"WELCOME TO... IS IT LORE OR IS IT BULLSHIT!!!"

"Hosted by our VEERRRRYYYY own, GAME MASTER NEMEAN!!!" blared Nemean's voice over several loudspeakers with an audio track of cheers playing behind it. The palace basement—larger than anything one might have assumed to find underneath the Palace, large enough to fit even the largest valkhounds—was lit by bright moving spotlights that varied in color. Tiers of seating rose up the middle of the gameshow studio with large spaces on either side to accommodate all sorts of audience members. The main stage was mostly open with colorful banners on each side and a podium backed by a large screen at the center.

Vuvuzelas sounded a fanfare as confetti burst from the rafters, announcing Nemean's arrival on-stage. The spotlights converged on her as she flitted from behind the drawn curtain and settled herself on the podium. There was a fishbowl on the podium with a small goldfish inside, and if one were close enough to see, it had a duct-tape label that read "Aquarian".

"THANK YOU, THANK YOU," Nemean chimed, leaning into the microphones and winking at the cameras that zoomed in on her face; this image was displayed on the large screen behind her so that all audience members could enjoy her pleasant face. She was dressed in a shiny outfit speckled entirely in sequins, making her already sparkly-self even more sparkly.

"A warm welcome to my audience and of course, my best friend, Aquarian!" she cheered, slapping a tiny paw-hand against the fishbowl. "Also! A very special welcome to a very special guest today—theeuuuhhh VISITOR!!!" Her hand outstretched toward the audience where a spotlight illuminated a black-robed figure with a lion skull face, leaning back in a chair with its feet (maybe? they were not visible) propped up on the chair in front of it. It was eating a strange crunchy snack from a colorful plastic bag that read chile lime corn nuts. It raised two fingers in a wave before it went back to eating its snack.

"SO LET'S! GET! STAAARTEEED!!!" yelled Nemean as the lights in the studio dimmed, keeping the main stage lit. The screen behind her shifted to show the title of the gameshow before a swooshing transition to the game rules.

"First thing's first: How! Do! We! PLAY!?" she called, turning to fly up to the screen so she could point along to the rules as they popped up. "FIRST! No cheating! SECOND! No killing the host or her guests! THIRD! If you lose, YOU DIE!!! ... Just kidding!" A laugh tracked played. "ANYWAY, THAT'S IT. WHO'S READY TO PLAY: IS IT LORE OR IS IT BULLSHIT!? You might have already started! Wahuah!" There was a puff of pink smoke and Nemean disappeared, only to reappear at the podium and pull out tiny index cards from her jacket. "In this game we test what is canon... like... THIS!" As she said the last word, an actual cannon rolled from behind each curtain and shot confetti into the crowd with two loud booms.

"HAHAHA! ANYWAY! Audience members, feel free to yell your answers!" she said, looking down to her cards. "FIRST QUESTION!" The lights dimmed more, with a single spotlight on Nemean, and the screen as the brightest thing in the studio. The question popped up behind her as she read it aloud: "Obsidian—that's volcanic glass for you uneducated creatures—is allowed as a gemstone because: A) Leon's attunement to fire brought it into the caves because obsidian is cooled lava and Leon is cool; B) We already have other very important characters with obsidian as their gemstone and it's too late to change anything; C) It's just cool... lava; D) All of the above; or E) Rock shiny ... ?"

Anyone is allowed to join this thread. You may bring concessions from the concession stand, which are always free. This thread will take place in one IC night -- OOC November 30th -- for your timeline notes. It will progress weekly regardless of player attendance or character answers.

What was that noise? It sounded like... A very distant Nemean? Did someone turn up the theater? (Was that possible?)

In any case, Pollen's eyes snapped open from wherever she fell asleep, limbs askew over some seating place or something. Was it comfortable? No. But, she couldn't fall asleep on the books anymore, could she? Last time she did that, she woke up with her own foot in her face from the local bookworm looking to organize them. And-- okay. It was one time, and she was tired, and he was in the midst of organizing and things led to another- she doesn't sleep on books all the time, she swears!

Anyways. Pollen ruffled her poncho- it was a thick, dark material, more like a blanket with a button on it than anything. It was easy to fall asleep in, and it was easy to wear. Oh, she loved it. It ruffled out behind her as she rolled ungracefully to all fours, thumping to the ground. Her poncho-blanket flopped to the floor to gather dust as she shoved off, blinking the sleep from her golden eyes.

Yeah, that was Nemean. Pollen's tongue curled up as she yawned, padding past the concession stand to the sound of fanfare.

No, wait. Slowly backing up, Pollen stood tall and took the time to retrieve a morning snack, with some definitely healthy corndogs and a whole bucket of popcorn. Thank goodness for magic and constant cooking. Two corndogs laid stuck in the bucket as Pollen tucked it into an arm, meandering a little slowly so she didn't spill too much of her prize.

Soft steps carried her to the giant, giant entrance, and-- oh, okay, that was bright. Very fancy. Her ears pinned back- oh, there would be... Nemean music, here. No fighting, right? Bleh. Stifling another teary-eyed yawn, Pollen walked to one of the closer rows, starting to wake up thanks to the sheer volume of stimuli around her. She wouldn't have been able to sleep with this going, anyways.

At least Nemean is a bit more visible with the cameras on her. She still hadn't changed, still dramatic, but-- hey, that wasn't Aquarian. Did he change like Astraea? Okay. Filing it away, Pollen plucked a corndog from her bucket and chomped the end, chewing it as she watched.

The Visitor? Pollen twisted back to see him. .. okay? Who was that. -- Oh well. The muta shrugged and looked back, returning to her corndog. Whatever this was was going to be interesting.

Introductions started, and Pollen shuffled closer to the edge of her seat, setting the bucket at her feet so it didn't spill. Who knew how clean the floors were here? She wouldn't eat off of them (while people are looking). Anyways. Rules. No harm, good! Okay. The rules were fine enough, and they had the Nemean flair all along with them. Crossing her legs in her seat, Pollen sat back to chew on her corndog--

And her teeth clicked hard onto the wood, snapping it as the cannons blasted in front of her. Ach- crud. She hastily dropped her bit of food into her palm and frowned at it, ears still perked up to hear the announcements. She could multitask! Obsidian, and questions- as she worked to pick out the piece of wood, Pollen looked up to the screen, attempting her best to read what was on it.

Not A. Who's Leon? The Master associated with fire is Raheerah, and he was cool, sure, but she was pretty sure his gem wasn't obsidian. She... didn't really remember. Ach, she wished she remembered, now! Maybe-- Well, all of the above seemed safe...

Flicking an ear back, Pollen's breath hitched. Then... B? Too late to change what? Did they not want to design their creatures with obsidian?

Eh. She'll lock that in. Wavering in her answer, Pollen leaned forward and cupped her mouth with one hand, shouting out a loud, "B! IT'S TOO LATE!" Wait-- she leaned back, paw folding over to a 90 degree angle. Oh, no. Okay. Uh. "C? NO, D!" Yeah, might as well. If she chose D, then she'd be kinda right if it was one of the other ones, right? Yeah! "D! ALL OF THE ABOVE! ALL OF THE ABOVE!!"

He came in with his halberd.

He'd been en route to Leo: intending to request armor from the Blacksmith. But he'd been distracted by the announcement of... whatever... this was.

Others had stopped at the concession stand, and thus so had he: but he hadn't asked for anything. He hadn't known what it was for and so the towering black dog-beast had simply stood there until a confused worker had handed him a tub of popcorn. It smelled good--salty and buttery--and so he carried with him, not saying a word, following the small crowd down into the theatre-like room. He took a seat not far from Pollen, and studied the stage ahead.

The Sentinel brushed the drifting confetti from his shoulders about fifteen seconds after it had fallen, and picked some out of his popcorn as he tasted it. Otherwise he remained wholly impassive as the announcements were made, as the vuvuzelas blared, as the Master of Light swept out in a tiny, sequined outfit.

The Visitor-? He turned, sweeping his head slightly to stare at this stranger with the eyes on both his face and 'ears,' studying it for a moment. It sort of looked like him: tall, mostly in black, skull-faced. Though his own skull-face was black, not white. An important distinction. The Sentinel was debating which looked cooler when the show continued. The blast of a cannon caused him to flinch, briefly, but it seemed to cause no harm--only more confetti. He stared into his popcorn, having just picked free the last of the stuff--now more had settled in. The Sentinel went back to the arduous task of removing said confetti from his popcorn for a second time.

The first question and its phrasing--allowed as a gemstone--puzzled him.

Allowed-? he thought, wondering. What does this mean? But it soon struck him. "The Sentinel did not know that the Creator decided which stones were acceptable for our Masters to use," he mused aloud, to no one in particular. It didn't occur to him to wonder who or what a Leon was, past a brief puzzlement.

The stage and its audience vanished. The room was empty, dark, drifting with dust and cold nothing. The Sentinel waited this out, recognizing it patiently as the effects of his own magic, taking him where and when it wished. When his mind returned to the present, to reality, he heard Pollen shouting out beside him.

Was he supposed to do that-?

He chose an answer that was not on the list. "BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT THE CREATOR HAS DECREED," he called down, and then pushed another wad of popcorn carefully into his skull-faced jaws.

She was curled on one of the larger chairs, chewing contentedly on a corn dog. This place reminded her of the theatre, just... underneath the palace. The colors and falshing patterns held the Valkhound rapt, and drifting confetti held her gaze as it fell. The vuvuzelas, though-... those grated on her nerves. Loud, noisy. She loved it, in a way; it tickled that part of her that was Chaos.

Vuvuzelas were the ultimate musical expression of Chaos.

Obieth stopped chewing as the fish was introduced. She half-stood, prowling forward, eyes locked on the small and flicking creature: the light gleamed off its tiny scales in a way that absolutely triggered every predatory instinct in her. The corn dog, however, was still hanging from her mouth, and she stopped, after a moment. Her tail twitched, eyes lifting to Nemean, and she wondered if she could grab and eat the goldfish before Nemean stopped her.

Oh, but...

Aethril probably wouldn't like that.

Obieth hesitated, then settled back in her seat with only the barest glance at the Visitor. Nemean started in on the rules, but the black cat's attention wandered, savoring the scents of food in the air and-

BOOM!

She sprang up, velveteen fur bristling, at the sound of cannon fire. Her limbs scrambled all over themselves in an attempt to clamber over the row behind her and farther into the stands, before getting ahold of herself and pausing to glare over her shoulder at Nemean.

There was a question being asked, though. And people were yelling answers. She hesitated, confused, whiskers twitching into a frown.

"WHO IS LEON?!" she called down, stalking back to her seat to search for her corn dog again.

"WHO IS LEON?!"

And just like that, Fisher manifested into existence with a barking, howling laugh. "A BIG UGLY BEAR!" Fisher yowled, "WITH RELATIONSHIP ISSUES!!" Out of everyone who was in the caves, Fisher was one of the few who could say such a thing with confidence. They were friends!

... Actually, where had Leon been all these cycles? Well, no time to dwell on that. Fisher had just randomly appeared out of the blue in this random game show. Which was to say that he was here because he was wandering around and had smelled food, and stumbled into this weird set with bewildered confusion.

Nemean was here. Oh, hell yes. Nemean. Fisher was probably the only gembound in the damn cave who's eyes went a bit wider with eagerness instead of concern at the sight of her.

"But who the **** cares--" A comically loud, incoherent boom bleeped out Fisher's inappropriate language (for the kids!) despite the fact the gameshow was literally called, Is It Lore Or Is It Bullshit, but Fisher kept talking as though he hadn't noticed, "-- about LEON? He wasn't special! Obsidian's just a shiny rock like all the rest of them, who gives a ****! It's not even a SEXY rock, for ***** sake!" Fisher scrambled forward, raising his paws up into the air as his rumbling thunder fizzled out, but he didn't care. He could yell loud enough to be the center of attention just fine.

"HEY! HEY! Ask a question about an IMPORTANT gembound, you know, LIKE ME!"

note ;; fisher votes for rock shiny

Nemean watched the tiny stopwatch on her podium as the crowd shouted answers, keeping up her grin despite the corner of her lip twitching at the effort. In the back, she could hear the Visitor adding in its own incorrect answers, things not even listed on the screen. Some of them out there shouted the correct answer, which surprised her. A little fist formed on her papers as she leaned over them: dang, somebody out there actually knew Leon and saw straight past the joke answer. Huh! Old...

"YES, YES VERY GOOD," she said as her timer dinged, flitting back up to twirl herself in the air. Without acknowledging which of the answers was the correct one, she clapped her hands and the screen shifted to the next question—and she immediately burst into a fit of laughter.

"HAHAHA WHO WROTE THIS ONE," she squealed, doubling over while hovering mid-air. If anyone were close enough to see Isra near the entrance to the studio, they would have seen her stiffen. Nemean might have laughed at it but Isra would sooner disappear.

"Okaaay well, LORE OR BULLSHIT? DHRACIA'S GIRLFRIEND IS A FURRY PIRATE!"

@Pollen @The Sentinel (and Obieth) @Fisher

Maybe someone else would ask about the use of the term "furry." The Sentinel simply assumed that it meant "furred."

No: his question was going a few miles backward toward the basis.

"WHAT," he called down, "IS A GIRLFRIEND?"

It didn't seem like Nemean meant a female friend. ...But who knew.

It was irony that the Sentinel's eyes fell on Fisher, but didn't quite recognize him from the stories Black's other child had told him. Small, brown, electric. The barest whisper of a memory murmured across his mind but didn't include literally any of those three things: just a here-then-gone sort of deja vu that he dismissed as his corruption grasping for him.

So the possessor of the stone of Fisher's old friend simply stared at him, for a moment. "It claims to be important," was all the Sentinel actually said, but it almost sounded like a question--certainly not mockery. Was this some other Master, then? One he hadn't met, yet?

sort of @Fisher for vis... man there's potential for tragedy or comedy here

Not as many answers that time. That's fair. Aside from the Visitor cackling and throwing in its own jokes, Nemean heard one sad soul shout, "WHAT IS A GIRLFRIEND?" Immediately, a spotlight snapped to The Sentinel's position to illuminate him.

"Oh, honey," came Nemean's voice over the speakers as she leaned onto the podium to prepare for a long speech. "Well, a girlfriend is—" but the timer buzzing cut her off and she sneered at the screen behind her.

"Wait, this is important!" she growled, fiddling with a remote to try and pause the slides. They skipped past a third question and the screen experienced visual tearing, lines of color yawning with gaping mouths through the pixels until it flickered, fizzling into a black screen with yellow and green noise continuing to tear through. Through all of the strange glitches came the final question, and as it struggled to remain on the screen, Nemean read it aloud:

"Is this the End...?" Ugh! That was going to be her big reveal with the funny Creator paper mâché falling from the ceiling and—

As if on cue, shadow flooded the studio and the feeling of suddenly falling a long distance hit those attending all at once, a nauseating G-force punch right to the gut and brain. Those standing might find themselves brought to their knees, and those sitting might have found it comfortable to curl up and try not to puke. Ears felt as it they might burst from the pressure that engulfed the room. Even Nemean was flattened to the podium like some kind of sprite-pancake, but the feeling of this—the absolutely pure and heavy Chaos—terrified her.

From the left of the stage where the oily miasma was thickest, two giant claws of billowing black cloud pulled themselves free of the shade, followed by the gaping green maw and eyes of the Creator with a thick boar-like head crowned by twisting, forward-facing horns and a thick gold ring hanging from his septum. He fought to keep his hold through the Chaos by which he traveled, claws of smoke tearing and anchoring themselves into the studio foundation. His eyes snapped greedily around the strange room. Within his being flashed bursts of green lightning, some sparks finding their way free to bite at nearby objects, followed by the rumbling growls of thunder. It was as if he was made of tumultuous ever-storm while his body was not physically fully formed.

And he was large, large enough that even in the massive space that housed the studio, it felt like at any moment he would burst free from this cage that was tiny in comparison to the unknowable mass that was Him. Likewise, the entire room was drowned out in his sound, the quaking, gripping, suffocating booms and snarls that heralded Him.

"THE END?" he had asked into the space, his voice louder than any of the thunderous cracks and growls before, but this was not the fortune that he sought. This was not the domain he feverishly devoured time and time again—no. This was just one of his nests, he felt; but the presence that permeated it was likened to End. Somewhere here was Skystone though its capacity was weak compared to what he had hoped to find. His claws dug into the crystal-stone ground beneath the studio foundation, crumpling it like tin foil in his fists.

"HEED ME, MY VALKHOUNDS!" boomed his voice, "I, RREVALK, WILL FIND THE END, AS I ALWAYS HAVE. AND YOU WILL BE READY FOR THE DAY WE DEVOUR IT TOGETHER." It was less of a statement and more of a command before the entirety of his existence in the cave burst into boiling oil and rushed the studio like a flash-flood, likely burning those it came into contact with, even just the sizzling sparks that splashed up to those in the bleachers. It quickly settled into the scars left by his claws, where it popped and bubbled like a hot tar pit.

And the stench that sat with them was palpable.

Nemean had disappeared, and her pet fish had perished from the encounter. Those that did not immediately chrysalize were likely to vomit or pass out from the intense first-hand blast of Chaos radiation before their stones would struggle to save them regardless if they were oilstone or not. And the basement would fall into silence.

Rrevalk, also known as The Creator, has been revealed!

Characters present have earned the following achievement:
Creator's Oracle: NOW YOU MUST LOOK CHAOS IN THE EYE

Characters present will suffer the following randomly rolled chrysalis consequences after they emerge from their chrysalis (which would be today, Dec 14th):

@Pollen - minor stray (memories), fissure (right eye)
@The Sentinel - minor occuli (usable, on halbred (base of metal)), minor vampire
Obieth - rupture x2 (waist, upper skull)
@Fisher - minor vampire, glitch (mouth/cheek possibly lightning pattern if you want)

Additionally, character stones that were not oilstone will be cracked with veins of oilstone upon awakening, those that might have already had oilstone will have shimmering veins of more pure oilstone in theirs. (Edit to add: Oilstone characters are supplemented by the nearby oil pit and do not need to worry about stabilizing issues during chrysalis.)

---

Additional characters may enter and browse the aftermath but may suffer Corruption points in doing so.

---

Characters present in the Palace at the time of this post will have felt the presence of Rrevalk but it is up to you whether or not they feel sick from it. Only the characters present in the studio have suffered chrysalis and consequences.

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

vomit

What's a girlfriend? Obieth snorted, lounging in her chair. This would be fun to listen to. She nudged a corn dog aside, and set to grooming one oversized, two-clawed paw hanging over the edge of her seat.

Nemean's called-out question--"Is this the End?" lifted her ears and eyes to the screen indifferently. She took in the strange screen tearing, the flashes of chaos green, but she was oblivious to any deeper meaning. No, her dark and rasping tongue was struggling to get free a bit of corn dog nastiness she'd gotten on her paw, and-

Darkness. Nausea. Falling.

Alarm roared through her. Obieth scrambled up, or tried to; catlike reflexes would've had her out the door in a second if some unseen force hadn't suddenly slammed her deep into her chair. Heart hammered in her chest, velveteen fur bristled outward and she yowled briefly--short, cut off, a choking cry of terror. Her gut roiled, and if she'd had more time to react those corn dogs wouldn't have stayed put--but as it was she thrashed in her seat and collapsed in it. Yet at the same time, something about the Oily smoke now flooding the place resonated with her. As if called to answer, her innermost being roared up past the fear, that predatory snarl of Chaos answering its call. Her mind spun with madness and violence and sadism and pain-

She could see him.

His face, boar-like, tusked and horned. His nose-ring. His entire body a storm flashing lightning, his claws rending the earth. Even as Obieth struggled and choked, she wanted to be inside his cloud, and his words vibrated through her chest with command. Fear bled away. Eager bloodlust filled the place where it had been. She wanted to obey; she wanted to join with him and wreak havoc and consume and destroy.

Obieth answered Rrevalk's call with a yowling roar, her own claws digging into her seat, an ecstasy of sickness and pain churning through her. Her magic lashed out, reaching for that connection, Chaos to Chaos and full of that ecstasy of fury--I AM YOURS! TAKE ME TO DESTROY, UNLEASH---and then came the Oil, searing outward, drenching her, burning her away. The Oilstone at her chest responded, cracking and spreading over her. Her body was trying to react, her stomach churning and hurling up the food that she had eaten but it was far too late for that, and the last thing she saw as the chrysalis took her was the Oil-streaked floor sweeping for her face as she fell.

exit Obieth, to awaken probably in another thread

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

graphic themes

.. also vomit

Very good? Well, which one was it? Sitting up, Pollen quieted for a moment, eyes wide as she watched. Well, it was Nemean Brand Bullshit Day, so Pollen just sat back and listened with her ears perked.

Dhracia's girlfriend? That wasn't Aethril? -- No, no, no, that wouldn't be it, totally not. Pollen wasn't aware of any girlfriend. While the crowd quieted and the lights cast to the Sentinel, the muta's shoulders hiked up to her head in a vicious shrug. Nemean was starting on, and Pollen's head turned to watch the Sentinel, listening for whatever the Master was about to say.

Her eyes turned back at the sound of the buzzer. Technical difficulties? Pollen drew her lips thin (as best one could with a muzzle), eyebrows furrowing. She wasn't aware of how to fix it, but-- Nemean could handle it. Curling her legs in closer to herself, Pollen idly chewed on more of her food, concern on her face as the colors danced across her fur.

The End.

Motion took over her as her soul dropped. Her muscles tensed, her eyes and jaw clenched shut, and she let out a scream muffled through thick teeth. She'd doubled onto herself as she struggled to turn her head. Her entire system rejected its own existence. The corn dogs she'd eaten spat to the ground as tears stained the fur of her cheeks. There was nothing like this that had ever happened to Pollen, not once in her life, not even when she had felt the brunt of chaos from her friends.

Her nails dug harshly into her gut as she struggled to see. Through the acrid stench of vomit and oil, Pollen heaved again, her stomach beginning to run on empty. Her whole body felt like it was being crushed under the weight of the magic, and she wheezed out and stared through tears at...

Oh, Creator. Who was--

Oh. No. Even if she didn't know who this was, the sheer presence froze Pollen's nerves, her breath pacing faster and faster. She was going to die. Whoever this was, whatever this was, was going to kill her.

And then, He spoke. A sharp spike of fresh terror stabbed through her chest, and she curled back with her hands over her ears. It felt like her scream would never break over the sound of Him. He was everywhere, and yet right there, and breaking her apart. His words branded into her, His presence burned afterimages into her retinas, and He commanded. Her voice was gone. There was nothing left but a choked crying, her eyes trapped on His.

The sizzle of her own flesh broke her out of her trance. It was too late for her to flee. Her body spasmed as she desperately dug into the chair for any leverage out, but there was no escape. There was no escape for Chaos, no escape from her own end. Slipping back, destruction overwhelmed her as amber struggled to encase her, trapping her in place and glueing her to the floor.

Her voice broke as she screamed one last time.

;exit pollen