logs | (no subject)

(no subject)

INHUMAN COURTESY

I. PUSHING UP DAISIES

cw: depiction of hanahaki, mention of blood, mild body horror

The Frightful Harvest ended on a bloody, eerie note, but the Respite's most welcome interlude has proven exceptionally fruitful. The sky's darkened again, moons struggling to glow through turbulent clouds, but crops all over Stygia have grown dense and healthy, herbs and plants and flowers aplenty. Normally, it'd be a time to rejoice, even as sleet pours and winds grow bitterly cold -- and it might have been, had greens and stems and petals NOT elected to blossom inside you. Your lungs, specifically.

It's an uncommon side effect of the Harvest, affecting those who foster affection or attraction towards another, triggered only by a stray thought. Almost as if punished by Oblivium for harboring any kind of positive feelings. The worst part is that the object of your desire doesn't even have to be in the Netherworld for you to be afflicted. Over the span of three months, you'll gradually experience various degrees of the "harvest's curse", depending on the source of your feelings:

► PHYSICAL/EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION & REQUITED LOVE
It starts with an itch. Your throat tickles, an odd sensation in your lungs, slightly constricted. Allergies? Not quite. It worsens overtime, and days pass by, perhaps weeks. You cough, a little more every day, a little deeper, and then it happens: petals, stuck to your lips as you wheeze and try to empty your chest. Marigold, carnations, daisies, peonies... Thankfully, for you, it's more of an annoyance, sporadic at best and leaving you exhausted at times, but you're in no immediate danger. Unfortunately, not all Restless share the same luck.

► UNREQUITED LOVE
It doesn't matter whether it is truly unrequited; as long as you think it is, whether you're fully convinced or distantly resigned, you get the whole package. It starts the same way the lesser variation does, gradual, and with unsavory (!) additions: lilies and dark red roses. The first slowly spreads its poison in your body, inducing fevers, skin rashes, blistering in your mouth and stomach aches. The second pricks your throat bloody, making speech difficult and breathing even more so. It spreads throughout Stygia, and if most wound up meeting their end in the past, some speak of a highly hypothetical cure. It's believed that if the object of your affection confesses equally strong feelings for you, the curse should rapidly subside. If this option isn't viable, Doran promises that all Healers in Hale are working extremely hard to find a solution. In the meantime, symptoms can be partially soothed with poultices and spells that you can find in the Marketplace or in Serene. Some merchants might even take pity on you and offer them for free.

if your character has heard of similar diseases in their home world, they're absolutely welcome to share their insight on the netherwork or anywhere else
the evolution of the disease can be as gradual, as fast or as severe as you wish it to be
a mini quest to retrieve ingredients for a cure will be available in december or january
by february, all characters should be cured

II. DO NOT PASS GO

cw: mention of blood, torture, branding, violence, forced captivity

Full-swing investigations concerning the Harvest's murders have begun, though the mysterious rider has yet to resurface. The day is young still, but no matter; the Hierarchy firmly believes that the creature was summoned by a group of renegades, fully intent on finding and dismembering the organization. Perhaps even literally.

If you've spilled blood not your own in the previous event, the Hierarchy finds you. Do they know? It doesn't really matter; they've targeted you for reasons they won't divulge, persuaded of your involvement -- and off to the Gallows you go. Each of you receives the same greeting when you arrive, held down by rough hands and branded upon the arm with the letter F. The mark signifies ‘forsaken’, and the painful scar is indelible proof that each of you has betrayed the Hierarchy's hospitality. Writhe and scream and glower as much as you want; next thing you know, something heavy hits you across the head, and you collapse.

When your vision slowly creeps back, your eyes adjust to a dimly lit stone cell. Your feet are secured by iron cuffs tethered by one long chain, and you lie in nothing but filthy, tattered rags. It's dark; the air is bloated and filled with agonizing shrieks. Dead vines scrap the walls of half-crumbled buildings, weather-worn stone pillars surrounded by withered clumps of grass. You may converse with your cellmates: the guards patrolling the Gallows couldn't care less, convinced that no one could possibly escape anyway.

► Ironically, a magical barrier around the Gallows prevents magical/spiritual abilities from functioning. However, characters who roam free still can absolutely sneak in! Be careful not to get caught, though!
► Loud disagreements might attract unwanted attention. A single guard will come, and if he finds nothing else amiss, will threaten them to be quiet. A second violation earns the offender a rap on their bare feet with a club. A third violation will cause the offender to be gagged. Note that in order to beat or gag the offender, the guard must first open the cell.
► If you share affinities with Gargoyles, incapacitating a guard in any way will draw the attention of one. It'll show you to the gates where you'll be able to escape, taking care of sentries on your way. You should probably keep a low-profile from then on, and avoid showing-off your brand.
► A secret passage may be found through a mausoleum nearby; an arrow of flaking red paint marks the entrance. Or is it blood? Inside, it's nearly pitch-black. Perhaps, if you're lucky, your vision extends as far as 30 feet in front of you, but occasionally, the darkness is broken by clinging phosphorescent fungi or crawling luminescent creatures, and from out of the silence echo sounds of dripping water. You're underground, and Abysmals can be encountered here if you're too loud. You should also watch out for cave-ins, but as you get farther away from the general region of the Gallows, your magical abilities gradually come back.
► Eventually, a long, broken staircase will lead you to Hale. If you're injured, you'll be sent to the main infirmary; characters with healing abilities or knowledge are super welcome to help!

Luckily for you, there are so many prisoners it's a difficult task for the Hierarchy to always keep track of all of them. Your brand, however, is a dead giveaway, so you might as well try and find a way to get rid of it; you might hear through the grapevines that the dead skin of Badaliscus can be used as bandages, and overtime, the brand will fully heal and disappear.

III. TO THE RESCUE

As you attempt to escape, or perhaps once you’ve successfully snuck in, you come across a terrifying spectacle: in front of you, impaled through the shoulder by a spear, a weary humanoid figure covered in blood. The body is being restrained by additional shackles on each arm and leg, which are linked to chains anchored within the walls. There's a guard nearby, armed to the teeth… and still you decide to free them.

The guard’s magic is just as useless as yours, and while impressive in size, dexterity definitely isn’t his main strength. He hits hard — with brass knuckles, a chain mace, and a sturdy shield — and his stamina almost seems endless, but it’s not. Keep evading, and he’ll eventually tire enough to topple over. It’s also possible to have him chase you around if you don’t go too far, which would allow someone else to grab the spear. Once he’s too exhausted to go on, you can either kill him or chain him to the wall. The keys are in his boots, and you’ll find a bottle of water as well as a small vial of ointment in a satchel on the ground, where he previously stood.

The prisoner is a young man, perhaps in his mid-20s. Once freed from his shackles, he immediately keels over, though he’s not unconscious. He thanks you with a deep and raw voice, begging for water. You can tend to his wounds if you’re able—the ointment quickly soothes—and when he finally stands again, he asks you a question: “I’m a stranger to you, and you could have died. Yet, you chose to free me, unaware of my past. Of my crimes. Of my virtues. Why?”

Regardless of your answer, he smiles, a private understanding that turns the stretch of his lips enigmatic. There’s a bubbling chuckle in his throat, very hoarse, and then he hisses, touching where you’ve helped him apply the ointment on his body. “You know what they say. If it stings...” He looks at you, deliberately pausing there and staring bold into your eyes. “... then it must be working.”

It might feel like there’s more to what he’s trying to say, though it’s pointless to ask: he bows, and then he slowly inches away from you. “Until we meet again.” White and thick tendrils of smoke envelop him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and then just like that, he’s gone.

so you’ve chosen to free him, which in turn has generated a future plot point that’ll occur some time in february. some of you WILL see him again.
what he says to you is a clue.
you can answer his question OOCly right here. it’ll have some bearing on the way your character will be approached re: future plot point.
if you've voted no and would still like to participate, you could always allow your character to be convinced or reluctantly dragged by another!

ooc note

► As always, check out the Notice Board if you'd like additional prompts! Older quests from previous months are always available as well. You'll also find the Calendar right here.
► You'll find already answered questions just here, and if you'd like to ask new ones, ask them here!
► For fun's sake and similarly to the puck adventure, you may play it out in different groups or on your own, and still obtain the same results as everyone else whether your characters threaded together!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ it's easy to see there's something defensive in the stance the other individual carries. what he can't fully discern however if he was deemed as suspicious, or if this line of action was simply second nature for him. either way, this natural sense of distrust seems permeate the air around them and stick against his prickly words. but, despite that, callisto was fairly skilled in glazing over facts that didn't work in favor of his own narrative, and in this case (as with many), he decides to simply bulldoze past it.

with his own assumption in full swing, he retorts in an almost easygoing manner. ] Must one look sick to truly be sick? [ which might be more on behalf of himself than this stranger, but sometimes it was easier to place these presumptions on the shoulders of someone else than it was to look within.

especially when looking within tended to be quite dark. but, also as if to clear the air of his own words, he follows the teen step to step. still, miraculously remaining in his way. ] You shouldn't underestimate the power of a cold. Besides, who said that's all I could do?

[ or what's not a cold at all, but it isn't like it was callisto's intention to cause any further apprehension. hence, he keeps it simple. ]

( and it's true, isn't it? it's not like he hasn't seen evidence of it before: those that are sick don't always display the symptoms, just like those who are healthy don't always look so put together. it's easy enough to think of his sister, politely tucked into a hospital bed; she never looked ill, never looked particularly haggard, and yet her unresponsiveness, her distance with the world at large, is clearly indication of something amiss.

the thought takes him, for a moment. his eyes, narrowed, jerk down, and end up focused somewhere near the stranger's feet. funnily enough, even as he takes his polite step sidelong, the stranger follows suit; he sees it happen, watches the weight pivot to block his path again, and while he might normally take it as some sort of challenge, he doesn't think that's quite what's happening here.

still, that doesn't mean he knows at all what's happening instead. he clears his throat, faintly, a hand lifting from his pocket to rub at the back of his neck, once. )

If it'll satisfy you, by all means, then. I'm fine. ( he seems stubbornly rooted to that thought, despite knowing very well otherwise. ) Take my temperature.

( the question that remains, no matter how he doesn't ask--is how will that be done? his gaze flickers, suspicious, a glance down and up the length of the stranger as if assessing him again. )

[ normally, callisto was the sort to revel in getting any real point in, but the pressing condition of the world around him does numb that temporary high. at least a little. but that said, he studies all the motions the boy goes through. a part of him wonders what he's thinking about while he expression remains so unchanged and unaffected.

while he comprehend on a vague level that his reputation or the fear he instilled prior didn't have any bearings here, his expectations sometimes manage to peep back in. as if reminding him of all he's left behind— the good and the bad. which he takes in just as much stride as everything else.

but, for all his bluffing, it does look like it yielded some sort of result. with that he reaches for the stranger's head and just barely places a hand on top of his head. it's a strange thing to do, which he realizes a moment too late. in his youth, he's seen other parents care for their kids in a similar manner, and yet... he pushes the idea out of his mind. taking a second too long to respond. ] As I thought. You're quite fortunate to have met me.

[ regardless of what his temperature is, callisto doesn't doubt his touchiness comes from something, and so he takes it upon himself to come up with those temporary solutions. sorry megumi. ] I think I have a few suggestions for you.

( in the end, he comes up with a handful of harrowing alternatives, ways that he thinks this stranger could check his temperature that he would absolutely hate, enough that his stomach twists in discomfort as he comes closer. the last thing he wants is someone's wrist on his forehead, hands on his cheeks, someone touching his neck or brushing in nose to nose; the anticipation of it makes him swallow, but in the end, the only thing that happens is the weight of a palm at the top of his head, something so light and, in a strange way, so hesitant. had the stranger decided against anything else flamboyant?

silent as ever, he remains, staring, but the words have him taking in a breath--it lets itself out in a sigh. )

I appreciate your concern. ( the words don't sound particularly appreciative, but they aren't rude--he isn't rude, really, he just knows keenly the sort of places he doesn't fit, the places where he's uncomfortable. ) But I'm sure it's fine...

( still, this seems like someone who might benefit from simply indulging, briefly, and so he shakes his head a little, nodding ahead of them. )

Can you tell me your suggestions while we walk? The markets here don't stay open too late.

[ despite how others may have taken such curt words, callisto finds no immediate offense to them. he presumes as with anyone who tended to be more defensive, he was defensive for a reason. life experiences. the turmoil of everyday life. he can't pretend to comprehend the real ailment to his behaviors, but he can make a fairly educated guess. that said, he does put his assumptions down if just to scan the face of the person his hand is on.

he's surprised that he wasn't pushed away at this point. it wouldn't be the first time someone would have believed him to be hostile or threatening. he's even more surprised at the concept that he's invited to tag along. who would have ever guessed someone would invite the crown prince to complete an errand...

there is a brief pause before: ] You're more good natured than you appear. [ he doesn't mean that as an insult, either. just mild surprise. that said, he secures his hand back at his side. he begins to walk, though he peers at megumi, as if attempting to match pace (or make sure he hasn't used this as an excuse to flee). ]

Were you heading to the markets for a cure? Or simply for leisure?

( that, surprisingly, earns a well-natured snort of breath; he can't say he's ever heard that before, and it almost feels like a joke. )

You're more perceptive than you appear. ( and he doesn't mean that as an insult, either. then again, comparing this stranger to others that he's known to be similar: there's usually a lot more underneath the surface than just the flamboyant gestures and the bright, lulling words. ) But I wouldn't call myself good natured.

( he doesn't offer an alternative. instead, hands tucked back into his pockets again, he walks. almost pointedly, he keeps pace with the stranger, as though to cull any sort of worries of ulterior motives. he isn't trying to escape: he imagines the stranger will likely get bored first, which is somewhat the plan he's banking on.

still, there's a soft shake of his head. )

For food. ( it sounds a bit ridiculous, but-- ) ...Have you seen the rabbits, terrorizing gardens and fields lately?

( a small, sidelong glance. the way the stranger reacts to talk of animals will tell him a lot about him, he thinks. )

My friend kept a couple, but they're hard to keep fed. And he needs to keep fed, too, so...

( so, the outing. boring enough, yet? )

[ from his experience, people who wouldn't call themselves charitable or good natured tended to be more genuine on an average. he feels like he could recall a certain lady who defended children tooth and nail, and yet couldn't simply take the compliment of being kinder than she projected herself to be on the surface. it isn't like he knows this as fact, but that was vibe he got, and it only seems more solidified to him after his statement.

then again, who really knows? he supposed that was the exciting prospect of becoming involved with people here. it wasn't as easy to define as it was back home, where the majority of people he encountered were likely an enemy to some degree. but, he pockets this idea for later, instead focusing on his words. ]

So you were planning on purchasing rabbit feed...? [ a pause. ]

That's more mundane than I thought. [ he sees that sidelong glance, however and instead of simply backing off, the corner of his lips turn up in a smile. ] But, you're lucky, I am feeling quite generous with my time today. With me with you, it's assured both your rabbits and friend will be very well cared for. [ his special character trait is the more you want him to leave, the more he stays, sorry megumi. ]

( mundane... there's a twitch to his lips, almost like he's threatening a smile to force it back behind his teeth. )

Sorry to disappoint you. I'm not after anything flashy here.

( or, more accurately, not here in the marketplace, anyway. what else would there be to get? he hardly trusts the food in this place as is, especially after the strange treats at the festival, and he doesn't want to risk drawing attention to himself by purchasing anything that might warrant negativity.

at the time, he'd considered getting tea, or something for his throat, but at this point: it's just a tickle, isn't it? something with the weather changing, or the air in this place?

besides--one hand rattles into his pocket, thumb and fingertips smoothing over the coins there--he doesn't have much to spare after paying for the next week's worth of nights in the room he's renting out. )

...We might have to make the feed. Less expensive that way.

( there's a half-shrug of his shoulder: at least the stranger smiled at the prospect, though he's getting the feeling it's going to be harder than he thought to shrug him off after all.

with a nod, megumi indicates the shop up ahead: it looks like a small market, crowded with produce outside its doors as though to entice people to enter. )

Do you know how to cook? If you're going to be tagging along, the least I--er, we--can do is...make feed for you, too.

( is that...is that a joke? his lips are hinting at a smile again, but it disappears just as they come up on the door. )

[ who would have ever envisioned the crown prince of the empire assisting in making feed? were he his younger brother, he may have balked at the concept, but unlike his sibling, eating like shit on the battlefield and just trying to survive wasn't any more or less glamorous; a lifestyle he had swiftly become accustomed to, and seemed to somehow be reliving here somehow (at least, in theory). which is why he doesn't seem all too opposed all things considered.

if he's already been through literal hell and back?? why the hell not. or that's the attitude he's adopted at least. but that said, the way the other talks is methodical somehow. thoughtful? as if each of his thoughts came after careful consideration. ] Aren't you being too economical?

[ not that literal beggars can be choosers. ]

Surely, I'll figure it out. [ how... hard can it be to make animal food??? that said— ] ... [ wow??? ] I assure you, I'm not nearly that cheap of an escort. [ but, he seems to take it in stride all things considered. ] Under normal circumstances, it would be difficult for you to afford me. [ which is probably highly misleading, but... he comes from a different time. let him live. ]

( there's a faint smile, there and gone again: honestly, he isn't used to having to ration his money this much, but being economical comes easy to him. he's never wanted to rely on anyone else to support him, and other than his allowance at school, he hasn't really wanted to dip into any money afforded to him by a clan he doesn't want to be a part of. better not to owe anyone anything. he should be reliant on himself, at least enough to be dependable.

--it sounds like this guy might be the exact opposite, given that he says it would be difficult for you to afford me like a prince talking down to a pauper. it irks at his shadow, which rears up in his head, pinching thoughts and anger between his ears, but: he doesn't really mind it. gojo-sensei acts high and mighty all the time, so he shrugs a candid shoulder. )

So you're saying you can be bought, then. ( way to turn those words around. there's the smallest hint of a smirk, twisted at the corner of his mouth, but he reaches forward so that he can catch the door to the market and draw it open for his companion. manners matter. ) Well...

( he comes into the shop after his counterpart, nodding his head faintly at the shop clerk as part of habit. when the door shuts behind them, he pulls his other hand out from his pocket, showing the meager handful of coin he's rationed out for this trip. )

Think I can afford you and the food I have to make for you, my friend, the rabbits, and me, on this?

( with a wry smile, he folds his hand back into his pocket. )

Maybe I'll just take you out on loan, then.

[ that feeling when he's being compared to gojo-sensei...

that said, maybe it's fortunate he doesn't know of this comparison, or its precarious implications. so he can only really focus on his words, which, he seems to frown to. if just for a second. as always callisto can't deny always wanting the last words, and so his lips easily quirk back up to its normal smug position. ] You have quite the nasty personality, after all. [ he's not serious in the least, if just considering his own... character.

but, he supposes even a serious looking individual like him had another side to him. though, he nearly scoffs at the door opening, but he seems to take it with enough grace. ] I suppose I could accept that as a down payment, me as your principal, and ...

We can discuss the interest. [ for the record, he doesn't mind following along or simply calling it that. while callisto wasn't one for common favors, he did believe in following whims. that was payment enough. but, with that said: ] What do you normally eat?

Edited (i can't spell) 2022-12-03 11:15 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only