[the unpredictability of the horizon's malfunctioning could very well land one into wanda's domain, particularly bypassing the labyrinthine forest and finding themselves, instead, in the home she's made for herself. it would be easy to just blink out of it, but there is something quite unusual about the place, and the walls are no longer walls.
rather, bits and pieces form like a puzzle, expanding and contracting, floating and hovering mere inches from each other, creating the illusion that things aren't quite right. it is enough to disorient. similarly, the slow crash of waves booming nearby echoes loudly between the rooms that doors open themselves to, the floor and roof shaking, the whistle of bombs and the crash of explosions nearby. the house feels alive, like it is breathing, wisps of red connectors tracing a path that one may very well follow.
those adept in magic may take note that it is just that, witchcraft acting up, as if confused, uncertain of what shape to form or how to make itself useful.
following the path highlighted by the wisps of red, one will go down the stairs, and will be unable to extricate themselves from looking at their reflection in the mirror. except it is not their own face that stares back, but rather that of the domain's owner: wanda, her eyes seeing but not seeing the person that stands before the mirror.
—and, just like that, chaos.
the world unfurls, dizzyingly so, like a kaleidoscope of the surroundings, the house in its psychedelic overture of puzzle pieces multiplying and refracting, causing confusion. but it is not all reflective surfaces; should one walk carefully, one may encounter a dark room, walls and ceiling filled with runes and sigils unfamiliar, but which exude certain dark, oppressive power all on their own. in another area, a singular television set plays a happy sitcom, beckoning the viewer.
but be careful, the longer one finds themselves in this space, the more one traverses to try and find a way out, the more the mirrors seem to refract and multiply and divide, making it much harder to find a way out.]
B. TERROR IN THE WOODS
[perhaps it is mercy to not land in a house where witchcraft has gone haywire. the forest, at least, seems an easier space to navigate. that is, until one realizes how utterly quiet it all is, the grayscale value of what was once lush and verdant. it is nighttime, but it is a lot darker than what one would expect. standing still would not be a good idea, though, as the only hue of color comes in the shape of dense, blood red mist, crashing into trees and whatever other feature juts out from amidst the foliage. it travels a specific path, though, and does not linger—like a traveling stream covering a small radius at a time, a predator of unknown shape and form.
best to run and hide out of its way, for while the forest is quiet, chants and macabre whisperings in a language unknown announce its approach. there are wails, too, if one listens closely, but they seem so far off.
there are closed structures one could hide in, or in between, for the mist seems to be intelligent—but can seemingly be outsmarted. hold your breath, toss an object elsewhere to distract it, whatever repertoire one may have in their pocket could work.
do not get comfortable, though, for while the forest creatures who were once friendly no longer seem to be around, ghoul-like creatures appear from the darkest of shadows, traveling silently, but screeching once they find their target. these are tangible and can be fought, but they will also grab and hold on to their target, yelling the sins of the offender they have crossed paths with.
but don't stand still and get dragged down by them—they seem to be working together with the mist, and it is only a matter of time before they meet up halfway.]
—HORIZON [ witchcraft and horror ]
[the unpredictability of the horizon's malfunctioning could very well land one into wanda's domain, particularly bypassing the labyrinthine forest and finding themselves, instead, in the home she's made for herself. it would be easy to just blink out of it, but there is something quite unusual about the place, and the walls are no longer walls.
rather, bits and pieces form like a puzzle, expanding and contracting, floating and hovering mere inches from each other, creating the illusion that things aren't quite right. it is enough to disorient. similarly, the slow crash of waves booming nearby echoes loudly between the rooms that doors open themselves to, the floor and roof shaking, the whistle of bombs and the crash of explosions nearby. the house feels alive, like it is breathing, wisps of red connectors tracing a path that one may very well follow.
those adept in magic may take note that it is just that, witchcraft acting up, as if confused, uncertain of what shape to form or how to make itself useful.
following the path highlighted by the wisps of red, one will go down the stairs, and will be unable to extricate themselves from looking at their reflection in the mirror. except it is not their own face that stares back, but rather that of the domain's owner: wanda, her eyes seeing but not seeing the person that stands before the mirror.
—and, just like that, chaos.
the world unfurls, dizzyingly so, like a kaleidoscope of the surroundings, the house in its psychedelic overture of puzzle pieces multiplying and refracting, causing confusion. but it is not all reflective surfaces; should one walk carefully, one may encounter a dark room, walls and ceiling filled with runes and sigils unfamiliar, but which exude certain dark, oppressive power all on their own. in another area, a singular television set plays a happy sitcom, beckoning the viewer.
but be careful, the longer one finds themselves in this space, the more one traverses to try and find a way out, the more the mirrors seem to refract and multiply and divide, making it much harder to find a way out.]
B. TERROR IN THE WOODS
[perhaps it is mercy to not land in a house where witchcraft has gone haywire. the forest, at least, seems an easier space to navigate. that is, until one realizes how utterly quiet it all is, the grayscale value of what was once lush and verdant. it is nighttime, but it is a lot darker than what one would expect. standing still would not be a good idea, though, as the only hue of color comes in the shape of dense, blood red mist, crashing into trees and whatever other feature juts out from amidst the foliage. it travels a specific path, though, and does not linger—like a traveling stream covering a small radius at a time, a predator of unknown shape and form.
best to run and hide out of its way, for while the forest is quiet, chants and macabre whisperings in a language unknown announce its approach. there are wails, too, if one listens closely, but they seem so far off.
there are closed structures one could hide in, or in between, for the mist seems to be intelligent—but can seemingly be outsmarted. hold your breath, toss an object elsewhere to distract it, whatever repertoire one may have in their pocket could work.
do not get comfortable, though, for while the forest creatures who were once friendly no longer seem to be around, ghoul-like creatures appear from the darkest of shadows, traveling silently, but screeching once they find their target. these are tangible and can be fought, but they will also grab and hold on to their target, yelling the sins of the offender they have crossed paths with.
but don't stand still and get dragged down by them—they seem to be working together with the mist, and it is only a matter of time before they meet up halfway.]