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Rhodos Mods ([personal profile] rhodosmods) wrote in [community profile] rhodos_meme2022-08-10 10:12 am
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TDM #1

TDM #1: AUGUST
I. ARRIVAL
Upon arrival, characters awaken in one of the main plazas of the town, lying on the paving stones around a central fountain. It is a bright sunny day and very hot, so you'll quickly want to find some shade. A light breeze brings the scent of the sea, but there are no cries of sea birds to be heard.

The buildings of the plaza are all medieval stone construction, but they all have modern awnings and glass fronts. Tables out front display tourist wares: little plastic statuettes, postcards, t-shirts. Among these, it's easy to identify Greek lettering, Greek gods, photos of Athens and Crete. Predominant among the souvenirs are items marked with the name Rhodos.

But there are no vendors selling their wares. Even if characters wander into the shops, they are all empty as if their owners just stepped away for a moment. Lights are on, and some of the larger and nicer shops even have the whirr of air conditioning. Food stands waft the aroma of freshly grilled kebabs, and a gelato cart is cold to the touch and the ice cream inside is frosty and delicious.

The plaza where you arrive is set on a slope, and the direction of the sea breeze and the faint sound of waves against a shore indicates pretty strongly that down-slope is the direction of the sea. But looking down the slope from the main plaza, you can see an open archway in a tall stone wall, and beyond it is nothing but mist. Despite the clear sunny day in the plaza, the mist is a dense fog with barely three feet of visibility. If you enter it, you can see your own arms in front of you, but nothing beyond that. The breeze has gone still and the waves no longer sound so much like waves--the sound is warped through the mist so that it almost sounds like sobbing. After about five minutes of determined walking across what feels like flat ground with no other landmarks, you find yourself back at the archway.

Housing can easily be scavenged. Doors are unlocked and the interiors are clean and welcoming, beds freshly made, as if it is a hotel that's been prepared for you rather than anyone's personal residence. And yet, once you've settled upon a place to live, you start to find little signs that you have lived here all along. The photographs on the wall (which weren't there when you first arrived) depict you and your family and friends, even if you came from a world without photography. Upon arrival, you have only the clothing you are wearing, but within a day the closet begins to fill with familiar outfits from home, and within the first week you may find up to five of your own possessions around your new residence.

Note: Wardrobe is limited to what you can reasonably fit inside a non-walk-in apartment closet, what your character would reasonably wear and possess in canon, or what can be scavenged around town. There are two very small clothing boutiques where you can find most basics and a few cute outfits. For starting possessions two may be weapons or magical items, but you may have an additional three mundane items. All other personal items can only be obtained through regains or events.
II. SOUND AND LIGHT
The first few days in your new home are relatively uneventful. The days are hot and sunny and the nights are warm beneath a dazzling starry sky.

After not quite a week, the noises of a spectacle will lead characters to a small gate in one of the outer walls with steps leading down into the outer moat. The fog surrounding the city walls has drawn back for just this one little area, revealing an open air theater butting up against the castle wall. A path leads away from the theater on either side, but if you walk into the mist on either side you will promptly find yourself walking out of the mist on the opposite side, as if you'd circumnavigated the entire moat in just a few steps. Behind the theater is another high stone wall. Centuries of weathering has added rough footholds and handholds, but it would be a dangerous climb without equipment. Trees grow from the top of the wall, sticking limbs out of the wall of mist and clawing roots into the stones at the top, loosening them so that they're ready to slip at a touch.

The play that is projected onto the wall features shadow puppets, colored lights, and canned soundtrack special effects like the clop of horses hooves or the burst of trumpets. There is no dialogue or narration, so the story can only be roughly pieced together: there is a king and a queen, then a betrayal that leads to the king's murder. Later, the king and the queen appear again, participating in a ritual which seems to involve human sacrifice, a war and a triumphal procession, and then another betrayal and the king is murdered again.

The story repeats three times every night before shutting itself off. The first performance starts at twilight, and each repetition lasts about twenty minutes. Characters who watch it repeatedly will get the sense that it's slightly different each time, but the whole thing is complicated and confusing without any narration or dialogue to provide context, so characters will struggle to pin down how it's different. A slide projector is set up at the top of the amphitheater, with a pair of old speakers on either side of it. If slides are removed from the projector, they show only blank, uncolored plastic. If something is placed in front of the projector light, the scene is projected onto that object. The projector can be turned off, unplugged, or smashed. No matter what is done to it, as soon as no one is actively watching it, it is restored to an undamaged status and resumes playing.

After watching an entire repetition of the performance, some characters may be overcome by a fit of weeping. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can't seem to catch your breath. Despair clutches at your heart, colored by your own personal sorrows, and the weeping can only be stopped by receiving an embrace.

Others may find that the performance inspires them to reminisce. No matter how secretive you might normally be, you find yourself turning to whoever is sitting near you and telling them a story from your past, something that makes you nostalgic or regretful.
III. INTO THE FOG
CONTENT WARNING: Cruelty and violence against (monster) dogs

After the characters have been in Rhodos for about three weeks, a heavy fog rolls into town. Unlike the mist that surrounds the city, the fog smells of smoke. Visibility is reduced to a mere ten or fifteen feet.

The electricity goes out, and shops are no longer replenished. Food may still be scavenged, but the food in shops and restaurants will slowly rot and may run out. Battery operated items will continue to work as long as the batteries still have a charge. Running water inside the houses continues to work, but it is sluggish and smells stale, leaving an unpleasant film on the skin.

While out on the streets of the town, characters will begin to encounter the monster dogs of Rhodos. The sound of a dragging chain precedes them, and then the hazy outline of a dog comes into view. It's walking oddly, however, with a sort of staggering limp, and the sound of the chain is underlaid by a low, feral growl. Furless gray skin peels away in patches to reveal bloody muscle. The heavy iron collar around the neck is studded with long black screws, the ends of which pierce the skin of the neck. Hazy eyes are clouded with decomposition, and yet that doesn't seem to prevent the dog from making its way straight toward you.

The dogs are not very fast, nor very smart. They can be outpaced at a brisk walk, and they will lose track of any character who gets more than twenty feet away or behind a closed door. But they are vicious. If you get within a few feet, they will lunge at you and attempt to bite. If two or three of them manage to corner you in a blind alley, you could be in real trouble.

In addition to the dogs, characters will begin to catch glimpses of Manifestations, both their own or those of others. At first you might just catch a glimpse of them through a break in the fog, but after a day or two they can be spotted standing outside of apartment windows and staring in. In either case, they will not approach or attack characters unless you're foolish enough to get within six feet of them. Then, they will attack, and they will pursue at a fast walk until they lose track of you in the fog.
IV. WAKING UP TO A NIGHTMARE
CONTENT WARNING: Blood imagery

On the 28th, characters are awakened by the sound of their front doors being smashed in. It's your own smashing door that awakens you, but you can hear more distant sounds of destruction from the other apartments nearby.

As you scramble out of your bed, you find that the homey, quilted bedding has been soaked through with blood, and it's sagging in the middle with the outline of a human body. But before you have a chance to properly react to that horror, your Manifestation is coming through your bedroom door — more than one of them, if you were sharing that bed with anyone.

You will have to fight or dodge in order to get out of the room. Your Manifestation is out for your blood. You can do damage to it, creating deep wounds and heavy bruises, causing it to stagger and slow for a moment, but no matter how much damage you do it keeps coming for you. Sooner or later, you will need to run.

When you make it out into the streets, you'll find that the entire world has changed. Heavy darkness fills the city, and no stars are visible in the sky. A few lights glow despite the lack of electricity, but they only provide a sickly, red-tinted light. Streets are slick with something that looks like blood, and the stone walls in many places have been transformed into metal or grate. Through the grate, you can catch glimpses of black metal hooks and gory, dripping meat that looks human in origin.

There is no palatable food or water. Anything you have saved has rotted or changed unnaturally into what looks like rotting flesh or lumps of bile. Liquid has turned into blood or black water. The only mercy is that symptoms of hunger, thirst and fatigue stabilize after 24 hours and don't get any worse. Don't worry, it won't be the dehydration that kills you here.

Your Manifestation pursues you tirelessly, and the monster dogs are faster, smarter, and moving in packs. Your home is no longer safe, and staying on the streets is deadly.
V. THE BONFIRE
CONTENT WARNING: Body horror, immolation

Sooner or later, you find your way to the bonfire in the middle of the fountain square. There is no longer water in the fountain. Instead, the whole thing towers with flame, fueled by a viscous black substance in the basin.

A tall man stands by the fountain, gazing into the flames as if he is supervising. His suit is true black, fathomless black, while his skin is a dark red-black like the newly formed crust upon a lava flow. His eyes are black pools reflecting the flames. He takes no interest in any approaching characters, and will not respond to any questions. The only thing that will draw his attention to you is an attempted attack. If you try it, your blow lands, but he doesn't seem to take any damage. His head turns toward you and he considers you for a moment, as if he finds it intriguing that you would attempt such a thing. Then he returns his attention to the fire.

The dogs and the Manifestations will not pursue you into the circle of light cast by the bonfire. You can find a sort of respite here.

Time passes. It feels like days, though there is no way to mark the passage of time. The Dark Figure continues to supervise the bonfire.

At last, your attention is drawn to a sort of commotion approaching down one of the main streets that feeds into the plaza. You hear a rattling of metal, and a sort of gibbering moan. The bonfire illuminates first upon a pale, faceless figure which seems to writhe as it approaches, hovering above the paving stones. As it grows closer, you see that the figure is lashed to a square metal frame and bound with strips of barbed wire. Veiled figures on either side bear it forward, and the Dark Figure turns to watch it approach.

The figure upon the frame has no face and no mouth with which to make its agonized moans, but it continues nonetheless. It has limbs but no hands or feet, each limb ending in smooth stumps.

If no one interferes, the Handmaidens carry the frame forward and place it upon the fire.

The Handmaidens can be attacked, and hurt. They cry out indignantly at any attack, and recoil. They will not fight back, but they also will not be discouraged from their task by anything less than persistent violence.

If the pale figure on the frame is rescued by the player characters, it flails and gibbers helplessly, continuing to moan. If the pale figure is consigned to the flames, it begins to scream, and continues screaming for several minutes until the flame finally overcomes it.

In either situation, you begin to cough. Blood spills from your mouth, dribbling down your chin and spattering upon your clothing. But then the droplets begin to slither into letters, forming words that spell out your deepest guilt, in the words you yourself would use to describe it. No attempt to wipe the words away or cover them will prevent their legibility. The blood shines through whatever covers it, catching the firelight so that those around you can clearly read the words.

The Dark Figure and his Handmaidens made their exit while you were coughing. You are left alone with the other Tourists around you, your guilt, and whatever remains of the pale figure upon the frame.
SUMMARY
Arrival: August 1
Sound and Light: August 5-20
Into the Fog: August 21-27
Waking Up to a Nightmare: August 28-30
The Bonfire: August 31

Welcome to Rhodos! Going forward, events will take place in two parts. The Normal World part of the event posted on the 5th of each month, and it will be a lighter event both in terms of length and thematic content. TDMs will be bi-monthly and will feature an event element or elements for the Normal World which in-game characters may also play with on their own log posts. The sections on Fog and Nightmare worlds for the TDM will generally be the same every month, allowing players to test drive those elements if they'd like, but not including spoilers for the second part of that month's event. The second part of the event will be posted on the 20th of each month, covering events occurring through both the Fog and Nightmare cycles.

Test drive memes are considered game canon.

This won't always be the case, but for the nerds among you who are enjoying this sometimes-accurate tour of Rhodes, all location images in this TDM and housing are accurate to Rhodes.

Lastly, we are in need of mods! We're most in need of help for processing apps and activity. If we aren't able to get some additional mods, we will have to place a cap on applications, and we're hoping we won't have to do that. If you're interested, please send us a message over on the mod contact page. We've gotten the mod volunteers we needed so we should be all clear to proceed without an applications cap. Thank you to everyone who showed interest!
orobashi: (18)

ii. ingo!!!

[personal profile] orobashi 2022-08-11 07:38 pm (UTC)(link)
( Kokomi had lingered near for similar reasons. The creature was dog-like, and though it seemed too feral to listen to commands or attempts to soothe its rage, she couldn't help but feel that it was still something living, something with a soul, and a will. Escaping them was currently easy, but such ease could lead to arrogance, and arrogance could lead to deadly mistakes.

That careful balance is what has her stepping close behind Ingo, eyes fixed on the injured beast ahead. Was it more like those Spectral Hounds than an actual dog? This is difficult. )


I understand your insistence, but I have to ask what treatment you intend to administer, as well as a clear backup plan in case it cannot be helped.

( Her words are firm, even if gentle, and she steps up further, to his side, to peek at his face. )

I would be able to come up with a way to corner it... but I wouldn't be able to do so knowing that you were going in without a proper plan. In battle, one must always be aware of all possible outcomes.

If you can answer that fittingly, then I will assist you.
orobashi: (41)

arrival

[personal profile] orobashi 2022-08-11 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)
( The knocking felt like part of her dream. Distant, faint, like echoes among the sound of the ocean itself. Bubbles, fish, a whale calling from a long ways away. If she couldn't find the ocean, her mind had decided she'd dream of it, and that had worked to regain a little bit of her energy...

But that stopped the moment she realized that the knocking was not part of the ocean soundtrack. Blinking blearily awake, she pushes herself up from the chair at the desk she'd fallen asleep at earlier. She's in a bedroom of the apartment, and bringing herself out into the main entryway, she finds that the door is already open. Her breath catches in her throat nervously, but she turns to look into the path leading to the kitchen just in time for the boy heading that way to turn back and look at her.

She's surprised, but the lack of aggression or stealth in his body language is a calming thing. After all, the more she spends time awake again, the more she can recall just where she is. Here, lost, away from anyone she knows... in an apartment not even her own. Her expression grows more sheepish as she lowers her head slightly, one arm grabbing the other behind her back. )


I... forgive me, I had fallen asleep. ( Realization is slow. At first, she'd wondered if this might be his claimed spot— but he had knocked, hadn't he? No one knocks on their own apartment door, do they? )

If this place is one that you desire for yourself, I could easily relocate. To be quite honest, I stumbled upon it and fell asleep before I knew it.
warbeast: (pic#15455766)

[personal profile] warbeast 2022-08-11 08:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Are tentacle-blades powers or weapons/magical items...... I imagine they're technically powers (are physically attached to him) but wanted to check just in case.
blooddyd: (pic#15869165)

[personal profile] blooddyd 2022-08-11 08:11 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Sacrifice. How much longer must this word haunt him so? Those who died in the tragedy of Duscur to defend their ideals, to protect their king and Dimitri himself, and those who continued to throw their lives away on a war that hangs on his shoulders... Should he die before seeing his mission through, he knows he will be rendering their sacrifice useless, and so he cannot afford to give up.

But the words that stain the ground beneath his feet, red and alive like the blood that insists on running in his veins and in his heart? He knows them to be true. A secret he will be covetously keeping to himself. ]


That was no sacrifice. It was murder, no matter how you look at it.

[ It takes some effort to hold his tongue on his more personal memories, and also on the words before his newfound companion-- words that so closely mirror his own in spirit. It is not his place to pry. ]

My apologies, that was insensitive of me. [ A small shake of his head. ] Were you... acquainted with that figure?

[ Even amid his own stupor, he recalls her screams and her tears, at least. Anguished, as though she herself burned in the flames-- anguish like his memory knows too well. ]
warbeast: (pic#15455765)

[personal profile] warbeast 2022-08-11 08:26 pm (UTC)(link)
They are fully retractable into his body so I will file them under powers and get him a really nice stick in the interim. Imagining him dragging around physical manifestations of his ED is incredible but may prove cumbersome building fresh CR. Another time. :')
blooddyd: (pic#15869177)

[personal profile] blooddyd 2022-08-11 08:38 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Is he getting therapy talk from an octopus witch...

To Azul's dismay, Dimitri is far too used to that particular kind of tone, the polite pleasantries and fake concern coated in sugar-- so much like his uncle's at his father's funeral, and every other servant the man later assigned to him as a means to keep a close eye on a boy he feared like a beast. A lion's cub, he used to call him.

Alas, to Dimitri's dismay, he finds it hard to bite his own tongue right now. He tries to fight it, tries to dismiss the urge -- and the prodding -- with a firm shake of his head, but to no avail. ]


There is not much else to say, I'm afraid. [ In truth, it's one more stubborn attempt at keeping his silence, though it doesn't pan out. ] My father was the king of Faerghus, and he had hoped to establish peaceful relations with Duscur, a country across our borders. My stepmother personally assisted dissenting lords into staging a coup, and as a result, he was murdered right before my eyes, his head severed clean off his shoulders.

[ How's that for story time? ]
songmother: <user name="inkcharm"> (026 the very thing you're best at)

[personal profile] songmother 2022-08-11 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Sarah took in his words, no more harsh than truth could sometimes be. Though she did not know his own experience, she knew the loss of comrades never felt as glorious as those in command of war often chose or had no choice but to rebrand it for morale, and for their own sanity. Her tone softened, as the connection to another in the current situation washed her with a sense of comfort. Sarah preferred company, especially in this hellish setting. ]

No need to apologize - you're right. While I do not know what you experienced, I should not presume. All the same, however they died, I would not want to see the same for you. I have lost many friends and companions to war, and worse. It brings me guilt, to live when they do not. But the only thing I can imagine worse than dying is watching any more of them taken from life too soon.

[ She reflects on the creature's face, reflecting that of others again, closing her eyes until remembering them was too painful. She opened them and meant to meet his own bright-eyed gaze. ]

I did not know it, but where it had no face, I saw the faces of many I have loved and lost. Besides, no one deserves to die that way. What if the next ...offering... is one of us?
blooddyd: (pic#15869165)

[personal profile] blooddyd 2022-08-11 09:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It's a small miracle that Dimitri even manages to hear the approaching stranger, the voices of the dead drowning out most noise and most sanity. But somehow, he does, and the the line between his brows as he studies the handkerchief isn't disdain or even harsh judgement -- and if anyone should be getting judged here, it most certainly should be Dimitri, though his state of despair leaves little room for immediate critique.

No, what flashes across his face instead is genuine puzzlement. How long has it been since he last cried like this? ]


Thank you. [ There's still hesitation in his tone as he makes for the proffered item, unsure of himself. ] But... To be frank, I'm not sure how much a story could help... or if I should be distracted.

[ He can at least follow Nehan's advice and take deep breaths, try to school himself back into something resembling composure. But the pain and the tears? They never quite stop. ]

My apologies. I don't mean to make light of your kindness, but their faces, their screams... I must not forget.
daggerdagger: (010)

vax'ildan vessar | critical role

[personal profile] daggerdagger 2022-08-11 09:28 pm (UTC)(link)
▶ 1. arrival

    [ It's like something out of a dream when Vax steps out onto the main plaza. Which, considering the kind of dreams that he has been having lately, this place would be all the welcome. Please, bring on dreams about whimsical tropical places that look too good to be true and aren't littered with raven's feathers, and have no signs of a woman whose face is covered by a porcelain mask.

    Curiously, he notices he has been stripped of his usual armor, down to only one Vestige of Convergence. Which. At least he has one? But there is an immediate panic that rises to his throat and threatens to choke the life out of him, and -- wait, is this death? Has the Raven Queen come to claim her champion?

    No, death for him would not be so peaceful. And besides, he has unfinished business.

    In all his ruminating, he realizes he has been wandering around, finding himself among the shops now. And fuck if that isn't just nostalgia dragging at his wrist. Any minute now, he expects to see the familiar purple awnings of Gilmore's Glorious Goods and gods what he wouldn't give to see Gilmore right now.

    But Gilmore is nowhere to be found, this place feels just a little too unlike any of the many locations Vox Machina has traveled to thus far. And that, that leaves him with a feeling of unease. ]


    Maybe it's as good thing Vex isn't here. Shops without vendors? She'd either have a field day or be so fucking pissed she doesn't get to make a shopkeeper cry.

    [ It's mostly said to himself, though anyone nearby would be able to hear, and reply if they so desire. ]


▶ 2. sound and light

    [ What a strange sense of déjà vu. The first time he sees the performance, it's like something is on the tip of his tongue, just right out of reach, but he can't grab it and it evades him, slipping off into the night. The second time, he thinks of Emon, of Sovereign Uriel and it hearkens maybe a little too close to home.

    The third night, well. The third night he feels himself starting to break. He's never been this long without his sister, and there's no end in sight of this madness. ]


    Grog would have hated this. [ Are those tears in his eyes? Oh fuck no, Vax is not crying over Grog. ] They all would. Except Keyleth, maybe. I hope wherever they are, they're okay.


▶ 3. into the fog

    [ Look, Vax has seen enough shit in his years to know these dogs are bad news. The good news is, they're not nearly as bad as anything that Vox Machina has fought over the years so he's able to avoid being chased by them.

    Most of the time.

    He's also down one pair of Boots of Haste (godsdammit, Stubby, I hope you're happy) which does nothing to aid in his running attempts.

    But doors! Doors, he can handle. Except for the fact that he has no lockpicks.

    And doors also still kind of don't like him. ]


    Please for the love of -- if there's anyone there, let me in? I would say I'd make it worth your while but --

    [ Before he can finish this train of thought, though, he sees it. Sees her. Only she looks different than any other time he's seen the goddess, because instead of a porcelain mask her face is scratched out, and her body looks more like the amalgamation of ravens rather than a humanoid form. Her hand is outstretched towards Vax, and Vax?

    He feels himself frozen in place, unable to do anything but gawk in confused terror. ]


▶ 4. waking up to a nightmare

    [ No matter how much he scrubs, it won't come off. Out of breath, throat strained from screaming going from one nightmare straight into the next (and it's a damn good thing nobody else has been around to hear that cacophony or he would never be able to live it down).

    She appears next, like a damned ghost tethered to his soul, always there, always reminding him of how doomed he is, and he opens his mouth, no sound comes out.

    Running, Vax has always been good at running. He knows he's only good in a fight when he can't be seen, and he knows, he knows the time for stealth has been out the window days ago. So, he runs. Runs fast, fast, fast as he can, until his legs won't take him any further, and then he tries to crawl, doesn't care to look over his shoulder to see if she's still chasing after him, always there, always just one step behind him.

    A shadow falls over him and he braces himself, braces himself for the end, but it's not her, is it? ]


    Please, please tell me you know of a safe haven. I fear I'm running out of steam.


▶ 5. wildcard

    [ Feel free to toss something else at me or hit me up at [plurk.com profile] aoneknifestand or via PM to plot something specific! ]
roomed: (Neutral)

Arrival

[personal profile] roomed 2022-08-11 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Henry had been wandering around aimlessly himself, although he'd been a little less focused on escape. There's no escaping, at least not the normal way. He knows that.

So he'd been trying to get acquainted with the area, or at least that's what he's told himself. Instead, he's letting his mind drift- right up until he sees Ethan. He watches as the injured man leaves through the archway, reappears, and leaves again. On the second reappearance, he walks up to the other man and awkwardly gestures towards him. ]


Are you okay?
twaaang: (consider: what if i beat your ass)

Larry Samuel | Original Character

[personal profile] twaaang 2022-08-11 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)
i. Waking
[Upon waking, Larry can instantly tell things are Wrong. He sits bolt upright and checks himself, feeling at his limbs and hands.] Ah shit. Ah hell. Okay. Okay this is happening. Okay cool great cool okay. [His hands fly up to his mask, still securely in place. Then, hesitantly, they reach under it. His breath hitches for a moment.] coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool.

[Larry jumps to his feet, promptly trips on his own limbs, and barely gets his hands up in time to keep himself from falling face first into the stone.] Good day. Great day. Loving this.

[Maybe he should just lie here. Face down. Wait for whatever madness that he's gotten roped into to settle down. That's how it always works, right? Do absolutely nothing and things just happen. Yeah. That's generally how it goes. Still lying face down, he reaches up and grips at his hood with trembling hands, his breath coming in shaky and fast through his teeth. It's temporary. All things pass. No exceptions. He'll lie here and wait for it to be done.]

ii. Sound and...
[Larry paces back and forth next to the projector. He's sat and watched this strange, inconsistent little play a half dozen times. It freaks him out to watch, but not enough to stop watching, but it freaks him out nonetheless. He hates the way it makes his chest tighten and tears spring up without his permission. He takes the discomfort as a personal challenge.]

[Art is communication. It's one person's thoughts, emotions, feelings rendered into something tangible. This show is a message, one whose translation he can't quite piece together. And a message can be replied to.]

[Anyone watching the shadow theater will find the show suddenly distinctly interrupted as the lumpy shadow of a wolf edges in and eats the king, and mimes howling to the sky as armies rush in around it. Larry's not as used to making shadow puppets this way, but then again he's never cared about making his art exceptionally polished, either.]

iii. Nightmare
[Larry had often felt as though he'd been born in the wrong genre--like he didn't exist on the same wavelength as everyone else around him. It was little comfort to know now that he could have been a far, far worse fit. Case in point.]

[An iron cage encircles the head of the monstrosity stepping through his ruined doorway, metal thorns pointing out in every direction and glowing white with sourceless heat. Despite the inability to make out any part of its face, Larry's stomach wrenches in recognition.]

NOPE.

[A discordant note echoes out from the shattered doorway. Then another, and another. Larry reels his spiked banjo back for another hit, but overbalances and staggers as the Manifestation lunges out at him--his body isn't moving right, and claws caked in viscous black liquid rip at his side. A yell strangles in his throat as he kicks his attacker in the gut, and scrambles for the door. It's not like Larry's never gone toe to toe with a shambling juggernaut before, but usually he can out-unstoppable-force it. Nothing about this thing, or even Larry right now, is as usual. He needs space, he needs to recalibrate, he needs backup--]

[Larry barely stops short of another individual fleeing their home. The realization of the scope of things only just starts to spark in his brain as their own Manifestation appears in the doorway.]

Oh sweet it's not just me. [He does his level best to sound blithely disinterested, even with his voice hitched with pain. His grip tightens on the neck of his banjo.] What's up, you do fighting?

iv. Wildcard
[drop another prompt or hit me up at [plurk.com profile] yunisverse if you got any thoughts/ideas/whatever! Overview is Larry is a funny little noodle man who's not used to having a body and likes to solve problems with violence and/or jam sessions. He's usually pretty chill vibes when he's not having body horror problems.]
Edited 2022-08-11 21:40 (UTC)
wrists: (10)

chrissy T___T

[personal profile] wrists 2022-08-11 09:57 pm (UTC)(link)
[ caught in the brambles of his bitter rage, he barely registers her as a person at all. she is a thing for breaking, something meant to temper the depths of his pain, to make the heavy, cloying tension that resides in the cage of his chest somehow bearable. he's taken men down to their knees when he allows his anger to overcome him like this, bloodied them with his hands and eviscerated them in far worse ways with his sharp tongue. this girl, with her secret shame written in blood across her snowy clothing, is no match for him in this volatile state.

but there's a voice in his head, a truth crawling to the light between the dark shades of his ire. he is so fraught with shame that the inevitable has happened — he's blundered, badly. the dogs have circled, creating their own cage of snarling fire. for the first time, he sees the girl for what she is — frightened, defenseless, not very much younger than he is.

he should let her die. no one protected him, no one came to his aid night after night, day after day, a life marked with loss and shame and aching loneliness. and his secret, at least for now, could die with her.

but when the first of the creatures pounce, he springs to her, his sword opening the dog's throat. it falls with a terrible mewl, and he takes the next one's legs, and the third he runs through with his blade, blood splattering the tense lines of his face.
]

Get up. [ he kicks the bodies away and steps before her. he's strong but not of the stature of a greatly brutish soldier; his style of fighting leaves no wasted movement, light on his feet, his swordplay masterful. ] I'll clear a path for you back to the fire. Choose to die elsewhere. The dogs will not give you a swift death.
roomed: (Cold)

Into the Fog

[personal profile] roomed 2022-08-11 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Henry had been a little too focused on the dog he had been fighting. He'd been flailing at it wildly with a large piece of rebar he'd found in the place he was currently calling home. If anything, he'd swear it was the same as his 'go-to' weapon back home, but it didn't matter. Right now he was just trying to move on and find some food and hopefully not get chomped on.

The dog Maria strikes was about to attack his back, and he finishes bludgeoning his current target before he turns around to even notice. He lets out a long breath and nods at her statement. ]


Yeah...thank you. For the help. Have you, uh, just seen dogs?
songmother: <user name="inkcharm"> (017 bury the hatchet)

Sarah Alder — Motherland: Fort Salem

[personal profile] songmother 2022-08-11 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)
OOC: Will match length or style, though I find prose easier. Tag with absolutely anyone! Trauma-bonding welcome. A general content warning for each, there is some mention of her past of persecution for being a witch and of the burning and hanging of many she new, but not anymore detailed than in this warning. Also, probably violence against hell-hounds in "into the fog" and intended violence against handmaiden's in "bonfire".

Feel free to wildcard the arrival or some other idea that strikes you. I'm skipping the nightmare portion for now until I have solidified what her first manifestation will be but I know it will be some kind of smoldering/burning, molding, priest-like figure, not unlike this demon, representing her guilt over her ambition and survival where others did not, as well as fear of the past when the Church hunted and burned her kind. If you want to plot anything or chat in general, don't hesitate to reach out over at [plurk.com profile] wyrdweaver!

ii - sound and light
Sarah had returned to watch the shadow puppets for the second night in a row, and their tale of murder and betrayal. She found the theatre comforting, surrounded by nature with its open setting and stone walls around them. At the same time, she could not shake the instinct of something heavy and ominous, increasing as each day passed.

It had been a week, and the witch had somewhat gathered her bearings, as much as one could upon waking in the plaza of a strange island that was both abandoned and abundant. There was some comfort in the ocean breeze, and that the only other people who could be found were just as perplexed and disoriented as she was. Still, the absence of her power and lack of explanation regarding how or why they were there was always on her mind.

She noticed there seemed to be more people who had wandered out of their adopted homes and reveries to see the show tonight, some whispering if elements of it had changed, some crying softly - later weeping, some appearing physically pained, but most people were silent. She softly adjusted her fitted, black velvet dress-coat, smoothed the similar leggings, and rested her hands in her lap.

The first night she had weeped, albeit, mostly in silence, inexplicably overcome by such heart-wrenching sorrow she could hardly breathe, rushing out when it became hardest, a panic at the thought of choking. It had been difficult to sleep when she returned home, as various events that had caused similar ache in her heart played through her mind in a cruel mockery of actual memory, as if she had taken the puppet show home with her.

During the day, in her various activities and exploration to keep busy and do anything besides panic and worry and despair, Sarah had stopped being angry about the shadow theatre and instead decided to return. She could tell it had left an impression on others as well, as some of the same people were back, and either by word of mouth or some supernatural lure.

With tears on either side of her cheeks, blue eyes that in some hues appeared violet, seemingly glowing from the tears and emotion, Sarah took a moment to regulate her breathing as her throat felt tense and strained, her jaw protruding more than usual with some discomfort. She tucked her long, black with a few streaks of grey hair behind her ear to better see the person beside her. Sarah found herself incapable of resisting the otherwise unnatural urge to be open and vulnerable with a stranger.

"This peculiar puppet show, does it dredge up painful memories and deepest sorrows for you as well? When I went home last night, I could scarcely sleep. I kept seeing visions of failures and betrayals and losses in front of me, even when I closed my eyes, it was there."

iii - into the fog
The scent of pleasant ocean mist had been replaced with a thick fog that smelled of smoke, combining Sarah's biggest discomfort and triggers - a fear of burning and a trauma of having been remotely choked and nearly murdered by a witch she was once closest to, who had deserted the army and started a terrorist cell that attacked humans and any army witches that got in their way. Besides a disagreement of political ideals regarding what was best for witch-kind, Sarah's betrayal of her trust had been the executioner's blade on their alliance, and relationship.

As with most things, she only had herself to blame, even if she had always done what she thought was best to keep witches safe, and give them a place in this world to thrive. Still, she knew her binding to the Salem Accord had forced some decisions and actions that she never felt peace with.

Fortunately, at least, in the few weeks since arriving mysteriously on this increasingly hostile and nightmarish island, Sarah had secured a space to live, become tactically familiar with the immediate radius of her new home, as well as a few main and back-ways into the main gathering spaces. As the electricity was out, she had been pouring over any books and notes she could find in the library by candlelight for hours, too distracted and uncomfortable to acknowledge the hunger she felt, after days without food as it had all gone rotten overnight, somehow the pangs in her stomach had settled as they were, without worsening.

She had risen early from more distressing dreams, seeking a distraction in the empowering form of research, noting but dismissing the heavier fog rolling in until the smell of smoke worsened so strongly that she could no longer ignore it, sulfurous offense in her nostrils drew her from her reading and reverie. Nothing had given her much insight, there was no information on why they were here or for what purpose, but there were many interesting texts that felt relevant all the same, books that reminded her of mankind's pre-enlightenment obsession with sins, monsters, demons, hell, purgatory, etc. Ignorant human superstitions, religious fear-mongering, and yet...

Sarah could no longer focus, the smoke made her eyes itch and water when she tried to read, so she made her way outside the front of the library, when she realized this was more than just the heavier weather pattern she had initially thought a day or two ago when it started - she had been more concerned with that plagued the food and water sources. Something is wrong.

There was hardly any visibility, and despite the smell, she could see nothing burning nearby; even with minimal visibility there should have been some sort of glow, or public reaction. And there was a public reaction, but it wasn't to shouts of 'fire!' or the morbid, curious gathering that happened any time a building went up in flames. Grateful her training and instincts had her going nowhere without the ornate sickle she had found after the first week, when she had been exploring and searching abandoned places for a weapon to defend herself with. At her other hip, her Scourge - a whip that could channel her power, but hardly more than a more resilient whip as long as she remained powerless. She was a master using it, but the blade was to make up for the Scourge being of limited use, for now.

It was then she heard screaming, and the growling of something like a dog, yet, unnaturally so. So, she hadn't been imagining the hound-like outlines in the fog in previous days. Did that mean the other entity she was catching glimpses of was also out there somewhere - stalking her? She readied her whip and moved with tactical haste and caution towards where there was screaming, shouting, and now, growling and grating, hellish barking. She readied her whip above her head, taking an offensive stance. "Sound out - I am here to help! We can take them together!"

v - the bonfire
At first, the bonfire was a comfort, despite the tall, demonic figure observing and seemingly honoring it. He gave no indication of being a threat, and proximity to the wretched flames, for once in her life, provided sanctuary from the demons at her door. Or it did, for awhile that she could not track in terms of hours or days, but it was certainly more than a day. Sarah had spent most of it staring into the flames, reflecting on everything she had experienced, mostly with a tinge of guilt and regret, afraid to take her thoughts too far.

Until there wasn't a choice. When the Handmaidens came, taking a wretched, faceless prisoner towards the flames, she could only think of all the witches sacrificed - hanged or burned alive - not to appease some ancient God or secure safety, in any reality beyond religious fervor, but because humans could not handle their existence. And while this island was still a mystery, apparently containing Hellish threats, she could not help but rise and shout. This being, surely, did not deserve such a death. No one did. And yet, she felt frozen, paralyzed by her fear of the fire, exhaustion, and horror at everything she witnessed.

As the creature neared the fire, Sarah screamed, for a moment, seeing the face of every witch she had ever known -sister, daughter, friend- where the creature had no face. She was distraught, and beyond herself, anger turning to violent tears streaming down her face as she screamed in agony for all of those lost. It was, admittedly, never about the thing they were sacrificing, but about her guilt, failure, and inability to protect generations of those like her, despite her power and authority. She coughed and choked and spluttered up an inky, ominous message before her in her own blood: It should have been you.

Dazed and disoriented with grief, sobbing, she noticed others were having a similar experience, and glared at the words before her, rising from her knees with a look of pure rage and anguish. Fingers wrapping around her Scourge (a whip, sadly, not as powerful as when she could enchant it with her powers that were still missing) other hand clasped around the ornate sickle she had come across weeks ago, when she had been looting and exploring in hopes of finding answers and something to defend herself with.

No, you should not have died with them, or instead of them. You must live, and honor their sacrifice. Was this about saving the creature doomed for the flames, fellow witches lost over the centuries of her life, those who gave years of theirs for her continued life, or her own militant pride? "Who will rise, and fight, and defend this beast? Next it may be one of us."
octaplicitous: (to the things they said)

[personal profile] octaplicitous 2022-08-11 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[He's just here to help the miserable, lonely, and depressed!

Azul listens, his expression morphing into a concerned frown. Even so, he's wondering what he got himself into by talking to this guy; royalty still exists in Azul's world, but bloody coops are largely confined to history, replaced now by political trickery.]


I see. I understand why this play must have triggered such a recollection.

[Since it is also showing the bloody death of a king... which actually has him wondering, is this play showing them something connected to the people here, and not the town itself?

(He's wrong, but right now that's a theory he's considering.)

Nothing in the current play pertains to Azul himself, though, so he can't be sure. His stepfather is loving, and if he ever tried anything on his mother Azul would be after him himself. But he doesn't bring that up; he doesn't think it would be appreciated.]


Would you like to leave? Maybe watching this isn't the best for your mental health.

[He wants to see if and how the play changes if Dimitri leaves.]
lapses: (003)

into the fog—

[personal profile] lapses 2022-08-11 10:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[ he hasn't made sense of this world yet — or his place here in the midst of it.

perhaps, it is retribution for the sins of his past. but if that were the case, then why did they... why did they take them away from him? should he not continue to suffer and repent in silence, tormented and plagued by the consequences of his failure to act in time?

more concerning, what did they do with chaos? with the others?

—or perhaps this is deception in some form. he is no longer able to sense them, yet they exist within him, waiting to break out at a single slip up. he can only remain vigilant, far too used to his emotional repression for it to truly bother him. whether the lack of a presence within him is real or not, he can't afford (or deserve) to relax.

it's pure happenstance that he arrives at this shop. rather than seek food, vincent is looking for ingredients he can use to create more makeshift gun powder. at first, he doesn't pay attention to the blond, his vision dialed back to normalcy and his focus elsewhere. but when he is proffered a partially rotten apple, he finally turns to look at him and the unmistakable familiarity of who he is strikes him.
] Cl— [ he starts to speak his name, yet it cuts off when another presence emerges. his gaze shifts towards it, his expression growing cold. he hears the muffled warning from his companion, but rather than heed it, vincent pulls out cerberus from its holster and fires off a shot.

it hits the canine right between its skull. he doesn't wait to see how effective it is as he retrains his sight on cloud. he doesn't look to be doing too well.
]

This way. [ he says no more, his fingers curling around the blond's wrist to pull him towards the back of the store. there should be another exit there. ]
wrists: (9)

[personal profile] wrists 2022-08-11 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[ she's not — wrong, which is another uncomfortable facet of this situation. the puppet show is dredging up old memories, his parents and his brother and his uncle, though she seems much more far along in her emotions while laurent is keeping a very tightly controlled lid on everything he could potentially experience in this theater. the king of repression, bow to him.

the facepaint throws him off entirely, studying it far more closely than her tears.
]

Slaves wear gold paint. [ he gestures with his pale fingers, not coming too close as if risking touching something undesirable. ] What are these colors supposed to signify? You wish to be a corpse?
goldenscarred: (pic#15185075)

Housewarming

[personal profile] goldenscarred 2022-08-11 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[Azul probably gets the feeling he’s being watched, as Hunter’s mostly hiding from within his own apartment, but a trashcan on fire isn’t exactly subtle. Hunter closes the door all the way, but then after a few seconds, decides to make a conversation out of it. 

Fully dressed in his uniform, mask included, he heads to the fiery blaze of ripped photos.]

Gotta be better ways to throw things out than burning them.
goldenscarred: (pic#15185078)

ARRIVAL

[personal profile] goldenscarred 2022-08-11 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Alivers?

[There, a shorter figure also in a mask, hood, and cape. Nearly the opposite color palette of Gara, as he’s in gold and white. He gestures with a slightly grossed out hand motion at the kebab.]

And you wanted it raw?
navcav: (obitchuary)

[personal profile] navcav 2022-08-11 11:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ the paint is pretty unpresentable by now, having mostly dripped and smeared off thanks to gideon wiping at her face all the time with the long black sleeves of her robes. harrow would throw a fit, to see so many slivers of her unpainted skin being presented to the public like this.

actually harrow would probably also throw a fit over the crying, but it would be more like a 'you're not properly representing the honor of the Ninth House!!!' sort of fit.

she inhales deeply through her nose like a toddler who doesn't want to bother with a hankie. the sound is obnoxious, and probably on purpose. ]


Ugh, I'm not a slave, obviously. Do they let slaves carry around big fuck-off swords where you come from? I'm a cavalier.

[ helpfully, ]

You can tell by the sword.

And the colors are... well... how do I put this. It's not a preference, at all. It's absolutely not a preference. It's a nun thing? Ninth House, shadow cultists, black nuns?

[ nobody else here had recognized her paint or her super casual references to the Houses, but it's worth a shot. also he still looks a Third offshoot branch with the blond hair and the jewel-colored eyes and the looking down the nose, and it's throwing her a little bit. ]
octaplicitous: (life's too short to even care at all)

001b

[personal profile] octaplicitous 2022-08-11 11:01 pm (UTC)(link)
[Azul is near the archway, though he hasn't come too close to it yet. He's wearing a black tracksuit, which showed up in his closet the day before, but he doesn't have any weapons and walking blindly into a fog doesn't feel like the best plan.

He's a bit startled when Eddie suddenly reappears after he's pretty sure he saw him disappear not long ago (that hair is easy to spot), but misdirection magic isn't completely unfamiliar to Azul (at least, that's what he's assuming this is).

Azul is only seventeen but he speaks in a smooth way, like he's trying to sound older and more mature than he is.]


People don't see monsters often anymore... then again, you never know.

[Because of course, in his world, magic and monsters are normal things. Not that Azul has ever seen the latter, not really.]

If someone is controlling all this, though, then all we have to do is find them and defeat them.

[Easier said than done, he knows.]
wrists: (14)

[personal profile] wrists 2022-08-11 11:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[ none of the words presented register with much meaning to him, studying her with a carefully blank expression on his face, his gaze briefly flickering to her sword. it's an odd choice for a purported nun, as is the facepaint and the less than pious language. perhaps the only thing that makes sense are the atrocious robes. laurent himself is tightly laced in the high-collared aristocratic clothing that covers as much skin as possible, dark blue and gold, his boots to his knees, a similar fuck-off sword at his hip, though one that matches his trim stature. ]

You don't have the demeanor to be a slave. You'd be put on the cross and flogged within a day. [ maybe on laurent's orders. but this world is a far cry from vere, and these punishments, along with treacherous palace life, seem far away. at least nuns are celibate. his skin is already crawling. although — no, there's no way she is a proper nun. no way at all. ] You need a sword to commune with your gods?

[ and because the sound is absolutely unbearable, he reaches into his jacket and extracts an exquisite square of cloth, satiny blue and embroidered with a golden starburst. he normally uses it to clean his sword, but it's free of blood and therefore a perfectly acceptable handkerchief. ]

Stop this. You bring shame on your house, which I normally would find amusing except that you're sitting so close to me.
shurajodo: (⦁ 01 💀)

[personal profile] shurajodo 2022-08-11 11:34 pm (UTC)(link)
( Aren't they a pair. )

Y'know, the living, not Handead like me. And 's better raw!

( There's more to it than that, but Gara's not about to explain so quickly.

Gara regards the figure with a quick up-down glance over his form.
)

Hardly the weirdest shit you're gonna see.
navcav: (got a birkin i got no regrets)

[personal profile] navcav 2022-08-11 11:52 pm (UTC)(link)
[ alright t e c h n i c a l l y the longsword is not a cavalier's weapon at all, that stupid honor going to the useless rapier she'd left behind somewhere, so gideon hasn't any right to be telling anyone that they ought to recognize her as a cav on sight. and she is, sorta, a slave. a bondswoman is pretty damn close, not that this dude in his expensive clothes and his expensive looking sword needs to know about that. ]

What, your nuns don't get flogged? Lucky bitches. I'll show you my super cool flogging scars some other time. I'm actually a nun and a cav, so I get the sword. We're a martial order. Or something.

[ aw this is nostalgic, being told she's a disappointment by someone of higher social class! gideon actually squints at him before taking the extremely expensive looking handkerchief and stuffing it into her pocket without using it all. that's hers now, buddy. she sniffs again, smiling meanly, just to be irritating. ]

Are you related to any royalty, perhaps? You really remind me of somebody I recently met, who also used to say shitty things to total strangers. My name's Gideon Nav, of the Ninth. Who the hell are you, hair boy?