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

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.

[blackscales]

"That does seem a little fast," Wrathion muses. "I was under the impression most --" 'human', he just about manages to avoid saying, " -- Courtship rituals were lengthy affairs."

It's probably already odd that he doesn't know about those. Should he cover for that? He turns to Astarion, to add something like 'I've never been married' as an excuse, and catches sight of the man.

Ah.

Hmm.

An... elf? A strange looking elf. Sin'dorei sometimes have a golden glow to their eyes -- he wouldn't pin this one as a kaldorei, too urban. His eyes seem... red, do sin'dorei ever have naturally red eyes? Titans, now they've got the void elves Alliance side as well haven't they? There's certainly something about him, something that feels like shadow magic of some sort. Either way --

He lofts an eyebrow, curious.

"I don't believe we've met," he offers, as casually as he can. Has he seen native elves here? Does this place have native elves? Something he should really look into.

[good_taste]

"It depends on their passions, of course. But this seems more... ritualistic than amorous." Yet another reason to decline. Backwoods villages that lured outsiders into odd rites generally didn't have the most wholesome reputations.

"Ah, of course." He hadn't been avoiding introductions at all. "Astarion. The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure. And you are?"

III.

[sergeant_slick]

What he wouldn't give for more mermaids right now.

It'd taken a lot of persuading to get him to drink that dreck back at the village, and now he was starting to suspect it'd been a diversion. Get everyone feeling sick, then steal their stuff.

"Copy that." He looks up, checking the treetops. This place is creepy. Nature, in his experience, tended to be creepy, but this was probably full of more magic that he didn't want to deal with right now.

Right on cue, the world shifts. Suddenly there's sunlight, distant villages and a really long drop a few meters ahead.

"What th--?" He hadn't been expecting this, whatever it was. "Yeah." He turns to look behind them. "The way back's gone. Where the hells are we?"

[blackscales]

Strange.

Wrathion steps, carefully, to the edge of the cliff. Even if he were blindfolded he'd know where this was. Pandaria has a familiar feel to it. The air is clean, filled with the distant cherry blossom and bamboo of the jade forest. Yet -- it isn't. It can't be. He narrows his eyes warily, skimming the area.

"Somewhere I've been before," he says finally, "nowhere that should be accessible from here. Not without some form of teleportation magic. This --"

The sloping path he was walking along suddenly seems to give way beneath his feet, and the illusion vanishes leaving Wrathion back in the forest. Now stood in a shallow pit with wet leaves and tangled tree roots. Good thing, he supposes, he wasn't running this way.

"-- That was somewhere I spent my youth. The question is, how it was recreated so vividly?"

Was the image pulled from his mind? From Anduin's? Was there another here who was from Azeroth? Or some device, from Azeroth, pulled with them?

Or perhaps the beacon itself, which they were told was here, was somehow connected to something and pulling images from far off lands?

[sergeant_slick]

As soon as it was starting to get convincing, hopeful, even, it was gone. "More messing about with our heads," he sighs, offering a hand to Wrathion, "and if whatever's responsible can make us see stuff that isn't there, we can't trust anything we're seeing." Now he's taking another look at the scenery. Trying to see if anything had changed since he last saw it.

"Might be worth walking single file, and sweeping the ground as we go." It would slow them down, but so would spraining an ankle. If the forest kept to that level of mayhem.

III.

[chosenbylight]

There is a burning inside of Anduin. A burning that has as much to do with that bitter brew they forced down his throat as it does with the fact that his mother's locket, the only thing he has ever known of her, is now in the hands of bandit thugs.

It's perhaps making him a bit more reckless than he might otherwise be. They have to get their belongings back from these ruffians, though. One way or another. And even if it means he might be barred from the village, next time he will fight harder. He promises himself this as they walk through the forest and his insides twist like snakes.

He's so caught up with his own personal dramas and regrets that he almost doesn't notice Wrathion freezing in place ahead of him. Hesitantly, he makes his way to his companion's side, glancing first at him and then at the clearing beyond.

"What is i--" he breaks off, as before him he registers the sight of... Azeroth.

[blackscales]

Wrathion would recognise the gardens outside Ravenholdt Manor anywhere.

He steps forward hesitantly, the trees of the forest they were in giving way to several more common in Hillsbrad. The low wall around it is familiar, the mushrooms, the worn path, the patch grass. The slight hill to it all.

He looks back, but the manor isn't behind them.

It's just this. This sloping path down, away from it.

"This cannot be real," Wrathion says, with the wary tone of someone aware they're likely in a trap.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin does not necessarily know where they are for certain. But the trees, the plant life, it's familiar to him at least in a way that speaks of home. Of the Eastern Kingdoms, and the forests to the north.

This area obviously means something to Wrathion himself, and so Anduin is quiet for a long moment, following him as he steps forward into the grass and takes a hesitant look around himself.

"I... Suspect the forest may be enchanted in some way," Anduin suggests, turning back to Wrathion and raising an eyebrow. He seems almost shaken -- is he alright? What is this place...?

v.

[inferus]

As the General of War, Wrath observes and strategizes and knows the value of information. This is a land of serpents and curses, of sin and atonement. It feels far too much like Hell itself and not enough like it.

While Wrath has gold eyes, most mortals tend to find him terrifying and/or tempting, and none appeared to be willing to accuse him of being a fox earlier. However, it also means none of them appear to wish to speak to him or divulge much information at present as if they're not certain what to make of him. So instead, he listens, and he catches two valuable observations at once.

The Beastmaster is a patron here, and then the reaction of one of his own group to hearing the information (from basic curiosity to sharp anxiety). The reaction is enough to draw Wrath's attention. It's from an individual he has took notice of before due to the magic within him- the different color of his eyes as his own are, and he follows though at a distance.

And then raises an eyebrow at the question.

Standing close to the other, Wrath can sense it all: of the earth and and of fire, a hint of shadow, some great power which is primordial in nature (of Creation but a different Creation than the one Wrath was made for) though he cannot begin to guess exactly what the other individual is. Only that he is not mortal either and is clearly formidable.

"I could not help but to notice your reaction to the Beastmaster, and given my own interest in learning what I can about the Beastmaster, I thought you may know more than most of our group." Or have reason to fear him as Wrath has reason to- Well, he is the devil. He is fear itself and does not fear (and yet). "The villager said the Beastmaster is a patron here?"

[blackscales]

This is a terribly direct approach, made towards a terrible suspicious person. Wrathion's brow pinches, the only outward show of emotion, but his emotions roil quickly. Suspicion at the strange approaching, alarm at the name being referenced, a tense flash of panic as Wrathion decides if it would be worth bolting.

Still, he's quite sure he has seen this person mixing with the other of the Merchant's little band of refugees. They could, of course, be trying to drag information from him only to sell him out. To what end? A deal for power, a different path home? Yet to sell him out they'd need something to sell -- so far as he knows right now all they have is the fact that he's reacted to the name.

He presses down aggressively on his emotions, tries to force his heart to slow and his shoulders to relax.

"So it seems," he allows. "Another place indebted to the Undead Legions."

[inferus]

Wrath's expression remains impassive for the moment. His brothers tend toward playing games more, and he is well aware of how to play them. One does not survive in Hell without possessing both the knowledge and strategy of how to anticipate everyone as an enemy. So he takes no offense at the reaction.

It would be foolish to trust someone that he just met. It is a foolishness to trust at all. Wrath never allows himself it - not even Emilia as much as he loves her. They are not at a place of complete partnership yet if there experience in Hell before coming here is any indication. However, he is already aware they may have similar motivation based on the clear anxiety he has to the mere mention of the Beastmaster.

"So it would seem. Patron appears to be... a step above the blackmail happening within Taravast. It is far more in the open if nothing else - not some hidden secret. Was only the Beastmaster mentioned?"

iv

[beitangmoran]

The traditions are slightly different from what I am used to, but only a little.

... A little cruder than what I am used to as well, but I am sure the people outside the palace enjoy these types of festivities even in Huangdao.

[Truth be told, Moran would have gladly excused himself from the proceedings, as he prefers calmer environment, but the hunger pangs that keep weirdly manifesting are keeping him around the free food. He's not really looking much at what he is eating because if he does he might spook himself, and filling his stomach is more important.]

[blackscales]

[ Outside the palace?

This person is potentially royalty, then, or else some form of staff who serves royalty in their homeland. He hums in thought, and shoots a side glance at a professional wailer who has just started up. ]

Including the wailing?

[ This tone says he does not particularly approve. ]

[beitangmoran]

[Definitely royalty, Wrathion, have you seen all the silk he wears? And he holds himself like someone used to seeing other people bowing.]

Ah, the wailing, we usually prefer to keep that for funerals.

[he says that almost breezily. There is something dark, an undercurrent of sorts, running through the festivities.]

ii

[soloritur]

Marcos thought he was fairly good at adapting to most situations, even here with the dragons and undead monsters, but apparently he has a limit. His tolerance is suffering by the time they wind up in a family unit where he's kept away from Lorna, not long after being forced to take on what seems to be a very real curse. It's all he can do to meet the others at the house before he's rushing out to see her again and making sure she's not about to do something drastic.

He's not much calmer when he's heading back and notices the familiar red eyes coming towards him.

When he heard Wrathion was assigned to the same house, he remembered that it could be worse. Mutants have it hard enough, but those who look differently are usually easy targets. He hasn't found out a lot about his origins, but even some casual observations around the village are enough to tell him that he needs to be looking out for the guy.

And from the direction he's headed in, he can only assume he came to find him. Even if Marcos is trying not to be too obvious where people are watching, he decides to risk stepping out of the shadows to meet him.

"Hey. Something going on?"

[blackscales]

Ah.

Hm.

Wrathion was not, technically, coming to find Marcos -- but the fact that Marcos is exiting the same house Anduin occupies is useful information.

"Plenty," Wrathion answers in a neutral tone. There's always something going on, after all. "You were visiting someone?"

Call him nosy, but Wrathion thinks it useful to know who is particularly attached to who. He's seen Marcos travelling with someone, but the specifics aren't there. That sort of thing can be key when there's danger, knowing what a person's priorities are -- and if they're another person there.

[soloritur]

Marcos' expression grows a bit more serious at his answer, but when he opens his mouth Wrathion asks a different question. There's really no hiding where he just came from, and he isn't incredibly sure he needs to. Maybe it's just old habits that keeps them on high alert. But this isn't Taravast, or the Inner Circle. They aren't going to ruin their cover just by being seen together.

"Yeah, I was. My um...," it's suddenly weird to know how to refer to Lorna. They have a kid together, but until a few weeks before they got here he had been sure they couldn't make it work. Still, it's more serious than he makes it sound: "My girlfriend, she was assigned to that house."

And since he's still thinking that the 'something going on' is serious enough to come find him, he looks over at him with concern.

"What's up?"

ii family

[ambitiousblond]

Considering the last family 'reunion' he had resulted in his younger brother holding a knife to his throat this fake family affair was going rather well. He didn't know any of the others but given no one seemed to be getting stabbed it seemed things were already off to a pretty decent start.

He's glad that they had managed to get through that journey, it had been rough and it had taken a bit of a toll on him. It was good to have solid ground under his feet when they reached the village and he was ready to just go with whatever story the others decided to invent.

But this was the first time directly meeting one of his new family members and he was curious about who he would be living with for the time being. He was at the table with his shotgun laid in front of him- the table gave him room to make sure everything was in working order. He looks up from his work, giving him a curious look and polite smile.

"It's a pleasure to finally properly meet another member of this happy family," he remarks as he finishes loading the gun, switching the safety on. "We didn't have time for introductions before- I'm Rufus."

[blackscales]

Wrathion watches Rufus handle his weapon with mild curiosity. Guns are common enough in Azeroth, many hunters in the Unseen Path prefer them to the more traditional bow and arrows. This one, however, is admittedly more elegant in design than many of the creations he has seen. Then again, both Goblins and Gnomes alike are prone to... overdesigning their mechanical products. He suspects this constant desire to innovate and adjust even the simplest items is closely related to the high frequency of explosions and injury.

"Wrathion," he offers easily. "It seems our fates are... intertwined."

By force. He tilts his head, thoughtful.

"When did you join this expedition?"

Is he a veteran of the Merchant's little band of travellers, or is he new to it?

v

[wooden_one]

Chu Wanning's feelings towards the whole 'pretend family situation' is...complicated. He's really unsure about everything...which, because of just how he is, makes him look irritated the whole time as he had stood off to the side watching people introduce themselves. Still, despite that he had paid attention to who was in the house.

So he recognized the person pacing outside and he seemed. Well. Troubled.

After a moment of just watching out the window, he pushed open the door. The rather impolite greeting glanced off him. It's fine. No one ever liked seeing him anyway.

"No." He says it bluntly but honestly because he wouldn't ask for help even if he were bleeding out. What he felt was concern but he has the worst case of resting bitch face so it looks vaguely annoyed to those unfamiliar. "Stop pacing. Are you trying to dig a ditch? Come inside."

If he were more socially competent he might have been able to word that better. Alas.

[blackscales]

Wrathion stops when prompted, glowering mildly at Chu Wanning yet obeying him all the same. He takes a breath to try and settle his agitation, casts one glance back out at the village then moves to step back inside.

"I have begun to wonder," he begins through gritted teeth, "if this entire world is simply filled with unpleasant locations, or if our dear friend the Merchant selects them for us to visit."

Is everywhere here overrun or indebted to undead? Or are they sent to key strongholds on purpose? Titans, they really need to leave this place.

we're showing up with a ladder at the house that's not ours, okay

[weifinder]

Wei Wuxian moved as a creature to be hunted, only aware of it, sliding between shadows and within the pauses of dreams and nightmares to tread light, unheard, among the village homes. Lan Zhan made his domicile available before he'd also taken one of the walls in Wei Wuxian's erstwhile home down, the insect-devoured interior unable to hold up to one act of passion. Never underestimate the strength of a open palm hitting a wall, or any other flat surface, he supposes, but he's conserving energy as he slips to the wall around the back garden, and squints through the shadows.

"Remind me," he says, a murmur that carries only enough for very nearby ears to hear, "Which hedge is hiding that bamboo ladder again?"

[blackscales]

Climbing over anything with a ladder is not exactly Wrathion's style, but as superstitious as this village is he's found it feels best not to be caught doing anything too... inhuman.

Which leaves him here, glancing between the bushes and then moving to pull out a bamboo ladder.

It's borderline humiliating, but at least if anyone does see them he'll be answering more mundane questions.

"I really think they could just let us in the front door," he grumbles. Anduin doesn't seem too troubled by the rules, but to Wrathion it feels as if he's being treated like a child.

Which... perhaps by other people standards he might be, but to Wrathion he's absolutely not. He's High King of the Alliance!