logs | (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

[ she knows he's mostly fine, the wound notwithstanding, although she's still curious as to how he'd gotten it, how it'd been administered. she figures she'll get a chance to look at it later, but for now —

his hand at her lower back is a modicum of comfort, even if placed there hesitantly and awkwardly, but she pulls back and away from it before she can relax against him. ]

For more than one reason, probably — I'm sure we would've driven each other nuts, caged up together.

[ all prickly sarcasm, because she's quite sure of the opposite — that he likely would have wanted the company, imprisoned again like this.

her voice softens afterward anyway, as she takes his arm gently. ]

...Come on. Let's get you out of here.

[ he is more than ready to leave. this imprisonment was at least much easier to endure than the previous one even if he's still somewhat shocked by the brand on his arm and the way it doesn't leave.

he even rubs the spot, wincing because there is pain, another unfamiliar concept. ]

How did you even know I was here? I doubt there were many clues to lead you here? Is this something you could do with your magic?

[ she eyes the way he gingerly touches the wound on his shoulder through his coat, wincing as he does, and she frowns. ]

You're going to have to let me look at that when we're out of here, by the way. I'm no doctor, but it should probably at least have a fresh bandage before we take you to someone to have it cleaned up.

[ is she concerned about his injury? yes. is she purposefully ignoring his line of questioning, because she doesn't want to give him the answer? ...also yes. ]

It should be healing.

[ and the fact that it doesn't is infuriating and concerning. the only other time he'd seen something like that had been with rose and the dream vortex but there's nothing like that here.

rose is not here. there's no discernible vortex. so, why is this happening? ]

[ it's not, and she's as concerned as he is right about now.

zagreus is shuffling several of the other prisoners in the direction of the exit, and there's a queue, so instead of waiting in a line she opts to keep him where he is for now, touching the sleeve of his affected arm carefully. ]

Can I see it? I just want to see for myself how bad it is.

It's not that bad.

[ he doesn't really want to show her but he sighs and pulls his jacket off so he can roll up his sleeve. ]

Please don't go prodding at it.

[ because it stings. ]

I'll be gentle, I promise.

[ inasmuch a non-medically trained person can be, in this scenario. but she does try to avoid touching it, her fingers wrapping around the lower part of his arm and turning it slightly so she can see it fully when he rolls up his sleeve.

and it's ugly; a bleeding, oozing wound, in the shape of the letter F. johanna inadvertently flinches looking upon it, audibly sucking in her breath, and then spends the next few moments schooling her features neutrally for him.

her whispered words, though, are honest at least. ]

...Fucking hell.

It's not that bad.

[ what was bad about it was the fact that it was there at all. he knows that. but, there's nothing to be done about it now. he thinks that it will heal, eventually.

he sighs and shakes his head, pulling his sleeve down because he doesn't want to look at it again. ]

And it will heal.

It is that bad, [ she counters in a tone that brooks no argument, her features fixed in determination. ]

It'll heal, because we'll take it to someone who'll make it so. But it's unforgiveable that it even happened in the first place.

[ morpheus meets her look with one of his own before he sighs and shakes his head. ]

I don't need healing.

[ of course he was going to be stubborn. he's concerned and he doesn't want to show it to her or anyone. that this place could hurt him is...not good. ]

You do, and you'll get it if I have to bodily drag you there myself.

[ don't test her!!! ...or, do and watch her scramble to find someone who'd actually be physically strong enough to throw him over their shoulder, lmfskj. ]

You couldn't.

[ so yes, he is going to test her. he's not going to have himself poked and prodded. ]

It will heal on its own.

[ johanna folds her arms under her chest and seethes — he is being ridiculously stubborn, and even though she knows this is one of his traits she can't abide by him spurning medical treatment because of his fucking pride.

she gets closer until she's directly in front of him, peering up at him in the dim light of the prison, close enough to rest his chin on her head if he chose to. ]

You have to. What if it gets infected?

What if — [ and she allows herself a moment to consider the unthinkable — ] you die?

[ and he must know that it's possible now, here — precisely because of that mark on his shoulder. ]

It's not going to get infected.

[ he's convinced himself of that. he's not going to have a wound get infected and he's not going to die either. but he doesn't really know how to reassure her either.

he's not good at that. ]

I'm not going to die.

You don't know that.

[ her voice is rising, a little hysterically now, because she's not entirely sure she can convince him and it's freaking her out. ]

We don't know whether we're really 'dead' here, or not. But what we do know, is that they can hurt us. That they can hurt you. And I'm not taking the chance on losing you, not like this.

So you are going to put your fucking pride aside, just this once, and do as I ask you to.

[ and then that wall of ferocity crumbles, because it always does, eventually; she can't hold it up forever.

lips trembling: ]

...Please.

[ in the face of her anger and — her upset, he still wants to say no. he doesn't want to admit that there's a vulnerability here, that he has a weakness.

but he doesn't know what she's going to do if he does that he peers at her and then looks away. ]

I don't know of any doctors here.