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

[seaboard]

"Something like that. It holds the wound tame, I suppose, soothes it. Stops the pain, as well, often time it aches, and it prevents me... well. You saw."

That hurts just as much. To sing, to sing so purely, so gladly, her greatest gift.

Stolen away in a single moment in the ultimate price of power.

[seaboard]

He was. Both my fathers, truly, they had such good hearts...

[She trails off into silence, the quiet happy memories of childhood. ]

So you must tell me what gives you such joys. So we can both remember it.

[seaboard]

Do you just, God of War?

[It's mocking, hateful. She has no right to speak to him this way, she has never be inclined to talk to anyone in such a tone. Yet the misery seems to...

... to have a voice of its own. It felt impossible to understand right now, how it seized her throat and made her speak.

She jerks, twisting her wrists even as she feels them rub raw in his grip. Testing still, the moment his concentration will break. ]

What shall you do? Lay my head in your lap, sing lullabies to console me?

[janescayre]

[Technically he's correct, it was probably these very legs that moseyed her into the maze. But also technically:]

I didn't walk myself in here! I just w-woke up on the ground, right over there! And then you started coming after me like some kind of axe murderer, so what else was I supposed to do?!

[She's still here against her own will. As if her dramatics weren't evidence enough of it. That he stops his hot pursuit and sounds more put out than denied the thrill of the kill slows her down some. She volleys just as much attitude back, bitter as bile.]

And besides, how am I supposed to "get out" like this? Even if y-you leave me alone, there'll be some other m-muscle-brained meathead swooping in to clobber me over the head. I'll be attacked no matter what I do!

[paraselenes]

Maybe... you should come along with me, if we're able. Come to think of it, I do still owe you a fishing trip as well.

[ Finding some means of entertainment here in the underworld(?) is probably important for not totally losing their minds here. But his mind is tugged to more serious subjects. Zagreus's shoulder pressed against his arm is as weighty as his words. Dimitri isn't the tactile type, not enough to be comforting, but he sticks around under this cloak as the celebrations carry on around them. Plus, grablenuts. ]

So you're royalty... [ He's a little surprised, but he supposes even people as seemingly flippant as Claude can be rulers. But more than shock, he just sounds understanding. ] To be an heir is to be molded in the shape of a crown.

[ It's not easy. And not every lordling is beloved by their parents. He's read about more than one disinherited child—has seen one for himself. ]

But I understand, somewhat. I likely never lived up to my father's standards myself. It must've been difficult for you to live under the weight of such expectations.

[damnpire]

[Set's perfect face looks back at him when the head turns, even if the expression matches the usual placid one D wears. D isn't repulsed, but there is still a sadness there understanding the unspoken offer. It's different, Set is right. It isn't a human. It's a god. Even that worries him, though. Imagine drinking from a god, something immensely stronger than a human in vitality, in power. Set's eyes turn back toward the parade's revelry, brows pinched slightly in a contemplation that's heavy.] I don't know what will happen if it's your blood. [He thinks he can guess. The unbridled strength in this body, the vigor. It's so easy already to fall over the line into Nobility when he lets himself. And it's hard to bring himself back sometimes. With the Shadow now, too. The craggled voice pipes up again from the left of D's body:] You don't even know what you're offering! You can't just let vampires bite you. Foolish. And definitely not while you're in his body. Who knows what would happen? He'd turn you right into a Noble maybe. Pah. The chances are almost zilch, but you might even become a thrall! And this ol' husk would probably go on a full rampage. That'd be wild, huh, D? Tasting a god's blood. That's what he'd love to do. You'd be a lot like him then, wouldn't you? [Set's red eyes narrow into the distance. The tone of Set's voice is icy and sharp when D says,] Be quiet. [The scarlet eyes shift to glance at Set, at himself.] It's too dangerous.

[janescayre]

[He's altogether too calm and collected for her tastes. On a face like Byakuya-sama's such smug airs would send shivers down her spine, but on a stranger who bested her? It's irksome, to say the least.

That gets her shadow whispering again, but Syo refuses to pay it any more mind. She doesn't like being manipulated either. Of the two pains in her ass tonight, the shadow is the worse offender by far. To think, she nearly broke her vows of loyalty! And for a whole lot of nothing to boot.

There's some gratitude, brief as a gnat's life, and then back to familiar comforts of quipping. Good. She's never been one for sentimentalism.]

Hmmmm...well a good rumour just helps the news spread faster. People need something punchy to pay attention, otherwise they'll change the channel! [Skipping metaphors again. No matter, it's not like either one of them gives a shit about Bigfoot. Though the way this guy was talking about it kinda implied he knocked elbows with the big ape himself.

And speaking of mythical apparitions...]

Wait. Did he?

[Syo whips around. Then back the other way. The campfire is waning, but their capricious pal is silhouetted on the furthest edge of its light. He raises the lantern.

Last chance, he seems to imply, waving it back and forth.]

Seriously? [Syo calls after him. Her ire is rising again.] Just fucking hand it over!

[paraselenes]

[ He watches Aspen carefully, tensing as he steps ahead of him. Puck's body language is relaxed, draped across a fallen tree, but Dimitri doesn't trust anyone who would throw the forest into disarray like this.

Honestly, had he made the first move, he'd likely have tried to force the lantern away. It's probably for the best to negotiate first, but it doesn't help how wound tight he is, eyes narrowing as Puck sits up straighter to study the offering, reaching out to take the bundle of peace-offering herbs with a curious look. He responds shortly after.

"Well, of course. I'd love your company by the fire for a while."

And there is a little campfire smoldering nearby, but Dimitri steps forward first, voice tight. ]

...We don't have to go with him.

[ He offers Aspen an out, because he can just fight Puck. He doesn't have to get involved like this. ]

[paraselenes]

Here and again... I was expected to attend formal functions from time to time. Galas and the like. I prefer more commonplace gatherings like this, though—the atmosphere is less stifling.

[ Compared to extremely boring formal parties of people vying for attention and political clout. He hasn't seen a proper feast since his time at Garreg Mach.

And so Dimitri tries again: ]

Though I don't feel that I belong. Perhaps it's the same for you...?

[damnpire]

[Hm. The tone brings enough understanding, and D can't completely disagree. He knows what it's like, adjacently, to be used, the distaste that comes with it.]

There are a lot of others here who feel the same.

[Which he's hoping will maybe keep Silco from using other people for any personal gain. Probably won't, but worth a shot to say anyway.]

[damnpire]

[Claude?

It's fine. He does not really enjoy wasting his breath explaining vampires, so he would commend Claude actually on doing research. D is a man of science, so it tracks.]

They were more common a long time ago, but there are few vampires left now on the Frontier. So there are only few dhampirs.

[janescayre]

[Fukawa's lips purse. How can anyone not tell?]

Because you can't stop talking and you're w-way too casual about it.

[Saying so outright isn't going to help patch this bridge though. She might grimace, glance away shamefully, but "sorry" never quite makes it past her lips. He's pushing ahead anyway. Her lack of tact is a persistent malfunction. Even when she wants to have a pleasant conversation, the words come out in all the worst combinations.

It's so much easier to evoke charm in a book. There she has the room to breathe, the plot, omniscient awareness. She's already aware of their hidden value in each character, how to navigate their flaws, and make them agreeable to one another. Her readers were always remarking that her characters felt like real people. Fukawa disagrees.

If they were comparable, she'd know what to say about things like living in a bad town on the coast. Moving by the ocean, or liking hiking. Does she congratulate him, or say she's sorry about before?

Fukawa hesitates.

A moment too long, he's already asking her a question.]

Uh — T-Tokyo. [She doesn't think it matters which part because canon doesn't specify, he wouldn't know. And besides that?] But most of it is gone now, so. I was in Towa City for a while. Trying to f-fix the complete disaster there.

[Fukawa hugs her arms around her middle. Are they salvaging a conversation, or prolonging unnecessary pain? She watches the end of his cigarette. Every time he sucks new air in the embers blaze anew. A bright red eye wrapped in singed paper.

She feels queasy, suddenly. She looks to the mangled pumpkin instead.]

So. What was it, anyway? The creature you were carving. It's a H-Halloween thing, right?

[damnpire]

[He would never chastise Sasuke about the rash behavior really, but he's glad it's waning. Not exactly glad it's waning because the interest has turned to him, though he has little choice outside of taking the curt path Sasuke usually follows.

He doesn't acknowledge the assessment about him, but perhaps the lack of acknowledgement is the acknowledgement itself. Agree by omission.]

Yes and no. I don't need it to survive. I'm cursed to thirst for it. But I've never tasted human blood. The blood I consumed was artificially made.

[midway]

Is that by design?

[ The decline of the vampires. ]

[damnpire]

[dumps a tag right back onto you bc i'm not nice like niji]

I'm a dhampir. There isn't anywhere I belong and there never will be.

[He says this so stoically it sounds sad, but he doesn't really look sad. The expression watching everything else is definitely heavy acceptance. "He doesn't belong anywhere and that's how it should be." But:]

You should try to enjoy some of them while you can. The ones like this.

[The difference here is Dimitri is human, and D is half of a real monster.]

[damnpire]

No.

[The Nobles would be very offended to hear such a thing. The Sacred Ancestor especially would be offended.]

Biologically, they have many weaknesses. But they ruled the planet for a long time because the number of humans had been diminished by human war.

[janescayre]

[There's an indignant splutter (can she truly be that stupid?) but the damage is done. Rudibecky de Bolognese has claimed her spot, and Fukawa can either leave or be too stubborn to budge.

She chooses the latter, because she got here first.]

H-how can anyone enjoy this? It's too loud, and there's all these w-weird customs...like that creepy maze. [She cinches her arms in to her sides, shoulders hunching. It's not quite a lean, but it's immediately obvious she's trying to make more space between them. Let's hope this girl isn't the touchy-feely sort. You can't take your eye off an airhead for a minute.] And I don't care what you say, this food is definitely suspicious. All it would t-take is one disgruntled cook to dump something disgusting in. Like spit. Or s-sewage water.

[Fukawa snorts.]

But I suppose none of this bothers you. Does it?

[She's about to rag on her dinner choices, but all the girl's brought with her is a glass of alcohol. Which — fine, Fukawa snatched one too. She's still bitter about how many of life's milestones she's missed (that she'll keep missing now) to hold back for another five or six months. She's earned her right to try some spirits out. A hundred times over.

Anyway, at least she got some solid food to temper it with. What's this girl up to?]

What? Are you s-some kind of lush? [She squints. Edging away further.] If you try to th-throw that back up on me, you'll — you'll definitely regret it!

[damnpire]

[Hmm.

He watches her face as she answers, expression studious and placid, not judgemental, or mocking. Her answers are fine, but there is a contemplation to her, attaching itself to her reply.]

Being a doctor isn't just about fixing anyone. When people aren't well, they will always need someone there for them. Someone who cares about them in that time of vulnerability.

Those who don't need doctors have forgotten what it means to truly live.

[Maybe some people are an except, but he's thinking about the Nobility mostly. And how quickly any morals dwindled because they did not die from most things.]

But it's a lot to take on for one person.

[janescayre]

[Thank god for old timey chivalry.

She gladly accepts his aid, even calming some once he's locked her in and the waves cease to batter so recklessly at her. It's rather placid water, actually. So what made it throw up tsunami waves just now?]

Uh...I'm... [Fukawa blinks up at him. Kicks her legs below the water, feeling for strains. She hadn't had time to think about it, being convinced she was drowning and all.] It f-feels like I slammed into something? But I'm all right. I just hate swimming.

Why are we — where's that sk-skeleton thing? [Wasn't the last thing she remembered his whole body being launched in the air?

Fukawa's eyes go wide. There's a teeny hand prodding at his shoulder, feeling for wounds.]

Are you hurt? You got th-thrown! Like a ragdoll! And I...what happened?

[regression]

There are worse.

[ Thank you, random NPC, for providing the towel. He doesn't care much about his tea-scented shoes, so he hands her the towel to dry her foot and heel. ]

Like coming to a party late, loud and dramatic, and assuming people want to talk to you, anyway.

[ If it is obvious that he hates showboats... ]

[regression]

Unless we want to bleed ourselves, we do need Puck or someone else.

[ This is kind of just normal for Joonghyuk. Eventually, with choppy jerks and writhes, his body is free and he makes way to one of the corpses. It's suspiciously dusted in blue... ]

How so?

[ Still an asshole despite this mildly pleasant encounter. ]

[regression]

[ peet

He never thought Dokja's miniaturization skill would be useful here... Or the story that gives him the presence of a pebble, therefore mostly undetectable to most people.

Closing his eyes... He considers if they want to play actual musical chairs. Puck isn't omnipotent, is he? He doesn't know the state of the places he teleports to, right? With a tip of his head, he indicates that D should pursue while he lie in wait in one of the rooms.

Allegedly. ]

[dirtdevil]

You think?

[ he hadn't really thought about that. he tilts his head a little in thought. ]

I'm not sure if anything would ever get done.

[regression]

[ The Styx has many stories... And it doesn't quite line up with the ones Joonghyuk knows. It's said to bless those baptized in it with invulnerability yet it's also the course, sometimes imprisonment, for damned souls. In a way, he supposes it isn't different. If Zagreus died, then it carried him back. When he reached the surface, it called him back.

However, to be the son of Hades and in the Underworld... It seems cruel to have kin and staff suffer rebirth, but he understands the worst of it is the consequence of Zagreus' choices. Maybe he wouldn't die so often if he stayed home. ]

For your mother you'd die numerous times. [ Joonghyuk remembers their first conversation. Adding pressure to his cut, he tries to stall the bleeding and wait for it to clot. ] You can say we're similar, but different.

[ He doesn't add more to it or clarify in what ways, whether it be motive or method. ]

Rather than revive, time winds back.

[terraria]

I can't say I know how other magics work, but that's how the magic I wield works: as long as you know the subject and have a proclivity to that school of magic, you're able to cast.

Well, provided you have a catalyst.

( he gestures to the staff between them. )

You can channel power into the Boreas, and it will reflect back onto you with stronger potency. Then, you can use it on your target. Since you yourself know how your body looks and feels when you're healing, it may be easier for you to relate the two.