Sabra La Tau

Who: Maya, Mitsuru, ?
Where: Orion's dorm
When: Day 289, morning
What: Possibly a very bad idea

[This morning, all of the plates are missing from Orion's kitchen. They're in Mitsuru's room, where thin wood has been dipped in lizard fat and set alight on top of them; when it burns down, it will burn into the cluster of wood beneath. The bed has been dragged to block the door, and he sits on the floor with a girl in Apus pink, staff across his knees, an unraveling scrap of yellow fabric in one hand.]

What's next?

[Once again, that strange patchwork of light and reality bathes the arena. Deep, impenetrable darkness wars with scattered rays of light, illuminating tiny slices of some seemingly unconnected scenery. Here a patch of lush, bluish tinged grass is warmed by the sun and blown by the breeze. There half of a delicate stone fountain is bathed in the first morning light... And over there you see a strange, fuzzy creature skittering and scrambling up a sheer rock face, ducking nervously in and out of shadows.

Scenes like this are scattered throughout the entire Arena without any sense of rhyme or reason... But as you walk further, you find yourself having to step on or around more and more thread. Fourteen shades of fine thread loop, scatter and tangle, condensing and congregating below the throne... leading to fourteen looms, each with a primitive, fuzzy picture coming into view, line by line- starting with the sky at the top.

When you look directly at the throne, it seems empty. It is only out of the corners of your eyes do you catch fleeting glimpses... sometimes fingers twined with thread... sometimes a face: matured with age, but warm and kindly.]

W... d...seek.... ?

Who: All regular Blanks
Where: In your dorms
When: Day 155 and 156
What:

[It doesn't really happen all at once, or to every dorm at the same time. But over these two days, you might spy a tiny spider slipping under the door. It is soon followed by several others, skittering along the floor, up the common room table and small cocoons of webbing are industriously opened. Almost as quickly and efficiently they scatter, vanishing.

If you missed this event... then perhaps you simply looked over and saw six small memory berries and the traces of webbing around them, fine threads catching the torchlight.]

((OOC: Two things! FIRST! Start your dorm's threads with [Your Team Name] for the sake of organization. SECOND. When you take your memories, ping Nishi with a thread link.))

WhØ: all
Ѡhεre: where
Wheת: Day 154, ?????
WhДt: game 1ØØ

[The Arena is not as it usually is.

The dawn that breaks over the judge's throne is a fractured thing; bright rays mixed with pale and trembling fingers of light, spots that through the arena seen clear while others still cling to the false night. Here, where the light falls, ruined buildings look whole again, colours lively and fresh. Where a ray falls there, there is no stone at all; the broken archway is instead the spreading limbs of a great tree, reaching for the sky. Pieces of road disappear into patches of deep water, waves crashing on nothing at all.

Here, where darkness stretches, the scenery itself seems to unravel. Lines fray and images fade, as if spun on a tapestry that is but a single pulled thread from being nothing at all.

The air is heavy and full of a pressure that settles behind the eyes, and it's quiet, so quiet, but the echo of sound unheard fills the air . . . murmurs of voices, words without meaning, the soft clack of a shuttle moving through thread.

The throne, when you look, is empty. But when you don't—when your attention strays, when the pressure builds—there may almost be a woman there, a small hand-loom on her lap, a scarf wrapped about her head. Her face is old but kind, unmistakably beautiful despite its age, and her smile is a gentle one.

In front of her there are fourteen large looms, each strung up with one of fourteen unmistakable shades.]

Hero . . . hero . . . hero . . .

\/\/h0: all
Where: the arena
Time: Day 101 evening
What:


The Arena today is not as it usually is. The light coming down is only in patches, as if being shown through a decaying screen. Where the light touches, the ruined buildings stand exactly as they once must have: tall, proud and glistening. But there are patches of darkness as well, much darker simply than the absence of light. Where these touch the scenery, it becomes faded and translucent- like a tapestry partially unwoven.

It's hard to tell if the throne is empty or not. Looking straight on, there is no Judge to be seen, but maybe out of the corner of your eye, if you're not quite paying attention, there will be a woman with a scarf on her head and a loom sitting in her lap. Even unable to look her straight on, her face is beautiful, if wrinkled and she's smiling gently.

In front of her, there are twelve large looms, each strung up with the teams' respective colors.