westwhere | arc iii: house of ravens

arc iii: house of ravens | arrival

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

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

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Wrathion nods once, accepting. Slick, after all, told him about this. About how they were used for war. This is a vivid demonstration of what that looked like.

"They considered you disposable," he says. Whoever sent a whole army of people here on their first deployment either didn't put enough care into training them, or was playing a game of numbers instead of careful strategy -- and he's welling to bet it's the latter. Flood the field with enough troops and even if they aren't trained well enough, the sheer weight of numbers may get you a victory.

On a smaller note, white shiny armour seemed like a strange choice. They all stand out in the desert, and he'd have thought it would be hot too? Perhaps the material is lighter and cooler than it looks, however.

He shook his head. "Not just them. We did too. That's what they taught us."

And that had to be why some part of his brain wouldn't shut up about the horrible practicality of looting the bodies.

There were DC-15s all over the field. Fully stocked utility belts. Helmets. None of them keyed to his ID chip, but he could probably slice that, given enough time. There was some part of him that wanted to try and pick them up.

None of it was real. None of it should've been real. But he couldn't stop thinking about it anyway.

He gritted his teeth, trying to look toward the horizon instead. "How do we get this damn thing to go away?"

"Keep moving," Wrathion suggests, "don't allow them to distract you. Clear your mind of this. Tell me what your plan will be once we find these bandits."

Strategy, something else to think about instead of the landscape. The illusion.

The bodies, littering the ground.

Easier said than done, but Wrathion cannot simply make it go away with words. They can only keep moving forward, and try to shut out the attempts to slow them down and lead them into danger.

This was the same sort of sleenshit they got taught in training. Battlefield psychology. Break things down into smaller, practical steps so you didn't think too hard about anything.

He opened his mouth to snap at Wrathion, but stopped short. They weren't on Geonosis. He wasn't being told to ignore reality for the good of the Republic. This was a friend trying to help.

He took a deep breath. "...Alright." He started forward again, probing the sand ahead of him with the walking stick, stepping around the bodies.

"If there's enough of them to make off with everyone's stuff, we're looking at..." He was speaking slowly, having to force himself to concentrate. "...At least one for every five of us. Probably more than that. We'll either have to regroup or pick off targets around the perimeter."

"Agreed," Wrathion says. "If they have Zenobius, then there's also the danger of them using him as a hostage. Picking off targets may be best. I may be able to draw some away and keep them distracted, if the camp is busy.

Less in the camp may make it easier to bring down the people there, and easier to make sure Zenobius is safe before they take control of area and retrieve their stolen items. His eyes stay on the stick Slick is using, on the ground he is checking. Watching Slick himself too closely may make him feel self-conscious, but he'll be able to tell by the stop and start of its motions if he needs to intervene more to keep him moving.

"They'll go on alert if they realize somebody's hitting them." Just like back at home. He was not gonna fail like that again.

A particularly angry stab with the stick presses down on something hard. He barely has a chance to process it before a shock goes up his arm. Geonosis finally disappears. They're back in the woods, the teeth of a metal trap gripping the stick.

He halts, taking another moment to recenter himself.

"If we can't hide the bodies, we make it look like the forest did them in."

"There's certainly plenty of traps to do that."

Wrathion tilts his head at the one holding Slick's stick, then moves to pick up another to offer him.

"Do you need a moment?"

There's no judgement in the question, Wrathion's expression calm. There's little point pressing forward faster if Slick will feel ruffled and more likely to miss something. If he needs a few minutes to recover, then it will be worthwhile him taking them. Wrathion is capable of patience, when he needs to be.

He shakes his head. "I'm alright." He's not. The war's still happening somewhere out there, on a scale beyond comprehension. He needs to fight against it, but--

"It's not here." He shakes his head again. When a plan isn't operable, move on to the next one. Don't stop. "The longer I stand around and think about it, the worse it'll be."

He takes the branch from Wrathion. "Let's put a dent in those raiders."

Wrathion nods, accepting, and gestures for him to lead on -- Slick does, after all, have the trap detection mechanic in hand.

"Should it be necessary, I'm capable of drawing attention to myself to allow you more covert methods."

If Slick prfers to sneak around while they focus on him.

It occurs to Wrathion after a moment that he should... clarify he doesn't simply mean by grandstanding. Which he can do, but isn't the only method. He glances sideways at Slick, turns one hand upwards slightly and with a flick of his fingers conjures a small flame into it.

He starts forward, probing the ground as he goes. "Good. Given that we're not a coordinated force here--like usual--we're going to have to contend with others attempting direct assaults. They're going to be on alert eventually, no matter what happens." Which was going to be an absolute pain in the ass, but as long as they kept aware of their surroundings, the two of them had a better chance of coming through this unscathed.

...Especially given that he's now got yet another friend who doubles as a flamethrower. "Damn. You're a lot better at that than I am." Though the fact that he wasn't joking was still an accomplishment. And worth remembering--this wasn't just wasted time. He was picking up skills clones weren't supposed to have.

"A natural gift."

Which sounds like it may be a boast, but the matter-of-fact tone doesn't quite lend to that. It is, in fact, entirely natural for dragons to be good with fire.

A sound in the forest makes Wrathion freeze. He frowns, indicates the direction to Slick. It might be an animal, but it also might be the direction of the people they're searching for.

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...

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.

He waves Wrathion off. It's all good. He's got this. Two's a challenge, but he can do in two of them. Even when they're walking beside each other like this. He just needs to get close. Keep the element of surprise. Knife at the ready, keeping low until he's almost on them. He's got a plan.

The one on the left starts turning his head. That's Target One, then.

Target One gets a hard crack on the head with the pommel, and Target Two gets the blade to the neck, twisting in the wound as the man reels away with a quiet choking noise. He lets go of the knife, switching targets again. Kick One in the knees, pull out his shortsword and stab down behind the left collarbone. Let go, turn back to Two. Fend off an uncoordinated flail, grab the blood-slicked knife grip, and tear it out. Blood pressure drops, Two falls.

The whole process takes only a few seconds. He takes twice as much time to stop and listen.

"All clear."

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arc iii: house of ravens | arrival

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