Ever since the deathmatch, He'd been stewing.

Probably long before then, honestly, but now is when it came to a head. All he ever did was LOSE. Wasn't the altar's power supposed to, y'know, prevent that? He was a LION for goodness sakes! And he lost to a pig, a spear-wielding biped, and most embarrassingly of all some little gargoyle of a kitten?

He hadn't even realized he'd been going anywhere until a branch smacked him in the face.

Snarling, he slapped the offending branch to the ground and spun around. It was like the forest as formed a wall, an impenetrable barrier of undergrowth. The only way to go was forward, so forward he went. Music began to drift from wherever 'forward' was, and it was so cheerfully irritating that his pace quickened if only to find it's source and destroy it.

And he sure found... something.

The smell of food, the area decorated up all bright and colorful. Little stands of snacks or games or other entertainment. It was.. well... the closest thing he had to compare it to was the forum during the Deathmatches, and thinking about the deathmatches just made his hackles prickle.

...those little carnies were looking awfully defenseless and murder-able right about now.

So he walked through the carnival, trying not to hunch and stalk like the apex predator he thought he was. He pretended to show mild interest in the stalls, but really he was looking for an Imp that strayed too close to the edge of the clearing or an otherwise isolated place. He didn't want his attack to get instantly noticed by the crowd, after all.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.
Something somewhere struck the jackpot: a bell rang sharp and clear over the misty Carnival, punctuated by a victorious howl (or was that the figment of one's imagination? Masterful engineering to make this a profitable affair? Oh, Melinoe should be tempted to try his hand.) The scent of confections set a heady fog in the air, and even being unable to taste sweets, it would be alluring to such a large, hungry, angry beast.

(Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum!)
Just as alluring as any of the carnies bounding between stalls, calling out "Milk bottle toss!" "Get a ring on the top and win big!" "The more you play the more you WIN!" Paws grasped (but never quite touched, that was against company policy!) for brawny shoulders and sunny hide, voices crowing. Each carnie surely looked more appetizing than the last.

Especially the one standing at the entrance of an alleyway that was just a bit darker and quieter than any other games-filled avenue here was.

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen.
Oh, yes—this one looked quite defenseless and quite murderable, indeed. With a bushy tail just as large as their body was, curious flat feet and huge, fluffy ears; an adorable mask and jingling bells hanging from just about every fold of brightly-colored cloth draped over that little body. Tiny paw beans for hands and a cherubic giggle as the smiling-closed eyes of their painted mask fixed on the lion.

(Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum!)
Their dark-colored arms gestured eagerly, white fingertips and pink paw pads beckoning for him to follow. With more trust than could ever be reassuring in such a strange, wonderful place, the carnie turned tail and made to lead Melinoe away from the frenetic haze of stalls and overbright lights.

Who could resist that adorable tail-wag? The exposed back?

Something in the air would give him goosebumps, though, as if reading his murderous intent. But it was lighthearted, like a sense of almost teasing, mischievous warning. An egging-on sort of feeling from sibling to sibling in the middle of one making a very, very terrible decision.

@Melinoe

The very air of this place seemed to be alluring. Memorizing. Even the sharp bells and howls and the sweet, heady smell wasn't enough to dissipate such stubborn anger. In fact, it almost seemed to exaggerate the feelings. The hunger, now deep and piercing and roiling his gut. Anger, peaking at every overly-cheerful bell, every loud shout that seemed to exaggerate it. It did seem fun, maybe, although his one-track mind didn't bother to pay attention to anything other than the 'mission' he'd already set his mind to.

Maybe he'd try one of the stands after all. After letting off some steam, of course.

Each carny proved to be more tempting, making it harder to keep claws sheathed and teeth hidden behind lip. Just as he felt quite ready to bristle out of his (hopefully) calm looking exterior, he spotted a target. And how so perfect this was! Just about set on a silver platter.

He'd follow at an easy pace, letting himself relax. Letting claws slide out of their sheaths as a not-so-innocent grin split his muzzle. He ignored the goosebumps- must be a simple chill. Even if he DID bother to listen to his gut feeling, this was all too convenient. He could almost taste the blood on his tongue. He lunged, a brutal feline pounce preceding a vicious bite.

...Assuming the carny didn't have any tricks up their sleeves (which they most definitely did.)

Melinoe sprung, and he missed. A slide whistle noise accompanied the imp's shrieking leap away, and cymbals crashed as the lion fell back to earth with a comically exaggerated plume of dust. Flat feet daintily met the ground, and the carnie spun on their heel with a gasp of mocked surprise. Their palms pressed against their cheeks a la Edvard Munch's The Scream. Fingers deftly slipped back behind their head, unfastening their smiling mask to reveal a not-so-friendly smile underneath.

All sharp teeth grinning, the carnie cooed, "Aren't you just a fool! You should know better than to attack your lovely hosts." They shook their head, tut, tut, tut...

They then snapped their fingers, and all of the game stalls began to... rattle. A thousand footsteps and shuffling bodies came to life, pouring from prize slots and backrooms, and from the dark corners of the alley came more and more carnies. How could there be so many?!

"PLAY STUPID GAMES, WIN STUPID PRIZES! GET 'EM BOYS, GIVE 'EM THE OL' INDUCTION, SINCE THEY WANNA BE THE CLOWN!"

A swarm of chattering and giggling imps swarmed to pick up the lion and attempt to carry him further into the alleyway. An uproar of "ONE OF US! ONE OF US! ONE OF US!" began, growing in intensity as they all grappled for a hold on Melinoe like he was the carnival prize to be won.

@Melinoe

Nothing. Absolutely nothing but dust. The comedic sound effects just stoked the fire of his rage. He pulled himself to his feet, lips peeling back in a snarl. "You overgrown RAT. I don't care about whatever you're 'hosting' I just want to-"

The surrounding seemingly-empty stalls began to rattle. Hackles raised, his head whipped back and forth as an impossible amount of the little fiends poured out into the alleyway. "I DON'T CARE HOW MANY FRIENDS YOU'VE GOT, I'LL TEAR YOU ALL APART!" He roared, but even for a lion, the sheer amount of attackers would just be impossible to overcome.

He'd kick at the imps with his hind legs and swipe with his claws, his movements becoming increasingly frantic as he was completely swarmed. Maybe he knocked down or injured a couple imps, but that just made room for even more to flow pass. Tiny paws grabbed him and hoisted him up like ants carrying away an animal cracker.

Looks like the clown murderer was becoming the clown victim.

Serious as a heart attack, the first imp said, "Oh. You're the one going to be taken apart." Then they unleashed a tittering bout of laughter and disappeared into the army ant mass of bodies underneath Melinoe.

The stalls and games faded into an empty clearing, and at its heart stood a figure far taller than any of those present. Behold his side-sweeping horns and pinprick eyes, his lavish and brightly-colored robes and handsomely dingy ruff (was that part of his cape or part of him?), his multitude of jingling bells to accompany that of the imps rallying at his hooves with their continued chant of "ONE OF US!" "ONE OF US!" "ONE OF US!"

He uttered a booming laugh as the imps hoisted high a struggling, roaring, snarling beast; presenting him like a lovely box of chocolates named Life. Calloused palms clapped against one another eagerly, and he practically gushed, "Oh, what have you got there?"

Claws swept from NOT the Collector's (the Visitor, maybe—ah, no, that title's taken too...) robes, reaching for the lion's stone; but the crowd rioted, shying away. "LOOK, DON'T TOUCH," one carnie yowled. Another yapped, "ONE OF OURS! NOT YOURS!" We just wanted to show you! Not for you to take it!

The apparent head honcho resurfaced from the mass, mask reattached to their face, giggling and sending their bells a-jinglin'. "Heyyy, buddy! Our favorite vendor! Why don'tcha ever play the games more?" They gave a knowing tilt of the head, lilt of the already comically high-pitched voice.

The Vendor merely stifled his laughter, waving a dismissive hand. "You know how it is in the business, my friend."

With some coaxing gestures from the leading carnie (who'd merely shrugged in response), red eyes set upon the struggling lion, and at last his shoulders shook and convulsed with laughter. Foolish. "I believe that terrible fate has befallen you," he boomed with certainty, "but I do hope we'll meet again on the other side. The new ones are always such fun, right before the soul-crushing customer service gets to them."

... new ones? Customer service?!

"You know it, buddy—but, listen... WE'VE GOTTA BLAST!" Y'know, before the big brute does find out that there is, in fact, a limited supply of Carnival staff members. Theoretically, anyways.



The swarm took a dizzying pace, then, past the clearing and into the tangled darkness of Tunnel F at large. Thorny boughs and undergrowth cringed away from them, somehow intent on not snagging any of their lavish skirts or oversized and bushy ears and tails. Branches closed in behind them, and the shadows grew oppressive; and not once did the clamoring of bells cease. It was the the drumbeat to which they marched to, the percussion they sang their chants to.

They grew more and more excited by the minute as they entered total darkness. It was there that they stopped.

A single voice started, "READY, FELLAS? 3, 2, 1..."

"ONE OF US!!!"
The last thing Melinoe might notice—before a hundred voices roared inside his skull and thousands of tiny teeth and claws started to shred his mortal form to pieces quicker than a life-saving chrysalis could form—would be the dim outline of tens of hundreds of broken chrysalises. The scent of new stuck to the strange, pitch-black alcove.

He might be a little distracted by the agony and noise, though.

Melinoe has died, eaten alive by Imps.

Mysteriously, his stone has been used to create a new imp for the Carnival, and it will emerge there on January 2nd, 2022. It will grow to be a little under four feet tall and be very, very bouncy and capable of surviving hilariously huge falls (as long as they land on their feet). Faint memories of Melinoe's life may be present in this imp, but it'll be inclined to look back at those times and laugh at the idiot NOT working at the Carnival forever.

The element, gender, personality, et cetera of this character is up to the player. Of course, Snail gets first dibs!


(This post may be linked to as the Nursery Thread in the character's Application thread!)

@Melinoe
Also, note for anybody reading this: Snail okayed the potential of death before this thread's start, so this isn't just totally coming out of left field and the GMs deciding HEY! LET'S JUST KILL A RANDOM GUY FOR ONE (1) FAILED ASSAULT! I promise—

Eventually it became clear that no amount of struggling or yelling or swearing would earn him freedom. He fell still, biding his time or so he told himself. But it was more than abundantly clear that he was about to get utterly obliterated by a clown(s). Again. Why does this keep happening.

However, as The Vendor came into view he snarled, revitalized by having a new target to unleash his unending wrath into. Said conveniently obnoxious-looking figure started spouting nonsense about... Customer service? "What's that supposed to mean? It'll tear off each of those bells and make you eat em, bub! You-"

And then he was being dragged off. again. Man, he was really getting tired of this whole deal. Darkness, trees that seemed to conveniently shy away from the path. The sound of the bells was deafening, at this point, enough to make his ears ring. And then they got to their destination. It all worked up to a crescendo, a clamoring of bells and voices and-

He was barely aware of anything other than pain and claws and teeth and agony. Ominous foreshadowing scenery when completely unappreciated as he fought for his life, trying to tear his attackers apart as they tore at him. However, numbers were NOT on his side. They made quick work of him- too quick even for his Howlite to save him. You ever see a time-lapse of ants eating a gecko carcass? Yeah.

Exit thread via die

(Also I literally made this thread expecting and welcoming death dcfgvyhjnkm this is the best possible way it could've turned out.)