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]

Come now, I didn't say that.

[ As Silco leans away from him, Set remains - hovering, where he'd encroached upon the man's space. He waits there, unyielding, until Silco returns to close the gap once more. Telling him a tale that's oddly enticing, of power and control; a city under his command, fear used to maintain order. What an interesting individual. He's heard of humans who have become rulers among their own kind, but none as capable as a god -- none as rightful as a god.

Wouldn't it be funny, were that to mean Silco was some manner of deity? Not a true one, but one in the eyes of his city. ]

I heard they are useful things to have, if only they weren't required to tangle themselves into the fabric of the soul in exchange. As one king to another: what do you imagine your ideal to be, hm? Silly pumpkin-wearing souls need not apply.

[zauneyete]

[ Look, actually, if Jinx asked, he would have spent time spinning her on a merry go round. Thankfully, his daughter liked normal kid stuff. Like stealing, and bombs.

Silco held a hand to his chin, considering the question. What was his plan to do? He didn't care about this realm, and this whole... positive, soulmate-promoting society here was enough to give the dour man hives. He wasn't a fighter, and had never thought of himself as one, but one thing did make him curious.

The hierarchy.

It's just close enough to a criminal organization, that Silco is curious about it. ]

Who knows? Perhaps I'll just run another bar... perhaps I'll look into the Hierarchy? I've never been in a place that I didn't have a plan for. This is...different.

[ Really, Silco has never Truly left the city he was born in, other than the rare visit topside, but that's technically the same city. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco rolled his eyes. ] Of course I've been there.

[ Briefly, but overwhelmed by the options before him, he'd taken to looking for information the way he knew how to.

He did lift an eyebrow at the suggestion of picking pockets, and his lip curled. This was, of course, a preliminary look, but he didn't need to really admit that yet. Instead... ]

Picking pockets? What, do I look the type? [ He leaned forward, his head tipped, just slightly. ] I would have thought that you'd be more upstanding than suggesting that I, a legitimate business owner, would pick pockets.

[pissoffbook]

I'm not human either, and I'm not gonna judge anyone else for not being human.

[She shrugs and continues on. Harpies and other dangerous creatures of the woods hiss and growl after the pair.

Kainé blinks when he asks about her curse.]

My magic is fucked up here. Half the time it doesn't respond or fizzles out.

[She holds her single sword up, as if daring it to fizzle out.]

I usually use two of these. As for seeing something. I'm guessing you're hearing the local wildlife too, right?

[redsoil]

[ forgive me i am phone tagging and dont have my html ]

I don't.

[ A god's word is as integral a thing as their abstract divinity. There is no reason to promise someone anything that is not within their power to grant, and giving their word is as natural as breathing. Set may not be a limitless entity anymore, and even his demigod might sputters and resists consistent usage in this realm, but the ways in which he has been diminished and contained will never affect the fact that -- he is a god.

He may not be able to effortlessly keep it, but he will. It sets him apart from humans.

( And what would become of him, if he were to cross the boundary between divinity and mortality? A confirmation of how pathetic he truly was, the concrete evidence that he was, truly, a weak thing - the rusting link in the unending chain of the Ennead. That they were right to cast him out, to finally mark him as corrupted, evil. ]

We die.

[ His eyes do not leave Jonas's, as the boy speaks about his mother and the lack of her presence. If one's mother were not in a place where they were known as 'dead', what did it mean for them. ]

What sets a god apart from a human, is that time does not touch us. A mortal dies, their spirit travels Duat and is judged at the hall -- pass, and they are reborn into the eternal paradise of Aaru. A god dies, and we return to the world. We take new shapes, we obtain new youth. Sometimes, though, we die.

[ When he reaches for Jonas, he feels sluggish -- his fingers catch on still-shivering strings. He seeks the boy's face, his familiar face. Inside of him, Jonas's mother's song aches sweetly, and the ukelele sits in his own lap. Will it last? Is he himself again? Parts of him still feel Jonas -- they still feel like this child, scarred and lonely.

Maybe it's why he takes Jonas's face between his palms and holds it. ]

We can be killed, as well. I killed my brother, after all.

[redsoil]

[ There is a distinct division between the mindset of someone who is born and will die, and an entity born outside of the boundaries of mortality. Outside of the sway of time itself, and it is the same line that will always be drawn between himself and those around him. The only souls he's found that might conceptualize it are the young divinity Zagreus, and the immortal dhampir, D. Even there, they both lack the weight of what it is to ascend to true godhood, and the understanding of sacrifice.

However, like Claude, Set was an unfathomably free god. A traveler who did not often remain within Egypt's borders, but instead went beyond them to see the world, brought home only when called upon. And slowly, that freedom had been taken from him, replaced by duties and responsibilities. He was the protector of Egypt, long before he was a war god -- and he barely remembers it, while simultaneously he has never forgotten.

Claude angles away, and Set's mouth curls a little. Amused, maybe knowing. ]

Actually, I was going to ask you to shoot the damn thing -- it's annoying as hell.

tw:food things

[nastycat]

[Izutsumi was still huffy, still sticking her tongue out as she curled in on herself. Staring at Asa over her knees. As though it was her fault the food wasn't nice. The comment just made her lips curl back slightly. But what if someone takes it?? She was so used to not having food, now she had all this choice and there was no one to tell her what to eat.]

Why are you eating it if it's bad?

[Said the person still holding her own Grablenut, she was still unsure on it. It was spicy and too hot, but didn't taste terrible? ??? She'd not had anything like it, it wasn't an instant hate like onion and mushrooms. And...

Slowly, she leaned closer.]

[janescayre]

EUGH! [She takes the hit with a snarl and jerk of the arms, but the trap is sprung. Jeepers creepers, and she'd thought the Monokumas were annoying.] STOP CREAMING ALL OVER ME!

[It's just insult on top of injury.

The disdain hits harder, though. The final words. It's true, she could spend whatever's left of this existence living like Caligula. Hedonistic, blood-thirsty, removed of all consequences. And what is that worth?

Little changes outwardly. She's still a simmering pot, all livid glares and crooked fingers, ready to rend flesh if anyone dared step within reach. That's always the way — she can feel as giddy as she acts, as furious, but the closer she comes to contemplation the further her mind and body stray.

It hurts. That's the thing, it's a slow-burn sting that hasn't stopped since she woke up, insect venom left to fester long after the bite. Puck is handsome. So are the other boys, but any blood that may slick her palms can't compare to slim-boned fingers winding through her own.

If you're hurting, you can tell me. What right did Komaru have, speaking to her with such soft intentions? I'm an unreliable, normal girl who can't do anything... How stupid did you have to be to put your trust in a maniac? To take her hands in your own and plead not for mercy, but just to fucking talk? I can at least do normal things, right? And it's normal, for a friend to help a friend.

Syo does straighten then. Her lip has curled back, giving a sneer that belongs in a headline news mugshot.]

Fine. You want to follow your eight ball? Go ahead. Knock it in the pocket.

[Fuck this sexy demi-god bastard anyway. As if he'd measure up next to Byakuya-sama. Even divinity can't stack up to natural perfection.

She'd back off and drop her weapons if she wasn't sure she'd topple. He really let her have it with this goop shit. As it stands she scoffs, averting her gaze the other way.]

I wouldn't count on salvation if I were you, but hey! There's wilder pipe dreams to chase. Imagine blowing your life savings looking for Atlantis! Or Bigfoot! So embarrassing, the idea just gives me shivers!

[Good luck pal. If he succeeds on giving the Reaper the slip, then maybe there's hope for the rest of them too.]

[zauneyete]

[ Some people may have balked at such things, or even found Syo less than affable, but Silco... is a little off. There's a half-snort at the way she says it. A curl of his lip, half a smirk, but it doesn't quite reach it with the scars on his lip, but the impression is there. He tracked her movements, but one eye unblinking, stared the whole time, taking in the details.

She moves with exuberance, talks with her hands. It's all the things that he knows and understands, because well -- Silco raised someone just like that.

The thought is idle, but it comes with some measure of...pain? Not anger, he doesn't think. Silco knows what anger feels like, violent to burst, sharp and hot, but this is more of a pit of...something. He's not used to evaluating his emotions, so he doesn't. ]

Who doesn't?

[ He said, with a shrug of his shoulders. ] Where I'm from, that's prerequisite for survival.

You think that thing liked that too? I just figured it was... [ A wave of his hand now, descriptive. ] Somewhat less driven by passion, more like a force of nature.

[zauneyete]

Hm. Then what would be the point? [ He asked, his tone thoughtful. ] Do you think someone will come by to pick them up? Or perhaps the Hierarchy will...

[ Silco, of course, suspected that this rider had been purposeful. He may be paranoid, and see the worst of most people, but there was merit in that. He didn't think this was a random event, and it didn't seem like Sasuke did either. Curious. ]

I don't think you'll have trouble getting in, but out... may be a different story.

Unless you're looking to sneak in. Do you think you'll find a hint to what all this means there?

[nastycat]

[That only makes her hiss more, then she surged forward. Ears flicking back]

I'm not a pet! [The animal noises and running on all fours was very convincing. But hey, at least she'd said something. Then she braced her legs... And pounced.

If she'd been thinking about it, she'd have probably realised jumping the guy setting things on fire was a bad idea. But she was angry. ]

[nastycat]

[It was a blend of human thoughts and animal instinct. Though the human had spent so long alone and treated like an animal to the point that she still struggled with basic things.

Like warning people before she jumps, because she leapt off the branch she was on to another. One closer to the ground so she get a better look at the tallman that had walked in. She stared with yellow-slitted eyes, ears flicking. Her claws sinking into the bark to stop her from falling.]

That one's mine.

[The money for it and it's feathers.] So's the knife.

[She can steal, but other people stealing her things? That's not nice.]

[heavenstorn]

[ Certain things, Cedrik is very quick on the uptake. New combat techniques, his friends' 'scholar talk' (even if all he knows is enough just to follow along), whether or not something is edible... All those things Cedrik can figure out pretty well on his own. Other things need to be given to him a little more directly.

But even he can't miss Fukawa asking about a girlfriend and what all that implies. Suddenly, her nervousness makes a different sort of sense. ]

Er, I'm not--

[ But she's barrelling on before he can finish. Which is probably for the best? He doesn't want her to get the wrong idea, even if his first instinct was to be honest. ]

To--ah, Fukawa...

[ The poor girl's so flustered, Cedrik wants to help but he's not sure what actually will. Should he just leave? He doesn't want to be mean... ]

I'll come back, Fukawa, as soon as I'm able. All right?

[ And if she is...he'll just...go. And do his adventurer thing. And hopefully she'll just be able to stop having a crush in the meanwhile. ]

[fallingsand]

[ HERNANDO YES

But, of course, that's still only him playing at being some bold person, willing to make someone so clearly stronger than he is going through that additional effort to hunt him down. Daring to shoot a look back over his shoulder happens just in time to see the bale of hay go whizzing by. Far too close, close enough that it earns a startled yelp and he misses the next pale, faceplanting into it instead. ]

...gh!

[ It holds him for a second or two before he scrambles over and past it in a last-ditch effort to remain ahead of Set. He won't try to stay on the path after that. He's going for the tall fields of corn rising up all around them. ]

[fallingsand]

Bruno certainly did still know how to cower away from the staring, the curious looks, and half-heard murmurs, and he would cover that for the both of them. Gilia may find the strength to square her shoulders and keep her head high, but it was all he could do to keep from stumbling over his own feet as he helped lead her out of the tent and into the fresh air. He glanced back enough times at the people they were leaving behind, nervous energy almost vibrating off the poor man, but then they were out and the flap of the festival tent swung shut and he can relax some.

"There's... there should be a bench just over..."

There. He cast his gaze about for it, finding it soon enough and it'll be over there that he leads her. A quiet place to sit, but not too quiet. The music they left behind has begun again and it drifts out distantly to where they've retreated to.

[heroproceeding]

That makes two of us...

[ Zack stares down at the head of that woman for perhaps a bit too long. Has to eventually cover his eyes as much as rub them like it will get the image out of his head. It does nothing in the end, of course. Still the same beheaded woman before them.

Zack shakes his head and looks back at Levi. ]

Think we should.. bury them at least? Is that a thing you do back where you're from?

[heroproceeding]

Do I like- What's that gotta do with getting you back to town?

[ Was he just trying to make light conversation? Maybe. He seems out of it, after all. Maybe it's just that. He doesn't know, but he's already pushing forward. Already trying to reach the other, holding out a hand despite his own struggle. ] Come on, I can lend you a shoulder.

god i cant believe i wrote "hands"

[redsoil]

Then, it matters. I would look for your head.

[ He rests alongside one of the bodies; the figure of an elderly individual who had been at the heart of the rite, it seemed. They had collapsed closest to the center, a body with its life cut from it, and had been the most gentle of all of the souls he had brushed against. A heart that yearned for something, more than it angsted over the end that it met.

He beckons to her, the gesture brisk and as inviting as he can make it. It's a snap of the wrist, the crook of a finger -- come closer, he's saying to her. ]

You have friends who would want you to return whole, do you not?

dont worry im dying too

[redsoil]

[ Somewhere above her, someone snickers. It's a messy little sound, all throat and no kindness in it at all -- pure amusement, either at her stumbling around or the way she scowls after the shambling hoard of revelers. Perched along one of the hanging lanterns, balanced ever-so precariously upon the jut of metal from which the glowing candles were hung, he sits. One hand dangling loose between his knees, legs swinging; laughter ekes out from behind the back of his other hand, pressed to his mouth without much actual effort to actually stifle it. ]

Speak up, why don't you? Some of these fools really need a what-for.

[ The parade in the distance is something he'll be avoiding, too. He's had enough of the unwanted tours of others' bodies. If he wanted that, he'd just go for it. Hmmph!

The lantern he sits atop marks the boundary of another section of the maze, a sign hanging above the arched topiary signifying it the 'scary-scary' section, rather than the 'fun-scary'. ]

You're not shy, are you? Here -- let me help.

[ And he immediately starts calling after the whisky-soaked partygoer who'd run into Toko: hey, she has something to say to you! yes, you! a neanderthal what ought to be returned to the cage. ]

[janescayre]

[What a cruel world this is. Syo hasn't even gotten to introduce herself, and she's already been ushered off the stage.

There's a calamitous splash and a desperate heave — indeed, it's Fukawa that resurfaces now. Was she resurrected by the fall, the underwater plunge? Which doesn't matter.

Is it a bad time to mention she's deathly afraid of water?]

GAAAH! [Also a terrible swimmer. Look at that, she's doggy-paddling. It's pathetic.] WHA-WHA—WHERE?! WHY?!

[Oops went under. She returns with a string of algea flopped over her head.]

CLAUDE!

[Paddling over your way now. Please help.]

[seaboard]

She keeps them steady until he finds the seat, and she is only too glad to slide into it. Falling back to let some of the tension of her, as her eyes close and she takes a breath of clearer air.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you with myself."

Whether he was nervous because simply was that way inclined, or that she had been the cause, she knew it was not easy to behold that part of her, and yet he had done so.

"You may leave, if you wish, I would not press upon you further."

[janescayre]

[Cool, now they both smell like trash. :') ]

What do you think?!

[Would you look at that, not even a stutter. She hadn't even slowed when she realized he was still alive. He's lucky, but not for much longer if they don't move. The second she reaches his side she's snatched his sleeve, and he'd better get to moving. She's surprisingly quick when her ass is on the line.

Though if this keeps up much longer...would this guy be able to keep his mouth shut about Syo?

Oh shit, there's the hooves on the pavement again. The Horseman is gaining on them, and they've got ground to cover. Stat.]

C-Come on! I'm not dying again! [She's practically wheezing, but she's committed. This is gonna cramp so bad later.] I refuse!!

[redsoil]

[ Warriors take the heads of their trophies, he recalls. They bring them back to their territories, their lands, their castles and reveal them to lords and masses as proof of triumph. What he cannot tell, is if that horseman -- headless as well -- was anything save for a violent rogue. ]

Damn it.

[ He breathes the words miserably, briefly lowering himself to hunch over the headless body in his arms. What does he do? ]

I am no priest of Duat, I do not know funeral rites or customs at all -- but, it is wrong. Their heads are gone, and it is wrong -- it is a second death, a final death. Where I come from, humans are beheaded as a way to deny them all access to the afterlife.

[ Which is why this seems to wreck him, as he begins to look up, up towards Sakura's face. His brow furrowed, his mouth a grim slash of displeasure and discomfort. Her hand upon him is warm, though he is warmer still - invoking the warmth of the sun upon sprawling, endless sands. The crisp, arid heat of the desert. ]

All right. Help me gather what we can find of them. I want to return them to Stygia, and lay them out at the Hierarchy's door. If possible.

[redsoil]

[ With that, he clamps his jaw shut. Though he forces himself into silence, his hands do not slacken their grip upon her, as though his denial of her wishes is all that he can offer any more. Isis was right - he is not an elegant god, not one that uses his words when he ought to. Even now, he wants to whack this woman upside the head until she sees sense.

But, to her -- this must be what is most sensible. An unloved, unlovely life - why not bleed for others? Why not sacrifice? Were it him... ]

You're not alone.

[ The words creep out from between his teeth, grinding tightly against themselves. ]

The way you feel - I understand it.

[redsoil]

I'm not your prey! I'm not prey at all, I am a hunter!

[ yes but she's really pretty, and i love this himbo woman ]

-- you do not recall me? In the Shadowlands, we fought the Reaper. You attacked me first.

[ screw it, he's going to lower his shoulder and dive right at her solar plexus, as if preparing to flip her ass over teakettle off his back. ]