ORIGIN - Tunnel K

Babe: Pig makes the world's most cursed lemonade stand

Wed, 01 Jul 2026 19:45:35 -0500

This place was decidedly not good yet, she'd decided she would not be judging a book by its cover. Not that she could read yet. Yet the Collector had made the terms clear: find others who would want to learn from her. While this wasn't the best spot in the world, she didn't have to travel far from where she felt she'd have to return once her task was complete, which to her was a worthy trade-off.

Then, perhaps others who hadn't experienced pleasant things would find her and also wish to learn from what she had planned. She planned to make treats. After making her basket (which by now was beginning to fray), she'd travelled to collect ingredients from the nearby caves since the ones nearby seemed so... empty. Eerily so. However, this piglet had planned to change that.

It took her longer than she'd have liked to set it all up, having to drag materials in from all around. But, soon, she had a little round stone table in front of her with her basket atop it. Leaning against the basket was a piece of bark with the flatter underside on show; it had a chalk drawing of a little meat haunch over a fire on it, then an arrow pointing to the 'counter' that Hog sat at.

It'd taken her ages find the right rocks for all of this and the fruits that she'd assembled. They weren't all good, some of them were a little too ripe, others a little mushy; it wasn't the cave's freshest ingredients but anything seemed fresh compared to this cave.

She set out her fruit behind her little 'stall counter' rock, and she had a half-decent variety of them too. It wasn't going to knock anyone's socks off, but she felt proud of herself.

Now, all she had to do was sit in this cave and wait for people to come by. Then, all she had to do was convince them to let her teach them. How hard could it be?

"How hard could it be?" She echoed to herself, trying to ignore the foreboding feeling settling into her bones. Which had absolutely everything to do with the cave and not that she'd made a deal with a very strange being. One that made her feel watched. Not at all.

Bathroom Graffiti Wisdom

Sat, 27 Jun 2026 15:54:42 -0500

It had heard of this place, but never visited personally. Draco had its very own spire of corruption, after all, so it never felt the need to make the trek. But it was certainly... different. The Black Spire was alive with chaos, a thrumming, twisting heart that burned hot with heat and power. This strange hole had a quieter sort of dread. It was pitch black and ice cold, leaving both its eyes and heat pits unable to sense much of anything. The air was still and silent, other than nearly-inaudible whispers that began to seep into its mind. It wasn't quite sure if it was actually hearing anything, or if this was the beginning of corruption already setting in.

As it approached the altar light returned, but wrong. It's usual vargasian-colored hide was now a sickly green accented with electric blue quills. It was disorienting, even more so now that the whispering was truly penetrating its mind. It would settle down next to the altar and close its eyes. The whispers seemed to get louder without distraction, but no more decipherable. It would try to ignore it the best it could, letting the corruption wash over it as it pondered its deal with The Collector.

@Audland Takes place directly after Requisite Stuff. [+3 Corruption Points from 'Praying']

speaking with ur manager

Sun, 17 Aug 2025 04:28:51 -0500

With every cycle that passed since Audland had hatched, there had inevitably come a time near the end of each one that Audland privately referred to as, "The Goopening". The sore spots; the sudden feeling of having his limbs crushed or his chest sat on—as though someone had come up behind him to assault him with a blood pressure test by strapping it on without him noticing; the sudden bursting into flame and fury; the silence, the depravity, the whispers in the walls—it all started happening more, and more, with more intensity, fervor, more intention. Every cycle, his body would break down little by little by lot and lot, and so every cycle, Audland would make the trek. He didn't even know how he ended up here. His feet just knew where to carry him.

Every cycle, back at the foot of this... altar. Innately, he knew where it was. Obviously, with his inverse vision Audland could see it, and just about everyone could hear it. But it was more than that—a strange attraction. Audland felt it calling to him, like a sixth sense, like there was some specialized organ buried somewhere in his guts. There was another place he could detect, in Draco—but Audland didn't want to go to Draco, there were a bunch of freaks in Draco. Draco was loud and here, here was at least quiet, even if it was the nigh unbearably stale kind. It reminded Audland of most days in Ursa. Eerily alone.

Audland came in with an offering. The first time, he had not—simply stumbled in, stabilized, and left. The second time, much the same. But this time he came in dragging some poor Lesser rabbit, dangling by its foot, blood trailing out from a single knife wound tearing through the rabbit's jugular. Audland approached the altar, and placed the corpse atop. He knelt, bend down to touch the altar, and closed his eyes.

Or... maybe he closed his eyes? He could never be sure. He knew there was darkness where there shouldn't be. His limbs felt distantly present, and the room felt, if anything—cold. But that just happened sometimes. And sometimes, in the middle of the nothingness, something would simply appear, and Audland could never tell if that's because he made it out, or he opened his eyes, or he was just dreaming or what.

In the middle of his "vision" was a pair of green, glowing eyes. Pupil-less. Glinting. Somehow this factoid could not be less helpful for Audland figuring out which case he was in. He'd learned not to interact with some of the reality bending visions he had, but when they felt real enough, he figured he ought to indulge them just in case.

"Hello, if that's you." Still unsure if his eyes were open or closed, Audland took a shaky breath and continued: "Couldn't guess who you are. If yer anything at all. If you are there though, I'm leaving you a rabbit. It's like, a gift, I guess." Audland's proximity to the altar started seeping into him. At first it felt like sipping bile, then opening his mouth to swallow it. More, and more bile flooded in, washed through him, pitch black and rancid with a hint of neon lime. Audland had to stop himself from gagging. This was just the start. The burn wounds beneath his skin would fester, the light and void would mix together and creep up on him like swirling shadows, the pressure would pop, then thin out, then leave him drowning in air. At the crux of it all, for the tiniest sliver of a second, Audland could almost feel the world bending and breaking, pieces of himself warping, the whispering chants around the alter nearing legibility—and then, everything was normal again. The Goop retreats, back into his body that is presumably made of it. Audland dry heaves pretty hard a few times, a balled fist thumping his chest; he feels in need of a bath. But, besides that: normal.

Unlike the last two time, Audland doesn't leave yet. He stares blankly at the dead heap of rabbit on the altar—or at least, he thinks he does. When his mind and body feel ready to speak, Audland starts: "If- if you are there, if you have any sort of... authority I guess, could you tell me... what I'm s'posed to be doing, in the cave with snow? I know I'm s'posed to be there—I mean, look at me, nowhere else fits, but—I'm not sure... what I was put there to do. I don't know who made me. I'm not sure why I even think that's a thing I need to... well, you get the idea." 'I hope.'

Audland would wait for a while. Long enough to hopefully parse whether or not he was talkin' crazy to an audience of none. Maybe a response would never come, and Audland could take it to mean something. What exactly, he can't say for sure. But any answer is an answer, even if it's an unvoiced one.

~~~

(OOC: Audland brings the altar an offering, stabilizes, and then asks potentially no one about his purpose in the caves. Note: not trying to powerplay Rrevalk, Audland just experiences visions, delusions, and the Void due to Forsaken Mind and Energy of the Void.)

Isn't This Stuff Bad For Feathers?

Tue, 06 May 2025 11:14:30 -0500

a corruption thread for Shrike. She is travelling back to the Hole daily to gain Corruption, while otherwise helping to patrol Canis as part of a group.

Shrike was crouched cautiously before The Black Altar. She'd never been down here, before, and the whispers of the Hole were... eerie, to say the least. Kind of thrilling, she had to admit. An adventure, almost, and a promise of power--and the way the voidlight made her look jet black was cool as hell.

Her wings were spread, and she was focused wholly on the Altar. The process had been explained to her, and she'd wholeheartedly embraced the results of her promise to The Warden: she was submitting herself to Chaos, to be forever changed by it.

Shrike held no real sense of attachment to her current magic, or her form. The idea of growing in power, even dripping black, appealed to her. And down here...

...the whispers spoke of things, she'd swear it. She couldn't make out the words, that much was true. But there was a promise of violence in it. A shift, now and then, in the shadows--like soldiers going to war. Like Valkhounds, fangs dripping. Shrike didn't know what to make of it, exactly, but she knew it made her heart beat faster--and not with fear.

Shrike wasn't "praying" in the sense that she was offering literal words or promises to the Altar. She was, however, immersing herself in it. She was allowing the whispers to carry her along; she was willingly indulging in the occasional... what were they? Hallucinations?

She didn't really understand; but she felt that she would begin to do so, soon.

Altar 'Prayer' - 3 points
Total Corruption - 3

The Hole

Thu, 21 May 2020 12:24:48 -0500

A hole in Tunnel K reaches down, hundreds of yards through a whispering, bitterly-cold dark that no light can pierce. The small room to which it leads is filled with a void violet-black not-light that negates all color, shifting it to its opposite: black is white, and white is black, the room appearing well-lit but in an eerie, unnatural way. Constant whispers speak of a dark magic, a chaos that will corrupt those who venture too far down.

Centered in the room is a vast slab of oily black stone, shining like pale marble in the void-light, rainbow hues dancing dim over its surface. It is from this that the glow comes, and the whispering voices. It feels wrong. Like a thing that should not be, an alien something inserted into an otherwise-healthy world; a thing that might spread, and sicken... a thing of blackness, and chaos.

No gemstones lay dormant in the Hole; new Gembound will not hatch here. And those who become Touched will find themselves treading a darker path... or, at least, being tempted toward it.