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

3

[declass]

[ well.

has cain ever been tackled by a 5'9" girl with bear ears? now he has. if you want, he can still get a little slashed as a treat, but rosa is fairly quick and is a lot stronger than she looks so they're both going down. ]

Are you okay?!

[declass]

Is it that noticeable?

[ she glances downwards, frowning lightly, before looking back towards him. ]

I suppose it happened during the rush of everything. It was very chaotic!

[ that guy was missing their head and everything! rosa has not been here long enough to know if that is normal. ]

[constellational]

I… do
Hold on
You don’t mean a strip club, do you?

⟪ what the hell kind of an afterlife is this????? ⟫

If that was an invitation
I think I’ll pass

[constellational]

⟪ oh! wonderful. a kutabe, portent of a coming plague. quite frankly, it looks a lot more like a satyr, but y’know. grandma’s tales of yokai and all that. shiro watches half-dumbfounded, half-intrigued, and realizes with a breath too quickly inhaled that satyrs aren’t much better. he doesn’t need to be tricked, or pranked, or mocked. he just needs to return home and forget about this entire haunted trip.

alas, there’s the lantern, and shiro isn’t about to drop a mission before completion. now that the voice has a face, it’s a little less intimidating, too, though the fog hasn’t really subsided, and unseen creatures root around in the underbrush, the earthy smell of decomposing leaves mixed with a metallic tang growing stronger by the second. ⟫

Hey. ⟪ excellent start. ⟫ We have good reason to believe that lantern isn’t yours—

What’s your name?

Uhm. It’s… Shiro. Listen—

Shiro. My name.

…No. Wait. What?

My name.

Look, if you could just—

Ask. My. Name.

Alright! Fine. What’s your name?

Steven.

⟪ what the fuck. shiro’s mouth hangs open, face scrunched into a frustrated scowl. this guy is almost as annoying as slav—minus the dizzying energy—and shiro subsequently forgets about yokai, ghosts, and hauntings, taking one step closer. ⟫

Steven. Oakwoods’ lantern was stolen. Now, I’m not accusing anybody here, and I don’t want to know how it came into your possession. We just… need it back.

Rest a while, then. In the morning, it shall be yours.

⟪ rest a while where. amidst corpses? in a tent that’s known too many storms? shiro sighs exasperated, sparing keith a questioning glance. what do. steven’s waiting here. ⟫

[coherer]

(in a relatively good mood despite the ever-present anxiety and existential dread, jonas meets keith with a certain gusto. not the extroverted kind that'd have him clamouring to talk, but he can't deny that his company is welcome and he even manages a little half-smile.

then keith mentions his nuts.)

That's what he said. (it's pointed out as casually as someone would comment on the weather, jonas proceeding to help himself to the few in keith's hand. not picky but wary, he even holds them up to examine them, then tries to shell the grablenuts outside of his mouth.) C'mon, give me a challenge next time; I don't even have to try with you people anymore and we practically just got here.

I keep hearing these are spicy. Are they, like, super spicy? Too much and I'll get acid reflux or something... (the whitest boy in the netherworld.)

[redsoil]

[ Having gathered himself into a space above the crowd, precariously perched on the edge of a window ledge to avoid having to bump and jostle in a crowd - he avoids touching his bare skin to too many others, when he can still feel the lingering press of bodies against him from earlier ( where he was jonas, and jonas was him -- ). It's better like this, able to watch without being drawn along with the flow of forms. Over their heads, he can see the familiar, wide brim of D's hat. The dark fall of his hair, so sleek and unbound that it twists inside of his chest -- it drives him mad, in ways, that he seeks the coolness of D's expression and the soft tangle of his hair as if to find the ghost of his own son. There's no comfort to be found in regarding the dhampir in such a way, no peace will it bring him and no kindness is it to D. It is only cruel to look to him for the specter of his son, but Set cannot stop himself. The injury is so fresh, the loss so close to complete that he sees nothing else for it. This time, when he blinks, he feels the tug of his being towards D. The soft yank of some sort of string that draws his mind closer to the other, further from his own body. The other begins to leave the crowd, drawing away and into the distance and with him, Set is drawn in his wake. He leaps from his perch upon the ledge, descending into the crowd -- and somewhere, between his leap and the moment he lands, the world shifts. Like he's been plucked from midair and tugged into the distance. He snaps to, feeling the weight of clothing upon him first and foremost, an unfamiliar crush of layers of attire against his skin. When he lifts his head and looks back, he feels he will be beyond the crowd already -- looking back into the crush of it, spotting the brilliant scarlet of (his) own hair among them. If he lifts his gloved hands to his hair, innately he knows when he tugs at the ends, they will be black. ] Oh, fxck. [ He cusses, with D's mouth. It feels like SACRILEGE. ]

[coherer]

("damp ear"? jonas mishears d, deciding now that d's hand is an extension of his own. it belongs with him—to him—and unable to hold their shake aloft any longer, the set of two is guided down to rest against the teenager's chest. it's joined shortly by his second, palm laying over their fingers.

their body temperatures jive. beyond jonas' ribcage, his pulse hammers away at the drugs in his veins.)

A type of elf?

(high though he is, he doesn't find himself very tired, but the thought of napping beneath the sky on a hay bale isn't as bad a nightmare as everything else. it is, in fact, a pleasant daydream.)

Or, like... (...) ...

(forgetting what he was about to add, jonas lets the silence take over for him.)

[regression]

[ Joonghyuk had simply been enjoying the parade, which means watching the performers pass through and not much more than that. At first, the shift is seamless and he doesn't immediately notice anything odd aside from his view of the celebration. It's different, though at the similar eye level. He's in a different spot, at another angle. Everything else comes quick and fast after. The lack of/different clothes. The new hair. The sensation of muscles foreign to him. With a twist of his wrist, it cements his reality. Instantly, his face twists into his usual resting bitch face, painting over Set's countenance and aura with his own. A part of him berates himself for staying around after suffering body swap a handful of times now. The Netherworld is awful. And he starts his search while fishing for Set's phone and checking his information. A god? A god of war? Set of < Papyrus >? Joonghyuk rightfully believes that he's entitled to scrutinizing Set's messages to get a read on him. Somewhat hot-headed, somewhat kind-hearted, oddly humble. ... Sounds fake. Whatever. Joonghyuk goes to his profile and swipes right. ⟪ Set swiped right, send a message to initiate conversation. ⟫ ] Give me back my body. [ Somehow, some way, there's still enough distance between them where he can't hear his own voice YELLING. ]

[chokuto]

[Sasuke's gaze transitions from those pale, flickering wings into the wooded darkness of their surroundings, quiet, attempting to pick up any clues to what lies ahead.]

I hear it. But no, I don't know anyone.

[It could be another Restless, it could be related to the target of their mission, it could be a creature similar to the Gargoyles he's fought before. The frown deepens in his expression as he looks back to Aspen.]

How quickly can you move? Our pace is slow and it's impeding our progress; I'm used to going much faster.

should we be thanking god, really

[janescayre]

[She gives him the deadest of eyes. Just as she suspected: another tv junkie with cheap taste.]

Wh-what do you think?

[Not like she'll answer it for him.

On the other hand, he's aiming somewhere in the range of affable, if still keeping one foot in annoying. He's still messing with that mutilated pumpkin for one, and she has to give an indignant squawk at "sister". A whole interjection even.]

D-d-don't address me so informally! [It's spluttered out, so he's probably got no reason to put some respect on her name. As for the rest she gives a grunt, picking at a loose thread on her torn sleeve.] Fine. Whatever. T-tell me the legend of this Pinehead thing.

[Something like that.]

[coherer]

Shut down.......

No peer pressure Shito lol I respect your no. Do you know where to get to the harbour from here??

[midway]

Halloween?

[ Despite all the boisterous activity around and the way the entire community is involved, he hadn't actually heard what the festivities were celebrating or if there was a name for this holiday.

Hopefully his ignorance doesn't swing her Mixed Opinion™ to Bad Opinion™. ]

Is that the name of this dinner?

[redsoil]

[ Gross. His mouth tastes gross, as though he has screamed one unending, unyieldingly painful scream from start to finish as he attends to the Hierarchy members who have been slain. Their lives extinguished, and so vibrant as he relives scraps of their existence through the intense pressure of his curse -- and he thinks back to the bodies of the explorers as well, so devoid of emotion, of last visions! ]

Blegh.

[ He gags a little, into the press of his hands over his mouth. It'd be comedic if the circles under his eyes weren't so dark as if to be black, standing out stark against the pale of his skin. ]

Dimitri, [ a kind(er) man, one he doesn't feel he needs to be coquettish around. ] This is the second time you've caught me ill to my stomach, how dare you!

[ There's no heat in it, as he turns his head to find where the other man has crouched. ]

It's - I... committed crimes, and this is part of my punishment.

[midway]

[ His head tilts to the side, confused. ]

Fae...? I don't think I've ever encountered such a race.

[ They only have humans, Nabateans and Agarthans... As far as he knows anyway. He would've liked to explore the world a little more once the war was over, and see what else might be out there.

In any case, his brows furrow, ] Ah- you're not mortal?

[ But... he died. ]

[constellational]

Not sure where you are exactly but
You sure you're alright on your own?
There's a coffee shop near the casino
Hard to miss, always open
You should be safe there for the night

[midway]

[ There is no one silent and stoic in all of Leicester, so Claude's not entirely sure how to handle D. The closest comparison he has is Jeritza, whom he hadn't seen since his time at the Academy, and even then it had been brief.

He does remember trying to bamboozle Jeritza just once before meeting the business end of his scythe and deciding that it wasn't worth it.

But D poses a question, which is surprising. ]

I thought I might enjoy some solitude. It's been an exhausting evening chasing after Puck and gambling with the treats at the feast.

[ With a glance over at D, ] I assume you're much the same? I hope I didn't intrude on what you were hoping would be a nice walk alone.

[damnpire]

[As strange as it is, D allows Jonas to commandeer his hand. It quiets the Grablenut's itch for closeness; it's not even a whisper right now. He worries for how fast the feast has made Jonas' heart, but the sound of it comforts something else not from the Grablenut, something from a darker side of him.]

The offspring between a human and a vampire.

[Thankfully Jonas is high as a kite, and D thinks Jonas will not be absolutely terrified now knowing he's clutching the hand of a half-vampire.]

[dodgeouttahell]

[He doesn't wince, move away from the touch at all. If anything it looks as though he's leaning into it, trying to help her out realize that he's fine, and that his godhood doesn't really allow for him to be injured that easily. He's a little under the weather, more taken by the uselessness of his presence than even the wound to his pride, the physical injuries he's sustaining.

(A heavily scraped shoulder, and a bruised forearm. The blood, Hibiki will find, isn't his, it doesn't come from him.)

He wipes some of it from his chiton to his palm, and watches it as it dissipates from his skin. It turns crystalized in his hand.]

A horserider. Without a head. I couldn't stop him. [He shakes his head even before it starts spouting nonsense.] Were you the one I heard was singing before? I heard rumors.

2b + wildcard bc no rules apply to me

[coherer]

(still high as hell, it takes jonas a closer look at the screen of the cell phone before he's able to ascertain the pictures are of cain. the first one is dim, taken inside the nightclub by the visibly drunk jackass showing every passerby on the street. the second is a short video of cain flirting with an androgynous bartender.

"he was talking up my partner!" the man cries, becoming hostile. the bouncers fold their arms outside the entrance and shake their heads; he's not allowed back in. "you fuckers should do something about him! he's probably still in there with them!")

Woah, chill—

(jonas, eyebrows high and eyelids heavy, sways on the spot while drafting a message to the only uninformed person on the block. cain's phone will buzz at his notification thirty seconds after the teenager hits "send.")

Hey is this Cain??

Man idk if this is actually you or not bc I'm out of it rn and I got the number from that dating app or whatever but the bartender's bf took pics of you in the club and he's showing them around out here. Like that's a bartender's job dude, unclench lmao😂😂

The bouncers aren't letting him back in but still idk. Just in case he somehow gets in there you should keep an eye out lol

[regression]

[ Joonghyuk isn't sure why he is receiving that look. He hasn't done anything wrong? At least, that's what he thinks. His arms fold across his chest as he assesses the situation under the dim light.

Hm. ]

You're going to kill him?

[ Puck... Sure is getting uncomfortable by this conversation topic, so he tries to steer it to maybe talking this out? Why not they follow him into the forest, indulge him a bit, and he'll give them the lantern shard? Fair exchange! ]

[damnpire]

[Don't assign D or me Jeritza like this.

He mulls Claude's answer over without making any show of it. He doesn't return Claude's glance, but he can feel Claude looking at him.]

I don't mind. [Being accompanied. Well, in this regard.] You chose a strange place to look for solitude.

[It's quieter here than other places, but there are still people weaved in and out of the maze.]

he will if he learns snek CAN sing...

[redsoil]

[ Suddenly, and without warning, the soul that is haranguing Shalem is seized around the scruff of the neck AND the waistband of their pants and summarily flings them aside. Like an errant child in need of a good yeeting, they're tossed and replaced with a lean redhead in next to nothing by means of clothing.

Sorry Shalem. ]

He said he's not a singer.

[ The redhead barks it at the disoriented Restless, placing his fists upon his hips as he stances up in defense of the other. When eventually the heckler rises, in order to beat a retreat in search of less-guarded individuals, Set's eyes follow them into the crowd -- and then he rounds on Shalem. ]

Next time, just punch them out!

[dodgeouttahell]

[Slanting his head just a tad to take in the way Asper tells his tales better, curious, Zagreus nods and looks over at the forest and the way the darkness beckons. His mind goes straight to one person — a work-driven Fury, steadfast and with low, wide shoulders. Humble and with reasons to be proud instead. Tsc, she'd say, with actual fondness, even though she had stamped him as a hopeless case, having given up tutoring him on administrative tasks that were bound to her work.]

I do. [It's not without heart that he admits it: he misses the quirk of Meg's lip whenever she tries not to laugh at something he said.] She also has one wing. Albeit hers isn't feathered.

Noctis Lucis Caelum | FFXV

[fessus]

Feast

[ The sheer amount of foodstuffs might be overwhelming to a less gluttonous man, but Noctis's metabolism has always greatly outstripped his ready access to homecooked meals and that has never been so true as now. He's becoming relatively certain that he can't force himself to eat one more fish without risking some kind of mental break and any excuse to get away from his rented room near the waterfront is a welcome one.

At different points he can be found drinking firstdawn tea and still finding it in his relaxed heart to criticize some of the bardic performances ("I just don't get why they couldn't practice a little more, that's all..."), eating grablenuts and venting a whole myriad of unasked for commentary ("do you think they had to soulforge the tablecloth? did someone die for a pattern this ugly?"), or even just fully passed out on the ground next to one of the tables thanks to a run in with shadowfell candy. Please help. ]

Harvest Hunt

[ Here, visiting Mirth for one of the first times, Noctis can at first be found stargazing. And why not? It's a beautiful night and a more beautiful sky, comparable to the vast web of stars he's now accustomed to seeing back home. However, not all good things last.

As soon as he sets foot in the corn maze he feels it, a shift in the air and a dizzying reverberation through his body that makes each of his steps feel as if it has an echo, as if he's experiencing them twice... and his willingness to participate in the event suddenly seems very misplaced. He will repeat the exercise as both hunter and prey but beware – regardless of which role he's chosen, there's a great chance his shadow will ensure he's the pursuer. ]

The Parade

–no! No more nuts, I'm serious!

[ Noctis's voice carries as he yells at an overenthusiastic festival volunteer attempting to dispense more drugged fare to unexpecting parade watchers, but he's done his time. In fact, he's quick to turn his head to the individual next to him to caution them similarly: ]

Seriously, take a hard pass. It's for the best. [ Whether he's still in his own body when he gives that warning? Is flexible. Feel free to throw any body swap shenanigans here or play it straight! ]

Text | un: henruit

I have an idea, give it a chance.

The parade is to ward away evil or smth right? Maybe if we get all of our evil off our chests now we won't have to deal with it

[ Why is he invested in removing the need for the parade? How will this help anyone? Don't ask this highly intoxicated young man. ]

[dodgeouttahell]

Jonas! Are you sure you're alright? [While not entirely unaware of Jonas' embarrassment over being found on the ground, Zagreus doesn't really understand why he would be. Gods know how many times he face-planted onto a lake of blood and how many times he was brought to the Styx by simply stepping on something funny.

As is, he smiles, seemingly ever-present when Jonas is around.] I am participating, although I'm not entirely sure what I'm winning from it or if I'm winning at all. I guess I just needed the exercise. Are you winning, though?