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

[zauneyete]

[ Silco turned, to look at him head-on, and in the deep of the shadows, his eye glowed in the shadows -- like it burned with a light from within, instead of reflecting light from elsewhere. It's not hard to figure out who this was, as he had been referred to as dangerous by too few people, and this much taller man calling him dangerous -- laughable -- sealed the deal.

He took a puff of his cigar, but did D the kindness of blowing the smoke away from the man. ]

As you can see, not very dangerous in person.

[ See? Short, not strong in the slightest, and middle aged. Then again, Silco's weapon had so often been his mind, rather than his stature. He had people for the second. ]

Why wouldn't you belong in the party? [ He asked, instead of getting into the whole 'dangerous' talk again, instead wondering what brought someone else to the sidelines. Was he a Teetotaler, or something else, perhaps? ]

[damnpire]

[Quietly to himself, D hums, thoughtful. He doesn't pursue any other philosophical discussion about the viciousness residing in men, but he understands well that the least capable looking man can be the most deadly.

Silco's business will be Silco's business, however, unless someone is paying him to pay it any mind.]

Because I'm a dhampir.

[God knows what else half the others are, or were, but all he cares about really is that he is firmly on the side of not belonging.]

And I don't care for parties.

[zauneyete]

Is that some sort of... [ He waved the hand with the cigar, trying to come up with a word. He had no idea what a dhampir was. ] Species? Like a yordle?

[ Okay, maybe nothing like a yordle. D was much more distinguished than that, wasn't he? ]

Not liking parties, though... [ A shrug. ] They're loud, raucous, and one cannot get out of them without refuse on their shoes half the time. I understand the distaste.

[ He says this with a crooked smile. Silco isn't in the middle of this, but he certainly doesn't look uncomfortable. More like the type that thrives from simply basking in all of it. ]

[damnpire]

It’s the offspring of a human and a vampire.

[He doesn’t know if Silco knows what a vampire is, but the other man is free to ask. D offers no further explanation for now.]

I don’t mind watching.

[Though that’s about it. Revelry is for humans, not someone like him.]

[zauneyete]

Huh.

[ Silco has no idea what that is. While there are vampires on his world, they are a secretive order in another country -- one that Silco is far removed from, and likely hadn't encountered. His confusion was written across his face, but he didn't say anything about it, opting to research it instead.

Self sufficiency was the name of the game. ]

No? I agree. I don't tend to over-indulge, but the energy is something different, isn't it? It's free, in a way that's unique. Even here, amongst the dead, they find some reason to celebrate.

[damnpire]

[It's peculiar, he can agree with Silco on that much, as an outsider. But he's spent so long standing behind the underdog, he finds comfort in the familiarity of it. Oblivium may not be the Nobility, yet it might as well all be the same.

A powerful force eating away at people just trying to live their lives--or unlives.]

Without celebration, there would be nothing left but misery.

[zauneyete]

Mm, and what is misery, but a tool to keep the masses under the heel of that which seeks to subjugate them, yes?

[ He says it, and his tone is... light, almost like it's a joke, but it's wrapped around a core of iron, that bar of the cold reality that Silco all-too-well knew. It was something he was so painfully familiar with, and his lip curled into a sharp, hard-edged smile. ]

Did you ever think that the dead would look like this? Masses trying to dance to fight off the encroaching malaise?

I don't think I ever considered that it would look like this.

[damnpire]

[The fact Silco is so quick to find some speck of malice in everything piques D's general curiosity. This really is a man who has been sanded into a sharp edge by a coarse file.

He wonders if he would be the same sort of man if he had taken a different path, looked at things differently. He probably would.]

Someone like me shouldn't have an afterlife. So I'm surprised to see one at all. [He glances at Silco a little.] What did you think it would look like?

[zauneyete]

[ This one should not surprise D, when Silco says: ]

Probably torture. There are a few...religions lurking where I am from, but they were often so...hopeful. Looking for salvation beyond while they starved in the present.

[ Perhaps, if Silco had not gone through a specific sequence of events, there would have been hope for him. Perhaps if he hadn't stumbled, scrabbled, and forced the world to allow him to survive, perhaps there would have been hope. But, well, that wasn't the world, or the people Silco came from. Instead, he's just a blight of sharp, cold pessimism -- ready to douse with cold water at any moment. ]

Or nothing, I supposed. [ He appraised D for a moment. ] Does this mean you shouldn't have died?

[damnpire]

[Ah yes, the malice and paranoia. This tracks.]

That's what most religions are for.

[The Frontier has them, too. A few linger around from an extremely old world, but Christianity is still the most prominent. It's a vehicle of hope, and optimism, and fulfillment for the humans who usually suffer. He's not sure if Silco would understand, or, better yet, agree of its necessity. So he doesn't argue.]

It's unlikely I died, but not impossible. This seems like purgatory. A holding dimension.

[zauneyete]

It certainly seems like it, doesn't it? Wasn't there something about...

[ His hand waved, then. As if he was trying to come up with the words, before the airquotes came out, one hand made the motion -- the other still too busy with the cigar to join in. ]

"Moving on"? I think I remember hearing something about it.

I will admit, I never offered much time for Theology. Too busy with... a multitude of other, much more important pieces of business.

[ You know. Erecting a drug empire to intimidate the people above you into giving your city freedom while subsequently poisoning it. ]

[damnpire]

Ascension.

[He's not sure whether the gossip reminds him of a Rapture or a return home. Maybe instead of being gnawed and ripped apart by rolling, tumultuous darkness, the other thing that awaits them is being eviscerated by a grand, celestial array of light.]

People walking with a God would tell you those are the times when you need theology the most.

[He doesn't know what kind of business, sure, but he knows Silco is probably not a man who spends time spinning kids on a merry-go-round.]

What do you plan to do?

[Now that Silco is "dead" without any of the former worries. Supposedly.]

[zauneyete]

[ Look, actually, if Jinx asked, he would have spent time spinning her on a merry go round. Thankfully, his daughter liked normal kid stuff. Like stealing, and bombs.

Silco held a hand to his chin, considering the question. What was his plan to do? He didn't care about this realm, and this whole... positive, soulmate-promoting society here was enough to give the dour man hives. He wasn't a fighter, and had never thought of himself as one, but one thing did make him curious.

The hierarchy.

It's just close enough to a criminal organization, that Silco is curious about it. ]

Who knows? Perhaps I'll just run another bar... perhaps I'll look into the Hierarchy? I've never been in a place that I didn't have a plan for. This is...different.

[ Really, Silco has never Truly left the city he was born in, other than the rare visit topside, but that's technically the same city. ]

[damnpire]

[D, trying desperately to stay in his own lane at all times: makes the mistake of talking to Laurent and Silco who want to stick their fingers in the Hierarchy honeypot.

Not that he doesn’t want to speak to them either. Just not the way Laurent had in mind.]

The Parliament House is heavily guarded and has no entry except by invitation.

[He isn’t dissuading Silco so much as telling the man the avenue of breaking in is unfruitful.]

[zauneyete]

I noticed.

[ His tone is wry, as if he was saying something that was obvious. ]

Secretive authority force, where the only way in is if they deign you worthy? [ That slide of sarcasm never leaves his tone, although there's a line of steel underneath it, a foundation that his thoughts are built upon. ]

Perhaps I'll have to make myself of interested to them. But not too much interest, mind. I've already heard what they do to those they consider...unsavory.

[damnpire]

Allowing just anyone inside could disturb whatever balance they've curated. [He isn't saying he agrees. He isn't trying to make excuses either really. This is simply what he thinks they are thinking.] To them, we're probably young. Not disciplined.

The thing inside of us festers more.

[The Shadow. Untamed. Whatever secrets they have, and they likely do, he doesn't know. But he understands, he thinks, why they are going about it the way they are.]

Speak to the ones willing to talk.

[zauneyete]

We're outsiders, more than anything else.

[ It's simple. He understands, of course. Zaun was similar, the few avenues for power were not open to outsiders. There's no way to guarantee that they had Zaun's best interests at heart, if they weren't from there. Then again, who even moved into Zaun? Not many people in general.

There was always some rich piltie or another trying to donate their way into "reforming" it, but...

Just like the Hierarchy would never let them in, the organization in the undercity would never let that happen. ]

If we can find some, certainly. That first one hadn't... exactly been willing, hm? I've started with...other avenues. Learning their movements, their involvement in Mirth... [ Ticked his fingers off. Silco was great with logistics, after all. ] Figure out the level of involvement on the ground offers more information than any one individual would tell us.

[damnpire]

[He listens to Silco with the little pointy ears peeking out of his dark hair, but his eyes stay fixed on everything else that continues on without concern for their conversation.

The curiosity and questions burn inside him, though he is a person who really doesn’t disrupt things unless it’s necessary.]

You may find more at the forges or the gallows. [Secrets.] But they are dangerous places.

[zauneyete]

So I've heard.

Personally, I've no inclination to find the forges. [ It's a bit... touchy, that. Silco doesn't want to be anywhere near it -- not just because it represented manual labor -- those reapers had certainly tried to send him there.

That meant they wanted him there, and until Silco had a way to defend from them, he didn't want to be anywhere near them. He couldn't even get a knife to stay together for long enough to pick under his nails. It was...frustrating, to be so weak, and defenseless. ]

The Gallows, however... I've thought about it. I've been in the hands of the authorities before, I at least know how to...squirm out of, if needed.

[damnpire]

[He doesn't know Silco’s reasons for avoiding the Forges, but finds it interesting nevertheless. It is quite a dangerous place for anyone, even himself.

But the Gallows don’t seem to bother Silco nearly as much…

His eyes finally glance back again, over the high collar. It doesn’t exactly surprise him Silco has a thick, terrible resume. They did establish Silco was not a wholesome man.]

They’ll use your soul to forge whatever they want. Don’t forget.

[As in, be careful.]

[zauneyete]

Oh don't worry, I'm not keen to forget the small detail that they might just turn me into a weapon.

[ A tip of his head, a flash of bucked teeth from behind lips that peeled into a smile. ]

I'd say I'm a survivor, but... I'm here. [ A beat. ] Although I'm not keen on being turned into a weapon to be used.

[ The word itself, the way he said it...that says enough, doesn't it? That spike of disgust, at the mere idea of it. ]

[damnpire]

[Hm. The tone brings enough understanding, and D can't completely disagree. He knows what it's like, adjacently, to be used, the distaste that comes with it.]

There are a lot of others here who feel the same.

[Which he's hoping will maybe keep Silco from using other people for any personal gain. Probably won't, but worth a shot to say anyway.]

[zauneyete]

Oh, I'm sure there are. Who would like it?

[ Yeah, probably not going to stop him. ]

I'm sure none of us would. It makes me wonder, what would motivate them to keep doing so, despite that. And why so many haven't risen up against it.

[ Complacency. His lip curled -- the side that wasn't quite so scarred did -- because the concept of being that complacent made him... angry. Just letting it happen? Of course, Silco would use as needed -- he'd always done so, that's how one survived in Zaun -- but it had been for a goal, an end -- or so he thought -- what would be the point, if it wasn't towards that goal? ]

[damnpire]

No one thinks there is any strength in it. [At least, on the Frontier, what little humans had been left never rose up against the vampires. The numbers weren't there yet. The uprising didn't happen until later... When there were more humans around. Kind of like how there is now more Restless suddenly thanks to them.

But also:] Perhaps what they are doing works.

[The other more philanthropic reason, though it doesn't sound like D believes heavily in either one.]

We won't know until we speak to them.

[zauneyete]

[ There is a scoff at the first statement. It is not dismissive to D's statement, but it is the weary, tired scoff, of someone who had lived it for all-too long. ]

Correct.

I suppose, if enough of us strive to get involved, perhaps something will leak through.

[ A beat, and his mouth twitched, like there was something behind his lips, a beast that fought to uncurl itself and burst forward. ]

If not... we'll talk again. I have experience in this... in rising against the authorities when they abuse their power, and strike at those who'd rise against them.