It holds it's breath when the wagon is opened - but is relieved when it turns out that the spirit means no harm. I was wrong, it realizes, accepting that he doesn't know everything. And the life returning eases his frayed nerves.

So for all the warning sirens the ruins sets alight in it's brain, Reverend decides that he cannot judge the Vistior's creations by their appearance. "I want to know what we will find. Let's go," he decides, even as he steels himself for the dark below.

Surrounded by the increasingly numerous sounds of the well-intentioned and what turned out be a scant few with the presence of mind to question the motives of the imprisoned being, it should come as no surprise that Fahl ended up no calmer than before. Assurances of strength found in numbers or in the size of some of the absolute behemoths among their present ranks accomplished little to assuage the fluctuation of alarmed reds and yellows shifting across his pale hide. If anything, they worsened preexisting distress even further at the ghastly amount of naivety and faith placed in a stranger's words.

No reason to distrust? Did they not hear the lack of proper answer to legitimate questions, the loud demands to be set free? Desperation could do a number on one's ability to reason, but surely even the littlest response could be afforded to dispel a concerned lizard's misgivings.

"Small does not mean... no power," he insisted. "And many... cannot always conquer one with great power."

Personal experience informed both statements. He doubted a giant had any chance of taking out Nemean, and it had been the work of two Masters to trap her within the Eyes. As for a ragtag congregation of Gembound versus a being of unknown capabilities, he needed only to refer to the Kraken of the Black City for their chances there. Most of their army, himself included, had been wiped out in the ensuing battle before Farina's eventual arrival. And yes, his ultimately ineffective participation in the attack then continued to steam him upon reminder.

"Think!" A final plea to reconsider fell on ears that didn't hear it, the decision of the group made.

And so the wagon opened and released whomever was held within.

It should have been a relief that no immediate harm befell them as the tale proceeded on. As life bled back into the Palewoods, Fahl was given no reason to maintain the stock-still posture he had taken to brace against incoming retribution for the poor choices of the collective. Scales turned darker and limbs loosened up, yet a few doubts continued to prickle. All were related to the nature of the spirit and what had contained it. The voice and symbols etched revealed it had been purposefully kept there, but the reason why remained absent.

Had releasing it been the primary cause of the forest's recovery, the work of its magic? Or rather had it leaving allowed eternal cold to no longer be contained to one area, the force given free reign to spread such eerie silence elsewhere?

The ruins next approached he did not possess nearly as strong an opinion on, mostly a mixture of confusion and vague unease at the image presented, a place like this incomparable to any memories that could be brought forth. The figurine was eyed at a wary distance before he strode forward a couple paces and cast a glance behind him.

"Might as well go," he offered with a sigh and a shrug. If the crowd was so curious, moving on together and satisfying interest seemed less hassle than putting up a fight.

Besides, it couldn't be any worse than the Tunnel of Frightmares. At least he didn't think any demise met down here would include the same amount of mockery or resulting shame.

As the narrator pulled it forward, Wilder braced for whatever was going to happen, ears twisted back, but as the breath of relief echoed through the Palewoods, Wilder also relaxed. This place was strange and she felt like there was more here, more that she wished dearly to discover and learn about, but the scene was changing and the narration moving on.

Swept along with the story, she gazed forward to the ruin yawning before them. She glanced at the lamb figure and the words scratched into stone and her tail twitched with a sudden excitement. There were others going in already and she padded forward to join them.

He still wasnt sure that the group had made the right choice releasing the spirit - they didn't know enough about the whole situation, they had nothing to do with this place, but as it was swept away and moved forward, Kass wondered if it even mattered. If this was even a real place. Or some false storyland created for their...what, enjoyment? So that they could play puppets?

Unsure and suspicious, he made to stay behind the group, watching and following as they went, for now, choosing not to try to sway the decisions - would they matter at all, anyways?

As the scene changed the house found itself between two crossroads. Gone was the carriage and the horses. Now before it lay ruins and a meadow. The house did not like the idea of going inside something, perhaps ironically. The idea went against the very fiber of it's being. And so 572 whistled, turning it's attention to the field that lay beyond. It did a short dance, hopping from one foot to the next, trying to persuade those around to follow it.

After the first decision was made, a pattern felt implied. They had the choice, ultimately, to enter or to not. That seemed to be the nature of the invitation. Open the door or move passed it—either way, you can only witness the result. It made Maw wonder what the point of making the choices was. There was always some option they were going to miss seeing. What was this style of story being told, and did it matter what she went along with? Did it really have an effect? Maw supposed she would have to keep witnessing to find out. The ruins... well, why not go into them? Maw would go inside.

Mossie's tail flapped about excitedly as she heard Alek's response.

"Cadenza!" She exclaims. "Love that guy. They helped me train my magic and carve a rock when I was. Not in the best headspace. Any child of Cadenza is a friend of mine!"

She tips her head at the mention of Sprig. "Ah, Sprig! It took me a moment to remember, but I do know a Sprig. We tried to cleanse those Order dickheads from Eridanus together...they had neat plant magic!"

Surveying the choice before her, Mossie puffed out her chest. "I say we go forward! It's only a story, after all, and taking bold and sometimes inadvisable actions is how stories move forward!"

@Alek

"You have chosen to enter the ruins," the narrator continues, and the opening of the stairwell engulfs the party, surrounding them briefly with darkness. "Slowly, your eyes adjust to the dim glow of—"

"RED FLOOR LIGHTS." A new voice. This is not the narrator. As you look around, you notice several of you are missing: Juggernaut, Faceless, Nico, and Yellow have disintegrated into glowing particles, vanishing.

"—cold, but you continue down the stairs carefully—"

"YOU CONTINUE DOWN THE STAIRS WITH AN EAGER STRIDE."

The voices are clashing, but the new voice is louder and more feminine, though it is cut with the sharp, synthetic scratch of something unnatural.

As you descend the endless stone stairs into darkness, the air grows stale and metallic; the lingering light of outside fades and slowly your eyes adjust to the eerie, warm glow of red emergency lights. They create a path down the stairs, illuminating your feet, and casting dramatic light upward. Spell-like, the illusion of never-ending stairs shatters as black metal expands into a large, forgotten room. There are egg-shaped capsules that you can only make out by the way the dim, floor-lit red glow curves across their surfaces. In a hiss of air, the capsules unfurl like blooming flowers, and the humid mist that escapes them creates a blanket of red that wisps slowly around the room. You are compelled to enter one.

The interior is soft and cozy, and as the pod closes, the chamber is filled with a gas that makes you sleep, but it does not feel this way. Instead, it is as if your eyes grow naturally heavy, and the sound of a breeze through trees wraps around you; it is methodical, like waves against the shore, the wind is alive and breathing...

< . . . INITIALIZING >

Your eyes do not read this message. Your skin does not feel the chill of cold as the pod prepares to preserve your body indefinitely. Medically-induced slumber has already won and even your subconscious falls victim to its sleep.

< PARADISE PACKAGE: PLATINUM >
< SPONSOR: THE APO— >
a glitch in the text, like the tearing of an old video tape

You awake at first in a green meadow. You are alone.

A voice surrounds you, mechanical and sharp.

YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO SLEEP FOR [nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand years].
PARADISE IS FOREVER. THERE IS NO eND—

"Where have you gone?" the voice of the narrator sounds almost frantic, distant, and then it is gone.

WE HOPE YOU ENJOY WHAT HAS BEEN PREPARED FOR YOU

A logo flashes in the sky: a diamond...

And the scene changes again, and you forget what has happened thus far; re-united with those you wish to see again, or the party, or whichever scenario best suits your needs, endless supplies of all the things you could ever want... you've found PARADISE.

POLL EVENT: STAY OR LEAVE PARADISE
Cast your votes here!

> STAY IN PARADISE
> LEAVE(?) PARADISE ?- /

One moment, the ruins--dark metal and ominous red difficult beneath pointed hooves--and then, the pod.

Cold. Dreamlike. Where are you? Here, Pride tried to think, the voice's alarm cutting a sour note past the peace that drew him down. We are here-

...and then, the fields. Open field, flickering and then back--and figures, coming toward him. Familiar figures. Spotted black coat. Pale white. ...Did I die? Pride wondered, blinking, and pushed up to go to them.

To meet them. He couldn't remember how he'd come here.

He must, then, have died. Or is this a dream-? What of his family? What would they do-... They will live, he reasoned, but faintly troubling was the worry of what had killed him. What if whatever it had been, got them, too..? His mind was working overtime, trying to puzzle it out, but it was hard to feel worried when that blissful sense of well-being permeated his world.

When Nassir! was coming toward him.

red deer img credit - dan seagrave

Giggle could not remember how she'd gotten here--a place like Canis, but with starlit darkness yawning above, and a soft light illuminating each and every bone scattered all around her. The scents of fresh meat were on the wind, and the pathways were clear of dust.

Bioluminescent fungus sprouted everywhere, and Omen flew off overhead, joining an entire flock of Callers. It felt... good; it felt right. She didn't understand, and didn't need to. This was a good place. A safe place. There would always be light here, if she willed it. The wisping glitter of magic twisting visibly through the air--it was the magic she'd always known was there, but tangible now, answering to her call. She could use it to help her family. Use it to help-

That voice. It was distant, croaking with laughter, and she recognized it.

"...Aza'zel?"

The old hyena broke into a trot, and then a crooked lope, dark eyes wide. Hope tugged her onward, and the first glimpse of feathers up ahead had her calling out again. "Aza'zel!" A grin twisted her scarred black muzzle. "Where the hell have you been?!"

The faintest memories--stomach-plunging horror, visions of some fall--threatened to pull her from this Paradise, but they were fleeting.

How could anything be wrong, after all? The Bone King was here.