Nadine: 6 DD
Pierre: 7 DD
Victor: 7 DD
GM: 4 DD
A step. The shoulders of your jacket brush against the sagging, ragged, slightly squirming, and nauseatingly thick curtains. Like the rent flesh of a gutted cow, they dribble, hot and thick, down your arm. It takes a bit of pushing to be free of them, They wish to spring back together, to haphazardly heal the callous rent in reality that your travel plans have thrust onto them. The sounds and the stench are overpowering until until until you are free. Then there is silence. The world wails no longer. A great emptiness.
The ground is soft, yielding, like the belly of some great beast. Your feet sink slightly into it. Is it moving? A current? A living carpet? This journey feels a lifetime.
And then the voices come. "It's a lie, what they tell you. Why do you think no one who opens their eyes ever returns? You are living in the vale of tears. This is paradise. Who would return to a world of violence and death? We are here to help you. Your church has spoken of us, but they have made a mistake. We are the ones to whom you cry out. We love you. We are here to bring you from the darkness into the light. We will show you Truth. We will give you the purpose your world has lost. We will bring joy. We will bring love. Open your eyes and see for yourself."
As the faint wailing of pain returns and begins to intensify, the sound of Nadine ripping the second wound wider makes the voices flee and the whispers die. If the stench and the wailing were overwhelming on your entrance, now they are thunderous, a physical force beating you backwards. The step through the wound is a struggle, a fly wishing to escape the frog's mouth. The wet, torn lips of Hell closing on you, the fight to break free nearly beyond you.
Then it's over. The wailing dissipates into a tiny whisper. Is it only in your mind? Will it ever cease?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The feeling of sunlight through lace-curtained windows, and the smell of polished leather and old books replaced the sensations of the Walkway. The sounds which died the moment Nadine's portal closed were similarly replaced, by soft gasps and hushed moans. Through the doorway frame of the antechamber adjoining the Comte's study in his Charouse townhouse, the travelers could see the back of a man with bared legs standing against the desk which dominated the well-furnished room. His trousers were down to his ankles, and the tail of his shirt blocked their view of his fundament. To his either side sprouted bare female legs, held rigid in ecstasy, the source of the hushed moans, in time with the man's thrusts, and growing ever louder and less discreet by the moment. Almost immediately, and somewhat before the critical juncture, the sudden imposing presence of three travelers fighting off the Portal-sickness into the middle of flagrante delicto was noticed, and the pair separated with a start.
The girl, blushing bright scarlet, leapt from her ersatz bed of sin, golden curls peeking out of her disarrayed hat, and raced from the room, trying and failing with delicate hands to hide her generous curves. The man, on the other hand, had gotten over the initial shock with surprising speed. Hiking back up his trousers, he brushed a quick hand through his dark curls, a devil-may-care smile lighting up his heavily montaignan features.
"Morbleu!" He swore, his Paix accent thick. "I thought you were the Comte himself, though why he should be out of bed and back in Charouse, I could not say!" The man, named Hugo, served as housekeeper to the Comte. With an expansive gesture, he bowed to Pierre. "Welcome back to Charouse, Monsieur Brunet! And to your companions as well!" Seeming to be entirely unperturbed by his state at their arrival, Hugo quickly and expertly set his disarrayed garments into order, and then blithely began to gather up the discarded clothing that the parlourmaid, Miette, had left behind. "I only wish you could have returned under better circumstances, monsieurs et mademoiselle. Though you'll be pleased to find that no scruffulous assassins have been allowed inside of this house in Monsieur le Comte's absence!" Hugo affected a sober manner, though his paixian joi de vivre could not long be dampened. "Of course, you'll wish to dine here soon! I will tell Anatole to pull something together, and by the time you've bathed and had a trifle cognac to ward off the portal sickness, you'll be ready to enjoy Charouse's finest meal in style!"