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

[coherer]

(philosophy tells them that beauty is subjective.

jonas knows fukawa is valid for stepping away from society's anticipated response of "pinhead is ugly" and what would be considered "normal." he also knows that he'd be lying if he agreed. he participates in society and, most of the time, follows its rules; there's nothing beautiful about pinhead. there's nothing striking about pinhead. the look he wears says as much, though he's unaware of the disgusted twist of his mouth.)

Sometimes, (he stresses before fukawa begins to grouse about his question.

resisting the concerned urge to take her wrist to stop her from attempting to smack at herself or grip painfully at her hair, jonas listens. gradually, becoming increasingly horrified, he understands why fukawa might cope the way that she copes, certain that if he experienced any of her life, he'd be scattered, too.

an apocalypse. with political roots, of course; what else could it have been? zombies and aliens in movies and shows are never the cause of earth's downfall, just the effect. all the firsthand account makes him feel after the dread's purged itself from his body in a shaky exhale, is sympathetic.)

... Jesus, Fukawa, that's—I don't even know what to say. Like, I mean... there's nothing to say except that I believe you. I've—I'm repeating that a lot, but I do, man.

(there's only one thing that comes to mind, insensitive, maybe, but necessary to ask.)

Was your family—do you know if they're okay? Did they get out?

[janescayre]

[Thank god. The last thing she wants to do is a deep dive into the downfall of humanity. The fact that she was so close to the source still gives her gooseflesh, and there's so much she doesn't understand to this day. How that piece of shit able to pull it off. How no one suspected a thing.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Her, her classmates, the entire world. Everyone.

Her gaze dips to the side. She mutters low.]

Th-they're probably dead.

[Aside from the hostages in Towa City, there's no guarantee that anyone else made it. They were probably singled out, like Byakuya's entire lineage. It's not like threatening her parents would have stirred her to murder, and they definitely wouldn't return to claim her. They would be ecstatic for an excuse to ditch her, end of the world or not.]

M-most everyone is. Some of my classmates are alive. [She shrugs.] It's not w-worth wringing my hands over now. Just...if this were the afterlife, I thought I'd have s-seen someone by now.

Have you? [She looks to him, biting at her lip.] Is there someone here you kn-know?

[coherer]

(uh-oh.

fukawa's traumatizing backstory has stripped away the last of the "sarcastic and indifferent" shell that jonas constructs around himself. each person is shown a different side of this shell at varying thicknesses. although their initial text string had been contentious and bizarre, which erected that emotionally distant barrier separating them, the facts are stacking high enough to make his opinion skew into something more supportive.

wanting to take her wrist evolves into wanting to comfort her with a hug, but social awareness dictates that despite the wide step closer jonas takes to become closer to her, she might not like to be touched.)

I think you can wring your hands over it a little bit, Fukawa. It's alright to, like... process some of that if you need to. And if this is the way you wanna do it, that's okay, too. (she can talk, because he'll respectfully listen. there isn't much else he can do; nothing is going to bring anyone back, especially now that they've crossed the bar.)

I haven't seen anyone yet either. I've been kinda thinking of this place as limbo or some kind of purgatory, you know? This isn't our last stop, and I've heard a few stories from the people here that only seem to support that.

(in this new proximity, jonas briefly examines fukawa clothing, then makes an executive decision. he will tug the jacket away from his arms, already warm and not needing it anymore, flap it once, and offer it out to her.)

Maybe those we knew who've died passed through here and Ascended... to go to Heaven. A better place than here or back home.

[janescayre]

[He steps closer. Fukawa refocuses on him with a baffled blink. More follow as he carries on with what is, Komaru excepted, one of the most gracious and kind things she's ever heard in her life.]

P-process? [No one's talked to her like that before. It's always calm down, you're being crazy, get away from me, shut up already. What, is he telling her to just...keep being an irate bitch? Keep yammering away about sob stories no one gives a shit about?

Then comes the jacket. She inhales audibly this time, holding up her hands. He doesn't verbalize the offer, still positing his theories on their prior departed. She's still hung up on the double-strike of kind gestures. She blurts out.]

You d-don't have to waste pity on me!

[And regrets it the next second. She winces.

A breeze blows through the festival grounds and she shivers on the spot. Fukawa's shoulders may cinch closer in, and she's shying away from meeting his eyes, but one dainty hand curls into the offered jacket. She swallows something thick, wets her lips before murmuring.]

I'll w-wash it for you. So you don't have to sm-smell my stench all the time.

[She'll return it. It folds around her diminutive frame like a quilt, and lends all the tender comfort of one too.]

[coherer]

Honestly, a funky smell would be a massive improvement over what happened to my last jacket.

(sensing a disturbance in the force, jonas switches gears as though programmed to do so. keeping conversations light with wry jokes and inexhaustible social stamina may be his only superpower.

too, fukawa strikes him as an introvert, which means they have more than a couple of unrelated things in common. as someone who'd prefer to self-flagellate over making a conversation awkward, jonas does his best to prevent them from falling flat on their faces when they'd been setting a better pace for themselves.)

I live down by the harbour, right? And there was this guy puking in an alleyway, like, totally drenched. He looked like he'd just crawled out of the harbour, like Swamp Thing coming out of a bog or something, so I gave him my jacket to wear so he wouldn't get hypothermia and die. Again.

Now, I'm convinced he stole it because—well, first of all, (he continues, arms leaving his sides in a full-body shrug,) the jacket is still gone. More telling, though, is the fact that he ghosted me on Soulidarity.

(the audacity of cain ascending or being obliterated or something)