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

[exilire]

— No, [ she grows momentarily serious again, dark eyes stern, brows furrowed - ] I'm not. I've been drunk, lots of times.

[ the sloppiest of arm movements, like an inebriated orchestra conductor as she lies on her back on the soft bale of hay. it's pretty nice down here, morpheus. ]

This is not that. The drinks weren't even alcoholic.

[ she does have a point about that. ]

[dreamlords]

Oh, so what are you?

[ besides drunk. he's only had one of those drinks and while he feels hot, he doesn't feel off balance. maybe there's something else in them.

he reaches for one of the glasses and sniffs it. ]

Do you feel anything else? Besides hot and completely off balance?

[exilire]

I don't —

[ she has to think hard about what he's asking, now, because concentrating seems a monumental effort. there's a slight sigh from her as she contemplates. ]

I'm not off-balance, I'm just...at peace, for the moment. Feeling like everything is going to be alright. [ and this level of euphoria should feel foreign and weird and wrong to her, but right now she's reveling in it.

quietly: ] D'you know how long it's been, since I've felt that way? Since I could let myself relax.

[ tilting her head at him with a slight frown, from the bale of hay: ] Unlike you. You're never relaxed — never let down your guard.

[ ...this is probably the least likely direction he might have thought this conversation would go in. ]

[dreamlords]

How do you know that?

[ that he's never relaxed or never been at ease? he fixes her with an easy look, curious and inquisitive. ]

The time you've known me in comparison to my actual life is minute. I could have been completely relaxed at some point in the past.

[exilire]

Because I know you, better than you think that I do.

[ her voice is soft, but assured in her conviction. ]

In that minute of your life that I've known you, I've figured out that you were the Devil in Roderick Burgess's basement for an entire century. How many other humans do you know who've deduced that?

[ ...if he's not going to sing her praises, she'll yodel them out herself. ]

[dreamlords]

And you're still barely scraping the surface.

[ he leans in closer to her, not about to let her think she has the upper hand in this. she doesn't, not in his eyes. ]

And yes, you figured it out...well after the fact. Too late to do anything about it, didn't you?

[exilire]

[ if she were in any other condition than the one she finds herself in — relaxed, unburdened, oddly content at the moment — she'd take offense to that tone he takes with her, even if he leans in a bit closer to deliver it.

fortunately (maybe) for him, she's several sheets to the wind away from taking offenses, right now. ]

If I had been there, seen it, I would've let you out, you know. Of whatever cage he'd held you in, surrounded by that binding circle he'd no doubt constructed. Even if I didn't know you as I do now, I'd want you to be free.

[ and then she smiles. ]

...With the hope I'd get a small reward for doing so, of course.

[dreamlords]

Reward, of course.

[ he doesn't roll his eyes but he sighs, shakes his head. he doesn't think he would have been very concerned with giving her a reward at the time but he would have been grateful, at least.

and thankful. but again, that hadn't happened. she might have figured out who it was in the aftermath but he was already free by then. ]

What kind of reward would you have wanted?

[exilire]

[ that shake of his head and that long-suffering sigh, are both what fuel her next endeavor where he's concerned.

but to that end: ]

...Come closer.

[ waving him nearer, as she's still lying on her back on the soft bale of hay, and it's literally all she can do not to let slip that blissfully goofy smile while she makes her request. ]

It's not for prying ears, I need to whisper it in yours.

[dreamlords]

[ that...could be dangerous. he sighs but does as she asks, slipping closer to her and leaning down. he doesn't trust that look on her face, knows that whatever might be coming is going to be something. ]

Tell me.

[ he was right there and while he wasn't expecting much, he's curious enough to want to know. ]

[exilire]

[ she loves that even if he’s less than completely trusting of her, that he takes a chance on her anyway.

morpheus leans in further, his ear to her mouth, and she focuses just enough to cup his face in her hands, turning it so they're nose-to-nose before she arches up to kiss him.

not a demanding kiss, by any means — something soft and unhurried and infused with gentleness. ]

[dreamlords]

[ ah.

well, that's a surprise and it probably shows in how he doesn't immediately do anything but stand there, not tense, but surprised. the kiss doesn't last long enough for him to return it before she's pulling back and he's blinking at her. ]

That...is not what I thought you'd do.

[exilire]

No?

[ she’s still looking up at him where he’s hovering over her, features soft and maybe just the slightest bit adoring. ]

I thought perhaps you needed it.

[ that soft adoration brightens into a smirk. ]

Do you want me to try it again?

[dreamlords]

Why would I need it?

[ morpheus reaches out to brace her, to stop her from trying to kiss him again, not because he doesn't want it but because he doesn't think she's fully in control of herself right yet.

he eyes her up and down. ]

You're drunk.

[exilire]

Everyone needs it.

[ a vague question nets a vague answer.

but his hand is at her shoulder pressing her down, and it takes her a full minute to realize it's because he doesn't want her to sit back up and attempt the repeat performance she's threatening him with. she tries to frown, and her brows almost succeed in scrunching up and knitting together, but she gives up after another couple of heartbeats because it's far too difficult to be angry when she feels so peacefully blissed-out.

instead, she just rolls her eyes at him again. ]

Not drunk. I told you.

[dreamlords]

Well, you are not in your right mind.

[ because, no matter their relationship and how brave she might be, he doesn't think that she would just do that so early on into things.

he squints at her and then blinks several times, feeling more heat wash over him. ]

You might not be drunk but you are influenced.

[exilire]

We're dead, you know.

[ whether it's the truth or not, it's what the denizens of this place have tried hard to convince them of since they'd arrived here. it'd been discomfiting and upsetting initially, but right now — as careless as she is, as euphoric as she feels — she can't bring herself to worry about it as much, as her mouth perpetually slides back into that soft smirk. ]

I don't think any of us are really expected to be in our right minds, because of that.

[ and even as he presses her down by her shoulder, she winds the fingers of one hand at the front of his coat and tugs at him; if he won't let her arch up to meet him, she'll bring him down onto her. ]

[dreamlords]

Are we?

[ no, he does not believe that and she's not going to be able to convince him of that fact either. there's something going on here, sure, but death?

he's an endless and endless just don't die. so he will continue to disbelieve the whole dead thing no matter what he sees. ]

I don't think we're dead. Your lips aren't cold.

[exilire]

You sure about that? I think they feel a bit chilly, actually.

[ he may very well be right about the argument of whether they're actually 'dead' or not — but the comment about her lips can't be brushed under the proverbial rug.

she's eyeing him as carefully as she can muster, given the state she's in, while providing him with an enticing smirk. ]

You may need to test that theory again.

[dreamlords]

[ he can't help but roll his eyes at that because of course she would say that. he eyes her carefully, searching those words for something more. ]

Or maybe I should take you somewhere to lay down.

[ and sleep off...whatever this is. he can still feel his own warmth underneath his jacket but he's more focused on her now. ]

I don't know if more testing is needed.

[exilire]

[ johanna laughs then, a dark and amused sound made low in her throat — and while he's surely caught her in light laughter or an amused chuckle in scattered instances before, this definitely doesn't sound like any of those instances. this seems different.

there's a spark in her eyes now when he says what he does, and she winds her hands even more tightly in the lapels of his coat, as he continues to hover over her. ]

Lay down? — Exactly what I was thinking.

Somewhere you can lie down with me, to watch me for further signs. [ her brows lift, in a manner that's nearly comical. ] I may spike a fever, or something else — it's best you stay near, to keep a close eye on me.

[dreamlords]

[ he narrows his eyes at her because there's something more to her words than just what she's saying. if he believed her, he would agree with her suggestion but as it is, he thinks there's something more to it. ]

You don't think you can take care of yourself? You're an adult.

[ and while he does feel some concern for her, he can't shake the feeling that she's trying to do something further than just having him watch her for further developments. ]

[exilire]

[ that strange light reflecting in her eyes glimmers a little more in the torch-lit darkness of the festival. ]

I can take care of myself, yes.

[ and while she's still under this blissful influence from the drink they've both imbibed, there's something more underneath her skin, in her head, dancing along the periphery of her nerves, telling her to press further. convince him...don't let him go.

as blurred as everything else around her is, that voice inside her seems crystal clear. ]

But I don't want to be alone, right now. I want to be with you.

[dreamlords]

Why?

[ he blinks at her slowly. the only reason he can think that she might want to be with him is that he's familiar. he knows her and she knows him.

he rubs at his brow and shakes his head. ]

[exilire]

[ a little laugh, disbelieving because it should be obvious to him: ]

Because you're the only one I trust, in this place, Morpheus.

[ and as she says it, it's less of the influence of that voice she hears in her head as she talks to him, her own conviction drowning it out; this isn't anything she would freely admit to when completely sober, but it is the honest truth.

and it's then that she realizes he's wiping his brow, beads of sweat evident on his forehead, and she reaches up to press her fingers against his temple, her mouth still in a smirk. ]

...It's happening to you as well, isn't it?