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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

[hm.]

Why would I be? You lost.

[he says it flippantly, watching claude's face with careful eyes.

more dissonance. the feeling was familiar, irritating to remember his most recent encounter with it. wanting revenge? that implied several things. and although he hadn't been the one to fight claude personally, he had eyes—and the man in front of him was both lacking and possessing certain features. he drums his fingers on the table once, waiting.

the merrymaking continues on around them unabated.]

[ He watches Felix in return. He doesn't know Felix very well, but he gets the sense that his question might've sparked something. It's likely that he's not the only who's noticed something awry.

But he's not sure that he wants Felix to realize just how awry. ]

You seem like the type to hold onto your anger forever. That's all.

[the statement hangs in the air between them, felix answering it only with silence, and a long, narrow stare.

he wasn't asking the right questions. but what question would get him answers with claude? these little games were his personal bane—another reason to avoid his inheritance. the whole situation was irritating, irrational, and his patience was already wearing thin with it.]

Enlighten me.

What happened?

[if this was anything like the other, then there was reason to the madness.]

[ He's sure that Felix is suspicious now, that his recollection of Fódlan and Claude's might be different. Claude is fairly sure that he had never met the Faerghus army in Gronder, and he doubts that he can pretend that he did for long.

That said, there's no reason to tell Felix the truth. He could probably make up anything and Felix would be none the wiser. ]

We met at Gronder, opposing armies, and your superior tactics sent me packing.

[ He resists the urge to add "apparently", trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. While he won't deny Dimitri and his council their strengths, it is difficult to believe they could outsmart him.

Overpowering though, he could believe. ]

[well, that was that. and it was somewhat of a relief, knowing he wasn't getting any further with this.]

Fine. Keep your secrets. [irritated regardless, he waves the whole affair off with one gesture, shaking his head.] Are you asking everyone you find from Fódlan if they bear you a grudge, or am I special?

[ Claude wants to say something along the lines of claiming that Felix is the most violent of the three; the angriest; the most vengeful.

But he doesn't actually believe it to be true, and it's a little too fake for even his ears.

So he considers the question a while before sighing. ]

You garnered my interest, that's all. [ Very carefully, ] By my calculation, you should be at least a couple years younger than 24.

By your calculation.

[eyes narrowing slightly, he repeats the words, middling surprised he's even getting them. if he hadn't already been seated, he probably would have walked off by now.

but he was still here, so to hell with it. and doubtless sylvain would bother him about it if he heard he didn't ask more.]

Not at Gronder, younger than I am, full of vengeance towards you specifically—by your arithmetic, I'm adding up to be a different person.

[if it had been the first, it would have been more galling, but this was child's play compared to the boar.]

I can't really speak to that.

[ His tone is vaguely puzzled, but not particularly hostile. The discrepancies don't frustrate him as much as they fascinate him, curious as to how there could be such gaps and differences in their ages, memories, and histories.

He has no reason to doubt Felix—he'd never struck Claude as the deceitful type—and therefore believes with certainty that he had met Claude on Gronder Field for battle. Another Claude. Another timeline. ]

But yeah, your histories are certainly different. To a degree. You're still the Duke Fraldarius, and a prominent member of Dimitri's army.

[the line has the effect of almost immediately causing felix to stand up, scowling, anger flashing in his eyes.]

I'm no Duke.

[he spits the words out, rushing right by the reason why the statement inflamed him in the first place. he would have been, wouldn't he? and now he never will. good. good riddance. let it die, too.]

And don't act like the boar has ever led our army in any way other than as its beastly figurehead.

[but even incensed, the thought worms his brain. that dimitri--this other dimitri. what did he do?]

[ ... Okay.

For once, he doesn't bother hiding his surprise, eyes wide while Felix lashes out... for some reason. He hasn't forgotten that Felix was perpetually angry back at the Academy, but they'd never spoken enough for him to really see it first hand.

Anyway, ] Sure, I have some qualms about Dimitri's decisions as a king, but he struck me as less beast than Edelgard.

[ Dimitri wasn't the one viciously conquering the continent. ]

[there was something about this alternate world, where the boar walked instead of crawled, was crowned, respected, that galled him. a miniature portrait of a Faerghus that could have been. a window into another life.

and he wanted to smash it. scatter the pieces, pretend he'd never seen it, heard of it. enraging to think about, because rage was the only emotion he could picture having, using, in a case like this. he wanted to kill claude for even talking of it, a thick and muffled dark wisp wrapping around his brain like a poison, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. give him a little of the vengeance he sought out.

there's a drawn out, tense moment—before he turns away from claude, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.]

Hah.

This one has everyone fooled.

[ Claude watches Felix like he's a test subject in a lab experiment, fascinated by the way he responds to certain stimuli in ways that he wouldn't have anticipated. From what he recalls, Felix and Dedue flanked Dimitri equally, his left and right hand.

How interesting, that he wasn't the only one with someone who blatantly hated him at his side. He'd always envied Dimitri and Edelgard for the blind loyalty that they seemed to command, but maybe that was just the grass looking greener. ]

Perhaps. [ He has no idea, and he's not as interested in that as he is, ] So he's not the Dimitri that you remember? What about Sylvain?

Sylvain I know.

[claude was wheedling for information, either out of curiosity, information-gathering, or both. normally he would have snapped that it wasn't any of his business—but the situation was so odd to begin with. and what did it matter what claude did and didn't know? they were dead.

and there was something about the way his shadow was talking that suggested it might move to make any threats a reality.]

But there's no two-eyed boars when I'm from.

[and this, if anything, was an opportunity. information for information.]

So tell me everything you know about him.

[ Interesting. He would've expected all of the Faerghans to come from the same history. He wonders why Dimitri is different from Felix and Sylvain...

The demand earns a shrug from him, not minding but also not having much to offer. ]

All right, though I only loosely kept up with what was happening in the Kingdom after we left Garreg Mach.

[ Well, not entirely. He did keep tabs on the unrest, but he's not exactly some Dimitri expert. ]

Dimitri and the rest of you left Garreg Mach before graduation because his uncle was attempting a coup in Fhirdiad. Together, you managed to stop his plans and he was excuted. Shortly after, Dimitri was crowned King of Faerghus. Your father also stepped down as Duke around that time, and you replaced him.

[ Something about Rodrigue making himself a scapegoat. ]

After that, you all ruled in relative peace—as far as I know—until Edelgard declared war against the Central Church in 1182. Dimitri made the decision to shelter Rhea, which made the Kingdom Edelgard's primary target.

Last I remember, Dimitri and Edelgard were still locking horns with no clear winner.

[the information overload is real, despite the sparse details. coup? king? duke? then his father was still alive? and the war didn't happen until after the coronation? nothing seemed to make any sense.

brow knitting and furrowing, felix sits down again, hands flat on the table top, perhaps to stabilize himself.]

And where were you, in all of this? Where was the Alliance?

[ 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.

[but, of course, the kingdom was her main target. the church. some things weren't so different.

he sits back, turning the thoughts over in his mind. if this really is the version of fódlan this other dimitri is from, then things begin to make sense about his reaction in the wastelands. things were different—they were different.

mentally, he slams the book shut on all of it. no. there was no point in puzzling through all of it. he could deal with it as it came. but now at least he had some questions to ask if the boar tripped into his path again.]

One more question.

In this Fódlan of yours. Am I alive?

Last I heard you were, but Edelgard's doing her best.

[ Would another Felix wind up here? How strange. ]

Hmph.

[so only he was dead, and he was still no closer to understanding why. did that make him the inferior version? the notion irks him enough to deepen his frown. no. perhaps the other him was simply more cowardly.]

So what does the ex-leader of the Alliance plan to do now?

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MOD EVENT #001

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