An inquiry.
What if nothing is real at all.
Not you. Not this place.
Everything you have ever known is a lie.
That all of this is a constructed dream.
Would that be a dull twist?
Or would it twist your head until you inevitably give up on reasoning life at all?

[ooc: for the sake of convenience I put the main body in regular text, but it should be assumed that it's in white and not black. all replies will come in white text, with brackets indicating where it ends and begins.]

You've made it past the last fifty feet alive and upright - congratufuckingwelldone. You're looking at something massive, something large and hulking. The exact shape of him eludes perception; all hair, all sprawling limbs, all wickedly curved horns as long as you are tall. You're pretty sure there are eyes in there, because something is glowing indigo-red beneath the horrid, filthy mane.

The stench of the charnelhouse is overpowering. It - he? - reeks of death and rot and, nauseatingly, something like sugar syrup. Is he smoking something? You aren't sure. Smoke and the shadows wrapped around him are a chaotic blur. If you have a brain, its perceptions are being toyed with to create this effect. Your brain is also being told that this is something like death incarnate. This is what was lurking beneath your bed, inside your closet, in the corner of your eyes; this is what was moving when you gave a sudden start and nothing was there, and your heart kept pounding. If you have an adrenaline gland, it is being whapped into frenzy.

If you are familiar with old gods, this might be familiar to you: the sense of a being whose concept of the sacred is flesh split open, and revelations writ in blood.

You are before the Grand Highblood.

He is not amused.

[ooc: i think the only character on New Moore at the moment who's immune to the GHB's fear miasma is Charles Xavier, but if not, let me know! comment here to be horribly murdered and/or tell a really funny joke. if he's amused enough, he might let you go with only a little terrorizing. alternative approaches will be played by ear. honk!]

This time isn't my fault either.