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

meangirls.gif

[redsoil]

[ Set wasn't always cruel. Loud and aggressive, stubborn and unyielding - yet. Cruelty was a newer mantle upon his shoulders, worn now for hundreds of years until it fit him like a second skin -- when the crowd paws at him, calling for him to join their inane celebrations, he hisses and snaps like a cornered animal. He seethes, tongue issuing insults that range from entirely in another language, to what might have amounted to existence-shattering mockeries, were this a cosmic horror.

He just wants them to stop reaching out for him. He's in no mood to be included, seized at and drawn into the noise and sway of bodies. People are repulsive, and he can still feel the slick rot and gore from the explorers he'd gathered and buried not too long ago. It's like an invisible, thin weight upon his skin - one that he continues to slide his palms over, nick his nails against, as though he needs to claw himself open to be truly clean again.

In the midst of one notably mean insult, he hears someone else entirely -- a stage-whisper near to his ear, that holds the refrain of cruelty so eagerly echoed by Set as well. ( If he is cruel, he does not need to appear weakened. ) ]

Oh, wouldn't that be a treat. Let those who've given into folly serve as amusement.

[ The notion of a soulmate -- hah. He hasn't given it a second thought. Nor has he examined the "room" that awaits him in the Shadowlands, either. What need is there? ]

At least he had the wit to carve holes to see through. Imagine if he had to be led around by the hand. Might as well submit to a leash, at that point.

[zauneyete]

A poor excuse for a pet, don't you think?

[ He asked, his tone chiding. Silco's eyes looked the man up and down, taking stock of the curve of his shoulders, how comfortable he looked in all of this. It's hell of a party right now, with the press of bodies, and he himself has his coat to make him look larger -- but it's hardly enough of a shield from the people who press too close.

Silco stiffened, when someone came too close, but he didn't slink away. He seemed to make himself bigger -- if just to make the person move, before he continued, his tone sly. ]

I think the smell might lead them to staying in the doghouse anyway. Ugh, the sweat, with that pumpkin?

[redsoil]

[ man i broke my italics in that last reply, dang ]

A pet?

[ The question comes without derision. Honestly, Set can see the merit in viewing the whole situation in the same light; the topic of soulmates had arisen with the public notice from the Hierarchy, and he had immediately put the entire thing from his mind in favor of independent pursuits ( information, security, hedonism ). Soulmates, Tethers. Just one more way to bind themselves together, and to bind him tighter and tighter against the freedoms he'd once had, and given up on seeking.

He watches the way Silco's posture shifts, when someone draws near - oh, he's like that. It's a bit like looking into a mirror. Something about it is engrossing, leading Set to tip his head across his shoulder - his hair a sleek spill of brilliant red over his arm and back. Conspiratorially, he cups a hand over his curling mouth and murmurs into Silco's ear. ]

Are pets the only thing you can think to lead around at your heel? Dream bigger. Imagine it -- all the benefits we're meant to have, by virtue of possessing a soulmate? And keep it under our feet, like a servant.

[zauneyete]

[ It's close enough that Silco almost reared back -- the closeness enough to make him uncomfortable, but Silco steeled himself, and remained tight, coiled like a bar of steel. He let the man whisper in his ear, but his head tipped, and his eyes looked over to him -- one eye bored into him, unblinking.

Then his eyebrows -- one drawn in -- rose, and he stifled a laugh. ]

Oh, you think that I don't have the imagination to dream bigger than a pet?

[ There's a laugh, but he leaned forward, his voice low. ] Once, I had an entire city beneath my heels, desperate, clawing, begging me and mine to stop. My own cities ran with power, and we were feared enough that they would give up money to stop us, and give us our land and mines. [ If only they hadn't asked for such a high, impossible price in return. ]

I can assure you, I will not lack for imagination.

[redsoil]

Come now, I didn't say that.

[ As Silco leans away from him, Set remains - hovering, where he'd encroached upon the man's space. He waits there, unyielding, until Silco returns to close the gap once more. Telling him a tale that's oddly enticing, of power and control; a city under his command, fear used to maintain order. What an interesting individual. He's heard of humans who have become rulers among their own kind, but none as capable as a god -- none as rightful as a god.

Wouldn't it be funny, were that to mean Silco was some manner of deity? Not a true one, but one in the eyes of his city. ]

I heard they are useful things to have, if only they weren't required to tangle themselves into the fabric of the soul in exchange. As one king to another: what do you imagine your ideal to be, hm? Silly pumpkin-wearing souls need not apply.

[zauneyete]

[ As one king to another, he says. Silco wonders at that. He considers him not a king, but a leader, certainly. No kings in Zaun, and he's nothing more than a man who'd scrabbled and scraped his way from the mines to smuggling, and then to a failed revolution. It was only pain, betrayal, and loss that led him to where he had been -- carefully constructed revenge against the world around him, against Piltover, Vander, and to take Zaun into the relative light.

Set asked him a question, though, and Silco focused on that, instead of fighting him on the statement. If he considered him a king, Silco wouldn't fight him on that.

He tipped his head up, considering. ]

My ideal... [ The only person or thing that wouldn't betray him, of course. The ideal, the very condensed spirit of Zaun in one person. There's one person Silco would consider to be the ideal, trustworthy, the one who'd shared his vision for the future.

And she'd shot him in the stomach, and killed him. Yet, Silco would trust none other. ]

Wild, and free. Untethered by society or norms, willing to do whatever was necessary. Brilliant, and sharp as a knife. Someone who knows what our shared goals are, and is willing to pursue it, above all else, and anyone else.

[redsoil]

You are a man impassioned by chaos, then.

[ There's a distinct lack of judgment in the way he says things. A god need not look down upon humans for the way they organize themselves, or in the ways that they resist that order; a mortal life is, in fact, a life of particular liberties, after all. They are limited creatures, who act in accordance to the influences of time, and while he has been distant and cruel to them for years -- there is a particular admiration for their messiness.

The way they live, so impassioned by things, until their end.

Even if his assessment of Silco is incorrect, he says it. Let him be corrected and learn, rather than hold his tongue -- that is the essence of the evil god, Set. ]

That you know what you seek is -- [ What is it, to him?

Set falters, his brow creasing as he thinks about Silco's answer. Contemplates the resolve of the man before him, who knows what it is he wants out of a partner, and can find the precise words to describe what type of person that might be.

He decides, with a small twist to his mouth - lacking cruelty, but not quite as trite as to be amused: ] Enviable.

I suppose to others, your resolve and vision is an enviable, terrifying thing.

[zauneyete]

Of course it's terrifying.

[ He said it, as if it were as simple as that. Silco was a man ruled by his own sense of order, perhaps. He lived according to how he saw fit, how he saw the world should be structured -- but he was the way he was simply because he'd had to be. Plenty of those from Zaun were chaotic and free, angry and able to lash out in the ways they saw fit. They could fight and kill and steal from anyone and everyone... but that didn't direct the might of that chaos on their enemies.

No, Silco was like a single control point, trying to direct the flow of the undercity's chaos back at Piltover, make the monsters that would force them to react, and let them find that it's too much to control. He wanted to whip the frenzy, and get them pointed at their enemies. It was the backlash that had killed him, in the end.

Of course, Silco had his own chaos, but he kept it lurking under the surface, where it wouldn't lash out, unless necessary. ]

There are many who cannot fathom the monsters that lurk in chaos like that. I find it invigorating, to see them for what they are, and know that it is the truth of what people are. They can pretend all they want, but in the end? We're all just beasts, scrambling and clawing to get what we see as ours.

Where I would bring them to the surface, others want to hide them. I can understand why that's... particularly terrifying. [ A curl of his lip. ] Although as it is, I'm not likely to find someone who can compliment my goals, so...

Perhaps this world will get to sleep in their assumed safety for a while longer, hm?

[redsoil]

What kind of goals might you have, in a place like this? It's Mirth.

[ A beautiful, brilliant place full of disorder and hedonism that he had come to choose to dwell in; Set may not have had the most colorful pallette or chaotic personality, but he was an agent of chaos in his own right. A sower of strife and disorder, as pivotal a point to the darkness in humanity as Silco was to Zaun. Heliopolis had never known what to do with him. His brother had tried to tame him, and ultimately claim him, and he had slaughtered the man and thrown him into the Nile for it.

For a great many things, other than that.

Silco is a strange human, one who he has seen elements of likeness before; the ambition, the adoration for things bestial and chaotic, the hovering distaste in command and control. Set has been distant from humans for so long, from the ins and outs of mortal passions, that he has a hard time understanding them. So, he questions ( interrogates ), with the force of someone who cares not a whit for tact, or order, or restraint. ]

The most we do here is drink, revel and imbibe upon a litany of drugs. I've practically gone through every one of them available in the streets, [ which means it's time to move on to the ones less readily available, then! ] Do you mean to turn your ambition against the Hierarchy?

[ He does snort a little, inelegant and pretty-sounding, through his nose; his expression wrinkles, amused without being insincere. ]

If you do want to pursue any of that, you might need a pet soulmate yourself. I've heard we go mad without partnership, and that might endanger your goals.

[zauneyete]

If I must, I will likely have to find someone who does not mind being chained and held captive. I don't intend to let a Soulmate out in the open, where they could be used against me.

[ There was the rub, wasn't it? It wasn't just the trust toward the soulmate. Silco knew well enough that he could find others that were... likely to not betray him, if he exuded enough power and control over them. He didn't trust Sevika entirely, but he knew that she would not betray Zaun, and therefore she would not betray him. An appropriate candidate, if he needed one -- but alas, Sevika was not here. She would have been able to defend herself, too. Shame that he wouldn't get that opportunity.

So no, Silco had to go with what was safe. He would restrict, and he would avoid using one, if at all possible. It was what he was best at, wasn't it? ]

However, I don't intend to go after anyone, unless I have suitable power and need. While Mirth has its revelries, drugs, and bars, it is also a place to hide. The shopkeepers here are numerous, the businesses varied. If another one crops up, who is to say what it is truly dealing in? Not without sufficient investigation, and that's easy enough to snuff out.

[ Silco liked a place like Mirth. It was no Zaun, but it was close enough that he could thrive well enough. He could at least make it. ]

What will you do, now that you've imbibed in most of the drugs here? It sounds rather...hedonistic, to indulge so.