the clock tower

[groundrules]

Happy Hallow-elevator! The clock tower event lasts between 22 October and 8 November. ICly, the tower incursion stretches around a week, and you’re welcome to have your character investigate something else, if they finish early!

THE CLOCK TOWER

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ALL IS AS ALL WAS| TRIAL & NO ERRORS | THE TOWER

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ALL IS AS ALL WAS

Play it cool, as Serthica’s customs officers pore over your passport papers, before grudgingly allowing you overground. Minaras, you hear, is hunting a delinquent.

Both it and Eidris fare well, with no sign of the damage that preceded the Unwinding. Locals no longer behave eerily, dragons and clockwork droids roam freely, and everyone hates taxes.

Yet perfect strangers insist they know you. Your assigned address leads to a different house. The roads, buildings and architecture look ‘lived in,’ but changed.

No one remembers the Unwinding.

■ Burlap mannequins sometimes watch from mirrors, windows and reflecting surfaces.

■ You might hear shifting and scratching in Eidris walls.

■ Minaras has doubled its bounty for a man not unlike Leonard McCoy.

■ Black fungal spores are found on the increasingly voluminous experiment vials, specimens and supplies thrown out by Minaras medical facilities.

■ Frail and confused, Ellethia survivor Zenobius finally awakens. A short thread is up for RNG grabs.

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TRIALS & NO ERRORS

The guard troops that Eidris and Minaras assign to the Neutral Zone now protect King Thivar and High Councillor Arabella during the annual Sanctuary Reckoning trials. Both adjudicate cases that violate the ceasefire.

Prolonging the trials buys time for your companions in the clock tower.

■ Create a distraction — flood the judgement hall rooms? Fire? Illusions?

■ Pose as trial participants: perhaps you are of Eidris, and you caught this wicked Minaraian raiding your home? Mayhap this wretched man of Eidris stole your girlfriend? Wait, you’re a Minaraian who wants to kill King Thivar?

■ …organise breakouts, if Thivar or Arabella have your jailed. You are first imprisoned in makeshift Sanctuary cells — all but poorly locked, glorified closets. Get a trial sentence!

■ Thivar and Arabella treat the trials as a box-ticking exercise.

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THE TOWER

As Eidris and Minaras play court, you can infiltrate the Neutral Zone clock tower of Vassarizhia.

■ Only token security remains. The door is unlocked.

■ Karsa supplies paper talismans that must be burned in the watch fire at the tower’s top level.

■ Each burned talisman amplifies the reveal spell that Karsa activates. Link a finished burning thread by 8 November to help the cause.

■ A November mod post will describe how much of Serthica’s ‘undeath’ characters can see.

■ Placing Magnus’ dragon eye before the tower’s telescope will allow characters to always see Serthica’s undeath, moving forward.

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✘ ELEVATOR ETIQUETTE

Imperfect stillness dominates Vassarizhia: your footsteps do not click, words die in your mouth. The tower’s rickety gear slither silently. Your heartbeat aligns with the clock’s tick… tock.
You have the growing, gnarly certainty that you have invaded something ancient and alive.

The tower’s entryway level is large, deserted, stacked with gears. At its core is a dilapidated open elevator shaft.

A large sign says to find and pull the floor lever, if elevators stop.

■ There are two elevators. Each narrow lift can hold up to four people, crammed. The upper half of the carriage is chain-link fence, while the floors contain hatches that sometimes open mid-travel for 30 seconds. Hold on to ceiling-bound leather straps.

■ The ropes holding the elevators are thick, but tattered.

■ The elevator’s creaking squeals can awaken swarms of 1m-tall bats and bat wyverns. They rattle the lift, but ultimately withdraw.

■ The elevator can stop at as many levels as you want (or none!).

■ Beyond the second level, you feel intensely paranoid and see your companions as the persons you most hate/fear for five to 10 minutes. Reaching the top, you are tempted to cut the lift ropes of those who follow. (The ropes and elevators recover, after crashing to the bottom. )

■ On each floor, as you exit the elevator, a nearby wall shows a different scratched instruction, signed by DAVID.

LEVEL I: THE LABYRINTH| LEVEL II: THE ANCESTOR | LEVEL III: TAG! YOU’RE IT
LEVEL IV: THE ROOM WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS | LEVEL V: IT’S RAINING (AGAIN)

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LEVEL I: THE LABYRINTH
CONTENT WARNING: MINOTAUR, BODY HORROR

Step into a jail maze, flooded to knee level. Confusing corridors narrow, widen and contort, while wall torches dim.

Intermittent howling reveals you’re not alone. Hiding, you see child-like chalk drawings of forest animals on walls — and a great minotaur. Keep silent.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY.

■ Collect some of the many discarded daggers or axes. Rope bundles float in water — use them to paralyse your captive or briefly force them under your control.

■ Don’t linger in one place: rotting, bodiless hands surface to restrain you.

■ Bad news, if you swallow water when the minotaur or dead hands try to drown you: your skin stretches and bursts, while your bones pop and extend. You mutate into a half human, half woodland creature, all bloodlust. ( Inspiration, anyone? ) Your companions should still recognise you; between hazy memories and constant pain, you might struggle to remember them and even attack.

■ Morphed characters can (painfully) return to normal within minutes of re-entering the elevator.

■ A smaller and distressed three-headed minotaur also roams the labyrinth. Two of its heads sob, while the third urges you to hide with it when brother approaches. It tries to throttle you with a noose to make brother happy, if you follow. David did say.

■ The minotaur and its sibling have poor sight. They cannot enter a corridor where you’ve drawn or laid down a line.

■ Pull the lever, and a straight corridor leads you to the elevator.

TOP | LEVEL II | LEVEL III | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

LEVEL II: THE ANCESTOR
CONTENT WARNING: GIANT SKELETON, BLOOD DRINKING

Here, only barren stone and thin rivulets of fresh water pouring from wall fountains with sharp-tipped ornaments — your spilled blood quickly infects the basins. Knives, pins and bowls have been abandoned nearby.

High pressure and vertigo overwhelm you. Follow a rhythmic heaving to where the upper half of an enormous skeleton — the Ancestor — has broken through a wall. White, silk thread fetters it. Dried blood rims its cracked mouth. Before it, the stone floor has been tarnished, up to a 5m radius.

The Ancestor appears dormant, a crown of iron thorns on its head. It clutches the lever tightly in its right hand. Above it, an engraving urges, SPILL WINE FOR YOUR ANCESTOR.

■ David S P’s elevator scrawl says, WATER TO WINE.

■ Dally staring and you feel dizzy, nauseous, depressed and compelled to share your close-death encounters. Before you know it, you are stepping into the Ancestor’s radius…

■ …where it plunges for you, if you don’t bear a filled cup. The silk ropes keep the Ancestor from reaching beyond 5m.

■ Two carvings under his fists read HONOUR THY FATHER and DISHONOUR THY MOTHER.

■ Quickly distract the Ancestor from crumbling his captives, tearing their arms or attempting to eat them.

■ The Ancestor is instinct-driven, consumed by thirst. It cannot see or smell, and only remembers taste. Sounds divert it.

■ Improvise: there is no actual wine here. Infuse water, spill blood, or vocally pretend you are delivering wine, and the Ancestor might spare you.

■ If sated, the Ancestor releases the lever.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL III | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

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LEVEL III: TAG! YOU’RE IT
CONTENT WARNING: SCARECROW, SKINNED CREATURES

Enjoy pitch dark, dread and bile spreading in your gut. Take a candle from near the elevator and roam through small, unlocked rooms that feature tattered beds, strips of tanning leather and blood or wax spilled on the floor.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, O CATCHES IT.

■ Ahead, you see candle-bearing mannequins that dance a hora to the same song played by Jim Kirk’s music box: “Up the mountain, in the grove, hand in hand to Ke-Waihu, fresh harvest’s a treasure trove, each fall we feast anew.”

■ The creatures are patched abominations of wax, skinned flesh and burlap. In the middle of the hora is a wiry scarecrow, eyes blazing with candle fire as it points a large cleaver. In certain lights, the scarecrow’s face briefly contorts into that of your mother. It wears priestly robes that Arc III survivors may recognise from the House of Ravens.

■ As the dance finishes, you notice the lever in the middle of the circle, where flame spells out TAKE THEM, NOT ME. The game begins.

■ The abominations run, gleefully manic and screaming TAAAA~AAAAAG. YOU’RE IT! The scarecrow unflinchingly cuts them down while pursuing you. Hide in the abandoned rooms, or risk snuffing your candle to avoid detection.

■ Some abominations slap you, hold you, or alert the scarecrow. Others offer shelter. A few peel off wax skins from their limbs — showing black fungi beneath. They murmur, IT NEVER GOES AWAY.

■ Parchment strips fall from the scarecrow’s sleeves, reading, HAPPY NAME DAY, MOTHER KNOWS BEST, THE SIN RAN DEEPER THAN SKIN, IF YOU CAN BEAR IT, IT’S A GAME.

■ Bless David: draw the scarecrow into a drawn or makeshift circle to trap it.

■ Intense, paralysing fear arrests you, if the scarecrow catches you. The wax abominations chant, TAKE THEM, NOT ME. One might even take pity and move your numbed mouth to utter the words. Say them — and the scarecrow lands deep cuts on your arms, then pursues your companion.

■ If you betray someone, the abominations take the appearance of your worst version: whether physically mutated, with a temper that amplifies your worst features, or both.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL II | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

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LEVEL IV: THE ROOM WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS
CONTENT WARNING: MANIPULATION, MENTAL COERCION

You enter a quiet room. The lever sits on a table, beside rope and a dagger. As you approach, your surroundings transform: perhaps your dearest dead appear to warmly welcome you. Crowds of your doubters celebrate your success. Or you are in a calm oasis, where nothing hurts.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, THIS DREAM IS A NIGHTMARE.

■ Whatever your deepest wishes, the room’s vivid illusions provide. With time, your beautiful dreams deteriorate into horror. Sometimes, you hear whispers of, Make a wish.

■ The room increasingly drains your life force. Within half an hour, you have gaunt flesh, brittle bones and a hunched back. Or you might feel compelled to harm yourself, clawing your arms and face, or pulling your hair out.

■ The damage comes undone minutes after reaching the elevator.

■ The room focuses on one person: if someone joins you, they see fainter echoes of what the room shows you, but they are not enthralled. They must coax or drag you away.

■ If you are under the room’s influence, it forces you to make any later intruders stay.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL II | LEVEL III | LEVEL V

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LEVEL V: IT’S RAINING (AGAIN)
CONTENT WARNING: PLAGUE, THE CHILD

At the tower’s open-sky top, fire crackles from a small stone pit, shielded by a familiar, immovable blood-spattered white umbrella. Nearby, discover an immense rusted telescope and other discarded astronomy tools.

You trip on rain-battered yellowed bones at every step. One skeletal hand holds a watch piece, engraved for Mr. David Sebastian Pumpkins.

■ David S P’s has only scrawled his signature.

■ You might reach the flame easily, or be overwhelmed by sickness, black fungal spores blooming on your fingers, while you cough blood and experience intense fever. The symptoms wane once you reach the fire.

■ Burn paper talismans and link finished threads to help Karsa’s spell.

■ The child with a fox mask from the Unwinding could appear. Sign up for one of three short threads, which must finalise by 3 November.

NOTES

■ Some of the bigger plot clues have been emphasised, to help navigate through the horror details.

■ You can hit up some NPCs during the trials.

■ Check out plotting posts for last-minute team-ups.

■ Back to the top.

QUESTIONS

Comments

NPC THREADS

[groundrules]

Freely available, for one and all — just put the name of the NPC you want in the comment header of a response to this thread, write a short starter, and please try to keep it to plot stuff! Thanks —

KING THIVAR | Formerly ruler of Serthica, now only recognised by Eidris. Gallant, charming, but utterly bored by the Reckoning Trials — prone to linger in his makeshift judicial throne and enjoy far too much wine. Dying for entertainment.

ARABELLA | High Councillor of Minaras, stiff, robotic, tense. Seems ill at ease throughout the court trials, clearly impacted by the last time she was involved in a public function and attacked by Remembrance.

CAIN D'UBIQ | Gentleman dragon lord of Eidris, nervous, on the verge of perpetual breakdown. Skittishly assessing the crowds, as if expecting something dreadful to happen. All of the martial dragons protecting Thivar answer to him.

CHRICHTER | Leader of the rebellion group Remembrance, believed insane. Will be in the milling crowds, listening to the trials, nodding as his paid cronies boo the verdicts.

You can read more about them here.

Interactions with Ellethia survivor Zenobius and the Child will be decided via Ye Olde RNG.

→ kim wexler

[sansdoute]

( A day's bread, hard won on her feet when she's seven filled moons, swollen with child. Not her first. Won't be her last, if Mr. Fairley's to have his way of it, and truth told, Elizabeth's found this one easy. Improved, when she's settled on a bench in the yawning waiting halls of the Sanctuary, kindly shielded from the hurricane of public opinion and the mighty shrieking breeze they never seem to stay, from that there northern window.

Eight years she's worked the archives here, and this is her third set of the trials yet. First when she heard, gossip be a merry saint, there's some woman asking her good friend Thaddeus, same of the just court's record keeping, for her name.

So, suppose Elizabeth were to cut the chase short and intercede, before the gentlewoman keeps prodding. Might as well. )

Good day to you. Said our man Thaddeus, you were asking after me. Asking after the name of me.

( ...possibly, not with intent of Elizabeth pursuing the conversation, thereafter, but she's agreeable at least, softening the blow of her abrupt presence with a sweep of her hand where the bench is cold and waiting and silent. ) Well, you've got it. And you've got me, and — I'm sitting, you might as well. How can I help?

[saintclaire]

[ It's been a few long days, but Kim isn't counting the hours. There's too much else to occupy her –– treks from building to building, department to department, all made easier in boots with a much blockier heel than her usual. Her briefcase is stuffed to bursting. She's had a polite smile pasted on her face so much today that she's worried it might be stuck that way. Not everything has gone right, but enough has to keep her going with her head held high.

The names from Gavroche's letters are a little less clear, but the puzzle of it has sat at the back of her mind for some time now. She doesn't regret including them in her search –– there's nothing to regret –– but she knows she is venturing into something difficult to see the shape of, much less predict. She's a stranger in a strange land, no matter how much the locals pretend otherwise.

But there have been finer needles to thread in recent history, and she takes Elizabeth's invitation with grace and sits, folding one leg over the other as soon as she's settled. It's as rote as if she were sitting down with a client in the hallways of the Bernalillo County courthouse, her own domain. Her expression is sober, and she meets Elizabeth's eyes with confidence.]

Thank you for taking the time. I've been working on a case for the trials –– it's boring, really, just paperwork errors about citizenship –– [a rapid glance down, as if embarrassed] –– but, uh... well, I was staying at the Mouse House recently, and I was told you and a handful of others moved here from underground. I wondered how that process worked.

[sansdoute]

( ...oh. Oh, it's one of them, is it? No doubt, searching herself for opportunity to cross on over. It's how it's done, everyone wants out of the Mouse House, and the depth of Elizabeth's faint scowl thins further, fragile.

Her hands meet and cross over her belly's fill, legs dangling out, cat-like, to graze at the illusion of comfort. )

It's not for everyone. ( To start the lady diplomatically. No sense in peddling to her achievements the average man won't enjoy. ) If you must know, I was training up in letters and law, underground, when my Mr. Fairley found me. He was on assignment, they sent him to help with the censor's toil. He hired me to keep their records, and — I was brought up for my work, of course, but... one thing to another, and... he's a good man, Mr. Fairley.

( In other words, they were wed. ) Of course, some only came with a ring on their finger, or sold themselves off for special skills. Especially fighters and chemists and... young women. I'm certain you know what I'm talking about, but there's no good sense in gracious women having us that chatter.

( ...but there's a twist to her mouth that wishes to suggest, by the by, whores are evil. )

Arabella

[beitangmoran]

[Inbetween hollering for justice at the trials, Moran will try to find a moment to approach Lady Arabella, giving her a bow of his head in greeting.]

My Lady, I hope you have recovered from the senseless assault that happened last time. Rest assured, if anything should happen, we will see to your safety as we did then.

[sansdoute]

( She is introduced to her guests now, perpetually if inconsolably escorted. Noting about 'Beitang Moran's appearance surprises.

And yet she shudders on her makeshift throne, clasping the arms with tight conviction. When she speaks, it's with the robotic affectation favoured as polish in Minaras: )

You are. Very. Of course — correct. I am. Protected. We are all protected. All hail. The. Truce.

[beitangmoran]

Ah, the Truce, yes.

[Will Remembrance even be happy about this, given that they were telling their soldiers this was the goal of the first attack?]

I trust you have not been... coerced to acquiesce to it, my Lady?

ZENOBIUS

[sansdoute]

( The first wakening from his long sleep is torture, the second a disaster. The third, an accident. By the fourth, once he's abandoned violence, Zenobius blitzes through shock, anger, denial, distrust. Finally, wickedly, his mouth ever thirsting and his bed cold, he lands knees-deep in resignation.

This is a fine, private healing room he has been afforded, finer guards stationed before its door. For his safety, his nursemaids mutter, when they restrain him — man of sixty and some, and his back brittle and his joints rickety and mean — and wrestle him back abed. He's not to be toyed with, not to be held like an animal, down.

In the Neutral Zone, they tell him, they don't deploy the malicious droids of Minaras. They don't make his head a haze with the cloying wretchedness of Eidris spells. Here, they expect a certain conduct of their patients.

He does not mutter or mumble or curse, does not tell him these words are as nothing to him, and he is of the lighthouse, the lighthouse is gone, and he paints it for them, in inks and in charcoals, again and again and again. They say it will clear the waters of his head, stir back his memories, though recollections ache him like fine needles biting the soft of his nape, the soft of his temples. He was someone, he supposes. With coarse, worked hands, and a broad back, and his skin leathered by sun. He toiled.

And he dreams of waves crashing, and wakes with ghost-tastes of sand under his tongue, grits his teeth against invisible granules. He remembers friends he cannot name, horrors he cannot untangle. Blood and nothingness. They put him, then, on the milk of the poppy. Watered, first. Then strong. Until his temper's evened, and on a fine afternoon he asks to receive guests — the people, he says, who've paid his board.

It's a rare request the smiling faces of the facility honour. And so he stays, sat abed, yet meddling with his pencils and his charcoals and fresh paper, when a stranger is sat before him, in the visitor's seat. He peers long, wet-eyed, frowning. )

...I don't know you, do I? Not like I don't know everything else, but you. I don't know you.

[weifinder]

( Wei Wuxian sits at the chair placed bedside, head inclined in a nod to the elder who sat on the bed. There are papers, charcoal, there are the sprawling works of a man whose mind is not at ease, and he recognises that, to whatever degree. )

No, not more than a few weeks, and you were mostly not sensible for it. Though I have had the care of you for the last half year and more. I'm Wei Wuxian. Do you know your name? Your homeland? They don't tell me much, and the guards... are as guards ever are.

( A frown, a glance toward closed doors, and he looks back to Zenobius. The relief is there, that the man wakes, that he's aware, unlike the small, fever-like stutters of his gasping to not-quite consciousness on the ship, those near two months at sea. )

[sansdoute]

( He seems, all at once, overcome: the care of him for the last half year. He has slept that long, then. He has been... adrift. And before that? There are lines on his hands, wrinkles he does not remember. Old age has found his mind young. How long now, has he not owned himself? )

I... I was born in... Halleopia. Northern Ellethia. My name... ( This part is easy, rehearsed with the nurses. ) I am Zenobius of the Panagos. My father... was...

( A moment to lick his lips, to — what was it, the name, the — he motions stiffly, exasperatedly, to the cup on his nightstand. ) Give me water. I'll remember soo — ...Asclepios.

[cairhien]

We met once though not long enough to really be acquainted.

( though moiraine does offer him a polite smile despite all that occurred in the lighthouse )

My name is Moiraine. Do you remember yours?

[sansdoute]

( He is for drawing, once the beautiful enters, and he keeps her unashamedly in wait. It comes slowly to him this time, the lighthouse, his hand still trembling from the disuse of — months, they tell him. Months of sleep, whole. )

I am Zenobius of Panagos. I... I believe I have now lived over... sixty summers. Although I would not be able to tell you how many. Give me... ( Frustration eats at him, clearly. ) Give me another day. I'll remember. I'll remember you, too. I'll remember everything. I'm... I'm not an idiot.

[slippin]

[ The room looks empty. The creepy art—an image repeated in black and white, in color, sketched, smeared and painted—only contributes to it. He remembers meeting with old folks who'd talk his ear off about crochet and cats and book club intrigue. Grandkids, always. That chatter, the clutter of their houses—he misses it suddenly and acutely. ]

Yeah. I'm new. [ Jimmy's expression skews commiserating. It crosses his mind—he could say anything, anything at all. He could've come in here claiming to be this the man's long-lost son. But that'd be like ransacking a burned-down house. ] Jimmy.

[ He offers his hand, the multitude of lighthouses making him feel like he's reaching out to an island. ] Sorry I can't tell you anything about yourself, if that's what you were hoping for.

[sansdoute]

( Jimmy. He tries the word mutely in a slack, dulled mouth, works his jaw around it. Finds it tastes of nothing but the same ash that has been burying his thoughts and memories in gravel.

And he reaches out, at last, to offer his piece of smudge-charcoal. Perhaps this is why the man has held out his hand, for all Zenobius has no payment to give him. )

I want it back, when you're done. They don't give me much here. ( He all but spits the words out, as if to condemn the implicit stinginess. ) You pay them well? For them not to spare me a pencil?

( There's injustice in neglecting and dismissing an old man. ) Not getting your coin's worth, are you? Don't pay them gold.

[chosenbylight]

[It is not that Anduin had not ever expected Zenobius to awaken. But after nearly half a year of aiding in the care of the sleeping elder, the news of his awakening does take him by surprise. Perhaps more surprise than it should, but then again Zenobius' sleeping charges had been that way for years and truth be told Anduin had expected Zenobius' condition to progress much the same way.

Anduin offers the workers at the clinic a smile as they let him into the room where the elder rests, reassuring him that he will be fine, he does not need anything further, before moving to take a seat at Zenobius' bedside. His smile is gentle as the elder addresses him.]

My name is Anduin Wrynn. We met before, at the Institute in Ellethia. Where you used to work if I am not mistaken?

[Anduin's voice is equally gentle as his smile. As his light blue eyes. He is a healer, a priest, above all things. Zenobius may not be under his care, but that does not negate any of those things.]

How are you feeling? You have been asleep for quite some time, as I am sure you have been told.

[sansdoute]

I...

( Where he worked, used to work, where he... his breathing's calm, but unsettling, erratic. It's the weight of things, the pressure of memories barely half formed. His mouth feels impossibly dry, for all they always give him drink.

He looks fleetingly out of the window, to an open, placid sky. )

...I am Zenobius. Of the Panagos. ( First, the things he knows, those he remembers. ) I... worked by the sea. With seagulls. Right old bastards.

( But they steal a bitter smile from him. ) Whatever you put down, they'll eat. They'll eat it even if you don't lay it out.

THE CHILD

[sansdoute]

( Fire crackles, consumes. When the paper burns to crisp and nothing, and the energies of the rooftop settle in wake of fresh sorcery, the world falls silent.

It seems, fleetingly, as if the skies might weep again. The wind faintly whistles, then builds to a howl. The child is nine, ten, one and ten. A nebulous age, shielded by an ancient fox mask, its lower jaw rattling whenever the child speaks.

The previously immutable umbrella rests in his hand now, too large for his stature, dripping down its blood that never stains the ground. He appears — delicate, unhurried, serene. Bare feet exiting a long, white burlap robe, caked with mud, leaves and branches.

His presence paralyses, stills the air. All movement slows to treacle. When he holds his umbrella over the head of his fresh companion, any sign of their sickness wanes. )

You won't like what you see.

[makemeasong]

[ The hollowness of illness begins to ease as the air begins to feel oppressive. Because of her position, she first sees the small dirty feet and thinks that it isn't possible someone so young made it through any part of that tower alive. Then she looks up, eyes traveling slowly until she meets the mask.

The child. She tries to be more alert, mind already clearing to help her along. Enough that she vaguely understands what the words mean, haunting as they are. Pulling herself up so that she's sitting on her knees, she looks at him, trying to see any hint of a feature as she squints. ]

Why? Is it the undead? We have to see to know.

[sansdoute]

( He crouches, neatly, to stay and wait and bide his time beside her. Unhastened, back and forth and back and forth, swaying slowly, like treacle. He hums the start of a mountain song —

Then, at long last: )

...can you see me? Hello? Hey. Do you... know me?

[matermali]

[ Magic and omen have twisted at her insides throughout the clocktower, squeezing the breath out of her with every rising level. Even when the wind starts to build, her rasping breaths shudder for want, and for a moment that's all she hears when the air itself seems to still. Until he speaks. ]

Then I can hope for the truth. I would always prefer it, no matter the cost.

[ Hasn't she proven that she can bear it?

She flinches at the umbrella, caught in the sight of the blood endlessly falling (she's seen this before), but the air seems to rush back into her lungs after only moments in its presence. Relief. Caution.

Did the spell work, or did the child intervene? Was his protector nearby, out of sight? I've been looking for you. ]

I would like to look upon your face, as well. Why do you hide?

[sansdoute]

( He steels himself, draws back, one step, then the next — the careful claws of his sorcery receding with distance. Relief lives in his proximity, alone. )

This is my face. ( But his free hand crowds the mask, keeps it tightly pressed down, shielding. The trembled line of his arm suggests, Do not steal this from him. ) I'm a fox.

not passing up that offer ~

[somebadnews]

[ Burning the talisman was never Five's reason for coming to the tower. He went through hell to get here, to find him. But he knew he was taking a stab in the dark; pushed past the edge of rational thought. It was just as likely that they'd continue to mock him with mannequins and bloody umbrellas. With visions of things he should never have conjured if they didn't expect to face the consequences.

When the boy does appear, still wearing the same mask, it's obvious that he doesn't see a threat standing in front of him. The familiar feeling of time distortion does nothing to put him at ease. He could have attacked him outright with little remorse, but that would leave him without answers.

After he speaks, Five works his jaw and stares him down before responding. ]

Was it you?

[sansdoute]

( One child, confronted with another. When the fox-masked one holds out his umbrella, at least he needn't rise to the tip of his toes, needn't strain himself.

He's silent, for the longest time. )

...no? I don't know? ( And softer: ) Was... what?

[edgerun]

( she sees the tips of his toes from under her eyelashes as she looks up at him from her back. she rolls to her front, climbing to her knees as her eyes search his behind the mask. )

Do you like what you see? ( she asks back, sitting on her knees with her head tilted at him. )

[sansdoute]

( Bright eyes, perhaps too much white to them. Lashes dark and long and spearing, the kind that would make a maiden her name for beauty. He stares back. )

I do. They're happy below. I'm keeping them happy. I'm being very good. ( And harsher: ) You're not.