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Note: There will be no set posting order for characters in this thread; it may be treated as a free-for-all until the thread concludes on 4/7. You are not required to interact with other characters and may simply post your character's arrival and curiosity to investigate.

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Negative effect: 「nose/throat/eye irritation and burning」

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The coming of spring should have brought a bloom back to the Strand. After a horrible fire that seared the landscape last year, the Strand had been … quiet. And even with the coming of spring, with the surrounding lands blossoming, the Strand remained oddly barren.

The landscape almost appeared to be trapped in a strange stasis.

A thick, dark green mist has seemed to settle over the strange, rocky corridors. There seems to be an unnatural, eerie silence. No birds. Not even the crunch of your own paws against the ground below.

Even the tree branches do not flow or move, as if stuck in an air lock.

As you near the Strand, you notice the mist feels heavy, and it seems to linger in your fur, hovering in your face and obscuring your view. It irritates your mucous membranes, making your eyes red and causing your nose to run. Your face and throat become itchy, and yet, from somewhere in the caverns beyond, you hear a voice.

You cannot tell what it is — neither gender nor species. It does not speak in common, and yet it completely captures your attention and demands you draw nearer, into the toxic mist. It says no words, and yet it says everything.

The fog smells metallic, and the more you wander the caverns, the thicker the mist becomes and the more painful it is to be there. Your eyes are watering and burning to a point where you close them. Your throat burns as you cough, and it stings like small razor blades.

The voice persists, delicate and soft and yet … demanding. It has something to tell you. And it seems prepared to hurt you in order to get the message across. And you do not feel in any position to deny it, even though you do not understand it.

Just how far in will you wander? And will you be able to get out?

The birds have fallen silent.

There is no low crooning of sleek-backed shades, no bright-blue trilling, and lulling, mourning drones. That’s been the one constant since Odhrán has come upon this land: colliding into sleet and ivory powder, into a penetrating, peremptory gaze and a dark figure he could only vaguely recall amidst the ache of straining limbs and the foggy hue of fatigue obscuring his vision.

He’s no stranger to exhaustion: weeks spent scouring infinite hinterlands, trawling upon monolithic structures, crumbling beneath his wearied feet, and trudging atop dry, crackling wastelands with no chance for respite.

Not when monsters roam, not while his heart beats.

(However slow, however worn, however longing).

And this world has its fair share of land to trek through. The cold peaks and chill air giving way to life: meadows bursting with blush-pink stalks, squat, wind-swept hedges abloom with fragrant flora, arches forming an array of deep indigos to citrus-bright yellows, and crawling, hungering vines greedily staking its claiming upon debilitating stone and root alike.

Yet this sickly green mist, furling throughout the aged hollow, seeping with despair, oozing a wrenching lament, soiled—this is not life. No, this is a disease.

This is an infection.

It floods his throat, his eyes, his being with agony, searing through the soft tissue, infusing its torment, its suffering, its pain.

No, that pain, that miserable wailing ringing in his ears, is not his own.

Everything in Odhrán’s body—new, strange, but it's his, and it holds his craft still and blaring loud in warning—snaps taut: wound in an invisible string, and as the keen pitches, drops, evens into a compelling murmur, he stumbles forth.

This is no end, not the dissent that brought him into this realm's clutches; this is a beginning.

He does not hope that this one will be kinder.

It's almost 3 am I'm sorry if this is a mess

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If Ylva hadn’t been mistaken, things should have changed here by now. The scent of prey is what had led her in this direction to begin with, and it was, despite everything, a sense of odd curiosity that had led her to continue the rest of the way. She could make out the remnants of a fire, here, but the effects seemed old enough that life should have resumed.

There wasn’t anything, though. Just Ylva and the strange, green mist, and the silence that comes with it. It seems like it swallows up any sort of sound; there’s no birdsong, and as she travels deeper within the depths, she swears that maybe she can’t make out the sound of her own breathing, even as quiet as it had been, either. She’s alone, as far as she can tell, and she itches. It doesn’t make sense, but where the mist touches leaves her nose running and her eyes watering and her throat scratchy, as if she had suddenly fallen ill.

The more reasonable part of Ylva tells her to turn back. To escape this mist and go to where she knows it’s safe. Another part of her, though, is completely enraptured- a part of her that swears she can hear a voice, deeper within the mists, pulling her in. The supposed voice is delicate, keening something into her ears- and yet she can’t make out exactly what it’s saying. She knows, she thinks, that it’s promising it has something to tell her, though. And she needs to know what it is- both to figure out what is going on here, and out of a sense she needs to protect herself.

The realization that she’s not alone comes as a bit of a shock as another form, another wolf, stumbles through the fog near her. She doesn’t pause, instead choosing to trail after him, trying to shake the feeling that they should keep going long enough to speak.

You heard it too, didn’t you? It’s not an accusation, or even a question- she’s sure he has. A tiny part of her, though, craves confirmation, to know that it wasn’t just her.

She wasn’t sure what she expected.
Although still a new occupant in this strange world, the Speaker recognized its gaping, gnarled scar as if it were her own. A fire, and a gruesome one at that. As she and her Soul-Keeper travelled, if one could call it 'travel', she bore witness to the devastation. The constellations above were foreign, but the air was warm enough to suggest a passing season. The Strand—as the land was named—was strange, yes, but not as unfamiliar as she expected. Its energy clung to her desperately in only the way an old grief would, stitched and twisted into the soil like a scar beneath the skin. It reminded her, although distantly, of the Path. She read what signs she could from the wind. But the wind was secretive. Elusive, like an echo. Why had the fire come? Was it the will of the Goddess-Mother? A reckoning? A punishment upon the Faithless? Perhaps it could explain Her disappearance from Mythris, but presence in the Path?

The familiarity stretched beyond just age, however. The atmosphere was always too clipped or quiet, like the soil alone carried the weight of a burden long begotten to memory. But none of the individuals in their travels had presented details, and she hadn’t asked. Her Goddess would reveal the truth in time.

Luscinia had torn herself away from the company of her Soul-Keeper Cathartes for the afternoon. For no other reason than to merely explore the area on her own. No reason was offered, and none was required. They always found their way back, even if parted by a thousand worlds.

He was also... talkative.

As she traversed from the confines of the woods, she took note of how the land dipped and narrowed into strange corridors of blackened rock, and already, something felt wrong. Visibly wrong. Tangibly wrong. The air had no scent. The trees stood motionless, limbs stiff, taught, and silent. Not a breath of wind. Not a sound. Even her own pawsteps seemed reluctant to make noise, swallowed whole by the oppressive stillness that blanketed the area. A gaping void stretched before her, and where shadow met light, smatterings of organic matter revealed itself.

Bones scattered in the earth caught her eye — some fractured and deformed, some picked clean. Not fresh, but not old enough to forget, either. A bone-place defiled, desecrated.

In a sudden breath, Luscinia abruptly paused near the mouth of the blackness, one paw hovering mid-step.

She didn’t speak. Only a soft grunt emitted from her lips.

Words were unnecessary anyway. No one was here. Not the songs of sky-cries. Not the wind, nor time. Reminiscent of an echo-hollow, certainly. The echo-hollows in the Path could not compare to the dread of this one, assuming it was, in fact, the dream world she likened it to. The echo-hollows of the Path offered cold, but comfort. This? This felt inhabited by something old and waiting.

A green mist had pooled in the gullies ahead. Dark and slow-moving, thick as gray-loom. It clung low to the ground at first, but even from here, she could see it creeping up the ridges, like something alive, stubbornly clawing its way up the ragged, outstretched trenches that carved its way up the sides of the rock wall.

Cautiously, she stepped forward.

The mist touched her legs first — cold, damp — then higher. Her breath caught. Not from trepidation, but from the sudden, immediate sting: mucus began to pool from her nose, her throat prickled raw, and her pale eyes welled reflexively.

The Speaker sniffed, then winced.

The smell was… iron-rich. A fresh glow-flare strike on a tree. Rain slick on stone. She rubbed her face with a paw, though it proved futile, so all she could muster was a squint through the haze.

Then she heard it.

A voice — or something shaped like one. It didn’t speak to her, not like the Rav'kai. It lacked words, and yet it was unmistakably a language uttered exclusively for her. It tore at something inside her chest like a vine, firm and delicate, utterly insistent. She couldn’t describe it, not clearly. Only that it knew she was here. And it wanted her to keep going.

Her ears flicked back.

This is definitely not an echo-hollow, that much was certain. But if not the Goddess' doing, then whose? What could possibly be doing this?

Despite her uncertainty, her body willed her forward.

Luscinia coughed sharply, resisting the urge to brush at her streaming eyes again. The deeper she went, the thicker it got. Every breath came with a sting. Every blink burned, and yet the mist was hospitable, gentle. The voice remained, not loud but present, as if it knew she had time to listen even if it took a millennia to decipher its code. And despite every warning in her body, despite the way her lungs protested, Luscinia stepped forward again, deeper into the mist.

"Hello?"

A croak that echoed throughout the chambers. A prayer, cast out into something she could not see.

She knew she was uninvited.

But she did not feel unwelcome.

For the longest time, he felt as if his paws had been merely wandering aimlessly...and perhaps it has been the case. Fehrduin knew he'd been avoiding others, maybe by intention or maybe by mere coincidence. The scent of others had been around in places but it wasn't a matter the bulky male had felt necessary to concern himself over... nor to seek out. He'd been left alone and in some ways, it was...peaceful.

With stilled paws, Fehrduin halted, his gaze following a thin tendril of green mist. Unusual...The thought of turning back crossed his mind. He wasn't familiar with these lands, nor this place, sticking to traveling in hidden spots, observing rather than partaking. This however...this sent the fur along the ridge of his back standing. He felt alert. Turning around as swiftly as his bulky frame would allow, Fehrduin felt his jaws part ever so slightly. The mist was everywhere. Without him realizing, it had enclosed all around him, sticking to his fur. It felt about as equivalent to sinking into a bog, struggling to prevent oneself from going under. An unnatural feeling rushed into him, one he hadn't felt since his days as a small pup, requiring the protection of adults...he wanted to flee. He felt like....prey.

One large gulp of air as the shock of such an emotion awakened in his senses, Fehrduin hacked instantly at the attempt to breath. He dropped his head low as several deep coughs left him, his body convulsing from the effort as his eyes burned, and salty water poured from the rims. Raising a paw, he tried to wipe it away, lowering further to even go so far as to rub his head against the marshy earth, the wet moss, anything he could somewhat identify... In an instant, he paused. There was...a voice. Lifting his head, squinting and attempting to clear his blurred vision through the tears threatening to spill over, Fehrduin strained his ears. He hadn't misheard again, had he?

A couple steps back...

Just one more... the wolf in his dark mossy shades and bright orange sides, halts.

Something about this was oddly...familiar. Dismissing the thought instantly, Fehrduin felt his desire to flee ebbing away. Slipping his body as if the mist itself was gently coaxing him forward with a soft touch and a tender whisper. Beckoning as calmly as a mother but just as strict as one too.

This was more than just a voice. It filled his entire being in some way. Demanding even, that he persist, continuing, tempting him to defy every instinct in him that would tell him to flee. Continue! You must continue!

Fehrduin wheezes, barely able to scent anything now beyond what he assumed was the smell of this strange mist. He'd seen many things in his life and years. It gives and takes and repeats on an endless cycle of peace and pain. He'd been at peace...maybe now it was time to accept the challenge of pain. Another cough as he recalled a brief memory that flitted past his vision about as a quickly as a swallow swooping down for an insect. Standing up straight, Fehrduin levels his body before raising his head, looking ahead. His entire life had turned around in an instant. One he could not explain. He remembered wandering into the swamps he knew so well and next thing he knew, he had rounded a new bend and was flooded with new smells. He'd heard of such stories before from home, but had only believed them to be as out of reach as the very sparkle of the stars far above. As the thought entered his mind, he glanced up as if some part of him would see the stars. Only green lay there...and darkness. Shadows his unclear vision could no longer identify.

If this was to be his final rest, he thought, then maybe it was how it was to be. He'd pursue this, at least as far as this strange air would allow him to go. Fehrduin snorted through his noise in an attempt to stifle another cough. One paw after another, he continued forward. His tail remained low, his ears pinned back, his body stiff with tension but he headed forward anyway. This wasn't the time to fight back as far as Fehrduin felt. He'd answer this demanding call and do as he'd always done and listen. If things turned for the worse...well, he supposed to deal with it as it came. Either way, he had a feeling he wasn't as alone as he had felt moments prior. The least he could do was see where this led. Either way, it felt that if he ran, the result would be worse. Against his fleeing instincts, Fehrduin pushed ahead and headed deeper into the unknown, gritting his teeth against the assault on his senses.

Piece : 「 4 」 

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You cannot explain the strange pull you and the others feel, there is no doubt that you are on the right track. This place feels unnatural, as if you’ve passed through some type of transparent barrier and now stand within a different realm entirely. Your instincts are crawling, warning you to leave and screaming for you to run. Warning lights and red flags trigger in your psyche. Then why is your body so frantically drawn here? You recognize the danger, but you still cannot help yourself. The ruins that call you is too tempting to ignore. Without warning you hear his voice—the Dream Visitor. It is here, and you must find it. The sickening fog is tricking you. Do not breathe the air too heavily. Quickly, you must move quickly. It is imperative you find it.

As if he’d casted some sort of spell, your nerves settle, siphoning away any anxiety or doubts of self control. You hold your breath when you can, refusing to accept the desire to inhale repeatedly. You push forward through the sickeningly-green fog until you spot a faint, blue glow. Curiosity lures you closer, the anticipation of the Dream Visitor is so powerful you can feel the intensity yourself.

Etched into a stone pavement, partially covered in moss and worn down due to natural erosion, you see odd markings. Eipal lab drat yia od shiel lanshitind dre wolf’al kon, fir dre sake fier iar kin bodr dud aln lilind the Visitor reads the markings with a dialect unlike any you’d ever heard before. As he finishes speaking, you see the etchings grow brighter. The discomfort caused by the unnaturally green fog has ebbed away for the time being, no longer do you feel the burning sting of your senses, though the area is still producing alarming amounts of green gas.

You are safe to breathe. Leave. I will visit you when the awakening incantation is complete, his voice fades, leaving you with the silence of your own mind. While you cannot see the visitor, you are able to detect when he is absent.

Awakening incantation? What is he trying to awaken and why? Regardless, you should escape before the unnatural desire to remain comes back.

Fehrduin stares at the markings etched into the stone as he feels the lack of the invasion to his mind...the visitor, it seems, for now was gone. Such an odd feeling that the bulky male couldn't even put it into words. Words...that's right. The words he had heard the voice in his head speak were of a tongue he'd never heard before. Taking a step back, Fehrduin looks over his shoulder. With his senses returned, he dared to take a deep breath when the visitor had mentioned it was safe to do so. Leave. Yeah, he could do that. It was such an overwhelming feeling. The compulsion to run from here. Despite his mind now being his own, empty other intrusions, Fehrduin did not feel alone. With a few sniffs, he tasted the air, but he would obey regardless. Staying here among this green mist was surely not good either way. He had to leave.

As he turned, his pace was slow at first, recollecting his thoughts of all that had happened as of late. The seasons had changed and he let his mind wonder. He'd arrived here in the blur and confusion of approaching winter, survived here alone thus far...but surely it could not last. His dreams alone had brought forth mysterious things he did not know how to fully comprehend. Maybe it wasn't his place to do so? That sure was a thought in and of itself. Fehrduin sighed and approached the nearest stone, rubbing his side against it if only to leave his scent. He had been here and if his instincts were on track in any way, he wasn't the only one who experiencing this....thing. With that simple act complete, Fehrduin took no more hesitations and bolted. His tail low, he left this strange location behind. Nothing made sense. To Fehrduin though, it hardly mattered. He would seek safety as instructed. If this voice was true, he would know more soon enough and thus, for now at last, as his heavy paws carried him back the way he came, Fehrduin would leave the matter to rest.

An official exit for keeping track!

---

She shouldn’t be here. It comes as a realization, all of a sudden- she shouldn’t be here, and everything inside her is telling her to leave, regardless of if the stranger follows her out or not. But, despite that, her legs refuse to cooperate. Despite everything else, despite her instincts screaming at her, Ylva marched deeper into this odd, new land.

And then, just as suddenly, she hears it. Hears him. Ylva’s ears perk, and, despite herself, she finds her head swiveling, trying to make sense of things. But- there’s nothing. Certainly not a sign of the stranger she had heard just a moment ago. His words settle her nerves, though, a sense of calm washing over her like a blanket, and, with her mind clear, she inhales, just once, to hold her breath for a few pawsteps.

Ylva isn’t sure what she’s looking for, until she is- a faint blue glow, barely visible in the fog. Had it been there before? She was sure it hadn’t been. She would have seen it, wouldn’t she? Making up her mind to close the distance between it and herself is as easy as…well, maybe not breathing, in this case. As she gets closer, she can see the rock- and, a second later, she can make out the strange engravings there.

The stranger, the voice in her mind, reads them aloud, leaving Ylva’s brows to furrow in nothing but outright confusion. She had never heard anything like that, and she had surely never seen anything like it, either. Without thinking, she exhales, almost wincing once she catches herself. But her breathing is clear. The strange fog is still lingering, sure, but it doesnt have the same effect it did.

When the stranger speaks a final time, he doesn’t have to tell Ylva twice. His absence is just as sudden as his voice had been, and it leaves her with more questions than answers. But, as she turns to leave, she has hope that someone will know more than she does.