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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

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

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

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

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

[As in, be careful.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ Yeah, probably not going to stop him. ]

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

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

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

But also:] Perhaps what they are doing works.

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

We won't know until we speak to them.

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

Correct.

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

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

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

[His eyes turn away and shift out over everything else, gazing through it. He's a Hunter. He can't completely disagree. His profession hinges on the idea of a former collection of beings who ruled through power and fear.

Not all vampires were terrible, but most had never had any humanity to begin with, and so abuse of authority was second nature for them. But something still doesn't sit completely right with him here.]

We don't know yet if they've abused any power.

They're authority figures.

[ Silco said, as if that answered that. ] I haven't met one yet that didn't.

[ Then again, his experience was... tinged with everything that came with being a crime lord in an undercity in which he'd been fighting to liberate since he was old enough to get out of the mines.

In other words: biased. ]

[It's fine. D has met plenty of people like Silco, human and vampire alike. It doesn't surprise him. And like how he became a Hunter because it was the only thing really afforded to someone like him, he can understand in a way, how certain people may be the way they are after it was all they had been afforded.

Finally, he turns his whole body halfway around to face Silco, peering at the other man head-on and unwavering.]

What about you?

Me? [ Silco asked, and tipped his head. He took a long draw of his cigar, before he blew a ring upward. ]

I didn't run anything other than a bar. I'm hardly in a place of authority.

[ It really is just an outright lie. He was the one who held the chembarons in line, and choked them out with the toxic air of Zaun, when they started to think bigger than they should. ]

[With little evidence of the contrary, he can do nothing else besides accept what Silco says.]

I'm not so sure.

[Not about him doing anything else, but about the downplaying of how much goes into running an establishment.]

Managing a bar requires a lot of things most people wouldn't realize. It is a business.

[ D's instincts are right on the money. ]

Yes, I suppose I do maintain employees, shipments, and logistics. [ A tip of his head, a quirk of his lips as if there's a joke there. ]

What horrors I can bring to the land with the abuse of that authority.

[ Well. Just ask the Pilties about it, and they'd say he did. ]

There are a lot of horrors you could.

[From experience. D has never managed a bar, of course, the experience is second-hand. From visiting bars often. From going to villages and towns, small, maybe some a little bigger, where a bar is the hub for all other things. Something social, something financial.

But he doesn't sound accusatory.]

You can probably start one here.

I could, I suppose. Maybe I shall.

[ His tone sounds... less than willing, however.

After all, he'd taken the bar off the back of a vanquished enemy, turned it into a monument of his defeat. It wasn't like Silco had much interest in the bar itself, more than it was the hub, the center of power. People had known the Last Drop, and while Silco had kept it alive, it was wholly, and utterly different now. ]

Maybe I'll do something else. If this is truly an afterlife, perhaps it's best to...pursue something different. Expand my horizons.

You could do that too.

[Silco isn’t the first person he’s had a conversation with about the opportunity for change here.

But would it be a change for all of them at the core, or simply a superficial change of what they did with what lies inside them?

It’s started to make him a little curious at least.]

What would it be?

I was thinking...

[ his fingers trailed up, across his lips, thoughtful. ]

Information seems to be... in rather short supply, don't you think?

If anything, drumming up useful information at least presents a greater challenge than a friendly rivalry with the Cairn.

If you can do it, yes.

[It's not necessarily condescending. Not exactly a challenge but also sort of one. If Silco can manage to funnel information, he'd be earnestly impressed. He isn't implying it's hard, or that Silco couldn't do it.

Maybe Silco can use the push.]

If?

[ His tone, of course, is light, almost amused. There's an edge there, underneath it all. Like the veneer of silk over a dagger. ]

I can assure you, there is no if. It's a matter of when. I can guarantee that.

[So Silco does have some gumption behind the things he claims. Okay. D will remember.]

I'll see it when it happens then.

[He wouldn't be able to say he'd be there to stop Silco from doing anything shady because, honestly, that isn't his job. It's never been his job to be a savior of any kind. There are plenty of humans he didn't help because it wasn't related to his profession.

He shifts and moves like he plans to leave.]

Be sure to stop by.

[ He said, with a small tip of his cigar-laden fingers. He wouldn't keep the tall, dark man hostage. Not for idle conversations about a future none of them were certain of yet. ]

Perhaps you'll have need of what I can offer, soon enough.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

MOD EVENT #001

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