Unboxing Shadows PV MS closed

Tuesday was, luckily, a rather observant man. As he gently pressed against the embossed insignias that were inlayed on the sides of the box, a soft click was the only inclination of the fact that Tuesday immediately was able to figure out the 'super secret' open latch. Any bumbling fool could have figured out that one. His attempt seemed so effortless because that was precisely what it was for him. Many years of experience had led him to believe in Occam's Razor. Oftentimes the most straightforward solution was usually the correct one. With some difficulty, the man pushed the lid open. The resistance that he experienced was surprising but nothing he couldn't handle. Before he could glance inside the box, a rolling fog rumbled from the inside of the box. It was like the Niagra; before he could blink, he and his cohorts had been encased in a slimy fog that felt like it clung to his skin like tiny hands grasping for the warmth that radiated from his body. But those hands were quickly ripped from reality as the fog dissipated. The herbology professor's muscles were tense and only caused more tension at Booth's calls to the air.

Tuesday couldn't help but always be wary of Hal's terse attitude, but now was different. There was vitriol laced in his words that made Tuesday's skin crawl. The intent to kill was strong, and he had been on the wrong side of a wand far too often to not react negatively to words like that. Shooting an iron firm warning glance at his friend, Tuesday finally spoke up, "Don' plan on goin' scorched earth on us, Booth."

The former Auror examined the intriguing flacons now that the fog was gone. So many other wizards would balk at the human body parts that sat bottled in front of him. Sadly the only fleeting thought that crossed his head was the thought of what felt like a lifetime ago. His wife, Amelia-rose, his work. His mind quickly forced flashes from his past, but Tuesday was able to suppress those intrusive thoughts, and he focused back on the situation.

"Orion. Get ready to restrain 'im, and I'll get the fire started." Was all Tuesday had to say in response to Hal's commands. It didn't take long for the man to grab a handful of sticks and prepare to follow our dear and lovely Divination Professor. Laying it down in a classic teepee formation, Tuesday felt ready enough to start the fire. With his poplar wand in hand, he just pointed down at the wood and spoke the words, "Incendio." With a flash of orange, fire erupted from the tip of his wand and jetted into the stick teepee. "There. I'm ready whenever." In actuality, Tuesday had never truly dabbled in the divination aspect of magic. It was never really his thing, nor was he good at it, so the whole mystical eye thingy was giving off terrible heebeegeebee vibes.

Interaction with @Orion Lécuyer, @Halford Booth

Leave it to Tuesday to figure out how to open the box so quickly. With that being said, Orion wasn't exactly happy that he continued to hold onto it while it opened. He should have dropped it; what if something inside of it ended up hurting him?

... Like that damn fog that rolled out of the box. "Tuesday..." Orion's warning came with a stress on the man's first name. It was senseless anyways considering the man was seeing exactly what he was seeing. A hand would reach through the fog and grip ahold of his best friend's shoulder to ensure he stayed by his side, should there somehow be more fog inside, but discovered he was suddenly alone. "TUESDAY!" His voice would grow panicked as laughter accompanied the fog, as did a distorted take on the world that reminded him of the recreational activities he engaged in during his early twenties.

The fog would fade seemingly just as quickly as he came, and once it did Orion would silently reach out to place a hand on his friend's arm, having now fallen silent as if his earlier panic over losing sight of his friend had never happened. It was embarrassing. It would be unacceptable on the field.

But Orion had so little left to care about. "Damn that Athanatos... Is he showing us the past or trying to make us resurrect the dead?" He grumbled, attempting to break the tension.

"Well, there's not point in turning back now." Would Thaddues even allow them the option? It was doubtful. He followed the group towards the edge of the forest, wand in hand. He wasn't going to argue with Tuesday when he suggested he be the one to restrain their friend. It was impressive how quickly he was able to erect the fire, but not surprise given how 'outdoorsy' his friend was.

"This is not how I envisioned restraining you, Booth, but I'll take what I can get." The Frenchman teased, his wand pointed towards the grumpy Seer. He was ready to cast 'Incarcerous' on the man at the first sign of a struggle (if it possible to hold my action this round for when Halford needs to be restrained, I am asking to do it).

The choking fog cloaked the trio in thick, white smoke. There was a scent that accompanied this fog, strange and unsettling although not unpleasant. Pleasant scents and strong reeks - the astringent scent of vinegar, or perhaps cheap wine as well as flowers. An overpowering miasma too old for the to to understand, the scent unfamiliar to the three of them but mentioned in literature of a time past. Symbolism, a truth and story told without words but rather with scents and scenes, with half-words and memories plucked from the dead.

This was incredibly dark magic. However that would not deter any of them, if anything Halford's resolve had been steeled by personal loss. This box was seemingly made for the Divination Professor, a pyre made of lime wood and the labeled remains of two teens who had died some time ago. Blood magic, performed by a Seer on the fringe of the forbidden forest in the company of 'friends.' Well, co-conspirators at the very least as they chose the 'dangerous' option of performing this dark ritual without question, not that there was anyone to answer their rightful inquiry.

The box would rattle slightly in the hands of the Charms Professor in spite of the fact that the contents had been evacuated. A thin veneer of yew, a lining of bed and a base of wood. There was a modicum of caution, his wand leveled towards Halford in case there was a need for restraint. A rightful choice considering the mysterious letter and the morbid contents.

"Incendio," Tuesday incanted. A flash of orange fire erupted from the tip of his wand and jetted into the stick teepee of limewood. "There. I'm ready whenever." The ritual seemed simple enough - a fire made of limewood, once lit afire... thrust the eyes into the fire.

Assuming the bottles were opened, the loud sound of a cork being popped the scent of formaldehyde would be unmistakable. The eye, blue and labeled Vladimir was certainly a human eye. Aged, chemically preserved and mildy deflated with a portion of the optic nerve still attached. If handled or if simply dumped with a vessel inversion, the result would be the same. The flames turn from orange to green. As they dance and sway, a dark shape appears in the bonfire’s core.

He would see the silhouette of a man, tall and thin, walking through the the embers. Then the image would crumble, fall to their knees as if in aguish. their hand clasping their side. An unheard scream. The image would writhe and then fall prone. The ember bed would start to turn to hot ash, the wood would crackle.

A dark shape would take form, tearing from the heart of the felled man tearing him asunder. A dark and twisted creature would emerge. Octopodal and massive. It would skitter from the now unmoving remains of the felled man. One massive, then many small. From the flames, some of the spiders would seem to sense that there was an observer. That there was the three of them. Some of the spiders would breech the flames, dark and terrible arachnids. Made of pure darkness and shadow. However, it was only Halford, the Seer of the three that would see them. That would feel the psychic distress and they encroached upon him. As they attempted to inundate him with their dark presence.

Would be stand unmoving. Would he flee. Would he cry out.

It would not matter, they would catch him. Once one got his scent, the others and there were many would come for him. They would consume him, or at least in his mind's eye they would. He would feel their shadowy fangs plunge into his flesh. He would feel the pain, the stinging spread of the dark curse that flowed through him. He could try to swat them away, only to find their numbers replaced in what would seem to be a dark, endless army.

The remnants of the organ in the fire would burn away, reduced to less than char and when the organ faded away to nothing, the spiders would disperse in a puff of smoke. Only, the was the only one that could see these spiders once they evacuated the flames. He was the only one that felt the pain, the sting of their fangs. He was the only one that saw the creeping blackness spread across his flesh like a a terrible virus. Yet in the blink of an eye, the spiders would fade away in a wisp of smoke and the darkness that filled him, filled those superficial wounds would fade into nothingness. The pain would throb a moment longer and then resolve with a numbness before ceasing entirely.

If he was bound. If he fought as instinct would dictate. If he allowed himself to be consumed or if he fought against the dying light, when it ended he would know the truth of what he saw. That this was a vision intended for him. A painful lesson perhaps. A terrible truth that he perhaps wished he have been told than to experience.

And if his resolve did not fade with fear. Fear of pain. Of nightmares that became real, perhaps he would open the second bottle. Preserved like jelly, the cork-like lid clamped down on either side. He would be able to open the the bottle with ease even if his hands trembled.

The other bottle, Victor. The eye, also blue. A bit less grey, brighter and almost gem-like in quality. The familiar scent on preservatives, again formaldehyde would waft through the air overpowering the fading, strange perfume. The eye deflated, uneven and oblong. The optic nerve thick and crudely attached.

If placed into the same flames, the fire of nightmares. The fire would spark, the flames had returned to their orange state once the phantasm faded. But when the eye was relinquished from his ownership to the heart of the flames of limewood he would be accosted by another scene. This one different from the first. There were three rather than one. He would see then above something, a felled fourth. they would take from the felled something he could not discern. And then deeper within the flames he would see a shadowy shape, a stout cauldron in a hearth. They would gift the cauldron unseen wares. From the caldron something would emerge, alive perhaps but it would matter not because he would never see what was housed within the false iron.

No they would take from the cauldron great ladles of an unknown substance and place the dark substance in phials and then scurry to the far corners of the flames. A host of faint images, male and female, ordinary in bearing granted phials. They would part company and imbue. Then dance. Then change. Their carriage contorted, her hands reminiscent of claws and they would lash out like beasts. Their great, gnarled fingers would breech the periphery of the flames and swipe at Halford.

Again, only he would see the attack on his person, if he stepped back they would narrowly miss and he would watch them fade in cadence with the deterioration of the eye. If he did not, he would feel his flesh tear like a piece of raw meat cut by a serrated blade. He would feel the pain, see the blood. Only when the illusion faded, his injuries would not be apparent.

The images he saw, a horrorscape as well as a window into either the past, present or future. There was no way for him to be certain what he saw, but he was told a story that he would experience first hand.

Tuesday and Orion would see parts of what Halford saw. They would see the flames change, but they would not see the images. They would not see the darkness that escaped. They would however see Halford's reaction, be them brave and foolish or sensible. He might find himself bound before the terrors the flames would elicit. He might find himself a danger to his friends if they stood too close and he chose to defend himself against the darkness.

As for Orion, only in part prepared for what might transpire. There was still the matter of the box. The box that rattled even after it was emptied. He would find a final parting gift beneath a false bottom if he had bothered to look or alternatively dropped the vessel he was left to believe was empty.

He would find three keys - brass, silver and black iron. An address embossed on each. Well, he did say he gave them a 'bonus.'