arc iii: house of ravens | arrival

[groundrules]

Hi, everyone! Our Arc III arrival event covers 20 Feb-11 March and doubles as a test drive. Participants don’t need an invite to apply by 11 March. Reserves live here. Try to label if you’re a test drive tourist or an old timer — and have fun!

COTTAGEVORE

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TDM TOURISTS | OLD TIMERS | COMMON PROMPTS | NOTES

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TDM TOURISTS: THE SCENIC ROUTE

You flinch awake, hand weighed by a sharp stick, stone, or makeshift torch. Your clothes sit stiff, splattered with dried dirt and dusted leaves. Here and there, scratches and shallow wounds litter your limbs, the marks of days of dazed survival alone that you mistily remember. Your strength and supernatural powers are currently largely depleted, but should recover within two to three days.

As they journey, characters discover stretches of the eerily silent forests briefly transform into woodlands or recognisable spots of nature from their home worlds — perhaps they’re now seeing the meadows outside their home towns, their backyard orchard, or a fondly remembered lake pier. These images are short-lived illusions that other characters can also see.

Mind your steps: the mirages try to lure characters deep into the forest, where unfriendly animals and hidden pits wait.

A. THE MORE, THE MERRIER

Trailing through the labyrinthine woods, you stumble upon a group of heavily armed bandits who are already herding several captives. Depending on how agitated you are, expect shackles, leashes and tusk pendants that allow characters to speak and glean local tongues — including the thugs' barked instructions. The outlaws are on a three-day voyage to cursed village Ke-Waihu, where they intend to sell their prisoners to the Hok-Shinn criminal clan.

■ Ensure fellow captives survive the trek, avoiding leg-hold traps, snares and hunting nets.

■ Beatings continue, but morale never improves: help mouthy prisoners with their tasks or wounds.

■ Capture or forage food — and stop naïve captives from going deeper into the forest to follow glimpses of beautiful (wo)men or cries for help. There’s nobody there.

■ At night, prisoners are locked in stitched-shut tents — get friendly quickly.

B. JUST CRUISING

The bandits never saw you coming — but you’ve been watching them collect their prey. Perhaps you’ve even found others like you — also spared enslavement, but condemned to trail after the thugs towards Ke-Waihu. Characters can pick up discarded translation and communication tusk pendants, scraps of food and frail weapons.

■ Beware: superstitious thieves frequently patrol at night, while woodland predators are emboldened by the absence of fires.

■ Leave messages or instructions to the bandits’ captives (tree husk carvings, anyone?) and maybe try to rescue them.

■ ...or leave them for dead and trot on to Ke-Waihu. You savage.

» GO CAMPING, THEY SAID

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OLD TIMERS: CURSES FOR ONE, CURSES FOR ALL

After a bumpy ride aboard the Salamera II, the party arrive at idyllic village Ke-Waihu.

They are greeted by Hok-Shinn Weisi, the slippery mayor who officially helms Ke-Waihu, while his brother Sairen leads the clan’s heavy underground ventures. Weisi’s flippant and spoiled son Taksui is the Merchant’s local liaison. The botanist Enam and his apprentices set out to explore, taking the group's baggage along.

■ Weisi was told the party members are families of Taravast refugees, seeking finer fates in Ke-Waihu. Each family has been assigned a humble but serviceable dwelling — see what luck has in store for you.

■ Weisi officially welcomes the newcomers in Ke-Waihu’s main bustling marketplace. Every merchant, fishmonger and beggar stops to watch as foreigners are briefly stripped of their ostentatious jewels, clothes or weapons, soaked in iced water and told to embrace the village by accepting its old, its new, its ugliness and its truths.

■ To join the community, characters must absorb and redeem the wrongdoings of a deceased ancestor. They are served flasks of a thick, bitter brew that slides down mildly corrosive and cold.

■ The brew’s effects vary: some drinkers feel only a sudden, electric awareness of the story behind the curse they inherited. Others feel scalded from the inside, agonising for hours. The ancestral curse effects start to take hold that night.

■ Characters are sent off to their new homes in Ke-Waihu — but are contacted within hours by one of Enam’s anguished apprentices. His master and his peers were captured by bandits while inspecting the elusive forests for plant specimens. These wicked men took everything: your goods, your Ellethian high fashion, your extra weapons, even your Sleeping Zenobius. Go get’em — but beware the deadly illusions of Ke-Waihu’s forest.

» DUDE, WHERE’S MY COMATOSE SLEEPER?

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ALL TOGETHER NOW

The thugs, the old timers, the test drive prisoners and their creepy watchers collide in the mist-drowned forests of Ke-Waihu.

A. BANDIT BANE

■ Infiltrate the thug group in, kick some outlaws’ teeth on the way out.

■ Release and escort roughened-up newcomers to Ke-Waihu, picking up strays along the way.

■ One of the thugs snitches that the remaining stolen loot is hoarded in a nearby secluded cave, drowned under foliage. The entrance is watched by large, agitated boars with startlingly hard, but not impervious skin. With gold, gems, guns within reach, anyone for pork dinner?

■ After speaking with the new arrivals, party botanist and guide Enam confirms they have been summoned to serve as weapons in this world’s ongoing conflict between warring undead factions. The Merchant, Enam’s collaborator and the party’s patron, is leading otherworlders east, where forgotten beacons might return them home.

■ The villagers Ke-Waihu, Ke-Waiar and Ke-Waicai reportedly know the location of such a beacon. They will unveil it if the party breaks the curse of the House of Ravens.

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B. THE BLUSHING BRIDE

When the group returns, Ke-Waihu is celebrating the joyous procession of dozens of lavish 'weddings.' The (false) rites are carried out to commemorate the marriage of a huntsman and his fox bride...

■ The roads are awash with flower petals and rice, houses extend their hospitality freely, and the rich give away coin. Even Hok-Shinn clansmen don their finest garments and hand out gifts and favours, while lawmen grant pardons to captives held for minor offences.

■ Villagers pose as 'brides' and 'grooms' to play act public weddings. Characters are asked to participate as brides and grooms, or to join the wedding retinue of a NPC villager. Characters can unknowingly marry, but not become foxes.

■ The evening culminates in a grand market fete, with stalls offering sickly sweets and strong alcohols. Poets recite love songs, professional weepers wail to strangers that they lost their children to insidious in-laws, and petty clashes erupt among merrymakers.

■ Some of the NPC fox 'brides' seem to grow wide-eyed and alert, suspicious of the many hunting dogs that watchmen walk around the marketplace.

■ Come nightfall, 'wedded' pairs are escorted to suites in a large and extravagant inn. For each 'couple,' accommodations comprise one room for the retinue and a linked conjugal bedroom.

IF CHARACTERS MARRY A (FOX) 'SPOUSE':

■ They are handed three pieces of parchment before they are locked into the marital suite with their consort and their retinue.

■ Once alone in their 'marital quarter,' characters first enjoy polite conversation with their spouse, whose eyes start to glimmer golden, while their teeth and claws lengthen, their mouths distort to snouts and their hair reddens. The fox brides do not seem aware they are, in fact, foxes, but try to scratch, bite or maim their partners. Viciously quick, strong and prone to thralling their victims into spells of lethargy, these foxes could get the best of you — happily, the little parchment papers you received can share some survival tips.

■ Fool the fox spouse into thinking you are already married or pledged to someone in your retinue. Affronted, the fox bride will exile you out of the wedding room. Refresh the salt lines that surround the conjugal room, and gently steer the fox back if it flees overnight.

■ Your retinue and you should impersonate a hunting hound, down to howling, running on all-fours and sniffling. The fox will hurriedly isolate itself in the conjugal room, but will actively try to escape at night. Keep every inn door and window closed.

■ Become a widow(er). Call your retinue and make the best of your fists and a butter knife. You will need to kill the spouse a few times before they stay fully dead, each time reviving more and more fox-like in appearance.

AS A WEDDING RETINUE MEMBER:

■ Awkwardly hold watch outside the conjugal bedroom of the dashing NPC cannon fodder groom and his fox bride.

■ The NPC groom might request help as above — or might fall deathly silent. If that happens, villagers instruct, character must loudly ask if the wine pleases the couple. The flushed, visibly fox-like bride will then open the door to complain their new consort — clawed dead in the marital bed — won’t even share a wine cup with them. The fox does not seem to grasp they have killed their groom.

■ Defeat the fox at drinking — the fox bride can hold its cups, but slipping in some of the relaxing opiates on hand will help the cause. Sneak the NPC groom's corpse out with a buddy when the fox drops asleep.

■ Or prove you are a fairer marital prospect by verbally wooing the fox or doing battle with your retinue companion, to prove your worth. Your wingman may wish to throw the fight, feed lines, or generally smoulder. The fox bride will offer the NPC corpse as a betrothal gift.

Come morning, the villagers open the now-delapidated inn. Those who survive fox weddings receive braided bracelets of red, golden and tangerine rope, earning good will in the village. The murderous fox brides have disappeared — in their place, yellowed and dust-drenched bones 'sleep' in the marital beds, covered by withered and torn wedding clothes.

Villagers share the whole story: a huntsman encountered a fox goddess in the forest, when she had taken the shape of a beautiful woman. Lovestruck, he brought her back to Ke-Waihu as his wife — but the horrified villager slaughtered her and her husband on their wedding night. The fox god cursed the village to relieve yearly 'fox weddings,' during which the bones of those murdered during the previous 'conjugal' festivities rise as brides to terrorise new spouses.

Skipping the fox wedding rites, villagers say, shrivels their crops and depletes their food stocks for several seasons.

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C. A-HUNTING WE WILL GO

It’s all fun and wedding games, until one of the victims of the recent nuptials is the son of influential wine merchant Saguk Chaomin. He vengefully sponsors a a hunt to finally lift the foxes’ curse.

■ Saguk Chaomin assigns weapons — from knives, spears and sharpened sticks to bows, arrows and rifles operating on gun powder — alongside lanterns and climbing rope to the brave adventurers. The contingent splinters into smaller groups to avoid detection.

■ The forests now aggressively conspire to lead characters to their deaths: whether it’s through fostering illusions that trip them into gullies, or decrepit bridges that crumble, sending travellers into whirling river waters. Animals (excluding wolves) attack travellers fiercely. Keep a hunting hound close.

■ Characters with unusual physical features or suspicious behaviours — from supernatural powers to a fear of dogs — are accused of being shape-shifting foxes.

■ Fox spirits assume a mortal but resilient shape the day after the wedding — strong, large, feral and willy. They’re quick to bite, and their presence dulls the senses of hunters.

■ To exorcise the foxes, kill their mortal bodies or obliterate or repair their small, decaying forest altars. These are stone rings the size of one’s hand, often hidden at the root of ancient trees. Cleanse the altars of filth, vermin and predatory creatures, and replenish the stones with fresh river pieces. Beware rare fox spirits that come to protect altars or hide their young.

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D. WELL, WELL, WELL

In the wake of the weddings, characters head to their abodes, while test drivers are garrisoned in communal temporary shelters. Over the next few days, everyone may notice:

■ Villagers have a marrow-deep fear of the Hok-Shinn clan, whose members behave as if they are immune from repercussions.

■ Villagers tell eerie tales of strange encounters in their locked stables, abandoned houses or wells — they have seen a creature with the head of a beautiful woman, whose hair braids to form her snake-like body. 'She' slithers away once discovered.

■ Word spreads across the marketplace that dark waters have returned. A farmer’s well has dried, leaving only a thickened, tar-like liquid at the bottom. Another villager shamefully admits his well also dried a month ago, clogged by dark filth — the fount was old, and he assumed it had naturally depleted.

■ Horrified villagers speak no more of this, but superstitiously volunteer flower and food tributes for the Ka-Sanwon volcano. Mayor Hok-Shinn Weisi intercedes to reserve the resources for the upcoming return of the patron lord of the volcano’s three villages — the undead Beastmaster.

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QUESTIONS

Comments

QUESTIONS

[groundrules]

...before you ask, whether you need to disclose marriage to a fox-possessed skeleton on dating apps is between you and your conscience.

[chosenbylight]

MAYBE this is a silly question to ask first, but how humble are these houses exactly, in terms of sleeping quarters for instance? Are there separate rooms, should they all be expected to share one, or is this up to the "families" to decide themselves OOC?

(Relevant because of how many people are gonna be crashing chez family #5 haha)

Wanda Maximoff — Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)

[divaricate]

(ooc— newbie to the game tdm touring; applying shortly)

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01 (THE SCENIC ROUTE; A)
Things Wanda expected after falling asleep in her quiet little cabin at home: Not this. She was going to wake up, make more tea, and spend another day chilling with her dark magic book. Not... find herself in an unfamiliar forest feeling like she has memories of way too many days travelling?? She's certainly got enough scratches and marks to show for it, too.

She eventually has the misfortune of getting caught up with a group of bandits, and it takes her all of two minutes to realize chaos magic isn't going to be of any help to her here, and gets shuffled in with the rest of the captives. She does, however, try to keep an eye on anyone nearby her.

“Hey— watch out!” She half-hisses at the person next to her, shoving them out of the way of a leg trap on the ground. You're welcome. “This place is charming.” She adds that with so, so much sarcasm. “Should we start taking bets on what other treats await?” She wants to throw hands, but again, her magic isn't really up to its full effectiveness here and she knows better than to start something she can't finish.

At night, in the sealed tent, she's obviously tired, but has the problem of she can't sleep. Too nervous, too on edge, and she spends her time starting to comb out her hair with her fingers and put it in as intricate of a braid as she can. If someone else is awake in the tent with her, she'll eventually say: “You should get some sleep while you can.” Knowing full well the irony of her statement. Do as she says, not as she does.

02 (ALL TOGETHER NOW; A)
As one of those roughened up newcomers, Wanda is incredibly grateful to have come across someone who knew what a chance to release and escort her to someplace safer (maybe) looked like. She follows them as quickly as she can, trying to not land in some traps or other such nonsense that may be around as she does.

“First off, thanks — secondly, is this normal here?” She can haul ass and talk at the same time. “Because that felt like a constant two minutes away from a cult initiation ceremony.” She's just saying.

03 (WILDCARD)
toss another starter at me, or pm/hit me up on plurk @ polarisations to plot something out. I'm chill & will roll with anything.

02

[downswing]

They are hunted, like flat-bellied foxes hidding beneath spumes of bracken, as if they're filth-drenched things, or sullen scavengers. Wangji's foot slides deep in the wet of squelching dirt, and the innards of the sloped gully open for him, the woman's shadow warm and deep on his back, in his wake. He stumbles, but balance settles; at the last moment, he does not fall.

He knows the way gasped breath arcs and tapers like a nail's scratch against the artifice of sorcered silence. The woods wait. They tighten and broaden around them, like the syncopation of an aged heart's pulse. He thinks, if a pin were to drop now, the crackle beneath his foot would echo like hits at the root and marrow of every tree across the river shorelines.

"Normalcy eludes us," this, rushed behind him. And whom did he take under his stewardship? He knows this little: the strange coppers of her hair, the dried reds of battering on her limbs. A woman, for there were no cripples or children within reach. Grip on his sword hilt steely, Bichen's silvered edge sleeps in fetters; Lan Wangji did not bleed the woman's captor to win her safety. But they are friends of fate under empty, sleet skies, and so they burden each other with company.

What is her name? Irrelevant. Instead, reedy:

"What ails you?" Her limbs, perhaps, her back, her bones — worse, he knows, the possibility that the damp of lone captive nights might have spread into pores and lichens of malady, eating of her lungs. Sickness is the way of Wen Qing; he has no cures to offer, only the span of his back, bowed, as her sedan, should the need strike. Better, if she suffers only of bruises or joints, breaking.

Astarion |✮| Baldur's Gate III | Tourist

[good_taste]

1. Into the woods

Oh for Gods sakes, not again. Why. He'd been doing so well, comparatively speaking. But no, that couldn't be allowed. Far more worrying than the unwelcoming forest was the memory loss--that was one of the symptoms, wasn't it? Or did the headaches start first? "Hells, maybe I should take Raphael up on that offer," he groans, pulling himself upright.

...To see that he wasn't alone here. Awkward. Terrifying, and awkward. What a fantastic combination.

But--wait. He didn't recognize them. More importantly, nor did the horrible little thing in his head. Maybe this wasn't as immediately dire as he'd feared. "Ah, hello." He took a deep breath. Calm. Poise. As much as he could manage, while covered in mud and blood. "I don't suppose you know where we are, do you?"

2. A bit of light reading (TDM Tourists: The more, the merrier)

Just when his day was looking dire, it got worse. Bandits. Of course! Some gang of humans stupid enough to nest in these woods. He'd surrendered rather than take a beating, but it was hard not to struggle when they lay hands on him. That earned him a punch to the gut. Gods. "Fine, fine!" he gasped, "you've made your point." They tore off his pack and shortsword. He'd just have to make do with the knife they hadn't noticed in his sleeve, then. But they seemed just short of cutting the gold embroidery off his doublet. They're pawing through his pack, and they're going to find--

Well. At least the little yelp from the bandits was satisfying. The book's cover is a fright, isn't it? "Oh, you don't want that." He tries to sound nonchalant, hiding his contempt. "It's terribly cursed." That book is his. Now that they're recovering from the initial shock, all they care about is the massive amethyst embedded in the cover. One's already trying to pull it out, the absolute clod. It seems the book's jaws are stronger than they look, but it's only a matter of time before one of them starts performing literary dentistry.

Time to spin them a lie, then. Partially. "There's spirits guarding it. Now that you've touched it, you're their target." It doesn't take much embellishment. They can't properly sense the darkness radiating from the book, but they can obviously tell something's not right. Their eyes keep being drawn to the book's, no matter how hard they try and look away. "You'll start hearing the whispers soon enough. They'll compel you to kill each other. It's enough to drive a human completely mad." What a shame that would be.

"Fortunately for you, I'm not human." See the pointed ears? The finer features than yours? "As long as the book stays with me, you'll have nothing to fear." He held out his hand, voice gentle. Coaxing. "Just give it back, and you'll be cured."

They practically threw the book at him, beating a hasty retreat. And they left his pack behind. Potions, lockpicks and all. "Well." He smirked at the captive closest to him, dusting off the book's cover and returning it to his pack. "Sometimes a curse has its uses."

3. Curfew (TDM Tourists: The more, the merrier)

He watched as hide cord was laced up, sealing the tent closed. The knife would make quick work of that, though he'd have to wait hours for an opportune moment. Until then, he was stuck here.

And he was hungry. He'd managed to sneak a few mouthfuls of animal blood when they'd been allowed to forage, but it'd barely amounted to a snack. But he'd been sealed in with someone else.

He turned to look at them in the half-light of the tent. It was so tempting. But he still felt weak and uncoordinated. He didn't know if he could overpower them in this state.

"So," he said brightly. "There isn't much we can do except rest, then." Please agree. Please.

4. Wildcard

[Want anything else out of this vampiric fop? Let me know via DM, CellarSpider#9984, PaleAntiquarian!]

[downswing]

( What are you thinking for the fox riiiiiites? Wedding retinue member? 'Bashful' groom Astarion? Or would your rather do a-something-something with the hunt after? Happy to tackle the starter! )

Daenerys Targaryen | A Song of Ice and Fire | Oldie

[song_of_fire]

I. Bandit Bane

[Retribution. Fire and Blood. Those were the only words that reverberated in Dany's head as the party continued into the woods. At any other point, she might have thought it was the potion given to her, something she still thought she shouldn't have agreed to. Even if it wasn't Shade of the Evening (which it reminded her of, without the color), after the adventure at the lighthouse, she's not eager to trust what is offered so easily.

The burning in her belly could be from the potion or it could be from rage. It's not something she wishes to question, not when it's the reason she can keep from stopping and resting, why she's willing to continue until her feet bleed.

It wasn't simple weapons or goods taken, it was a dragon. Her dragon. Her child. The lack of his presence was keenly felt. Even when he'd go off on his own for long periods of time, she knew Drogon would eventually find his way back. There was no calling into the horizon for him now. No waiting for a dark shape to grow from the sky.

There were these woods and what they would find at the edge of these woods.

Fire and blood.

Despite her desire to keep moving, there had to be at least some stops for the others in the group. Most of all, when they could finally hear sounds of men nearby. There were others, not just the gruff voices of what Dany can only assume are slavers, but also those in captivity.

Armed with only her dagger, she's not going to back down until she can free the dragon. One way or another.]

How will we do this?

[A plan. They needed a plan. A quick one.]

II. The Blushing Bride

[Two weddings were enough. Between a dead husband and one that tried to poison her, Daenerys wasn't eager to playact another, even if it was for fun. The wedding retinue was a different thought though. That she didn't mind being a part of. Though it seemed the customs were familiar, in some ways.

Waiting outside the conjugal chamber, that felt like something her handmaidens must have endured once. Now, at least, it was her turn to play the part.

It's just a bit disturbing when everything falls silent. A wedding night tended to offer something else, but this...not even conversation. Dany looked at the others in the party, slightly concerned.]

Should we ask them if the wine pleases them, as we were told? Or should we check on them?

III. A Hunting We Will Go

[She stood, watching everyone gather. The number of potential hunters, the eagerness that seemed to permeate the group and also how easily Saguk Chaomin directed everyone around them. The idea that there were foxes among them, shape shifting foxes, it was unnerving. More unnerving was how eyes darted among them, certainty that someone in their group was one of the foxes.

This could lead to bloodshed and danger. Even as he tries to offer Dany a spear, she pulled back, not eager to be part of this. Not when the outcome was so clear.

There were others at least that seemed apprehensive as well, holding back from the group. Alone and weaponless, like her.]

No appetite for sport?

II!

[good_taste]

[Straight from a bandit camp and into a wedding. Astarion's life was bordering on incomprehensible at this point. Still, he couldn't bring himself to care. He wasn't going to be resting on the ground again tonight, and his clothes were clean again. All he needed now was something to drink. Maybe some entertainment.

Speaking of.]

And walk in on the newlyweds? Never. [Though his tone says otherwise.] I'd rather not offend the locals so soon.

Wrathion | Warcraft (existing player!)

[blackscales]

CURSES FOR ONE, CURSES FOR ALL

i) A bitter brew

The stormy ride on the Salamera II has been less than ideal. The tower begins to crumble as they leave with Zenobius, rather confirming a few of his suspicions. He has a bad feeling, but in the long run his goal is still to leave not cure every ill in this world.

So long as they can return home, he'll be content with that much.

In fresh clothing, Wrathion calmly stays lookout as often as the crew desire -- his senses are sharp, and he doesn't tire too easily. The bumpiness of the voyage, however, and the smart mouths of the parrots wear on him. He's glad when the long voyage comes to an end, and the shore comes into view.

Entering Ke-Waihu itself is less palatable.

Although the village looks pleasant, giving up his personal effects makes him uneasy -- and being plunged into icy water is simply the decoration on an unpleasant cake. The drink they offers smells terrible to his heightened senses, and although its acidic burn is not so bad on a throat designed to breathe fire he still reels.

Reels as the curse takes hold, as it makes him cough in surprise

He stands, cold and wet in his plain linen shirt, and glowers. His hair is hanging in looser, bedraggled curls as he tries to shiver warmth back into himself. The ice brought his normally unusually hot body temperature down sharply and he cannot say he's enjoying the experience. His heart is pounding uncomfortably fast, and his breaths are a little shallow.

"If this is a taste of things to come," he grumbles, "I'm starting to think I preferred Ellethia and Zenobius' tower."

ii) Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten

Family is complicated for Wrathion.

For one thing, he killed a great deal of his own. It was for good reason, mind, but it means he lacks... experience in living with one. He is, at least, familiar with being a refugee.

His initial impression of the house is that it's acceptable. Wrathion picks himself a room, and although his manner is cool and reserved it isn't impolite -- it's simply that Marcos is the only family member he knows. His name, however, is willingly given -- and he is curious about any others who are willing to linger and speak. After all, the more he knows about them the more he can gauge how much he can rely on or trust them.

It's all a matter of survival.

He lingers long enough to be polite before travelling across to where Anduin has been assigned -- the home of the previous village wise man, apparently, how fitting. A first visit during daylight hours will allow him to gauge how well Anduin is fitting in with his family, and how easily Wrathion can access him so they might stay in touch.

Wrathion can regularly be found lingering outside the old house of the village wise man, in the days after the fox weddings and hunts are done with, visiting his companion. He will be trying to do so quietly late into the night. Having grown up in a guild of thieves and assassins his footsteps are light, and his manner cautious. He is not, however, untraceable entirely. He'd simply prefer not to be stopped if possible. Members of his family might see him sneaking out, especially if they are doing the same, and members of Anduin's family (or other people visiting folk in the same family) might see him sneaking in.

ALL TOGETHER NOW

iii) The mist-drowned forests

This is exactly why he'd prefer to handle his own effects, and why it was dangerous to bring Zenobius. Honestly.

Wrathion is positively irritable by the time they head into the forest, spoiling for a fight and quite eager to get his clothing and weapons back.

The forest, however, has other ideas.

Something prickles at his senses.

"Be on your guard."

He slows, trying to feel out what exactly he's sensing, when the environment around him ripples -- resolving itself into the dark walkway around the Vault of the Shadowflame, or the desolate Badlands, or the high vistas of Pandaria -- which at least look like they fit with the local aesthetic.

He freezes in place, trying to puzzle out what exactly has happened.

"Do you see this?"

[ ooc; recommend you plan with me for this prompt as some of Wrathion's life is pretty heavy. ]

iv) A Lavish Wedding

Well, at least he has his things back. Wrathion, however, has never attended a wedding before. While he agrees, somewhat bemused, to be a member of a retinue he's not quite sure what will be expected of him. He dresses smartly, enjoys the sweets but avoids the strong alcohol.

The love songs make him faintly uncomfortable.

"Are unions performed this way usually?" he prompts, curious. Certainly he is aware there are many types of bonding that occur. Dragons have consorts, usually several. Monogamy is more common among mortals, he is given to understand. Are rice and petals normally thrown? Are there usually this many gifts, large quantities of alcohol and sweets?

Titans, is there normally so much romantic poetry and wailing for that matter?

v) Well, Well, Well

The aftermath of the fox weddings was... certainly something. There had been several dead grooms (which had been very concerning), he'd been harassed in the forest by villagers convinced his bright red eyes might mean he was a fox, and the forest itself had been determined to kill him.

He's now doubly missing the relative peace of Ellethia's haunted tower.

Once the chaos has begun to quieten down, Wrathion begins his idly curious investigation -- their dear benefactor had, after all, spoken of underground trafficking of young villagers to the undead legions. That, and the dark water spark his interest.

Wrathion is fairly open in his questions and curiosity until the final detail finally drops: the Beastmaster is the patron of these villages.

That is...

Unfortunate.

Unpleasant.

Alarming.

He retreats to the safety of his allocated farmhouse and paces outside it, filled with restless energy. This is now dangerous for him, and there's a limited amount of people he trusts with the final detail of that danger. Really, he should leave this village -- yet where would he go? How would he explain it? He still needs the beacons to return home, which is still his priority. The restless anxiety causes him to bristle at anyone who approaches, arms folded and body language tense.

"Can I help you?"

The tone says he'd rather not, if possible.

[ ooc; Anything else? Hit me up here with an idea! Switch to brackets if you prefer, I'll match. I just default to prose. ]

IV. Wedding night shenanigans!

[good_taste]

So. Snatched up to serve as someone's pawn. For the second time in a tenday. How. How was his luck so rotten?

Still, apparently the lich responsible wasn't competent enough to keep a hold on him. And he's even more thoroughly out of Cazador's reach now. How can he argue with that? ...As long as the tadpole in his skull behaves. It wasn't as if they'd been making much progress on controlling the little beasts anyway. Maybe he could make a better attempt at that here.

But more immediately, he was back to civilization. No more rustic living. Clean clothes. And people everywhere, overindulging in the wine. Gods, if he was finally going to get a chance to bite something, it would be here.

The only slight point of worry was the man with red eyes. Had he been at the festivities before sundown? Did he have a reflection? Even if he wasn't a true vampire, a spawn could mean their lord was somewhere nearby.

Alright. It was more than a slight worry, it was a fixation. All Astarion could do was keep a veneer of good humor and never let the man out of his sight. "Only the weddings worth attending," he said breezily, "though the rites do seem a little sudden. They asked me to be a groom." On the first night? Absolutely not.

lan wangji | untamed | tale as old as an old timer

[downswing]

( ...pls forgive this embarrassment of tl;dr and PM if you'd like a different, custom starter! )

open to all... | all together now

[downswing]

A. BANDIT BANE

( Discretion is the better part of value — and so his hand sweeps, greedy and silent and swift. Lan Wangji chooses wisely: the most peripheral captive, drifting at the tail end of the convoy. Tired, perhaps, injured or worn. Forfeit, forgotten or a casualty. Prized prey would be fiercely watched, gripped close by his keepers. Instead, Wangji claims the prisoner now, arm fettering over their chest, and draws them both back in a rustling of bush leaves.

The silencing spell — static, invasive, undiplomatic, crude — suffices to stich the captive’s mouth shut, for a time. Above them, there is no high calling of birds, no flutter of wings, no distortion of ambient sound — only the rush of the nearby thugs when it finally dawns upon them, with bovine incredulity, that they are being relieved of their own belongings.

A wall of vines and leaves separates them from steps, stoking, and the rapid escalation of men’s wit blurring from panic. Lan Wangji’s heart beats. Stutters.

Lazy light pierces the rooftop of sunken foliage in dappled gold. The Merchant’s men infiltrated as thieves do, partly invited by the negligence of those they set under assault. He thinks — always thinks, wait is for fear of meditation, he must choose one — green stands for decay, for deep drowning. A colour that martyrs forest leaf into mould. He thinks, too, that there should be poetry in this, in stealing what ruffians have stolen already — as if they carry out a heavenly vindication.

He feels prosaic, practical, mercurial in his efficiency. Murmurs, with absent-minded delay, in the captive’s ear: )

Apologies. ( Etiquette, in all things — even in death and in dying. ) Still yourself. Do not draw them close. Nod once, if we have agreement.

( Best if they work together, but he cannot release a prisoner corrupted by panic or by sudden, inexplicable affection for their captors. )


B. THE BLUSHING BRIDE

( In a house of madmen, he who clings to reason is the greater fool. He accepts this, tense as a wet knot and watching and waiting, more animal than the creature they know with increasing, gutting certainty has joined a hapless groom in the — …marital quarter.

What wedding was this? Subsumed and swallowed by tragedy like poison recaptured by a snake. Soon, both will shed their skins, and there’s the iron of things, saturating walls and tapestry and silk screens already, before blood’s even spilled. There is a moment, before the drums of war beat or a throat is slashed, when horror becomes exhilaration. Lan Wangji feels it now, a giddy itch, vermin-like beneath his skin, fingers temperamental and convulsing and tap, tap, tap, holding a dead beat against the rim of his half-filled water cup.

Knelt, he has pretended interest in the same play of candle light on a coral-stained tapestry for the better part of a shi. His duty, as a member of the wedding retinue is only to keep his dignity, his head and his silence. On his right wrist, the red knot of Wei Ying’s ribbon cheapens the artifice of this procession with its sincerity. Within these four walls, they will soon beat gongs and fragment more gold foil to serve with fresh pastries.

He bears the shame of the lustful laughter bursting behind the closed doors of the conjugal chamber like winter’s first snow — with indifference. Bears the childish bashfulness of his fellow members of the retinue. Bears even the strident scream of the couple’s doors, when they erupt open, and a pale-faced groom slithers close to whisper in Lan Wangji’s ear, stare feverish —

To say —

To beg —

To its credit, Lan Wangji’s cup does not break when he forsakes it, dropped. Fine porcelain. Great fortune to the married couple, honoured bliss.

He licks his lips and drinks beads of blood, in wake of his own teeth, teasing.

Then, carefully, he transmits to the retinue member beside him: )

He… wishes us to bark on hands and knees.

( This is Lan Wangji’s life, now. This is who he has become. )


D. WELL, WELL, WELL


( No time, only the slip and snag of his heel on gravel, a half-tumbled swerve, all elegance surrendered. He hastens through the tight interstices between arrogant, but crumbling homes, brick grazing the edge of his half-yawning sleeves. Still, the slithered grace of the thing eludes him like a smear of charcoal.

Silence dwells damp and bone-deep in territories that should fall naturally to bustle. He knows, intrinsically, that this is discipline won of violence — that he blitzes past wives and nearly scatters their laundered cottons under a bleak, white sun, and trips a fisherman carrying his weight in the day’s catch — that he is permitted, despite his turbulence, because he waves the long silvered line of Bichen’s sword, and these are a people accustomed to fear. Tamed by terror.

They see the tip of a blade and the waters of their swarming, friendly faces part, and Lan Wangji cannot name who in their group he encounters first — barely stills his step long enough to hiss at them, scratchy and torn: )

The creature they speak of — the — it… it retreated through the garden patches. She is here.

( A woman as a snake, or perhaps only a head on a taut string. He saw little of her, past her bright, wide eyes, and the gaping cruelty of her mouth, where she’d propped in the garden of their home, waiting out rodents who climbed her tongue curiously. Jaws snapped, and she withdrew, squirming between timber lines and ledges, for Lan Wangji to chase as fools do, uncomprehending.

Running after her, from one garden to the next, seems — an ambitious task. If not, some might say, entirely wasteful. Join him all the same. )

sumeragi subaru | x/1999 | tdm tourist!

[sacral]

I. THE SCENIC ROUTE, ILLUSORY.

[ A journey is not what he bargained for. But then again, Subaru has had little left to bargain with, flesh preyed upon by divinity and a prophecy self-fulfilled, bone wet with remembrance of what it was like to be broken, piecemeal love. That he is somewhere else with this same whole body and same halved heart... he supposes where makes no difference, only that he continues to be. Against his wishes — no, his singular wish.

His hauntings don't flee so kindly either, as it goes. Time amalgamates, burdened with its own passage, the longer he walks these unfamiliar woods rife with magics he does not know, but feels as though he could. Had his own abilities not been dampened so thoroughly that even conjuring up a sparrow's worth of a shikigami familiar seems a labor, he may have noticed sooner.

Footfalls stilling in the cold mulch, Subaru cranes his head to look at what lays before him like a homecoming: beautiful stone steps, vermillion lanterns. White trees crested by white sunlight. Petals of the cherry blossom trees, dancing on that fragrant air.

It gives Subaru pause. Had this not just been a decline, the humid maw of some gulch or gulley?

Other footsteps cause his hands to withdraw from his pockets, one holding some kind of paper scrawled in ink where his thumb presses to it, ready to incur a hallowed papercut just to keep his head on straight, his nerves alive. He is not threatening but stern when he warns: ]

Don't look. They're not real. [ Even when they flutter and reach so lovingly. His gaze drifts, wary. ] What do you see?

[ What will he also see? ]

II. THE SCENIC ROUTE, MERRIER.

[ It stands to reason he wouldn't be the only one left to wander a cursed forest (though it would not surprise him if he was, necessarily...) but the incursion of equally disheveled traveling companions and slavers out to pad their bounty is a lot to take in all at once. Subaru is not necessarily obedient, but he is temporarily compliant enough with capture to avoid losing the tools of his trade: the use of his hands. For now. For now, what he needs is time. But he is a man of compassion before he is one of rebellion no matter what the taciturn set of his brow and mouth say. Thus: ]

IF YOU ARE TRAIPSING ABOUT THE FOREST —
[One hand comes to seize you by the shoulder. Following its line, you are met with a man who has a large rock hefted in his other hand. Alarming surely, but he is very slight, and doesn't look as though he could bludgeon you with it without more effort than he currently seems to be capable of. Instead, he nods ahead. ]

Wait. May I?

[ Yes, he is asking permission to throw the rock. ]

IF YOU ARE MOUTHING OFF TO THE SLAVERS BEYOND THEIR MINUSCULE PATIENCE LEVEL —
[ He will just straight up take a punch for you. Face, gut, doesn't matter. How did he even get over here so fast? Sorry he is just Like This.

Alternatively, you can fight him for the honor and really throw the bandits for a loop. ]

IF YOU ARE LOOKING AT ALL COLD IN THE ~RUSTIC SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS —
[ Something warm and heavy comes to lay over your shoulders. It is a coat — one that is unfortunately now stained with the forest's muck but also nice and sturdy enough to fend off some of the chill. Nothing for the disquiet or creeping misery of being imprisoned, though. ]

Here. Just for a while, if you're opposed.

[ Coming to a seat as if offering the clothing off his own back is a natural enough occurrence, Subaru holds the contents of its pockets in hand: a lighter, cigarettes, what look to be pieces of parchment. There is a tilt of apology in his mismatched eyes; he can't offer the use of the lighter without being caught. ]

III. THE BLUSHING BRIDE, SPOUSE.

[ To say that the emergence of their party once freed into the festivities of Kei-Waihu is a culture shock is, well. A bit of an understatement. Subaru wanted for neither, truth be told, the alien bonds of imprisonment or the blissful processions touting the love of old. And yet it is the latter that commands his attention, not because of such a love made palatable by bright and gaudy celebration, but because of the familiar sickness left in the wake of something that yearns, something that seeks and clings. His senses may not have filled out entirely just yet, but he feels it in the weave of this place, beyond the sugar, florals, and lamenting.

So, Subaru allows himself to be "wed."

This goes about as well he expected it would when nightfall sees his "bride" turning, bone and teeth and fur made malleable by the ancient malice she bears. Call it an exorcist's intuition. Instantly, the quarter they share is quite literally upended in a vengeful flourish, the stout table that held all manner of drink and delicacy being flipped and thrown with her lunge. Glasses and liquids scatter, twinkling and fractured. He begs her understanding once, twice, finding no purchase in her madness. It culminates in Subaru being thrown to the nearest wall and the arm he'd raised to fend her off being seized in a clamp of her powerful jaws. She growls at the taste, guttural and rotten, squeezing blood from muscle until it patters onto the floor. Subaru, sweat on his brow and expression fixed, makes eye contact with the fox as soon as he senses members of the retinue near. Yet he throws his free arm out as a ward. ]

Don't... harm her. [ Muscle trembles, twitches. ] It's the — parchment. Look for the parchment...!

[ Festively scattered about the floor now in no particular order. ]

IV. THE HUNTING, ALTARS.

This isn't right. It was a slaughter that cased this curse.

[ His words lay thick in his mouth, almost irritated. It is not his place to tell anyone of this world how they ought to solve their problems. Really, all of this, from the mounting hunt to the tragedy of the brides, the people who had been captive and then welcomed alongside him, none of it has anything to do with him.

But old habits die hard and are easily stoked. He sports the impressive dressing of his bite wound and takes up no weapon, but he does pause at outset to pet every idle hunting dog. (So sue him.) ]

I'm not going to participate. [ He said, taken to one knee to dourly squish the face of a hound between his slender hands. ] But there is something I want to see for myself.

[ It does read like an invitation to join him if you're not the blood-wants-blood type. Or maybe you are! It takes all kinds. ]

(ooc: this is entirely too many words. i apologize. but also hit me with anything else if you fancy!)

II, mouthing off!

[good_taste]

[Astarion had gotten away with quite a lot so far, thanks to the book. The bandits hadn't wanted to touch him after they were regaled with how terribly cursed it was. Oh no! You've touched it, now you're cursed. It'll drive a human mad within days, unless you give it back to him.

That worked even better than expected. He'd gotten to keep the book and the bandits never finished searching his pack.

But then he'd started pushing it. And apparently, cutthroats weren't fond of insinuations that they had an ogre in their family tree.

He ducked too late, but the blow didn't land. Some wispy young thing had stepped in to take the punch instead. How... sweet.]

My hero. [The bandit gets dragged away by their companions, shooting fearful glares at Astarion.] That looked like it hurt.

Winnifred Prismall | OC | returning oldbie

[soulsrob]

A. More the Merrier

Well! This is fun! [Despite her predicament, and the full gonw that speaks of wealth, the woman speaking sounds positively cheerful about it all] A little familiar, even. Fancy that! I do wonder why I keep being the target for such kidnapping, though... Is it the shoes? I think the pearl buttons are a bit much, but Agnes insisted.

[She sighs deeply. There's a nice bruise forming on the side of her temple, but it doesn't seem to bother her much, nor do another bruise along her jaw seem to impede her ability to talk--at length--or grin like this is some grand adventure]

How are you doing, dear? [She seems genuinely concerned, brow furrowed slightly even as she smiles reassuringly at whoever's captured with her]

B. Bandit Bane

[Winnie's eyes seem to gleam in delight when they're rescued. The violence doesn't seem to phase her and indeed, even despite how long it's been or how roughed up she might be, she's still smiling away cheerfully.

Until one unlucky bandit tries to get the jump on her. She spins, a thick branch in hand, and smacks it soundly into the bandit's face, sending him crumpling to the ground. Winnie stands there, the smile gone-- instead her face has gone eerily blank, staring impassively down at the unconscious man with all the interest of someone smashing a bug. She blinks slowly, before she seems to shake herself out of it, straightening with a bright smile and a huffy little noise]

How rude! None of these thugs have any manners, do they. What was it about honor among thieves...? [She trails off, looking like she's honestly trying to remember before shrugging as if giving up.]

C. Blushing Bride

[Winnie is, perhaps thankfully, not one of the brides. She is, however, gently commiserating with a drunk, complaining fox bride covered in her own groom's blood.]

Men truly are useless, aren't they? Poor man couldn't even hold-- how many cups did you say? 12? My, they don't make men like they used to, do they? There, there dear. It's quite unfortunate he passed out before you could get anywhere. But think of it this way: You can hold it over his head for the rest of his life! ...Whatever's left of it.

[The fox bride mumbles something and Winnie laughs brightly] Oh no, no, I've never been married! I'm afraid I'm much too old for it now, a forever spinster I am. [She says, at all of 24 years old.]

Here, why don't you drink a little more? I'm sure you'll feel better. Don't worry about the stains, dear. [Winnie's own clothes are smeared with the drying blood of the dead groom, but she doesn't seem to mind as she plies the fox bride with more alcohol.

She glances up at whoever's approaching and smiles cheerfully] Oh, there you are. Perhaps you could drink with her? Or at least help get the groom, hmm... Cleaned up?

D. Wildcard

[For any other TDM shenanigans! All of Winnie's info can be found in her journal, but the most important thing is that Winnie has no soul whatsoever so if your character is able to pick up on that they're more than welcome to]

A!

[good_taste]

Isn't it just? [Astarion's tailored clothes have seen wear recently. A few loose ends of gold embroidery are starting to unravel. But he's doing better for himself than most of the other captives--the superstitious bandits took one glance at the grim-looking, spirit-infested book in his pack, and stopped their search. He's kept most of his possessions, and he's feeling quite smug about that.] I'd think it was your sparkling personality.

[He waves off her concern. He does have some rather dire things to worry about--but nothing he's going to admit to.] Right as rain. Though I could use a wash. [He's dusted himself off, but that mostly just rearranged the dirt.] And you, darling?

Anduin Wrynn | Warcraft (existing player!)

[chosenbylight]

CURSES FOR ONE, CURSES FOR ALL
I. HIS MOTHER'S LOCKET
The journey over on the Salamera II had been pleasant at first. Stormwind is a port city, and Anduin enjoys ships and being around the ocean. He had enjoyed that last leg of the journey perhaps a bit less so, however, and he is feeling grateful when they finally reach the shores of their destination.

That is, until they are told that in order to embrace the village and accept it, in all of its old and new, its ugliness and its truth, they must be stripped of all fanciful clothes or jewels or otherwise ostentatious belongings. Anduin had arrived just outside of Taravast dressed in his court outfit. While he has done his best to supplement it with other pieces he has found here and there, for the most part his clothing is still made up of those main pieces -- which he finds himself quickly removed of, left in only his undershirt and a pair of shorts.

"Wait," he says, reaching for his jacket as it's taken away from him, filled with a sudden panic for the compass that had been up until now safe in his pocket there. "Wait --! Where are you taking our things? Where--"

He's so distracted by the removal of the jacket that he misses a pair of hands unclasping his mother's locket from around his neck, swiftly adding it to the pile as it is whisked away.

Anduin's hand goes to his neck, an icy chill running through him that has nothing to do with the ice bath they are about to be thrown into. He doesn't mean to make a scene, but he turns to his closest companion, a look of panic on his face.

"Please. Did they say when we would be getting our belongings back?"

II. HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS -- open to family and visitors of family #5
Anduin is grateful that the house that his 'family' has been directed to is, while by no means a castle, certainly accommodating enough that he can be afforded the privacy of his own room. Not that he necessarily has anything against those members of his family, but being raised first a prince, and then becoming King, there are certain luxuries he -- prefers to maintain, if he can.

Especially given the fact that, after their first night here, Wrathion has taken to sneaking over to the house to visit him more often than not. It is difficult to have a private conversation without privacy itself, after all. As time goes on, he notices that there are those within his 'family' with similar visitors at that.

Between the visitors and the villagers... This house is more and more like Stormwind Keep every day.

Anduin is just in the kitchen making a pot of tea -- an act that is still novel to him, here in this land without servants insisting on doing anything and everything for him -- when movement in the door catches his eye and he turns.

"Ah -- hello," Anduin greets. "Would you like some?" He holds up a mug.

ALL TOGETHER NOW
I. BANDIT BANE
Anduin had been nervous to give up his mother's locket, his father's compass. He had been waiting anxiously for their return, and so when the news comes of the attack on Enam and his party, he is filled with a very new sense of dread. Those things... They may only be objects, but they are the last things he has left of his parents. Them and Shalamayne, which was also with Enam and the rest of their belongings.

By the time he remembers Zenobius had been carried by their party also, Anduin is desperate. He throws himself into tracking down the group of bandits, which is unfortunately easier said than done. The forest seeps to have other ideas for them, and not only are they chased by wild boars on more than one occasion, but there is... Something else.

He had thought he'd imagined it at first, but there's no imagining it the second time it happens. The third. A clearing opening to reveal a glimpse of the verdant plains of the Arathi Highlands, or those wounded hills of Westfall. Stepping into a glade that suddenly transforms into the tranquil shade of Elwynn Forest.

Uncertainly, he steps out into the illusion. That's what it is right? It has to be...

II. THE BLUSHING BRIDE
Anduin wonders, in retrospect, when he will learn to stop volunteering to help people. It only ever seems to get him in trouble.

When the villagers had asked for volunteers in their celebrations, of course he had agreed, immediately being assigned the role of a groom. He can't say that he shouldn't have seen that one coming -- back at home, his advisor Genn was very keen on finding Anduin a good match and marrying him off, and there were no shortage of interested parties for that matter as well.

Anduin plays his part for the evening like any proper gentleman would. Going through with play-acting his wedding with his villager bride, enduring the poetry and love songs, and only drinking a little of the wine to get himself through it.

It isn't until his party is directed towards the inn that he starts to wonder whether this was indeed a mistake after all. He casts a furtive glance towards the members of his retinue as the villagers proceed to lock the door, then shuffle him towards the conjugal bedroom.

"They don't... Really expect for...?" he asks, a faint blush staining his cheeks as one of the villagers thrusts a packet of papers into his hands.

------

Anduin had been given three choices on how to survive the night. He could force his party to act like dogs. He could murder his now-fox bride. Or he could convince them that he was promised to someone else.

It had not been much of a choice in the end. Of course, being pressed for time -- with a vicious fox woman bearing down upon him -- Anduin had told her he was betrothed to Wrathion. Luckily she seemed to believe this either way, but. He can't help but wonder, standing exiled with his wedding party afterwards, and then again as the knowledge of it meets the light of day, if perhaps even this was yet another mistake.

III. A-HUNTING WE WILL GO
Anduin isn't a hunter but he is happy to volunteer to go out into the forest and help repair the fox spirits' altars. It feels a safer option to killing them to exorcise their mortal bodies, and anyway... Anduin could use the distraction from his fox wedding and everything that had happened on that night. Telling the spirit he was pledged to Wrathion. Telling his whole wedding retinue in a daze afterwards. His exact words.

I told her I was promised to Wrathion.

He hadn't specified that it was a lie. At least, not to the villagers in the retinue. He can't imagine what they might think. Or what gossip they might be spreading about the village now.

Anduin is so distracted by his inner train of thought he does not notice the bridge dissolving away beneath his feet -- until he is falling. He reaches out with his magic to cast a Levitate charm but it's too late, only halfway through the spell before he crashes through the fridgid water of the churning river below...

WILDCARD
Anything else you want? Feel free to hit me up here or via your contact method of choice! Also feel free to use brackets or prose, I just default to the latter!

pressing wildcard for absolute shenanigans

[reparo]

In the aftermath of it all, what is left of her would-be fox groom are bones. The villagers reveal the reason behind the tradition, reveal the curse (this is going to be a theme, isn't it?), and there is a moment of relative peace.

They are embraced into Ke-Waihu because they have partaken of its rites. They are allowed to return to their families and rest.

Small though the village may be, she is still new to it. Instead of getting home, she ends up bumping into a familiar face.

"Anduin - oh, it's good to see you're well."

That's when the wedding night comes back. Her lie. The bethrothed she pulled out of her ass, the itchy scar she said was proof of their engagement. Oh, boy.

Beitang Moran

[beitangmoran]

ANCESTRAL CURSE

[beitangmoran]

A. GENERAL
[The whole ice water bath and potion drinking was honestly unpleasant, but there is some need to adapt here and while Moran is decidedly displeased by the whole thing - and looks it the whole time - he also doesn't make a scandal about it. Honestly, he is not sure how much stock he puts in this whole 'shouldering a curse' thing. He certainly doesn't feel worse for wear.

At least, he thinks he doesn't.

It's going to take a few days for him to notice because eating has always ranked very low on his list of things to do. It's necessary for survival, so he does it, and he is of course used to the fine cooking of the court, but he is also used to people wimply bringing him food at mealtimes because he tends to forget. So the pangs in his stomach are at first ignored. Then, they are grumbled about, and still ignored. And then they become too much to ignore, but when one is an Imperial Prince, one doesn't learn cooking as one of the necessary arts for a gentleman.

Which might explain why he's ransacking the kitchen of his current dwelling for something to eat, and finding nothing prepared, snaps irritably.]

Why is there nothing to eat in this house?

B. FUNERAL BANQUET [Su Xunxian]

[If he needs a problem solved, of course, there is one person that he will turn to every single time.

It's already a travesty that they are not living in the same house, but of course they made sure to know where each of them was residing as soon as possible.

Moran still looks decidedly disgruntled when he knocks on the door of Xunxian's dwelling. And as soon as Xunxian opens the door, he almost pouts.]

I'm hungry.

Hermione Granger - Harry Potter (crochety old timer)

[reparo]

[bear with me as i set the scene for some bad acting; might add more (what's a hiatus? there's foxes, i can't quit you) later. also any wildcard! is! good!]

curses for one, curses for all, curses for everybody and their cow (open to anyone)

[reparo]

1. PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF DESPERATION (and bad acting)

[She is going to learn later that this wasn't necessary, and it'll make her feel very resentful. But in the meantime: they arrive in Ke-Waihu, after escaping one other disaster left behind. The mayor welcomes them, and presents them with family lodgings, and sets the condition of joining the village by accepting its traditions.

This is where it gets unpleasant. They are told to strip (at this point, what is shame anymore?) She gets the same welcome in Ke-Waihu as she did in the underbelly of Taravast: an ice-cold bath, and her belongings taken away. There is a moment of panic, as a villager holds their hand out for her belongings, the want strapped to her arm and the bag at her hip that fits all she's gathered over her time here.

She can't let them go. She won't be left powerless again. No - no.

The plea out loud is:]

They are a family heirloom. Please - I need them back. All I've got left of dear old...uhm, mother. [The irony of her begging so ardently for the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. Well - hers, now. After all this time, definitely hers. The lie that spills from her lips so quickly; maybe she's an old hand at pretending to be someone else, at this point. Sister Hermione, from Taravast.

(Still, she makes a note to herself to improve her wandless magic - and fast. That moment of panic was terrible.)

In the silent pause after her plea, she adds:] I will do anything to keep them.

[There is the cold bath, and new clothes, and a flask of thick, bitter brew that isn't poison, but might as well have been. There is also, at the end of that, a villager smiling knowingly as they hand her back her wand and bag and usher her off to join the community. She'll regret the slip-up - later.]


[But to whoever she runs into after the mess, before the curse settles in, she'll have some outraged muttering for them:]


I don't suppose hot water was too much to ask for. And was it necessary to not tell us they'd give us our belongings back?


2. WILDCARD

[She can be available for chasing down bandits, and is handy in a fight. Also in a flight. For newcomers, please feel free to assume that if you're rescued by Hermione she will 100% give you tea.]

Xie Lian

[scrapgege]

A. ANCESTRAL CURSE

[Everyone who has met Xie Lian so far would tell you a different story, but one that most people can agree on is the fact that he tends to be kind and congenial most of the time, even when others might get angry, and that he tends to try and defuse situations rather than escalate them.

But ever since the whole ceremony when they arrived, he's definitely been more reserved and keeping to himself, and when people come to find him, they might be met with a rather colder gaze than they're used to from him, and a rather curt 'What do you want?.

At least, he seems to realize that he shouldn't act like that, because he will immediately straighten up, and force a smile.]

Sorry, did you need something?


B. LET'S CLEAN THIS PLACE UP

[If there is one thing that Xie Lian knows better than anyone else, it's that altars to the gods should be well tended. These aren't his gods, but that doesn't mena he can allow any altars or temples to be in a sorry state like this, and it just so happens that cleaning up is a thing he can do very well.

So if anyone wanders to the area of the Ancient Temples, they'll more than likely find Xie Lian there, scrubbing and sweeping and dusting. It also helps that he doesn't really want to be around anyone these days, and especially as the gashes have started appearing on his skin. he's kind of on edge, and he's not liking it, because a lot of memories keep flooding back to him and none of them are pleasant, and it makes him not nice to be around. he's aware of it, but he can't seem to help himself.

Still, if someone else wanders in, he'll make an attempt to be pleasant.]

Sorry, I didn't hear you arrive. If you'd like to worship, I'll leave you be while you do it.


C. FOX WEDDING

[Before he's quite managed to understand what exactly is going, he's found himself dressed in red again - and just his luck, the wedding attire is quite clearly meant for a female bride. how exactly they managed to strap him into it is anyone's guess, but no one seems to be listening to his protests, and once he is locked into the room, of course, it doesn't take him long to understand the other person in here is not a person at all, but a spirit.

He sighs, and kneels down, and bows his head slightly.]

I'm very sorry, but there must have been some kind of mistake. You see, I can't marry you. I am already married.

[The fox squints at him, and looks unconvinced, so Xie Lian insists and pulls out the diamond-like ring on a chain that he wears around his neck.]

See? My husband gave me this ring to show it. I really can't be marrying other people.

[He doesn't know if it's that, or maybe some of Hua Cheng's power that can be felt even though he is not there, but the fox spirit's eyes widen, and Xie Lian finds himself unceremoniously dragged to the door and thrown out, sprawling out to his hands and knees in the wedding dress into the hallway.]

... Ouch. There was no need for that, I could have gone out on my own!

D. BE KIND TO THE FOX GODS

[Xie Lan doesn't really like solutions that immediately go towards eliminating spirits. After all, it's not like the fox spirits are really doing anything wrong. They come because they're being called, and of course if their altars are neglected or broken, they will cause mischief because that is what fox spirits do.

So while some people are definitely hunting for fox fur, Xie Lian himself sets to clean up the altars. They're relatively easy to spot once you know what you're looking for, and not very hard to clean up either - remove the moss, wash the stone in river water and reassemble them, add a few wildflowers...

But of course, some of them are guarded, too, and he tries to placate the spirit who surprised him mid-clean.]

It's alright, it's fine. Let me finish this and it'll be all better, you'll see.

d.

[in_theworks]

[Wrench, meanwhile, is in the woods, armed with a rifle -- (!_!) -- and a little-lot hungover, because while he didn't get involved in a fox wedding directly, he did try and distract one by engaging it in a drinking game. it didn't go too well. at least the guy he was trying to save was already dead when he got there??]

[ ... yeah, that's really not that much of a comfort]

[but anyway, he stumbles upon Xie Lan, at some point, and pauses, frowning]

What're you doing, dude?

Akira "Joker" Kurusu | Persona 5 Royal | Oldish-Timer

[joker_wild]

Curses for One, Curses for All
A. I've Frequently Not Been On Boats

[Akira would like just once to have a casual boat ride in this place. He's guessing that's really not in the cards considering it's not like anything else has been casual, but a guy can dream.]

[He spends the ride on the Salamera II doing his best to help out with keeping things clean. He spends a while fishing, and then some time in the kitchen making what he hopes is a seafood curry that would make Sojiro proud. He's missing a few ingredients, but he does what he can.]

[He might also be found with the parrots, definitely not encouraging their behavior. If anyone walks in to him laughing his head off to something he's gotten them to say, well, no you didn't. He is a perfectly stoic and polite young man. Yep.]

[When the storm hits, he just focuses on not throwing up everywhere and trying to keep the rain off his glasses. He's done decently well with the sea travel so far, but that was just mermaids trying to eat him. This is much worse.]

B. This is Cursed, That is Cursed

[Akira went through some gnarly tasting concoctions while helping Takemi develop her medications, and he's pretty sure whatever is in the drink the villagers give them is better than some of them. He does his best not to react to how it goes down anyway, not wanting to get off to a bad start with their hosts. That doesn't mean he doesn't go in search of some water when they're led off to their house.]

Well... I guess it could be worse.

[He looks around, considering the space - and then squints up at the roof as a drop of water lands directly on his nose.]

But we should do something about that.

All Together Now
A. Bandit Bane

[Akira joins the crew going after the bandits. He sneaks through the camp, releasing prisoners, gesturing for the newcomers to come with him. He's glad to deal with any of the bandits that come along, too, knocking them out with the hilt of the same dagger he frees people with.]

Are you alright?

[He can't quite stop himself from going after the rest of the loot, too, grabbing people he thinks might want to come with him as he sets out to deal with the pigs guarding it. He could probably use some help getting it all back to the village, too. Still wearing his Phantom Thieves costume, he offers you a mischievous grin.]

Hey, wanna come check out that cave?

B. Visions in the Mist

[As they make their way through the forests, Akira stops, head turning toward something he sees in the distance. It might be Shibuya in the distance, or it might be a crappy attic bedroom. It could even be a fast-food restaurant or, most bizarrely, a red-tinged subway station with phantom trains racing by to either side. Whatever's there, Akira drifts in that direction, confusion on his face.]

What...?

C. The Blushing Bride

[Akira finds himself drawn into the retinue of one of the bridal parties. He's pretty sure there are things like this at home, though he's also sure that none of those actually end in people dying.]

[He warily keeps watch outside the suite as the couple goes in - and when things fall silent, he looks to his companions.]

Are you going to ask or should I?

[This is going to end horribly.]

D. Well, Well, Well

[When whispers start going around about the Beastmaster, Akira goes hunting for some of the others who have been here longer. He already got the story of the Huntress from Wrench, but it feels important to know more about all of them.]

Have you dealt with the Beastmaster before?

Wildcard
[Something else in mind? Hit me up with a reply or reach out on cotume27 or through Discord at cotume27#5389.]

i will take d for $500

[reparo]

[She hasn't exactly managed to hide her displeasure about who the patron of these villages is, and maybe in doing so made it quite clear that she's dealt with the Beastmaster before. To a point.

She won't have much to say, but when the question comes, she does find time to say it.]

Indirectly. I've dealt with his greed and whims and the attacks on Taravast that he cast, so this will be great. Why?

Maegor Targaryen | Fire and Blood | Testing Out

[thecruel]

I. The More the Merrier

[This was not Pentos. Not the serene villa Maegor had purchased, on warm sands with the perfect blue water lapping on the shore. There was no Alys to lounge with on silk sheets, no servants to bark at if he wanted something. This was the wilderness, dark and deep with whispering illusions at every side.

There were questions he should ask. The obvious "how" of getting here, along with the "who" that would need their neck snapped. These were things he should consider and try to answer, but anger had full control, pushing Maegor to his feet and barreling through the woods. He could hear animals scurrying away, along with a distant snarl of a bear. Still too far and likely in response to someone else. He would deal with that if the creature crossed his path.

The blood of the dragon did not waver.

Entirely to his luck (and not at all to his intelligence), he managed to stop as the caravan of bandits and slaves emerged too close for his comfort. Blackfyre was wherever Pentos was, as was Balerion. There was still his strength, but with larger numbers and weapons, the odds were against him.

But every man needs to sleep and Maegor would wait. These were the men who brought him here. Who else could it be? And once he had an opportunity, he would slaughter them all.

Given he was an "act first, stealth last" sort of person, it slipped his notice others might be creeping about, not until they were near his side, also watching the bandits. Given there was no attack from these strangers, he can guess they had the same purpose. So be it. Let them be fodder.]

You're like to get yourself killed.

II. Well, Well, Well

[He never cared much for superstition or the fear it induced. It was honestly no different than the Seven in his eyes. Stories made up to dictate action and feeling, a tool used to control the masses. Not one he'd rely on, actual fear was better than ghost stories.

Still, he was intrigued by the idea of a snake maiden. How far was a snake from a dragon? Wingless and without fire, but still dangerous and alluring. Aye, he wanted to see this woman and hear what sort of power she held over the smallfolk.

There really was no clue to go on, only dried wells, but that in itself was amusing. Black tar springing from the ground, likely risen because of the ignorance of the masses. Fine. He could at least look and see if there was anything there that might be useful or even amusing.

Dipping his hand in the tar, he testing the consistency and stickiness, letting it seep against his skin.]

Maybe left by the Serpent.

[His rare attempt at speculation.]

The more the merrier!

[good_taste]

[Gods. How. How was his luck this rotten?

He'd managed to avoid the bandits so far, but he wasn't built for this wilderness nonsense. Give him dark alleyways and he'd know exactly where he was going. But here? Absolutely not. His sense of direction wasn't honed with trees in mind.

So there'd been nothing else for it. He had to follow them, or he'd never find his way out of here. At least that was easy enough. They were driving prisoners ahead of them, occasionally shouting in some language he couldn't understand--until suddenly he could, once he picked up a crude-looking charm they'd left behind. Odd. He didn't think they'd be capable of enchantments like that.

He hoped they'd lead him to a road. But even more than that, he hoped they'd stop soon. They were all human, and that meant all he had to do was wait for nightfall, when their sight would fail them. And he'd had so much recent practice stalking beasts--maybe he'd finally have a chance to taste something better.

...Or maybe that would have to wait. He flattened himself against a tree as another human went careening by him, almost directly into the path of the bandits. Gods, how many people were there in these woods? What next? Kenku roosting in the trees? Gnomes hiding under a rock?

Still. He might be able to make use of this one. He crept closer, stopping once the man caught sight of him. Not that he really wanted to be seen by anyone--he probably looked a mess right now.

Well that was a fine hello. Projecting, much?]

I don't feel like giving them a chance for that. [He smiled, the expression carefully reigned in to hide his fangs.] I'd rather turn some bandits inside out. Interested?

Harada Sanosuke | Hakuouki | Tourist

[speariting]

1. just cruising

[As if having woken up covered in mud in a strange forest wasn't bad enough, Harada has been keeping an eye on this band of kidnappers. And that has irritated him, to put it kindly. For anyone to treat another human being as less than them, it's disgusting. And yet, it happens all too often.

So he hides himself away behind a tree, though he can still hear the majority of what these bandits say, thanks to some odd necklace he came across earlier. He keeps his spear close, hand clenching and unclenching around the wood as he studies the crude encampment. There aren't a lot of the bandits, but neither would it be wise to just rush in and try to take them all down by himself.

Except one of the captives spits some frustrated words at one of their captors, earning them a firm slap across the face.

Which tips Harada over the edge. He stands up and grips his spear tightly, ready to throw caution to the wind.]

Bastard.

[He doesn't know how long he's been...here. But his memory of fighting at Toba-fushimi is still fresh in his mind. How the Shinsengumi were defeated on a physical level by the Imperial forces and the embarrassment he suffered at the hands of a single demon, how he couldn't even protect one woman. To say he's itching for some retribution would be an understatement, but he also is practically running on fumes. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep before showing up here.

Needless to say, someone should probably stop him. Or join him, if that's you're fancy.]


2. blushing bride - retinue

[Through whatever maneuvers that have been handled, Harada ends up in Ke-Waihu along with a fair number of others like him. Well, like him in that they've been misplaced, too. And it's all just in time for a wedding! Or many weddings. To foxes. That is something that is at least familiar to Harada. Not marrying foxes, of course, but the stories of fox weddings and foxes being tricksters in general.

So while he's not particularly superstitious, he still decides to keep some distance between himself and one of these fox spouses. At least, until the human spouse sent in to play a part in the farce goes silent.

Upon investigation, that human is very dead and the fox is the obvious culprit.

But while foxes are tricksters, they also deserve respect and Harada intends not to simply rush into the room and kill the fox for killing the villager. No, instead when the fox complains about their spouse being unable to partake in drink, Harada offers himself up for the task.]

I think your beloved is simply overwhelmed with the excitement of the night. I will drink with you in his place. There's no reason to let this good wine go to waste.

[Ah, now this is something he's good at. Years of drinking and cavorting with Shinpachi and Heisuke have prepared him well. So he shares a few cups with the fox, slipping in some of the drugs when the fox looks away, frustrated that their night isn't going to plan.]

I know you're disappointed, but try to get some rest tonight. Things will be better in the morning.

[He hopes. He also hopes he and the others can manage to retrieve this poor dead man's body for a proper burial tonight.]


3. wildcard!

[Hit me up for some other flavor of tall, ginger, and handsome here! You know how this works.]

.......yes sure let's drink

[downswing]

( 'Better,' 'in the morning.' Two half truths that one lone man's mouth cannot guarantee, even as it teases the rim of a trembled cup. Beside him, Lan Wangji chases the smeared silhouette of the fox in its deceptive transitions, between blushing bride and the exhalations of magic that no doubt chase a bundle of agitated bones.

He cannot decipher the curse, only taste and scent it and wish it well and calculate the petty precautions that will escort it gently gone. Soon, but not yet. At the gold-straddled low table, the inn's keepers have prostrated a wealth of fruit cuttings, a bed of rice to a thumb's height, the scattered offerings of pickled foods and fattened meats.

Alone, barely an itinerant member of another retinue, attracted by the chaos of this fox encounter, Lan Wangji seats himself as an obedient shadow chained to the man's left and assumes the duties of every flower house courtesan worth her rice bowl — sleeve wilted and pressed by two bridged fingers over the wrist of his working hand, while he pours astringent liquor in the stranger's cup. Absently, he remembers under the fox's golden, strained glare to replenish her drink. )

You are certain to hold her pace?

Yun Yifeng | A Sword of Frost | Old Timer

[badlypoisoned]

i: Smear Campaign

[He hated the taste of the drink, bitter like medicine. He liked the curse even less but at least he had an idea of how to break it. Still, he looks peeved as he puts his robes back one.]

That, [He said with a sniff,] Is not the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted but it certainly doesn't have much competition.

[And if his face looks much paler than anyone else's coming out of the cold water--to the point of looking unwell...be prepared to be lied to.]


ii: Household # 4 Cursed

[He already had a plan for how to force this ancestor to atone, but it took a little bit of time. During that he felt uncertain. He had always lived his life knowing he was dying, but since coming here he's felt more and more certain that his body will fail and soon.

It made him irritated and sad in turns, watching the people around him just...live their lives, their bodies healthy and unburdened by poison.

So, in between going out to spread nasty rumours about how this cook had been a swindler, a liar, so terrible at cooking that he had been run out of the big city he'd worked in and only fooled the people here into believing he even had a crumb of talent, he would sit...and he would write.

Anyone trying to peek over his shoulder will see that he was writing letters. Two of them addressed to someone called Qing Yue and another called Ling Xing-Er. The last one, the one he was currently working on was addressed to Ji Yanran.

His brush had been hovering over the ink he'd managed to find, pausing as he considered his word.

Then, for a moment, his vision blurred and, losing any semblance of calm, he slammed his brush down on the table, expression dark.]

Get lost.

[This he says to anyone who attempts to approach. He is...really not in the mood right now.]


iii: The Blushing Bride

[If you're part of the retinue, standing outside the door, at some point in the night there is a screech--then a thud.

If you rush in there's Yun Yifeng, casually cleaning a knife while the fox bride lays dead on the ground. Why did he have a knife? Why he brought it with him of course.

He sees you come in and sighs.]

Honestly, if this were that sort of festival it would have been nice to--

["have some warning" is how he meant to finish that sentence, but it's at that moment that the fox bride gets back up, looking less human than before.]

ii

[binghua]

[While Yun Yifeng is having his crisis, Xingchen is starting to go mildly crazy in this house. Not because of the layout or anything; he's adapting to a new dwelling as he always does. Rather, he hears things. Usually, he's glad for his better hearing to make up for his blindness, but the chewing in the walls is unnerving.

So he paces, giving himself something to focus on besides the awful sounds, except for when he finds a weak part of the floorboards. His foot crashes through it and he catches himself in time before any other part of his body can get injured.

Well. This is embarrassing. He'll have to fix this damage, of course - and that will give him a valid excuse to get out of the house! - but first, he should tell his other housemates of his little accident.

Which is how he finds himself approaching Yun Yifeng. And then being surprised by the slamming of the brush and the anger in the voice directed at him. Xingchen stands there, still and confused for a moment, then finally speaks up.]

...My apologies.

[He takes a step back, figuring it's probably best to do as the man says, but then he can't just leave without giving a warning.]

There is a hole in the floor. Be careful.

alistair theirin | dragon age | TDM tourist & voice-testing ;;

[caboodles]

A. THE MORE, THE MERRIER

⦓ he should be dead. sort of. maybe not dead dead, but at least a little less than alive. whatever death is supposed to be like, when you battle a literal nightmare in a world you frequently walk when slumber overtakes you. truth be told, dreams and reality have somewhat blended together over the years, and anything less than ghastly is a luxury at this point. especially with the song. the tune stuck in his head, on repeat, no shuffling, unhinged and loud and hushed in the way that it just creeps up on him whenever he doesn’t have the mental strength to quiet it. not the kind of ear worm you want, but then again, anything he ever did want, he rarely had.

and he’s tired.

it’s the song, mostly. the calling. or it was, anyway, oddly subdued here in faint darkness, just enough of a glow to guess the visages of his newfound companions. the tent reeks. or maybe it’s the stench of half-death he carried with him, bloodied corpses, demons and all that. fun times. he’ll roll with it, though. with… whatever this is, because if he’s managed to preserve the inquisition, help his comrades and fellow wardens somehow, if the end of the line is this right here… well. it’s probably more than he deserves.

hunger is still a thing, though. if you’re trying to sleep—sorry. please don’t mind him as he rummages through the meager bits of food he managed to gather earlier in the day, none of which palatable-looking. crushed berries, slightly rotten. raw fish. an impressive variety of mushrooms, and—somehow—dry bread. could probably knock a few teeth out of a bandit’s mouth with it, too. if he wasn’t starving, anyway.

he sighs without meaning to, a mouthful he munches with surprising gusto, until he stops, mid-chew, squinting back at whoever’s staring. ⦔

…I’m Fereldan? ⦓ no frill, no pretense. though to be fair, he doubts even a mabari would have touched his ration. ⦔ Look, I know what you’re thinking… but beggars can’t be choosers. I’d even be inclined to share if you didn’t have that… whatever expression that’s on your face right now. Disgust? Oh, I've had worse... Trust me.

A-HUNTING WE WILL GO

Whooooo’s a good boy! Whooo’s a gooood boy? Who’s the beeeeest booooy.

⦓ give alistair a dog and this is what happens. even with the mangiest of all hounds. it’s no mabari, but it barks, and it smells, and it drools, and it’s wonderful. his probably temporary but already loyal furry companion stands proud next to him, a fluffle of dead rabbits scattered around him, near the landslide he'd somehow completely missed. listen. he knows what it looks like, and as he resumes scratching the dog’s ears, he looks up, slowly, fresh cuts on his face and hair a bit pell-mell, his whole expression the equivalent of a weary shrug. ⦔

What? You’ve clearly never heard of rats, and the things they can do to you. ⦓ a tiny roll of eyes, and a wave of his hand, unprompted, half-exasperated. ⦔ Yes, I know. These aren’t rats... but don’t let the fluff fool you. Have you seen their teeth? ⦓ he nearly died! again!!! ⦔

WELL, WELL, WELL

⦓ to be fair, they do sound quite eerie. the tales. but alistair finds himself unfazed. he stares unfocused into the flames of the fire crackling, elbows on his thighs, eyes a little distant. there are wrinkles there that weren’t there before, and the slight upturn of his lips reveal no humor. ⦔

Creepy… ⦓ he doesn’t say it to anyone in particular, a half-groan in his throat, chest rising full as his voice lowers. ⦔ It’s bad, isn’t it. To grow… desensitized. Not that I am. Not really. ⦓ a beat, brows furrowing. ⦔ I don’t know… It’s just, when you’ve stared death in the face more often than you ever should have… ⦓ his voice trails off. his eyes close. he sighs, blinking. and he says nothing more. ⦔



⦓ ooc: poke me @ pandaemonium if you'd like to plot something else or if you have anything specific in mind! ⦔

a! no need to recognise her as the inquisitor he knew, please do as you like!

[maserannas]

( in all fairness, of which there was very little in general and currently only a degree born out of sheer stupidity rather than anything technically fair, ellana is still recovering from whatever general haze of disorientation has been lingering since she came to the vague realisation she was not, in fact, en route to tevinter and ambushed along the way. she was not presently feeling the brush of awareness speaking to magics she understood, and she had been both dehydrated and attempting to take stock of her situation, and the languages she didn't understand. not just failed to understand, but in the years with the inquisition and subsequent exposure to far more of thedas than she'd ever dreamed of studying under her keeper, languages she outright didn't know. hadn't heard spoken before at all.

then the tusk charm, that made words make sense, and she was still trying to figure out how it'd been enchanted, if that's indeed the case, but nothing looks familiar enough for her to know.

her one blessing, aside from the cessation of a lingering headache and the absence of anyone remarking on knife ears, was the belief that any person of shorter, slimmer comparative stature to an average human, especially a female one, with a prosthetic attachment to their arm was ... inconsequential. what a delightful backwards slide, which after an inexpert perusing of her mechanical hand, only resulted in the obvious knife being taken, and none of the rest of dagna's genius detected.

not that she knew where she was, in any coherent way, but as a former inquisitor, that felt like a tuesday. one with aching bones to grace her mornings, with how carelessly their tents are arranged over the landscape when camping. she's mildly surprised they've any tents at all, opting not to say so except in passing to those stuck in her same situation, with the same murmured question: where are we?

really, she'd been napping to conserve energy for an attempt to unabuct herself this evening when one of the people shoved into her tent right before 'bed' had gotten it into their mind to be properly industrious. which was wise, eating while he could, but when she'd sat up to observe him, and she'd continued staring, it was with all the dumbstruck confusion of ... who knew? meeting hakkon, having an idiot who also happened to be ancient take off her arm as a parting "it's not you, it's me, and my genocidal agenda", or anything really that came up during the last handful of years?

no, this counts as another kind of strange, beyond the glimpse of familiar places she's since pinned down as illusions in a whole new, confusing way. either she's hallucinating him, and truly her dreams even here were of a far different sort than this, or she really was seeing the warden she thought she was. )

Oh, I think we all have, but I'm a little... surprised. Not at the eating, keep up your strength and all, we all should, but I'm going to sound very confused for a moment.

( a pause. it's hardly portentous, but when she lifts her fleshy hand, it's in a sort of open palmed apology. )

Are you Warden Alistair?

onmyoji / asura / existing player

[warbeast]

[ scenic ]

[ These are illusions, that Asura knows. Taishakuten is not here. Asura's heart does not beat, lives still and cold and shuttered in his chest. It does not even ache with longing, for Taishakuten loved the world over but not once yearned for himself. Asura inherits that burden, and for their love he bears it. He walks silent through the amber lotus fields, fingers trailing over sun-kissed fronds, and does not wander.

In his periphery, just out of view, there are snatches of pale skin, of white-gold hair. Asura does not track them with his gaze, but he does savor each hint of memory. He basks, and he sharpens the blade of his resolve.

If there is an entity behind these ghostly taunts, he will split them stem to stern. Taishakuten's memory is not for others to desecrate, to sully.

For now, he walks on.

When his space is encroached upon by a stranger, he is at first content to ignore his fellow traveler. What others do is of no concern to him. He is not a part of their world. Not then, not now. Not then, not here.

But then the phantom dances between the distant trees, a rustle of white, the glint of gold. Asura's arm thrusts out, forcing the person he's been ignoring to stop in their tracks or collide with it. ]

Leave. [ It's not a request. ] He's not for your eyes.

[ wedding night ]

[ It's without dignity or grace that Asura is swept out of the wedding room like floor crumbs on spring cleaning day. He stumbles out, alternating between grousing and spluttering, disgruntled and red-faced as he's forced over the threshold, turning just in time to have the door slammed in his face.

He's well drunk by now from the revelry of the day. What appears to be a long serrated blade snakes out from under his clothes to pound determinedly at the door, Asura offended at the principle of the matter, being thrown out so unceremoniously for a game he'd been asked to play when no one bothered to check if he wasn't already spoken for. And why should that matter, when this is a game and the fox bride is certainly not his type?

Well, that's not entirely true. Asura could be convinced to be attracted to just about anything, but the point is, they should have been more discerning about picking groomsmen if waiting on someone else was a deal breaker!

A second long, flexible set of bladed teeth emerges from Asura's other side, joining in on the offended knocking. ]

You could've taken issue with me before getting so intimate! [ Asura shouts, gesturing to the bloody welts over his chest and neck, also known to him as robust foreplay. ] You'd understand if you saw him anyway! [ Who wouldn't? Taishakuten is the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Asura turns to look at the assembled retinue. A third tentacle of black blades whips out to seize the closest one to the front, dragging them close enough for Asura to air his grievances out to directly. ]

Right?? [ he asks the unfortunate soul, grip squeezing. ] I've been perfectly nice. Cast from the heavens again, just fucking figures.

[ Have we mentioned he's drunk. Oh dear, those bladed teeth on his tentacles appear to be shredding the stranger's clothes a bit. At least they haven't cut you? Yet? ]

Wedding night

[scrapgege]

[Listen, Xie Lian was also thrown out for being already married, and he's still wearing the wedding dress - the female wedding dress - which honestly he wouldn't mind some help getting out of but this is a bit much.

He also doesn't look very afraid.]

Haha, listen, I've also been cast from the heavens a few times, it's fine, you just pick yourself up... do you really want to go back in there?

Wrench | WATCH_DOGS | Old Timer

[in_theworks]

I. CURSES FOR ONE AND ALL_

[Wrench is suprisingly quiet when they arrive, taking in the sights of the village mutely as his mask cycles idly through a series of expressions as he experiences them. he's curious about some of the architecture. (?_?) he's a little worried about the volcano, because nothing good can come from that. (O_o) he's -- freaking out as they try and take the mask from him, when they strip him. (!_!) (>_<)]

[all at once, he's not so quiet anymore, actively fighting back against being divested of it. five minutes here, and he's already making a scene, one hand on the spiked lower half, while he shoos villagers away with the other]

Hey, wait -- don't touch --

[a beat, then louder]

Help! Fire! Rape!

[eventually, he'll settle down enough to come to some sort of agreement with the villagers that lets them get their potions in him and lets him keep the mask, but for now? well, like he said. help. and excuse him if he crashes into you, while literally running away]

II. HOME IS WHERE THE HELL TURKEY IS_

[and speaking of running away, apparently that's going to be a running theme for Wrench, while they're here, because when he tries to find his new home, he's immediately chased off by one of the five enormous turkeys that apparently live on the property. maybe, then, you manage to catch him running for his life -- at least running seems to be something he's good at. or maybe he approaches you later, as you reach the edge of the property, too]

I wouldn't go in there, man. [a beat] Not unless you brought, like, bird seed or box of grenades or something.

[please have brought a box of grenades]

III. MIST-DROWNED FOREST_

[when word comes back that there are bandits and that they've kidnapped their dude and taken their stuff, Wrench goes into the forest along with everyone else. the first time things get a little weird, it's because he thinks he sees a familiar silhouette disappearing into the trees. it's enough to give him pause, and he glances between whoever he's with, who he thought he saw, and back again]

Okay, weird question? But you didn't happen to see a guy in a blue windbreaker walk by, did you?

[(?_?) he does't dare get his hopes up, but he's maybe definitely getting his hopes up]

[he's not sure it's better or worse when it happens again, when this time, he starts seeing places rather than people. first it's the hackerspace, his team's home base, in its full glory, from Sitara and his workspaces to Josh and Horatio's. or maybe, it's the San Francisco Bay from the top of the Golden Gate Bridge that flickers into view. or maybe it's a giant metal serpent, as the forest gives way to desert. either way, Wrench hesitates for only a second before heading in that direction]

Hey, come on.

[he absolute needs to find out what's going on here]

IV. THE BLUSHING BRIDE_

[while Wrench thankfully doesn't end up roped into marriage, he does end up getting roped into a drinking game, when he tries to same some other poor schmuck with the line about wine and, as it turns out, the guy's already dead. on the plus side, he has enough in the way of tolerance that he's managing to hold his own. on the minus, he's not sure he can keep up drinking indefinitely, and he's starting to worry that he might end up like the groom, if and when he loses]

[on the other plus side, Wrench manages to bullshit the fox about needing more wine, and staggers to the door to poke his head out into the hallway, mask pulled up just enough to expose his mouth. he's slurring a little when he calls:] Hey, we could use some more -- some more to drink, in here.

[he could some help]

V. A-HUNTING WE WILL GO_

[the next morning and still hungover, but also still in one piece, Wrench ends up as a part of the hunt to deal with the foxes. he's generally miserable, while they wait in the staging area, the LEDs on the mask turned down low as if even its light is bothering him. maybe, at some point, he ends up leaning on you, because that's easier than trying to stand up, with the way his head is pounding]

I think I might have gotten one of the cups with the opium in it.

[surely wine wouldn't have had such an effect on him]

[or maybe you run into him later, after a rifle has been pressed into his hands. maybe he all but assaults you (but not with the gun, that would be irresponsible, gun safety people!), all at once cured and excited, because this is the first time he's seen something this familiar since he got here, and he needs to share his excitement with someone]

Ohhhhhh my God! [oh my god (^_^)] I think I'm gonna have an orgasm! I am definitely touching cloth, right now.

[and he's just going to mime kissing the stock with an over-exaggerated mwah!]

VI. WILDCARD_

[something else in mind? leave me a starter or hit me up at knightinqs or knightinqs#1243 on Discord.]

Forest shenans!

[sergeant_slick]

[This. This is why he never takes his armor off. But the rest of his stuff's still gone. Fuck this planet. And fuck these creepy woods, he didn't like how quiet they were, or--

Alright, what.

He cautiously makes his way closer to the place that wasn't there a second ago.] Is that real? [It might not be, but--who the fuck knows with this planet? Magical crap got them here in the first place, so why couldn't it get them back? Especially when they already knew people were showing up in the woods.

And it looks a more technologically advanced world, wherever it is. At this point, he'd take it.]

moiraine damodred ► the wheel of time ► old timer

[cairhien]

curses for one, curses for all

( it's honestly one of the most awful things she's tasted recently though moiraine still drinks it, knowing what they're tasked to do in the village, knowing that things are made easier with a little trust and willingness.

whilst she stomachs it down, uneasy by it but keeping as neutral as possible, but others she saw were more affected by it, either initially or for hours. where she's allowed she offers healing or brings food and waters ) This should help you. ( even if just momentarily )

a hunting we will go

( though moiraine attempts to refuse a weapon she allows a dagger to be given to her, going out with the hope that there's another solution than simply killing the creature. she looks for tracks, power held to her to help her listen closer, to see better.

but the forest has other ideas, leading her in the wrong direction, falling almost into a creek. and showing her things that she doesn't expect here. the blight, tangles and corruption within the forest. it's a sight that visibly makes her pause and should anyone be near her she offers a warning ) Don't get too close to it.

wildcard

( happy for other prompts. things in her house with her family, visiting other families, trips in the forest etc etc. leave something or find me on skitties for plots )

huntiiiiiiiiing............... but without a hunt

[downswing]

( Death, decay, mould, lichen. A vast corruption of wasteland, like seas divided to reveal their innards bare, their sands dwindling, their stone coarse. He walks on and feels the forest in motion, an answer to Ellethia's artificial flourish — accelerated, corrosive death.

When he breathes, nothing breathes with him — only the woman Moiraine, a wandering and adrift visitor better informed of their fresh circumstances, for how she bides her words, how she doles each out like silver shavings. He struggles even with a handful of steps, feet peeled from silt and flickered mud with bolstered difficulty, as if the earth itself intends to stitch him stuck.

Gusu Lan boasts forests, green vibrancy, rivers aflow. Skies bereft of shadow. Life. This — he turns, grasp of his sword ragged when he wonders what might yet come of his blade's shimmered aggression, should he visit it on this land. Mere heartbeats ago, branches teased his forehead, lashed his back. Bushes and leaves rustled, crushed underfoot. Now, this — surely, only bloodshed cannot dispel what exorcism should wither. )

Curse or sickness?

( As if they are not both troubles of the root. As if Lan Wangji is even peripherally positioned to take blade or spell and unearth the cause, when he must devote the better part of himself — whatever it may be, whomever might have received it in loan — to trailing after the slithered fox creatures. No hunt this, only the finding. They will win the day bloodlessly, or name themselves fools. )

Distraction?

hinami fueguchi » tokyo ghoul » newbie!

[leaflets]

the more, the merrier

[leaflets]

[ When Hinami wakes, forward is the only way she can think to go. Her flower-patterned dress is dirty and torn, there are leaves in her hair, and she doesn't remember anything from the last...How long? Enough that she can feel that it's been a while, at least.

With nothing else to do, and no one responding to her calls, Hinami walks.

a. On a normal day, Hinami might have been able to avoid the bandits. But with her strength depleted and who knows how long it's been since she last ate, she's wandered straight into the camp before she really registers the voice she's hearing from afar aren't all friendly. Maskless and too weak to summon a kagune without giving herself away as a Ghoul and get away safely, it's easier to just listen when she's forced into the group than end up with shackles and chains. At least, it's what she thinks Touka and Kaneki would want her to do if it mean staying alive until they could find her. And they will, she knows. She just has to stay alive and stay strong until they do, no matter if she's scared.

There's little incentive to let a young teenager attempt to help with hunting, so Hinami is instead left to try and assist around the camp itself. She focuses on attempting to help the wounded, though lack of experience means that she's starting with anyone with minor ailments first. Cut yourself up a little foraging? Kicked around by an animal while hunting? She's waiting with whatever she's been able to grab in the way of bandages, possibly repurposed. She's quiet and shy as she does it, but gentle and kind, trying her best. She avoids anywhere food is being prepared, taking any time she can sneak away to sit as far away in the woods as the bandits will let her, trying to listen for the footsteps of anyone she knows under the guise of finding herbs or entertaining herself by making little crafts with all the forest debris around them.

b. When night falls and they get locked in the tent, Hinami is a little more on edge. She's not at the point of starving yet, thankfully, but-- For a ghoul slowly growing hungry, being surrounded by humans made things...difficult. And being surrounded and locked in together with so many strangers, there's no way to really hide the fact that she never seems to eat what the captives are given. She tries to keeps to herself in the corner, knees drawn to her chest and doing whatever she can to amuse herself until she tires-- Making crowns with anything she's grabbed from the forest seems to be the most common. But she's easily drawn into simple conversations, sometimes even seeming to move to sit near people so she can listen to mundane ones without really sharing herself.

And then, when the night truly draws in and everyone is asleep, she thinks of her Anteiku family and just cries as quietly as she can through the loneliness. ]

Ken Kaneki // Tokyo Ghoul // Old timer

[enucleation]

Prompts are below

CURSES FOR ONE, CURSES FOR ALL

[enucleation]

[ oh, he was not happy to drink that mixture, but after a couple of tries it finally went down. And like this he became part of the village, even if he found somewhat humiliating to have to be stripped and dunked into cold water, and then have all his things taken away like that - except the cursed doll because of course the cursed doll simply showed up next to him out of no where once someone took it away. But after that ordeal, kaneki begins to realize what inheriting the curse meant.

His hands starts to show wound, deep cuts that normally his ghoul body would heal almost immediately. Honestly? He isn't entirely TOO bothered by it as much as he should be because kaneki has a lack of self-care that tells him he doesn't have to bother. He wraps his hands with clothing and that's good enough for him, ignoring any possibly pain most people would feel.

The problem, of course, is when he starts touching things and they just rot away thanks to the first curse Greed It's frustrating to some degree, and some people might see Kaneki struggle grabbing new clothes he would like to wear but end up just turning into dust. Or that chair he grabbed for some reason? it just breaks. After few attemps, he just sits at the front of his new house, poking the doll that never leaves his side. Apparently she doesn't rot away like the rest. How lucky is he? Regardless, anyone who might know Kaneki will perhaps notice some changes in behavior as he is now a bit... more clingy. And people he doesn't know yet? Well, he might cling to them too if they give him the chance; this compulsion to keep others close is again not new, but honestly? Usually Kaneki doesn't act upon it.

The second curse - gluttony - is surprisingly a lot easier to handle. Because Ken is always hungry, that's not something that bothers him. And thoughts of cannibalism are always there because he is a cannibal, so again it's nothing new. But it's clear he slowly gets sicker with time. But at least he knows how to handle himself - he visits the Witches’ huts often to find some... food. They have necromancers there, so undead are something he can eat, or he simply eats the bodies that have not yet been revived. Anyone paying attention might notice him going there often, and sometimes even coming out with his bag full of food for later.

Anyone is welcome to stop him or talk to him while he explores the village. The white hair on a kid that looks 14 (he is 19) is easy to spot and probably a bit different from usual, so he might get a few funny looks. ]

yennefer of vengerberg | the witcher | old timer

[violetchaos]

i. curses for one, curses for all

[ It was all a bit much, as far as Yennefer was concerned. First big red suits and now cold baths, putrid tasting drink and curses. She can't help but wonder who she pissed off. Oh, yes. Pretty much everyone, everywhere. In this realm and into the next. Now she gets to atone for a sorceress who sacrificed a bunch of men to a hungry mantis goddess (or some such thing).

As she dries off and redresses, Yennefer is then escorted to her temporary living accommodations, which is, to say the least, not nearly as horrible as she thought it would be. There was some work to be done but all in all, quite liveable. Then again, once one has slept in a barn with pigs and chickens, it's easy to adapt.

So, for the time being, she busies herself with tidying up and doing a little... "fixing". ]

ii. bandit bane

Weapons. Because why would we be anything else? Certainly not tourists in this fucking absurd place...

[ Yennefer doesn't hold back, even when she knows she should be given the very pointed instructions of masquerading as set family units. Her own experience with her family is not a happy memory and thinking about it only brings back a wave of intense anger that will make the stay in Ke-Waihu an interesting one, to say the least.

Maybe even as interesting as it was in Ellethia-Hamsour. Not that she has any plans to kill people in their sleep.... though Weisi and his brother were sending off creep vibes like nobody's business.

For now, she pays attention, helps a few new faces and does a little digging into the House of Raven's curse. If only to speed things up and get home where there was a more personal war she needed to know the fate of. Only she can't move forward on that until they locate Enam and the others and so joins the search party for them.

Several times she stops, violet eyes staring ahead before darting left and right. ]

What the fuck just happened? How am I here?

iii. the blushing bride

[ Yennefer sits on the floor beside the conjugal door, slouched lazily against the wall with a cup of wine in her hand. This has been one of several cups but she sits listening. There was something she was meant to do, but at the moment, apathy was winning out and her indifference was showing.

How she volunteered for such a boring task seems to have been forgotten. ]

Can you hear anything in there? We should be hearing something, right? Maybe we should ask the... ask the ... what are we supposed to ask again?

[ Clearly, she needs no more wine. ]

iv. well, well, well

[ Yes, she was very interested in this turn of events and spends a good amount of time surrounding herself among the villagers, listening to the talk going on among them before following along to make the offerings to the volcano.

Only when she's among the group of faces she knows does she ask. ]

Who is the Beastmaster?

v. wildcard!

[ more than happy to fit something else in. set something up or catch me on lilbeejack to plot. ]

iii

[good_taste]

[Astarion's lost the plot. Spirited off to a cursed forest, captured by bandits, rescued, exposited to about undead lords, and now... a wedding! Why not.

And if he was going to go hungry tonight, he might as well get drunk. He's artfully sprawled over more of the furniture than a single elf should be able to manage, drinking without any respect for the flavor. Because it tastes awful.]

Mm. They're either dead boring, or more interesting than I gave them credit for.

[Either way, that was reason enough to interrupt them. He pulled himself upright, retrieving the bottle so he could pour himself another glass on the way.]

Does the wine please the couple?

[There's sounds of movement on the other side of the door. A voice calls, one that doesn't quite sound like either of the newlyweds,] Oh, it pleases me, but him? He won't touch it! He's gone completely cold!

[The door slides open, and he's greeted with a sobering shock--the bride's wide, angry eyes have turned orange and the pupils slit, her unnaturally long face now sporting a creeping layer of fur. And the blood. The scent is immediate and powerful, her robes and clawed hands are covered in it, and a trail of misshapen footprints leads back to the bed--] He won't even talk to me anymore!

Well, [He laughs, because... what else is there to do? A lycanthrope! And oh, all that blood, she's wasted it! Gods, he's envious of that excess. ...And she might kill him next, if they don't do something. That's also a problem.

He holds out the glass, as if he'd planned this all along.] We can't let him spoil the whole night, can we?

Tormund Giantsbane | Game of Thrones | Tourist

[milkchugger]

a. the more the merrier

[ Unless the Wildling is drunk off mead and can barely remember the night the next day, Tormund very rarely finds himself in strange places. Especially when the last he remembers is the battle on the frozen lake where he almost died, almost witnessed his friend die and saw three dragons, of which one did die. The day will be one he won't ever forget.

But he also knows that he has not had an ounce of mead or any other liquor for that matter. He was back at Eastwatch, preparing for the Army of Dead to arrive. So, how did he come to be there instead?

When Tormund came to enough to realize he was not where he was supposed to be, he reacted as Wildlings do when they are confused and out of sorts. By fighting.

The next time Tormund is seen, he is shackled and gagged, the latter a result of talking too much, which he had a habit of doing. Furious blue eyes dart around, taking in the not so familiar (but sometimes familiar??) surroundings as he tries to quietly retrace his steps that led to this seemingly random displacement.

At a rest stop, he lightly kicks someone nearby and murmurs something past the strip of material across his mouth. ]

Cuhn you hel-puh meh get dis ofuh?

b. a hunting we will go

[ It's been a few long days of crazy news and strange happenings. The Free Folk didn't much believe in much beyond the Old Gods, so ancestral curses and fox brides left Tormund not really having it. So, he kept himself busy doing other things, exploring nearby areas and trying to seek out answers that were proving quite hard to find.

But when he heard of a hunt, of course, he was all for joining in. If there was no other way out, then here was better than Eastwatch where a legion of undead was marching closer and closer with each passing hour. He survived once and was in no rush to get back to stare death in the eye again. ]

c. wildcard!

[ hit him up with something different? ]

b hey who wants an heart tree *and* a fox altar?

[northerndragon]

[It doesn’t surprise Jon that Tormund declined to participate in the fox weddings, and it was probably for the best: he is not sure that his friend would have been able to even pretend to take them seriously. Or he might have taken them too seriously, drinking heartily to an occasion that was not joyous.

When things went wrong, that’s when he would have been of use. And they are still wrong, in a way that they both understand, so the Wildling’s aid is most welcome. They walk through the woods now.]

This place, this world… it’s not like home.

[There is a flash of red and white through the trees, much too big to be fox. Jon peers at it, frowning, before finishing his thought.]

Or might be that it is. Do you see that?

[“That” is a weirwood.

His heart aches to see it, and he starts towards it, bow and arrow held in his hand, then slows to be sure that Tormund is with him.]

Caitlin Strucker | The Gifted | Tourist

[naturalization]

( 1 ) The More, The Merrier

[ turns out stepping through clarice's portal to the unknown was, in fact, a poor idea.

as far as she can tell, caitlin has arrived sans everyone she loves and still reeling from the death of her husband.

stumbling over bandits honestly checks out with the way her life has been going lately. for such a small woman, she packs a hell of a wallop and has been busy entering the terminator phase of her life; it took way more effort to subdue her than would seem strictly necessary, and she's been shackled for her efforts.

(very possibly she bit one of them on the way down.)

you can find her plotting escape and murder and scanning every new face with energy that screams 'i am a mother of missing children and until i find them, i will stay at an eleven thanks kindly'. ]

( 2 ) Bandit Bane

[ once the inevitable happens and caitlin either slips her captors or is freed, there's a zero percent chance she's leaving the area without finding her kids until she knows for sure they're not actually here.

while she spins her wheels on the missing children score, she's going get back to playing freedom fighter and kick a little bandit ass.

paradoxically as she is much more comfortable once she's given a mission, particularly one that involves punching things and saving people, she's honestly way more chill now. desperate mom energy is hovering around a seven and a half, not eleventy million. ]

( 3 ) Wildcard!

for anything and everything else!

bandit bane

[chromiums]

[ lorna's already not in the best of moods before the bandits make off with her headband, so she may be taking some of that out on the bandits she ends up encountering. there's a group among the ones they're hassling in clothing that looks too modern to be a part of this world, and when she notices that she tones her reactions down, not wanting any of them to get caught in the crossfire.

she's just managed to get the headband back from the bandit who'd run off with it when she spots a slight blonde woman with a familiar stance and build who seems to have adapted remarkably well to her new situation. the possibility that it could be someone she knows doesn't occur to her until she hears her shout out while getting a hit in on a thug, and she freezes in place, staring at the woman until she turns around.

it doesn't seem possible. but there she is, standing right in front of her. ]

Caitlin?