This area again. Yet there are some uncomfortable changes. Sent back here while my Curiosity has moved the soul system without me.
I am not far behind. Following after you, like always.
The man eating tree pulled apart, not a root or branch dare towards her. Roots bend and jaws that run the length of the trunks are close tight. Bending to cower their mass away from her. She steps through without a second thoughts, reaching to the dead one that once sheltered a stone ring. Iniside that stone ring should have been some ember of cosmic charge. It did torch the sands there. The tree is half swept into the ocean, pulled from its settling spot. The burn glassy surface is all that tells of what was and where that comsic ember went. The tree corpse is turned to face down the sand shorelines then a perch for the horizon it had been. It is all still air medium, no crashing waves. Just glopping slap sound to replaces the ocean shore.
She steadies in slow, sound as soft as she can and very gaurded steps. These faluse trees can still want an arm off her if she pushes them. She frowns at closer to the shore, meeting corpses of sea life that should never see the light is on mass across sand. The smell hits next, rotten pungent and burning chemicals, a ozone eggy back tone. Her arm braces her face in hope of making this easier.
From creatures of the depths in sheltered lifestyle to the crabs that feast on the offerings on sand; they are soulless, melted gooing beyond decay. Barely corpses more like husks. The impact was cruelty and unmistakable.
An ocean once beautiful has became blacken tar. Steam puffs deep in the bubbles. Plenty attempted escape. From edge to edge, it is molten tar instead of water.
She stands out of the reach, out of the plumes of hallucinogenic low hung steam, not in sight of anyone left behind. Looking at the fading grey souls, the corpses and purpose they no longer have. She held back because they refused her help plenty enough. She doubts this changes anything now. It doesn't change the tomes refused her as the index.
This strange once lake pond was her original world and now its a tar crater of dead things. Although that seems unchanged, it was full of dead souls to begin with.
"The chemistry can not be reversed." Drifting artificial breeze wafted the arrival of stick figures looking at the tar pit. She lowered to hid, sensing a meeting of sensory organs. This clothus group lean right at the edge, unable to see through. She lowered even more to use the tunk dead tree shadow to hid herself more and lays still as the drfited senses loose her. She is able to take a examination of these mock people.
Green base tone with silver threading, the patterns over this material cloth body are twisted deeds and depicted torturing others for sick pleasures. There are abstract structures of known technology, likely 'badges' of his hardworking pride between these images of cruelty. Those same hands of this mock shape are worn like someone that handles labored tools. He leans has hands without fear into the tar, pulling strings. Letting go these cool and then twirls on a spool. He leans down again, trying to pull something. He strains to the point of tipping forward.
He is pulled to safety from being taken, all thanks to poker card - a red heart prince. A leader of this group, this red plump of velvet and black. Lacing runic languages of many justice and marks of trading. Chains on his waist that hang well looked after and good health servants. Someone that values lower classes. Clean hands, well groomed made tight threading. There an under veil, a slip of abnormal coldness inside the folds of this red prince. This was calculated, in saving this Green pawn guy. This prince earns good notions with the two others in blue.
The tall thin blue man is beside another smaller average build in blue. Both the same celtic runes. Both mirroring the other. Yet there a dynamic of young and old at play. The lower blue making the mistakes. A wise higher darker blue slides cautious trust of the red hearted prince. The blue have the same justice icons but have no slaves. No chains bind them.
These four are the main colored ones, folks that matter. There is company of primal lower intelligence in the grey ones. Grey dull, no pattern worn through and no ranks made. A pack of six, on all they walk on fours. Lacking smarts pack wolves eating the corpses on beach. No regard for being tainted by what kills on this beach, no regard of realizing they are hunted by the nearest mock fake tree. She seen the god eater eyeing down this group, pretending to be a faluse tree. The eyes on the top are the give away, the false trees dont need or use eyes like that. Even so, these grey lot are dirty bodies and crusty cloth. That god eater is having secind thoughts about eating these skinny filthy cloth rags. No sense of individuals of this grey pack, just being a collective. It is among this Grey set that looked her in the eyes and began to growl. This fool is hit for being a nuisance: softens the growl to low noise.
Clothus. Half the time are floating organs or part fleshy visible in rays of unknown light but is this light that will taken them away. A bright flash of white and they seems like vapor to the winds, soot sand marks over the floor. There a smell of burnt flesh. There was left metal rings, pile of metal teeth from one and necklaces from both blue. She carefully collected those items, sealing them in a lock box of clothus cursed objects. She jars the sooty remains too, spell casting uses the materials of other worlds to cast broken laws. She moved away as the god eater takes a turn after her. It finds its own interests. There a shared nod of respect between her and it; that unspoken glad that those clothus are gone.
She faces the tar pit, come close to the edge and looking deep inside. A surface reflective and mirroring. She can see her many versions of her self. All of her here. A bubble grow and at the peak, she sees her current mock undertaker. A clay doll without face and gut. In lace, threads that bare hidden images of her circumstances and lacking gender qualities for a porclean ash made doll. As the tar bubble pop, she hears her made chains of promises shuffle. Soon clipping into the tar pond. Hands lifted from the pond, a particular one plam opens an eye. A sad expression. Poses plead.
"Lady summons or one of many god of traveling Parthenon. A cog ranker collection." Leana spoke sooth and mellow. The hands notion she is right, "You accept someone so broken as me?" There lift pleading again, "You cant help me when it matters though. I will be strung in the mountains. In that death pit, the entertainment of sick ones." The palms fold and flex. Playing out a show of what the goddess does know.
Showing that Leana has more importance then anyone else realizes. That purification of the Styx has saved them. That everything Leana has pulled a part of kept rest of the souls safe. There this plead for Leana to continue making things happen. That summons and all her siblings, even the sub soul of Omens, gives blessing. Leana nods understanding the goddess. There still a tilt of pain. That its likely the sinner chains are not her sins but the sin of other guilty parties hurting her.
"We have to go back in anyway. Regardless if we want to or not." The tug of her ring hand and the coldness at her back, whispered in her ear, "No escaping this. Life hasn't ended thus we carry on." The materials pulling from shadow and up into hugging over her. Chin at her shoulder, "London. Remember."
"I do have to repair those paintings. The cursed objects need new homes." She sighed. She leans into him back with so many rattling thoughts. The goddess softly poses hands up to take them. Leana has done this many times before and walked willingly through the tar. She stuck fast. Ready to sink. He was less ready and finds the eye hands creepy. Shivering afraid of the goddess.
"Together." She holds them still but flexible. Lady summons does her best at what she always does. Pulling them underneath the tar limit to the hidden lake water beneath. Passing gas layers, pockets of liquid gasses, and some density of peat plant materials.
Flesh and blood flows over like a glove for both of them. Soon dressed up and accessories a plenty. Smart watch linked to a crystal tablet and a very modern ai powered phone device. A chip of these seeding crystal implanting her arms and right eye. Runic languages painted on at dabbing fingers. Lasting to a death god veil. A dagger of demigods status. A belt of top brass of angel courts. More then many status items sitting over Leana. There a very creepy clay mask that mirrors her abyss form, that materials makes it look like her human face was carved out. Posed with a dream cigarette with right hand, seated on one of her mock creatures and making plenty jaws drop the floor on arrival.
The next train pulled in and normal humans think she some street actor or an art statue. The announcement creaking a not human language, announced her arrival back home. There a flex of air pressure and mixed emotions. The feeling booms amd rattles the world around, just barely.
"Where are we?" Asked at her back in his pose. His kit close to how she is.
"King cross train station London. The glass ceiling and trains are the give away." She spies out the sudden folks that pulled themselves over to her. She tries to adjusted herself and finds her legs paralyzed. She looked down at a lot of her body. This is the horrific barely survived car crash, pole through and lived barely able to care for herself. But with the faiths and blessing, her lack of legs didnt matter. She uses her own willpower, using a crystallisation to solidify her legs to being like prosthetic. She now stood with using Curiosity behind her. She leans on him to sort a cane out. Her eyes arent human use. She not seeing the human world around them. It doesn't mean she wasn't visible to humans. She could be a girl on a suitcase to the normal. He might not be here in person. Or he is here as a cult of omens member.
"You just in time." The national portrait gallery of art current keeper stands eager and full of negativity. Making his greetings clear and a bow of respect to her as her status as proxy lord. A creep of the nightmare realms hidden among humans. A brown suit middle aged man with a odd skin pigments issue about his skin. At least to human sight.
For her this was another walking paper being, like the tome or god vessel made of prayer slips. His style looks close to van goh in his self portrait but paper art. There a undertone of those papers hidding a not so nice underneath as it fits the uncanny style. As if unfolded just right, this is a god eater turned being. Infected by the poison and under soul convertion.
"There are others to wait for." She recalls, "that is unless their train is late." On cue for her concern Josh with a few red hand members steps from the nearest train opening.
"Wow Mat! How did you get here?" Josh looking back confused of the flustered of two ravens perching themselves on Matthew. Its all the more showing that they do have human presence in the human realm around them. So common sense is to be followed.
"Gah, she's here." Daniel in his human teenager hoodie stage. Not emo but punk band with the converse. Dirty brown cut styled from the English 2012 school boy style. Inside is broken but outwardly his just a kid. Josh punched Daniel arm for being rude.
"You managed it without crutches." Jessica steps unaware of darkness and creeps. She is a fully blinded to her faith in gods and her assumptions as a human. Mummy eye wrap that will never untie by external hands. Wearing for this London outing like any tourist on holiday does. She helps the other side of Leana for balance. Blindly unaware of Leana's independence. Even then, those hindered nothing as Leana finalized her greeting, understood the request and takes possession of the passed needed to bypass security of the national painting galleries. She also was given all entries for all other museums and letters of concern to those museums.
"Excuse me, but you just handed her the key into the private vault! Are you mad?" A member of red hand flustered in pushing themselves to this paper monster and red hands clearly got themselves into the gallery by other means.
"It is amusing how blind they all are. You must be entertained by these people to care for their lacking." The galleries man snickered, "I must be on my way. Someone will spot I am missing soon."
"Yes, fame does that." She snickered and the person flops as paper and disappears like a flim animation. Plenty are spooked or impressed by a new form of magic. She takes back her arms and steps smoothly among the humans. Everyone rushing after her, she plam scans at the exit and muses that she has to do this for her Matthew. Going into broad Sunlight, her lacking human features disappears and she stands a well mannered lady. Eyes down gazing with the crowd that follower her.
"Some fresh air beforehand." She used her left hand in expressing herself even if she is using human voice. Lacing a emotional energy of faned concern for them. She examines everyone and sees plenty of them about to suffer if she doesn't equip them right. She scans the nearest areas and pulled those most in danger to her arms. She shadow grappled the entire lot of them, forcing everyone into a shadow alley.
A damned corridor. At arriving in this safe zone, she doesn't care for manners. Sewing whole outfit on each person, she shoved air breather - looking like gas masks from the blitz. She rudely worked every person that she has to. Regardless of them trusting her.
"Tourist always get themselves killed. I dont blame you." A passer by is doing the same. And it was this person that broke Jessica. The blindfold was gone, she can see the damned and cursed ones. She panics but calm in Josh's arms. She seen his face and knows him. Matthew finds he was the least touched up. All the red hand members sorted themselves. They took anything that was an improvement or what they didnt have before. They know she gave these things in necessity.
"The time rifts here are brutal. Let alone the threats from those eras." Leana voiced, "exploding war bombs is the least of concern." She was done for now, "conceal you weapons but make sure you can use them." She turned around to be the front, she walked to the nearest door gate. They all backed off and huddles right there.
"Long time no see." The tall mass of black at the back of counter, "How was the scarf and tarot cards?" She takes a while and soon she recalls.
"The scarf did the job of protecting several women over the decades. The tarot was a turning point with the war between the parasite Silver empire and the undertakers resistance." She fills a basket as she spoke, the materials this creep has was nearly everything she needs coming up. She makes the heavy basket look easy, clay limbs are stronger then human ones. She pays in five currencies and exchanges a blue wood barrel of purple sand. He was more then thrilled and yet also dawning in how mature and alert she is. Concluding she been through so much more since they last spoke. Gone are the days she relied on wax candles.
"May you look into some requests? I will give you some valued material. Stuff off market." He spoke up as she turns to leave. The prompt shows he filed these accounts properly but nothing was done. She accepted them, they weren't any issue and on the way for her. He gave her the goods up front and no questions. She bows a leave. Sees the gate door to the tar beach behind him. She smirks a bit as the door closed for the damned door. This gate faded away, new anchor point location.
Everyone was speaking about what is biggest wrongs of London as they know it. Spooked silent as she took a clay made crayon and marks them all. Adding her personal sealing of watch. By the time she stands at Matthew side, she leans in runic art over his eyes. The damaged one better sealed. She takes care of both Munnin and Hugin too, making them apparent to the nightmare world and be clothed as nightmare gods. The darker aspects of their god grants. She smiles warmly and stood back for room. She peels back her own aspects and layers. Her gapping gut hole and now her whole face. She flexed her hands to elongated the claw aspects. She gives a little shoulder shake, a little more relaxed.
"There are layers. Two of these layers are full of broken things. I was unfazed by the awareness the SCP foundation finally clocking on to this turth. Each museum, attractions and focus point is a crossing to different time zones or other tome segments. In other words, you could step among the dead if you aren't careful. But there is safe way through which is among the creeps." She turned facing them and her hands cast power into the runes she draw on them, "The things made of humanities subconscious and dreams. Your fear of the dark is about to become you only comfort. It is what hides in the darkness that is most haunting, they are always lurking at the edge. They do so to keep you safe, to keep you human and to keep you in the line of gods protection. Nightmares have always been around, long before humans. So some wisdom is outdated." They all backed away from her as she isnt human to them.
"Leana, your missing any sort of a face." Matthew sighed like that was a problem and has even ignored the light through her torso.
"They are also outdated in their veins and language. The whole lot of them are miserable gets with certain hung ups. Each unique and beautiful. Sorry horrible. See, I started already." She tuts, "Right, come along little ones. Must to walk and less to scream." She claps. This was with forcing the red hands into suitable uniform like others of the group.
"What did you just call us?"
"Any problems with me and I will make your track of London to be scars in your soul." She snapped, "Lambs to slaughter at this rate." She stomps and material stretched from her and ties on everyone. The gloom eased down.
"Lady Marinette! What glory! What break of breath!" Plenty of the public around them shuffle to attention. Plastering as far away from her reach as possible. Several scramble and flee.
"Glad to know nothing changes." She purred, "Bring out the broken! Bring out the lost! Bring me the husks and found." She declared deep through all and everyone around. This wasn't a voice of a human, not even a goddess. This was gutteral and deeper then anyone was prepared for. She steps softly and plenty bow, beg or kneel. Most present gifts and other shiver. Someone sobs deep wept tears on the floor. There was very extreme reactions the longer this walk drags. The folks with her gentle are tugged behind her, pulled by her every step.
"Many faces!" She exclaims to a stranger with no features for face. Bare skin of no eyes, mouth or ears. It articulated and poses. No words are heard but she clearly replies in a glee tone. This being changes human shape, but always is a person. Every culture, era and style. They always lack a face but they are always a human with no other abnormalities. When they departed, the horror ramps up for the next approached being.
The next 'character' to appear was a distorted cartoon character. The music poured from its ink skin and melted like ruined ink. But there are tells. Features you knew. Spoke low drooping tones, a scratches of a record disc. Sometimes morphing to other cartoons of the same comical 60's style. The music was almost matching the esthetics of broken but a mirror of its emotions. Her reply toward it was it was for the 'many faces', in a happy glee. A happy skip in her step as she wafted her left hand to articulate her 'conversation'.
The party attached to her left this damned corridor, finally, leaving behind the graffiti cartoon freak behind them. She appears very human normal again. She has an active normal face that is her own. And everyone had a taste of what she meant to slipping.
"Now I understand why siren head is you best pal." Among the red hands is a version of her grandfather and he shakes with coming to his senses, "This is why the creeps of The Appalachian Mountains know you." She was swift and she was brutal. A hard punch in his gut for bringing it up.
"No one talks about that." She hissed into him. They defend from her, pulled him back from her range. She glares and smoothly turns back forwards, "The child are blind and ill educated. I had hoped this would be a learning experience but you understand what it means to train the next ones." She bows head to the pal blue child ahead of them.
"Yes..." the voice was soft and raspy, at the edge of dying. A dirty kid of blood stains and a cut up face. Stitching to put the semblance back to human. The sleeves are so long, you dont know of it has hands. The shadow is no match to the child it portrays, "Miss removed from the index, just how did you come back from the abyss? In the good grace of gods no less."
This evil in innocent skin, ignored the group and onto business with her. She makes clear of her hand gestures and very gaurded of not giving out much detail. Even her greeting was censored. Missing a lot. Even so, nothing is missed by this monster. Nothing was slipped past.
"A shame you not selling any livers. I heard Slender and his proxies are in short of food. Ever since Zog went dark. The mutant plague has even managed to throttle sinners walk. Every popular murderer these days is a flesh melt." Evil sabotaged several of the red hand protection runes, Evil's shadow mucking up that runes she painted. Evil slaps his seal on one, looking at her to make sure she doesn't miss it. She makes her open hands, showing she will not take what evil was promised.
The mock child breaks his disguise, just a little. Stepping to divide the group. She takes her men - Daniel, Josh and Mathew. Evil takes the red hands.
"I have always respected the rules. You have no hands on what is mine." She makes sure for certain that this was what this lord wants from her, "I loose their chains and pass on to you, right." Evil slips a frown in not liking that implication. He checked over and he nods certain, "I do not take the proxy of another. Not unless I was hired to keep or repair." Evil snarls a little with not sure to what extent she means of that, "Those souls are too pure for me, if that was your worry. They aren't broken, lost or missing pieces." She makes sure her lads are neat and with Daniel. She poses over Daniel make a point, "See prime of exactly what I seek."
"You are a nasty bit of work under that skin of a corpse." The mock child pulled the red hands to him, "I am taking my children from your care. Soul eater."
"Yes... go run. You don't make anything become my work time." She pulled the lads to face away, "One day, I will come collecting the ones you did break beyond repair. The pages scream so loud, I can help but to drool." That makes this lord rush away faster, pulling the group apart. Grumbles of his private matters. She hugs around tightly in keeping those of her flock closer. Getting them onto the steps of the national painting gallery private side entry. The key card tapped, the lock clicked open. Matthew pulls Daniel quickly. Josh and Jessica shoved this door closed. Leana smirks, and steps to the sign in log book on a chain, pen on string.
"What the hell was that?" Josh complained, "Why did it take them?"
"Mr Evil was promised a deal with the red hand gang. He came to get his Lambs. They walked with us but they are Mr Evil responsibility. You are my responsibility." She drops the file to hang as it was, "Mr Evil is a nightmare lord. He has his own group and plays the rules of these dreamland. The lords are the most powerful and horrifying, as such it is to be taken as a compliment to his purpose. Best not toot his horn to much. He will pester you for a deal that you can't pay. Break you in ways you didn't know. He is the eye opener."
For a breif moment she was glitchy, appearing humans and sometimes that void for a face doll. She clicked herself to appear human. Her face was back, but so was a veil. Yet, she then removed a shove from her shadow. She twirls it to practice some sort of combat. She grappled Daniel hood from leaving her range. Pulled him from stepping on the ink puddle.
"Are you awake?" She announced to the corridor, watching how it became a unpainted brick wall. Daniel just realized that he nearly walked through a fake corridor. He felt the air of it, it was a real a second ago. Now, the paint puddles the floor underneath in collection of the black ink.
"Can not fool a thing that walked headless through hell." A man appears in the gloom behind them, peels from paint to person, "Lady Marinette. We have great dire need of your communication to the one ripping holes."
"Nyarlathotep is my wiggle man. Peels the pages that got stuck together. He gets to spirited sometimes in chasing his brother." She weighs up the shovel and soon shovels up a path through the inks. This abnormal ink was semi solidified clay texture, close to the nature of acrylic paint, staying as mounds. They walk her steps, the only safe path. The mock paint man walks the paint fine. Beside her.
This was the back access. So many canvas are covered with white sheet dust covers. Along shelving and a sort of broken symbol index for each door. Vault frames. There is occasionally other beings in the hidden throws of this endless maze of shelving and white. Colour only pops up when something seems to exit the portraits.
"In what universe are you doing here?" A being shouted from a uncovered canvas, "Hey! Dont ignore me! Hey!" There was a long string of curse words and soon that frame fell off its safety. Slapping the grounds hard. Leading to more cursing. She made clear of her eye rolls. Jessica being the most normal - can't hear the pictures talking. Puts the frame back. Josh keeps Jessica with the group, pulling Jessica from being touched by the other creeps of canvases.
"Where is he now?" Leana takes pauses from ink path clearing and is 'looking' around.
"The Lovecraft god of chaos?" Daniel asked.
"Well its a perfect pet name for my stripe demon cat." She wafted like it was matter of fact.
"You're sense of naming feels wrongly portrayed of these things." He huffed, "You named that speckled mail crow, Loki. Why name it after the Norse god of tricks?"
"Pet names aren't meant to be real names. They are just labels we give with love. That is unless they acknowledge that is their name, but it isnt their soul name. Just a given name." She ready back to scooping ink out of way for them to walk.
"Why nyarlathotep?" Matthew asked.
"My stripe cat is a terror to the space between realms. He eats, hunts and breaks these spaces. Mostly to widen sigil between realms." She held up a shovel full while she shrugs, "However, I had used him to seal ends close or to thin down areas of soul over population limit. He cleared entire guild counters from collapsing between realm boundaries." She works hard in shoveling them deeper into the maze of this endless vault of dust covers, "Sweep away stubborn souls that anchored wrong." She slows in seeing this area of frames with a particular marking, "If." She looked at them each at stopping, "I am only saying this in hypothetical." She pointed, "If there was a god that doesn't care about humans. And sees the universe as more then emptiness, lack caring for what life means, when he does encounters beings - full of unendless lower life forms that lower then insects." She rolled her wrist like this was normal, "Just to stop being bored, he meddles to tear worlds apart with insanity and madess for his entertainment." She softly goes back to scooping, "My stripe demon is another version of Nyarlathotep. A man who cares of nothing as this universe does."
Everyone frowns with trying to make sense. She was making a path to take down between racking. Some of the paintings here are more exposed. Showing lizard beings, yellow cloaks in forests, bloody tongue hung head wear in tribal sacrifices. The longer the paints were looked the more creeps into one's mind. The glint of red star at each canvas corner. A few murdered humans with pentagram or eldritch runic marks. There is whispering, just barely felt then hear. The static and smell of eggs.
A massive thing slaps from the ceiling ahead, meeping and clicks. She stops short of it. It inspected about her with the shovel. She made a motion with her left hand, a strange cultic bending wave and it screams with five voices, shrill like a group of little girls. It throws itself into a canvas, into a world it belongs. She leans the shovel handle to her. Both her hands used to put her face back together. She noticed a canvas that doesn't belong here, lowering to all fours. She dug about the art work inside the ink and removed something, the canvas turns to dust on the removal of this. She looked about the order object in close scrutiny, soon hung it in a loose net pouch from her hip. She picked up the shovel and walks at the near wall. Breaching paper, she makes the team come over and helped them all out of this. She climbs over herself. Meeting to a open area of chemicals, working restoration projects and plastic covers. She brushed off to make herself age older and look like part of the staff. She was at the last do up of her bun of hair.