Hello, everyone! after dealing with real life and the other nonsense of living, panny and i have decided to bring back war of change. give a round of applause. we’ve worked through all of the information and hopefully improved coherency and cohesion; however, tell us if we missed something. eventually, we’ll announce an event to celebrate the re-opening, so look out for information on that. -RAIDNE, THE HEAD ADMIN
From the moonless night, screams of terror and fear resound, spreading across the world and infecting the masses; however, those sleepless nights occurred years ago. A new era began with the fires of war, and with no end in sight, the residents of Selene Isle trudge through life, basking in the momentary peace. Despite their prayers for continued monotony and peace, a storm brews, stirred to life by the continued presence of Rapture and Wraith. And as we set our sights on the seemingly peace laden isle, we must ask: how shall this tale end?
As the years passed, the number of true pairs increased; however, they continued to live in the shadows, catering to the whims of the mundane. Seven Moons kept watch over them all, instructing them and assisting them, but for many, the attitudes and ideals of the organization were smoldering, suffocating. With Seven Moons and the mundanes, they could not grasp the freedom, the power dangling before their eyes. In the beginning, rebellion was a dream, a fantasy, a figment—developed by the repressed and carried forward due to the nature of humanity. No one expected the call to sound, and no one expected the call to be answered. However, it happened.
aren't you something to admire, cause you shine so bright like a mirror
He had heard he stories about this place.
Of course he had. It was hard to not know about the rumors about that dilapidated, old manor left to rot out there in the forest. He had heard it by some accident. He hadn't really even been meaning to overhear the conversation but it was hard not to when teenage boys could be so loud - why or what they were doing in the antique shop was a question on its own - and obnoxious at that. They had been talking about a supposed courage test. Something, he came to realize, was probably a means by which they could prove how masculine they were or something along those lines. How brave they were was probably a better word for that. They were supposed to stay over the night. Just one night in Aysel's mansion. Just one night and if they made it, the other two would do the challenger's homework for the remainder of the year. Ridiculous, he had thought at the time. Why would it have been so terribly frightening to go inside of a 'haunted' building? Though, now that he was here now ... he could have sympathized with those strange and very loud boys.
Lapis lazuli watched, following the climbing vines that curled and tucked along the crevices and sides of the building. The crumbling supports that it had to offer. If they should have been afraid of anything, they should have feared the structural integrity of the manor in the first place. Still, he supposed. Perhaps it was in his best interests to turn away with his tail tucked between his legs and leave. But call it a healthy curiosity. Call it stupidity, call it whatever you pleased. But he had decided that perhaps he would venture inside to see just exactly what there was to be afraid of. Wading past the brush, his hand gently brushing against the trunk of the tree as if only for a sense of familiarity before steady feet came to rest at the base of the manor. One step, two steps, and the rotting wooden boards beneath his feet creaked in agony from the sudden weight. Door hanging off its hinges, Arte could do nothing but look around. More so in amazement and wonder rather than fear. Interesting. He wondered what kind of people must have lived in the manor. Why was it haunted? He knew that the normal people - he had never quite gotten a grasp on the term that had been coined by the true pairs - once lived in it prior to his kind overtaking the island.
Had a child, never given the chance to be one, come to haunt the manor? The place of its captivity? Or perhaps a chambermaid had fallen with not even a moment spared for them to get up again? Slow hands trailed along the banister, feeling along the bumps and ridges in the once polished wood. Perhaps there was more to this place than he had realized. The stairs groaned beneath the weight of his body, the red haired man suddenly very unsure of whether or not it could have stood to support both him and the - probably - heavy and faded rug settled on top of it. Dust clapped, D'Artagnan taking another slow step. It was only then that the wood buckled beneath the pressure and down he came. Arms shot out, trying to reach and grab for anything that he could before he came falling beneath the staircase. It wasn't until the dust cleared that he had come to realize just why people called the place haunted. It was things like this was why people didn't come back after visiting the manor just once. He always thought that if he was going to die, it would have been in a battle. Or in jail. Not to be defeated by a rickety, old staircase.
PAINT YOURSELF A PICTURE OF WHAT YOU WISH YOU LOOKED LIKE
pale grey lines appeared as the pencil traveled across the formerly blank page, connecting each stroke as the image formed. pale red tinted eyes shifted between the pad and his model, and internally, he prayed for the peace to remain. minutes dragged by as the rough outline of his sketch formed, displaying the young deer in its captured glory; however, as his pencil hovered over the image, a breeze cut through the trees, sliding into the clearing and startling the deer. a resigned sigh escaped the pastel haired youth as his hand rose into the air, tucking his hair behind his ear and then falling to rest on his beloved notebook. the unfinished drawing taunted him, and in a burst of frustration, he ripped the lone page from the pad, crumbling it into a ball and lifting his arm into the air. his sense of self returned as his grip momentarily tightened upon the fragile object. remorse colored his effeminate features as he lowered his arm, carefully stretching the object out and then staring mournfully at the ruined picture. with a despondent sigh, he placed the crinkled page upon his lap, elbows coming to rest on his knees and hands cradling his face.
his posture portrayed the perfect rendition of defeat. for one brief moment, narcisse dared to hope, believing that he managed to secure a beautiful sketch of the wildlife inhabiting the forest; however, the weather decided to dash his dreams. another sigh slipped past his parted lips, cutting into the quiet of the early afternoon. his fingers curled, dragging at his hair and carting him back to reality due to the slight pinpricks of pain. peccato, he breathed, staring blankly at the ruined page. he could try again, and he would try again. with his newfound resolution, the pink haired student pushed himself into an upright position, pencil disappearing behind his ear and hands pulling his hair into a low ponytail; however, with his hands busy, the wind decided to play a cruel trick upon him, brushing past him and capturing his crumpled sketch. horror dawned upon his pale features as he scrambled to his feet, allowing his hair to cascade around him while he stuffed his supplies into his bag. with frantic motions, the items disappeared, and the bag crashed against his back. rose red tinted eyes roved over his chosen perch, deeming the area clear within seconds. his body then lurched forward as he raced after his wayward picture.
narcisse struggled through the underbrush, which hindered his momentum, and throughout his reckless voyage through the trees, his eyes hunted for his drawing, tracing its path. he never expected to spend his afternoon in the forest. his friends wanted him to celebrate with them; however, he resigned himself to wasting hours in the untamed wilderness. they would pretend to understand, congratulating him on securing his picture and demanding to see the artwork. however, due to his inattention, a vine wrapped around his foot, tripping him and sending him sprawling into a clearing. a wince flashed across his visage as he turned to look at his captive ankle, pale fingers carefully unwinding the pesky vine, and with his freedom secured, he turned to observe the discovered area, absently noting the aged mansion with dismay. oddio, he whispered as he pushed himself off the ground, testing his ankle and forcing back a whimper. a flash of white caught his attention, and with his eyes widening in surprise, he watched the crumpled page land on the threshold of the ancient building. white teeth pressed against his bottom lip while he mentally debated his options. according to rumors, a ghost haunted the mansion, but he refused to leave without his stolen picture.
the sacrifice cautiously approached the building, covering the distance in quick, lurching steps. he struggled to keep his weight off his injured ankle and breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the rickety front porch. pale fingers latched onto the aged wood as he pulled himself toward the entrance, body resting against the banisters once he overcame the first obstacle. however, as he pushed himself away from the pole, a cracking sound assaulted his ears, frightening him and leading him to inch forward. blood red colored eyes peaked into the mansion and stared in dismay at the large collection of dust spilling into the air around the staircase. did someone fall? he queried softly as he crouched down to retrieve his possession, pocketing the page and then creeping into the building. hello? his voice cut through the ringing silence of the building as the distance between himself and his destination decreased. can you hear me? worry replaced the fear as he reached the edge of the staircase. why couldn’t my day be peaceful? echoed in his mind as he leaned forward, clutching at the railing and hoping to catch sight of the culprit behind the dust. hello… anyone?
