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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

[He's already ready. At this point, he needs a MILF (Man, I Love Fishing) shirt.

The silhouette against this place's ambivalent cast of light seems far too striking and far too familiar. The brim of the hat, sharp, the hair curling like smoke. Whoever this fishing person is, there's something to them that calls upon Darkness, the essence of the underworld, but not in the sense that he knows.

The hissing of damp wooden boards on the harbor denounces his arrival. He peers at the bobber, a small smile in his eyes more than his lips.] Any bites?

[Please get him this shirt.

D turns his head just enough to glance over the high, stiff collar at the new arrival.] Not yet. [His voice is surprisingly quiet and soft for how chthonic he looks in appearance.

For a moment, he regards Zagreus with some curious interest. The aura he can feel coming from the man is surprising...]

Do you want to try?

[On the tdl already.

D does sound soft, but he'd be surprised by how soft voices were common among those chthonic, the lack of how it echoes through the emptiness of the air between them notwithstanding. He finds the quietude comforting, in a way.

Zag wiggles the fishing rod in his hand, propped on his shoulder as he looked over.] That's a shame. Do you mind if I sit beside you? I can share bait. [He has a bucket of shellfish in his other hand, which he raises to indicate it.]

[D's rust-colored eyes shift to Zagreus' fishing rod briefly.]

Go ahead.

[Some other people may reject Zagreus on account of personal space or moodiness, but D is polite enough to know he doesn't own any part of this dock much less the waters.]

Be careful of the Naiads.

[Sitting down carefully not to disturb any fish peeking at them through the surface — of course, after a while, he started making up his own superstitions, his own rituals, mostly as a way to keep his mind busy as he waited— he thanks D with a polite mutter, and sets the bucket between them just in arms' reach for the both of them.]

The Naiads? Have you come across them? [His eyes jerk to him from where they had settled as he jabbed his hook in a piece of bait.] I've only heard rumors.

[He watches Zagreus bait the hook and line without actually looking. His head nods toward the distance of the water stretching out from the docks, the same waters that roll onward at the horizon toward the Tempest.

Every so often, far out from them, almost like specks, some of the Naiads crest the water and disappear again. They probably won't give them any trouble, but who knows.]

They shouldn't bother us.

Really? Why do you say that? [Following D's gaze, Zagreus does spot the gaze of some, then slipping down into the blanket of the sea. He always wondered how deep the water really went, with the transparency giving way to darkness, the way it covered and safely kept the beings that lived from it.

His lip twitches, and he nudges the bait bucket toward his new fishing companion. He sighs. ] Yet another thing that strangely sounds like something from home, and yet isn't. I don't think I'll get used to that.

[Not that he wants to, really.]

They haven't tried to come closer since I've been here. They only look from afar.

[But it isn't to say they might not make an attempt to woo what they believe to be two fine men out to their doom. So far, they haven't is all. Maybe they are full... He glances at the bucket, but continues to fish for right now.]

This place reminds you of home?

[WILD. Then again, can he really say some aspects of the Netherworld don't remind him of the Frontier a little? Maybe it isn't so wild.]

I see. [And he does. A tentacle slithers across the surface for a while, flicking before it dips down.] Naiads were nymphs where I come from. Some names sound very similar to things back home. Stygia, particularly.

[A shrug. He's not hiding his origins at all.] I also come from a place where spirits come to reside once they come to pass. So this is all very familiar and foreign to me. If that makes any sense?

[The rest is somewhat vague enough he might not have had any idea. But the mention of nymphs and the focus of Stygia is what clues him in.

For a moment, he regards Zagreus carefully. The energy he feels there makes sense, now that he thinks about it. A little familiar in an adjacent way, like how Zagreus had felt about him.]

You mean the underworld?

[Oh, that's a different reaction from everyone else's. He does perk up, looking up at D (he's so tall) , and nods enthusiastically.] That's it. Are you familiar with the concept?

[Tall and Shockingly Gentle. Usually.]

Yes. Stories of the underworld and the gods were myths where I'm from. But the people who believed in those myths haven't existed for a very long time.

They haven't?[Forget about telling who he is, and what he is; he's definitely intrigued by the fact that the very real gods of all those myths would allow mortals to forget about them.

After all, they're very well-known for their pride.] What do you mean?

[Briefly, he glances at Zagreus, but then looks patiently again at the pole and the line.]

I'm from the future of a world a few here understand, but that world has been destroyed and rebuilt, then destroyed again by time. Very few descendants still living would remember the tales of gods their ancestors knew.

[With a frown, Zagreus does gaze at where the fishing line is touching the surface of the water, the bobber drifting to and fro with the subtle shift of the waves and currents. It does make sense. He's been introduced to so many different things here: phones, movies, acronyms(!). And he's heard of the ways the mortal realm seems to rejuvenate itself by tearing off the past.

And yet.]

I apologize if I find that so hard to believe. Knowing the Gods, I have some trouble thinking they'd allow people to forget they exist.

[Surely there must have been a reason, though.] Though I suppose that means that life is a lot calmer? [Silver linings...?]

[He does not seem to mind Zagreus' displeasure with the information. The ones here who are gods or demigods, like Set, like Zagreus, remind him very much of the Nobility.]

No, not really. The place I'm from had been filled by another kind of creature who all believed they were like gods. Vampires. They called themselves Nobles, and they took the world as their own, filling it with their science and technology as they desired. Humans were their servants, or their playthings, or sometimes just their meals.

[It's not so much displeasure; it just feels farfetched. Zagreus considers this, his frown more pensive than vexed.

He's struck, though, his head snapping so fast his laurels flare embers around.] 'Meals'?

[Even the Greek Gods were heavily against eating someone else. It was just a big no-no.]

[Without turning his head too much, he glances sidelong at Zagreus.] Mm. [The Greeks gods drawing the line at eating people despite all the weird shit they do.]

They are cursed to drink human blood.

[At least it's... like... no quite as bad as vore(?).]

[Ask him about the Curse bestowed upon the House of Atreus one day, D, and he'll tell you how bad eating another person is considered in his world. It pollutes one's soul, more than their body, to the point that it carries over generations and vicinity.]

Cursed? And they consider themselves superior…?

[Zagreus knows that those cursed are usually shunned, so he's intrigued about all of this.]

[(me in a god of war voice) no, atreus, my son...

Funnily enough, this gets D to turn his head and offer Zagreus his full attention. Rarely does anyone agree with him on finding fault in the vampire way. That they aren't as great as they make themselves out to be.]

They do. They named themselves the Nobility because they believed their reign was unrefuted. For a long time, that was true. The world became theirs, full of their science and technology, their castles.

But if they were meant to be perfect, they wouldn't have so many weaknesses. They, like everyone else are only... transient guests.

[BOY...

There's a reason why so many people visit the Oracles and pray to the gods for knowledge. Those that hold it also grasp some dominance, some power. Any inflection of the word will change how a person changes their interpretation.

Zagreus nods, though he shakes his head straight away.] Was this knowledge not accessible to others, then?

[Though, he's a little whimsical at that last part.] I suppose even Gods are transient.

In a way. It would have taken humans much longer; their lives are very short in comparison. The only thing they leave behind is their history.

A long time ago, they had destroyed much of the world trying to destroy each other. Not many of them were left, and the ones who were had to start over.

[He seems a little bit amused at the last bit Zagreus says, if briefly.]

What’s your name?

[Ah. It feels like such a waste to be able to develop so much of that knowledge and tools, only not to share it with others. Is that how Prometheus felt?]

Did anyone rule over them? [Someone who would punish them for doing so. His eyebrows do loosen the knot as he thinks about all of this.] Oh. My name is Zagreus. Apologies, I should have introduced myself before.

D.

[Very simple, in a humbling kind of way that fits how he always acts. He lacks a lot of bravado others might hold dear, like a name or a title. Sometimes you just don't want to be perceived.]

For a long time, the vampires ruled over them. [To answer Zagreus's question.] But now, vampires too have died out.

A pleasure.

[Always polite and not at all distant, as some courtesy and etiquette seem to hold a shield. Zagreus' smile makes an appearance again, even if just for a moment before his expression settles into the inquisitiveness of before.]

No one to rule over the vampires, then? [Not to mention a lingering question in his mind to ask who's left…]