logs | MOD EVENT #001

Entry tags:

MOD EVENT #001

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[With a smile as a greeting as he looks up — Dimitri is quite tall in comparison, after all, and he's sitting down on the floor — he offers the bag in greeting. He's been snacking on nuts for a few minutes now and is glad to share those and other goodies inside.] On me.

[Dimitri does bring up a good point there, and Zagreus tilts his head, waving absently as a kid passes by and tells him he has a 'cool costume,' too. He laughs, and it's light and hearty. He's right; his clothes are vastly different from those others he's seen wearing.] Does yours have anything similar? I think this is the first I've learned of such a thing.

[ He politely takes the bag with a quiet thank you, though he sets it down between then as he withdraws (1) nut, going about cracking the outer shell. ]

Yes, we oft celebrated the saints and seasons. People would craft garlands from white roses for Saint Cethleann when the rains began, and host hunting tournaments alongside the fall harvests. Some villages celebrate the migration of pegasi flocks and the first snow of a year. That sort of thing.

[ Though, as the children point out, Zagreus is clearly from a place with plenty of character too. So he cants his head. ]

Did you not have holidays for times like that? Changing of the seasons, and whatnot.

Edited 2022-10-11 02:59 (UTC)

[The nut is so loud when he chews inside his head that he must stop doing so for a moment to hear what Dimitri is saying. It sounds lovely, white flowers and garlands, something he believes his birthmother would enjoy, and hunting tournaments across the woods. It all feels very distant and utopic. The irony of thinking such while he comes from divinity is not lost on him.] That sounds delightful. Did you participate?

[A particularly hard bite breaks the nut in his mouth in two with a crack, and he promptly chews on those halves thoughtfully.] I'm not the best one to ask, but I know that a festival is held in honor of the goddesses of seasons and harvest around the time when the last seeds of the year are sown. [Demeter and her daughter Persephone. Mentioning that they're his grandmother and mother, respectively, felt wrong because it all feels distant, in a way. He folds his legs and rests his arms on the knees loosely as he keeps watching the children and their caretakers following them.] There's another — although not around this time of the year, I believe? — where people dress differently like so. Apokries, a three-week-long celebration. Celebrating Lord Dyonisus. I've only heard tales of them, though. Never participated. [A shame, really. He always heard those three weeks were wild.]

[ Zagreus conveys these things without certainty. It's curious, though in the end their celebrations don't differ too drastically. People find joy in the same sorts of things across worlds, it seems.

His eyes turn pensive, turned towards the parade even as he answers. ]

I usually watched. [ In his younger days he might celebrate amongst his friends, but those years are long behind him. His presence could change the mood of a room, from festive to formal; he'd rather keep his distance, contented to watch. It's the same now, though he casts his gaze sidelong towards Zagreus in interest. ]

Do you not care to be part of these things?

[ Zagreus seems the type who'd fit in fine at a party, so it's a bit of a surprise. ]

Ah… [It's not that parties did not exist, feasts and the like, but in the House of Hades, such things were rare. He only recalls the last one when he was still a child, Thanatos had long hair, and Achilles left his station at the West Wing more often to tutor him in a palaestra instead. Before Sysiphus, before finding a note on his father's desk.

Before everything that really mattered.]

I come from a place where it didn't happen often. I don't think I remember what happened the last time I attended something like this. That's how long it was. [A chuckle, and he reaches out with his legs and arms to the front in a very languid stretch, followed by a shiver. The air seems to be growing colder, slightly.] Surprised you didn't participate, though. You seem to speak of them somewhat fondly.

[ Even in brief conversations, it's easy to see Zagreus as an affable man. And he seemed to be enjoying himself well enough now. So it wasn't a matter of lacking interest in festivities, as much as lack of opportunity.

That's always the worse of the two. He shoots him a sympathetic look before unlatching his cape, offering it easily to Zagreus to borrow as he speaks. He's not... really dressed for the cold, it seems (half his chest is just Out There). ]

I find it all a bit— [ he wheels his hand in an absent gesture, before landing on, simply: ] much.

[ Parties are a lot of hubbub. A lot of attention and noise. They're just a lot. Dimitri is austere and more polite than friendly; it's not an easy environment for him to mingle. ]

But there's something to seeing people in revelry. It reminds me of how important their happiness is—how vital it is to fight and toil for. So now that you have the chance, I hope you'll take the time to... have fun. [ He says 'fun' like a foreign concept. ] It must have been dour where you're from. Pardon me for saying so.

Never one to say no to a gift like that, he reaches for the cape tentatively still. It's heavy, heavier than he thought, and Zagreus smiles at it and its rich blue. As someone who's been intimately acquainted with the harsh and dry cold of Lady Demeter's wrath—read, faceplanted on it several times under his own Father's attack—he still appreciates the gesture.

Thank you. [He swings the cape so it will drape over his shoulders, but before clasping it shut, he pauses.] Won't you be cold, though? [He raises his arm questioningly, offering the other end of the cape. Zagreus isn't exactly a juggernaut of a godling, so there's room for everyone.

Any other time he hadn't snacked about as he watched people walk and dance past, he'd actually be a little coyer about it, but as is, Zagreus just thinks nothing of the offered proximity the source of warmth would bring. He instead chuckles.] No offense taken. I wholeheartedly agree. I did try to liven up the place a bit, but there's only so much you can do, considering.

[A group of three children pass by, laughing and wearing garish outfits that Zag doesn't recognize. Still, he compliments them, and they give them both squares of Sundrop that they were carrying in their little bags in return.

Unwrapping the cake piece carefully with a light smile after waving them off, ('Thank you, terrifyingly awesome beings!') Zagreus nods with a sigh.] I also agree with how important it is for them. Living after death can be very daunting, and getting your feet back on the ground may take a while.

[A bite, and he hums.] This is delicious—so, what do you do for fun, then, if you're not partying?

[ He wouldn't usually get so close to someone, much less an acquaintance, but he's eaten enough Weird Stuff today that it's only after a moment of hesitation that he huddles under the cape too with a quick thank you. The fabric's at a slightly comical pitch with their height difference, but it works.

And despite the oddness... it's nice. The children scuttle over at them, and Dimitri greets them with a small smile, even if he lets Zagreus handle the talking. They seem happy despite the circumstances, mischievous as children anywhere are wont to be.

It's almost normal. He doesn't rush to eat this new treat they've been gifted, though he holds it care as he answers. ]

Yes, even at my age I struggle with this entire "life after death" business. It's hard not to feel listless—all the purpose that life gave me... I admit I'm at something of a loss without it.

[ He suddenly has an absolute glut of time on his hands, and nothing to fill it with anymore. Sometimes you arrive in the afterlife without many hobbies and it's all one weird long existential crisis. ]

Frankly, I didn't have much opportunity for leisure. I would go out for a ride if time allowed, but it rarely did. What of you? You must have done something to entertain yourself, despite where you were.

[Zag almost does a double-take, uses the new proximity to peer at Dimitri more closely. He doesn't seem that old, but he had told him about how harsh winters were where he was from. Perhaps Dimitri was at an age where he was already expected to come to terms with his own mortality.

Death, however, seems to approach everyone in the same manner. He had been told that younger shades had been entering Hades when Demeter's bitter cold flooded the surface, noticed them milling about the halls in the House, also struck by promise and potential that would never be fulfilled. He nods. He hadn't thought he'd relate so soon, but now here he was, equally empty-handed.] Was there much for you to do back home?

Do you mean a horse ride? I've never ridden a horse; it does sound fun. [Eating voraciously at the cake he was offered, he takes his time to chew and swallow, careful not to speak with his mouth full. There is no escape from crumbs on one's face, however, no matter how princely a person is.] I learned how to play the lyre, if anything because a friend of mine told me I should. But I'm like you in that regard. I didn't have much time, either, between trying to escape my Father's realm and the paperwork he wanted me to do. [He sighs, looks at the distance, at where the parade goes around a corner, and it seems to disappear from existence just from being out of sight alone.] Do you know the feeling of not wanting to sit down because you know that if you do, you will not want to get up again? I feel like I was stuck there.

[ "Escape" is an interesting word. Why would he be fleeing from his own family's land? But it sounds like he's found something of a like soul, despite their obvious differences. ]

Yes. Some prefer riding pegasi or wyverns, but I've always been partial to horses. [ It's a more grounded experience, literally. ] I suppose that's more representative of my interests. I've never been much for the arts—I think I'd snap every string on a lyre before I could coax out any music from it.

[ He sounds exasperated about it, but he does admire people who can manage more delicate things. The strings of an instrument, words in a story, a paintbrush. He doesn't tend to hold much other than a weapon or a quill these days. ]

...I understand the struggle of paperwork, at least. [ He sounds briefly amused about it, because what a boring thing they have in common, but then he falls into his more usual melancholy. ] Was there a reason you wanted to leave? If it isn't too forward to ask.

[ That restless, driving energy has to come from somewhere. ]

[Pegasi. It's not the first time he's mentioned them. He had heard of Bellerophon, who rode Pegasus into battle against the fire-breathing monster known as the Khimaira. He's unsure about the origins of the steed, with many ill-meaning shades hissing in Dusa's direction every now and then before they're ushered toward Asphodel or the Erinyes. She had shrugged about it, as much as a busy gorgon head can shrug, anyway, told him to pay no mind.] Do you think you could do it here again?

[If there are fish in the netherworld, shouldn't there be horses?

He matches that amusement, albeit wry and a little dry.] Paperwork is a specific type of torture saved for a very special place in Hell. I should know.

[Zagreus shakes his head in what he hopes is reassurance.] It's not. I think everyone knew, back where I came from, anyway. [Excuse him, Dimitri, but that melancholy is contagious. He slumps his shoulder against his arm due to the height difference; nothing meaningful behind it, just a means to better curl under the cape.] There was something I needed to do. Though really, in hindsight, I do believe it's because I never quite felt I belonged at home. My Father expected a different Prince, I suppose.

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.

That would be great, really. I've been fishing a lot lately. It's more fun than I thought. [The grablenuts are doing a good number on Zag. He's not the type of person to initiate this type of closeness, even with the closest of his friends, unless they've shown and expressed some desire for it. He prefers to respect people's distance, and he's used to those Chthonic entities preferring a wider berth. He's very good at fending off his own needs for it.

But for now, he feels cold, and it's hostile, considering he always feels like a human furnace, and Dimitri is warm beside him. The press of his arm against his shoulder is enough for him. He barely has a mind to ask for permission.

He grins instead.] Is it that surprising? I suppose I don't really look the part.

[Not that he's tried, not really. Even in the rare function of the House, he'd be seen fussing with his himation and chiton, wishing for the whole thing to end. It was all so solemn, especially in comparison to the festivities happening then.

The ever-present smile to him morphs into something a little more curious.] You seem to know what you're talking about.

[ As strange as it is, it's surprisingly nice to have close company. It's not often he meets a touch that isn't the steel edge of a blade. Huddled up like this, it's almost a little like childhood—shivering thoughtlessly and chatting beside a friend.

Though their conversation is on a decidedly un-casual topic. ]

Ah, I suppose. [ It's as noncommittal an answer as anything, but between all the very pleasant tea and snacks, after a pause, he pries loose some details. ] I'd already inherited my father's throne, but it was just a few years ago. My days as a prince are still fresh in my mind. So yes, I think I can relate.

[ He usually dodges mentioning it; it feels a little pretentious to talk as a king, considering the fact that they're all dead. But they're like souls, at least. ] Though it sounds like things were more... tumultuous for you.

[ Dimitri's father had never been openly disapproving of him when he was alive. ]

[Inheriting someone's throne. Zagreus had no intention of ever sitting on Hades' chair, Prince of the Underworld or not. It's possibly a good thing that his Father was immortal, even if he were forever relegated to his position as a Prince.

He scoffs, remembering a rather annoying character he met during his travels.] Would that every King was as unpretentious as you.

[Dimitri has been friendly and accessible, if a little demure. Zag appreciates it, nonetheless. It feels familiar.] I suppose my Father and I… started with the wrong foot. I'm no good at some responsibilities, and he had no patience or time to teach me.

[Hindsight is 20/20, and that is true if he doesn't talk about the lying about his mother. He chuckles, but the mirth is aimed at himself.] You see, I'm really, really bad at it. I don't think I'd be a good ruler at all.

[ He smiles a little at the compliment, even if he'd rather wince. He's unpretentious because he's unremarkable, most likely. But most good nobles have learned a modicum of modesty—it's unbefitting of their station to act lofty simply because they were born into power.

In that regard, Zagreus too lacks the haughty arrogance that often plagues royalty. It doesn't really feel like two lords discussing policy right now, so much as a pair of young men bemoaning their circumstances in life. They might even be mistaken for normal, not immune to the cold or to familial issues. ]

It isn't an easy thing to take care of an entire realm. I can't claim I was good at it either. Oftentimes I wonder why such huge responsibilities are inherited, rather than assigned.

[ There's technically reasons for it in Fodlan, but for Zagreus? It's too early for him to speculate. ]

But you're being rather harsh on yourself. All things come with study and effort. Perhaps you just hadn't had the opportunity or the means with which to develop your talents.

[ Not every father makes for a good teacher. ]

[He snaps his head towards Dimitri, eyebrows high and arched in recognition.] I know, right? So many of those could also be delegated to others. Even a good ruler must have shortcomings; it feels unfair to them that they carry all the weight of their domain.

[Wouldn't it be better if everyone helped? Isn't that truly what brings people together when they're striving for the same thing? He wonders if that's really where the bitterness towards his father comes from, but there's something there, lacking. It's not about responsibilities or a throne. It's in the blood; as though he's made to question everything because his own existence was, too, questionable.

He shakes his head, shoulders rolling down upon catching himself rambling.] Apologies; apparently, I have a lot of opinions regarding things that don't pertain to me.

[He contorts his face into something somewhat pained.] What if I don't really wish to develop those talents?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

MOD EVENT #001

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

i didn't get the notif for this i'm so sorry!

it's all good!!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject