(no subject)

[groundrules]

This log covers 7-25 April, drawing from previous discoveries. Feel free to tag in here or make your own posts/logs!

Sign-ups for NPC threads remain open until 23:59 GMT on 9 April.

THE LION’S DEN

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WEN QING’S RESCUE | THE HUNTRESS’ CURES | THE HUNT | THE OLD MOUNTAIN

Image source.

SWEET HISSED NOTHINGS

CONTENT WARNING: MENTIONS OF SNAKES, SERPENT CREATURES

Prior to the Huntress’ arrival, the group’s healer Wen Qing is captured by a feral half human, half serpent creature. Characters might overhear visiting woodsmen who say a woman was heaved into the woods at night by a large serpent.

After journeying through the illusion-casting forests of Ke-Waihu, prospective rescuers discover that traces of struggle lead them to a 20m-deep, wide pit on brittle pale soil, close to the Fortune fetters ruins:

■ If you cross the Fetters, local prophetesses cryptically advise you to shed torches or clothes and to run to cold streams, if you encounter danger. A distressed Hyang-Tai pleads kindness for ‘ancients’ and ‘children.’

■ The surroundings of the pit are eerily silent.

■ Rescuers can spot a sleeping Wen Qing at the bottom of the pit, patches of her bared skin covered in a slick shine and showing the start of growing scales. She is surrounded by dozens of dormant snakes and nagas, tightly and peacefully coiled around her.

■ Wooden stakes have been thrust into the pit walls — serving as challenging, but workable steps.

■ Some snakes are poisonous — with many cures available in the forest or back in Ke-Waihu — but most bite viciously without venom. Some nagas emit phlegm that briefly impairs the vision or blinds.

■ Watch your step! The creatures are drawn to warmth, fire magic and sound. They stir and climb the pit to attack if they feel threatened.
■ Rusted weapons and broken shields litter the bottom of the pit, dropped in by previous… visitors.

OBJECTIVES

■ Remove Wen Qing from her dire straits.

■ Wen Qing is left with serpentine sensitivities, instincts and scales. To cure her, healers advise a seven-day brew treatment of widow’s lace — an opiate plant found in large forest bushes.

■ Grab a few flowers at a time and store them well — collectors exposed extensively to widow’s lace experience four-six hours of light euphoria, paranoia or bizarre visions — swindling foxes and philosophical parrots are apparently commonly imagined.

Image source.

THE MAIDEN’S WATCH

The Huntress joins the group, deprived of her powers and absent her steed. She pointedly stares at the ground, but those who meet her gaze may revisit harrowing moments in their lives.

Following group conversations, her shelter is rotated between two locations: a shallow forest cave and the now deserted snake pit that previously hosted Wen Qing.

Take turns shielding her from the animals that seem drawn to besiege her. The Huntress spends her time in tears or penitence and speaks in a maddened tongue. Voice coarse and wet, she summons the composure to share her knowledge:

■ The Beastmaster and she both seek to witness the imminent eruption of the Ke-Sanwon volcano, expected within a month. The Beastmaster will become more human as that time draws.

■ Ravens excepted, local animals obey the Beastmaster and spy for him.

■ To avoid the pull of the Beastmaster and his Hunt, seek out:

THE SHRINE

Trek through Ke-Waihu’s haunted forests and find the village’s only shrine devoted to ravens, outside of the elusive House of Ravens.

■ Wear pebbles or wood splinters from the shrine to disrupt the Beastmaster’s thrall on you. These items must be replaced after three days.

■ Fox spirits have raised dozens of illusionary copies of the shrine. The stone of the original altar is marked for ravens in a small wooden carving, while copy shrines worship foxes.

■ Young fox spirits imitate ravens or play distant bells to distract travellers from finding the raven shrine.

■ Sometimes, fox spirits swarm, offering to show the way if visitors perform a small dare or tell them a meaningful secret.

■ If asked, Ke-Waihu locals share the shrine was raised by a wanderer, who spent a month in the village many years ago. He was disgusted with the arrogance of Ke-Waicai’s zealots, who insist ravens are sacred and can only be worshipped in the House of Ravens.

THE BRIDGE

Ke-Waihu has briefly reopened its gates to the nearby village of Ke-Waiar — to which it is connected by a fragile and narrow bridge high above a misted abyss.

■ Wind gusts shake the ropes of the rickety bridge, and several wooden steps are putrid, dangling or loose.

■ Ad you near the bridge’s end to Ke-Waiar, you may find a couple of fox spirits are purposefully rattling the ropes to unsaddle travellers. Plead or barter: you can offer anything from riddles to treats, a good performance, a poem, a favour, a shouted confession of true love…

■ The village gates open between sunrise and sunset. Characters who arrive early find many villagers sleep until late in the day. By sundown, some locals become frantic, alert, increasingly irritable.

■ Water can be freely taken from any of the wells within Ke-Waiar to satisfy the quest. Villagers offer it gladly — they too suffer from resurging drought and dark waters.

■ If you arrive at sunset or night, you can see villagers turning to werewolves in various stages of transformation, between humanoid and large wolf beast. They are lured out of Ke-Waiar, gates closing behind them, and released into the thick, vibrant woods — with you.

■ Take cover in the forest, to escape the pack of werewolves and wolves. Some might prove lenient if they catch you, while others feel compelled to draw blood.

■ To wait out the night: climb the forest’s sturdiest trees with help of the ropes purposefully bound from tall branches. Some trees even host rudimentary treehouses.

Image source.

THE HUNT

The Beastmaster, his xenomorphic creatures and mutated animals arrive in Ke-Waihu to behold the ‘imminent’ volcanic eruption.

The Beastmaster’s creatures possess sharpened senses and hearing, intense speed and hard carcasses that provide additional but imperfect protection from blows and missiles. They often hunt in packs, but behave themselves in Ke-Waihu during daytime.

The Beastmaster excuses himself from the underground Hok-Shinn clan’s attempts at a welcome celebration, taking residence with his beasts in his village hut. He may be encountered walking the village beside five or six of his creatures, inspecting the markets and even advising new huntsmen — his manner slow, speech rough in a way that suggests oral injury beneath his facial bandages.

THE TRIBUTES

The Hok-Shinn and an envoy of Ke-Waiar each present 10 distinguished but eerily listless youths of their village to the Beastmaster.

■ These tributes are then held in groups of five across four abandoned homes, each closely watched by six-seven men of the Hok-Shinn.

■ Team up, rescue some tributes — and get out alive.

■ For easier infiltration, try the forest-facing back of the houses, or the generously large, defective chimneys. Beware slippery or broken roof tiles

■ Hok-Shinn guards possess great brute force… and gratefully accept liquor.

■ Some tributes might fight their rescuers and attempt to alert the guards. Some claim it is their privilege to join the Beastmaster, while others say they should be sacrificed to the volcano Ke-Sanwon for their families.

■ You can hide the rescued tributes in the witches’ huts or the Fetters — gather them coin so they can book seats on the next ship out of Ke-Waihu.

THE HUNTING SEASON

The Beastmaster’s creatures are mannered during the day, but join the Hunting season that kicks off after the full moon:

■ Participation is (OOCly) optional.

■ For five nights, come moonrise, some characters feel compelled to flee into the forests and run, hide or avoid detection — alternatively, they join the Beastmaster’s creatures as hunters, chasing this quarry and forest animals.

■ You can chase each other or ‘pack’ up against a common target or enemy.

■ Anyone can ‘hunt’ or ‘be hunted.' Roles can swap across the five nights.

■ Characters can develop overnight instincts akin to an animal of hunt or prey of your choice, and they will be helped by these animals for the night. Snakes and ravens do not participate.

■ Hunting can be vicious (seeking to injure, kill or consume prey) or symbolic (just violently giving chase).

■ Certain characters feel especially compelled to join the hunt and to protect the Beastmaster outside of it. These include characters who are given to war, hunting, violence, wrath, gluttony or feral/animal characteristics. It also applies to those who previously turned xenomorphic during the Beastmaster's trip in Taravast, or whom he marked.

■ To avoid the hunt, stay out of the forest, apply the Huntress’ cures or lock yourself firmly indoors.

A couple of fun locations for hunt participants:

■ A tree enclosure where characters can hide for up to an hour, invisible to their pursuers. They can still be heard or scented.

■ A small lake, silvered at night, in whose waters you can breathe freely.

■ A fox spirit shrine, where a group of four-five vulpine friends defend you alongside their territory.

■ Abandoned wells and the forest streams previously touched by dark waters. The Beastmaster’s creatures seem very curious about the liquid, but ultimately pull back, as if obeying instructions.

■ Areas with strong fire or utter dark deter the Beastmaster's creatures.

Image source.

OLD MAN MOUNTAIN

Dormant volcano Ke-Sanwon shows signs of upcoming eruption: soil swells, increases in local temperature and small, low-grade earthquakes.

■ Characters with magical powers may find their strength sometimes fluctuates, suddenly swelling or briefly waning completely.

■ Dark waters fill out some of the ground cracks that follow earthquakes. The liquid is cold, settling as if it were iced. This dark water heals shallow wounds on any skin it touches, or gently revives vegetation over one-three days on any ground it is set on.

■ The strength of the dark water fades over a week’s time.

■ Digging through the ground cracks reveals thin rivulets of the dark water are present all around Ke-Sanwon.They are more numerous the closer you get to the volcano. Dark water also smears the mouths of hell.

THE JEWELLER

A few days after the earthquakes state (after 20 April, for network posts), characters wake to distant screams, as a group of 10 of Ke-Waihu's masked concerned citizens drag handsome young jeweller Dong-Yun out of Ke-Waihu.

■ The group is taking Dong-Yun through the predatory forests.

■ You can play out finding the captors’ convoy separately, or tag into the jeweller’s rescue here.

■ Bring the jeweller back to Ke-Waihu. Dong-Yun can share that his abductors intended to sacrifice him to the Ke-Sanwon volcano. One of the participants in the rescue: please share with the rest of the class!

”I’ve heard, but I’ve never — they used to, when my mother was young… she told, me even when she had me, all the mothers hid their young. She told me, they used to give them to Sanwon. The prettiest, the smartest, the most skilled. Give it all to Brother Sanwon, give it to… so it won’t take everything else. Give it our best, and it will leave us the rest. But this doesn’t happen anymore. The mountain doesn’t want it.”

Image source.

QUESTIONS

Comments

NPC THREADS

[groundrules]

You can still sign up your character to participate in a RNG draw for a chat with the Beastmaster, the Ke-Waiar envoy or the jeweller until 23:59 on 9 April.

BEASTMASTER → JON SNOW

[aprescoup]

He walks the village as if he is a child aware of his transgressions, careful to draw the eye no further: his beasts loiter long and prowl dark beside him, two at each side. Today, leopards and wolves and one ill-shaped animal that seems evolved of both. Curiously, grievously large, trickling when the Beastmaster traverses the marketplace, seemingly content to pass his eye and his hand over wares, turning turnips and peaches, weighing the firm swell of a melon in hand.

He does not flinch, until his retinue corners Jon Snow, drawing around and sniffing furiously, without merit or restraint. They do not touch with claw or teeth, only... explore.

"Easy," the Beastmaster rasps from mere steps away. The young man, his creatures — the Beastmaster's meaning uncertain. He is still toying with the melon in his bandaged hands, when he deigns over his shoulder, "They... like. Your scent."

BEASTMASTER → HENDRIK

[aprescoup]

When the Beastmaster hunts, prey all but swoons and wilts at his feet, and he returns with large bounty, enough to feed a village. It is known. It is expected. He and his creatures return with the spoils of the woods' war: pheasants, rabbits, a deer strapped over his back, for all he seems — beneath the covers of his bandages — to struggle with his bearings.

He is no hardy thing, this brother of death. But his animals — some of the forests themselves, grown to excess, many of nightmares — compensate his failings. They drag in the loot, and he doles it out as if it were a gentleman's favour, to beggars and paupers and madmen, to the rich and to officials, to merchants and passers by.

When he encounters Hendrik on the village road, it is to offer him a gift of rabbit, small but likely to serve a few days as stew.

"Take... it."

THE ENVOY → MOIRAINE

[aprescoup]

Pale, stricken, face long and drawn. He seems, if not entirely lost, then senselessly adrift — absent his strength, now that he has paid his visit to the Beastmaster and produced the ten tributes of his people.

Sacrifice is ugly work. His hands, trembling and stained with cold sweat, keep dragging down his sides. He does not so much stumble into Moiraine, as he reaches for the first kind, perhaps pretty face, unlikely to remind him of the burden of what he has had to negotiate and execute on behalf of his people.

"Excuse me. I want quarters away from this — this business." A nod back, behind him, where the Beastmaster's home stretches tight and recluse, but still for the legions of creatures that line it. "Do you know which inn keeper has rooms? I only want... a clean place. Where they won't slit your throat, when they bring the night's wine. I have coin."

THE ENVOY → YUN YIFENG

[aprescoup]

He is, above all things, an envoy — chosen for his diplomacy, his skill to barter. He has presented the best youths that his village has to offer, has traded life for life, and though guilt weighs his limbs and hardens his breathing, he still prevails over his initial disquiet, with a cup in hand.

The tavern wine loosens him, even as the inn keeper must sit friend and stranger together, rearranging the order of his tables, because a crowd that's evolved from carousing to stabbing disrupts the evening's peace. There's no time, no reason to intervene: before the envoy need so much as rise, the turbulence is over, men of the Hok-Shinn peeling away from the shadows like tendrils to recover the troublemakers and drag them out, under escort.

"These Hok-Shinn... they run a tight ship, don't they?" the envoy whispers when his cup is replenished to his fresh drink companion — Yun Yifeng.

THE JEWELLER → WEI WUXIAN

[aprescoup]

Hands trembled, breathing scant. He shudders when so much as doors open, or the wind outside knocks on wood, tipping it to groan. At one turn, an owl shrieks — and Dong-Yun's mouth opens to imitate it, for all no sound leaves him, only the harshness of his breath and the deranged certainty that he should, by right, share in its horror.

It can't have been an hour ago, that hands were upon him. It can't have been moments. When he shutters his eyes, begging for sleep, he sees the masks here and now. He is sheltered, he knows. He is safe.

But the tremors won't leave him, and he reaches out, in the end, to Wei Wuxian, as beggars do, "I'm sorry, I... I'm sorry, it's just — I only... if I could, some hot water. For the shakes. If I could... I won't ask more, I promise."

THE JEWELLER → ANDUIN

[aprescoup]

It's in the way of things, that the snag you ignored for days on end is suddenly everywhere, now that you've taken notice. Dong-Yun thinks he must have seen the faces of his rescuers before, in the markets, on the road, and he never remembered them. Now, he spots them at each turn.

All the better. If they come for him again — although he doubts that, it would mean too much risk to try their hands with the same target once more. He doubts it but he sleeps in the forge now, shielded by strong locks. But if they come for him, he knows whom to call.

When Anduin passes him by his master's jewellery stall in the market, table overfilled with trinkets, Dong-Yun catches his sleeve, drawing him close:

"...thank you. Thank you, again." Unlike the wells of his neighbours, his gratitude will never dry. It will never suffice either, and he hastens to go through his purse and produce a wealth of thin leather strings crowned with silvered trinkets, until he finds and holds out an especially thin bracelet, crafted from silver whole. "Here. Here, have this, it's — it's not all silver, I won't cheat you. But it's the best one of the lot. I made it only days ago. You take it. My gift to you. Thank you."

RESCUE THE JEWELLER

[groundrules]

( ooc: if you'd like to participate to the jeweller's rescue:
— feel free to make your own log prompts in your starters about chasing Dong-Yun's abductors, until your characters run into them
— this is the thread for all characters running into the jeweler's abductors
— tag the latest response to this comment, to join in on the rescue.
— there is no tagging order — first come, first served, just have fun
— feel free to NPC what the abductors do
— mod NPC comments might make their way in now and then, but don't wait up for them!
— try to leave something for others to do too / don't finish up the group too quickly! )


A dark night, nigh miasma. Even the moon's face is shamed to witness the ten masked men who drag the youth — screaming, squirming, battling their hands — as if he were quarry. Worse still are the doors and windows that creak closed, so those within Ke-Waihu need not hear his wails. Need not know what they condone, implicitly.

The group of abductors is half-way to the aged feet of old man Ke-Sanwon, its fires kindling under the shedding skins of its crackled stone. They do not anticipate pursuers — yet one hears a step, signals the others to silence, and absorbs the look of the forest, seeking intruders.

Alone, Dong-Yun bats their hands, scratches their arms.

[weifinder]

He's dressed in clothes bought from one of the women in the village, patched and dark and worn, but clean, because his own robes have suffered grievances, and he hasn't the time to search yet for those who'd remake of them. Still, in these he can move freely, and after the shrieks and cries of a man abducted from his home, at the obvious manner that this village persists in ignoring its own desperate losses, he stalks forward from shadow to shadow, and stills in the cover of the forest, wondering which sound it was that drew the attention of those abducting the young man batting at hands like a kitten at a piece of dangled string.

Cute, but not overly effective.

Cloth mask tied over hair and eyes, more to keep him darkened than a pretense of disguise, Wei Wuxian glances toward one of the others who has come along here, to stop this particular bout of madness. With a nod of his head, he shifts, readies his impromptu sling... and releases.

The stone flies true, smacking into the back of the knee of one abductor just as the group, content, turns and begins to move again. Time to make their move.

Open - trying to protect against the hunt

[unpurposed]

It was no physical struggle for Cato to walk the journey to where the Huntress was being kept. It wasn’t even a mental struggle to try to tidy up around her as she spoke in tongues and madness. It was the whisper of strange cures and quests that was the real struggle, for him.

The nights were getting stranger and Cato was having a harder and harder time putting all his memories together, especially at night. He had found himself in the woods with blood on his hands and another locked section of his memory just the night before. He was broken - or, worse, breaking, and whatever this strange hunt magic was, it was making him worse.

He had hoped he would be immune to some of the strangeness of this place, but he had been slowly realizing that the gap between himself and humans was not as wide as it once had been, here. Magic made bridges, and not ones he was excited for.

Instead, they made him vulnerable. Probe to catastrophic failure. So as strange as these quests were, once he heard word that they might protect him, he decided it was worth experimenting with the superstition.

Unfortunately, he did not know the difference between Ravens and other birds. He was not a vet. So he was wandering around helplessly trying to find a shrine for a creature that he did not know the look or nature of.

He should have been given a module on taxonomy.

This was why he could be found in the woods, walking in circles and trying to follow an owl that kept swooping at him and stealing little chips off his plating.

Sobbing

[downswing]

He sees the creature first.

Blinks and squints and tip of his head feline and sharp, he knows the chaotic disarray of its drift for child-like uncertainty. Sizhui darted and crossed thusly, when he questioned himself, his walk, his legs. A toddler, but likeness does not stray completely — and Cato wears the wash of Sizhui's old wonder, the curious, uncertain gratitude to participate in the moment.

...but for the owl, slate and shrieks and sweeping pecks, its beak eating at Cato's armour. One day, you shall suffer a spell of dizzied heat beneath your steel. But the woods have their kindness of trickled, lukewarm light, of rustling leaves that give under step. An ease to the travel. Cato will bear his armour's hurts.

...perhaps he is of the warrior kind that never yet removes his coat. Wangji has heard the deed, strange but done. And now he dips in first, past their winding encounter on a confused road, the travesty of dozens of falsely roused shrines before them — and teases the bird away from where it has perched a hard weight on Cato's head.

Gentle, after, "Do not allow it to reap your indignity."

[downswing]

ii. THE RAVEN SHRINE

[ Foxes and fallacies and curses and marriage rites. This is the legacy of Ke-Waihu, and they weave it like tapestry, drape it on his shoulders, to round his throat, and he feels the choke of it now, feels the breathless burn and toxic hold of impatience rueing him.

Farther ahead, the pearled white of three spirit foxes’ teeth is a snag of desaturation in a whirlwind of colour: greens of the forest, lavish, well-nurtured, a health so profound it can only be magically-wrought and artificial. The carelessly vibrant red paints and gilded tips of the foxes’ wind-ravished coats, and the shrapnel of sun-warmed and glistened stone that sits at the feet of the shrines.

All forty-two of them, on Wangji’s latest count. And the tally grows.

They have lured them in a merry chase, these foxes, fat and fair and plainly silvered, the grin of their long mouths at once cruel and sanguine. Earlier, they numbered six beasts, joyfully carousing and prancing between young growths of stone that stab skyward, growing. Before that, two animals. Heartbeats once more before that, eight foxes.

The game, Lan Wangji knows bitter on the tongue and rancid, is to show strength before starting barter — like a warrior eclipsing objection with a stolen glimpse of his unsheathing sword. The Huntress whispered, shrill, with breath barely stirred, that borrowed rock or crumbled wood from the raven’s shrine would protect those who face the Beastmaster’s hardships. The shrine withholds itself. Its keepers deny their path.

And the foxes have won. Only creatures secure in their victory can sit so brazenly, mere steps before Lan Wangji and his companion, tails trapped in lazy, playful wags, and beady eyes trained on the clutch and release of Wangji’s hands. Waiting, searching, wanting. For boons, when all Wangji owns are his bones and the magic that has, for years, broken them.

Carefully, then, to the side: ]

…apologies. I come bereft. [ As ever, deprived now of the means of Gusu Lan, no better than vagabonds. ] They appear to anticipate… gentle coercion.

[ A bribe by any other name, and Lan Wangji’s ledgers have long bled red for his debts already. They are two. Another may yet pay this round. ]


ii. SWEET HISSED NOTHINGS

[ In Ke-Waihu, they splinter and mill their rumours fine, more refined on the tongue than their well waters: ‘This mistress Qing, she is a harlot,’ ‘She must have eloped,’ ‘She beds a serpent?, ‘Who is she, mere days among us, in this wretched Ke-Waihu?,’ ‘Why did she sow trouble?’

Wangji wakes to the shrieks of the girl Hermione, a tempest who spills the truth of Wen Qing’s disappearance, words rushed like beads tumbling from a broken string. After, Lan Wangji scatters.

The forests, angular, predatory, dark. Crazed dusk and wind crackling against the gilded silver of his crown, like whipping. Speed favours him. The sour, starchy hum of a night that does not know itself obscures his path. He passes the Fetters to see hags and crones and deceived young girls among shed snake skins and ruins — he borrows their counsel, then their emptied direction, fists clenched and jaw tight and his sword Bichen like a thundering burn in his keep.

He is not first to reach the pit — by the depth and fresh distortion of the footsteps that embroider it, he is not the second, nor the third. Others must have found the ditch sooner, then despaired of it and fled for weapons.

It is… a crude thing. A burial ground, for snakes that coil and clamour, so deeply twinned and bound, Wangji sees them as a lattice around the shape of Wen Qing — smear of pallor between the flattened greens. She sleeps: in this, the heavens allow one blessing. Cradling her back and her knees, great scaled snake heads perch on the swell of her shoulder, and three creatures appear — and Wangji shudders, grip on his blade a torturous experiment in stubborn discipline, that Bichen should not in this heartbeat go unsheated — wrong. These beasts are estranged from the purity of nature and form, half men and half serpents, and the dark blemish of their slipped tongues hisses sweet secrets of sleep that only their lesser, snake brothers grasp.

They have married a beauty to a hundred beasts. And he cannot yet plunge to cut down the bounty of grooms and pay them his wedding greetings, not with the lady mired and entrapped, exposed to risk. ]

Those... creatures. [ Whispered aside, to the person who yet watches beside him, who must calculate with eyes as cold as Wangji’s own, how to negotiate an efficient descent. ] Where they so on your arrival, or did they spawn from snakes?





iii. THE BRIDGE | WEREWOLVES

[ Above him, the high calling of midnight birds stings like scratches of nail on fresh spun glass, on thinned ice, on the skins of a fat, ripened peach. Waiting for hurt.

Below, the pack that would deliver it: two wolves and two others, distorted — transient shapes shedding the clutches of human reservations. But for the sheer scale of the creatures, Lan Wangji might have drawn strength from their poverty of numbers. But the shortest… wolf stretches resolute and strong, spans a quarter of the tree’s length.

The beasts cannot climb. They know so now, Wangji and his companion — the wolves have made growled, gasped, jostling attempts, swaying the tree as if to tease it viciously free from its roots. No yield, despite this. In Wangji’s hand, the rope they deployed to climb up the tree is a heavy snake of tight knot, wet under evening’s chill — their misfortune, he knows, that they have travelled late, when the creature-humans of Ke-Waiar were freed of their human bearings, unleashed into wilderness.

It is a game he plays now, palm scuffed over the thick crust of the tree that bears them on high, alongside boards of hard lacquered wood and reddened walls washed by crawled moss. Among children, a treehouse would be a gift born of a doting parent’s affections. Here, the presence of suspended shelter condescends them with the sullen, hissed futility of contemplating an alternative to a wait-out.

He remembers, distantly, to murmur, beam of his long gaze still pinned on the creatures below, like an arrow to its target: ]

Sleep.

[ Soft; stench of his blood warm and organic, a lively note of discordance from the eerie, acidic cold of the land’s magic. He does not excuse the wound that has sundered his arm to the elbow in a clean, red gash — it mends already, the slow churned energies of his core stitching and sewing like a clan seamstresses presented with broken broderies.

The air stinks of his brief, metallic mortality. It arouses the creatures below, sharpens their hunt. It reminds Lan Wangji that the climb was arduous, unexpected, that he may yet be surprised. Can be surprised. That he owes protection to his companion, despite that, while the full moon draws breath long. ]

A full night awaits us.



iv. OLD MAN MOUNTAIN | DARK WATERS

[ Earth and turbulence: he wakes before the sun, to shivered gasps of soil unbound, where the forest’s rim kisses the volcano’s skirts. The hunt has husked and drained him, left him less master of his flesh than surreptitiously commanded. He wastes nights often in the creaks now, besides running rivers, sleeping on tumbled wood — as animals do, so he might yet give the village sanctuary from his body, made a weapon in foreign hands.

Five. Wei Ying. A list of painfully aggrieved. They need not witness him once more, enslaved by hunting whims.

When earth shudders again and swells, and greenery groans, ripping, while thin, short tectonic plates dance seismically — he does not think, eyes drenched with sleep, it is the volcano. Ke-Sanwon, Brother Sanwon. He has heard the rumours, listened to those who speak emptily beside him, for a man’s silence is his gold and they would steal it from Lan Wangji, trade him their chatter. He has felt the breath of watching, waiting, stirring warmth beneath his feet, the strange predatory anticipation that prickles the horizon.

When the ground’s tremors have passed, he is on his knees — adrift, the dark of Wei Ying’s robes matted by mud, while he searches the fresh cracks with itching fingertips, as if the ruptures were a constellation of red pox. Silhouettes and shadow, the suggestion of water. He has glimpsed this same wet in the village wells before.

Fists filled to scattered brim with filth and the skins of opened ground; they scathe and press moist and deep in his crevices. Water gushes out like blood of a belly wound, dark-thickened. He watches it, incredulous that the thickened smear might canvas his knuckles an opaque film, and he thinks, it will catch the light red, it will soften pale, it will not be this — tar and slick ink fresh brewed from strong pigment.

The dark keeps. Washes his fingers and the back of his hand, and he rakes ground until his fingers strip and break into blood and scratches, and the dark of the water seeps in, and heals him, and he does it again, and again, and once more, over and over, for he knows — knows, when he drags his hands to show the back of them, the barren stretch of his palms, soft and sweet-skinned like fresh snow for all their scavenging. Knows to show the inevitable visitor who has encountered him, or the earthquake, or the run of dark water beneath the ground that Lan Wangji has uncovered: ]

I have no qi. [ His mouth runs dry, emptied. No, the implication: ] This healing is not my own.

[ Therefore, they gaze in the face of something else, entirely. ]

JIANG CHENG | THE TRIBUTES RESCUE

[downswing]

[ They huddle like slick-licked kittens to mother cat’s belly for suckle, or soldiers, ash dripping on their faces, waiting out laired Wen.

He remembers this: the affinity of their geometries, the ease of falling in step. Months of chasing the ghost of Wei Ying, discovery a distant veil past the reach their grazing fingertips — before Nightless City waged like a deafened storm, before the dam broke, before Yin iron soured the sects with greed, before the Patriarchwet of Lotus Pier too in Wei Ying, no matter how deeply years should have reduced the shape of his drills and fighting forms. This is what Yunmeng teaches: wait and ease and quiet, when they are white teeth and hitched breaths under moonlight, curled behind bushes grown like maiden’s hair, snagged on filigree and crown.

Before them, the house porch bathes in the sickly white of ill burned lamp, and within — they have heard, there are five youths, corralled and presented like war horses carrying out a trickled trot. In this, Jiang Cheng and he fall once more in synchrony: the captives deserve better, they shall have their freedom.

Faced with but six guardsmen as their opposition, if they knew the thrall that webbed the tributes and left them soft-spoken, milk-eyed and silent — if they could yet guarantee no ambush, no signal drawn to call reinforcement close — then, Jiang Cheng and Wangji would suffice, three times over.

Instead they have this — compromise, subterfuge, vague contortions as they wait the opportune moment when the house door might yet open, to slip in like vagrants: ]

Zidian shields us at distance. [ Scratch of words unspoken: Bichen closes the gap.. He means to speak on, but the cacophony of porcelain shattered, of wine sloshed and braying from within the home disrupts him: ]

Yoooooooooooooo. [ Screeching that scratches Lan Wangji’s ears, his temples. It carries. It flows. ] You sent for those boys, ah? Whasssss’ keeping’em? Whorehouse ran outta holes?

[ And from the other end of this fine establishment: ] They cominnnn’, you ain’t got tool for them, you piece of shit! The coin I put in this, for your ass, least two of’em! The good stuff! You ain’t got the dick, man! Gonna tell everyone, telling — telling… pass the fucking wiiiiiiine, you hoarder!

[ Taut muscles shifting, and beneath his step, he crushes tender leaf, lichen. When Lan Wangji turns, his lips are teeth-raked, his breath still, and his brows lift in increments of gelid stupor. And he does not ask, Is a gentleman a whore?

Because he suspects, if Jiang Cheng is honest and brother to Wei Ying and true, the answer is known, and they have their opportunity to enter, already. ]

WEI WUXIAN | PRE-HUNT

[downswing]

It stirs like summer storm in him, electric and strained: awareness of each breath and heartbeat and the silence that stretches them like heavy-dripped, trickled brushstrokes on coarse canvas. The texture of his emptiness fills him, makes him a creature of gristle and catches and bone, of unrefined imperfections that qi has yet to relinquish of its ridges.

He feels the weight of the scars that lattice his back, the swell of air riotous in his expanding lungs, and the tightness of their limitations, the temerity of a body that understands, uniquely and unequivocally, there are barriers now past which it can fail — where no such restrictions rose before.

Instinct ordains him: drip-drip-drip, and on the wax-slicked deck of his sleeping quarters, the waters of his bath slither down. Two lone layers of silk join him for the soak, for his modesty — moonlight slashing them in wounds of flattened, hollow shine. He calls Bichen to him — withers, when his core does not craft or churn the instruction, when his sword sleeps dead and distant and cold.

And he remembers every instance when she has chased him, mother and lover and friend true, when she neglected him but on scant, feverish, chosen occasions — when he stripped himself of his qi as if it were a maiden’s gasped favour, and his was the arrogance of optimism in fate and his skill, to think he might persevere without his birth right. He learned quickly, each turned Wei Ying searched him with empty eyes and Lan Wangji stood without recourse, that a protector is nothing without power — and this truth singed him and crackled and rotted down to frantic nothing.

In the back of his eyes sleeps burning, and his fingertips grieve, itching for a scratch they cannot give, and he swallows blood and bruising, swallows against bites of flesh he has never lusted for and is yet to claim, swallows scents of dulled ash and ache and deathly knowing. Swallows empty. Swallows down.

In the careful, stale confines of this old house, claustrophobia transforms a fortress into a base cage. He cannot stay here, long. Cannot thrive, cannot stretch himself, wander, run; he is for running, for escape, for the game, for the sibilance of his teeth on jugulars, sheathing, for his claws to the elbow in belly wounds, for hunt, for feast, for freedom.

Skin wet with spumes and the print of tired, wilting condensation: when his hand catches Wei Ying’s throat, and Wangji pushes him to the door he’s barely crossed, it must be a liquid thing, an unsettled, slick sensation. Unpleasant, coarse. Lan Wangji is — all of him — coarse agitation.

“What,” hissed, snarled, an animal exhilaration, dying. “Did you do to me?”

But he knows, Bichen knows. Spatters of truth like blood between them, and when did Wei Ying cast his spell so easily? When did Lan Wangji’s own negligence allow him?

Howl

[balancedwire]

[ The birds above them are a hindrance, an annoyance. Far too loud and something to grate on one's nerves. Though, that was not the focus. Even if they were a bit of a problem.

No, the focus was on the beasts below. Ones that were trying to scale the tree that he and his companion had ended up in. Trees were no stranger to him. So, it wouldn't be the first time that he's found himself in a tree to get away from something or someone. He'd done it back in 48 Stronghold. When he was being pursued by his soulmate and her cousin.

The stench of blood is strong and the gash looking bad, even if it was knitting itself back up. However, he keeps his focus on the beasts. On the fact that they needed to wait out what was below. ]

You rest first.

[ Xie Yun was perfectly fine taking the first watch and letting the other rest, sleep. Especially when this wouldn't be the first time that he's rested up in a tree, away from the enemy. Nor would it be the last, he's sure. ]

iv

[bearshermark]

[He's never before felt the earth shake like it's become the sea. Eleven clings to it and prays until at last, it's settled. But even as he rises, his limbs still quake as though the tremors had infected him and linger.

By the time he regains himself, he's lost.

Eleven wanders with a quiet panic until the trees begin to thin and the foot of the volcano comes into view. More than that- a familiar form. He rushes to him immediately, moved by both relief and concern to find him digging at the ground in such a hurried fashion.

He gives a startled cry to see what clings to the man's hands and the source of dark liquid he'd been digging from]

You aren't supposed to touch it!

[Eleven kneels swiftly at Wangji's side, anxious eyes looking him over only to stop at his hands. He'd heard, but-]

..Hey. Are you all right?

FIVE | THE HUNT ( crouching tiger, hidden wangji, that's right, straight from the bush!!!!!)

[downswing]

[ Blood quakes and tides in his ears, like dark, heavy waters sullying cave walls. How he hungers now: night strewn long above him and mother moon waiting, swollen fat before her birthing day, the light of her drenching his steps with bitter, treacherous disclosure. Earlier, when his nails clawed earth and root to seek out balled rabbits and their tired-heart tremors, she was friend.

Now, the moon speaks the trace of him, and he does not thank her, dark of Wei Ying's lent robes a charcoaled benison allowing camouflage. Prey flinches and flees, if Lan Wangji is known. He has learned this — learns still, the deeper the night hours draw, belly flat to the ground, as he catches tells of sound and scent and the blurred glimpses of motion before him. Earlier, he was spillage of silks and the pulse of his shaking, frantic limbs, prone to restlessness, to movement — to proving his strength, sooner than his guile.

Now, he is a snag among needle-pointed shrubs, crouched in low wait of his target, if (when) it comes. His stomach roils and thunders with anticipation. Sours. Hours drip down like droplets of chilled, trudging dew.

He does not know Five when he passes by the forest trail: only the shape of a target, and timid in the absence of howl or claw, and slight, so very slight, how its meats must be fragile, yielding to teeth, how it must be tender. And though Lan Wangji's energy stutters, locked under the key of Wei Ying's malicious curse, though he absents his speed and his strength and the steel blade of choice, he is still this: spider-like, jumping from the wealth of bushes to plunge onto Five on the gravelly forest trail. ]

Yield — [ Hissed as he lands. ] — it shall end quickly for you.

wei wuxian | open

[weifinder]

Select your adventure:

1. On the narrow bridge to Ke-Waiar, where the fox spirits are swaying the bridge, and he's broken down in tears and is begging for them to go.


2. Outside of Ke-Waiar, after receiving water, on the way back to Ke-Waihu. The werewolves are out, and his first instinct is: panic, because they're wolves.


3. Rescuing tributes from one house, which he just scouted out as his friendly neighbourhood paperman talisman.


4. He'll try to intercede during the Hunts for those who're calling out in a panic; he may throw water in your face if you're too worked up as a hunter or one of the hunted on a given night.


5. Dark water collecting to bring to some of the farms who've suffered but have crops to save, after the hunts have ended.

Please tell me in subject line which you prefer so that I can write us a starter! Or, write a starter based on any of these prompts (or invent one of your own)!

2

[paperbutterflies]

"Senior Wei!"

Sizhui would have been by his side faster, a lot faster, had a werewolf not take an immediate (dis)liking of him, and he needed to make an effort to lose him. Without harming him, considering that he would have been one of the villagers, and hurting them possibly will not be a good idea.

"Senior Wei, I can take you where they can't reach you, will you come with me?"

He has to try with words first.

Anduin Wrynn | OPEN

[chosenbylight]

THE SHRINE
[Anduin is still somewhat uncertain whether his decision to support the Huntress joining the group was the right thing to do, although thus far she has not done anything to act out against them. In fact, he almost feels sorry for her, with her tears and her tentative grip on reality. He wonders at her relationship with the Beastmaster. He wonders what has happened between the pair of them, their history, and who she might have been before... This. He does not suppose he will ever get these answers from her, and he decides after one failed attempt where she glances up to meet his eyes and suddenly he is face-to-face with Garrosh Hellscream, the sound of the Divine Bell ringing through his ears and through his bones as it collapses on top of him -- he will not try again.

She has managed to share other things that are of import, however. The shrine, a way to escape the Beastmaster's pull. Anduin has frankly had quite enough of this haunted forest by now, but if these materials from this shrine are what he needs to help Wrathion stay safe and free from the Beastmaster's control, he's willing to make the trek.

He just has to keep telling himself that, as hope rises in his chest, only to be dashed once more as he realizes he's just come across what is probably the fifth false fox shrine in a row. Anduin stands there staring at the thing for a long moment and contemplates yelling in frustration, if only that would not bring more angry animals his way.]

If I never see another fox again...

OLD MAN MOUNTAIN/THE HUNT
[Anduin has been spending a lot of time out in the haunted forests these past few nights, for better or worse. He has given Wrathion a charmed bracelet to keep the Beastmaster's thrall at bay, although as they have discovered the charms only last so long and must be replenished every few days. He's making one of these treks back and forth between the Shrine (now that he knows how to identify it) and the cave where he knows the dragon is hiding, when there comes the rush of feet from behind himself.

Many feet, to be exact.

Anduin breaks into a run, although the creature starts to run after him just as fast, and Anduin knows he will not be able to out-climb, out-hide, or out-pace it. He does not have that many defensive spells but seeing as it is his only option -- he turns to face the beast and summons the Light, casting Holy Fire and summoning a bolt of lightning down from the heavens to strike the thing where it stands.

Or at least, that is supposed to be how it works. It would seem he is experiencing a surge of energy, thanks to the volcanic influences, and with a cacophony of sound, the world erupts into a sea of light, throwing Anduin backwards through the forest and into a tree, where he slumps and remains motionless until you should happen upon him...]

THE TRIBUTES
[Anduin reaches forth through the eyes of the guard and out, into the darkness of the house beyond. It is difficult to see at first, but -- there. As the guard glances aside once more, he catches sight of a frightened child, and -- casting the spell once more, hops forward into their eyes. Quickly taking count of the group of them and the conditions they are in before he pulls himself back out of the spell and turns toward his companion in their hiding space with a deep breath.]

There are five of them in that house. No guards inside, that I was able to see. They are only children. The most difficult part will be getting by, without sounding the alarm. Although...

[He hesitates for a moment. It is not something he normally cares to do, but. Desperate times...]

I may be able to cause a distraction.

Old Man Mountain / The Hunt

[unpurposed]

Cato crouched down next to the unconcious body of the man, his black faceplate lit up as he ran his diagnostic processes, information streaming across it in bright white-blue letters. He reached out with a finger tip, pressing it to Anduin’s temple to register temperature and pulse, while saying with a calm and pleasant voice:

“I am Cato. Please do not be alarmed, I am assessing your condition. If you are aware of my presence and can speak, please give me your name. If you are aware and cannot speak, please indicate with a small movement of your fingers, or blink your eyes twice.”

xiao xingchen | open

[binghua]

1. the bridge

[This seemed like a good idea at the time.

Xingchen has traveled fair distances even as a blind man that the thought of heading to the neighboring village on his own never gave him cause for worry. Even when he approaches that bridge and hears how the wind makes it creak and moan, almost as if it were alive, he bunches up his courage and steps onto the rickety thing. It's just a bridge, after all. He need only hold onto the rope railings and take it slow -

But then the bridge shakes violently and he throws his arms around that rope, holding on for dear life. He thinks it must have just been a strong gust of wind, but then laughter sails toward him on the air.

Ah. It must be naughty children, then. They can be terribly cruel.]

Please, don't do that again. What if someone falls and gets hurt?

[Getting hurt is probably not in the cards. Who knows how high up this bridge is? The echo is pretty evident.

Instead of an answer, Xingchen only hears that laughter grow in volume, two, maybe three voices altogether. He just grips on tighter and hopes they'll grow tired of this game.]


2. the wolves (CW for some blood and violence)

[Despite his treacherous bridge-crossing, Xingchen made it to Ke-Waiar and manages to fill up three vials of the well water there. He intends to bring the extra two back for anyone back in Ke-Waihu who needs it's protection. He contemplates staying in the village for the night, but he also wants to get back as soon as possible. Tarrying won't do anyone any favors.

But when he hears the village gates shut behind him, the noise seems to reverberate throughout his entire body. He shudders, either from the bad feeling in his gut or the sudden chill in the air. Maybe it's nighttime and they close the gates for this reason. That makes the most sense.

He travels for a time, hoping his intuition on which direction to go is correct. And then the howling starts, farther away at first, but rapidly approaching. Xingchen reaches into his robes and pulls out a talisman, one he had prepared ahead of time. Wolves and other animals tend to stay away if there's a fire. The talisman won't last long, though, and he can't make a proper campfire, so this is his best bet.

When something rustles in the trees to his left, he injects the talisman with some of his qi, igniting it immediately. The creature snuffles at the sudden light and holds off, long enough for Xingchen to reach for Shuanghua on his back, slowly drawing the blade defensively.

That probably wasn't the best idea, it turns out. Another wolf, unbeknownst to Xingchen as he was focusing on the first, sees that weapon and leaps at him, teeth and claws sinking into his bicep, ripping the fabric of his robes and tearing at his flesh until blood quickly soaks the remnants of the sleeve and drips along his side.

Xingchen cries out in pain and drops his sword, the weapon dully clanging against the ground. The talisman sputters out and he's left in another kind of darkness.]


3. the crossroads

[Xingchen has been through it. Surely begging with the other homeless and orphaned and invalids won't put his life in danger.

He doesn't do this for himself, of course. Xingchen has managed on his own for a couple years. But the rescued tributes back in Ke-Waihu need money to escape and they can't exactly do it themselves right now.

Xingchen, on the other hand, fits right in. He sits there with a few other unwanteds, one of his mended baskets in front of where he sits on the ground. His robes are still bloody from his werewolf run-in and his right arm rests in a makeshift sling, though his core speeds up the healing process.

The problem is Xingchen isn't good at begging. So the first few hours he sits here, he doesn't know what to say and ends up saying nothing. But after listening to the others around him, he grows a little more brave.

Upon hearing someone step closer, he raises his head and offers a small smile, one that wouldn't reach his eyes if he still had them.]

Might one show some mercy for a lowly beggar?


4. wildcard

[you know how this works baybee]

3

[scrapgege]

... Xiao-daozhang?

[It's.... extremely weird to see him there, and in a position that is all too familiar for him, but...]

What are you doing here? Is that blood?!

number five | open

[somebadnews]

i. the lead up ( open )

[ It always surprises Five when people agree with him. He's so used to his family fighting with even the simplest of requests, like focusing on stopping an apocalypse, that when someone actually listens to reason he doesn't quite know what to do. Their current arrangement with Anurr is a risky endeavor, especially on his end, and he expected most of those who remember him to refuse any kind of deal on principle. But the majority had miraculously seen a greater benefit to hiding the Huntress than to piss off beings far more powerful than any of them. It nearly elevated his opinion on their collective intelligence.

In no way did that decision simplify their situation. They have an opportunity with very little room for error and far too much out of his control. The Beastmaster's arrival, the volcano eruption, and the various magical inflections he's picked up all have the potential of putting them very far off course. And as much as he'd like to put his energy into plotting the demise of at least one warlord, his siblings are his first priority. Since he still doesn't know where the others landed, he can at least keep the ones here alive.

He finds time to eavesdrop on anyone who looks like they have a plan, and offers his opinion before they ask. Then he spends the better part of a day gathering boards and nails to better lock up his belongings. (Which is a pain when your hands are still bandaged, but he makes do.) When you can teleport, there's really no need to keep a door anyway. ]

ii. a safe space ( hargreeves )

[ After an exhaustive search, Five teleports Allison to where he'd left Diego. The safe room is marginally cramped with all of the supplies he's collected since they came to the village, but there's space enough for three people. There are still chairs and a bed in here somewhere, even if they're mostly covered by now with various boxes, filled with everything from medical supplies, to food, to books and trinkets. Maybe a few potions that he told Hermione he'd stop taking, but they really are better stored here.

He's still slightly on edge when he lets go of his sister's arm. Diego had been easy to find, but Allison took him hours to track down. He half expected to find her back in the volcano, but thankfully she only made it as far as a shrine. He didn't even get his rant out before taking her back here, but he wasn't wasting time on her protests. ]

How many times do we need to go through this? [ He keeps talking before she can answer — ] We need to stick together. I'm not going to be running all over the village looking for you if a major catastrophe happens, which it will.

[ He's done that more times than he can count, and he's already tired for as much as he's jumped around today. Actually finding and getting them both in one room seems like an impossible accomplishment. Looking between the two of them, he takes just a moment to be satisfied that he managed it. ]

We were lucky to get a warning this time, so the best thing to do right now is to ride it out. I already sealed the doors and windows, so nothing can get in. There's plenty of food and water to last us. We're not having another Taravast. [ Pointed. They don't have to like it, they just have to stay. ] Any questions?

iii. the hunt ( open )

[ Five was never one to follow his own advice. The forest seems to gain more of a presence as the days go on, up until it's impossible to ignore. Five was never meant to live in the village, and beyond that, he was always too far removed from society to find a place in it. When he inevitably leaves, he finds a welcome moment of clarity that goes hand in hand with the most basic need to survive. The woods are a stark contrast to the wasteland of the apocalypse, but the challenges are all familiar to him. Some nights he follows an oppressive need to prove his skill and naturally honed inclinations, and others he seeks refuge from threats that lurk in every shadow.

The nights he disappears into them, he doesn't return until morning, quieter and eager to rinse the blood from his hands. ]

iv. after tributes rescue ( open )

[ The story of the tributes to the volcano, and their subsequent rescue, reach Five not long after his extended stint in the woods. Along with the rest of the village and anyone with eyes who saw the fire and made the logical conclusion. And good for them, but now that their drama has subsided, he sees the chance to finally take care of one thing plaguing him.

He's exhausted and more than a little bruised when he tracks down any of those who were involved. If he's supposed to atone for human sacrifices, fine. He's got plenty of witnesses to choose from. When he finds some of the usual suspects, he appears beside them with little preamble and probably more force than necessary. ]

Where are they now?

iv. wildcard

Anything else! Yes, he did lock his siblings in a room, and they may or may not need a hand. Choose your own adventure for the hunter/hunted scenario and I'll go with it. Also happy to make starters related to the serpents, hassling the Huntress, and any awkward post-hunt scenarios. Plotting comment here as you like! (Action/prose/whatever you want I'll match.)

iii

[beitangmoran]

[Moran isn't even sure how he ended up in the forest. He has a deep dislikes of anything that takes over his mind, and this is no different, and once he realizes where he seems to have wandered to, his only preoccupation is getting back to the village.

It's in time like these that the soldier he actually is rises to the front, in spire f the fact that he is wearing long flowy silk robes and not his usual armor and sword.

That, and his power, who seems to have decided the situation is dire enough to activate in short bursts the way it sometimes does in battle. So it looks like it won't be easy on the way back.

After the first burst, he stops walking. Closes his eyes for a moment. then, very deliberately, turns to his left, eyes unerringly looking for and finding their target.]

Good evening, Master Five.

hijikata toshizou | arrival/open

[ensanguines]

[ Further threads contingent on three man escape log, please hold but feel free to request starters once we get some intro done. ]

arrival | for jens & souji

[ensanguines]

There are too many unfamiliar noises. Hijikata is used to the rhythm of Ezo now, the sound of the men, not quite his men, not quite anyone else's, the men moving around in heavy-soled boots. Their whispered voices, the sober tension of their day to day lives. He's grown used to it, left behind the warmth of their once bustling halls, the paper screens, the whisper of straw sandals against wood floors.

This is something else entirely. Not just foreign, alien. The grip of the water, the chirping of strange beasts. As Hijikata comes to, he feels the cold sapping at his strength. His eyes see clearly in the merciful dark of the cave, though his limbs remain heavy and unresponsive. He feels exhausted, tied down. This must be a nightmare, a particularly restless sleep. But is there a point to waking up, when all that waits for him on the other side—

There are other shapes nearby, people. Becoming more alert, Toshi shifts slowly, gingerly, to get a better look at the others with him. This is too vivid, too thorough to be a dream. He feels too much of his body, his mind too full of memory.

He squints, making out the outline of—

wen qing | open

[silverneedles]

Wildcard options:

1. Sweet Hissed Nothings: Following her rescue, Wen Qing develops scales on various parts of her body that she needs to shed and snake-like attributes that she needs to cure quickly, so she will be out hunting for widow's lace, and peeling the scales off her body, if she can reach them.

2. The Shrine: The foxes are cute and playful and temperamental, which is a problem for Wen Qing. Not easily swayed by her the cuteness of her brother or nephew (or other, adopted family), she relents a little when she sees the foxes playing, offering to lead her places, usually to terrible ends.

3. The Bridge: Crossing the bridge seems even more daunting than walking to her death had been. She focuses on anything possible beyond the bridge and the empty space beneath it, occasionally stopping to clutch the rope and wait for the wind to settle down. When she reaches the other side, she'll drop to her knees and let the fear subside before moving on.

4. The Hunt: Wen Qing is staying locked inside a house, with the Huntress' cures on, as well. Seek her out to keep her company.

Let me know what you prefer and I will write a custom starter. Or leave a starter with one of these, or something else entirely.

2

[eternallywandering]

Lady Wen! [He owes her a debt, but even if he didn't, Zishu would race to her side before she decides to follow the playful - often charming - foxes. Taking hold of her arm - unless he is thwarted somehow - he smiles.] You shouldn't trust them. They might look small and cute, but they are fond of mischief.

[A frown follows and he releases his hold on her, giving her a proper bow.]

Will you come with me?

lorna dane | open/closed

[chromiums]

THE HUNT (OPEN)

Post returning from inside the volcano, Lorna's not in the same sort of mindset she'd typically be in to help rescue anyone, whether they're villagers or part of the group they've been travelling with. Marcos has always been better at that kind of thing out of the two of them anyway, although she doesn't know if that's what he's been doing. She's been gathering what she can to try to hold the beasts it looks like the Beastmaster has been sending towards the villagers back; it's not as easy as a task as it usually would be but she's managing. More or less.

She's got two makeshift weapons wound around her wrists so they don't slip free when she can't spare the energy concentrating on keeping them in place requires of her. Scratches and burns mark the side of her face, starting along her forehead and temples and spreading across her throat. They seem to spread as the hours stretch and she grows more and more jittery and irritated, eventually tearing one of the weapons she's got around her hands free and throwing it to the ground in frustration.

She hears someone approaching (or thinks she hears someone approaching) and whirls around, one hand tightening into a fist and the other emanating a green glow. Her eyes narrow as she looks for whoever's approaching, and friend or enemy, she hopes she is hearing someone real.

"Who's there?"

REGROUP (MARCOS)

At some point she goes to the house where the group Marcos has been sorted into has been staying, realizing it's late and not wanting to deal with hearing about breaking the curfew of her own house. Which is about the lowest rung on the reasons of why she wants to see him right now, but it's the one she'll give if she's asked about why she's coming by to see him.

She knocks at the door with a few heavy, urgent pounds and waits. A voice that sounds like Sage's echoes in her ear and she closes her eyes, shaking her head as she tries to will it away.

WILDCARD/OOC

[ if the first option doesn't work for you feel free to make up your own and i'll roll with whatever you decide! i'll also match when it comes to writing style (prose or brackets). feel free to PM me or hit me up on plurk (vdova) if you have any questions! ]

1.

[downswing]

On this night of the hunt, the fever of the thrall breaks. Lan Wangji is not ungrateful to the heavens, breath lighter when the moon swells full, and his instincts no longer slant angered and coppered, when he hears shift and sound and does not bare false claw or blunt fang.

He is returned to himself, battered and bruised and no better for the absence of his imprisoned energy — but he stands serviceable, when he scouts the forest, white of the moon casting gossamer light on his blood-spattered cheek, on the quicksilver tremble of his wrist bones. He has spent too long in hunt, too little in strained recovery.

And the chase stirs once more, stokes anticipation in his blood, dread and disaster. The forests scream their deception, alert at one step, eerily silent at the next. Shrubs shiver when he hastens by, then waits for the yawn of two broad-backed, disfigured leonine creatures that pass at idle step — eyes beady and pupil dark under moon's drop, on each of their three heads.

Where scent betrays, he can afford no shelter. Cowardly, he starts a hard run that wrecks pressure his bones never learned to expect from physical exertion, and he is negligent, he will know later, barely better than a nebulous thunder of black silks, roiling — when he crashes into Lorna, breaking their fall at the last heartbeat. Rush of gallop behind him, earth shivered for the force or weight of the animals that draw close.

On any other day, his grip on the girl's wrist would wound her skin and her modesty. On this night, he drags her, unthinking —

"Run," hissed between his teeth, like biting silver, "Water breaks scent."

...now, for the small matter of locating a river late.

[traaaaaash]

ARRIVAL | FOR LILAH

[ So this is new. Oh, Eda is no stranger to worlds different than her own -- but well, last time, she went willingly. And this place is neither the Demon Realm nor the human world, that much she can tell. As much as the foggy feeling in her brain will allow her to recognize, at least. She feels disoriented, like waking up after turning into the Owl Beast used to be, but worse. The fog is on the outside too, enveloping the stems of the trees all around her. Well, at least it matches, she supposes.

Trying to focus, she takes a good, hard look around her, trying to see if she can find any landmarks. ]

Hello? Anybody there? Luz? King? [ A beat. ] Hooty?

HUNTING SEASON | OPEN

[ Nightfall overcomes Eda. It's been a while since the Owl Beast simply took control of her, and she is none too happy about it. In her endless gray mindscape that they share, it looms, overbearing; its hunger stronger than ever before.

On the outside, Eda turns into her old owl beast form, and she will hunt. ]

[ In the morning, Eda finally returns to her human form again. She stumbles into the village, exhausted, until she finally falls onto her knees and retches. She coughs up an owl pellet, which breaks open and reveals a confused bird, which blinks for a moment and then flies away.

Eda puts her palm to her forehead and groans. ]

Really? A whole, live bird?

[ In the end, she just kinda... flops onto the ground. ]

Ugh, I thought I was done with this!

[downswing]

[ The broad back of the road, partway to the village keep. Lan Wangji has been sieved of his energies by the time the sun licks lukewarm stripes on his drained back, abandoning him as more an instrument of motion that's forgotten to still than a man, whole.

Each night of the hunt leaves him more bereft of himself, an animal in shifted skins. Hours before, he might have sworn himself in possession of claws and fangs and mounting the husk of a tree to wrench free birds from their nesting place, he might have plunged after Five, after rabbits furred and small, after snakes starved for shelter in low burrows.

Now, he drags himself no better than a corpse, fettered in the black of Wei Ying's silks, absent a blade, but his hands red-torn for the sacrilege of the night's passage, kicking and spoiling and stirring rubble at each step —

And hastening, all at once, not to catch the traveller ahead who retches heavily down the pathway, precisely, but to sit his arm as a barrier a few hair's width beneath her, to catch her should she fall down. His head turns, affording her what little modesty and dignity he can to the moment, so that he need not witness her humiliation whole. ]

Easy. Spill your waters. [ Whatever poisons her belly must be expelled in its entirety. ] I have you.