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By the hands of the Gods, you have been plucked from your time and from your world, dropped into the box. Only the box is a world of its own.

We are a mass crossover based on the concept of Pandora's Box. Characters from nearly any fandom can be played here. Because of the endless character possibilities, we are canon only here at Pandora. Take a peek at our rules and plot information before starting your new life in Pandora.

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Private rolling out the welcome mat

Discussion in 'The Elysium Fields' started by Hellboy, Jun 12, 2018.

  1. Hellboy

    Hellboy Hellboy

    Posts:
    19
    Occupation:
    Paranormal Investigator
    Race:
    Half-demon
    Age:
    66
    Alignment:
    Neutral Good
    Directory:
    link
    MAY 5TH, YEAR 7
    LATE MORNING || THE ELYSIUM FIELDS
    @Castiel && @Stiles Stilinski

    Hellboy crashed to the ground, the air rushing out of his lungs. He lay prone for several moments, concentrating on catching his breath and trying to piece together what the hell had just happened. Where the sky had been dark, awash with fire and blood, now it was blue. Impossibly blue, with fluffy white clouds sailing overhead and a warm, gentle breeze coaxing him to rise. Soft grass cushioned his sore body, the smell of it filling his nose.

    Hadn't he been fighting against Nimue, or the Dragon, or whatever the hell she’d been like... a minute ago? Hadn’t he defeated her with Vasilisa’s help? He glanced down at the dagger still clutched in his left hand, shaped like a raven. Still there, still a sign that he hadn’t just dreamed the whole thing up. Still smeared in blood too, red and green. Green from Nimue’s blood, red from his blood. It pulsed in his hand and he relaxed his grip, watching as it turned back into a raven. It cawed, the sound low and mournful, then flew away.

    Strange as the sight was, he’d seen stranger things.

    Groaning, he rolled onto his side. “Definitely gonna be sore in the morning,” he muttered, lurching to his hooves. He started to fish around in his pockets, glancing down at his battered appearance: a torn up coat, more cuts and bruises than he could count, bloodstains -- some his own, but most that pale, sickly green -- and no cigarettes on hand. “Crap.”

    He lifted his head, squinting against the sun’s glare, and rubbed the back of his head, wondering how he’d wound up here. Hadn’t he still been in the ruins of that castle with Nimue’s dragon-changed corpse still at his feet? Scrunching his face up, he tried to recall what happened after that. He thought he remembered hearing Alice’s voice a little before losing consciousness, but her voice had been faint. Honestly, he’d probably just imagined hearing it before waking up here.

    Wherever the hell here was.

     
    Stiles Stilinski likes this.