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

[appeale]

Ah... That does seem promising. [ with a determined nod: ] Okay! I'll follow your lead.

[ whether it's courtesy or kindness, she's grateful for whatever it is that allows her to stay by his side for the moment, even if he surely thinks of her as a burden. there's an urge to plead with him, to beg for a promise that he won't leave her behind — the words stick to her tongue, mouth gone dry. she knows better. asking for too much... was probably her mistake with Iske. ]

Um, also — it's okay to throw me off if I'm getting in the way... I can't fight, but I'm good at running away, so it won't be a problem.

[ lessening the burden, as much as she can, is the best way to make sure he won't get tired of her. ]

[appeale]

[ walk? really, all she wants to do is curl up and close her eyes until all of this goes away. even survival instinct isn't enough to convince her legs to move. she's pathetic. so scared of dying, but so weak that she can't even stand to run away. it's Cesare's words that slither into her ear then, and his voice invigorates her blood with a familiar cold terror: Stand up. We aren't finished yet. ]

—I'll walk. [ she withdraws her hands from Hibiki's. there's no determination in her struggle to get to her feet; it's done with a doll-like blankness, puppeteering her own body while her mind is elsewhere. hidden by her skirts, her legs tremble under her. ] I don't know how far I'll be able to get, though... Where do we go?

[appeale]

[ god. Rudbeckia is paranoid herself, but this girl really makes her look normal by comparison. she almost wants to laugh. ]

I'm not a lush! [ it's said in pleading, please believe me, no indignation or offence to be found. ] I've eaten a little here and there...

[ for all that she seems to be incapable of reading the room, Ruby makes no move closer to Fukawa, nor does she breach her personal space at all. she doesn't deliberately make more room either, as if nothing happened. maybe she's just too dumb to have noticed. ]

I guess without realising, I've been behaving like I'm at a ball? You know... You don't sit down for a meal, you only pick up little things to eat, and keep a glass in your hand. But there wasn't any wine, so...

[ she takes a tiny sip of whiskey. blech. ]

[coherer]

(philosophy tells them that beauty is subjective.

jonas knows fukawa is valid for stepping away from society's anticipated response of "pinhead is ugly" and what would be considered "normal." he also knows that he'd be lying if he agreed. he participates in society and, most of the time, follows its rules; there's nothing beautiful about pinhead. there's nothing striking about pinhead. the look he wears says as much, though he's unaware of the disgusted twist of his mouth.)

Sometimes, (he stresses before fukawa begins to grouse about his question.

resisting the concerned urge to take her wrist to stop her from attempting to smack at herself or grip painfully at her hair, jonas listens. gradually, becoming increasingly horrified, he understands why fukawa might cope the way that she copes, certain that if he experienced any of her life, he'd be scattered, too.

an apocalypse. with political roots, of course; what else could it have been? zombies and aliens in movies and shows are never the cause of earth's downfall, just the effect. all the firsthand account makes him feel after the dread's purged itself from his body in a shaky exhale, is sympathetic.)

... Jesus, Fukawa, that's—I don't even know what to say. Like, I mean... there's nothing to say except that I believe you. I've—I'm repeating that a lot, but I do, man.

(there's only one thing that comes to mind, insensitive, maybe, but necessary to ask.)

Was your family—do you know if they're okay? Did they get out?

[janescayre]

[Thank god. The last thing she wants to do is a deep dive into the downfall of humanity. The fact that she was so close to the source still gives her gooseflesh, and there's so much she doesn't understand to this day. How that piece of shit able to pull it off. How no one suspected a thing.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Her, her classmates, the entire world. Everyone.

Her gaze dips to the side. She mutters low.]

Th-they're probably dead.

[Aside from the hostages in Towa City, there's no guarantee that anyone else made it. They were probably singled out, like Byakuya's entire lineage. It's not like threatening her parents would have stirred her to murder, and they definitely wouldn't return to claim her. They would be ecstatic for an excuse to ditch her, end of the world or not.]

M-most everyone is. Some of my classmates are alive. [She shrugs.] It's not w-worth wringing my hands over now. Just...if this were the afterlife, I thought I'd have s-seen someone by now.

Have you? [She looks to him, biting at her lip.] Is there someone here you kn-know?

[philandery]

(( cw: suicide ideation ))

[ for sylvain, it's a death long overdue. it's far more improbable that he's survived until now. before the war, too often the only thing that had kept him from making an irreversible choice, from rushing himself to a premature death during some of the worst years of his life, was a promise he'd made as a kid. so long as felix was around, sylvain was too—no matter how bad things were with miklan, with women, with his own, venomous self-hate.

of course, the war had been a different brand of hell, but it had at least shaken sylvain out of his self-centered misery. he stayed alive to fight alongside felix, for their home. there will be times he regrets it, and times he doesn't. times where their sacrifice holds meaning, and does not. it's difficult to take any single stance when you've been raised to live and die for your country—he holds as much affection as he does resentment for his home.

and while he won't presume exactly what felix does or doesn't feel towards rodrigue's death, sylvain can imagine he's torn in some way about it. felix has always spoken sharply against the ways of their society, critical of his own family, sylvain doesn't know him to be impervious to grief or loss for all his bristling discontent. ]

...I suppose it's possible not everyone who dies ends up here.

[ they'd run into swathes of their own soldiers, otherwise, the men and women they'd lost in their battalions, not just other generals and former academy graduates conscripted to the kingdom army.

...it's also possible rodrigue's soul has already been taken to the forges. but sylvain won't accept that, or give voice to it. ]

Have you forgiven him?

as is his right!!

[janescayre]

[SUCCESS.

Syo cackles as they slam to the ground, swinging upright atop his chest. Her hand pins him at his collar, the scissors are held high — not pointed down to strike, but perking upright.]

Ding ding ding! We have a winner! [She flashes such a grin at him, breathless, glasses glinting in the moonlight.] Oh, but how will anyone know I won? There's no one here but us...maybe I could take a souvenier?

What should it be? This ratty old carpet? [She gives the poncho a cruel yank.] A lock of your hair? One of these dumbass jug ears?

A finger?

[janescayre]

[It's best there's no expectation, because he ain't getting no answers. As far as Syo's concerned the evening has been completely spoiled. It's late, she's bummed out, and she wants to go home. A pop quiz and no murders, what a fucking rip off.

Puck claps once the answer is given, pleased as punch. "What a treat, you're much smarter than you look! Congratulations."

He tosses the lantern at the other man and gives Syo a filthy wink. "Better luck next time, my dear."

And in the blink of an eye, he vanishes. Syo gives a sharp huff.]

Looks like you're shit out of luck on that parsley.

[pyojeol]

[this guy.........

Sooyoung's that bird meme 'am uncomfortable when im not the jerk?' She does notice him BEGRUDGINGLY keeping his own paper though, so he's clearly not a fool even if he is abrupt.]

Hey, don't lump me in with you? Do I look like an adrenaline junkie? [she's not a MEATHEAD like SOME orvs!!!] I chased after him because I figured he'd have expensive shit to take. Like his sword.

[she might not be a sword purist but she does have an Interest in the blade]

[janescayre]

[Her brows have already cinched together, fingers at her chin.]

Maybe it's better to start from a d-different angle. There's less herbs than words. [That might go without saying. Forgive her, she's thinking aloud.] Sage...cilantro.

[Remove my start. A letter, a syllable? A connotation?

No, no, there's only one solution. She jolts to attention.]

Sparsely!

[She looks to Puck. Her hand has snagged into Eivor's sleeve. It should work, but still, there's a lot on the line here. She doesn't fancy their chances against the harpies, Amazonian warrior or not.]

[cruelyethuman]

I'm fuel to an already blazing fire.

[Like calls to like. It calls to all the things he'd seen and done in the dark, to the emptiness that spread like a cancer through him until it burned out everything that wasn't ambition.

But not blind ambition, with an idiotic child on the throne and Grisha everywhere suffering for it.

If only someone worthy ruled instead.]

Very well. How are you settling in, Alina?

[janescayre]

No! [Said hurriedly, huff huff, let her hustle up beside you.] I just didn't want to disturb you.

[Silence falls. An uncomfortable one. Fukawa taps two fingers together, suddenly shy.]

So...it s-seems improper to spend time together alone like this...I don't even know your name.

[This isn't a date. Yet.]

[chokuto]

Adaptability.

[Is 'Henruit' also on Pluto?]

I'm not doing it just to do it. Your idea made no sense. But fine, explain what you meant and I'll listen.

[windsongs]

Considering all of us have shadows? I don't doubt that.

[ But something that existed before coming to the Netherworld, that she sincerely doubts. Not to mention the nature in which this voice manifests itself; never in words, but with a simple melody that feels both calming and cataclysmic in equal measures. She's already come to the conclusion that it's whatever dark spirit that's possessed her, but the nature of the song goes completely unknown.

Her expression conflicted, Hibiki lets the silence settle before carefully deciding to break it. ]

But I imagine if someone does have experience with that, it probably tells them to lash out, or something like that. Something more aggressive.

[windsongs]

I mean obviously, same here! But we probably shouldn't be trying out moves with so many people around, you know?

[ Hibiki is all for figuring out whether she can fling this guy around, but not in a crowded area like this. ]

[windsongs]

[ Her eyes snap open as she stares at Ichigo, protests on her lips even before she can fully form them. She clenches a fist, not realizing that's going to make Ichigo's job harder. ]

No. One of us has to stay in good shape. I got this. Focus on you.

[windsongs]

[ Hibiki laughs a bit herself, shaking her head with a knowing smile. Oh, she feels this one. She can't even remember how many people from her mom's old hometown she met the first time during her funeral, but that was the most common thing she heard from them. At least try a little harder.

Slowing her pace as the woman starts to come to, Hibiki turns her head slightly. She might not be able to see her, but keeping her head forward and talking feels incredibly rude.

The woman sounds befuddled, eyes slowly focusing as she tries to piece everything together. Right, she was at the festival with her family. Immediately launching into frantic questions about whether they're okay, Hibiki glances toward the road, keeping her head turned. ]

We're doing what we can to take care of the injured. If you tell us their names, we can make sure to steer them to where you'll be staying.

[ While her expression isn't quite grim (she won't let it be), the blonde turns her eyes forward, brows furrowed slightly as the injured woman shakily rattles off a few names. ]

[pyojeol]

[HOW DID HE KNOW IT WAS HER........ damn he's sharp, unfortunately sooyoung is of the mind to claim responsibility at all times for her fantastic writing abilities -- bad tinder profiles included.]

I did it as a favor for that idiot! [her gracious, generous soul....

she pauses, but like. it's not a fact that's hard to hide, even if she's instinctively dodgy about it.]

And yeah, we're from the same place. But before you ask -- we're definitely not friends.

[windsongs]

[ It's easy to tell that the other blonde is struggling. While she can't see the way that Rudbeckia's legs shake, she knows those wooden movements all too well. It's all she can do to not succumb to fear.

So no hand holding, got it. Instead, Hibiki offers an arm for Rudbecki to take and a heavy smile. She knows. Trust her, she wants to get as far away from this Hellscape as possible. ]

Let's focus on getting out of this field for now. It's not too far; I'll get you there, don't worry.

[craters]

（ the rebuke isn't enough to warrant response, and she just lifts one shoulder up into a shrug. she has absolutely done worse to herself for fewer reasons.

but being healed by someone else is... strange, after all this time. it feels strange, the way the energy spills across her palm and knits the flesh together. after he's finished, she wipes at the blood and reveals not even a scar beneath it.

it's interesting, but it feels as foreign as this land without sun. almost as much as the gentleness with which he handles her does. ）

Well, any amount of healing can be useful, really... it all depends on how it's used.

（ and then, because she has manners even if he's a hooligan: ）

Thanks.

[chokuto]

[Excuse me, was he asking for an evaluation of his rotten personality? Yet when Sasuke looks over, his teammate's pale green eyes narrowed by irritation, he's puzzled to find that amusement. Sasuke's head whips away and he focuses on the path ahead.]

I'm not questioning your memory so much as your judgment. [Yes he has never been wasted in his life.] That changes how you perceive a person, especially when they may be different from the body they occupy. Are you still 'on Pluto' right now?

[He's learned some new slang.]

We know each other because we're from the same place. [This is innocuous enough he doesn't feel inclined to hide the fact; that, and he trusts Sakura not to have revealed anything more meaningful about him.] You must be concerned about her if you're willing to go this far.

[invinciblemikey]

... That's so specific. I wonder how you figured it out.

(JUST BECAUSE. JUST SO DAMN SPECIFIC.)

[invinciblemikey]

Lame, Hibi, lame.

(he even puffs his cheeks, clear childish manner.)

[arrancar]

( he ain't scared of no spice, boy.

but humans sure are vulnerable, aren't they? he could easily snap most of 'em like a twig with only a few exceptions to the rule. it's... probably best not to get these for ichigo though, especially if it can give him warts and make him ill. )

I don't need to be wary of it. ( in fact, he wants to taste the heat. he shovels several more into his mouth, munching on them slowly. from the way his frown deepens, he doesn't seem to be pleased by the result. ) This tastes like crap.

[invinciblemikey]

I'm one regardless.

(whether that's a good thing or not, it's up for interpretation. he knows his power to lead, to rally, to guide, and that's why he's been so manipulated, so sought after through the years.

the biggest problem is not having the filters and guidance to that strength. that's where it gets fucked.)