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MOD EVENT #001

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.

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I meant both, but I guess that does make sense. [He knew. Priestesses of Aphrodite practiced their worship through acts of service and rituals to bless families, harvests. The breach of a vow of celibacy after its duty was celebrated privately within gilded halls. How fast the most basic instincts were induced on everyone, mortal and yet…

He knew the threads of everything related to sex weaved through sensibilities, even when they didn't — if someone was comfortable with being sexual, be it for pleasure, work, or divine calling, it would somehow still be someone else's problem.

It's no coincidence that Megaera, First of the Furies, Punisher of Jealousy, was constantly overworked. He'd say that it was part of the reason why they drew apart, but that was just himself coming up with excuses.

'I messed up. I messed up, and there are no gifts that can change what I did.'

Ah.

He shakes his head, wondering why he suddenly went on a tangent and focuses on the conversation he has.] That must've been quite the ordeal. Were you still working there before you arrived at this place?

No need to thank me, I was on my way out. Someone is supposed to be chasing me, but I think I lost them for a second. [A look over his shoulder, a growl and a 'eek!' in the distance, and… nothing. A shrug. It comes easy to him to help, and he doesn't even think twice.] Now, what was it? Do you need to stick to the left wall or the right wall to find the exit? I remember something like that…

[Zagreus peers at the pumpkin in Jonas' arms and knocks on it to see how thick it actually is.] Isn't this heavy? What are you planning to do with it?

We won't know its motives without investigating more. This is a good start, but we should see if anyone knows what the symbol means.

[And you have been officially enlisted, Silco. He turns, headed up the street, not looking to see if the man will follow but expecting it all the same. The night is cool, still dark, although dawn's encroachment has begun to bleed on the horizon — even if it feels that the night should have ended hours ago. Trying to track time in this place is almost an infuriatingly pointless exercise.

Around the next corner, Sasuke spots a small group of civilians sweeping fallen debris into bins. To their left, there is a body covered in a sheet: one of the horseman's victims.

To Silco,] See if they recognize the scorpion. I'm going to check the body.

⟪ but it’s not just a little blood. it’s not even about the blood, not wholly. keith is adamant on protecting shiro, and shiro gets it. really. he’s lost too much in too little time, gone through horrors and complications no one his age ever should, and they’ve both become pillars for each other over the years. he’d even go as far as to say that no one else has ever truly understood him like keith does, not even adam. he gets him. and yet, he does this.

he can forgive the constant reminder of his own liabilities. his handicap. shiro owes it to himself—and to everyone else—to admit his strength depleted, no matter how cruel his mind can be, no matter how hard he tries to conceal it. but keith’s really got to stop acting as his proverbial shield. he’s a formidable fighter and an incredibly supportive friend, sure. but he’s not invincible. he’s mortal, too, and shiro ponders at times, distantly, whether keith’s aware of what it would mean for shiro to lose him.

surely he must know.

risks are inevitable. risks on his behalf... well. there’s a ton of reasons why he shouldn’t take them, and shiro lets out a soundless sigh, staring a little too long at keith’s hand. he did notice the barely-there flinch. the stiffening of his body. and that alone should be reason enough.

still,, he humors him. he humors him because time is precious here, and they have none to waste. but even as he cooperates and looks, his focus wavers, a potent growth between his lungs. ⟫

Keith. ⟪ pressing his lips together, he gently stirs the soil with his fingers, half-concentrated. ⟫ You can’t put yourself in harm’s way any chance you get. ⟪ he gives a faint shake of his head, lines deepening between his brows. ⟫ It’s just a little blood now, but next time, what will it be? ⟪ fingers still, half-buried in the ground. shiro lifts his eyes then, searching keith’s. ⟫ We can’t have each other’s back if we don’t work together, Keith. ⟪ and instead force the other to deal with a choice they couldn’t make.

his gaze softens on a breath slowly exhaled, a hint of a smile. ⟫ I’ve still got a few old bones ready to help.

⟪ ...oof. that rings an unpleasant bell, but to be fair... ⟫

In my defense, you drunk-dialed a stranger and asked him for money But there's no shame in asking for help Especially in a place like this We should all work together

⟪ which is, as you well know, the definition of shiro-flavored hypocrisy, who would probably let himself die for the third time before realizing he should ask for said help. ⟫

I wasn't lying about the picture

[ oh.
a person in the field. cue the shift away from his defensive, bad attitude. ]

wasn’t on my way
yeah report back
how far out from the woods are you

[ wait. ]

are you on your own

guess so
probably a network wide message like the hierarchy guy
but you know
less believable

[ who posts to “social media” in the midst of being attacked.
like really. ]

[ a huff of breath that doesn’t quite cut it as a laugh. if he weren’t currently in a mood, he might've cracked smile; afterall, he can’t tell if she means the parade is truly running over time or if she’s lamenting it ever having started. if the latter? agreed. this should’ve been over before it even started. ]

Great.

[ they’re both party poopers, it’s fine. he looks back to the parade, some of the dancers now tossing beaded things into the crowd. reflexively, keith takes a step back, expression scrunching on a wordless no. without looking at her, he says: ]

You ever find that knife?

[ keith has a few in his pack now. they’re flimsy and they’ll need to be sharpened, none of them exactly promising longevity but. ]

[ …oops? keith isn’t above being amused by jonas’ plight. it shows openly in his face. even the gripping of his shoulder garners delight, keith both laughing low and leaning into it, the swaying closer of his body so natural that he hardly even notices that he does it. ]

Calculated risk.

[ his smirk is a cheeky, self-satisfied thing. proud, even. he glances beyond jonas then, surveying the snack bar and the assortment that's sectioned off with clusters and paper signs. dropping the few nuts he has left onto the table, he talks as he debates his choices. ]

We’ve been reborn – or whatever. Clean slate of health. [ is that what dying and being reborn in the netherworld means? a reset? ] Any weakness you had before has probably been wiped out.

[ … no. that’s not how it works. his skin is still damaged with scars; it goes to assume that little has changed on the inside, either. would be nice though. if people who had a certain disease prior to death suddenly didn’t have it anymore.

elysium.

keith settles on that pick, pulling away, briefly, to pluck up a cup and then he’s turning back to jonas. he steps close and now he’s the one initiating to throw his arm across jonas’ shoulders, like they’re familiar buds. the drink is offered. ]

Here, this should help cool it down.

depends on the wind maybe 10 minutes tops

[ Yes, she's serious ]

yes

[While the body he currently inhabits may be powerful—admittedly much more than he would have originally accredited Noctis—Naruto doesn’t know how to utilize it to his advantage without relying on chakra. As a result, that shove sends him windmilling backwards several clumsy steps. But instead of looking annoyed, he takes the moment to shoot himself a shit-eating-grin of approval. Leave it to Naruto to find time to appreciate even a small display of his own raw strength.]

Kurama! [Now, however, he tries to level himself with a stern frown.] Did you blow our cover!?

[Have fun listening to the bijū’s not-so-polite response to that accusation, Noctis. As if he could hear the grumbling, Naruto breaks out into another grin—one that becomes a little pained.]

Alright, I’m glad I found you. We have an emergency. [Naruto leans in, like he’s about to share classified information.] I really need to pee. But it’s your dick, so you gotta do it! Take responsibility for your weak bladder, Noctis!

[Yes, this is happening.]

[Kainé's yellow-grey eyes widen when Hibiki smiles at her. Again, she's reminded of young Nier. She dismisses the Shade magic and the smoke dissipates. Kainé drops her arm. She's still pissed off, but she'll hear the other woman out.]

Yeah? And what's that?

[ it’s an age-old argument. how many times now, has he heard shiro speak of being prudent and working as a team and never leaving anyone behind? it’s all very inspirational, the sentiments themselves encouraging and uplifting. keith appreciates them, only in that they come from shiro… but that doesn’t mean he’s committing to them. a team, yes, but concessions are always going to be made when it comes to shiro’s well-being. keith staunchly refuses to budge on that.

not that admitting to that will do either of them any good when they’re in the midst of a haunted forest that, if it isn’t just keith’s imagination, is slowly closing in on them. so appease shiro, then appease the forest: ready, go. ]

We’re a team, I know.

[ that’s not the wind; the branches overhead are definitely encroaching lower. keith crouches down, staring at the little, whirlpooled hole shiro’s been churning in the soil. soil, roots, trees – it’s all connected. perhaps there isn’t a specific place. ]

Next time you can make the blood offering to a creepy forest, but right now…

[ he swipes at his palm, brushing, flicking blood over the gnarled system of roots nearby, repeating it a few times until the entirety of his palm is sticky. it’s instantaneous, almost. he’s hardly stopped before the very air changes, a feeling pulsing, acknowledging and accepting in nature. the branches fan back out and for a few blessed moments, nothing feels as sinister as before. ]

Ha. [ his grin is a wild thing. victorious, keith looks to shiro. ] Think that means… oh, woah.

[ the victory doesn’t last long, because just like that, he feels zapped. empty. he’s strangely exhausted all of a sudden, like his own body can’t hold him and even sitting, he pitches a little in place. ]

[ Claude is more unnerved by the harpy than he is by the dead bodies or the blood on Set's arms. Senseless death is always tragic, and he won't deny the frustration he feels toward the Puck. Why would any creature stir up mischief that would result in death? Why do they have to fear death still, even here?

But the problem is that Claude is extremely motivated by staying alive. The harpy is more of a threat than a corpse, and therefore earns more of his attention.

He keeps his gaze on Set as he approaches. ]

You wasted your time as a god killing mortals?

[ He plans to pursue the residue on the corpses and the effect of has on their Shadows, but he might a still ask while Set had offered up some information about himself. ]

Ah... no.

( he pulls into himself a bit, gaze cast upwards as he notes the calls of the harpies and suppresses a shudder. )

I underwent what we call a 'graduation' - officially leaving your status as a courtesan and the harem - around a year ago now. ( ... idly; ) Hah... it really has been a year since everything. Time passes so strangely.

I must be around 26 now.

[ They stop shaking hands when Claude grimaces. ]

Yeesh. Isn't that pretty bleak? Sure, kids die, but I'd hope they'd end up somewhere better than this.

[ Anyway, he doesn't care enough to debate about this.

Looking back ahead again, ] So you think there's a way out of here?

( if his annoyance effects him in any way, aspen doesn't let it show. he falls back to keep a distance from puck so he might speak to sasuke, looking at him with understanding but exasperation - )

I agree, but the lantern needs to be retrieved whole as well. Fae do not break their word once they have agreed. Doing so means the one who they have betrayed has power over them, and just as we mortals - we don't want strange creatures to have power over us, they don't wish for it either.

If we were to attack him, meanwhile, he would have due reason to retaliate. I'm not so worried about his ability to surpass your prowess, but... fae are petty. If he decides to shatter it because we have given offense...

( it's cute, the way d acts. plus, the touch and closeness soothe aspen's mood naturally - no nuts needed. )

'Genetically altered'? I'm afraid I don't know what that means.

Certainly. ( he lets out a modest chuckle. ) Thank you for listening. You're quite a good patient, especially compared to several others that arrived here with us. Unruly princes who refuse to be treated are a thorn in my side.

How is the pain now? It should sting a bit, but your muscles shouldn't be too stiff or sore anymore. ( as he speaks, he begins to pour a vial of yellow-tinged serum over a new, clean bandage. a pleasant, floral smell emanates from it. ) I expect you intend to continue being on your feet?

[ all this time, there has been a nebulous anxiety in the back of Rudbeckia's mind about her Shadow—not its presence, but its lack thereof. it seems to be a constant nuisance for many of the other Restless. it speaks to them, influences them, even outright possesses them from what she's seen. she hasn't noticed hers much at all since its first appearance in the storm. what should be a relief is instead a constant pressure on her already overworked nerves: has it acted without her knowing? or is there something so wrong with her that she doesn't even need a Shadow?

if she wanted reassurance, here it is. in the midst of her worries while she wandered the outskirts of the festival—am I being careful enough? is there more I should be doing? I've been too relaxed, I can't let my guard down, but this place has been getting to me—she had been struck with a thought. it doesn't feel foreign or intrusive. in her own voice, it fits perfectly into her mind, sounds natural as anything else: so maybe I need a reminder. her feet had moved towards the maze, and it wasn't until she was well and truly lost that she had come to her senses. a part of the hunt, whether she likes it or not.

she's run from a few hunters already, and while none have tried particularly hard to catch her, already she's exhausted. her chest aches from her own rabbit-quick heartbeat. she's sick and tired of jumping at every sound and shadow. if she needed to learn a lesson in vigilance, it's been learnt.

except—when she recognises the Restless that turns a corner into her line of sight, a breath of relieved laughter escapes her. ]

Noctis! It's Noctis, isn't it? [ she doesn't approach him, but she doesn't back away either; given what she assumes is a moment to catch her breath, she doubles over with a huge sigh. ] Haaah... Ah, I'm sorry! I'm Rudbeckia. We talked the other day... I'm really glad to see you.

⟪ next time you can make the blood offering... listen here you lil shit. it sounds vaguely practical, granted. my turn, your turn, and all that. it isn’t. it’s just keith in all his smartass glory, and shiro might have laughed in different circumstances. he doesn’t. even in spite of the tiny tremor in the pit of his stomach, ready to bubble up and tease his throat. he doesn’t because it’s not just keith being flippant; it’s also keith offering a bloomless olive branch in order to shut him up. you can’t trick the guy who thrives on deflection with a wide assortment of practiced smiles!!

unfortunately, the line between caring and coddling is sometimes thin. he’s probably crossed it many times, though he doesn’t really mean to. more than a mentor, shiro’s become his friend, and in a multitude of bizarre ways, for how different they are… they’re still so alike. so he doesn’t argue. keith heard him, and he’s not likely to forget—they can find a less spooky middle ground later, when the woods finally…

…quiet down. not in a somber, frightening way, but like this, air clearing up, fog subsiding. it’s a slow, gradual flux of changes, less heavy as one lone star manages to break through the canopy, and shiro’s face lights up in turn, inspired by keith’s triumph. it doesn’t last, because of course it doesn’t. he sways a little, whoa, almost like he could pass out any second, and shiro doesn’t even have to think; his whole body moves, shifting closer so that keith can lean against him if necessary. he doesn’t touch him otherwise, not really, hand hovering over his back as his gaze sharpens concerned. ⟫ Keith. ⟪ there’s a hint of apprehension in his voice, and an unlikely note of fond exasperation. ⟫ Just a little blood, huh?

[ something feels like it closes around her stomach and squeezes. that something also blocks the light from the popcorn cart that stinks of rancid butter. she lifts her head to squint through loose locks of dark hair at it, but —

her vision swims. black and spotty. her fingers tighten on the rim of the garbage can until her knuckles are white. the nausea settles right beneath her breastbone like a stone lodged in her lungs. anxious pressure, knotted, and if she follows the thread back, she finds the stranger whose silhouetted form is blocking the obnoxious white carnival light.

his words get lost in the sea of thoughts, but there is something else, something like a shout. block your aura.

in the wilds, there is a canyon. if you call for someone, the sound can echo for days, bouncing off of the walls, carried by the stones and the sometimes stagnant water, and — and that's him. an echo. redoubling fragments of what she is already hearing. ]

What ... are you? [ there's fear, bitter and mangled in that question. fear that he is kossian like aristaeus, that he will hunt her like a dog too. ]

[ mavis wipes her mouth.

though her skull is pounding, her expression as she looks at the crouched girl is neutral. flat. swallowing pains is habitual for her. the only hint of feeling is in the twitch of her brow, halfway accusatory, halfway bewildered. ]

Who are you talking to?

You heard the Hierarchy. Do you think someone like him would make any kind of sacrifice for someone like us?

[ she shakes her head, utterly missing the focus on contrition and the questions it opens. ]

The founder probably wasn't any different.

[ she's never met a king or boyar who was. important people know they're important. out of the corner of her eye, alina considers eivor's spear. in retrospect, maybe she's barking up the wrong tree. the kind of person who would come into these woods as a protector would undoubtedly have dealt little with those sorts.

alina lifts her hand a little higher, grimacing at the trees. whatever is making the noises up amongst them isn't visible, even with all the sunlight spilling out of her. it's getting harder to sustain, too. she's tried to pretend that she hasn't noticed the flickers, the inconsistency, but ... ]

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MOD EVENT #001

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keith will have such a fun time petting those ears

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harvest hunt

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