sand in your eyes

[groundrules]

And onwards, through the cursed desert. The mini-journey Arc covers 6-21 January and doubles as a test drive meme. Participants do not need an invite to apply this round. Have fun!

SAND IN YOUR EYES

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TEST DRIVE TOURISTS | ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER
A HOUSE UNITED WILL SAND | SOILMATES | A PYRAMID SCHEME

Image source.

A SANDING OVATION

Sand in your eyes, down your throat, stifling. You wake half-buried in high dunes, crawling towards helping hands. Thirst vanquishes you.

You are quickly offered a translation and communication pendant and introduced to the leader of the caravan that saved you — good Mazyar, who thanks the stars for your most incredible luck to be rescued by his generous and humble self. For he is not a man for idle praise, but he has sold salt to salt makers, he was courted by seven of the five great trade guilds and brought peace to the Stairs of Sighs…

Mazyar reveals you are in Akhuras, where undead lieges seek to weaponise you in their war for dominion. Mazyar’s good but less successful friend, the elusive Merchant ferries otherworlders east, where ancient beacons can transport them home.

Retire for now and regain your strength. Come morning, further otherworlders will arrive from Serthica — and your journey may begin.

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ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER

The veteran party reunites with newcomers in the desert, and with the merchant Mazyar — who once guided them through the Stairs of Sighs. His caravan is protected by the Scavengers —deathly a tribe of hardened desert raiders. They bring water flasks, supplies, cooling suits and tents to share. Their snail-like carriage mounts can transport the weak.

You are bound for the seized citadel of Alem, swarmed on each side by undead battalions. To access it, you must obtain one of the enormous sand worms that trawl the deserts, which can be deployed to create underground passageways.

The Scavengers will lead the caravan through haunted dunes, the worms’ traditional hunting grounds and temple-fortress Uruksithar.

Image source.

A HOUSE UNITED WILL SAND

The group first reaches the Valley of Unchaining, bordered by high cliffs and fang-like stones. Here and there, discover bloodied footprints, half-buried shackles and red chains. You might even stumble upon an eroded tombstone inscribed, H R SL EP THE UNCH IN D. At its feet are dulled dagger blades and rough calcar stone.

COULD DIE FROM LAUGHTER

You fool, never eat alone. Happen by the camp’s outskirts with your dinner, and you might glimpse the silhouettes of starved desert hyenas, their eyes glistening green. They will come close if you bear raw meat or bleeding wounds.

■ Scavengers say, if you see the hyenas, throw them food or a cloth drenched in fresh blood, then run without looking back until you no longer hear their cruel cries.

■ Some hyenas mimic rasped human voices, begging help or calling your name. One feeble hyena wears a chain of red shackles around its neck.

■ If you look back while chased, you find the green stare of the hyenas fixed upon you. You are gradually overcome by starvation, violence and the urge to dismember prey and feast on raw flesh. Player’s choice on whether characters can resist this compulsion, which disappears at dawns, or if they taste blood.

■ Scavengers will deny you entrance into the camp if you appear possessed in this way.

SANDIMENTAL VALUE

You walk the Valley, Scavengers say, and Mother Death walks with you. A once handsome crone might appear beside you, bare-footed and dressed in clean linens. She remains silent unless spoken to and flinches if you move suddenly, as if she fears being struck.

■ Treat the Crone kindly, and she entrusts you with a small pouch holding a fraction of her ashes, which she wants scattered from the hills.

■ Use rope and climbing hooks and take cover behind stone formations. Beware the violent sand whirlwinds that batter the cliffs, threatening to plunge you down or choke you with sand.

■ If you succeed, the Crone appears to watch her scattering ashes and bless you with good luck for the rest of your journey. Your kindness, she says, reminds her of her daughter.

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SOILMATES

The three-day walk to Uruksithar traverses the sand worms’ hunting grounds, where dunes shift periodically in sharp, tectonic waves. Watch your step and don’t be surprised if your tent sinks at night.

■ The Scavengers organise daily reconnaissance parties in the desert hills. Stay with them to unbury dune treasures.

■ The brave & brazen can try to catch sand worms. The massive creatures erupt overground periodically, catching prey in their large mouths, or crushing it beneath their heft as they plunge in the depths — creating large sinkholes in the process.

■ On its back, each sand worm has a few darker scales that draw the shape of a rune. To tame a sand worm, you must find its rune, then write the symbol on the worm’s back using blood from your hands. Report your catch by 23:59 on 17 January!

■ The sand worm bonds with you for three weeks until the next full moonrise, or until you draw the same rune on your cut hand.

■ Those who secure a sand worm find it grudgingly follows them underground for the rest of the journey. The creature can only be steered or ridden.

■ Some sand worms are vicious, old and sufficiently magical to retaliate by taking the link over and forcing their bonded humans to experience their lives — briefly sensitive to light and strong sounds, or unable to speak. Some might experience mild fevers. All symptoms disappear when the bond breaks.

Image source.

A PYRAMID SCHEME

At last, welcome to Uruksithar, former jewel of the desert — now reduced to rusted gates and tattered walls of wind-lashed stone.

The abandoned palace-fortress features a row of minor temples and barren gardens that surround a great, ruinous pit. The state of residential furnishings suggests the grounds were lived mere years prior. Walk north to find a a large pool of thickened black water that exudes a cold, unsettling presence. Veteran party members know what to expect.

Nail scratches on some temple walls read, we, who did not sleep or i ask the wind to grieve our chains. By the pit, a stone plate helpfully says, drop by drop, even base water turns to poison.

The Scavengers disperse to raid the temples, advising you to carry water everywhere. One raider mentions that the local Temple of Ra’esh stores silver waters that can woo sand worms.

OCTOPUS PRIME

Uruksithar’s great gong strikes every two hours, to groans and shudders from the abyssal pit. Scavengers immediately take cover behind walls, bind themselves to columns or rush into crumbling residences.

■ For five minutes, as the gong sounds a pathetic dirge, a bouquet of tentacles erupts from the pit, sweeping nearby streets to capture living things.

■ Throwing water on the tentacles forces them to retreat, while black liquid from the northern pool burns them down. Further tendrils emerge until the gong quiets.

■ Should you fall into the pit, use your climbing hooks to latch onto the walls and don’t look down. A grotesque, sharp-toothed mouth awaits below to devour you, amid the squelching sounds of the tissue and material it has been masticating for decades. It won’t give up its lunch easily.

Image source.

TOMB AND GLOOM

Ra’esh the Bright-maker, he who saw but peace beneath the skies. His humble temple is anonymous among numerous worship grounds. Scavengers say, four years ago, a wanderer sculpted an eye with a sun for a pupil on the entrance door. Take a torch and head in.

■ Long-stripped of its glory, the maze-like Temple of Ra’esh is now cold stone, stale window-less corridors and heavy doors that snap down from the ceiling.

■ Distant susurrations of water point you towards your destination.

■ As you walk in, pay attention to the engravings near the entryway of each temple room. Some depict arrows, forecasting spikes will burst up from floors tiles. Sculpted drops hint pouring water in this spot will open a door. Open a door with an engraving of large serpents, and… well. The engravings can help characters navigate the maze and completely avoid its traps. Feel free to make up your own engravings & traps, if you want!

■ The altar room contains a pool with pearlescent waters that surround a woman fully bandaged in gauze, her sight obscured. She is bound to a column with chains and shackles akin to those found in the desert. Rare peeks of her skin show it rotting or sickly pale.

■ She asks either if you are her mother, come for her at last. Do you engage?

■ Take water from the pool, and you can lure a sand worm to you once you have exited Uruksithar. Hazed, but sweet-tempered, it will follow you underground and allow you to ride it for the three weeks until the next full moonrise. These sand worms won’t give you a hard time during the bond period. Report your worm too by 23:59 on 17 January!

NOTES

■ Test driving & in-game characters can top level logs here — test driving characters can also put up network posts in this space c:

■ Feel free to investigate the mystery of the chains and shackles, but no pressure — it’s not critical to Arc V.

■ Hit up NPCs!

■ Navigation top.

QUESTIONS

Comments

QUESTIONS

[groundrules]

No dry humour, please, it's punnable by death...!

[kahl_175]

Kahl's quadruple amputee status means his clothes are specially fitted for his prosthetics--would it be possible for him to strip the cooling elements out of a suit and patch them into his own clothes? If that'd cost him, he'll pay it back in doing guard duty and repairs.

NPC THREADS

[groundrules]

Drop a line to request NPC intervention in one of your threads, or reply with a starter for 1-1 interaction with one of the desert's... finest...

	MAZYAR Most gracious 'friend' of the Merchant, an accomplished trader and caravan leader, former guide of the party during the Stairs of Sighs, who definitely did not think to abandon them in their time of need. Behind his buffoonery sleeps a man of strange, sharp cunning.
	QADRALI Taciturn leader of the Scavengers, seemingly young for his rank. Brusque, but not brutish, and believer in oaths made and words given. Will see the caravan through and a sand worm won, whatever the cost.

Mazyar

[scrapgege]

Oh hi !

[He remembers you!]

I promise I won't cook for other people this time. Plus I don't think there are ghosts following us this time.

TRINKETS...!

[groundrules]

(UN)BURIED TREASURES

[groundrules]

Comment here to ask for an item your character can find in the desert, if they accompany the Scavengers in their raids.

All artefacts subject to mod humour.

Please try to use them, if requested!

Cassian Andor | Star Wars | Andor (5 BBY)

[allforthecause]

[ OOC: Gonna put some thread starters below, feel free to tag and ask for a unique one. ]

Virgin Sands : New Comers

[allforthecause]

He wakes in the sand, coughing up half a lungful of the stuff as if he’d been drowning in it. It tears at his throat and makes his eyes water, but the hot dry air quickly whisks it away.

He doesn’t know where he is, which is an unnerving - if not unique - experience. An arid planet, surely, but when he looks up to take in the star at the centre of the system, it offers no further clarity - a mid range star, yellowish and bright - like a hundred million others throughout the galaxy.

He grunted and picked himself up, glad for the rough scarf around his throat that he could raise up to cover his face from the blistering wind. He pulled away from the hands of his saviours - unsure if that was their true purpose or if they were scavengers - but as he got a better look around and realised he wasn’t alone he started to get a clearer, if no less confusing, picture.

He wasn’t the only foreigner here, and all of them were being pulled out of the sand as if they were trapped there. He had no memory of a wreck or a crash - last thing he remembered was nodding off on Luthen’s ship - but a quick glance around confirmed he didn’t recognize anyone else here. Or the languages they were speaking.

That, at least, was solved quickly enough. Before he really had time to ask (or figure out how to ask) a crystal was shoved into his hand. It was clearly some kind of commlink translation device - even if he’d never seen one built like this - and finally the words started to make sense.

Sort of.

He glanced at one of the other bewildered newcomers, sidling over to them to ask in a quiet voice while their hosts continued to fuss and herd them.

“Did I hear right?” He asked, the Kenari accent thick on his tongue. “Undead Lieges?”

Wednesday Addams | Wednesday | Post Series

[woenderful]

insandsitive

( Suffocation, the half-tried version she'd suffered through as the rest of the fools brought from the places of their before to the searing sands of here, was more pleasant, more familiar, than what followed. Wednesday had been pulled out of the dunes with her hand locked around her cello case's handle, having been picking it up to open and play back at her home, newly returned after Lurch drove her from the early close of the semester at Nevermore.

She'd been given the waters she'd only taken a moment to calculate the relative worth of being poisoned or drugged, had determined she'd deal with those consequences to the ill-fate of any trying to visit them on her, and ended up with the scavenged survivors of what had happened, in the shadows of the caravan with the merchant and his loose tongue, his sharp eyes.

Sand had invaded every inch of her, a pleasant sort of friction that veered toward painful annoyance as it lingered. Negotiations for space in a cramped private moment had sene relief for the sand lodged deep in clothing; the negotiation for a brush had gone less well, which is why she sits in the lee of one of the snail-like mounts and carefully examines her cello in the afternoon light.

The skies don't bleed. They're too pure, a sunset that stretches into eternity, and she wonders, doesn't voice, in a world dominated by necromantic outcasts, has anyone bothered with a multinational industrial revolution? Instead, she runs her tongue over her molars, worrying yet another grain of sand loose before settling in, posture familiar, bow in hand.

And she begins to play The Sound of Silence.

When it ends, she stares at the one who'd promised a comb for a song, unblinking, until with a laugh and a nod, it's handed over. She keeps staring until the man leaves, tucking the comb into her coat pocket. )

Abducted to a world of the restless dead. Pursued for the dark purposes of others from the moment of our arrival, and perched to travel across a parched landscape, which may well seek our deaths faster than anything else.

( She cuts her glance over to one of those dune-found sitting at the same fire. )

It's almost exciting, if it weren't so infuriating.

( She doesn't like when things are so wildly, vastly outside of her control. Also, this is a terrible kidnapping. There wasn't even anything there trying to ensure they all drowned in sand. )

rest in pieces

( Wednesday crouches by the tombstone, studying the words. She doesn't reach out to touch it yet, not willing to discover that her ability to see violent past or future will take over, surrounded by strangers and unable to defend herself when she'll potentially pass out from the system stress. Her fingers hover above the letters left, tracing over the ones missing. )

"Here sleep the unchained." A question of who, or what, the unchained are.

( Her gaze drops down to the dulled dagger blades and rough stone. )

Or if it matters at all that we're crossing through their dead landscape, in this place where the dead rule.

( In a manner of speaking. )

sanding side by side

( Wednesday walks side by side with the once handsome crone, speaking not a word. She doesn't want to talk. She doesn't want to invite anyone to talk. She's hot, exhausted, and this old woman she doesn't know is walking with her in the stretching shadows cast by the snail-mounts.

Please actually address the crone, fellow traveler. Because at this rate, they're both just going to enjoy utterly silent company together. )

soil is silver and the temple's gold

( Wednesday, with a borrowed cooling gear layered over with a likewise borrowed black robe, studies the frieze with unblinking intensity. The idea of a cursed, deadly, booby trapped temple sends shivers of anticipation down her spine. This, more than much of what's happened so far, is familiar.

She doesn't smile. The corner of her lips twitch as she recognises the depiction, but she doesn't smile. Only holds the torch higher, to see more of the entryway's carvings. )

Puzzles. I love deadly puzzles. Do you?

( She looks abruptly away from the wall to her companion of circumstance. )

Because if you don't, leave. Now.

( ooc note: feel free to wildcard for anything related to the tdm event as well! )

temple

[speechy]

Love is a strong word, bit.

( he is dressed much in the same outlandish gear, layered more so ( if anything ) to keep him from the harsh licks of sunlight, which she may or may not have noticed the effects of during their journey. 'bit' always seemed more of an appropriate term than kid; he hopes it's well-received, but he can't truly be sure. can't be bothered in any real capacity when they're standing in both a world he doesn't know and a temple he has none of the lore on. spike pulls his hood down, now that it's dark eough. his eyebrows raise, one scarred and one not. )

But I'm much more difficult to kill than your average Joe. So.

( why the hell not?

in his defense, he doesn't know he ought to clarify that his declaration wasn't an invitation to try. )

spike — buffy the vampire slayer/angel — tourist

[speechy]

( ooc: blanket content warning for general dark themes of vampirism, being undead, blood cravings, being buried alive, etc. )

A SANDING OVATION.

( not for the first time, he crawls his way out of the ground, choking and blind. sand burns worse than grave dirt, although it’s somehow less awful than clawing through the splintered wood of a coffin. fresh dirt goes where you want it; sand just manages to feel like a constrictive sinkhole and only serves to make him think up is down and right is wrong.

( right is usually wrong or at the very least, it always feels wrong, but that’s neither here nor there. )

a bloody good thing he doesn’t need to breathe, innit?

thankfully—well, he’s generally ungrateful and now is no exception to the rule—there are hands to fish him the rest of the way out and back onto semi-solid sand. he’s still spitting granules of it from his mouth when a pendant is thrust at him and spike holds his hands up in distaste and quickly but firmly insists, )

No. I don’t sodding think so. Not for me. No, thank you. Keep your trinket. Very pretty, admittedly, but you’re not my type. I said, I’m not interested, yeah? Capiche? How’s it—? Oh. Um. Comprende?

( the last pendant he wore ripped through him in a ray of burning light and turned an entire town into a crater, so excuse the vehement dislike.

it’s only after some mild ( vaguely ) threatening implications and some ( eventually ) shouted i can’t understand you!!!s that someone else gestures at the necklace and then their mouth and ears that spike begrudgingly wears it, and has a lot more clarity for it. well. why didn’t they say that? morons.

( it’s possible they did say that, but, you know, old habits. )

later, huddled closer to someone that looks as suspicious as he is, he cocks his head to the side. )

Do you think that bloke looks the type to try and fetch a pretty penny on two unsuspecting organ donors?

ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER.

( insofar nobody hurled rotting fruit at him ( from where he’s sitting inside of one of the snail-mounts ) but it is by far the most humiliating experience in this realm thus far.

it tends to be problematic on a journey that’s meant to be made discreetly when there is a man screaming in distress alongside the caravan because he keeps peskily bursting into flames and sending off a plume of smoke. reluctantly given or not, he is squashed into the seat. he’ll happily oblige someone with his lap or the spot beside him to be cramped ( if they are actually suffering from heat exhaustion or something dire ), he’s not a monster.

if anyone raises so much as an eyebrow in his direction, he explains simply.)

Iron deficiency. ( or more unreactive, equally dismissive. ) I’m highly allergic.

A HOUSE UNITED WILL SAND; COULD DIE FROM LAUGHTER
( cw: potential for vampiric feeding. feel free to knock a guy unconscious! )

( for the record, spike has been a stickler for the outskirts of a crowd since before it was cool, you damned, pretentious nobodies.

just because most vampires are lifeless, predictable, bloodsuckers with no appetite doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate human delicacies from time-to-time. however, buffalo wings these are not.

when the big growly and nasty come sniffing around, green eyes glowing in the dark, he sighs and rolls his eyes. not one nice thing, hm? par for the course, really. he chucks whatever mystery meat he’d been tentatively ingesting at the pack and books it, tearing across the night sands with a stamina that could be slightly unnatural, but who could say? maybe he’s an anemic athlete. crazier things have happened.

and with being no stranger to bloodlust, spike doesn’t actually think anything of it, in the moment, that his hunger has gone from dull and suppressible to irritably present.

he makes it to camp, thanks to certain undead perks, without a heaving chest.

it is not lost on him that, even with a soul, he’s looking at people like happy meals with legs again.

so when anyone approaches him, previously introduced or not, he flares his nostrils and interjects, cutting them off. ) You need to go. Now. Stay away from me.

( god save the fool that is bunking with him in a tent because he will duck inside it immaturely to escape his current predicament. )

NETWORK | un: bloodyhell

Do the words Sunnydale or Los Angeles mean anything?

No wrong answers.

Unless it's no. In which case, thanks for playing, here's the trap door. Show yourself out.

( ooc: you can reach me @ talldarkandgay if you really wanna roll one of the other scenarios and think it would be fun. i'm open to having his sh*t rocked by a sandworm or an eldritch octopus creature from the depths of hell. just seeing how a silly vampire from the early 2000s might fit here. )

[fixmyjukebox]

un: keeponwalking

Easy, darling. Good folk don't pitch a hissy fit til their third coffee's trotted down their gullet.

Too early.

licyn mansbane | original | veteran

[bravelyrunsaway]

Welcome to how I offer personal starters for all those who wish to tag in! Select a number from below and either reply to this comment with that number in subject line and comment blank, or wildcard us a starter!

1. Licyn oiling his sword at night when the winds are calm for a moment.


2. Licyn as a wolf rescuing you from one of the hyenas... incidentally.


3. Be swept off feet by a tentacle and sent tumbling toward the Abyss with Licyn!


4. Wildcard! He is not acting the hero this trip, let us use that to personal amusement.

2

[allforthecause]

[ Hello, familiar face! Feel free to decide how much these two look alike - I’ll run with whatever works for you. ]

bucky barnes — mcu

[traumatology]

01 A SANDING OVATION

( honestly, he's woken up in worse places. he's laying on his side having pulled himself out of the dirt, coughing and spitting until he's pretty sure he's only swallowed about a gallon's worth of sand.

rolling onto his back, he stares up at the sun, lips dry and gritty. eventually, someone does find him, offering him things to help him on this — journey?

bucky's decided to think of this whole thing as some hallucination because thinking of it as something else? that's too much. no, he's just been hit on the head too many times and he's in the hospital somewhere with sam at his side, waiting for him to wake up.

so, if he could go ahead and wake the hell up, that would be great. )

02 A HOUSE UNITED WILL SAND

( he doesn't eat because he doesn't trust all this but — can't avoid the water.

he stands apart from most of the scavengers, sipping the water and trying not to pay attention to the noises in the distance. but his curiosity gets the best of him and when he turns to look, his eyes lock on the green ones of a hyena and he stares.

he doesn't look away, almost entranced until he swears he hears one rasp his name — ,james — and then he curses under his breath and walks away.

he refuses to look back. )

03 A PYRAMID SCHEME

( it's starting to dawn on him that this...might not be a hallucination. the longer it goes on, the more vivid and detailed it gets, bucky starts to believe that something or someone brought him to this place. he doesn't really know how or why but —

he's had hallucinations. he's been afraid of the thoughts and images inside his head. this isn't like that. this feels different.

this place is a ruin. it reminds him, in a way, of some of the cities that he'd seen in the aftermath of many invasions. most of those places had been able to recover somewhat but this place just seems to be comfortable in its ruin.

he wanders his way through the gardens, hands in his pockets, head down. no one will recognize him here but the instinct is still there to not look away, not make eye contact in case someone recognizes him. eventually, his walking brings him alongside the pit and that's where he stops, just — staring down.

he can't really fathom what caused this and he can't pull himself away. )

04 WILDCARD

( for anything else not detailed above. bucky's post falcon and the winter soldier for those that are curious. )

02!

[kahl_175]

Kahl's big, with a rough, slow voice, and an eyepatch over battle scars that make one side of his face droop. He knows a lot about some things, but he doesn't know how to talk good. But that helps, sometimes. The group's usually not supposed to tell people they're from other planets. So when he asks the Scavengers more about these 'hyenas', they just think he's dense.

Possessed, they tell Kahl. That means 'full of ghosts'. So, don't look, they tell Kahl. Makes sense, at least once they explain what a hyena is. It sounds like a kubrow. You look straight at a wild one, they get angry.

Kubrow also like to ambush people, though. He'll be keeping a hand on the blade strapped to his thigh.

He doesn't like sitting still when things could get dangerous, so he patrols the edge of camp, his blind side facing outward so he won't get tempted to look.

That gets harder when he starts hearing Grineer voices out in the sand. They're not real. It's just the ghosts.

Someone real is out here though, someone he doesn't recognize. Looks like they're having trouble too. "New guy. You okay?"

stephen strange / mcu / newcomer

[rehandle]

( a top-level for collecting prompts below because I have too many Thoughts and not enough time to manifest them all in one go. if you want anything specific please feel free to pm me or hit me up at miscreates! )

a sanding ovation

[rehandle]

[ The timing isn't good. Stephen Strange has recently become accustomed to a certain standard of multiversal travel, lulled into the expectation that when he next crosses the multiverse it'll be by route of a star-shaped portal, planned and as easy as stepping through a door. No more plummeting through myriad universes, each more unsettling to his base physiology than the last. Crucially, no more unexpected journeys.

Still. Important to be brought back to reality when you start developing unrealistic expectations. And what better way than sand? So much sand.

Newly appreciative of an easier ride or not, he's not unfamiliar with chaotic arrivals or the importance of pulling himself together at short notice. By the time he's finished being spared the indignity of death by dehydration or sand-related asphyxiation, introduced to a blowhard already plotting how best to commoditise their collective gratitude and changed into something a little less likely to have him pass out in under 30 minutes, his game face is on.

Not everybody freshly picked from the dunes has the dubious benefit of his wealth of experience. Making the rounds of the camp, familiarising himself from a distance with native and newcomer alike, his attention falls on somebody who looks like they could use a distraction. ]

First time?

[ The cloak he wears isn't Scavenger-issue. It twitches as the desert breeze catches it - sometimes when it doesn't. ]

Hermione Granger (HP) - A Young Veteran, an Old Hand at This, and a Pretty Face*

[reparo]

* really wanted to type "a pretty ass" but I decided to be civilised

A SANDING OVATION;

[ She's been in your shoes once. Granted, it had been colder back then, and instead of desert creatures there had been witches (not herself, of course, but evil Taravastian witches) and a cage for the newcomers and a hoarde of undead underneath the cage waiting to devour the newcomers. She also had had her wand taken from her, and had needed to escape via cold underground canals full of water and - look, let's not draw comparisons.

She's been in your shoes. You've got that lost look in your eyes, and she's got a cup (she'd stolen one from her room back in TaravastSerthicaKeWaihu - she can't recall - and it's been getting reused) filled with tea that she sits in front of you. ]

The water's safe to drink. Made it myself. You looked like you could need one.

[ It gets cold at night, and by campfire or not, newcomers deserve compasion and understanding. And information! ] You'll have questions, I suspect.

ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER;

[ Plenty of things to do on this adventure! This is what you get for complaining about the cold for so long, Hermione, learn your lesson: there's scavenging, there's getting sand in your shoes, there's narrowly avoiding a sunburn.

There is also using her magic for good. There's a handy little spell she knows, which she does on the regular to her own waterskin, to fill it up again. In the middle of the desert, Hermione Granger conjures water - and it does not dissipate, like sand. So if you're looking thirsty, confused, or envious?

She will offer it to you as well.] Need a refill?

A PYRAMID SCHEME; OCTOPUS PRIME 1

[ You remember that spell from earlier? It comes in handy when trying to outrun and escape giant, hungry tentacles, doesn't it? Don't ask her who told her, or how she figured it out, but she's tried it once and will keep flinging: ] Aguamenti! [ behind her as she flees, without looking.

Sometimes, a tentacle recoils. Sometimes, she shoots water right at someone's face. ] Sorry!

A PYRAMIC SCHEME; OCTOPUS PRIME 2

[ Five minutes if a long time, and her wand arm was getting tired. At a moment of impasse, Hermione has transfigured an old mug (hey! there it is again!) into a a spraying bottle, filled it up with water. She may be wielding it like a pistol now, or one of those stun guns she's seen Starfleet officers use previously.

And you may think it's funny, but if she saves your hide with that bottle, you're going to want one! ]

[ooc: open to veterans and TDMers alike! DM me if you want to discuss anything or just wing it. I like to write present tense and will match style so chase your bliss, yo.]

locked to Vi;

[reparo]

TOMB AND GLOOM AND DETOUR FROM THE MISSION AT HAND;

[ Mother, is that you?

There are times when Hermione wishes she did not have the talisman around her neck, that lets her understand what others say. The voice of the the woman (dead? alive? she does not know, she cannot tell) will haunt her for a very long time, and perhaps she can understand now why Harry was so traumatised by the Inferi.

She sucks a breath in through her teeth and stands, frozen in her spot, looking at the fettered woman, at the chains holding her in place, her stomach in knots. It slips out, without Hermione noticing if anyone else has made it to center of the maze and stands in the room with her: ] Who's done this to you?

[ And the words come from the woman, eventually, giving Hermione something she apparently desperately needed: a cause. ] How can I undo these chains? You can't - I won't leave you here alone...

[ And she will try to find the key in the pool, first. Fills her waterskin with water, just in case, then aims her wand and summons light to the tip of it, to divine if she can see anything. ]

Jinx | Arcane | Tourist

[hexgem]

1. A SANDING OVATION

[ Freshly unburied, Jinx balances atop a tall dune and tugs hard on a leather strap. The strap is mostly submerged in the sand, along with the weapon it attaches to; Pow-Pow is a fast-firing heavy gun of Jinx's own design and she has no intention of leaving it behind. It might as well be her safety blanket for all that it represents her last shred of control over a very strange situation. She has no idea where she is, no inclination to trust who she is with, and a growing suspicion that finding her way home won't be simple. But at least she still has Pow-Pow, a weapon powerful enough to scare anyone off, a way to defend herself against the unknown. If she could just get it out.

Sweat drips down her face and her chest heaves with the effort to gather her breath. Over-exerted, Jinx makes to plop down in the sand and regroup. Her balance falters and instead she ends up tumbling over and sliding down to the base of the dune. ]

2. ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER

[ Traveling to an entirely new dimension would certainly seem exciting, but in practice it turns out to be a lot of hurry up and wait. Jinx needs to kill time until their caravan unites with the party of supposed otherworlders. So she takes it upon herself to decorate one of the snail carriages with a pair of oil crayons that she pulled from her pockets. Miraculously, they haven't melted in this heat, but she knows it's only a matter of time. Better to put them to use before they're useless.

Find her perched on top of a giant snail shell drawing the finishing touches on a well-covered canvas. ]

3. COULD DIE FROM LAUGHTER

[ Jinx is starving. All she wants is to go back into the camp and feast on everything in sight. But the Scavengers are being rude and obnoxious, refusing her entry. She makes a frustrated sound that comes out like a growl, low and feral. There are heavy bags under her eyes and she wears a jagged, sharp smile. Her teeth are bared. ]

Come on. [ Her pleas fall on deaf ears and Jinx balls her fists up at her sides. She is getting dangerously close to resorting to violent means. ] Let me in!

4. SOILMATES

[ Jinx didn't really care about the sand worms until she saw the runes on their backs. In her experience, runes have been key to unlocking mysteries of the physical world. She has to assume that the same is true in this dimension.

From a safe distance, she watches the sands shift with the worm's movement. She sketches the worm's rune into the sand and studies it closely, mentally comparing it to runes she has seen before. ]

I know you're the key, [ she says to her sketch. ] I just have to figure out how.

5. WILDCARD

[ Choose your own adventure! PM with any questions/ideas/etc. ]

3.

[traaaaaash]

[ Eda has already cottoned on to this whole possession spiel, but damn, this girl is being persistent. And, well, Eda figures starving her won't help anything either, so she takes a bowl of food and leaves the camp. She approaches Jinx and holds the bowl out to her. ]

Easy there. I got something for you.

xiao xingchen | mo dao zu shi | old fart

[binghua]

could die from laughter

[Normally Xingchen doesn't mind eating alone or somewhere more quiet where he can simply be with his thoughts. But after hearing their comrades warn about hyenas, he's stuck closer to camp. He's not frightened of such animals, but he also knows not to be foolish for no reason mostly.

So he finds somewhere, still off on his own, where he can unwrap his face aside from his blindfold during these calmer times. His hair is a mess, but he imagines the rest of them are in similar situations, so appearances hardly matter. As he eats, if someone ventures near enough for him to sense their presence, he speaks up.]

You can join me, if you'd like. I don't bite.


sandimental value

[Xingchen, of course, can't see the crone, but he does sense that someone has decided to travel beside him, someone who isn't quite like the rest of their group. She isn't someone to fear, it turns out, though; while many spirits may be restless in their death and cause problems and fear among the living, there are just as many who seek more peaceful ends. Xingchen can hardly deny her that.

What isn't so peaceful is this trek to the hills from which she wants some of her ashes to be spread. The pouch hangs from the waist of his desert clothing and, along with the blindfold covering his eyes, the fabric that covers the rest of his face and body must look either amusing or disorienting. And it is a little disorienting for him as he travels farther onward. The wind whips around violently, blocking out nearly all sounds, and the gloves he wears dull any feeling he gets from touch. His best sense now is what he can feel with his qi, trying to map out an unknowable landscape and hope he at least ends up in the right direction.

He also won't say no to any help. Sensing someone nearby, he calls out.]

My apologies! Do these rocks seem passable or is there a better place I could climb?


wildcard

[yo hit a blind boy up for this or that, I'm not picky! you can also plot things out in more detail at LadyotRings or just holler at me for funsies]

sandimental value

[downswing]

( The woman, her task, their objective sworn. She has heard of her pleas and those who shied, in denial of her. The stone wall hisses stones down, winds roaring. Wangji's nails nearly crumble, battered on the grip of his hooks.

He has determined, in the midst of his crawl, the best recourse is to fetter his waist with rope and keep the hook dragging by his feet, an anchor. Now and then, he attaches it to hard land, covers the rope's span, then pulls it back to himself, to proceed further — it keeps him steadied, if not expedient, fat belly of his ash purse at constant threat of spillage.

He rushes to shield it — yields control of the anchor just as the winds howl again — and his footing sunders, he stumbles back, drops to a knee, is unceremoniously rolled further, and is expelled to the lip of the cliff, teeth sharp-fanged and gritting, just crashing into Xiao Xingchen, as daozhang asks if the cliffs ahead are kindly, and is there perhaps a better place for his climb? )

...seek les troubled paths, daozhang. Apologies.

( This, from Wangji's rasping, his bloodied mouth, his hands catching on stone to raise himself again. )

Merrin | Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order

[starscollapse]

𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍

[ The dead—and the undead, equally—are familiar to her. She was surrounded by death on Dathomir, by the memory of slaughter. Her sisters, her family, all taken from her by war and cruelty. The Nightbrothers of Dathomir remained, yes, but of her coven, she was the last. And so it had been, her fate from childhood, as she tread a dark and lonely path of vengeance. Until Cal Kestis—an awakening, a twist of fate, a path forward. The universe beyond her world was forbidden by her clan, outsiders were not tolerated. But left alone, Merrin wished to see it all, and to understand those who might so strongly desire to protect it.

A path forward suddenly halted by—this; sand and desert heat and a gathering of people she does not know nor trust. Yet, they are all that they have. Having trusted too easily once (the simple and desperate faith of an orphaned child), Merrin is cautious and guarded, but wishes to be helpful nonetheless.

That sense of purpose leads her to seek more understanding of their present circumstances. So, she finds herself examining the cliffs, the rocks, the bloodied footprints. A few dagger blades are inspected, the palm of her hand curving carefully around the dull edges. ]

Here sleep the unchained— and they do not sleep alone. Or they awaken, perhaps.

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚎

[ Mother Death is to be her companion this day, then. A comfort, in Merrin's mind, as she has little to fear of the dead (so she thinks). After all, the dead were hers and all that remained for so long, bundled together and able to be resurrected by the dark magick of Dathomir that had once been wielded with ease by those of her clan. She'll speak kindly to Mother Death now, with respect and curiosity.

When given, the pouch of ashes is held reverently in the palm of Merrin's hand. The task requested of her may not yield a way out of their circumstances nor prove useful in propelling their mission forward, but it feels of the utmost importance now. The gentle woman is dead, yet one wish remains to settle her soul. This, she thinks, bears little thought to act upon. ]

You will be at peace and put to rest today. I promise this.

[ An easy task for someone who can simply teleport to the top of the hill. Yet, this is a new world to her, one she has yet to explore and she wishes to. So instead, she will take the long way to the hilltop, welcoming of company in her quest. ]

𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚋 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖

[ Another curiosity, this temple. One among so many in recent days. Few answers have revealed themselves, yet the questions multiply. She has no need of immediate revelations, but if she is to be trapped here for the foreseeable future, Merrin seeks at least some semblance of control, some minute sense of understanding about their surroundings. It is that thought which compels her to continue exploring, and which leads her to this Temple of Ra’esh of which the scavengers murmur.

What awaits them in the dark corridors beyond, she cannot know. Yet, she does not fear it. Not yet. Holding a torch in her hand, she will speak boldly to any passers-by. ]

You would not wish me to go alone, would you?

[ ooc: I am happy to plot a more custom starter if you prefer so please feel free to PM me or ping me on plurk @ geekorthodox ]

sandimental value

[allforthecause]

[ He thinks it’s a hologram, at first, the form of a grey flickering light talking to the woman in the sand. He watches from a distance for a few seconds, until she see the crone reach out and give something to the woman, something solid where she is not.

His eyebrow raises and he pulls his scarf in closet around his throat and mouth, deciding then and there to answer to his own curiosity, and trudge up the dune to where the now-burdened woman is standing. ]

What was she? [ He asks as he approaches, tugging his scarf down enough to bare his lips, already feeling dry. ]

Sorry, I saw you speaking - is she what I think she is?

[ He gives a lopsided smile. ] Feels strange to even think the words, but - were you speaking to a ghost?

makkari | the eternals | tourist

[havisham]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

[ like a kid in a candy shop, makkari is all wide eyes and a curious expression at this new world. she's always been a sponge for knowledge and exploration and if she ignores the fact that she is not home with her family and druig, she can focus on being excited about a new environment.

her compartmentalization is truly stellar.

she is petting one of the snail mounts, feeling the way air moves through their bodies, when the sand shifts near her and she looks up, hands leaving the snail to sign a hello. ]

Are you new too?

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

[ she doesn't like the hyenas. she didn't like them in the lion king either (which she did watch, on vhs, sorry kingo) and there is little change to see them in real life again.

no thanks.

she steers clear, but she doesn't think she hears the cries as intended or else they're not whining for her. when she seems someone seemingly paralyzed by an approaching pair however, she darts in with her super speed and scoops up the wayward person like a bride before they can become dinner and sprints them away. she's careful not to go too fast, stopping with a rush of momentum that sends her braid flying forward over her shoulder but no sonic boom or painful g forces.

skeins of worry thread across her expression as she sets the person to their feet. ]

Are you okay?

[ hopefully they don't eat her. ]

𝐒𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒

[ it becomes clear fairly quickly that makkari is antsy. walking is slow, especially across the shifting dunes, and she doesn't like being slow. she does like the scenery, reminding her of where they first arrived on earth and the iraqi foothills they eventually became.

now she wants knafeh.

she's restless and impatient and she would really love to run ahead but all her eternal instinct tell her to remain with the humans, she was made to protect them after all. that doesn't mean she won't look like she is literally dying of boredom during the trek.

eventually they do make it to uruksithar and the appeal of buried treasure speaks to her on a deep, personal, magpie level. after digging for a while she unearths a cup, cracked and chipped. ]

Not my finest work.

[ but she is going to keep it and dig for more, duh. ]

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 & 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

( go where your heart takes you ❤️ makkari is deaf and speaks via sign language (all of them) but the translation pendants give subtitles for your character. all her dialogue is signed but i don't differentiate because there is nothing to differentiate so please keep that in mind, it is always signing. also she has super speed! any questions, comments, or concerns or if you want to hash out a scenario that isn't listed, please pm me! xoxo )

Soilmates

[traaaaaash]

[ Digging for trash (or treasure), you say? Eda's on it like white on rice. Upon seeing the cup, she is admittedly... dubious, for it is trash, but frankly not weird enough. It doesn't even have a wine mom-type quote on it.

Eda pats Makkari's shoulder in sympathy. ]

Maybe next time.

pietro maximoff | mcu | tourist

[margenes]

(A)—A SANDING OVATION

[honestly? pietro is not a fan of this kind of weather and climate. sokovia was always on the more temperate side of things, with extremes of cold winters and hot summers. nothing quite this sandy, though.

he feels like he cannot find his bearings, and someone speaks to him like he is supposed to care or make much sense of things.

—wanda. where is his sister? he had left her at the church, promised her to come back for her once the entire city was evacuated.

coughing in the dry air, completely at a loss on what to do with both the pendant and mazyar, he tries to ask about her whereabouts, but is instead greeted with talk about war and dominion and beacons to transport them home.

pietro tires of the incessant talk and just speeds away, runs— to somewhere, but finds himself too tired to go too far. he crashes into another high dune and lies flat, face down, on it, even as mazyar spouts some more nonsense to pietro's ears, a few members of the caravan trying to reaching him to drag him back—literally drag him back on the sand—towards the caravan.

god, water would be nice.]

(B)—ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER

I'm looking for my sister—Wanda.

[this is the mantra that pietro starts repeating the moment the scavengers arrive. they give him cool cooling suits—which he is infinitely grateful for—water and food. he's rested, he can walk the desert just fine.

but every time he asks, he gets a shake of the head, and given instead something that tastes kind of like what sand would if it was cooked. it's filling enough, at least.

he jogs up to another one of the snail-like carriage mounts, hopping up on a protrusion that lets him hitch a ride while holding on to one of the ropes. he leans over close to the opening, waving and greeting the raider that holds onto the reins.]

I'm looking for someone. [the wind sweeps his hair, and pietro squints. he's going to get a sunburn he'll regret by nightfall at this rate.] Is anyone inside?

[all he gets is a noncommital response.]

(C)—SANDIMENTAL VALUE

[so far, this journey has been far from the adventure he would have loved for it to be; unfriendly surroundings, vicious hyenas, what more is there? he's far too hungry, but he can't really help it. still, he stores extra food, just in case he's ever in a pickle due to his fast metabolism.

it surprises him to see a woman walk beside him suddenly, looking very out of place.

pietro is kind to her, offering her some food, but she instead gives him something in return for it—her ashes, to be scattered. his expression is deeply troubled, but he's got his fair share of superstitions from home to have a sense of what to do here.

the hills are far, and pietro is one of those people who does before he thinks—no ropes, no climbing hooks, just a lot of stupid bravado and his speed to try and outrun the violent sand whirlwinds.

he's a man on a mission.]

I'll be right back.

[he cuffs a poor, unsuspecting witness to his suicide mission on the shoulder with a hand as he continues onwards. provided guidance would not be out of place for someone who is not used to tactical reasoning of his actions.]

(D)—OCTOPUS PRIME

Hang on!

[this is definitely an unusual to be looking at directly, but pietro has seen enough the past few days to figure that his idea of what the world is like does not matter. all that is important is surviving.

the tentacles that burst out from the pit make a quick job of trying to ensnare any living creature they can reach. but pietro is fast—faster than what the eye can see, even if in spurts, and he has enough fuel in himself to rush forward and get a poor soul out of harm's way, just about managing to run counterclockwise to remove the tentacle's grip from a person.

he's sweating, panting, as he reaches the inside of a crumbling residence. there are other scavengers here, so it should be a safe spot—for now. this climate is really not helping him with his attempt at superspeed spurts.]

—you — okay?

[he's leaning back against a wall, a hand on his chest as he catches his breath, but his pale eyes are purposeful. he wants to make sure no further harm has happened.

jus... give him a minute to catch his breath before holding a conversation.]

B

[westviews]

[--Wanda, she hears, in a voice she's known her whole life. It wouldn't be the first time she thought she heard her brother calling for her, but the sand and the wind and the general noise of the caravan nearly muffle it too much for her to be certain she heard it at all. She pauses from adjusting her suit, and then she hears it again.

It's harder to ignore when it's more than just her name.

--looking for someone--

It's too much. It's irritating, in a way, like sand in her boots. Wanda decides to hell with it, she has nothing to lose in putting her mind to rest, and heads towards where she thought she heard the voice. It takes effort, to catch up with the snail, but thankfully... it is a snail. Wanda can't properly see the person holding onto the ropes, just the suit, and she tells herself her heart is pounding because she just did a little jog and not because of anxious hope.]

You said you were looking for someone?

wei wuxian | the untamed | veteran

[weifinder]

( ooc: hit me up in pm, discord, or plurk to get a starter; i'm doing customized ones this go around, and welcome new folks as well as those established in game! just keeping a handle on how much i get into right now, thank you so much! )

for lan wangji;

[weifinder]

Wei Wuxian glows feverbright, the light of him a laugh waiting to catch his lips before he lets the part to breathe. The temple, decrepit and yet functioning in its ways, lays behind them, conquered in part by their cleverness, in part by trained reflex, in part with questionable luck.

Finally, he does laugh, turning head and shoulders and hips until it's a half spin back to view his husband, Lan Zhan, at his side, or close enough to be nothing less than a companion of heart.

A companion of the adrenaline that's danced across his nerves, shivering down through his empty core and echoing in his meridians, intact and gentle and persistent, even without a deeper well of power to call upon.

"I would have found this all much more exciting when I was younger," he says, smiling and shaking his head, the first words following his laughter. One emptied water carrier slaps against his thigh as he turns again, revolutions of a moon around its planet of choice. His eyes skim the room they've come to, head canting to the left. "Now it's more tiring than I remembered... the silvered waters, do you think they exist?"

Asked now when they've reached where they may be hidden, before the light of his torch, spun and sputtering until it reaffirms its belief in its strength might catch the hallowed cheeks, the chains, the bound gaze of another. For the moment, there is just this: the success of living, his husband, the sweat of their endeavours, the minor burn on his hidden calf, the slice across his shoulder rendered invisible by his chosen colour and the layers of the borrowed clothing that stops him from collapsing in heat exhaustion.

Nacho Varga | Better Call Saul | Tourist | BCS spoilers

[nachocheese]

A SANDING OVATION
[There's the loud crack of a gunshot, and then nothing at all. Emptiness and blankness and nothingness are as impossible to truly describe as they are to truly experience. After all, if you were conscious to experience anything at all, then by definition you can't be experiencing nothingness, can you?

Nacho's experience of nothingness comes as abrupt and sudden an end as it began with. The first thing he experiences isn't light or sound but the gritty texture and bland, dry taste of sand filling up the inside of his mouth. If someone had told him this was one of the nine circles of Hell, he would have believed them. Then the rest of it comes only milliseconds later: the rustling sound of being buried up to at least his ears and eyes in constantly shifting little sand pebbles, the blurry gray emptiness of having your vision clouded that is nothing whatsoever like real emptiness...

Nacho doesn't remember if he's eventually pulled out or if he's able to free himself from his sand prison, but he does remember he's coughing when he finally feels the warm, dry air of the desert against his skin. At least it's not more sand. Fuck.

He takes the pendant without comment and he listens to the explanation he's given without really processing it. He's usually pretty on the ball with that stuff, but thinking you're supposed to be dead has a way of fucking with your head and making everything around you sound like background noise. It's not until he's left alone with another newcomer, someone who seems just a tiny bit more keyed in to what's happening than he does, that he seems to shake himself out of his confused stupor. He turns to them. He sounds like somebody who has just woken up from a long nap.]

You get that?


ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER
[When they meet up with the rest of the otherworlders there's food and water and cooling suits. But when Nacho is offered something, he hesitates, then doesn't take it. At least not yet. Is it out of some misplaced suspiciousness? Maybe surprisingly, probably not, if the way he looks around at the more vulnerable members of the party, the ones who ride in the snail-chariots, is anything to go by.]

Have they all got—?

[He cuts himself off on purpose, letting his faint but clearly concerned expression speak for him. He doesn't want to take anything for himself yet until he knows the people least able to provide for themselves have been taken care of first.]


COULD DIE LAUGHING
[Nacho is running from something. He doesn't know what. He doesn't want to know what. It begs for help and calls out for "Ignacio" in a raspy, inhuman voice that jars him from how strange and wrong it sounds.

It's lucky for Nacho that he's a fast runner! It's unlucky for him that you're in the way. He does manage not to crash directly into you, just barely. If you're eating, he'll try to grab for it and flinging it all out behind him.]


WILDCARD
[Don't like any of these options? Feel free to pick something else!]


(ooc; I am sorry! I'm very, very late. But hopefully not too late? Also, I don't mind switching to prose for people who prefer it.)

one sand washes the other

[fixmyjukebox]

...as much sense left in'em as a wet hen?

( Blandly, unassuming, mean in the blithe way of a man who has seen far too much in his life and who observes the gentle incursion of giant snails with gentle, committed resignation. Sure, bring out the cavalry. It's gastropods? Well, ain't they a treat. Jim be damned, one's winking.

Then there's this sad soul, beholding the beasts, and they're both stranded, beholden to the whims of 'custodians' that seem ill at ease to spare them guidance. The flask Jim's somehow... liberated from a departed wave of Scavenger's going neat and pretty dry. He takes another half of a swig. Toasts the snail parade. )

Think we're supposed to wave when they crawl by?

( You know, like locals, when tourists pass by on garrish boats or buses. )

Jimmy McGill | Better Call Saul | Veteran having a bad time

[slippin]

[ Starters below, but feel free to wildcard or hit me up for something else! Although Jimmy's engagement with desert-specific stuff will be limited because he's mostly trying not to flip his shit. ]

one sand washes the other

[slippin]

[ Jimmy doesn't complain about the heat. He doesn't moan and groan about the sand or the glare or their freaky security detail, whose faces he pictures as impossibly sun-shriveled under their masks. Except when he stumbles forward to beg for a ride on one of the snails, he's quiet—more wary than nervous, no excess energy. Hardly any energy at all.

Once the Scavengers agree to count him among the weak, he clambers onto a snail and pretty much doesn't come down. He starts off with a piece of cloth draped over his head: the plan being to blot out the desert and everything in it, maybe fall asleep and dream of an air-conditioned movie theater. That lasts about ten minutes. He never relaxes: not his body, not his breathing.

He removes the improvised blindfold, twisting it in his hands as he stares out at the desert. Finally, almost a whisper: ] I can't believe this.

nynaeve al'meara | the wheel of time (amazon series) | tourist

[mashiara]

sunstruck and sunburned, the wheel turns

( perhaps you were unlucky, didn't hydrate enough, refused the clothing provided by the scavengers and merchants to allow thriving and surviving in the harsh of these wastes. perhaps you thought the sun wasn't marking you as strongly as you imagined, or that dawn and dusk were safe, that you could not burn. perhaps there is another ill that plagues you, brought to the surface in this harsh trek, hidden in snail wagons or walking on feet across rock and sand.

nynaeve has never been to the waste. where the aiel hail from, where she's heard rand al'thor to be descended from, child that he is of the two rivers, and yet by appearance too similar to the aiel. nonsense she wants to say, but she knows, had heard, he was the child brought back, knows by now he is the dragon reborn, and can't do a thing about any of it or any of the young people wrest from two rivers by moiraine and the chaos they'd just survived, barely, herself very sure she'd burnt out only to wake breathing again in the aftermath, and then, and then&mdashh;here.

pulled out of sands, spitting its granules from her teeth, unbraiding her hair to comb it for an hour, working the sand out when water is too precious to bathe with in the free way of the pools back home. what nonsense is this? by the light! she's here, and none of the nightmares made real are responsible for it, not the ones she knows. entirely different ones, and whatever version of the worlds she's in now, whatever part of the wheel, whatever battleground, this is not where she should be.

and still, she's the one on hand when the burned are brought to her, she with her herbs and her fluttering grasp on the one power, nebulous without the light of her anger to send it into her grasp. for those not too badly burned, she gestures for them to sit, a curt motion, her eyes genuine in their concern and lower, visible, not hidden: frustration. )

Was it so hard to follow what they said about keeping out of the sun?

( or for those hitting the brink of heat exhaustion, the thrust of a water flask into their hands, or held to their lips, and a brisk: )

Drink now. You're close to collapsing, fool, and you don't even know it. Drink and get into one of those snail wagons, or Light help me, I'll leave you for the desert to swallow, see if I don't!

( she won't. she never will. but if she doesn't hold to the anger, the one power will slip beyond her reach, and if she must extend that hand to take hold, she won't be able.

she will heal every fool one who sickens on this trip, so help her. she will. )

the wind sees the battles lost and won

( is it the hyenas? those who were possessed by one acting against those who were not? was it an encounter with a sandworm? was it the ruins of the city of old, abandoned? was it the temples and their traps?

whatever it is, near death or barely injured, nynaeve is on hand to have found you, perhaps dragged you back, or the one who turns first, as if sensing a need for her skills as a wisdom, whatever she might be one day if she chooses to embrace the white tower for it's training, for what it can teach her of the one power that makes her healings more than what they would have been for a wisdom who could not hear the wind. )

Keep where you are, let me have a look at you. Can you tell me what happened, where you're injured?

( and if she keeps a lower simmering anger the whole time, it's to keep the option of reaching for the one power on hand, and not letting the fear of this great, frustrating unknown from swallowing her into one specific aspect of powerlessness when she wishes, needs it most. )

wildcard

( hit her up on any point from tourists arriving to the rest of this event! she's primarily going to be on hand to heal or make strategic tracking attempts and/or investigating the temple, she won't be inclined to let the younger folks go off on their own even if she's all of just in her mid twenties herself. i'm book series familiar, but playing her from the amazon series, with some influence from considering aspects of her book arc for how she relates to the one power/how she can reach it, and what her healing or her drive for healing mean to her! )

sunstruck and sunburned

[homeostatic]

Oh, thank God, you exist.

( news of a new healer spreads as fast as the scuttlebutt on a starship. mccoy levers the exhausted raider to a seat in the shade with the young woman, staying out of her way as she thrusts water at the man.

he goes digging in the bag at his side, emerging with a few of the thin, salty-sweet crackers he made in abundance before their departure, and flicks his gaze to her. )

Welcome to Akhuras. ( it's mildly sarcastic, Akhuras is awful. ) What's your name?

cirilla "ciri" fiona elen riannon | the witcher (netflix) | tourist

[heyciri]

we're going worm hunting
cw: potential goat death, if her companion moves fast the goat is safe! tagger's choice

( now would be a great time to be taken by a vision for the likely whereabouts of a sandworm, in particular, but nothing pulls at her attention with the visceral tug asking her to move. ciri tightens her hands into a fist, scowling from the depths of her hood, the borrowed clothing comfortable for its defense against the heat.

she breathes in, squinting as she tugs on the lead to the goat that's bleating in mild distress, walking across the dunes. bait is one thing, and after seeing the gouting sand and the vastness of the sinkhole left behind when the great creatures strike down again... she grimaces, eyes flicking to her companion. )

Here. Hold this.

( she shoves the goat's leadrope, extra long, into their hands, sliding her feet through the sands as if she's known how to walk them for ages. she hasn't, but she's learned. ciri is a fast study when she applies herself, and bereft of her second family, of geralt and yennifer, she refuses to let her shoulders stoop, to give up. not after everything, not now.

and now, a sandworm, if to prove something to herself or to prove that what they need is in reach. )

I'll take care of the sandworm.

( and there, the dune to their left shifts, the sands sliding forward in a rushing susurration, sibilant and sweet in its hiss like water bubbling from a brook. the goat bleats again, ears flicking, and she shouts: )

Run!

( to her companion, to the goat, and if they're fast enough then the goat and themselves are out of the way as the massive sandworm comes pushing up through the grounds, and ciri runs forward, heart pounding, eyes wide then narrowed, dagger in hand. throws herself at the sandworm, hitting its side with a grunt as her fingers scrabble, find purchase, and she scales upward, fingers raw, one cuticles starting to bleed from the sand and the roughness as she climbs, desperate to find that run on the creature's back before this one, too, throws itself beneath the desert's sea of soil once more. )

outreaching tentacles

( ciri rolled when the tentacle swept through the air overhead, near to knocking her off her feet if she wasn't moving faster. the tolling of the bells, or gong, or whatever it is echoes through her bones, reverberates there like her screams have in her dreams, and she grits her teeth, coming up to her feet again and running as she's been taught.

she is not a witcher, thwarted from that destiny, a creature of another kind. she doesn't know what that is, specifically, what magic she must learn to master, that she's only started to touch with her grip on the chaos she's had within reach since her earliest childhood. to know its forms and shapes, and what will makes of it, as yen was teaching her. no, she is not what geralt is, but she is trained by him and his brothers of the wolves, the witchers, and so she runs and leaps and has a firm grip on her sword when she deals a glancing blow, drawing a line of blood across one tentacle's surface in her deflection of it away from one of the people caught in this world like she is. the tentacle draws up high, shuddering, a reflexive motion, but it will come down again, it will seek to crush, to sweep: she knows. )

Up, up, up, get back, ( she says, and she's turning to take hold of the robes or clothes of the one behind her, to try and drag them back from where that tentacle is soon to descend with shattering force. ) we have to keep moving!

( even as the ground shakes, as the chaos of the moment shrieks overhead, and no amount of willing it will open a portal back to her world, or any other. )

wildcard

( please wildcard into the opening tourist moment or any of this event! ciri will be calling herself ciri and passing herself off as a young swordfighter from lands at war, and be listening more than volunteering to speak. also liable to go into the temple or to carry the ashes of the crone, or to try and deal with the hyenas or those effected by them at night!

come have her teleport the both of you across something in sheer frustration, it'll be great! )

🪱

[nonprofit]

( he's almost more drawn to the fight by ciri's voice than the actual worm, which rings out to him as clear as a bell despite the sound of an impossible amount of sand piling on top of itself as the worm emerges. it isn't hard to locate her in general, because he'll usually just instinctively find her in the most precarious, impossible position available at any one time — which at the moment is on top of the thing, holding on down to the quick of her nails. there's a jolt in him. something like paternal instinct, or the anticipation before a fight. either way, he lunges into the fray without a second thought, sword drawn.

it's not so easy as killing the beast — not that geralt is that cocky, but obviously ciri's safety has to be considered. he knows she can hold her own, which means he mostly has to make sure the worm doesn't burrow again, with her still on it. so — his best bet is becoming a distraction for the worm to chase topside, not getting so out of reach that it thinks to bury itself, and not hurting it so badly that it thinks of retreat.

easy. ish. )

Ciri!

( he's sure they're on the same page, even if he doesn't speak a word of his plan. with a few expert prods of his sword, he has the beast's attention, and then it's time for the chase — and ciri's time to shine, before geralt inevitably gets swallowed whole. a day in the life. )

Anduin Wrynn | Warcraft | Oldtimer

[chosenbylight]

ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER
Anduin is doing his best not to let the heat get to him, but it's a losing battle. Even with the cooling suits that they have been provided, he can feel himself beginning to wilt the further they travel.

As the caravan makes its first stop of the day, he finds himself collapsing into the shade of one of the snail carriages. He tugs his collar open, fanning himself with a hand before struggling his flask open and splashing water on his face. He has done his best to keep himself mostly covered from the sun but even still he can feel his face beginning to turn an angry red.

Frankly, he looks miserable. Mostly because he is, between the sunburn on his face, the sweat plastering his hair to the back of his neck and his forehead, and the heat. How can anyone stand it. Out of sheer stubbornness, he has yet to allow himself to join the group riding inside of the snails, but he knows within his heart of hearts that this is a losing battle...

COULD DIE FROM LAUGHTER
At least when the sun sets there is some relief. All Anduin really wants is some respite. He has found himself seated on the edge of the camp, on a cushion he has managed to conjure up from who knows where so that he can give his leg a rest. It is unlikely that he's been alone for the entirety of the evening, but he is at present. Picking at the food on his plate and rubbing a hand absently on his knee.

Perhaps it is simply because he is alone that they choose to target him. Perhaps it is because of his knee, making him appear an easy target. Regardless, they do narrow in on Anduin.

"Please, help us," they call out, and Anduin's gaze whips up, instantly alert. Catching the sight of green eyes glistening in the darkness beyond, Anduin is instantly on his feet and sprinting back in the direction of camp.

"Run!!"

WILDCARD
((i didn't want to write TOO many prompts for anduin but feel free to let me know if there's something else in particular that you're interested in writing out with him! he's a healer and generally plays support in most conflict, so if you're injured and need patching up or need someone to watch your back while you're in danger, he's your guy!))

one sand

[homeostatic]

You look like Hell.

( Georgia's all humid heat, the kind that made him sweat buckets as a young boy, running or riding around the his nana's farm until sundown, but it's still serving him well here, where the dry air's quick to wick away any hint of moisture. Spock would have felt right at home, he's sure, and feels sorry for himself for all of the few moment it takes for him to reach the other healer. )

Here, eat this. ( McCoy drops to a knee, thrusting a couple thin wafers at Anduin. ) They don't taste great, but they'll help you stay hydrated.

vanessa ives (penny dreadful) ✘ veteran

[matermali]

NETWORK } open (video)

un: headless ragdoll

[ It's evening and a woman draped in a cloak sits outside one of the tents. Her hood is cast aside and a dark braid hangs over one shoulder, with bits of sand and flyaways visible in the candlelight. Signs of another active day. Even with weariness pulling at her eyelids, there's still a glint of curiosity in her pale blue gaze. Vanessa is in better spirits lately. ]

There are new faces joining our ranks. To arrive in such a harsh climate with a promise of further danger can only be disorienting, but you are among allies to call upon should you need.

[ Her voice drags with her whispers—a low rasp. ]

My name is Vanessa. Miss Ives, if you like.

[ Not that she expects it. ]

Why not share your name...and perhaps something interesting that you've seen? I invite the veterans of our alliance to join in. Any confusing trinkets? Anything to spark delight? Fear? Did you witness the sand shift like water where the worms burrowed? Did you feel its pull?

[ Just a touch of a smile before the video brings a small lantern into view, with the candle flickering innocuously. The video can't catch the smell it gives off, but currently it's akin to a sickeningly sweet rosy perfume (the awful, overpowering sort your grandmother bought fifty bottles of years ago). Apologies to anyone walking near her while she records; she is having fun experimenting. ]

I've come into possession of a curious lantern. It emits different scents when lit. Not all of the scents are favorable. Earlier it smelled of a fish stew that was slightly off.

WILDCARD } open

[ Vanessa gets restless and is likely to end up anywhere around camp or somewhere more dangerous. Surprise me (and possibly her)! She might especially be wondering what it's like to catch a sand worm. ]

[ ooc; If you want a personal prompt, PM or ping me at cherto; I will embrace all the things. Check her permissions if you want to opt-in to sensing Weird things about her or vice-versa. ]

SANDIMENTAL VALUE } miss oswald

[matermali]

[ She had been on her way to see Clara when the Crone appeared at Vanessa's side, near enough that the other woman may even witness the bizarre interaction as Vanessa asks after her constitution. Vanessa is patient through the interaction, too curious to ignore an old woman and staying ready with her water bottle, but then the Crone entrusts her with a responsibility that's far too virtuous.

Confusion furrows Vanessa's brow when the mysterious old woman vanishes, leaving her with a strange clench in the gut and a tiny burden in her hand. She casts her now murky gaze down to the small pouch. When her steps pick back up and she lifts her attention, she can see that a similar pouch has been offered to Clara.

The Scavengers had made mention of this. ]

Mother Death calls to you?

mccoy | star trek | veteran

[homeostatic]

soilmates

( over their weeks of travel, McCoy has found a routine for himself: walking in the shade offered by their carriages, tending to the weakened members of the caravan, hustling after those wobbling in the sun, and begrudgingly accompanying the raiders. and always, always jotting down everything he sees, adding to the record of his journey.

tonight, he's by one of their many campfires, supper finished and a hasty oil bath complete, reading through the scroll he found earlier that day. approach, and he'll turn his turbaned head up from where he's been bent over in study, enthusiastically gesturing you in closer. )

Listen to this; it's beautiful.

( he reads aloud from the scroll, a bit haltingly at first, as the light is poor and the old script is tightly cramped on the aging vellum, but soon he gains confidence, dreamily relating the sweetly sad adoration of the lonely sandworm. look, he's a sucker for this kind of thing, okay! )

wildcard

( feel free to snag another option, if your character needs an assist, or wants to hear mccoy's kvetching through hanging out with the raiders and (presumably) getting into danger that's his own damn fault. hmu via pm or at backagain for questions! )

[hatejakku]

[ Finn, of course, came right over and says McCoy reads the poem aloud. He just crouches/sits next to him and listens intently. Even when McCoy's finished, Finn's still quiet for several long beats until- ]

That's so sad.

[ It reminds him of Anne. Anyway, the look on his face is something near devastation, so... thanks for destroying his day. ]

The poor thing's so lonely. That moon didn't help at all.

[ Oh, Finn. ]

Stede Bonnet | Our Flag Means Death | newcomer (early episode 9)

[alighthouse]

1. just deserts

Oh!

He's in hell!

(That had been expected, really, but...not welcome.)

Stede chokes on the sand he's buried in, pulls his knees up to his chest, and pushes the blindfold up over his head. Bad decision. Now sand is stinging at his eyes. What circle of hell is this? He's not thinking clearly enough to remember his Dante. Likely whatever circle holds cowards and murderers and those who abandon their family. (Does that have its own circle? Focus, Stede.)

Through supreme effort, he scrunches his knees up even closer to his chest, trying to get his bound hands over his feet. It's not working.

Yep! He's in hell.

"Help!" he cries out, and spits sand from his mouth. "Help!" As if help is going to come. He's stuck in the exact opposite of the sea he loves so much, forever. And it's all his fault.

2. sanding up for yourself

What to do when you're panicking? Why, what Stede always does. Push it down, suppress it, hahaha it's fine. And now he has a mystery to solve!

He crouches at the worn tombstone, examining the engraving and the daggers.

"Fascinating," he murmurs.

3. the kraken

When the tentacles lash out, Stede is briefly reminded of the Fuckery he'd been so proud of, the fake tentacles lashing against the side of the Revenge to frighten the Dutch merchants. And unfortunately, he'd frightened Ed in the process. He aggressively splashes water at the tentacles, as though trying to make up for his ill-advised finale to the Fuckery.

"Fuck off!" he shouts, flinging water at them. "Back, foul beast! Back to the pit from whence you came!"

4. wildcard
[the gentleman pirate, i presume? who wants a piece of this weirdo?]

2! Welcome to the TDM!

[kahl_175]

This place feels bad. Kahl doesn't like the sharp rocks. They are rocks, he went and kicked one of them. But they look like dead things. Big dead things.

And with a planet so full of ghosts, he really doesn't like that.

But Kahl's big, with a rough face, rough voice, heavy armor, and an eyepatch from old war wounds. Everyone else here is smaller and has softer edges. He's got to hide what he thinks, so they don't get scared.

So when Kahl finds someone he doesn't recognize, he takes a deep breath and walks closer, squinting at the carved stone. "Yellow Hair Man can read this?" Kahl can read, but he's slow at it. Letters don't fit together easy in his brain.

Talking is easier. "You new? Kahl not see before." He'd definitely remember if he had.

Daenerys Targaryen | ASOIAF | Old Timer

[thebrideoffire]

I. SANDIMENTAL VALUE

[The small pouch is tucked within Dany's leathers, protected from winds and potentially whipping sands. Traveling further into the desert is a dangerous gamble, but she's weathered her fair share of wastes and has a sense of what to expect. So long as she doesn't lose her large wineskin of water, she should manage.

Collecting a rope and hook, she stashes it all within a knapsack along with several rations. It certainly appears that Dany is preparing for a long journey away from the caravan. All that was left was covering her still short hair with the lion skin hrakkar that Drogon gave her.

Feeling a pair of eyes on her, Dany glances over and gives a rueful smile:]

There's something I must do.

II. SOILMATES

[Blood magic, that much she understood and knew. Magic always comes with price, but there is little time to think of that. Working off the assumption that sandworm scales are similar to dragon scales, Dany readies her hook and rope, mentally preparing herself for simply climbing up the backside of the giant creature and taming it like a wild horse...only with blood magic.

She cuts her palm on her sword, making certain its deep enough that the bleeding won't stop before she's on the back.]

Do you know any magic? Any way that might stun it long enough for me to get a foothold?

[This will be messy, but it's not the worst cataclysm she's suffered and doubt won't get the task done.]

III. TOMB AND GLOOM

[It is a hard lesson to learn to navigate the tombs, but by the time someone else follows Dany inside, they'll find her winding through the halls, desperately checking the etchings on the stone. There's a rough spun bandage around her waist, already soaked with blood. Despite the pain, she pushes on.

As soon as you catch up to her, she'll hold up her hand, gesturing for you to wait.]

There are spikes in the floor. [She grabs a bit of broken stone and tosses it ahead. The weight is enough to make spikes shoot up suddenly, crumbling the rock further.] There will be another way across.

We need to search for it.

Soilmates

[northerndragon]

He gives her A Look. Of course he doesn't: he has a sword.

"No. Do you?"

Still, he readies the hook and rope too. This seems like it will be much like riding a dragon, and she has more experience than he does, although his experience has grown in the relatively recent past. But dragons stop to accept their riders. It isn't typical to hop onto them in mid-air -- and what they mean to do with the worms is the equivalent.