MOD EVENT #001

[oblivium]

A CHAOTIC RESPITE

It isn't rare for the seasons in the Netherworld to be a little erratic, though many days have passed now without much of a hint of its typical mercuriality, a good and a bad omen all at once. This respite is commonly referred to as the proverbial "calm before the storm", but it also marks the beginning of merrier celebrations. The Moons above are gilded silver, the twilight sky edged with faint pink and orange -- a sunrise phantasm, spilling over the horizon. It's an infrequent spectacle, accompanied by a dulcet breeze and light drizzles that seem to encourage growth nearly everywhere. Unfortunately, under its influence, people seem a little on edge, quick to anger, but no matter; around Stygia, Restless have begun hanging decorations and ornaments on trees and windowsills, left to catch the moonlight and give off marigold and ginger glows, warmly lighting up the city. Rather than fish, the smell of freshly ground spices permeates the air in the Harbors, Mirth keeps its doors opened to all, but just before the festivities officially begin, a cacophony of chimes resounds all over, a transmission difficult to ignore.

On the screen of your cellphone, nothing; only a voice, ragged, out of breath...

“The woods... Oakwoods! They've come alive! O-One minute he was complaining about the water seeping into his boots, and the next he was... he was being yanked up into the trees! We didn’t see what happened to him, but we heard... the screams, ohh, the screams. Please! Come to Serene, I beg you. This is our safest sanctuary, and the lan... oh, no... wait, no, please... please... NOOO--”

...and the feed abruptly ends, a dull chirr of static. Will you ignore the stranger's call for help and feast, or venture into the woods?

► I. KNOCK ON WOOD (OH PUCK, HE'S HOT!)

When you cross the gates of Serene, an old woman welcomes you, palm flat against her chest and disquiet in her eyes. Myrtille, her name. Oakwoods loom dense and dark in the distance behind her, groaning low as leaves rustle without wind. The Mourning Lantern was stolen, and malevolence rose in turn, dooming them all.

“It was once kept here, a sacred Artifact crafted from the bones of Serene's first founder, who gave her heart’s blood willingly to the woods in an act of contrition. It's the absence of the lantern that is contributing to the wood’s unusually active malice, and if you lot cannot retrieve it, then we must sacrifice another. Go! Take these torches and go, before Oakwoods swallow us whole.”

So you've decided to be brave. Commendable, or foolish? The wood is dark and shrouded in mist, and the trees crowd around you, an absent wind somehow whispering foul nothings in your ear as dead leaves rustle around your feet. Your Shadow basks in the murmurs, sensing the malign presence in Oakwoods as a faint, garbled scream echoes in the distance. You wander deeper and the canopy thickens, thin streaks of moonlight peppering the woods in deep patches of darkness. Behind you, a creature you can't see hisses, and a fluttering of wings nearby alerts you to the arrival of snickering harpies lurking on branches. “Dead,” they croak, in a sing-song chorus. “Dead as daylight.” Oddly enough, they seem content to just watch and stalk you, perhaps expecting you to die quickly, an easy and effortless meal.

It's a frustrating errand if you've ever known one. You barely know what you're looking for, and your Shadow thrives in the dark, taunting, coaxing. You hear it then; a haunting melody, the silhouette of a boy on a fallen tree trunk, strumming. “Come,” he says, with a voice that shimmers like the sun on moving water. If you remember what that's like. “Rest a while. Forget your troubles.” For anyone familiar, you'll recognize him as a Puck, famous prankster, and from his hand dangles a lantern.

► If you attempt to take the lantern from him, he'll immediately drop it to the ground, causing it to break. You may choose to kill him and offer his blood to the woods, or let him go and bleed in his stead. Myrtille should be able to repair what's left of the lantern once the offering's been made.
► If you politely ask to return it, he promises that he will... if you indulge him for the night.

No matter what you choose, you will come across camps, either on your way in or on your way back: pitched tents, most moth-eaten, and some containing vestiges of prior expeditions such as putrid corpses or rotten food. You've been wandering for a while, and sleep sounds terribly inviting. Unfortunately, a wind finally picks up, and leaves begin to blow around you. A nick, then a cut, then a slash reveal the leaves to have razor sharp edges. Sleep well yet? If you've spared the Puck, he'll encourage you to sit with him around a campfire, where he'll sing and tell stories. Or are they. Perhaps you've heard of Bloody Mary before. Slenderman? The Devil that'll make you dance until you die? While the lantern remains in stranger hands, the thread between reality and fiction narrows; protagonists from the Puck's legends come to life, and the only way to rid of them is by quenching the flames of the fire.

Your journey unfortunately doesn't end there. The Puck has a riddle for you: I am a word that is hardly there. Remove my start, and I'm an herbal flair. What am I?

If you fail to answer correctly, he'll vanish before you, and you can bid the lantern goodbye. You'll be forced to gather the bones from the corpses scattered across the woods, and feed it your blood -- or a friend's -- before you escape and return to the woman. The offering will leave you drained and exhausted, weak on your legs. If, on the other hand, you do answer correctly, the lantern is yours, and you'll be teleported out of the woods with a boon in your pocket: a piece of parchment invites you to visit your home in the Shadowlands. There, you'll find an object (or a pet) that belonged to you in your world.

the answer to the riddle is sparsely! it's up to you whether you'd like your character to fail.
legends told around the campfire can be any of the ones mentioned above or any other that might strike your fancy! go wild, have fun!
remember that if you pick an item from your character's world as their boon, it'll eventually disintegrate unless reforged with a soul.

.

► II. GO BIG OR GOURD HOME

Welcome to the Frightful Harvest, a festival that marks the beginning of the Respite, a temporary period of tranquility between seasons. It acknowledges the blessings offered and the role that both good and evil play in the Netherworld. It is a time to give thanks, but more importantly, it is a time of reflection and warding. Warding against not only the darkness of the next seasons to come, but of the nefarious creatures and struggles that will undoubtedly follow.

Carved pumpkins and straw bales are placed everywhere around the city, and streamers and banners are hung from every home and storefront. Decadent cakes, candies, and pastries are made in over-abundance in order to accommodate everyone, and from the lush gardens of Radiance, an elderly, dark-robed man addresses the Netherwork. You'll learn by eavesdropping on nearby Restless that his name is Doran, the oldest among you and loved by all. His smile stretches kind, and while not an official member of the Hierarchy, it's clear he has certain privileges -- well-deserved, or so you hear.

“Let us gather, feast, dance and celebrate. Let us hold our glasses high for those who heroically perished, for goodness, and for the Ascended. May their journey inspire us to change our lives and the lives of others, to resist evil, and to triumph. To you, dear friends!”

And without further ado, let the festivities begin!

► BARDIC BLITZ
The bardic blitz is a friendly competition that pits talented musicians against one another in an attempt to win over the affection of the crowd through festive melodies or personal compositions. Although it can be hosted just about anywhere, the bardic blitz is normally held in a large canvas tent directly in the heart of Mirth, though smaller crowds also gather in Serene and the Harbors around bonfires.

► FEAST
Although all cultures around Stygia bring their own tastes and specific flair to the celebrations, there are a few staple trade goods that you can find at nearly any celebration of the holiday throughout the city. Many producing the various cakes, beverages, and cookies also use the time to test and perfect their recipes, teaching others or using them as guinea pigs.

► Firstdawn Tea: This revitalizing crimson tea soothes the mind and body and is brewed from the roots of the dawn flower, which only sprouts during the Respite.
► Grablenuts: These fist-sized brown nuts have a hard, stippled outer shell and soft, delicious spicy centers. A single bite will slightly lower your inhibitions, and you may find yourself seeking proximity and warmth.
► Elysium: A nonalcoholic beverage that smells and looks as bad as it tastes. Only those with the strongest will manage to gulp it down. Once drunk, the person experiences true bliss, which seems to last for hours; in reality, it's only a few minutes.
► Will-o-the-Whiskey: Whisky with minor hallucinatory effects, visual and auditory.
► Sundrop: A pound cake coated in a sugary lemon drizzle. No side-effects, just delicious!
► Shadowfell Candy: Chewing on this candy will grant the character a deep and rejuvenating sleep, during which they will appear dead to anyone.

. ► HARVEST HUNT
The harvest hunt happens in a corn maze located in Mirth's amusement park, specifically created for the occasion. Because of the labyrinthian horrors dwelling in the Tempest, some find the terror-free replica a little inappropriate, yet participants still abound every time. A favorite seasonal game of the exuberant and athletic, characters take on the role of either hunter or prey, racing through the maze to either corner their quarry or escape the hands of their pursuer. As long as Shadows behave, it's a relatively safe activity. Friendly spars sometimes occur, picnics, and star-gazing.

► THE PARADE
The parade is the activity most looked forward to by younger Restless. Citizens clad in colorful costumes walk the streets to the rhythm of festive music, and according to tradition, it helps ward away any lingering evil that might try to hide in the community. For reasons unknown, incidents where Restless unwillingly swap bodies sometimes occur.

► III. WAYWARD SUN

The Warding Ritual is a private affair, a behind-the-scene execution on the last day of the festival as you dance and feast and frolic, blissfully unaware. Something goes awry. First, a shriek in the distance, and soon, birds flying away in apparent surprise as the landscape rustles with the sounds of creatures and Restless alike fleeing. A vague sense of dread knocks the air out of your lungs, an iron grip around your throat. And you see it then, a headless figure shrouded in a black veil of cloth, sword in one hand and a bright flaming pumpkin in the other. Its head. It thunders through the night on its skeletal horse, its blade flashing in the moonlight in search of prey. Heads fall. You might get injured during the chase -- collateral damage. 10 members of the Hierarchy won't ever rise again, and the rider eventually charges into the Tempest, leaving behind bloody puddles and a slather of confusion. If you opt to help clean up the mess, you might come across stained sheets of paper on the ground, a painting of a white scorpion in the middle. Otherwise, it's time for you to go home.

---

ooc note

► Welcome to Nightfell's first event! If you'd like additional, more casual prompts, the Notice Board is right here! New prompts will be added next month, if you've already had your fun with them!
► You'll find some answered questions here, but if you'd like to ask something else, please comment below!
► For a little spooky ambience in the woods.

Comments

[redsoil]

[ Feeling like you're not such a total fuck-up.

Yeah. ]

More than you might realize.

[ There is so much to him that he gives to despair and madness. Something once good in him that was broken down into ragged pieces and left scattered across the floor of a room, like a spray of desert flowers and pieces of shattered, pale clay with the heads of guardians upon them. It is humiliating, how he is poured out into such a brittle state; unsure, faltering in his steps though he moves onward and forth.

What was taken from him was so much more than just his pride.

At the least, he seeks to regain some measure of masculinity and power-- Jonas draws him in, closer to his body, and Set shifts his posture to better gather the young man into the crook of his arms. He slides them across Jonas's ribs, curling his forearms up into the juncture of arm and torso, immovable in his strength as he hooks himself around Jonas. ( Another hook into that torn soul. ) ]

As if you could. You're as threatening as a kitten, Jonas Ward.

[ His voice is a little hollow, but he does his best to put that snide little scoff into it; the idly playful, potentially mocking twist of his mouth as he prods his fingers into Jonas's ribs and takes the moment as it is. ]

[coherer]

I know, like... why are we even here when we could be ditching this whole thing to raid a convenience store? (maybe he's mansplaining chips, but his mouth won't stop moving. at this rate, anything is liable to spill out, excited by someone who actually wants him there and wants to hear what he has to say.

it's his turn to listen, however, and jonas considers himself good at that.

noctis' life sounds sheltered—rich family? well-known in their community, maybe—and full of expectation. it doesn't raise any flags; the eighteen-year-old, oblivious, props his cheek up on his hand and manages a little shrug. he's helpless to the mood, rocking a little on his elbows so that his arm presses repeatedly against his friend's.)

It's not my first time. My parents didn't care that I drank—I mean, they did in their own way, but they had a lot going on that mattered more.

This is probably weird to say, Noctis, but we're nowhere near home. You're not gonna disappoint me if you get trashed and puke on your own shoes in public. So, it's an option now, right? We can kinda do whatever we want, (jonas suggests innocently, despite the last cycle of jostling noctis ending in a deep lean.

he means to reach over noctis for the opposite side of the blanket, wanting to playfully yank it over him and roll him into a warm cocoon, then bludgeon him, perhaps, with the sitting pillows nearby. unfortunately, sudden and overwhelming vertigo forces the heel of his palm to slip against soft material, and with no firm grip anywhere, jonas' arm crashes down hard onto his friend's stomach.)

[regression]

[ Joonghyuk can relate to that. Unfortunately, he relates to that deeply, but with understanding comes scrutiny. ]

That isn't much of an answer.

[ The question stays as is. Not being able to afford isn't the same... It doesn't describe how one feels, just the circumstances around them. It tells him something, but in the end not what he's looking for. ]

[fallingsand]

[ As for Bruno, he steps forward into the doorway of the office, but that's where he'll stay, lingering there uncertainly. He'll look around the place but that'll be it. ]

So you're looking for some kind of paperwork about the Hierarchy and... Do you really think they sell protection? Wouldn't it be more likely there are taxes or a shop permit this guy would need from them? Things like that?

[pissoffbook]

Okay, okay, you got a point. Things here are pretty fucked.

[She blinks when he mentions the sky, laughing a little.]

I flipped my shit the first time I saw it. The sky doesn't get dark where I come from. It's always light out. Sometimes it gets cloudy and rainy, but nothing like this.

[dreamlords]

Constantine.

( he levels her with a look this time, trying to figure her out. it wasn't easy, not with everything else running through his system. )

You're not speaking with a clear head.

[coherer]

Yeah, each of these foods and drinks has something going on with them. I was tripping balls earlier, you should've seen—

(wait.

grimmjow is asking because he doesn't know. jonas' face pales, his hand slipping lower along the man's shoulder.)

... I am so sorry, I legitimately thought you knew. (it's high time to begin fussing over him; jonas gestures broadly out into the crowd and away from the banquet tables.) The nuts seriously won't be bad, but maybe you should sit down somewhere. You might get a bit... uh... huggy.

[coherer]

Yeah, I thought so, (he answers honestly, clutching his tea a bit tighter to warm his fingers.) I mean, people usually cut me off before I get this far, but religion and stuff usually are in my opinion.

(politics, religion, and money—they're the three things people say to actively avoid in conversation unless you know your audience. jonas, who enjoys ranting and raving about all three, decides he'd rather ask for permission than let himself talk amok at someone who might not enjoy the subject matter.

he needs a hobby.)

... I think it's cool, too. Like, fate and stuff.

(ichigo, however, says it's fine. that, coupled with jonas' overwhelming calm, makes him spew exactly what's on his mind.)

Hey, uh, maybe this is "elementary school" of me to ask, but... do you want to be friends?

[coherer]

Onsen, I've definitely heard that word—oh, it's a... hot spring, right?

(wow, he's learning)

We don't really have bathhouses or anything like that that I know of, but you can go to the spa with tattoos. You can do anything with tattoos; it's not like it's grime, it's subdermal ink.

[chokuto]

[Yes, he sees your dig at him, and yes, he's going to ignore it. If he weren't so stressed out being in his former teammate's body, he might even have rolled his eyes. Jonas is more right than he knows; his conversations with Sakura have so far been professionally, impersonally truncated.

Sasuke whips away, blessed by tense silence that he carries all the way down the road and around the corner to Sakura's clinic — dark and poorly lit at this hour, its canvas walls stand an eerie paleness in the night. He ducks beneath one, but his mind has already settled on disappointment. There's no one inside. He knew upon immediate approach; he hadn't felt the oppressive, cold, smothering immensity of his own chakra signature, surreal and disorienting from outside perspective. There was nothing.

He stands a few moments longer in the dark, then ducks back out and begins to pace a circuit on the deserted street, waiting for Jonas' return. The movement is entirely driven by anxiety — even he does not have the self-control to stop himself, to breathe, to rally composure. The thoughts are turning in his mind, too quick, lodged around fear: Where is she? What happened? She should have returned and found him by now. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

Paranoia creeps in, webbed around that same fear. Does he even trust Jonas to help? He said himself that he isn't close to Sakura. Can he help, or if this all a ruse of entertainment? Or perhaps, more sinister, Jonas is wasting his time for a reason. The other boy may not return from the market; how much longer should Sasuke wait?

Sasuke will just continue spiraling until he's interrupted.]

[coherer]

Honestly, a funky smell would be a massive improvement over what happened to my last jacket.

(sensing a disturbance in the force, jonas switches gears as though programmed to do so. keeping conversations light with wry jokes and inexhaustible social stamina may be his only superpower.

too, fukawa strikes him as an introvert, which means they have more than a couple of unrelated things in common. as someone who'd prefer to self-flagellate over making a conversation awkward, jonas does his best to prevent them from falling flat on their faces when they'd been setting a better pace for themselves.)

I live down by the harbour, right? And there was this guy puking in an alleyway, like, totally drenched. He looked like he'd just crawled out of the harbour, like Swamp Thing coming out of a bog or something, so I gave him my jacket to wear so he wouldn't get hypothermia and die. Again.

Now, I'm convinced he stole it because—well, first of all, (he continues, arms leaving his sides in a full-body shrug,) the jacket is still gone. More telling, though, is the fact that he ghosted me on Soulidarity.

(the audacity of cain ascending or being obliterated or something)

[coherer]

Home is... complicated. (very.) I need to go home to see my dad, to tell him I'm alright, but...

(need versus want. does he want to go home? or does he want to ascend and potentially see his mother again.)

The thing with answers is that I wouldn't know what to do with them or even where to find them. It's not like I have the power to do anything about what brought us here, and I was never—I'm not a leader. I'm not the one who figures things out.

What about you, man?

[invinciblemikey]

It is. You're trying to learn? It's a fun language.

(ah, look! a genuine smile coming out of him, for the first time in front of jonas!!! congratulations!! it's a very noticeable one.)

Oh. That's interesting. We can't really go in gyms, bathhouses, pools, beaches, or any of that. We do own some of those, so it's not really that bad to us, anyway.

[invinciblemikey]

It's not the enemies that would give me a headache.

[pissoffbook]

Not good? What's bad about it, it's just music?

[Kainé isn't familiar with the ins and outs of magic other than her own.

Her pace quickens when Aspen says they might be able to get some answers from whoever's playing the music and when she happens across the artist holding the lantern, she stops dead in her tracks.]

LOL RIP. I'm enjoying this too much. Sorry for delay, was at an anime convention

[pissoffbook]

Maybe not while you're in it. [Still teasing despite the fact that she has no idea what that would feel like anyway, given she's a virgin as well.] Well we'll never know if we stay like this. [She points out looking at him over her shoulder. Glancing over at him when he moves to her side, she stops dead in her tracks, her hands clenching into fists when he comments on 'what he can handle;' knowing he noticed that which she hates about herself so much.]

If you tell anyone, I'll tear off your arms, shove a stick up your ass and call you a kabob...

After you're back in this body, of course.

[Her face is dead serious with the threat. She doesn't want things in this world to end up like her own.]

[damnpire]

[It surprises him to hear Set take up for him. Left Hand doesn’t bother him; he’s lived with the thing’s goading and taunting for a long time. But regardless, he never expected Set to really bother.

His head turns, and he watches Set sink back into the vines, still sticking out like an exotic red wax stamp.]

You don’t have to worry.

[What little his reassurances may do. Carefully, he reaches across to take the hat deposited before in the concealing brush. It goes back on his head, situated neatly.]

I’m sorry.

[He isn’t sure what the apology is for exactly aside from Set having to endure existing in his horrific body for a short time. It just feels worthy of an apology. Out of politeness.]

[redsoil]

Save it.

[ Perhaps it is insensitive of him to reject D's apology so quickly, but he is in no mood to hear an apology - especially for something that was under neither of their control, and was resolved. His curled posture is defensive, elbows and forearms pulled in around his lower ribs, fingers laced together around a patch of greenery he works on shredding the leaves from. Irritable, perturbed and in need of some manner of destruction to soothe the hollow thing within him.

( Sekhmet would simper and bray in delight, to see him once more in her clutches. ) ]

It was easier with you, than when I was inside of Jonas Ward. He was so fragile and human, I knew I would leave such scars within him. At least with you, we are...

[ Similar? ]

Compatible.

Good to close off here?

[janescayre]

You're welcome!

[It's positively chipper. Though, after a beat and second considerations, Syo casts him a sidelong glance. Her hands are planted on her hips.

Kind of an odd duck, this one. He's really just gonna roll over and accept her word for it? The insult of the chase? He just looks relieved to be alive. One brow rises in cold calculation. She could goose him up again. Threaten him with a round two, if only to get him running the other way. He was pretty funny. She appreciates a good laugh.

But there were bigger fish to fry. She'd heard some of them nearby, and she'd just love to catch as many bozos as she can before the game is done. So Syo puts on a sunny smile and throws him a bone.]

Exit's that way, my man. You're quick, but grow a spine next time, okay? Sheesh.

[She starts back the way they came, saluting him before disappearing between the rustling stalks.]

Sayonara, sucker!

good to end here?

[janescayre]

Shit, what are you? Some kinda mind reader?

[Spooky. Should she beam him some lovely fantasies of her White Knight as a treat? Something with spanking, and ropes! Lots of blood!

Anyway, he doesn't have much explanation for himself. But someone does. She tenses at the surprise switch. Her mind flits to her own condition, or possession. Then again, the simple explanation might be that his little shoulder devil has a lot more say than her own does.

So far. When's it her turn to start speaking in tongues, huh? What a nifty party trick!]

...Bleeding heart, for sure. [She snickers. There's something quite sweet about the sentiment. Of course she doesn't get the benefit of the doubt. She's a murderous fiend, not a misunderstood misfit. It's not a point that needs throwing back in his face though. Just an interesting annotation, something to file away for a later encounter. How far can she stretch that inch before she gets a mile?

All them wacky powers, too. He's an interesting fellow. Maybe he really did chum around with Bigfoot once.]

Oh well. There are worse things to be, surely. None of this will bite you in the ass later! One-hundo-percento!

[Syo winks. Kidding, only kidding! She'll run this lantern back to the townsfolk like a good little girl, pinky swear.

With that, she turns on her heel, humming a little ditty as she disappears into the darkness.]

[fawcetted]

[ CORRECT!!! Feeling better already. Phew! ]

Yeah, yeah, so you said. [ And honestly, Steve kind of respects the way he stuck to his guns about it. Not that Steve received any threats or anything, but there was that one girl who was really into knives ... Anyway. ]

Wait. What? Who uses a web-thingy [ "App", Steve, it's called an app. ] to pick fights? Especially one dedicated to finding soulmates? Some people, man.

[ But he seems buoyed by the little compliment there. He is pretty cool! ]

Noctis. Good to meet you in person — and yeah, I need to figure out how to deal with that chunk of my profile.

[zauneyete]

[ Silco looked over his shoulder at him, with a sharp smile. ]

Now you're thinking like an organization in charge.

It might be even the same thing. That's what I'm here to find out.

[ He started rifling through the books, noting expenses, which was a good place to start, as he ran his finger down the line, eyes darting as he started to read. ]

[zauneyete]

No? Who, then?

[damnpire]

I think you may be able to find more answers than you think. Because you won’t treat this like a battle, or with violence. Because you can see it differently than the rest of us.

[Because Jonas is human and frail, and Jonas actually has to use different tactics than brute force or powers.]

I have unfinished business, so I would like to return to the Frontier for a while.

[A while.

Because without him, the Frontier would be better off in the long run.]

[cruelyethuman]

[The smile turns razor-sharp, sharklike, before it melts in to something softer. Something almost kind.

The Darkling twists his hands together- more for show than any actual need, since his control of his shadows is already slipping- and he releases her from the bind.]

Good.

[Very good.] Follow me.