The House(New Roleplay)

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Mythra spent a few more moments hopefully gazing up through what she presumed had been a trapdoor, before slowly turning to face the man she had come to call the tormentor. She had lost count of the number of times she had woken from sleep, screaming after enduring his sadistic tortures...and she still had not worked out why she had these dream...nightmares. She had not experienced anything like it in her real life, although she had her fair share of demons for sure.

The man was steadily approaching her, and she reached into her robes and pulled out a short sword, one passed down from her many ancestors. It had an intricate design on the handle and shone gold, even in the dim light. Wielding it, she braced one foot before the other, ready to strike once the man came near enough...and near enough he came. She half closed her eyes and struck the blade home, expecting to hear a grunt, a scream...to feel the resistance as metal slid through flesh, but nothing...silence, followed by a harsh, rasping laugh. Focussing, she realised it had gone right through him... yet he appeared so solid.

He certainly felt solid as a gnarled hand latched onto her arm roughly and started to drag her across the room, in spite of her spirited resistance, and repeated screams which she had hoped might at least startle the man. It was happening just like in her nightmare. She found herself bodily flung against the wall, sinking to the ground, her sword clattering to the stone beside her.

She winced from the pain in her head where it had hit the stone and tried to get to her feet but found herself held firm by a foot on her leg.

Mr Oak felt a report from the Red come into his mind.

Lord Oak, one of the 'guests' you have mentioned has been captured by the Messor. Your orders?

Damnation! The house was already trying to kill one of them. It was likely Mythra, who had wandered away.

"Description?"

The Red transmitted a mental image of the terrified Mythra being dragged away by the Messor.

Non timetis messor, the saying went. Whoever coined that had never died, or faced off against the Messor, a very real and monstrous reaper.

"Listen to me, Red. You are to destroy or distract the Messor, and allow this woman to get away. Do you understand my orders?"

Perfectly, Lord Oak.

"Then carry them out. If you defeat the Messor, retreat from the woman. If she can tell who sent you, and requests an escort, do so. If this eventuality does occur, allow her to come to no harm. Understand?"

Yes.

"Then obey."

Oak smiled as he thought of the reaction of both Mythra and the Messor when the Red Pyramid came to them.

((Note guys, I mean the Pyramid Head, as in this thing:
. Now you're starting to get the idea of what I may be...))

Roland and Mythra were both gone. Gone, into that damned house. Wraith shifted her weight, trying to make a hasty decision: follow the others or stay with the man. They may be in trouble, but Roland could handle himself, and possibly Mythra too.

Stay then. She wasn't sure about this man, and she didn't really like him yet. It was one thing entirely to be investigating this house, but at the same time they were? The house was barely visited at all. Odds did not favor the concidence.

However, as minutes streched on and neither returned, she began to feel uneasy again. Mr. Oak did not seem overly concerned; he was simply standing there.

Well, she mused. This sucks.

Abruptly she felt a flash of terror. It was not her own emotion; something in the house was going wrong. She turned and tried to trace it. Someone was...hurt? She wasn't sure. Overvivid imagination again? It was possible. Still...

Mr. Oak was frowning and apparantly conversing with someone telepathicly. He was not an ordinary paranormal investigator, if that was what he was at all, Wraith decided. Eventually he smiled, and she decided he had had enough time.

Unseathing one of her knives and turning it between her fingers, she informed him coldly, "We're going back into that house. You apparantly have more knowledge of it than I, and if Mythra or Roland is hurt, there's going to be hell to pay."

She gave him no time to protest. Wraith seized his arm and started walking towards the house, forcing him to come with her.

((lol, I cannot get away, I fell down trapdoor remember? I, unlike Wraith, do not possess a set of wings...suggestions as to how I can escape welcome or a rope tossed down might be an idea for someone, Roland most likely ))

Wraith hit the ground with surprising force and for a moment a dash of purple blurred out everything else. Then everything was white, and she wondered if blacking out was improperly named. And then she realized her hair was in her face, and brushed it out, which was about when clear thinking kicked back in. She was stunned. It had been years since anyone had been able to do something like that. And how the hell had he managed to get her knife? This was turning very bad very fast. She did move immediately; provoking him further did not appear to be a good idea. And so she stared at the sky, breathing hard, until he finished talking and threw the knife. Only then did she sit up.

"So I suppose I must have underestimated you," she said, still smothering her emotions, and forcing out the nessecarry words. "And I apolgize for being hasty. But the arm is your own fault. Had you not flipped me, it would not have broken."

She took a deep breath and glanced towards the knife. It was glinting in the hole, a few clumps of dirt hiding the hilt. She turned back to Mr. Oak. He hadn't moved. Wraith stood and brushed off her coat. She had a feeling there was probably grass stains all down her back. Why was she thinking of that now? Concentrate.

"As I'm sure you'll learn - well, if you stick around at any rate - I have a quick temper and am rather fiercly loyal to those I consider to be my friends. I'd really prefer that they didn't get hurt. The longer we stay here, the more they could be hurt. While I'd love to know more about what you're doing here and who you are, there's really not the time. If you would like, you can talk as we walk."

Finally, she picked up the knife. Wraith was hesitant; she didn't know what he done to it, but she wouldn't let him know that. She touched her finger to the blade carefully, and drew it away instantly. It was sharp. Carefully, she switched her grip back to the hilt and then turned to look at Mr. Oak.

That house was smirking at her. She could feel it, even with her back to it.

"That is, if you're coming." A request, that's what he said he wanted. "Would you please accompany me? And...thank you for sharpening my weapon."

Immobilised, Mythra attempted to calm down, even as she stared up as this unpleasant figure who had by this point grabbed a scold's bridle off the wall and was running a finger over it lovingly. She vaguely wondered why she had to create such sadistic characters in her subconscious, and strangely, considering the situation, a slight smirk formed on her face. How the hell she could find something amusing in all this, she didn't know, but there was a certain irony. Bringing her attention back to the Tormentor, panic once more rose in her chest as he began to lean over her, icy breath hitting her face, an unbearable stench from his mouth causing her to almost vomit.

She tried to shift her upper torso about, swinging her head left and right in her attempts to keep the vicious looking contraption away, and was about to attempt an intricate escape manoevre she had suddenly recalled, when a figure seemed to appear from nowhere behind her Tormentor. The appearance of said figure did nothing to comfort her, in spite of the fact they appeared to be after the one attacking her as opposed to herself. Tall in stature, it had some strange sort of helmet that covered the head to such a degree, one might almost think it was their head. The blood soaked robes did little for her either, but she did not have time to observe further as this thing, whatever it was, was grappling with her Tormentor and she had to take this chance to get free...

The foot that had held her prisoner had been removed and she hastily grabbed her knife and ran to the other side of the dungeon, ignoring the dizziness that almost overwhelmed her. She must have hit her head harder than she thought. The problem was, there was nowhere to go. Wildly, she cast her gaze around the place, hoping there might be some hidden door of some kind...afterall, there had been one in her nightmares. She went round pressing at the stone, but nothing seemed to give.

'God', she murmered under her breath, 'How did I get into this situation ?How stupid am I going to look now!'

Her anger at her own foolishness welled up and she fought to hold it in and keep back the thoughts that were bringing it about.

"You are fairly welcome. While I do not worry about the Gunslinger, your friend....hmmm.....Mythra, was it? Well, I have one of my bodyguards trying to save her from a creature known as the Messor...."

He looked at the house.

"It's amused. Damnation, I thought I told the Red to get her out. Red Pyramid, what are you doing?"

The Messor is...defeated. The female guest has escaped, but I don't know where...

Damnation!

"Red, listen. Go back to your station. If a Gunslinger arrives, do not engage. If you can let your intentions be known, them help. Otherwise, retreat."

The acknowledgement was cut off abruptly as Mr Oak looked at Wraith.

"Your friend Mythra is in trouble. She had been captured by the Messor. One of my bodyguards tried to intercept the beast next time it tried to harm Mythra, but she escaped. I'm not sure of the status of the Messor, and Roland is probably en route. However, one should not leave that up to chance. Come on!"

They went into the house, Wraith following behind. Mr Oak knew she didn't trust him, but full trust was a commodity Mr Oak didn't need. Just a remnant of trust.

"I think we may need help. Whatever you do, they won't harm you. White, Closer, Missionary! Which one of you is closer to me?"

I, Lord Oak.

Ah, the White Pyramid Head.

"Come, but carefully. And do NOT harm this young woman, even if she....over-reacts to your presence."

Out of one of the doors staggered the White Pyramid Head, dragging the ridiculously large sword and with the painful-looking triangular helmet on its head.

Mr Oak turned to the completely astonished Wraith.

"I think that we should get this done with the utmost haste, hmm?"

((Edited to take into account Graelwyn's post))

((How did I escape??? Last I checked I couldn't find a way out of the dungeon))

The Red Pyramid lumbered out of the dungeon, leaving Mythra, though it didn't know it....

Roland had been shooting at the doors lock for minutes to no avail.

"f**k!"

"This is it!"

With that Roland rooted around in his pockets and fished out a small lump of C4.

Then he removed a detnonator and timer from his pockets and attached them to the lump of C4 and set it for a minute.

He sprinted behind a low wall nearby so as to avoid becoming kibbles n' bits.

BOOM!

There was no door left in sight.

"That worked."

((Since when did a Gunslinger have plastic explosive?))

It had seemed like an age since Mythra had first stumbled upon the trapdoor and she had to confess, she was beginning to become a little claustrophobic, not to mention thirsty. Wraith was usually the one to bring supplies and so she had not bothered...or actually, she had remembered the night before, but had still managed to forget to prepare anything before she set off for the house.

The dungeon now lay silent and the air was becoming chiller by the second. Both her Tormentor and the pyramid helmeted thing seemed to have disappeared...she was not sure when it had happened, or how they had escaped when she could not see a way out anywhere, but this was the case.

Trying again, but in a calmer manner, she directed her thoughts towards Roland.

'I am still down here. My tormentor is dealt with but I cannot get out. I cannot find a way out. The doorway leads off a hall full of portraits. It is getting very cold down here'