For most this would be a moment of seizure inducing madness, but for him... a distant memory bubbling up from the depths of his soul. As space stretched before him, warping in every breadth and width, he almost felt something through his shell. Reaching out with his hand he truly felt... or believed he felt... as if he could feel the pulse of the cosmos. His mind flooded with a fullness, eyes bleeding of cognition, ears filled with the profound. No, this is nonsense, I must remain resolute. His thoughts, though of thought, spoken without breath, was yet heard as sound none the less, rippling through the fabric of hyper-Fantasy. Ah, fascinating, it would appear here the realms of the improbable, or rather, impossible, are the same as truths.
For the raccoon, however, she was not ready to embrace the collision against the Threshold, yet too proud and stubborn to look away. The impact was a rush of colors and sounds. Her voice box made a series of tones like a radio flipping through stations. Barely audible voices and shrieks could be heard from it, many of which not belonging to her. A shadow, or rather, a black image was cast behind her. It was a feminine silhouette, quite a bit taller than her, with unbridled waving hair. Its eyes opened, and three sets of arms stretched out over the cabin around the banded rascal.
"AÌ·ÌÍsÌ·ÌĄÌÌĆłÌŽÌrÌ”ÍÌa̶̫Í.Ì”ÌłÌ?" a voice beckoned to her.
"Wh-what did you say?" her voice cracking, startled further to actually hear her voice. It was not some cartoonish electronic fabrication of voice, nor the screech of an animal, but instead that of a woman, even if a bit coarse. She held a paw up to her throat, the disbelief wafting through her as she vocalized a bit. It was not exactly through her throat, exactly, but rather, the sounds she made, through her mind, were transformed into... her old voice. Profound. The last time such a phenomenon occured was when she was next to the Innovatium engine.
"CÌŽÌÌżů̞ÍrÌŽÌĄÌiÌ”ÌčÌoÌŽÍÍuÌžÍÌsÌžÌłÌÌeÌžÍÌrÌ·ÌŒÌÌ Ì¶ÍÍÈ̶Íáč̶ÌdÌ”ÌŒÌ Ì·ÍÌcÌ·ÍÍÈ̞̊ĆÌŽÌčiÌ”ÌĄÍoÌŽÌ»ÌĆŻÌžÍáčŁÌŽÌeÌ·ÌČÍrÌ”ÍÍ...!" the voice returned, suddenly cackling with mad laughter. A third eye opens in the head of silhouette cast by Skitters, the third eye blue and having a club-shaped pupil. The figure begins to stretch out, forming a long grin, two large teeth up front and hints of jagged ones deep inside a dark maw. The other two eyes open, yellow, with horizontally slit pupils. Long ears became visible, along with the teeth, it appears to be some twisted rabbit-like creature. "GÌŽuÌžeÌ”sÌŽsÌ·sÌžs̶sÌ·sÌžsÌžSÌžSÌ·SÌŽSÌ·sÌŽsÌ”sÌŽsÌŽtÌžsÌ·!ÌŽ?̶ Guests for TEA!? Or are they... fools? T̶oÌ” Ì·bÌžeÌ· ÌžtÌžoÌ·rÌŽn̶ Ì”aÌŽsÌ”uÌ·nÌždÌ”eÌžrÌŽ ÌžaÌ”nÌždÌ” ÌŽcÌ”aÌŽsÌžtÌ” ÌŽtÌ·oÌž ̶tÌžh̶e̶ Ì·sÌŽeÌ”aÌ·!̶?Ìž"
Skitters turned and looked back to see half of the creature that had emerged from her shadow, now just loomed above her with a wide grin and big wild eyes. Of what could be seen, a long rabbit-like head with an expansive grin, sewn shut on the side, obscuring somewhat the jagged teeth within. Atop its head was a large top hat of eloquence only a true mad hatter could appreciate. Taken aback for only a moment, the tenacity of the raccoon won over her better judgement, and leered aggressively at the rabbit. The rabbit's jaw shut tight and expression blanked, ears drooping for a moment. Its nose wiggles for a moment, before it roars again with distorted maniacal laughter, it's immense jaws agape displaying a discolored maw.
"I see! I see! An ambition sparks within your soul... stoking the flames of a megalomaniacal heart! How frightening! How unsettling! How... fun! G̎y̷a̶h̎a̎h̶a̞h̞a̶h̷a̎!̷" the creature cackled once more. "We're all mad here! And here, the mad perseveres! And to the logistical? ...well... sucks to be them! But you, you... gyaha! Mad! Mad as a Mad Hare..! Caution to the wind, embracing the pandemonium! You will soon be shaped by it: mind, body, and soul!"
Grimms turned, shifting his attention to Skitters. From his perspective, he only saw her, standing there, spaced out, tensed up and confronting a blank wall. "What are you looking at, little one?"
She looked over at him, her glare perplexed by his lack of reaction to the thing behind her, but looking back, she saw nothing but a blank wall as well. She knew, however, that it was no figment... even now she could still feel the heat of its breath lingering in the air. She turns back, and after staring at Grimms for a moment, she finally spoke again. "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." she said softly, as one of her eyes twitches briefly.
"...what?"
For the raccoon, however, she was not ready to embrace the collision against the Threshold, yet too proud and stubborn to look away. The impact was a rush of colors and sounds. Her voice box made a series of tones like a radio flipping through stations. Barely audible voices and shrieks could be heard from it, many of which not belonging to her. A shadow, or rather, a black image was cast behind her. It was a feminine silhouette, quite a bit taller than her, with unbridled waving hair. Its eyes opened, and three sets of arms stretched out over the cabin around the banded rascal.
"AÌ·ÌÍsÌ·ÌĄÌÌĆłÌŽÌrÌ”ÍÌa̶̫Í.Ì”ÌłÌ?" a voice beckoned to her.
"Wh-what did you say?" her voice cracking, startled further to actually hear her voice. It was not some cartoonish electronic fabrication of voice, nor the screech of an animal, but instead that of a woman, even if a bit coarse. She held a paw up to her throat, the disbelief wafting through her as she vocalized a bit. It was not exactly through her throat, exactly, but rather, the sounds she made, through her mind, were transformed into... her old voice. Profound. The last time such a phenomenon occured was when she was next to the Innovatium engine.
"CÌŽÌÌżů̞ÍrÌŽÌĄÌiÌ”ÌčÌoÌŽÍÍuÌžÍÌsÌžÌłÌÌeÌžÍÌrÌ·ÌŒÌÌ Ì¶ÍÍÈ̶Íáč̶ÌdÌ”ÌŒÌ Ì·ÍÌcÌ·ÍÍÈ̞̊ĆÌŽÌčiÌ”ÌĄÍoÌŽÌ»ÌĆŻÌžÍáčŁÌŽÌeÌ·ÌČÍrÌ”ÍÍ...!" the voice returned, suddenly cackling with mad laughter. A third eye opens in the head of silhouette cast by Skitters, the third eye blue and having a club-shaped pupil. The figure begins to stretch out, forming a long grin, two large teeth up front and hints of jagged ones deep inside a dark maw. The other two eyes open, yellow, with horizontally slit pupils. Long ears became visible, along with the teeth, it appears to be some twisted rabbit-like creature. "GÌŽuÌžeÌ”sÌŽsÌ·sÌžs̶sÌ·sÌžsÌžSÌžSÌ·SÌŽSÌ·sÌŽsÌ”sÌŽsÌŽtÌžsÌ·!ÌŽ?̶ Guests for TEA!? Or are they... fools? T̶oÌ” Ì·bÌžeÌ· ÌžtÌžoÌ·rÌŽn̶ Ì”aÌŽsÌ”uÌ·nÌždÌ”eÌžrÌŽ ÌžaÌ”nÌždÌ” ÌŽcÌ”aÌŽsÌžtÌ” ÌŽtÌ·oÌž ̶tÌžh̶e̶ Ì·sÌŽeÌ”aÌ·!̶?Ìž"
Skitters turned and looked back to see half of the creature that had emerged from her shadow, now just loomed above her with a wide grin and big wild eyes. Of what could be seen, a long rabbit-like head with an expansive grin, sewn shut on the side, obscuring somewhat the jagged teeth within. Atop its head was a large top hat of eloquence only a true mad hatter could appreciate. Taken aback for only a moment, the tenacity of the raccoon won over her better judgement, and leered aggressively at the rabbit. The rabbit's jaw shut tight and expression blanked, ears drooping for a moment. Its nose wiggles for a moment, before it roars again with distorted maniacal laughter, it's immense jaws agape displaying a discolored maw.
"I see! I see! An ambition sparks within your soul... stoking the flames of a megalomaniacal heart! How frightening! How unsettling! How... fun! G̎y̷a̶h̎a̎h̶a̞h̞a̶h̷a̎!̷" the creature cackled once more. "We're all mad here! And here, the mad perseveres! And to the logistical? ...well... sucks to be them! But you, you... gyaha! Mad! Mad as a Mad Hare..! Caution to the wind, embracing the pandemonium! You will soon be shaped by it: mind, body, and soul!"
Grimms turned, shifting his attention to Skitters. From his perspective, he only saw her, standing there, spaced out, tensed up and confronting a blank wall. "What are you looking at, little one?"
She looked over at him, her glare perplexed by his lack of reaction to the thing behind her, but looking back, she saw nothing but a blank wall as well. She knew, however, that it was no figment... even now she could still feel the heat of its breath lingering in the air. She turns back, and after staring at Grimms for a moment, she finally spoke again. "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." she said softly, as one of her eyes twitches briefly.
"...what?"
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.
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.
Vragi relaxed slowly, feeling (wrongly) that he had acclimatized to the thresholdâs effects.
-Well, this isnât so bad- he mouthed as he untied his makeshift blindfold. Unfortunately, rather than making any sound, the words appeared as glowing runes in the air just a few inches in front of him. He cleared his throat.
âApologies, I meant to say, well this-â as he began repeating himself each rune changed from its pale silvery hue to a deep crimson as he spoke, ââŠisnât soâŠbad.â The now ruddy symbols each disappeared with various sounds, one of which was something like a lost sock meowing.
He stared at one of the runes, which had stubbornly refused to give up its brief existence. The thing seemed to be staring him down. Reaching out a hand, the dwarf poked the glyph experimentally.
There was a rush of something around Vragi, as if the air were about to pounce on some unsuspecting prey, and his hair seemed to stand up on its own accord. With a bouquet of iridescent sparks, a wave of forceful energy scraped across his body and launched the poor dwarf across the room, slamming him into the wall. The rune, thankfully, did go away. From the look of it.
âOK, I take that back.â He muttered, as his goggles began to glitter merrily contorting and shifting into a quite unpleasant creature vaguely like a sea-cucumber which dropped to the floor and was promptly squashed by the startled smith.
âThose were my best pairâŠâ he lamented, waddling to his pack which he rummaged through, to find a spare.
While he was doing this he was oblivious to the unsettling transfiguration of the shipâs fabric, so that when he re-emerged donning a pair of rather bright lime-green goggles (theyâd all changed appearance under the thresholdâs influence) He was immediately hit with the...scene.
He walked silently up to the wall, and poked it.
"Should I try feeding it the slug? Hm? Are you alright?" he asked the raccoon, apparently oblivious to whatever she'd encountered
-Well, this isnât so bad- he mouthed as he untied his makeshift blindfold. Unfortunately, rather than making any sound, the words appeared as glowing runes in the air just a few inches in front of him. He cleared his throat.
âApologies, I meant to say, well this-â as he began repeating himself each rune changed from its pale silvery hue to a deep crimson as he spoke, ââŠisnât soâŠbad.â The now ruddy symbols each disappeared with various sounds, one of which was something like a lost sock meowing.
He stared at one of the runes, which had stubbornly refused to give up its brief existence. The thing seemed to be staring him down. Reaching out a hand, the dwarf poked the glyph experimentally.
There was a rush of something around Vragi, as if the air were about to pounce on some unsuspecting prey, and his hair seemed to stand up on its own accord. With a bouquet of iridescent sparks, a wave of forceful energy scraped across his body and launched the poor dwarf across the room, slamming him into the wall. The rune, thankfully, did go away. From the look of it.
âOK, I take that back.â He muttered, as his goggles began to glitter merrily contorting and shifting into a quite unpleasant creature vaguely like a sea-cucumber which dropped to the floor and was promptly squashed by the startled smith.
âThose were my best pairâŠâ he lamented, waddling to his pack which he rummaged through, to find a spare.
While he was doing this he was oblivious to the unsettling transfiguration of the shipâs fabric, so that when he re-emerged donning a pair of rather bright lime-green goggles (theyâd all changed appearance under the thresholdâs influence) He was immediately hit with the...scene.
He walked silently up to the wall, and poked it.
"Should I try feeding it the slug? Hm? Are you alright?" he asked the raccoon, apparently oblivious to whatever she'd encountered
"Uh..? Wh..." she mumbled, a bit confused as she shifted her gaze to the dwarf. There was a moment of silence from her until she let out a short laugh. "Am I alright? What? Do you think this little disturbance bothers me much?" she says, folding her two set of forelimbs. "So the very air around us is going mad, so what? To me this space, this subcon-manifestation anomaly of hyper-fantasy... it is to me a sign, an opportunity, my rapture, my-"
A horrific distorted laughing face on the hull interrupted her, getting up in her face with its warped voice passing all through the vocal spectrum... and beyond. With a swift motion she punches it across the cheek,distorting its features even more... and apparently dislodging a tooth from it.
"S-stop laughing!" she screamed, looking a bit manic. "They all laughed, I know they did, all with that 'oh that poor girl'! And then there's that performance arts... dancer girl, whatever... oh, how they all loved her! News flash! Everybody can dance! It isn't special!" she continued in a wild rant, grabbing the face by the ears and laughing back at it.
"Miss, please, control yourself, the Threshold is affecting you," Grimms chimed in, trying to calm her down.
"Oh? You think I'm mad? 'Oh poor thing, not right in her head,' is that it? Do you pity me!?" she said, as she released the... wall face... and looked to Grimms with crazed eyes, aglow with a misty green light as a few tendril reveal themselves from her back. With no hesitation she leapt from the ground onto Grimms, who stood perfectly still as the little mutant began to crawl and peck at his head. "So calm and confident!, always looking down! What makes you tick, hm!? Bet you're the most deranged of the lot! Who in their right mind wears such horrific things as this mask!? Does nothing hurt you!? Do you even feel anymore!?" she rants, taking shots at him making metal clunks with each strike, until reaching around for his mask. Inadvertently, in doing so, she singes her hands, causing her to yell and fall back, causing Grimms to try to grab her, but instead only grabs her bandana mask. Catching herself, she blew her hands a bit, shaking them, then glared up at Grimms, her lower jaw having what seems to be wire wrapped around it. A fissure ran down near center of her lower jaw, the wire seeming to be what is keeping it together, and there was a blackness to her mouth. Her eyes jittered a bit before resting eyes on Grimms's hand holding her handkerchief, her eyes widening in horror. She gasped, twitched nervously, and tried to cover her face.
"I'm sorry, I only meant to catch you so you wouldn't hurt yours-" Grimms began to say, cordial as usual, but she hissed and leapt up to snag the cloth back, hastily wrapping it over her face, avoiding eye contact from anybody, even the maddened aberrations littering the ship's interior. "Perhaps you should have that looked at," he said, but she was unresponsive, holding the cloth over her face. "And hm..? Weren't you shorter than Mr. Odd before?"
A horrific distorted laughing face on the hull interrupted her, getting up in her face with its warped voice passing all through the vocal spectrum... and beyond. With a swift motion she punches it across the cheek,distorting its features even more... and apparently dislodging a tooth from it.
"S-stop laughing!" she screamed, looking a bit manic. "They all laughed, I know they did, all with that 'oh that poor girl'! And then there's that performance arts... dancer girl, whatever... oh, how they all loved her! News flash! Everybody can dance! It isn't special!" she continued in a wild rant, grabbing the face by the ears and laughing back at it.
"Miss, please, control yourself, the Threshold is affecting you," Grimms chimed in, trying to calm her down.
"Oh? You think I'm mad? 'Oh poor thing, not right in her head,' is that it? Do you pity me!?" she said, as she released the... wall face... and looked to Grimms with crazed eyes, aglow with a misty green light as a few tendril reveal themselves from her back. With no hesitation she leapt from the ground onto Grimms, who stood perfectly still as the little mutant began to crawl and peck at his head. "So calm and confident!, always looking down! What makes you tick, hm!? Bet you're the most deranged of the lot! Who in their right mind wears such horrific things as this mask!? Does nothing hurt you!? Do you even feel anymore!?" she rants, taking shots at him making metal clunks with each strike, until reaching around for his mask. Inadvertently, in doing so, she singes her hands, causing her to yell and fall back, causing Grimms to try to grab her, but instead only grabs her bandana mask. Catching herself, she blew her hands a bit, shaking them, then glared up at Grimms, her lower jaw having what seems to be wire wrapped around it. A fissure ran down near center of her lower jaw, the wire seeming to be what is keeping it together, and there was a blackness to her mouth. Her eyes jittered a bit before resting eyes on Grimms's hand holding her handkerchief, her eyes widening in horror. She gasped, twitched nervously, and tried to cover her face.
"I'm sorry, I only meant to catch you so you wouldn't hurt yours-" Grimms began to say, cordial as usual, but she hissed and leapt up to snag the cloth back, hastily wrapping it over her face, avoiding eye contact from anybody, even the maddened aberrations littering the ship's interior. "Perhaps you should have that looked at," he said, but she was unresponsive, holding the cloth over her face. "And hm..? Weren't you shorter than Mr. Odd before?"
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.
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.
As the dislodged tooth arced through the twisting space of the room, Vragi made a dive and just caught the strange apparition. He proceeded to peer at the curiosity from different angles, tapping and shaking it questioningly. Perhaps he wasnât entirely absorbed in his own world though, as he did at least glance at his fellow volunteers.
In fact, he did spin round when his full attention was won by Grimmsâ accidentally revealing Skittersâ face, though a slight grave look passed over his own and he looked away, deciding not to pursue the subject.
Luckily for him, this threshold was by no means short of surprises as he was almost immediately greeted by their strange new guest. He rushed over to the phantom, the bubbling stew of questions within the dwarfâs head literally making his ears steam like a kettle. Unfortunately, any hope of interrogating the poor soul was cut short, so he shrugged and got back to examining the strange tooth. Well, assuming it hadnât already either vanished or become some other oddity.
In fact, he did spin round when his full attention was won by Grimmsâ accidentally revealing Skittersâ face, though a slight grave look passed over his own and he looked away, deciding not to pursue the subject.
Luckily for him, this threshold was by no means short of surprises as he was almost immediately greeted by their strange new guest. He rushed over to the phantom, the bubbling stew of questions within the dwarfâs head literally making his ears steam like a kettle. Unfortunately, any hope of interrogating the poor soul was cut short, so he shrugged and got back to examining the strange tooth. Well, assuming it hadnât already either vanished or become some other oddity.
"Ah, these are... people? Our predecessors?" Mr. Grimms commented as he observed the phantasms as they all screamed and ran in distress, his tone being a bit more grim than usual. There was sympathy in the fiery giant's eyes an motions. "I cannot tell if they are alive or dead, if this is a mere recording of their final moments, or their personal essence is preserved? I wonder if they can be saved somehow."
"If they are alive, they are as good as dead, or maybe worse, constantly in a chronological flux, reliving the end on repeat. On the off-chance you could recover them they would never be the same again," Basalah muttered, still trying not to make eye-contact with anyone.
"I would've assumed you would be in favor of living in spite of conditions," Grimms retorted, causing the creatures hair to bristle.
"What does it matter, anyways? Better to look out for number one in these kind of situations, because I'm not going through that again for some randos. Besides, they knew what they were getting themselves into," she grumbled.
"Did you?" he asked bluntly.
The pompous raccoon wrinkled her nose, and tensed up her claws into fists, wanting to retort, to yell back, but the words failed her. He keeps reading me like one of his damn books! she thought, puffing up as her hair stands on ends. She wanted to tell him what for, put him in his place, tell him it was easy for him because he ended up strong because of it.
"Frankly, my dear, smart as you are, you're a real spitfire. You are far too vain, too jealous, and too angry," Grimms said. She turned and glared at him. "Honestly, if that weren't the case, you'd be quite charming with that energy and ingenuity of yours. You're not even that bad off, that jaw of yours can be treated."
She froze, confusion took its course, that giant again won a round of psychological chess with her. She couldn't say anything, not to him at least, and she couldn't remain angry at this point. In fact, somehow, she felt... rather sobered. She huffed and scurried over to the gramocon.
"Please tell me we're about clear of this madness, the apparitions are just getting worse... and I think my blanket is slithering up the wall... not really sure how to feel about that," she said rather calmly, a tone that was only half-serious. "Oh, and... I'm talking without the box now, surprise~!"
"If they are alive, they are as good as dead, or maybe worse, constantly in a chronological flux, reliving the end on repeat. On the off-chance you could recover them they would never be the same again," Basalah muttered, still trying not to make eye-contact with anyone.
"I would've assumed you would be in favor of living in spite of conditions," Grimms retorted, causing the creatures hair to bristle.
"What does it matter, anyways? Better to look out for number one in these kind of situations, because I'm not going through that again for some randos. Besides, they knew what they were getting themselves into," she grumbled.
"Did you?" he asked bluntly.
The pompous raccoon wrinkled her nose, and tensed up her claws into fists, wanting to retort, to yell back, but the words failed her. He keeps reading me like one of his damn books! she thought, puffing up as her hair stands on ends. She wanted to tell him what for, put him in his place, tell him it was easy for him because he ended up strong because of it.
"Frankly, my dear, smart as you are, you're a real spitfire. You are far too vain, too jealous, and too angry," Grimms said. She turned and glared at him. "Honestly, if that weren't the case, you'd be quite charming with that energy and ingenuity of yours. You're not even that bad off, that jaw of yours can be treated."
She froze, confusion took its course, that giant again won a round of psychological chess with her. She couldn't say anything, not to him at least, and she couldn't remain angry at this point. In fact, somehow, she felt... rather sobered. She huffed and scurried over to the gramocon.
"Please tell me we're about clear of this madness, the apparitions are just getting worse... and I think my blanket is slithering up the wall... not really sure how to feel about that," she said rather calmly, a tone that was only half-serious. "Oh, and... I'm talking without the box now, surprise~!"
Something in the distance would catch Jonathan's eye. To a more unordered and easily-confused mind (that is, a living mind inhabiting a lump of wrinkly muscle), the faint twinkle in the searing abyss would have easily passed as part of the visual chaos. John, however, blessed as he was by peculiar foresight, took it as a metaphysical lighthouse, leading him into the clear and away from the jagged space-time rocks that awaited his precious vessel. Relieved, he resolved to reassure his crew on the awaiting closure of this moment of madness.
The gramocon curled like a waking snake. A metallic honk emitted from it's flared mouth before a distorted voice said, reassuringly, "wibble wibble sneep, snill fibble gibble zib snip snip. Gib gib flib flibble vip-" before the piping, hidden within the tormented hull of the ship, tied itself into a knot and prevented anything else to pass through. Just outside the cabin, a gibbering phantasm was scratching the walls, as if trying to peel away the hull in a desperate attempt to escape.
Meanwhile, in the opposite cabin, Max was standing on a struggling Jack's shoulders, yelling into the resisting gramocon. "John! I know you can hear me in there! How much longer have we got? I'm up to here with the f____ing wall-faces! You hear me?"
"Wibble wibble sneep, snill fib-"
"Don't you give me that shit, you good-for-nothing bonebag! I'm gonna keep screaming into this gods-damned trunk until you give me-"
The tone of the engine's moaning rose. Before he could react, the vessel accelerated rapidly, causing Max to fall off Jack's shoulders. And onto Fancy Pants.
The gramocon curled like a waking snake. A metallic honk emitted from it's flared mouth before a distorted voice said, reassuringly, "wibble wibble sneep, snill fibble gibble zib snip snip. Gib gib flib flibble vip-" before the piping, hidden within the tormented hull of the ship, tied itself into a knot and prevented anything else to pass through. Just outside the cabin, a gibbering phantasm was scratching the walls, as if trying to peel away the hull in a desperate attempt to escape.
Meanwhile, in the opposite cabin, Max was standing on a struggling Jack's shoulders, yelling into the resisting gramocon. "John! I know you can hear me in there! How much longer have we got? I'm up to here with the f____ing wall-faces! You hear me?"
"Wibble wibble sneep, snill fib-"
"Don't you give me that shit, you good-for-nothing bonebag! I'm gonna keep screaming into this gods-damned trunk until you give me-"
The tone of the engine's moaning rose. Before he could react, the vessel accelerated rapidly, causing Max to fall off Jack's shoulders. And onto Fancy Pants.
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