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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

[ Such is life when you come from a medieval fantasy series. His power has always been inconsistent here, fizzling in and out as is convenient (or, more typically, inconvenient). But it's still here. He should at least be able to summon a spark of lightning or break the chains tying them down, yet something has suppressed his capacity for both.

Annoying. ]

Hm...

[ To their benefit, the guards are either incompetent or careless; the buildings are also practically ruins, with plenty of broken walls to slip through and—hopefully—disappear into the night from. Even without much collective experience between them, they could manage. ]

I admit I'm not much for acting, but a diversion would work. When they're near enough to quiet us, I can knock them out if you can keep them constricted. Or distracted. [ Whichever. ] Though... I'd rather not stage a fight—maybe if one of us feigns ill, and the other calls for help? Noisily.

[ If the guards don't care about their health, they'll at least react to the ruckus. And that way, he doesn't have to try and pull his punches for a fight—which he's never been good at doing.

Still, he hesitates. ]

But I must be honest with you, Fukawa. I did not intend to escape this place.

R-right. I don't think anyone would buy a fight so obviously m-mismatched.

[As she is now, Dimitri would snap her into matchsticks even with pulled punches.

She has zero intentions of swapping over either, not after what that bitch has done. A flicker of shame prickles her skin. Of fear, her breath catching in her throat. Can she make it out of here on her own merit? She's become so used to deploying Syo whenever brute force was needed that the idea of facing any threat as herself makes her want to vomit. She's not naturally brave. Fukawa's a coward, from top to toe. Any move to counter that has always been made dragging herself by the ankles, nails raking up shavings from the floor.

So why is it that when Dimitri makes his confession, all those twitching nerves still? She looks to him with a stern eye, mouth drawn tight.]

Wh-what was that? [No, she'd heard him right. Only the words out of his mouth match nothing she's known of him.] Why? You w-want to lie down here? You want to t-tell yourself what a bad person you are, that you deserve to rot alone in filth?

[She had. It's the exact mantra she'd been stewing in when he'd been thrown through the door. Her case was different though — inside her was a monster that had nothing to do with shadows and supernatural pulls. Syo had sliced up Sylvain for amusement, and tried to kill Puck for a thrill. Dimitri attacked Puck for justice and got carried away.

Sharp difference, there.]

Unless th-there's something you're not telling me, all you did was lose your head while taking on an asshole who c-caused the deaths of who knows how many people. You think you should g-get dragged to the Forges over that? [She snorts.] What? Did you enjoy it?

[ The usual stammer sticks to her words, but there's a steely resolve to them too. It reminds him of the way she'd launched herself back into the tempest to save that ship, surprising but impressive in how double-edged her behavior is, at once harsh and somehow caring. He thinks there's something kind in how she might assume he was just being hard on himself, and there's a second where he looks grateful.

But his greater instinct is to ask: what if he had? What if, for that moment of impact, the instant that the bone of his knuckles hunted down Puck's flesh, he had felt satisfied? Sated not just by some loose notion of the greater good, but by punishment itself? Would she try to justify it somehow to reconcile with her expectation of him? Or would she try to reveal her own, sinful hand to prove that no one's perfect, and that's okay? Or would she reject him outright? Some middle ground between it all?

—They don't really have time to wax philosophic about it. He doesn't want her to fall into a panic again without the support of the Dimitri she knows.

「 You're just afraid to hear the answer. 」 ]

Wouldn't it be strange if I did?

[ He sounds a little tired, but doesn't linger on the point. ]

The guard shift just changed, so we ought to go ahead and try to get his attention now. It'll buy us the most time possible to escape. I do have a bit of a cough—perhaps you could try and pretend it's something more... dramatic?

[ They can both just kick up a fuss and be noisy until they get somebody's attention. As though to test the theory, he coughs—genuinely—no longer fighting the scratchiness in the back of his throat. ]

[Strange indeed.

Her gaze sticks to him like pins in a voodoo doll. Something about the tone of it rankled her. It's almost a joke, and yet nothing close to it. Too much weight dragging off the back end.]

...S-sure.

[Even more suspicious, that damnable sickness is back at it again. She'd nearly forgotten coughing up a peony petal in the library, what with being arrested and dragged to a fetid prison cell. How many people have caught it by now?

She clears her own throat (it ramps up its own itch in sympathy, but she refuses to let it win) and shuffles to the bars of their cell.]

HEY! SOMEONE C-COME! QUICK! [She rattles the bars, slaps at them. If nothing else she can always be relied on to play a nuisance.] YOU ST-STUCK ME IN HERE WITH A D-DEAD GUY!

["QUIET DOWN THERE!"

Ah. Here's their fish. Time to reel him in.]

DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME, YOU INGRATE?! HE'S DYING! C-COME GET HIM OUT! NOW! BEFORE HE VOMITS ALL OVER ME!

[There's a muted grumble, heavy footfall. She shoots Dimitri a pointed look.

Now's their chance.]

[ He coughs in a violent fit, mostly theatrical, though partly because he's been holding it reining it back as little puffs and occasional clearings of his throat. A few tiny, pink flowers sputter out from behind his hand, crumpled butterfly weed that just adds to the drama of it all. But it's really Toko's ruckus that draws the guard in. She plays her role perfectly, and the sheer volume of noise is impossible to ignore. Dimitri, for his part, looks smaller and less threatening when he's doubled over in petals.

Yet as soon as the keys rattle against the bars and the guard steps in to silence them both, it doesn't take more than that single glance of hers to set him into motion; the only second wasted is when he genuinely considers whether it's better to kill this man or not.

In the end, it only takes a moment of explosive speed: the club drops out of the guard's hand with a thud, pained shout, and crackly snap where Dimitri gets hold of his wrist, and there's an almost perfunctory ease with how he swings his other arm, striking across the man's ear with such force that his head clangs hard against the inside of his helmet, crumpling him to the ground instantly, unconscious.

Hand to hand isn't exactly his speciality, but it's good enough and he has the brute force to back it up. Toko, meanwhile, gets the option of going for the abandoned keyring or club. ]

[The move is swift, immaculate, and devastating. She would have been grateful to say it was silent instead. The crack of the wrist and the yowl of agony send her wilting against the bars, white knuckling the iron to stay abreast of the floor.

The man folds like a rag doll under the next blow, and that's that. Fukawa swallows the bubble of nausea that follows. At the very least it hadn't been bloody. Just an auditory nightmare.]

Ha...hahaha...that was nothing to you, wasn't it? Hahaha...

[Oof. She pats her forehead and remembers herself. Moreover, she remembers their mission. The club, and the keys. She ducks to the floor and gathers both in trembling hands, though she quickly presents the club to Dimitri.]

T-t-take this, I couldn't — I'd just spew chunks if I hit something. Here, g-g-give me your h-hands.

[She'll slip the key into the shackles and wrest them free if he does.]

Edited (repeating phrasing, i hate writing) 2022-11-29 04:20 (UTC)

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finally this icon is used for its intended purpose

it's cute and perfect

incarceration chic