westwhere | sand in your eyes

sand in your eyes

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

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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[ 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. ]

[ 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.

[ Kim does not attempt to get a ride in the shell –– she could happily sit there holding Jimmy's hand, seasick or something like it with every lurch, but she doesn't. She doesn't feel cause to explain why, instead accepting a cooling suit and marching the seemingly-endless miles with little complaint.

She does, however, check in on Jimmy the first chance she gets, during a brief break for something-or-other. She isn't built to haul herself straight up into the shell, but she sizes the height up like she might make a game attempt anyway. In a minute, maybe. When she catches her breath. For now, she looks up into what she can see in the mouth of the shell. The lower half of her face is obscured by a white veil, but her brows are furrowed, framed by locks of hair. (Waterproof mascara still in place, though. You have to have some sort of normalcy in the midst of this fantasy-land insanity.)

She calls:]

Did you sleep at all?

[ As the snails creep to a slow-motion halt, Jimmy freezes—then he's out of his seat surprisingly fast, scrambling over the legs of the person next to him for a look at whatever the hell's going on. Which, it turns out, is nothing. Supposedly. He's peppering a Scavenger mid-dismount with questions—to no avail—when he catches sight of her.

There's no immediate relief. No relief at all, though he stops scanning the horizon. Hooks a hand inside the shell so he can lean out tentatively, into the harsh glare.

He looks away and shakes his head. ] It's easier if I can see...I mean, it's better. [ His mouth works in a kind of preemptive wince. ] How's the suit? It looks, uh, cozy.

[It's good to see his face, as unideal as this is for him. She takes a moment to flip the veil away from her own. It's been nice not having sand blowing up her nose, but it's smothering in its own way.]

I feel like an astronaut. [She looks up at him with the vaguest smile; look at her, becoming even the slightest bit adventuresome. Lifeless wasteland as far as the eye can see, inhospitable air, where no Earthling has gone before. Novelty has to count for something.]

I should have used that gym membership for more than just the showers.

[ There she is. Jimmy makes a careful study of her face, trying not to overdo it: the sweat beaded at her lip, the redness of her skin. Her eyes, a color nowhere to be found in the desert. He scratches absently at his cheek, brain and imagination both slow to fire. For a second he can't even dredge up the name of a planet. ]

That always looked like the loneliest job in the world. [ A beat; a flicker of a smile. ] Well, not in the world. You wanna come up, Apollo...whatever?

Couldn't do it for long. Yeah, let me just, uh...

[She pauses and takes a half step back to size it up again; a running jump seems ludicrous, too dramatic, but she's not picturing him hefting her up without pitching forward himself. At this point it can only be funny.

She shifts closer to the snail-thing's neck, and she reaches up a hand to him.]

Give me your hand.

[ The sun is high in the sky when the guys driving the snails decide it's time for a break. A call goes out, whooping from Scavenger to Scavenger, and the animals slither to a halt alongside half a mouth's worth of toothy rocks casting long shadows. Jimmy jolts upright but balks when asked to dismount.

He does eventually, of course—the snail guy urging him on in flat tones, using words like duty and care. As Jimmy's gaze skitters this way and that, the man presses a flask of water into his hand and guides him to the thing's...head? Keeping his hands firmly to himself, Jimmy squints at the oozing mass with its pair of inquisitive eyestalks. ]

I gotta water it? [ He looks deeply, profoundly unhappy. Give him a hand! Or make fun. ]

Edited 2023-01-11 22:16 (UTC)

[ Lessons learned in the desert:

1. Don't go into the desert.

2. Hang onto everything you've got for as long as possible.

With lesson one shot all to hell, Jimmy tries to save the mistletoe until he absolutely needs it, until he's down to his last shreds of sanity. Besides, there's a chance its magic has worn off or it's just withered and died—in which case, he doesn't want to find out until he has to. False hope is better than nothing.

But with a long night surrounded by shifting dunes, swirling sands, and not-distant-enough noises looming, his willpower runs out. Find him:

A. A ways from the fire, with a towel from the inn spread in front of him. On it are several sprigs and clusters of mistletoe, the berries almost black in the waning light. Jimmy picks one—he's choosy about it—and holds it at eye level for a moment.

B. With a flask of water in hand, smiling to himself as he watches you pitch a tent. For the first time since mention was made of the desert, he seems relaxed. If things are going well, he's complimentary—great job! you showed that tent peg!—and if they're not, he's sympathetic and encouraging, but at no point does he offer to help.

C. Staring in awe—mouth half-open—as sand whips through the camp and the ground shifts, forcing him to stagger forward. Follow his gaze and you'll see the far-off silhouette of a worm plunging into the sand in the dying light. ]

[ One benefit of the evenings is that Vanessa needn't bother with the uncomfortable cooling suits, instead draped in a loose, hooded cloak to protect against the chill and the sand should the wind pick up. Initially she's passing by with a singular purpose, carrying along a small lantern bearing a candle, but she stops by the towel as soon as she catches sight of what he's fiddling with. Intrigue.

When she nears, he may notice the scent of— Is that fried chicken? It is! With the best ingredients and the spiciest spices. She doesn't appear to be holding anything other than the lantern, however.

Looming, Vanessa raises an eyebrow and murmurs with a voice that's forgotten softness; it scratches at the air like the craggy rocks under the shifting sands. ]

Up to no good, are we?

[ Her scent precedes her. Jimmy's not a big fried chicken guy—for the past eighteen or so hours he hasn't been much of a food guy—but it's not just the thought of chicken that gets its hooks in him. It's the memory of drive thrus, of greasy buckets of transcendently unhealthy food available whenever the urge strikes (or at least until 10 pm), of fountain drinks and the sound of cascading ice. Shitty pop music. Buy-one-get-one deals. Indoor plumbing. All the hallmarks of civilization.

Anyway, he's discreetly sniffing at the mistletoe when she strides toward him. And...stops? Jimmy gives her a quizzical look—she'd be imposing without the Caligari shadows thrown by the lantern and gravelly voice, and it's hard to get a handle on her tone.

After a second or two he smiles, easy and lopsided. ] I've got a reputation to maintain. [ Not really, not here—but anything beats “snail-riding wuss.” He appraises her again, cocking his head. ] Here, think fast. [ The mistletoe comes sailing at her—it's an underhand toss, but there's some heat on it. Jimmy, meanwhile, stands there looking pleased with himself. ]

[ Her reflexes are quick enough that she catches it with her free hand, and mild surprise tugs at an eyebrow. Brazen. Intrigue has her, as it often does when another doesn't deny their leaning towards the unsavory.

Glancing down to what she has in her hand, Vanessa's curiosity is only heightened. Yes, she recognizes these. Even with her little smile, she gives nothing away on her opinion beyond the bit of surprise. She's keener with getting a read on him. ]

...Now I must wonder just how dire this reputation of yours is. For yourself or for another?

Edited 2023-01-21 22:00 (UTC)

[ Hey, look at that, one-handed. And she's not even pissed. Jimmy raises his hands—and his gaze steals to the distant fire, the shadows gathered around it. He applauds her silently, making a show of it, then wanders closer. He's not oblivious to potential danger, or the fact that they're about to settle in for a night in a cold sand-blown pit—it just seems more remote now, makes this reprieve easier to luxuriate in. ]

These? For me. [ He admits easily, and glides just as easily to the next topic. ] But you're welcome to it. If you tell me your recipe. [ For the chicken that's nowhere to be seen. ]

[ For his applause, Vanessa will offer the slightest curtsy, her smile far more charmed by now. She's no show-woman, but she can appreciate the occasional fun of a flourish when in good humor.

As he moves closer, she'll begin to offer the mistletoe back out, only to pause when she realizes what he means and swaps her offer for that of the lantern hanging from her other hand. ]

Ah, forgive me the cruel tease... I carry nothing but illusions, I'm afraid. An artefact with a strange effect. I can never predict its scent.

[ He doesn't know what to do with himself once they're out of the desert—out of the desert, but not safe, as the abandoned buildings and booming gong remind him. He wanders a little, enjoying the reassurance of solid ground, drawn to the dispiriting remnants of people's gardens. Water takes priority over his dignity—ha—and he's loaded down with as much as he can carry, in jugs and flasks.

He happens on the temple by chance, seizing the opportunity to rest in the shade, sit with his back pressed against cool stone. He has no intention, of course, of going inside, but after twenty minutes or so his curiosity starts to stir. He figures there's no harm in walking around the outside of the temple.

Come across him and he practically jumps out of his skin. ] I just— [ He blurts, then composes himself. ] There's always a side door. You know, staff only?

( The tombs, ravenously decrepit, shivered cages of air stale and time clawing like death's hand. He does not welcome the incursion, sand littered on his silks and dragging, in plain and open condemnation of the eerie suits.

The burning mouth of the sunlit entrance looms. He searches it, touch tentative, on each sides and the ragged above, for any insinuation of power or curse or talisman, before conceding the path clear with a softened nod. No disturbances in the force of the moment, no ripples of cloying energies. He has conjured, with his presence, no more than cloth of dust and gossamer of decay, and so all is well.

They speak of sorcered waters, of ways to tame the worms without the immorality of slave captivity. Is drugged coercion all that better? Perhaps, in the end, they speak of trade, or nourishment, or an exchange that can better Lan Wangji's sentiments towards coaxing the creature.

Step drawled, he does not linger to persuade Jimmy — ever, Wangji notices, at the heart of shared chaos — only waves him in with expectant quietude. )

Masters and servants bow as equals before the gods. ( One door for one, one door for all. And tenderer: ) I intend no disrespect, but beg you allow me first.

( A tenuous proposition, one likely to rouse the angers of any man possessed of combat prowess. It is — unsubtle to pronounce himself the better shield. All the same, duty obliges. )

Edited 2023-01-14 10:20 (UTC)

[ While Wangji does—his thing at the entrance, Jimmy looks on from a safe and respectful distance. Scrutinizing without having the first clue what's going on. It gives him an unwelcome sense of deja vu, watching someone who knows their stuff make incomprehensible assessments and adjustments, with only the tiniest twitches in expression to go by.

All clear. Great. Jimmy trails behind Wangji, eyes crawling up the stonework of their own accord. ] Yeah, well, be that as it may, the gods didn't build this place. People did. So maybe if we come at this from the perspective of some poor schmuck [ —he pauses; it's just automatic, no way is Wangji making the joke— ] we can skip the... [ And Jimmy swirls a hand in the air, whistling a few bars of something aimless and repetitive.

The good news is that amid this robust commentary, he scarcely seems to notice the offer to go first—much less take offense. As they near the threshold, however, his steps slow. ] You assume I'm gonna follow you. [ He will follow. He's an idiot. They're practically inside already.

But as soon as Wangji begins to move forward Jimmy grabs for the other man's arm, in its silky sleeve that still manages to look pristine despite the sand. ] Are you—uh, if we're really doing this, do you have any...are you scared? Of anything? [ Wait. ] You know, tight spaces, spiders?

( Touch singes, rattles. He turns as if snake-bit, gleam of his teeth canine, edge sharp. One heartbeat lingers taut between them. Live wire. He tugs, gently, to bide himself — released, like teaching infants the indubitable advanstage of courteous distance.

He knows no better. So many strangers lack the sophistical polish of foresight to think, there are men who mind no intimacy, men who negotiate it, men who have hardly survived their wars. The philosopher discriminates in his overtures.

...Jimmy does not appear a scholar in this. But he is feverish with words, careless if not clumsy, gregarious. Nerves, Lan Wangji has learned, are cousins to sound. And the squalor and stale bleak dark of the temple's corridor already entombs them, gravel wet and moulding underfoot. He murmurs: )

Are you?

( Jimmy, after all, aims questions like sword, with too much specificity to assume a lack of purpose. He either suspects Lan Wangji of weakness — or prepares to admit his own. )

[ Jimmy drops his hand fast, reacting to suggestion—that flash of teeth—as if it's the real thing, half-expecting a growl. He doesn't know if it's the robe or just contact. He doesn't ask. Mutters sorry once or twice and keeps his arms at his sides.

They're not far in but darkness descends like a curtain, the torch batting it back. The room rounds out Wangji's voice, amplifies it. Big, then. They've wandered into something big. ] Just—the desert. [ His own voice twists in on itself.

He does a quick mental pat-down for any newly acquired phobias, but that really is it. And anyone who's been paying attention already knows. So whatever. ] Hey, how about this. Whatever we say or do in here, uh, when we leave—when we get out—it gets left at the door. How's that sound?

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sand in your eyes

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

one sand washes the other

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coming out of my shell (and I'm doing not great)

a house united will sand

a.

alkjsdjklaslkjalkj fried chicken...you monster

no free refills for jimmy

his suffering never ends

compadres in eternal suffering

tomb and gloom

my LOVE

REUNITED

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