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

[constellational]

⟪ next time you can make the blood offering... listen here you lil shit. it sounds vaguely practical, granted. my turn, your turn, and all that. it isn’t. it’s just keith in all his smartass glory, and shiro might have laughed in different circumstances. he doesn’t. even in spite of the tiny tremor in the pit of his stomach, ready to bubble up and tease his throat. he doesn’t because it’s not just keith being flippant; it’s also keith offering a bloomless olive branch in order to shut him up. you can’t trick the guy who thrives on deflection with a wide assortment of practiced smiles!!

unfortunately, the line between caring and coddling is sometimes thin. he’s probably crossed it many times, though he doesn’t really mean to. more than a mentor, shiro’s become his friend, and in a multitude of bizarre ways, for how different they are… they’re still so alike. so he doesn’t argue. keith heard him, and he’s not likely to forget—they can find a less spooky middle ground later, when the woods finally…

…quiet down. not in a somber, frightening way, but like this, air clearing up, fog subsiding. it’s a slow, gradual flux of changes, less heavy as one lone star manages to break through the canopy, and shiro’s face lights up in turn, inspired by keith’s triumph. it doesn’t last, because of course it doesn’t. he sways a little, whoa, almost like he could pass out any second, and shiro doesn’t even have to think; his whole body moves, shifting closer so that keith can lean against him if necessary. he doesn’t touch him otherwise, not really, hand hovering over his back as his gaze sharpens concerned. ⟫ Keith. ⟪ there’s a hint of apprehension in his voice, and an unlikely note of fond exasperation. ⟫ Just a little blood, huh?

[spaceassassin]

[ now who’s being a little shit? big shit. keith doesn’t appreciate having his words thrown back at him, but shiro’s in luck; the fight is drained out of him, just as his energy is. he settles, instead, to retaliate by taking that comfortable landing spot of shiro’s shoulder and knocking his head against it. god, fuck, that is solid. he huffs, right there into the meat of shiro’s substantially large deltoid. ]

Shut up.

[ it reads fond, albeit slightly slurred from a mouth that doesn’t quite want to cooperate. leaning into shiro is a mistake, he finds, because he’s barely started and already his eyes have slipped shut, whole body easing into a slump. ]

Dunno what happened. [ he’s trying, though. he’s stubborn enough to force himself through it. ] Tired all of a sudden.

[ he curls his fingers into his bloody palm and squeezes around nothing, clenching until the throb has his eyes cracking open. it has to be from that. blood loss, no, but perhaps some magic tied to this place. ]

We gotta go.

[ but aside from a meager effort of pushing against shiro, keith hardly follows his own urging. ]

[constellational]

⟪ yeah? YEAH??? shiro’ll tell you what happened. you didn’t listen, and you’re damn lucky he doesn’t have the will to scold you. remember how anger is fear’s closest relative? and shiro is afraid, afraid for this foolish gremlin who's still too stubborn to stop fighting. goddamn it. it’s on the tip of his tongue, but it stays there, eclipsed by a sound vaguely reminiscent of a snort; shiro half-scoffs, half-groans, unhesitantly wrapping his arm around keith’s shoulders this time, briefly squishing him against his body in lieu of elbowing him in the ribs. ⟫

Yeah, you don’t say. ⟪ his mouth betrays him, upturned as he shakes his head and honestly, right now, he kind of feels like laughing. nerves. relief. it’s hard to tell which it is, but the threat of whatever’s happening to keith prevents anything from actually taking hold. ⟫

Can you stand? I could carry you, sling you over my shoulder firefighter’s lift style. ⟪ he’s teasing, mostly—an attempt to keep his cool—but then he realizes, lips pursed… ⟫ Uh, actually. I don’t think I could carry you any other way. ⟪ you know. that missing arm. he clears his throat, a little self-conscious as he squishes him again, giving him a little shake to ensure he doesn’t fall asleep. ⟫

[spaceassassin]

[ he’s puttering out again. it’s not his fault. it’s shiro’s. his arm comes around him and – there, done, that’s all it takes for a sense of security to wash over him. he’s safe. he’s taken care of. he can let his attention lapse because shiro’s right here. the soothing timber of his best friend’s voice only sinks him further and by the time shiro’s asking if he can stand, keith is once more leaning, closed eyes an’ all. he wants so badly to give into the lull, to succumb, right here, to the exhaustion.

mind drifting, he’s already picturing it. him, strewn across shiro’s shoulder line, legs parted around the arm clutching at his own. shiro would wear him like a fucking shawl.

it startles a barely there laugh out of him, the feeling jumpstarting his awareness. he opens his eyes in the following beat and all at once, he remembers himself. ]

No. [ he flops his unbloodied hand, finding purchase on shiro’s thigh, which he uses for leverage to push against. ] Someone’s gotta carry the lantern.

[ and they can’t do that if shiro is busy carrying keith. through sheer determination, keith gets to his feet, immediately swaying. broadening his stance helps. giving his head a shake, as well as a smack of his clean palm, also helps. ]

It’s fine. I can walk. I’ve got this.

[constellational]

⟪ he’s fine, he says. wobbly as fuck. struggling to place one feet in front of the other. one slap at a time. if shiro flinches the second keith’s hand smacks his cheek, the spectacle draws a faint, deep rumble from his chest—it’s funny. it shouldn’t be but it is, and he has to commend keith’s resolve, however ridiculous his plan is.

scoffing on an exasperated breath, he shakes his head and rises next to him, gently patting his shoulder. ⟫ Alright, big guy. Come here. ⟪ here being shiro’s back. it’s a bit of a struggle to get keith to climb up there—mostly because of the missing arm, but also because of keith’s surprisingly heavy weight, limp now, a solid network of toned angles and crisp lines. keith has grown. and in so many ways, too. sometimes, shiro can scarcely compare him to the kid he once knew, and it’s a sting that comes and goes, when he thinks of all the milestones he missed. it’s only partly assuaged when he realizes what keith was able to accomplish all on his own, the man he’s become a sight to behold. it’s not pride, exactly. or not just. it’s something else, and it’s warm, where his chest is an otherwise shambled mess, though it’s never a feeling he lingers on. ⟫

You okay there? ⟪ he only asks for good measure, carefully bending to grab what’s left of the lantern and making sure keith doesn’t slip. balance is everything. ⟫ And before you say anything, don’t waste your energy trying to argue. I’m not letting you down. ⟪ it’s 100% a double-entendre, firm, unyielding. shiro can be stubborn, too, a little bent forward as he starts walking, though he does lift his arm, turning his face a little to check on him. ⟫ You can carry the lantern if you want, but you have to promise to hold on tight. ⟪ to him, and to the lantern. mostly him, though. ⟫

[spaceassassin]

[ big guy? him? keith’s in that sweet spot of exhaustion where it doesn’t take much to tip the scales into hilarity. here, being called big guy when that is so clearly shiro, has him chuckling a startled, brief noise. it plays into his cooperation. shiro tells him to come here and to climb up, and with him settled on a happy, amused feeling, keith doesn’t think to argue. a shawl he becomes and it’s – well, not comfortable. he’s draped and hanging, the solid line of shiro’s shoulders pressing against his sternum to make each breath require that extra bit of effort.

this is a bad idea… but it’s also shiro’s idea, one that is already in motion, so keith is less certain about pointing out how him ragdolling is hampering the two of them. what if they come across something dangerous on the trek back? what’s going to happen if shiro’s weighed down and keith’s dozing… because he will be dozing. it may not be entirely comfortable but he’s off his feet and feeling the full brunt of exhaustion. ]

Might drop it.

[ mumbled, yet honest, there is no false bravado here. don’t trust him with it. don’t trust these lax fingers or these closing eyes; he doesn’t have the energy to be anything more than a hindrance right now. if only he had his space wolf with him, then he could be of some assistance. that good boy would teleport them out of these woods and right to myrtill. or – wait. keith can, too, can’t he?

on the verge of succumbing, he remembers that odd bit of magic that he’s only tested once. he’s not even entirely certain of how he did it before, but he tries now with a surge of energy and purpose, mumbling: ]

Wait. Hold on. Got this.

[ i’ve got this, he said that before. this time it rings true, however, because in the next moment they disappear. gone from the trail, they blink through time and space, materializing just as there are, beyond the gates of serene. keith is truly and utterly gone to the world, the last of his energy depleted… though, perhaps that’s a lie, because he has enough left to have him breathing deeply enough for some soft snoring. so the exchange, as well as sheepish explanation for the broken lantern, will be left up to shiro. considering myrtill still gives a pouch of coin and a basket of bunnies, it goes without saying that shiro excels in smoothing over any disappointment.

good luck carrying all that, shiro. ]