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

[philandery]

[ at felix's commentary, he flaps his arms and legs on the grass some more for show. ]

It's not where you are, it's who you're with.

[ he grins wryly as he casts another sideways glance over at the person in question, as if to say u rite, not much of a party at all.

still, while felix may not believe in good old fashioned fun, he's one of the very, very few people sylvain can be at ease around, with or without rancid drinks. he laughs at the friendly question-accusation, and fires it right back ]

Hey, I've been on my best behavior for six years now. [ no he hasn't ] Are you keeping outta trouble?

[ he sees u picking fights on soul tinder... ]

[wrists]

[ a weapon turned against us. his heart, already beating so rapidly he fears it might burst from the cage of his chest, thunders now. how can he know? laurent has never spoken of the shame marking his youth, the stains that won't lift even now, the tainted rot of his bloodline at his uncle's hands. tension holds him so tightly he could shatter at a single touch. he fears aspen will touch him and it will be his undoing, his blue eyes wide in the darkness, his breath tensely measured.

he moves first, before the thought can fester, his hand wrapping around aspen's throat to slam his slim body back against the hard edges of the table. a series of hollow cracks sound as aspen's bad wing is crushed behind him, laurent's knee pressed with relentless force against his ribcage. ]

You take liberties. [ his fingers tighten around aspen's throat, hard enough to leave the imprint of bruises against delicate flesh. his rage blinds him to all logic and reason, feeding into one singular desire to mask the agonizing intimacy of his own shame. ] We don't share a story. Presume as such again and I'll toss you into the Tempest.

[terraria]

( he swallows his incredulous 'you're not?!' back into the depths of his throat. )

I am. Unfortunately. It's starting to give me a headache, truth be told. Your weapons are made of magic, then?

[paraselenes]

[ It's the second time someone's thrown the idea of reincarnation to him, though he can't imagine what an 'enlightened' life is. Being reborn doesn't seem like a blade being sharpened, honed into something sharper over time—can being reforged really bring them any closer to perfection when it doesn't make them any less human?

He doesn't think he's been improved here, or by death itself. Just as rotten, a little more lost than before. But she raises a good point—it's one that appeases him more than even the tea does. He shuts his eyes for a moment, his chin dipping into the fluff of his scarf as his posture slacks. ]

I'd like to think so.

[ It's easier to stomach this all if there's a reason for it. A purpose. Some guiding principle to replace notions of knighthood. ]

Maybe rather than improving ourselves, we're meant to improve this place. I would not presume I can save other lost souls—but it would be all too easy to fall into apathy after death.

It is better to remind ourselves that there is good we can do, even now.

[damnpire]

[That's fine. D doesn't ask because he understands. King of staying in his own lane usually.]

What kind of place are you from?

[regression]

[ He grumbles as he tries to circle his arm and shoulder... Blood? Sure. Fine. Though he doesn't want to bleed to soothe the forest. Bones? ]

We can use the corpses.

[ There are some around. ]

[damnpire]

[Oh no. Aspen is thinking about trying the food which may or may not be a good idea depending on the food.]

Be ca--

[?!

The cheek kiss truly shocks him into silence. His brain doesn't short circuit so much as he can't figure out why anyone would bother doing such a thing to him. So he's left watching Aspen leave to get into trouble with the food, quiet and surprised.]

[paraselenes]

[ That's dumb because D is beautiful and good. Obviously good boy coded despite the sort of person you are.

He stretches without letting D go, bones cracking idly as he thinks. It's about as relaxed as he gets, no doubt in part thanks to some of the many odd drinks and snacks at this festival. ]

Shouldn't I ask you that? You are the one over here.

[ Even if D's just recovering from a bad trip. ]

[regression]

[ would you hate it if i said maybe it's four cause actually two of them are its legs which means you have written the house trying to grab him with hands and feet

Pattering makes me think D has little paws, but Joonghyuk will be able to hear the weight of a grown man on the rooftop. Still cautious on the first floor, he had at most searched the layout to find anything worth attention. Puck. Or maybe the heart of the house so it can die and stop SCREAMING... The house howls and its walls rattle with its trinkets, rustle with its peeling wallpaper.

Their little trickster is nowhere to be found on this level, but D's voice and the crash of broken glass has Joonyhyuk return to the living room space. ]

Up the stairs.

[ He says, peeking out from a hallway corner, seeing that D arrived with his dirty shoes possibly on the musty and dusty couch. There's a pause. ]

This way.

[ Joonghyuk disappears up the staircase. ]

[paraselenes]

[ He watches Felix take another gulp, and doesn't try to stop him. After all that's happened, he deserves a moment of uncomplicated happiness. ]

...I suppose I don't.

[ He knows this isn't Felix glorifying death into something it isn't; he was never the type, which was one of the few similarities between them. It's just simple fact. They're dead. The mantles and trappings of king and duke are no longer in play.

There is no weight of a crown on his head anymore—so why does it still feel so heavy? He nurses his drink, which soothes the compulsion to bite the inside of his cheek. ]

Are you glad to be rid of it? The expectations. And everything else.

[ Felix no longer has to be the heir of anything, doesn't have to wield a blade for anything besides his own desires. He has no king to guard, one he has no love for anyway, no centuries-old title of Shield to shackle him in place. None of that. ]

[coherer]

(in the breadth of a blink, jonas has become himself again. his soul has once more been stuffed in its rightful place, not too large and not too small but uncomfortable all the same. time spent away has made him realize how little of himself was left over.

the shroud may have healed his body, but all of the spiritual wounds remain.

he's out of breath and feeling faint when set takes his face in his hands. jonas, for all the good it'll do either of them, reaches up in his delirium as though he might touch the curve of set's cheek. his arm is dropped, however, following the god's admission.)

Why? Why would you kill your own brother?

(alex, his stepsister, is recalled with a low gasp inward. accused of being the reason for her own brother's death, she pleaded with him that he might believe it was an accident. he drowned, she couldn't swim, and that was the end of michael.

are there extenuating circumstances here, too? does it matter if there are?)

[coherer]

(wisdom, jonas thinks, is street smarts. common sense, knowing how to open a can without a can opener. experiences and life lessons. intelligence is book smarts, right-brain stuff, and knowing how to do study for a class without scraping by. they have different opinions, but jonas also agrees with mikey; he doesn't know shit about shit either.)

I mean, I can't blame 'em. I would never have pegged you as "almost thirty." Guess that's a good thing, right? Young forever till you're not. (he sniffs, finding it all amusing.) Naps, though... naps are awesome at any age.

What's "Bonten"? Some kind of festival or something?

I'M THE SLOW ONE AND I'M SO SORRY!

[pissoffbook]

[Don't worry Arrakis, she talks to everyone that way. Even those she cares about most.]

They have to count. If not then... I'll do it. I heal fast.

[Hopefully. She starts towards the tent then pauses as she lifts the flap.]

Only one way to find out.

[coherer]

Hmm, I don't know... those are both cute, too. (this is a Conundrum. whatever will they do?

jonas, always enterprising when it doesn't count at all, snaps his fingers.) Actually, there's a little saying in my world when you've gotta choose between two good things: "Porque no los dos?"

(the pumpkin is held higher and wiggled a bit before jonas pops its top off as though tipping the brim of a fedora at zagreus.) Meet Rusty Ginger, King of the Pumpkin Patch. Featuring... Jonas Sulk and Zaggy Stardust. (throwing in a couple of stage names for them, too, courtesy of a famous virologist and rock opera alter ego respectively.)

Hey, have you ever made one of these?

[terraria]

( though aspen winces, the pain on his face is not quite what it should be. his bad wing is used to violence, as is aspen himself - his pain tolerance is far higher than it should be, and as much as laurent is hurting him... at the very least, he's not bleeding.

this is just like some of the other aurain. with laurent choking him so fiercely, however, he can't really get it out. normally he'd put his focus on healing himself, but if he can't even breathe, he'll have to refocus and get laurent off of him first. he grips his crystal staff once more. this time, there's no scent - no telltale lemongrass - but aspen glows gold and forces a barrage of emotions from himself into laurent, as if he wasn't already in turmoil.

and what is carried with them is shock. visages of uncovering skeletons picked clean by foxes, of strewn dead bodies on a battlefield, of a silver ring forced on a trembling hand, of home decimated and burned and salted so even his plants couldn't grow. it's meant to make laurent peel his hands off of him, and even at the slightest movement backward, aspen shoves his staff between them to push laurent fully off of him. )

I was an elite courtesan. ( he speaks, voice a bit weaker. he tries to cast a healing spell, though it fizzes out halfway. with a shake of his head, he straightens, shedding his usual aura to something more commanding. ) I was subject to decades of learning how emotion and ideals are shown on a person's face, to the punishment of a flaming whip if I was wrong. I was tasked with uncovering the depths of foreign visitors true motives, of unearthing treasons against the crown. Say we don't share anything if you like, but ever since I met you, I saw myself - from a year ago, hell-bent on revenge and the goal of a crown. Perhaps listen to someone who is already past that point in their life.

[terraria]

( he smiles a bit. )

You sound like the king I served. I don't think Amir would stop revering his gods either, even in death. He was - well, is, I hope... is a pious man. I can't quite relate, though I know the customs.

Or, perhaps it's 'knew'. I've completely forgotten some of them.

[coherer]

...

Yeah, I guess I am. (jonas, making his peace with god on "this hay bale," also makes a discount vampire a full-priced promise.) A lot of people have had bad opinions of me, though. It's sucked—there's a vampire pun for you—but there's nothing I can do about it, you know?

People will believe what they wanna believe.

(looks smug.......)

Do I sound super mysterious right now?

[midway]

[ Claude watches Felix like he's a test subject in a lab experiment, fascinated by the way he responds to certain stimuli in ways that he wouldn't have anticipated. From what he recalls, Felix and Dedue flanked Dimitri equally, his left and right hand.

How interesting, that he wasn't the only one with someone who blatantly hated him at his side. He'd always envied Dimitri and Edelgard for the blind loyalty that they seemed to command, but maybe that was just the grass looking greener. ]

Perhaps. [ He has no idea, and he's not as interested in that as he is, ] So he's not the Dimitri that you remember? What about Sylvain?

yep that's right!

[midway]

[ That's an interesting point that she raises. In any normal society, civilians would outnumber combatants by far, and yet it seems that the people who arrived in the Shadowlands the same time as them were mostly combatants of some sort, or at least endowed with above average abilities. Claude certainly hasn't seen anyone from Fodlan who hadn't fought in the war.

He rubs his chin, thinking about it. ]

You think we might've been brought here for a purpose?

[midway]

Apologies. [ The observation makes him smile. ] Archers don't tend to have soft hands.

[ Though it doesn't seem as though Aspen's lived a cushy life himself. Perhaps the healing magic could erode the roughness that might've formed over his palms and fingertips otherwise?

In any case, he remembers that the parade is still boisterous around them, and nods his agreement before moving away from the crowd. There are pockets of quiet, enough that they find one with ease. He reflects on the strange sensation of the night hair ruffling his feathers. ]

You're not worried I might accidentally make you worse?

[midway]

[ Ugh. Talking about Fodlan.

Claude falls onto his back at the thought, staring up at the sky for strength as he thinks back to all that he left behind. ]

A close-minded, nonsensical place that's been embroiled in tension and war for far too long. The political and social structures are so deeply flawed, it'll probably take an entire lifetime to untangle them.

[ ... He glances at D. ]

But the people there certainly know how to roast a bird, if you're into that kind of thing. You don't exactly strike me as someone with a love of eating, though...

[ Skinny. ]

IV also I'm sorry this is so late!!!!

[nagano]

[ Celebrating didn't seem nearly as enticing after the lantern fiasco the other day. Kaito had made a Solid Attempt to make merry, but he was rebuked at every turn, either by his Shadow's incessant nagging (fucking edgelord) or the backlash of his powers slapping him from all directions.

If there was any real respite to be had, it was in the food and drink—all of which he had sampled liberally. Well, minus the Grablenuts. A single bite out of those gave Kaito enough warning not to eat the entire thing.

Alas, a single bite was all it took for the food to take its toll, and now the empath found himself idling around a blond Restless after having bought him a round of drinks. Firstdawn tea for himself, and Elysium for the stranger. He had already borne witness to the pungent liquid's hallucinatory effects, so Kaito found himself more interested in seeing how it wrought chaos from an outsider perspective this time. ]

You won't need it. Just don't stand near anything too sharp. Can't guarantee I'll be able to catch you.

[ Siiiiip.

...That was a joke. Of course he'd catch the guy if he fell. ]

[terraria]

( he settles into a small bench and table set, trying to tuck a stray bit of claude's hair behind his ear. it flops back into place and he frowns a bit, looking like he might say something about it - he decides to silence himself. )

I doubt you will. ( he says that instead, canting his head to the side curiously. ) Let's start off with probably the most important aspect... there's a staff at your back. Can you hold it? Don't force it if you can't.

( it sounds like a deceptively easy task, but aspen's concerned frown makes it clear that it's not. he knows that the only people who can hold his staff have accepted positions of leadership. accepted being the key word, there. he remembers how the staff burned in his hands when he hadn't accepted his birthright, how it'd felt like boiling water inside of his skin.

but... if claude can - it'll make casting much, much easier. )

[invinciblemikey]

I think it just is what it is. I was always surrounded by people who are both ways taller than me and way older-looking, so I ain't thinking about that too much.

(which to him, it's particularly funny and highly beneficial. rather good to be misunderstood and underestimated when you have the strength of an army in every kick, makes it even more satisfying when, not if he wins.

goes to show judging books by covers lead no one nowhere.)

Huh. Bonten is the number one criminal syndicate in Japan - or, well, who the fuck knows now that I'm gone. I'm the head. Y'all're the first civilians I've really spoken to in a decade.

[damnpire]

[Talk about Fodlan, or he will ask you about your unfinished business, Claude. Your choice.]

It doesn't sound very different than the Frontier.

[If he's honest. Both the Frontier of the present and, especially, the Frontier of the past when ruled by the Nobles. It's not like he's out to save the planet anyway. He's just trying to kill vampires.]

I don't care much for eating, no. But I can.