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]

[Carefully, he draws his legs up again and reclines back into the woven hay beside her, shoulder to shoulder except for when she moves.

The strange sky above seems to please him more than it normally would. In fact, a lot of what he can focus on happening now does. The laughter and conversation all around, the sound of cracking fire, the smell of food over the vile one he swallowed, her heartbeat and blood, her breath, all swollen into one big crescendo. It's enjoyable, to be here in this moment, warm from head to foot, and aroused too for no reason. The humanity of his body just simply does as it pleases without his restraint or consent.

And he only lies there in it, smiling faintly, soaking it.]

It's a dangerous illusion to get attached to.

[seaboard]

[ Her fingers lift up, breathing quietly a hum that would only be needed for such a small thing - a trickle of water that lifts in her magic. Far more controllable and less likely to fail these days, apparently, as she weaves it in a ribbon by curling her fingers around and around. To form the shape of a sea-dragon, a delicate creature, drifting like seaweed, translucent and made bright by the firelight reflecting through it. ]

No, not an illusion. An unveiling. [ A sigh. Dreaming and content. ] I had forgotten how beautiful it is. The wonder of it all.

[damnpire]

No one can be this elated.

[Can they? He watches her pull the water into being, bewildered by how happy it makes him to see something so simple, to see—magic? He is smiling, reserved, not knowing why his face is betraying him this way.

Humans can be this elated…? Is this what it feels like? It seems more akin to vampires. The sort of feeling he can taste whenever he lets himself lean into his Nobility for strength during a battle. He’s seen it, though. Human bliss.

When they’re married, when there’s a birth, when they look at the one they love.

He murmurs,] Maybe they can.

cw: childbirth sucks, infant mortality rates in history also suck

[seaboard]

They can.

[ She can assure of him of that much, the gentle brush of mind against a mind that closeness breathes without necessarily understanding that it is happening, that shifts to memories from the present to the forefront of her mind.

The birth of her children, exhausted, sweat-slick and bloody, the battlefield a bed could be for any woman that she had died and yet fought for life against, crying harder from pain than she had ever cried before in her life - to have her child pressed into her arms. Swaddled, cleaned, put to her chest to nurse, blue eyes bright - hers, but his colouring all his fathers, dark complexion and hair. Perfect, perfect in that cry of a life becoming where even after all that effort there was no certainty the child would take their first breathes. But he wailed, small and new to the world. Her own child. Young and whole. A transcendence that she had what she wanted always, a family, and now, she had at last fulfilled the first duty of the Second-Child, and given heirs to give her people certainty after so many years of threatening instability.

And she wept and wept and wept in the love that burned her through. ]

They can. And it can carry a heart through so much in life, for knowing those brief few moments.

closes my eyes and lifts her up

[damnpire]

[They can.

It's lying here that he understands again what he's already understood for a long time. This bliss--not Nobility, but human. Why he's a Hunter, letting them hire him so they can continue to be born, to fall in love, to get married, to grow old, to even die on their own terms with such short lives. He does it for this bliss, to be glad in the knowledge they experience it.

His lashes flutter, and then he closes his eyes for a long moment of kaleidoscope darkness. They open again.]

I'm glad.

[He holds no bitterness to the idea he can't participate in any of these things (his own idea, his own imposed discipline). He's accepted the notion long ago. That kind of life is not for someone like him.

But all the same, he's glad. He's glad.]

[seaboard]

[ She weaves the water above them to form shapes, of dancing figures, and dolphins jumping, a whale that slowly pushes itself through. ]

I had such faith, when I was young, that I should always remember this. But it gets... harder, as you grow older. The reminders must become more... forceful, sometimes.

[ She is outside of it, she must also hold true. That such things are beyond her, for what she has done, she has no place in the rest of the world anymore. But that she can help another find that place once more? It brings a happy smile to her. There were many perhaps that would rankle at duty - least of all in her family. But being needed for something only ever brought her comfort. ]

[damnpire]

[He doesn't dare even think about touching the watery forms above them, too scared his existent itself will cause them to pop, to wither, to disperse. It's not unlike what he thinks already about himself and others, himself and more fragile things he can destroy easily, like humans.]

The longer you live, the more you're burdened by living. It's why humans live so little. So they don't forget all the things that make living wonderful. So that things change rather than remain stagnant.

[He still doesn't entirely think they are dead--or, rather, there is no way back to the lives they had. But he supposes they may be dead now.]

[seaboard]

I remember so well, still, when I was a little girl...

[ She shuffles, tilting her head against his shoulder, a deep sigh where it just feels right to lay against him. For no other reason than closeness was too, something to be enjoyed in life. ]

I did not understand why we must let go of happiness and sorrow. I felt everything keenly, you see. I wept over everything. It seemed to have a hold on me at times, that my mother despaired at me. But one of my fathers', Salvric, he told me that to feel such is to bear witness to life, and that we must, because one without the other would not be life at all.

[damnpire]

[A ripple flows out over him from where he head connects with his arm, a warm and fuzzy sort of sensation thrilled to have existed even for seconds.

Logically, he thinks this is weird, but spiritually, he can’t find it within himself to worry about a damn thing going on right now.]

That man was right.

[At least D thinks so; he clearly has similar philosophies. About humans mostly, not really himself.]

When people stop feeling, they forget their empathies.

[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.

[damnpire]

[For a long time, he's quiet, almost as if he hadn't heard what she said. His shining eyes peer somewhat forlornly above them. He'd like to say he doesn't have any joys much less any joys to rival something like the birth of a child.

But that isn't entirely true.]

Seeing humans live, [he finally admits, voice soft. The joys aren't about him, yet they are joys for him all the same.] When children are playing without fear, when they grow up into adults who fall in love, who get married and have a family. When parents become grandparents.

And when they die after a long life, not alone but surrounded by friends and family who loved them.

[seaboard]

[ She listens to him, his voice lulling and soft against the wildness of the night, these seconds stolen, almost. That somehow he should be so clear and yet so quiet.

Let it instil her as she closes her eyes for a moment. Before she realises, and slowly, draws herself up, not breaking it. Her long wild hair is a cloak against the world beyond their little haybale as it falls around them. That soft quiet sound of the sea that echoes gently could only be heard this close. ]

You are full of love, aren't you? Enough to watch the world for aeons, and love it still.

[damnpire]

[Carefully, his gaze shifts over to her, though he doesn't budge in where and how he lies there. He peers at her from beneath his lashes, the stoic expression softening that tiny bit.

He listens to the voice of the ocean over the feeling of the slowly dying bliss inside him.]

Humans touch the world for so little of a time, but can change it as if they've touched it for an eternity. That's how it should be. People living and people dying.

[seaboard]

And you? Who regards you? Who finds the beauty not of your lips but of your heart?

[ curious, perhaps almost worried. How he seemed to be so caring, so deeply so, and yet wore it all at an arms length in the little she had seen. ]

[damnpire]

[Honestly, he could say some people were probably able to witness him kindly watching the world. If the people were respectful, so was he, and they could see it. Him being compassionate, even him smiling like he had after first drinking what Gilia had given him.

But instead, in his quiet voice, he says,] No one. [Not letting himself linger, or be seen, or make connections, that much is true to him. Not a soul. Very few alive still.]

I'm not a savior. I'm a monster. There isn't a place for me in a world like that. If we are dead, my time had come to an end. And the world is better for it.

[He doesn't sound sad, just resolute, accepting.]

[seaboard]

[ Her hand moves groggily, carefully, sweeping back the fine black strands off his brow, fussing almost. ]

Then we are well met. Damned to damned.

[ She is no better than he is. There can be no undoing what she has done, and she knows truly, that must be why she is not at one with the Sea, as she should be. ]

I suppose that leaves me then. [ She leans forward, carefully, slowly, and kisses his brow in a soft surety. A careful, slow, benediction. ] I shall know your heart's secret, for when you cannot.

[damnpire]

[The lids of his eyes lower reflexively as she passes her hand over his face and fusses with his hair. The skin of his face looks as if it should be cold, too, but it's as warm as his hands somehow. Warmer now with the drink bubbling inside of him.

The kiss surprises him enough it makes the features of his face soften ever so slightly. The idea of someone not minding being near him at all much less willing to touch him is different. Why is that...?

That some people aren't afraid of him?]

Why do you believe you're also damned?

cw: child death, suicide ideation

[seaboard]

Once I was She Who Sings the Ocean to Prosperity, but now? I am the Endless Wail. [ How to answer it for someone that does not understand the implicit nature of what she is, and that she is a what, now, not a woman.

Her hand withdraws, cupping against his jaw as she tilted him to look at her eyes, churning and dark in the fire light. Let him look, look, look and she wonders, if she shall be all he fears, once she tells him. Shall he strike her down like the nobles he spoke of?

She can only hope so. ]

My enemies caused me to go to war. But I am Daughter-Sea, Second-Child, to the Sea-Father himself. My voice is pure, even when their assassins mistakenly took it from me. I am a malformed, little creature, but the love I gave was given to my Holy Father pure and my voice true to Him in worship, and He has always returned it fully.

So when my pain was great, my fear greater, He answered the way He knows how. I went to battle in the throws of it all, I screamed and screamed and screamed, and laid waste to them all so utterly in that moment I ended their petty war with themselves for good. I sank a hundred ships. I drowned a thousand men and women. In a moment, I littered the water with so many corpses, they wash up still upon the shore.

When the waves crashed to shore? I had destroyed my own city, too. Dozens of my own people, innocent to it all, left dead under the rubble.

Including one of my own children.

[ She bares her crimes patiently, one by one. Step by step. ]

I know why to this fallen place I have come. If all was right, I should be nothing but bones scraping the sea floor.

[damnpire]

[With no reluctance, his head turns under her hand, and he peers at her through his lashes. If the tale is meant to make him angry, or vengeful, or frightened, it doesn't show on his face at all. The blissful drink is wearing incredibly thin.

In a way, she isn't unlike some of the Nobles on the Frontier. Many of them never had any human morals at all--they weren't ever human to begin with, born instead to vampire parents, vampire grandparents, and so on. But some of them, very few of them, had the notion to understand what they have done.

He thinks that's the deciding factor sometimes. The guilt. However, it doesn't not absolve anyone of their end.]

The fact you regret these things means you aren't as much of a monster as you think. The ones who lack empathy for those with less are the real monsters. [Very funny coming from him when he thinks what he thinks about himself.] But no amount of regret can stop retribution from coming. If I ever drank the blood of a human, another Hunter would come for me.

And that's the way it should be if it happened. Me being killed by a Hunter.

[That's the death he deserves if he became a truly ugly creature.]

Do you plan to stay here even if we find a way to go back?

[seaboard]

[ Does he need to drink blood and yet denies it? It seemed something terrible to him, even if she didn't completely understand what he meant by it. But did she need to other than to say he was afraid of it in some for.

Another question, later, later. One day perhaps she will ask. ]

If I am dead, then I am dead. That is the way of all beings, great and small, and I have no intention of fighting it. My people deserve my end, they have suffered enough. As you say. Regret does not stop the retribution deserved, and I deserve it and more.

[ But that is not what he is really asking, is he?

She rolls back, she cannot look at anyone and face the truth of, simple as it is. Looking up and up and up at the foreign sky. ]

What would I go back too? A life where you fail in all you set out to do, where all cower in fear at you? I am the most powerful woman in fourteen lands, and I am alone, and I am unloved. At least here, I am afforded pretence. I am no one. I am nothing. Then perhaps, I can find to do what a ruler should, and lay myself down so others may prosper. It will be quiet, it will be unmarked because I have lived a quiet, simple life.

[ It isn't as simple as death that she seeks: it is an undoing, to be cut back to a place that had never existed for any child of royal blood.

To where there was no consequence, no stakes, just the quiet, the peace, to be and that would be enough. ]

[damnpire]

[When she falls back, his own head turns to look above them as well, as if giving her the privacy. He can listen. It’s what he’s good at.

This makes him think of talking to Shalem, of how poorly it went at the end when he tried to remind Shalem to live what little days were left by going home if it’s possible. He decides to not be so impolite this time.

Some don’t want to return, and that’s their business, that’s fine.

Her description is simply a description about himself. Being alone. Being feared. Being a dark sort of blemish on things. His lips thin, but there isn’t anything he can say against it.]

There are opportunities here to be someone different than you once were at the end.

Will you stay here in this holding place, or will you try to find whatever Ascension of which the Stygians speak?

[seaboard]

I do not know.

[ The little trickle of water is called back to her, swirling back into the phial at her hip, quick and quiet. ]

No, wait, that is not right. [ Groggy in the left over haze, she must take a moment to muddle it forward. Why the truth mattered here, now, when no one has ever cared particularly for truth, let alone hers, remains to be seen. But it did. ] I have chosen not to think on it. I do not suppose I want to. I am...

I think I am content not making great and echoing choices, for once, and that it does not matter to anyone.