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

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! )

[good_taste]

[Fox riiiiiites! Two options stand out: Astarion as a groom could be hilarious, particularly if he has to pretend to be already married, and he's also got a knife up his sleeve if that doesn't work. And his pointy ears would also potentially get him accused of being a fox during the hunt. I'd happily go with either! Do you have a strong preference?]

[downswing]

( I have a strong preference for getting this thread notif I never did.

Lan Wangji is already married, technically, so it'd be the world's awkwardest 'we're already hitched' scenario — which sounds hilarious. Can I set that up? I am definitely also fine with the hunt, if you prefer it! )

[good_taste]

( augh DW why

This sounds amazing and you have my blessing. Go for it. Spare no expenses, this is a wedding night )

[downswing]

( The bride, her screams, her ailing. A lifetime of exorcism has taught Lan Wangji to sooner question the pace of the universe, before its dance steps.

He is — not besieged by the bride turned animal, by her screeching. Another claimed her affections, and though Lan Wangji has held numerous enemies at sword's end, they have often lent him the ethical courtesy of seizing first. Now, he watches a red-shrouded woman encircle her... intended in a manner comedic, more hops and twirls and the early death of a table than honest chase. He thinks, a better man might help.

He thinks too, a better man might lend aid to the bride.

But then they are together, orbiting one another, the groom and Lan Wangji on one side of a tapestry-clad courtesy screen, while the bride hisses and claws at another — and he wonders why, for all the wit of her, who has fooled an entire marital procession — for all that, the fox does not know to simply... look to the side, and instead attempts to peer her snout through painted silks.

When, seeing them side-by-side and near-huddled, she starts to conspire that they are — promiscuously aligned — and Lan Wangji, cold sweat glistened on his nape, turns tentatively to behold his... beau. )

We are. ( This, then, is what the circumstance demands of him, to lend this man's survival, on this hour. A lie, a cruel lie, unkindly. He affixes the beam of his gaze on the man's face and travels it down his chest, to his wrist unbound by Lan paraphernalia. ) Not... at liberty?

( ...his is not a mouth carved for untruths. )

[good_taste]

[They'd just kept staring at him. Muttering to each other, and failing to be discrete about it. You'd think they'd never seen an elf before. Hopefully they'd never seen a vampire either, or he might need to make a quick exit.

When some of the locals finally approached to ask him to marry someone, it was almost a relief. With how closely he was being watched, tonight had been a loss--he'd never get a chance to bite someone. So, why not? With enough sympathetic outsiders around, he'd probably stay safe, and the villagers might settle down. One awkward night wouldn't kill him.

...That had turned out to be a terrible decision. But in his defense, how could he have known? Hells' teeth, maybe he was better off with the bandits, rather than being pursued by a fox in a wedding dress.

Time to try one of the instructions from that ludicrous little pamphlet he'd been handed. If it failed, he still had a knife hidden up his sleeve. Thank the gods this man was playing along. Awkwardly, but better than nothing.] Yes, I'd hate to make you into a homewrecker, darling. [Worryingly feral darling. He's maintaining eye contact, making no sudden moves or loud noises. That's what you do with beasts, right?]

You can't break such a pure and sincere bond between two men.

[The bride hissed at him. Wetly. What a charmer.]

[downswing]

( A homewrecker, and how the bright bone edge of her teeth catches candle light in sinister, sterile shine. How she grins, and whatever weapon cleaved to shape her distorted mouth must have been a dulled and blunt thing, coarsely purposed.

He is expected, he knows with distant but absolute certainty, to parade a plethora of thespian ambitions he has never taken the time to cultivate. To persuade the fox that what guides him isn't the tender and overwhelming instinct for his spirit to extricate itself from the gilded cage of his flesh any heartbeat now — but overwhelming affection.

...for this man, whom Lan Wangji measures between the dry clicks of the fox bride's heels on the groaning floor, and finds... inexorably wanting: missing raven-dark hair, a smile ripe like wine stains, of death nipping at his fingertips like a hunting dog. Still, Lan Wangji — makes attempt. )

Pure. ( He blinks. The fox, gawking ahead, imitates him. Then, equally placid: ) And sincere.

( He might as well be reciting the ingredient list of the day's overly filled steamed buns, sold at the marketplace. As luck would have it, here and now, they are not bereft of salt. )

We are. ( Lick of his lips, slow. What will satisfy her? ) Pledged to honour bonds. Such as they are. Pure. Pristine.

( ...the fox might, by now, be squinting. )

Bonds shape the world.

[good_taste]

[Gods, he hopes his dearly beloved doesn't harbor aspirations to be an actor.]

Yes, I've been blessed a husband who's so eloquently succinct. A little shy, but I've always liked that about him. [He leans close to the man, close enough to covertly draw the knife from his sleeve.] And we won't let anyone else come between us now, will we darling? [He'll certainly take a cold fish over a rabid beast tonight.]

2.

[aurasight]

The good news about being blind? One couldn't be fooled by illusions. The not-so-good news about being blind? It made trying to avoid capture rather difficult, especially without a shrivel of magic to her name. For all that Y'shtola resembled a cat in nature, she seemed oddly calm as the bandits rummaged through the belongings of everyone but her, as they'd long ago plucked the staff from her hands (until she guilted them into returning it, lest they be burdened with carrying around a blind woman for days). Being unable to see didn't stop her from being able to hear, however, and she sat listening to the people around her, keeping an eye on the ridiculousness happening around her.

A bandit yelped. And then there was a man's voice chatting about something cursed, something involving spirits. Her ears pricked up at the sound, listening intently now, even if her gaze didn't swivel in his direction just yet.

What an interesting thing. A book...and a man who wasn't human. He must pass for one, she supposed, or no one would have noticed until he pointed it out. How odd. She heard him settle close by and then, at last, she chanced to glance in his direction. Y'shtola could pass for being able to see at the best of times, and her brows perked up enough to at least give the impression he had her attention. "What's this about a curse? Where did you get such a strange item?"

[good_taste]

"A dear friend gave it to me for safekeeping." He'd known them for only a few days, but they'd been so useful already. Shame they weren't here. "Don't worry--It's quite well-behaved at the moment."

But what to make of this fellow captive? She certainly didn't look human like all the rest, and--those were her ears, weren't they? Gods, what had happened in this woman's family tree? And her eyes--was she blind?

In any event, it was time to start joining himself to useful people again. Certainly nobody else had stood out yet. "I'd dare say we're the only ones here who aren't human. What sort of backwater have we been dragged into?"

(ooc: If you're running with it, I'm happy to run with 'human' and 'elf' getting translated by the pendants to 'hyur' and 'elezen', and vice versa. Bless FFXIV and its bespoke names for everybody.)

At House #9, getting in a fight with the garden

[good_taste]

He'd actually gone and forgotten about cloudy days. Clouds made a difference in the city at night--just a little more diffuse light in the back alleyways, reflected from the brighter streets. And once he'd been kidnapped and tossed out into the daylight, the skies had been brilliantly clear.

Honestly, he resented not feeling the sun on his skin now. Such a wasted opportunity. Still, he wasn't going to be lurking inside for long if he could help it. He'd rested a proper four hours since returning from the woods for a nighttime hunt. The meal wasn't enough to make him feel full, but at least he could hear himself think over the hunger. He could really start planning his next steps.

"Curse our heartiness, we're destined for the stewpot if--oh no! One of them's found us!"

But he wouldn't be able to concentrate over the little voices crying out from somewhere in the front garden. Gods. He'd almost forgotten about the vegetables. When he'd slunk back last night, they'd screamed. Now he had a grudge.

Against some radishes. Which he wasn't about to act on when people might see.

"No! Don't devour me!"

"Oh, do shut up. Do I look like a druid?" He wasn't going to dignify them with any further acknowledgement. Just keep walking.

"Stay away! We're not fresh! We're--we're rotting! Sulfurous!"

Oh by the Hells, there was garlic planted here! He detoured as far as he could around them, shooting them a baleful glare. "Keep on like this and you're all salad."

...That didn't help the situation. Now the entire plot was screaming its non-existent lungs out. Fantastic.

[in_theworks]

" ... okay, but I don't know where to start with any of this."

Never mind the fact that there he was, providing commentary, from where he'd stopped, nearby. He'd been on his way back to his own house after a night out, unable to sleep. It wouldn't be the first time he'd dealt with insomnia and it probably wouldn't be the last, and he'd thought, in the absence of something to tinker with, he'd go for a walk. And then there were vegetables.

Long story short, though, please forgive him for standing there, staring. (O_o)

[good_taste]

There was a voice behind him. Someone saw. What a wonderful morning this was already.

"Neither do I. Salt's usually what people use for getting rid of plants, isn't it? Salt the earth and all that?" He turned--

And raised an eyebrow. What was he even looking at? There were enough spikes on display for an entire Loviatan temple. And... was that a blindfold? What was that? Why was it glowing? "If they even have plants wherever you're from."

[in_theworks]

"Yeah, but too much salt'll kill just about anything." Including people, if you wanted to get into the whole sodium-slash-high blood pressure thing. If he planned on it, however, he stopped when Astarion turned, the expression on the mask switching sides. (o_O)

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

Immediately, he reached to fit his fingers between the spikes on the lower half of the mask. It was hard to tell whether or not he was seriously wondering or playing into Astarion's confusion for shits and giggles. Really, it could've gone either way.

[good_taste]

It moved. There was a human under there, right? No, no--he had a reputation to maintain. No gawking.

"Not at all. I was just admiring your eyes." Those were supposed to look like eyes, right? ...Or were they actually eyes?

The chorus of vegetable screams behind him really wasn't helping matters. "I was just on my way to anywhere that isn't here. Care to join me?"

[in_theworks]

"Aw, stop! You're making me blush," he insisted, waving a hand at him. The mask jumped to a bashful (^_^) before returning to its default. He shot a glance at the vegetables, before, "But yeah, dude. I could do without the whole Attack of the Killer Tomatoes vibe going on here."

A beat.

"You, uh -- is that the house they gave you?" He pointed to the house beyond the field, as if it wasn't clear what he was talking about.

[good_taste]

"As intended." He'd ask eventually what was going on, but at the moment he could endure being completely baffled.

"Unfortunately, yes. Shall we?" He began walking, the vegetables finally quieting down, with one final, high-pitched yell of "Vegetarians, go home!"

What an absolute farce. "If everything in this town has to be cursed, they should at least try for something with a bit more flair," he lamented. "They almost had something with the weddings, but now they've lost the plot entirely."

Hunting--for Marcos or whoever!

[good_taste]

What was the matter with this place? Last night it was all festivities and wailing in the streets, today it's all calls to arms and yet more wailing. Surely they can't have been surprised by what happened. They'd handed out instructionals in case the brides went rabid!

He wasn't going to help. Yes, he needed to make his way into the forest at some point to feed, but with all the baying of the hunting dogs, there'd be little chance of catching anything unawares. He'd just have to go hungry again today. Maybe explore the town a little more thoroughly, once the locals were otherwise occupied. He started wandering, noting which houses were emptying out.

But he hadn't counted on the amount of attention he was getting. And not the kind he preferred. They were staring at him, muttering to each other. He heard comments about--

"Really. My ears." He gave one of them a disdainful look. "Can't you come up with anything more creative? Although that might be too much to ask. You're all very busy with whatever it is you're doing. Don't let any brainteasers slow you down." Didn't they have a foxhunt to go on?

And now more of them were looking at him. Whispers of... oh for gods sakes. He wouldn't normally mind being called a fox, but only if it's a metaphor. "I'm not about to sprout fur, no matter how much you squint." But this was starting to feel more dangerous. The locals' movements were just subtly different. A collective tension rising.

If there was one thing humans and dogs had in common, it was how they hunted in packs.

[soloritur]

Any notion that things might get less insane after they left the lighthouse got dashed pretty quickly after they arrived. Marcos was already on edge while everyone gathered weapons and headed for the woods, and he wasn't alone. Despite the foxes apparently being a bloody tradition in the village, everyone was acting like this was the worst one yet and there was big talk about how they were finally putting an end to it.

Marcos isn't any stranger to this kind of tension. He doesn't even disagree that they need to find a way to break the curse to save lives, but it's not long before conversations filter by him that brings him another cause for concern.

He overhears the gathering crowd talking about a shapeshifting fox, and when he peers over their shoulders to see them start to circle a man with noticeably pointed ears. As he elbows his way closer, he can hear the man protesting and the accusations getting louder and more threatening.

It triggers an anger in him that can only come from years of watching perfectly innocent mutants get cast out of society, getting murdered, and those who were visibly inhuman getting it the worst. Before he knows it he's forcibly wedging himself in front of him and bumping shoulders with the nearest villager who was getting into his personal space.

"What's your problem, man?" He raises his hands and summons a bright light into his palms as a warning. Giving them a chance to walk away. "This is a friend of mine. He's no more cursed than the rest of you, so how about you back off?"

Sure, he could have tried to do more to convince them before using his powers, but he's aware of how mob mentality works and how quickly voices get lost. Sometimes it's best to intimidate them and hope they walk away before anyone gets hurt. Of course they don't listen, so he lets his hands glow brighter and holds his ground.

"I wouldn't try it unless you want to go blind," he tells the closest villager who seemed to be gearing up to make a move. "You want to do something about foxes, the hunting party is that way."

[good_taste]

Really, how was his luck this wretched? The locals were looking for lycanthropes, and instead they went after a vampire. He hadn't even done anything yet! Maybe he could manage a spell to slow them down, but he wasn't sure he could muster the concentration now. Unless someone came to his rescue--

Oh. Maybe his luck wasn't quite so terrible as he thought. He had a friend now, did he?

Well then! He'd known this man for years. He knew everything about this man. Especially his name. "Oh thank the gods, I was looking for you," he sighs, the perfect portrait of exasperated relief.

"I went to your house but you weren't there. Come on--we shouldn't waste any more time. And neither should all of you," he glares reproachfully at the confused crowd. "Aren't you supposed to be in the forest by now?"

[soloritur]

Marcos was still staring down the crowd, waiting for someone to call his bluff, when the man behind him enthusiastically jumps in to elaborate on his story. He looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow at the overacting, but hey, that wasn't the worst response he could have gotten. When he tries to direct them to the forest, Marcos stands firm and watches to see if any of them are listening.

Some in the crowd actually do seem afraid, and he picks out a few more words about foxes taking human form. Are they lumping him in with the foxes too, now? Not that he expected a village built around curses to be anything other than paranoid, but this could be a problem for them.

"Go on, then." His voice nearly gets drowned out as they start to talk over each other, getting louder and clustering around them. Some of them are armed with weapons for the hunt, and seem a little overeager to use them. Clenching his jaw, he keeps his glowing hands raised and starts to back up. He nods to the man next to him to follow.

"Doesn't look like they're buying it. Let's just get you out of here, okay?" He tenses his shoulders and starts gathering more energy to his palms. He can handle a crowd this size if he has to. "...If I give a signal, close your eyes and get ready to run."

[good_taste]

Could it really be called overacting when your actual personality was just that expansive? He certainly didn't think so.

But apparently the villagers disagreed. Some people just had no taste at all. "I'm all for that." This was an uncomfortably familiar situation, but at least he had someone standing between him and the mob this time.

He keeps close, speaking quietly enough that the locals shouldn't be able to hear. "First left, then a hard right down an alley." There were empty houses on the next street over, and most of the doors here didn't lock. Much as he'd rather just run and not have to wait for anyone, having a willing defender could make the difference now.

[soloritur]

Marcos didn't want it to come to this, but when their efforts to deescalate the situation fail, he jumps to his backup plan. His new friend is thankfully cooperative, which just makes him think this isn't the first time this has happened to him. And really, he'd be surprised if it was.

He nods at his directions and gets ready. Fortunately he's done this enough times to know his range, but it's a delicate balance with this many people. He has to make sure they don't see where they're going, while hoping he doesn't do any permanent damage. Not that they really deserve the consideration. The second he spots a weapon being readied, he pulls on his powers and shouts over them.

"Now." He raises both hands and shines enough light to blind anyone looking directly at it for too long. Most people have enough sense to look away, but he can hear their pained shouts as he holds it until he's sure that the man he's protecting has enough of a head start.

After a minute he lowers his hands and runs off in the same direction before any of them can clear the spots from their eyes. He doesn't know if they'll keep looking for them, so hopefully he has a hideout waiting for them.

[good_taste]

He's turning the instant he's told, throwing up an arm to shield his eyes.

It's like the man just pulled the sun out of his sleeve. Even turned away from the light, the sudden brightness is almost enough to dazzle. No time to waste--he's dashing away at top speed as soon as he's pointed in the right direction.

First left, skid into a hard right and slip between two houses, then out onto the next street. He had a house in mind. He slipped inside, taking just a moment to listen. Nothing moving. A half-eaten dinner's visible on a low table in the next room. The house is empty, and big enough to have a back door or windows to squirm through if the dogs caught wind of them.

That was a thought, though. He snatches a jar of some pungent spice off the table, returning to the front door--just in time to see the man come running. "Here!" he hisses, gesturing the man over.

Once he's in, he opens the jar and scatters the contents on the doorstep, thick enough to deaden the dogs' noses as thoroughly as their masters' eyes must be by now. "Well," he says quietly, shutting the door behind him. "You make fast friends. Help me bar the door, won't you?"