logs | MOD EVENT #001

Entry tags:

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

... That's a very smart warning, I was absolutely about to try flying.

[ He says that with sincerity, too disoriented and confused for deceit. ]

These wings are just for decoration.

[ There's a lot going on with his body that he's trying to process. ]

( he puffs his cheek out, which does not entirely fit on claude's face. )

N-no, they're just too strong! If you try to fly not knowing their strength, you'll land yourself head-first into one of these buildings.

( but still... he steps a bit closer, worried. )

Are you - ow. ( oh. what?? aspen winces as he shifts too fast, uncomfortable with some sort of pain that he's not used to. that's a recent injury, he knows what that feels like... he shakes his head minutely to focus back on claude. ) Are you alright?

[ Well, now he very much would like to try, but he'll abide by Aspen's wishes given that it is his body after all, and he doesn't want to be reckless with it.

He waves off Aspen's concern, grounding himself in the current moment, the wheels in his head starting to turn again. ]

I'm all right. Are you?

[ He glances down at the cake, before remembering that it's not in his hand, and furrowing his brows. ]

Another enchanted food item? I was with someone earlier who had that cake, and she didn't experience any effects.

( he gently places a hand on his side, as if nursing it. )

I've been eating them for a while, and I didn't experience any effects either. It can't be the food.

Another fun side effect of tonight then...

[ He eyes Aspen with a bit of concern. ]

You sure you're all right?

I'm all right. Your body seems... injured.

( his face contorts in some pain. )

I'm not used to feeling this.

You're not used to feeling pain?

[ He lifts a brow, startled and disbelieving given that, ] I can feel fire magic digging into your back.

[ Granted it's not agonizing, a low burning flame, but certainly still present. ]

That's -

( different, he wants to say, but claude's expression on his face makes his voice die on his tongue. )

... yours are fresh. I normally just heal myself when I'm injured. I take it you may not have magic?

Faith was never a skill of mine.

[ Claude is fairly numb to aches by now. Whether it's from being crouched over his desk all day, or the blisters on his feet from a day's march. He probably shouldn't learned a little bit of healing magic, but he hadn't any bandwidth to spare.

In any case... ]

I won't pry if you prefer not to speak about it, but is there a reason why...?

... well, if you're in my body, perhaps you could heal.

( he wonders it aloud, eyes idling to the side with a soft "hmm" - at least, before he registers claude's question. )

Hm? Is there a reason why... what?

( he perches his hands on his hips, probably looking a bit too pouty and demure for claude's face. )

[ It is definitely strange to see someone else's mannerisms in his body—then again, Claude has no idea what he looks like on a daily basis. It's not like he carried around a pocket mirror. (He's not Hilda.)

He looks pretty dubious at the thought of trying to heal Aspen, so he focuses on his question first. ]

Is there a reason your back is on fire?

( oh no.

oh no, oh no, oh no. aspen swallows his internal panic, adopting his courtesan's mask - attentive and inquisitive, but hiding his true emotion.

the truth is ugly, and he doesn't need many people knowing it. this man isn't going to strip himself and actually look at his back, after all. all he knows is that it feels like fire, so it should be... fine. giving a not untrue reason and not giving the full story might as well bee the easiest plan of action.

he lets a bit of true shame eke out into his expression then, lowering his gaze and averting his eyes. )

My back isn't on fire, really... ( he sighs. ) It just feels that way due to a curse. I angered the wrong person and he magicked my scars so they won't entirely heal.

( aspen rubs the back of his neck, though his hand (claude's hand) twitches when he goes to brush long hair away from his nape that... is not there. )

As long as you don't feel pain underneath your - my - wings, nothing is wrong.

[ The slight unease that lines Aspen's (his) features doesn't escape Claude's notice. They're not close, and this is the only time they've ever met face to face (that Aspen is aware of), so he's not an expert on Aspen's body language or mannerisms, but there's a story behind the hesitation in his answer.

He cants his head back as Aspen speaks, glancing at the wings that rest there, thoughtful. ]

And the curse followed you all the way here? There should at least be some silver lining in ending up here.

[ His tone is nothing but sympathetic, brows furrowed as he looks back at Aspen. ]

That's a pretty terrible lot. I suppose there was no easy way to break the curse?

[ He doesn't want to pry if the topic makes him uncomfortable, mindful of how much Aspen is and isn't willing to share. ]

You'd think there would be, wouldn't you!

( there's no accusation in his tone, only disappointed exasperation as he puts a hand on his hip, jutting it out with a pout. )

That's how all the stories go. Someone gets cursed, they find the cure - true love's kiss or a nice potent anti-curse or a weekend of laying in the salted sea... and it's gone! Unfortunately, that isn't my case.

And I know the caster has already passed! Usually when a mage dies, their spells are supposed to break, though that's obviously not the case here. If he were in this place, maybe I could find a way to break it - but I haven't found anyone from my world, not even him. Without knowing why it hasn't faded even once in over a decade and why it didn't break once he left the world of the living, I'm afraid I'm at a loss at what to do.

( he's fuming a little. definitely sulking. )

[ He smiles a little, though perhaps he shouldn't. Aspen sounds like he's complaining about something far more mundane than an unbreakable curse.

It does make his head hurt to think about it though, as all unsolvable puzzles do. He should probably change the topic before he starts to obsess about this. ]

Has there never been anything like that in your world? There's no curse expert that you could leverage?

[ He assumes that Aspen did do his level best to free himself. He might have better luck in the underworld... With so many different worlds and backgrounds here, the wealth of knowledge is massive. ]

( aspen grimaces. )

It's not that there hasn't been something like this - I'm sure there has! A curse expert, however, would mean someone would have to study curses, decay magic, and counter-curses... and curses have enough of a stigma as is on their own. They are often dangerous, even lethal - and cause their hosts to lash out.

I am unsurprised that there are few, if any, willing to study curses.

Those who have an interest are more likely to drift into the black markets, where curses run for high amounts of gold. And then - why would any of them who have an interest in curses for gold be interested in counter-cursing? They directly profit from everyone's fear. They would simply encourage disinterest, and so the cycle turns.

[ Claude mentally wills himself not to obsess. ]

I don't know. It seems to me you could make good money to wage a little war. Gold for a curse, more gold for a cure.

[ Everything could be bought with the right price, in Claude's experience, but Aspen's world seems quite different from his own. ]

In any case, I hope you have better luck here than you did there.

Believe me, I think the same as you. But as long as there's healers and doctors... ( he helplessly shrugs. ) They can treat the symptoms of many curses. It's partly why I learned healing magic, myself. It can't cure the curse, but it takes the sting off of the pain.

( aspen gestures to... himself. claude-in-aspen-clothing. )

It's why I suggest trying to see if you might be able to heal. It would heal your body and mine, if you wanted to try.

[ It's not a bad idea. Theoretically, Claude should be able to heal. He'd studied a bit of faith and Garreg Mach as well, but never bothered to pursue it when it came time for the Academy to close.

He seems dubious. ]

All right. I suppose I could give it a try.

[ He holds out a hand, still a little started when his eyes settle on a hand much smaller and paler than his own. ]

With your guidance.

Certainly.

( he grasps the hand before him, a second after pulling back and looking confused. )

Wow, I really don't have callouses. That's strange. ( he looks to claude's hands, so much bigger than his and far more lived than his own. ) Let's sit elsewhere. I don't know how this will work, but - assuming it can... you may need a bit of concentration for it.

Apologies. [ The observation makes him smile. ] Archers don't tend to have soft hands.

[ Though it doesn't seem as though Aspen's lived a cushy life himself. Perhaps the healing magic could erode the roughness that might've formed over his palms and fingertips otherwise?

In any case, he remembers that the parade is still boisterous around them, and nods his agreement before moving away from the crowd. There are pockets of quiet, enough that they find one with ease. He reflects on the strange sensation of the night hair ruffling his feathers. ]

You're not worried I might accidentally make you worse?

( he settles into a small bench and table set, trying to tuck a stray bit of claude's hair behind his ear. it flops back into place and he frowns a bit, looking like he might say something about it - he decides to silence himself. )

I doubt you will. ( he says that instead, canting his head to the side curiously. ) Let's start off with probably the most important aspect... there's a staff at your back. Can you hold it? Don't force it if you can't.

( it sounds like a deceptively easy task, but aspen's concerned frown makes it clear that it's not. he knows that the only people who can hold his staff have accepted positions of leadership. accepted being the key word, there. he remembers how the staff burned in his hands when he hadn't accepted his birthright, how it'd felt like boiling water inside of his skin.

but... if claude can - it'll make casting much, much easier. )

[

Yeah, his hair is difficult.

Claude lifts a brow at the word of warning regarding Aspen's staff, though he doesn't brush it off. He knows that magic can be a volatile thing (he'll never forget what Constance did to his hair...), and staffs are tied closely enough to magic that he could easily believe they have their own whims and traps to watch out for.

His touch is careful when he reaches for the staff, pressing his fingertips to it to test the waters. When nothing happens, he takes it in hand and holds it out. ]

That wasn't too difficult. [ He blinks, testing the weight of the weapon. ] Maybe it still thinks of this body as its master.

Ah... no.

( he smiles a little, crookedly. )

I wasn't always its master, it's a family heirloom of sorts. It rejected me for many months before I proved myself worthy of wielding it - and that was a mental change, not a physical one or some sort of... act of valor.

( until he'd accepted that he was no longer just a random bystander, but a royal who had a duty, the boreas rejected him. well, he has no idea what claude leads, but he has the makings of a leader and accepts it. that's good. )

How much do you know about the body? ( as he asks, the staff surges with power - and then flickers back to being largely dormant. )

[ Not quite like the Hero Relics then. He's fairly sure that if Claude had Failnaught with him that Aspen would be able to wield it while in his body— it only cares about the Riegan blood.

He watches the staff with interest, observing the design and the shape. ]

I know enough. [ He answers, eyes still on the staff. ] I've seen enough men flayed open to have a good sense of what organs are where.

[ Dark humour that slips out before he can think better of it. He offers Aspen an apologetic smile as he looks over at him. ]

In any case, I know my own body fairly well.

MOD EVENT #001

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)