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

[damnpire]

[His eyes turn away and shift out over everything else, gazing through it. He's a Hunter. He can't completely disagree. His profession hinges on the idea of a former collection of beings who ruled through power and fear.

Not all vampires were terrible, but most had never had any humanity to begin with, and so abuse of authority was second nature for them. But something still doesn't sit completely right with him here.]

We don't know yet if they've abused any power.

[dodgeouttahell]

It worked…! [It's not without some wonder that he watches the transformation. Things like this are relatively new, in their shape and form, rather than their concept. Things were a little more straightforward back in Hades. He doesn't really understand how blood and bones could make a lantern shard.

Exchange, he supposes, but who's the one they're bartering with?

He considers what Joonghyuk says, opening his hand. He doesn't really heal, not like some of his mythical equals or superiors, but the blood, at least, stopped spilling, even if it stirs something within him as though it's alive.] Perhaps, but there are some things that altruism outweighs selfishness, right?

[He's so curious about this, even if he feels rather wistful.] Of your choosing?

[janescayre]

[Oh dang dawg your world is ruined too? nice]

Th-that's being generous. [Said bitterly, with a huff and a glare to the side. Honestly, now that she's had the privilege of seeing footage of her body, jerking around with her tongue hanging out like some rabid mutt? She's shocked anybody could stand within ten feet of her.

Most didn't, after. Before either, albeit for pettier reasons.

She flinches as the bones snap. There's a concentrated effort not to quail away too obviously, but he calls out her nervous habits anyway. Fukawa gasps and rips her thumb out from between her teeth.]

No!

[There's a pause. Something's caught her eye. A strange dust. Blue smudging over the bones, which is odd. If she remembers correctly it's the least likely colour to occur in nature. Most organic things achieved it with a mixture of other pigments or crystalline refractions. When you ground butterfly wings for example, the powder turned brown.

Which only means it had to be magic, or some deliberate act.]

What do you think that is? [She crouches. It was a little better that they were old, no flesh remained. It still makes her want to turn tail and run.] Leftovers from s-some other ritual?

[damnpire]

[Noooo, not the punch. Those are scary from her. He'll split in half.]

It's just something I prefer to do instead of killing.

[He's doing better! He didn't try to dissuade her compliment! He also did not out-right accept it necessarily, but listen. Small steps. It was accepted in theory.

Really, it's good to know people think he's nice. He doesn't want them to be afraid of him, but he also understands why they would be.]

[craters]

（ she's been lucky, she knows. kakashi always shielded team seven — but maybe especially her — from the acts of violence that are so normalized in shinobi villages and in their lives. she has killed people. watched their blood blossom beneath her knife. death is memorable. the way a body goes lax. the way light leaves the eyes. the smell, coming across a corpse in its varying stages of decomposition.

but she's lucky. she's saved more lives than she's taken. she doesn't usually go to bed with someone's last guttural gasps and the awful, rusted rattle of their final breath echoing in her ears. she doesn't close her eyes and see blood scythed out in an arcing pattern on the earth.

but there are so many more people who had to pattern themselves in death's cruel cloak to survive. he doesn't know how hard his statement hits her, because she immediately thinks of sasuke — who had been so gentle once — and she bites her lip at the unexpected emotion. she really is just a mess tonight, huh...? ）

I don't think anyone here would begrudge you that.

（ and if she sounds a little miserable, a little wan... well, maybe it's allergies?? ）

You're good at it. You should do it more often! It's not like there are vampires that need hunting here, right? So... I hate to say it, but you're sort of out of a job.

[invinciblemikey]

You know that sounds... How's Japan, then? Convince me.

(the sheer authority... but apparently, it works with d. he'll just keep being bossy.)

[damnpire]

[Well... He could argue his case for the need of his profession even here maybe, mostly since he plans to continue it in his own way. He doesn't know any other way to... exist, to live. It had always been hunting, or nothing, and he didn't want nothing. The difference is instead of vampires, it'd be something else.

Specters, or rogue Reapers. Restless who step over the line when consumed by their Shadows. Who can say what people would hire him for outside of fetch quests and the like on the notice board.

But Sakura doesn't seem as if she really needs to hear that kind of talk from him right now. She had been buzzed, had and has been making an attempt to enjoy the festival, even his company. At every turn, he thinks he ruins it a little more. If he says anything, it'll be some kind of rejection.]

I must be, [he relents in his quiet voice.] Are you tired?

[invinciblemikey]

(it's not the place itself. japan does allow for a better rebellious spirit, with all the rules, the expectations, the pressure. his love lies within his people rather than his nation, and he shrugs at the latter comment.

japan is more piltie. sorry, silco.)

You're going to have to be more specific in what it's like.

[invinciblemikey]

Hah! The world would collapse like that.

(the ego never really changed, at least. it is what it is to know he's good, just as incredible in a fight as the streets tell him he is.)

... I don't think I'll be this happy any other time, so. Let's do it.

[invinciblemikey]

... Don't get too used to it.

(... it reminds him of emma. it doesn't help that hibiki has just as bright and fair hair, the cheery disposition, and she's clinging to him much like his sister would.

... hurts, but he won't let himself show it.)

[invinciblemikey]

It's not normal at all. I know a single person who can do something... Can you do something? I can just kick real hard.

[damnpire]

[As expected, D doesn't mind the command. Though maybe not because he's a push-over.]

Japan hasn't existed for a long time. Not many people even remember the name Japan at all. But there are descendants of what was once Asia still inhabiting parts of the Frontier. A few even remember martial skills or trades passed down through their families or clans.

What year is it for you? Before or after 1999?

[invinciblemikey]

... I'm a martial artist. Interesting...

After. I was born in 1990.

[windsongs]

I know.

[ The answer comes out reflexively, but she makes no effort to take it back. It feels like he barely tolerates her sometimes but looks out for her in instances like this, so she has no clue where she sits.

Best just to go with the flow. ]

...Thanks. I'll get used to this eventually.

[damnpire]

I'm impressed.

[He hasn't even seen any of Mikey's skills, but listen. Very few people know any martial arts on the Frontier. Also, he's a bit relieved to know another person here is from an alternate version of his own, one that survived without a mess.]

The time I was from was 12,090 A.D. In 1999, humans destroyed most of the world with nuclear warfare. Then vampires began to emerge from hiding and started ruling with their own civilization.

[Sorry for your Japan, Mikey...]

[midway]

Not sure, I'm pretty sure I blacked out for a second there. [ Everything since that giant mass of bones had first lumbered toward them feels like a blur now. All he can think about is getting out of the water and toward relative safety. ]

After I hit you, that other side of yours came out and helped lure the skeleton off the edge of the cliff. It's too bad that we went down with it.

[ But it could be worse. She seems to be all right, and Claude is remarkably in one piece given the night that they've both had. It's slow treading through the water with only one arm free, but he swims them both closer to the shore. ]

If we don't get that lantern at the end of all this, I'm going to be pretty mad.

[midway]

All right.

[ He nods, holding the staff out toward his body, hovering over the shoulders and the ribs as he tries to remember the aches that followed him after getting tangled up in the Puck's shenanigans. ]

So channel energy into the staff, from the staff back to me, and then into the target.

[ He'll try just that, drawing on what he knows of field medicine, from patching himself up and having been patched up several times over. He's not quite sure how it works with magic rather than hands and tools, but if he wills it hard enough...? ]

[midway]

[ He just smiles a little helplessly at her. Having paranoia as a personality trait is likely what's kept him alive so long, but he can see her point.

In any case, ] No. I'd like to see someone who has though, and hear from them how it's affected them.

Perhaps I'll give it a shot once we know of a way to reverse it.

[midway]

[ Claude offers Felix a sympathetic look as he sits back down. It must certainly be strange—he never could've imagined that there would be another version of Fódlan unfolding somewhere, with different versions of himself and everyone that he knew. But the truth is staring them both in the face.

He shrugs. ]

My grandfather passed away shortly after I left Garreg Mach, so I was busy inheriting his title and trying to keep the Roundtable from falling apart.

Eventually Edelgard invaded Leicester too, but we've managed to keep her at bay so far.

[midway]

[ Claude doesn't mind handing over his bow. It's a fairly rudimentary weapon; one that he'd had to make himself from harvesting branches and linen. It's not designed to last long, lacking the craftsmanship of a master, but it suits his purpose for now. At least he's not entirely vulnerable while wandering these woods.

Eventually he'll try soulforging something a little more exquisite. ]

Are you going to shoot every bird in these woods?

[ He gives Set an arrow too—just one—before stepping out of his way and toward the bodies. ]

How will you dig the graves, your hands?

[fallingsand]

"Oh," and here, Bruno hangs his head some, casting his gaze down to the ground at such a saddening thought. "I'm sorry... You looked so happy before that... that started, um. Leaking."

What a bizarre way to refer to a mortal throat wound.

[coherer]

(perceived now as noctis' new and awkward sense of humour, jonas' cheeks redden in response to the embarrassment naruto experiences, but laughs a little despite it.) Oh, wow. Wow, yeah, I totally couldn't have understood that without the pelvic thrust.

(maybe it's the rush of blood to the head that's made him suddenly dizzy; jonas ignores it and passes naruto the candy, crunching on the rest of his own in slow, camel-like chews. his hesitance to swallow is overcome just barely, too tired to do much more than sway on the spot and attempt to continue the conversation as though nothing's wrong.

this is his first and last mistake.)

Pull out? That's crazy, man. Eos is definitely lacking some sex education; we'll get you up to date... but you'll... (jonas slurs, shaking his head hard,) you'll owe me... 'cause this 's... this is... uh...

Jesus, sorry, I'm—I feel like I'm— (not getting to finish, jonas' knees buckle, and he goes down hard in an angle forward into "noctis'" side. after clipping his friend's arm and shoulder, he's rendered totally unconscious, trapped in a temporary death-like state on the ground in an indifferent crowd.)

[coherer]

(their laughter interrupted, jonas finds it difficult to snap straight into fear. he feels it, of course, but after wiping a fake tear from his eye at zagreus' bow, the sight of the skull-headed being makes him trail off with a winded "ahhh...")

Friend of yours? (then his voice begins to waver, confidence draining from his face as quickly as the smoke drains from the hunter's body.

when it takes a step forward, jonas takes a step back, easing himself behind zagreus to peer easily over his shoulder. he can't believe he's only noticed those red-hot feet now, less startled by them now than he probably should be. they can blame that on the situation at hand, the creature—not a restless as he'd previously thought—suddenly raises long, crooked claws and sprints.

rusty ginger is almost pitched into the air as the teenager turns on a dime, but guilt makes him hug onto the pumpkin tighter.)

Oh, shit—run!

[coherer]

(Pact Forged

the next day, jonas, hungover and delirious, will strive to remember the promise he made the beautiful hay bale stranger, squinting into the grey light of day. tonight, however, there's no such struggle, and he's nodding as though satisfied with d agreeing to meet.)

I bet you say that to all the Restless, (he slurs, giving d's pale hand a tight squeeze. it's a reaffirmation of presence, in a way, making sure they're still here. here here.

it makes sense in his head.)

... Thanks. Seriously, that was a nice thing to say. I appreciate it, and... I agree with you. I don't think any of us should've died and been brought here. Do you think this is where you're supposed to be right now?

[coherer]

("because in their mind, they've got no other choice," jonas echoes internally. he's faced that already, over and over and over again. while he wouldn't call it bravery when all he could think about was getting home, someone else might.

someone else might've refused to try at all.)

Yeah. Yeah, I think so, too.

(not wanting to keep hibiki idle, jonas briefly checks on the woman on her back and once again leads the way. deeper into mirth they go to find help; should they have called sakura? would she have been busy handling other patients far more injured than this one?

a tense silence reigns for a couple of minutes until jonas finds something else to say. it's rare for him to reach out to relate to someone, so it's said almost shyly—defensively.)

My mom died, too. It was... It was fairly recent, I guess, and she wasn't—it wasn't murder or anything like that, but—I don't know, man. I think what I'm saying is that I... understand a little bit. I understand just, like, the helplessness of it all. It's hard to know what to do.

I'm glad you chose to work instead of choosing to lie down and wallow.