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

[in_theworks]

But not in a way that actually connects those places to here.

[not in a way that means that Marcus might actually be here]

Soooooo -- what? [and the mask goes back to (?_?)] Is it like a mirage kinda thing?

[in_theworks]

I kinda left my flamethrower in my other pants, but ...

[shrugging, he picks up the pace, running forward, the sledgehammer held up high, ready to swing] But they will never take our freedom!!

[what? he couldn't resist]

[scrapgege]

I don't know what blackjack is, but yes, if we played any kind of game, I probably would lose. No matter what the rules are.

And if you change the rules to make it easier for me, I'll still lose.

[It's fine, he's used to it, and a lot more around him goes wrong than you can see, Wrench.]

[enucleation]

[ a pause ]

.. do you blame them for it? [ because really - if your child had been killed by cursed foxes, what would you do? ] And does it surprise you this is what they do?

[sergeant_slick]

Instantly he drops to a crouch, setting down the branch and pulling out a knife. With a quick glance to Wrathion, he's moving forward. The forest floor's damp and quiet, and this close to the ground, he's less worried about traps. What he's more worried about is controlling line of sight. If whatever's over there sees him before he can see it...

He manages a glimpse through a thicket. Unfamiliar locals. Raw and hungry-looking. That'll be them. He keeps eyes-on, pulling out his translator and scribbling a note to Wrathion, a tense little edge of excitement rising.

Two, armed, heading NW. Not on alert. I'm moving in.

He starts moving again, heading in to intercept. Matching the loose tempo of their footsteps, keeping alert. They won't be formally trained, but this could still go wrong if he doesn't get the timing just right...

[good_taste]

"They were, in fact. I should've realized the villagers would be just as ignorant and superstitious as they were." At least with them, he'd been able to terrify them into behaving themselves.

"It was a full day of getting dragged through the forest and eating squirrels. I'm almost missing the experience now." Squirrel blood was awful, though. Like someone made a batch of absinthe in a rotting log.

"Am I to assume you were one of our rescuers?" It seemed like the sort of thing Marcos would get up to.

[cairhien]

I don't know. ( she could have theories but... was it as real as it seamed, a weave or illusion? the blight had seemed real but she'd made certain to stay far from it )

I didn't go close enough to touch it.

[good_taste]

"Could you now? Maybe this place isn't a total loss." The man (?) had an odd dialect that the little translation charm couldn't quite make sense of, but he was certainly forward.

Come to think of it, that would be a decent excuse for sneaking about at night. Even take things one step further: He'd seduced enough victims for Cazador, why not do it for himself?

Now that he'd had the thought, it was all he could think about. "If you're interested in a little fun, I'm sure we could find some way to entertain ourselves."

[good_taste]

"Hm. Small mercies." He should hope being an elf wouldn't bother anyone. Though come to think of it--if no one here had ever seen an elf, had they ever seen a vampire? Heard any tales? He might just be able to pretend his more suspicious features were normal. The fact that he could walk in sunlight had been all it took to convince the other infected, but he'd still gotten the occasional odd look.

"I suppose that will help with this whole family nonsense we've been saddled with." It was a complete farce. "I don't even know who my supposed relatives are. We're not distant cousins now, are we?"

[blackscales]

Slick moves with the air of someone who has this entirely under control, and who is Wrathion to stop him? If Slick has a plan, Wrathion is content to let him lead -- it's a good way to learn the range of his talents, seeing him in action.

He moves ahead, and Wrathion carefully moves with him -- just behind, keeping pace. One hand stays on his dagger, but the other stays out and slightly lifted. Just in case this all goes wrong, he can always call fire into it and throw it at their enemy. The danger is always just too much fire might light something of their surroundings.

One of the locals is gesturing away to something in another direction, away from them, and the other is nodding in agreement. A camp? A target they're about to attack? It could be either. Wrathion moves himself behind a tree near them, glances toward Slick to gauge his plan. Are they moving in to keep following? Or to remove these two? He'll go with whichever.

[blackscales]

"Not as far as I can tell, but I'm willing to be surprised."

The name is suspicious. He tilts his head, curious.

"You weren't given the names of your assigned family?"

Surely he was set up with something, their dear benefactor is normally pretty good about that much at least. Even if he is light on the more useful details.

Troublingly light, in Wrathion's opinion, but he supposes giving away too much would reduce the amount they relied on him and of course that wouldn't do.

[blackscales]

It is self-defence then. Wrathion nods thoughtfully, because he understands the sentiment. Plenty of people want to kill him, so he's always prepared himself. Better to be able to win a fight that finds you rather than endlessly run from it.

"The Merchant?" he prompts. "He's good at what he does, which is make deals, trade valuable things and keep everything moving. Right now, we're a valuable good being traded across long distances. I'd say he's a man of his word, so long as you understand exactly what his word is."

Which is the game, here. The Merchant is very specific about what he says, and always means what he says. He won't, however, stop you from misunderstanding him.

[good_taste]

"I remember most of the names, but I wouldn't know any of them from an ogre. If I met them, that awful potion was holding more of my attention." He'd been backed into a corner on that, and he regretted not finding a way out.

"I understand blending in, but this is too much."

[blackscales]

[ Ah.

A verbal trap.

What kind of human society is unfamiliar with union rituals?

Great question, he isn't a human and has no idea. ]

I've never had the occasion to attend one, I suppose. I travel a lot, and have no family pressures towards a union myself.

[ There. Totally nailed it. ]

[blackscales]

What plans, Wrathion wonders. Staying the night with his... girlfriend?

He feels a faint pang of jealousy and snuffs it immediately. No need for that. Bonds can be dangerous, anyway. He doesn't need that burden. He's doing quite well alone.

This way, he can hurt no-on else and no-one can hurt him.

Wrathion links his hands behind his back idly, moves to begin walking back toward their designated home.

"Perhaps we can begun with a cup of tea," he offers, "and see how far we get?"

Strategy or simply idle conversation, either would be a pleasant divergence since he's been deprived of his usual company.

[scrapgege]

Of course not.

[People are people, and they have feelings, and so they will always do things that are irrational on the surface because of that.]

But I don't understand why they would literally invite the foxes in. That's... that's the opposite of curse breaking. They should want to ward against them, keep them out at all costs. Instead they literally put themselves in a situation where more of their own get killed or hurt and blame the foxes some more after that. It's just... weird.

I'm surprised they don't have a ring of salt around the entire village or any talismans, with how many spirits they seem to attract.

[beitangmoran]

[Okay, so he is actually pretty young even by human standards, but he still wasn't born yesterday, that's an A+ evasion here, but it's still one, and it's saying something.]

... And no knowledge of the customs of any of the places you've traveled to? Or your own home?

[song_of_fire]

[She noticed that he was searching for a plan, particularly during the pauses of the conversation. She managed to pull herself together, swallowing back the wave of sickness that surged in her stomach. There was no Drogon on fly in and rescue them. She had no sword, but there were torches around. If she could grab it quick enough, she could scare the bride away...or kill her.

It didn't take long though for her to catch why he was suggesting wine. She was still close enough to the goblets to slip her fingers over a packet and curl it in her palm. She was small, unassuming and pretty enough to distract. She might not be a street performer, but she could move quickly.]

A toast, of course. To the celebrations of this night.

[She held the goblet with both hands to keep the packet hidden. After draining her cup, she lifted the pitcher, planning to offer refills. Now how to slip in the opium?]

You must be thirsty. Come, have some more.

[song_of_fire]

Certainly you have some idea of what we should do? Leave the man to die or rescue him?

[She didn't want anyone to suffer or be hurt. It seemed cruel to make him go through this, all for the sake of a ritual. Magic might not be something she should interrupt, but this might be too much.]

Are you not bothered by what will happen to that innocent man?

[song_of_fire]

It sounds as though this curse is similar to the ancient's curse we must solve. Apparently this village is cursed doubly. Not only their dead, but now foxes as well.

[This place seemed to be filled with nothing but dark magic.]

Exorcised? Is that what would solve this?

[song_of_fire]

So they must find an occupied house and enjoy their passions there? [This wasn't the Dothraki. Such displays didn't seem to be largely accepted. Why in the Seven Hells did they think this was acceptable? It was enough to make her blood burn, even as she cringed at the display.] If they are foolish to do that, perhaps this ill-fated love is something they should give up? It's clearly meant to fail.

[Dany let out a sigh, doing her best to relax and let go of the feelings of revulsion.]

May I have a cup?

[song_of_fire]

[She waited for him to draw the attention of the bandits. Once it seemed they were clear of their loot, she darted forward, rolling and dodging when she was noticed by those still close. She jabbed the dagger into an ankle, managing to catch another in the neck. Her first true kill in battle, it was enough to make her adrenaline surge, helping her as more men charged at her.

She couldn't hear Drogon, but there was frantic rattling in a cage. It seemed likely they bound his jaws somehow, not by leather or ropes, but perhaps by chains. Did it mean that they were starving him? She raged, letting it fuel her movements until she finally made it to the cage. Locked and secure!]

I need a key!

[song_of_fire]

I won't let you drown.

[At the very least, there was no damage to the ship. Not in the bow or stern, the mast was still standing firm and the captain could still steer the ship ably. This storm might seem dangerous, but it hadn't left much damage.]

Was there much to see in your world?

[song_of_fire]

I will do my best to move quietly.

[She can't promise that she will be stealthy, but she'll attempt to follow his movements. She didn't have a weapon, but didn't really wish to carry one on this expedition. This was mainly joining him and keeping an eye on his safety.]

Should we go?

[downswing]

( He hears her, listens. Manners and discipline have reunited in learning to appreciate the weight of words when and as they are spoken — to fill in the spaces of silence like water overcomes a pail. )

You speak of devilry.

( Of demons, of corruption old and hope new, of the many seeping ways in which one power can infiltrate like mould and reside. Extended, his senses are no more than morning light teasing shapes in dawn dark — he feels nothing known, no tempest previously encountered. If there is curse here —

But nature only crackles under rot, heaves beneath destruction. Lessening and wilting need not coincide with traditional talismans, with aged hauntings, with curse work. )

How will land heal?

( But he knows her answer before she need speak it, knows the poison dark on tongue, the slow callous qualities of its thickening, like burn-hot sugar dropped into water — coagulating as pearls. Nothing survives this. )