“You are no longer readers. You are candidates.”
A survival game inspired by the world of Atfal El-Noor — a realm caught between forgotten worlds, ruined gods, and shattered light. Only one of you will survive this trial. Only one will earn the blessing of El-Noor. The rest? Well… we’ll see what’s left of you.
(Inspired by @BellaTheCow’s original chaos 
)
RULES OF THE TRIAL:
* No self-promo unless asked (this is a trial, not a marketplace).
* One player, one Circle — no double-picks. Choose wisely.
* One Circle is “Safe.” The others? Let’s just say… they bite back.
* What happens next will be posted about — survivors and consequences will be revealed later.
THE REWARD:
* You survive the trial.
* You may receive a cursed sketch of your OC
LET'S START
Your breath curls into the mist. Cold clings to your skin like fingers. The ground beneath you is soft — petals, maybe. No... bodies. Spider-lilt flowers bloom from hollowed skulls.
You sit up.
Everything is wrong.
A voice, faint and somewhere behind your teeth, murmurs:
“Choose quickly. They're watching.”
Three groups of shadows drift through the fog — silhouettes of people, or things pretending to be. You can’t tell.
Choose your chibis circle
Two figures emerge from the left group — one small, round, and jingling with every step.
“Oye-oye! Shiny-friend! This way-way!!” Snagglix Loudboots the Bobblin waves a brass dagger like it’s a royal scepter, his patchy cloak glittering with bottlecaps and buttons.
Beside him slithers Kiwi, a caterpillar-shaped Gnath with yellow chitin, a red band around his midsection, and glowing navy streaks across his antennae. His mandibles click as the bobblin murmurs,
“Safe path! Nicey-nice one! Boblin eyes checked it!”
From the right, two more shapes step into view. The first is short and broad, resting a massive hammer across his shoulder like it weighs nothing.
“Oi! Don’t trust the bobblin. That way’s a cursed circle,” Thoren Quicknail growls, eyes glinting beneath his heavy brow.
Next to him waddles Pimi Pimi, her robes jingling with charms, staff glowing faintly at the tip.
“It loops and loops,” she adds in a sing-song voice, oddly calm. “Like a lullaby that never ends.”
She smiles, but her eyes don’t blink.
The middle group doesn’t speak at first. They simply exist, half-veiled in fog and still as statues.
Zahra’a floats forward — a tiny sylph wrapped in swirling leaves of red, yellow, green, and violet, vines flicking like lazy tails. She smirks, arms crossed.
“Well, you could follow the hammer guy… if you're into getting stepped on. This one finds it amusing.”
Beside her, Twinkleway shifts nervously, his massive ears twitching. He barely looks up as he whispers,
“I... I think this is the right way. I-I hope…”
Hetugs Zahra’a’s vine gently, like asking for reassurance without saying it.
The whisper returns, curling through the mist like smoke.
“Three parties. Three truths. Only you can choose.”
Your heartbeat ticks louder in your ears, matching the pulse beneath your feet.
Make a choice… and see where it leads.
