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The world down below the ladder feels somehow more defined, more structured, more *real*, solid in the substance, as if the vast shadow of hours of frantic improvisation no longer holds sway over your mind like a haze.
The terminals here are banged up and overgrown. Overgrown? Hm. the lights in the ceiling are covered in vines, the air takes on a green-tinged quality, slithering little creepers of more organic stuff grow like a new carpet. There's distant rustling. Actual rustling of grass.
Subject Sigma, unprepared for the experience, touches grass. It's. . . not not pleasant.
In the dim lights, here, below the prepared firing position in the elevator above, a few notes are scattered about the walls, pinned with whatever came to hand.
From the north, distant humming of electricity.
From the west?? Left?? DOWN?? THAT PATHWAY?? The area that scents of hunger mixed with food to acolytes sense, and not the icky no good don't go there twang of insect repellant, that area, a prowling pack of Kronin rip-things recently went a-hunting.
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Osiris prepares a little incission into the trees that hold up the entire elevator, and in a more pervese universe if the first thing someone dies is stab the things that keep aloft the place you all sleep in then you would all immediately die when the fleshwood retracts from the sudden pain, but luckily, they make a resistance roll and you are not crushed to death by sudden change to the local landscape.
>+1 CP: Don't Die On The Second Turn Challenge (IMPOSSIBLE), all Subjects.
It seems the fleshy growth, RED and POINTY, are fleshwood? Woodflesh? Strange amalgamations of biological mass and cellulose and dead things and growing things and they have nerves and almost feel, though as Wilder can attest they aren't in any way thoughtful. They might be trees more prone to react to the physical world than the usual kind? Perhaps they even flinch when stabbed or tapped or when their precious sap is pulled from them.
There are other trees too, down here. Some of the panelling on the corridors is cracked with it. The Brown stuff seems more mundane wood, less prone to sudden movement. It doesn't pulse either. Perhaps that stuff is more sensible sort of material?
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Chimera gently hears, behind the low hum of enormously high energy capacity wiring, a... shout? a scream? a few soft pat pat pats. Was that a fight? a victory? It happened up out across the darkness that the singular wooden path leads over.
Far beyond it.
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Get your bearings, still. Breathe. Try to shake the loose, lingering sensation of sluggishness. WAKE UP, alright?
Something is happening. Something is coming. What is a *great hunt* ?
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subPHARAOH update:
Applications recieved:Processing
Applications approved:Handling
Confirm sign on of new janitorial members and test subjects: Success.
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Samantha smells. . . something sickly sweet, cloying, almost. Not quite water. No water, in fact, in this place, as far as her senses are concerned.
