the sunken | moonrise

[groundrules]

THE SUNKEN | MOONRISE

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The final Arc VI event lasts three days ICly and until 23 July OOCly. Yancai goes back another two years in time to the Huntress’ visit, Miang-Si’s corruption and the memory-meddling rite of the ladies of the lake.

The party can choose to stay neutral, only heading to the House of Commerce to access its now-active beacon — or they can inevitably get mixed up in the affairs of Yancai and endanger the village’s time loop.

For a quick catch-up: the latest clues | everything about Arc VI.

BOAR’S HEART

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Rattled, on high alert, feeling watched and skin prickling from static electricity, characters wake to find Yancai has gone back another two years in time. It is now nearly dry, barring rare waterways. Mould is absent. The village bustles with activity: a heavy influx of new arrivals comes by sea, and frequent fishermen’s and merchants’ markets set up in the open road — enjoy fresh fish delicacies, discounted pearls, rare cloth textiles and dyes that include the unique Yancai green!

■ No more hauntings take place, and only one moon loiters above the village. Villagers still remember the party under their false identities.

■ Word has spread of the conflict between elder Quanze Tsaymien’s council and a beautiful woman who has taken up in the forests at the village’s outskirts. Gossipmongers say she wastes away in the woods weeping — while ground cracks beneath her feet, grass wilts, waters poison and animals drop dead nearby. Young men are drawn to her and are later forcibly recovered in a state of rambling, feverish exhaustion. Village healers gladly accept your nursing help.

■ Village elders have given the woman — correctly identified by the party as the Huntress — until the following sunrise to leave Yancai on pain of death. You have 24h to encounter her.

■ The forests are livelier than in previous iterations of Yancai, but you feel perpetually… watched, as if sharp eyes follow your progress. These heavy gazes may belong to the young men bewitched to protect the Huntress, or to razor-clawed venom-spitting creatures that hunt her.

■ You may find some of the aforementioned creatures bleeding on the forest path. They possess slightly above canine intelligence, cannot communicate in human tongues, and hesitate to let you approach — but nursing one might reward you.

■ The death-touched (necromancers, those who died or revived, or otherwise marked) may optionally feel compelled to join the Huntress. Physical distance dwindles her pull, as can your own magic or solutions.

■ Luck (?) leads you to a silent and bloodied forest clearing, come sunset. Here, two dozens of Yancai’s recent dead have risen alive and surround the Huntress, some battling the creatures that assail her, while she speaks to 16-year-old village beauty Miang-Si. There is a gaping, if regenerating hole in the Huntress’ chest; in one hand, she holds her yet-beating heart she cuts in several parts she wraps in parchment. She asks Miang-Si to bury these pouches near Yancai to ‘hold her power close,’ in exchange for permanent and ever-blossoming beauty.

■ Wait as the Huntress and her forces retreat — then catch up to Miang-Si, capture her, or find the pouches. The ground where they are buried is desaturated, brittle, nearly pulverised. Hawks and ravens circle above and plunge down to claw at intruders, or attempt to pick up children or feebler adults. To the magically or death-sensitive, the pouches emanate a revolting aura of withering death.

■ Beware if heart pouches were buried beneath aged, thick trees — their roots burst out like nooses and writhing spiders’ legs, looking to either slam you against the tree trunks or entrap you within.

■ Finding at least two heart pouches prevents the dead from rising in Yancai in the years to come! Keep the heart cuts fettered — touching these parts directly can overwhelm you with the need to consume this or other hearts, to compensate for the sudden and unfeeling… coldness in your chest.

WAKE, UNWAKEFULLY

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Sunrise finds the Huntress gone from Yancai — while waves of the dead rise from the sea to attack the village. Some come chained, or dragging pieces from the casket-ships in which they were set for water burial.

This is the first undead attack witnessed by Yancai villagers, who are largely clumsy, slow and petrified. Some sentimentally believe their revived relatives never died and plead not to kill them. Many are caught in undefended areas, such as open port harbours, fishing boats, markets — and need help to travel to their families. The Huntress’ spell starts dissolving by midday, with the dead largely pulling back into sea and lake waters

■ Beware the village waterways: touching the water replenishes the strength of the dead and saps yours. Look closely at the bottom of the waterways, and you find them lined with dozens of resting corpses. Some wake slowly, as they clutch shards of glistening black mirror — best to… use a very long oar… or plunge very quickly to recover shards.

■ Carrying a mirror shard puts the dead around you to blissful sleep. Those who possess a cut of the Huntress’ heart can take control of up to 20 of the risen dead. Necromancers can control up to 10, even without such a token.

MOTHER MOON

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Come midday of Day II, Yancai villagers start to move freely and reunite with loved ones. Waters begin to gently rise and flood the grounds, while the first spores of black mould appear on walls.

The first to help the injured are the washerwomen of Yancai, who favour the young and magically sensitive. You notice they work in perfect synchrony and have developed a hand sign language they can teach you. Keep an ear out, and one might entrust they are hedge witches, the so-called ‘ladies’ of the lake.

■ Join them, either invited or unseen, when they gather at one of Yancai’s three great lakes. Each lady picks up one of the silver coins tossed in the water for luck-bearing. Take one yourself, and you will be able to breathe and speak underwater, following as the ladies dive and swim through thin underwater passageways. Beware countless skeletal remains that line the lakes and sinister fish — both burst out to shackle your limbs, or sound the alarm about intruders.

■ You find the ladies have begun to shelter and ward the dead in lake caves, to avoid their rising up again. The ladies re-emerge in the forest, speaking of a protection rite they agreed with the elders’ council. They are not strong enough to break the Huntress’ lingering spell, but hope to later recruit nascent witch Miang-Si, who teases she has power from the Huntress. For now, the ladies have decided to create a five-year time loop, moving Yancai back and forth in time whenever the dead attack.

■ To achieve their rite, the ladies use large pieces of black mirror confiscated from the Huntress’ dead and the energy of the hunter’s moon that shines down a bloody red tonight. Those with a lunar connection feel the moon aches, disgusted by this violation. Even those unaffiliated with the moon feel irascible and prone to violence while under its gaze.

■ Interrupting the rite rescues the moon, earning you a reward, and breaks villagers from the five-year loop, allowing them to live their true lives. It also exposes Yancai to the dead, unless you remove the heart cuts. Co-ordinate and choose wisely.

■ The ladies conduct their chanting, rune-painting and summons throughout the night of Day III in the forest. You have a wealth of options to break their spell: interfere with the magic flows, disrupt the guarded ash circle of convened witches, summon irate villagers to raid, persuade Miang-Si to intervene, break or steal the rite’s black mirror pieces… You can also reach out to the coven’s strongest witches, who agreed to sacrifice themselves to become overseers in the time flux — the Lumberjack, Red Lady, White Woman, Man in Black and the Milk-Toothed Babes. You can still sign up for a RNG draw to chat.

BAIT & BEACON

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To take attention off the ladies of the lake, Yancai’s council organises a sumptuous masked banquet and charity auction for the victims of the undead attack at the lavish House of Commerce. The House has been thoroughly cleansed by the time of your arrival, with only faint, clumsy traces of blood, decay and debris lingering from the previous offensive.

On site, servants are still jittery from the undead assault, while openly armed guards walk the grounds and answer any small provocation. Be kind to the staff or offer sympathy for their likely recent losses, and they might let you in unnoticed, or offer a hand.

■ Anyone who brings an item for the auction or who can pretend s/he possesses massive wealth can join the banquet. Show up with anything you can brazenly talk up as elite, exquisite or one-of-a-kind — or perhaps auction your services?

■ The House of Commerce contains a locked room with the village’s now fully active beacon. The Master of Commerce has the only key-tokens to access this quarter, somewhere in his study room — pick a lock, sweettalk the staff, or work your magic to get inside the study and grab one of the rune-inscribed tokens. The study room brims with scrolls, globes, letters to and from the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company and maps of… Arc I’s Sa-Hareth in the west, where hand-written news reports say the dead are rising.

■ Back at the banquet, the richest wine and… relaxing herbs and powders are offered freely or sometimes slipped into food to ease spirits. Aiming for levity, participants don comical animal masks or play a local game of ‘bait or hook,’ whereby they approach you with the aforementioned fishing bait or fish hook in closed fists, asking you to pick one. Depending on your choice, you must ‘bait’ the audience with a song or dance, or ‘hook’ them in with a joke or anecdote.

■ Around midnight, attendants are invited to an increasingly competitive auction, punctuated by elbowing, loud voices, crowding and the occasional threat. Beautiful concubines might stick to your arms, asking to be purchased this or that (exorbitant) small nothing as a gift. Participate to keep up your cover, but beware landing in hard debt!

■ Most banquet goers pretend they are indifferent to the undead attack, but some question whether the woman of the forest was to blame — while others mention that the mysterious, far too independent coven of the ladies of the lake is meeting even now, and might be cursing Yancai.

■ However you spend your night, the witch Karsa asks you to infiltrate the House of Commerce by dawns and attempt to leave through the beacon. This will only be possible if at least one person has picked up a key-token…!

QUESTIONS

Comments

[blackscales]

Occlumency?

[ An unfamiliar term. He twists a bracelet off his wrist, a simple looking bangle, and begins threading magic into both it and a small gemstone he's levitating alongside it. ]

I'd try to talk you out of going back in, but you do sound settled in your choice. Just know that this isn't a full guarantee, it only weakens her allure.

[blackscales]

[ Hmm. Walk the world for him, spread his message. ]

You have been wronged.

[ A simple agreement: one she wants to hear, and one he doesn't entirely think is incorrect. Whatever her crimes, a life of running in an undead state is nonetheless unpleasant. If what she says is true (if, all of this, if) and she wasn't told the whole story then certainly she has suffered a form of betrayal. ]

What message does he seek to spread?

[thedreamer]

Time takes us all, it's true. In one way or another.

[ It's easier to talk about himself when he's only revealing half-truths, when he's manipulating the situation to get the answers he wants and needs. ]

And the dead here deserve better, absolutely. A life spent mastering the secrets of the universe, you said. But this isn't exactly mastery is it? Mastery would be stopping her entirely, but of course, she's powerful, ridiculously so.

The Auction: Emilia

[blackscales]

Wrathion sneaks back after his explorations and has to rapidly change in time for the auction. Of course, even then he cannot outshine his escort. Early on his plans had been to make a dress for Miang-Si, something suitably extravagant to suit her desires. The continual falling back in time had undone that goal, but a good idea never goes to waste. The ambitious dress (in flattering combination of black and red, of course) serves a purpose here at the auction, Emilia will wear it to advertise a custom dress service being offered for those present to bid upon. While all eyes are on her, Wrathion can do his best to explore.

He pauses just outside the entrance, away in the shadows, and considers her a moment. Then, pulling out a knife makes a small cut to his thumb.

"This will burn briefly but it won't show," he murmurs, and lifts one hand -- hesitates enough for her to read what he's about to do before reaching forward and swiping the blood across her temple. It does burn, but if she lifts a hand there's no trace of it. "A mental link," he adds softly. "Just in case anything goes awry. Although, of course, I have full faith in your abilities -- and my own."

[valeas]

If Emilia is somewhat nervous, it might be difficult to tell, the confidence that she projects making up for her shorter stature. She survived the Feast of the Wolf, when all eyes on her were vicious and predatory — she can survive one auction, strange as it feels not to do more for their cause.

With a grim exhale, she loosens a breath in her chest, and turns to her friend with curiosity. By now, she is more familiar with blood magic than she ever thought she would be, and the burn itself more so. Fire makes sense to her skin, to her magic, and accepts it readily once she understands.

The ghost of a smile twitches on her lips. "Always modest, Wrathion."

In this case, not wrong.

She looks around surreptitiously, noting some of the jitters from the staff, the openly armed guards. A real distraction it is, then. "I only need to ... think in your direction?"

[aprescoup]

( This much seems to pause him in a way weighted, as if whatever witness he has born to the tragedy of this woman and the propagation of her power was a game before this statement. As if, now that the man has spoken it so, it is truth.

And it aches him. )

We've got the girlie, haven't we? Little Miang-Si. She'll grow fine, strong. Only needs some rearing. Then the next rite can be as is meant.

( Enough to annihilate the evidence of the woods' woman's passing. Her ugly, vicious spell. )

Nephew, you get old, you learn your place. Mine's only to be biding time.

[aprescoup]

( She has been wronged.

Yes, oh yes. She thinks it so. Knows it. But it has been years, years and a lifetime, and no one has spoken the words. And so to hear them now, her mouth rests slightly agape, eyes bright and wondering.

She does not speak for the longest time. Then, she nods. )

I don't know. I suppose, that he's here. That his creatures are here. I don't — he had a daughter. He seems to think that matters. I'll tell you this, I had a son. And now I don't, and I've carried on.

( The shrug that's born of her is fluid, graceful. Almost uncaring. )

It'll surprise you how much your life can throw in your path, and you'll still carry on.

[aprescoup]

I don't... understand half of what you're saying, boy. ( Perhaps more so. But she's not yet fled, hand searching through her hair, massaging her temple. Exorcising the hurts of her grief. )

You sound angry. What for? You're one of us. ( Surely, if he is here, walking among the lake's witches. ) You know the rite is necessary. It'll save everyone.

( This is their work, after all. This will be their legacy. )

[downswing]

( No. So be it.

There is a time-honoured tradition that Lan Wangji yet upholds, a truth well established: a woman is never lesser before her man, and she must be afforded every right of that equivalence. To elevate herself to rank and duty, to skill and achievement.

...and to bear a man's hurts in battle with equal prowess. Lan Wangji does not excuse himself — sees the flinching arc of the stick, rising, and remembers how Hermione's wrist ever seems to turn, as if she positions her... 'wand' to stab, like a spear. It does not complete its work, he supposes, without direction. It must be positioned, in a way vastly different, less potent than Emilia's sorcery, requiring no summons or rite or motion.

The tell is when Hermione's hand shifts — and Lan Wangji falls to a crouch, sending Bichen, rotating, to strike at her legs, unlikely to cut with the blade's sharp than to simply destabilise her.

He follows, after, in a plunge, should she be distracted by the sword but not taken down. One of them must aim to immobilise her.

No, she had said. And no, then. )

[blackscales]

His daughter.

[ Murmured to himself, eyes dropping with a frown. ]

I know she died long ago. I have wondered if all this madness is... to reclaim her, to understand how he might undo it all.

[downswing]

( He can see the unflinching, unapologetic partial nudity of Wrath's body, laid obscenely bare. Entirely devoid of silks or the inferior textiles foreigners weave around their bodies. Sun kissing and meandering, inks transgressing against skin.

It occurs to him, all at once, that Emilia has wedded a slaughterer, a demons' king, a menace, a man absent base morality — ...and an exhibitionist. Among all these sins, the precepts of Gusu Lan struggle to know where and how to issue their first condemnation. Wrath is a gift of collective outrage that keeps irredeemably giving.

For a heartbeat, staggered, Lan Wangji tips his head, interest feline-like and gaze blade-thin, slanted — tempted to inquire if perhaps all men of Wrath's strength can only commit their feats and their follies without the petty diversion of those strange complications, his clothes. Then, far too self-aware, politely compensates by drawing the wealth and waters of his white silks to round Lan Wangji's own body.

...he will float, it strikes him, like a jellyfish, or spinning sugar, once he hits the lake's surface. No matter. Here, his boots are propelled to the side. He is now hereby equipped to avail himself of his task.

There are dead, and there are mirror pieces, known to Lan Wangji through the terror of their qi — ...no. Not that. Their energies. The absence of such. )

I feel them. Violations against nature. Irregularities. Their energies — wrong.

( A fine, adult articulation of their circumstances. He trusts Wrath will somehow know. Then, murmured: )

Send your creatures first. A diversion. ( Then Lan Wangji may slip in, once Wrath's dead have roused the interest of those who sleep. )

[blackscales]

Life is of course hard when you are handsome, clever, powerful, creative, all such things and you simply have to limit yourself so you don't show everyone else up too often. That's definitely what it is. He's a very modest creature.

Wrathion lets his hand drop to rest on her arm, nods once. A moment later, the familiar, warm tones of his voice begin to reach into her mind.

I will hear you, he assures her, you need only reach out to me.

Surely easy enough, no? Apparently, easy enough for him. He rests one hand on her arm, gives it a light squeeze of reassurance.

"Ready?" he prompts. When she is, they can begin making their grand entrance -- fashionably late.

[aprescoup]

And if it is? What of it? ( She hisses it, unyielding, unconvinced. Either she has already discredited these arguments, or, hearing them now for the first time, yet finds them unworthy.

He is a man who can be persuaded to her cause. She feels it. Knows so with certainty, because her reasons seem to be his own. )

Is he the first man to lose a child? Would you let rampant what he has, only for a daughter? Know this: it's easy to fuck. It makes children.

( Her smile's strained, deeply dug. ) He's a man. Any time, he could have another daughter.

[somebadnews]

[ He doesn't completely buy her confusion, but he keeps on smiling through it, like he's pleased she could tell how angry he is. Apparently the conspiracy runs deep. ]

Of course. [ Everyone knows. ] You offered yourself, didn't you? Who asked you?

[reparo]

[ She'll explain it another day, if she can even explain it. Harry would be better at this - Harry wouldn't have gotten caught up in that whole ordeal.

Hermione wishes she never is called a sweet girl by some fearsome witch ever again. She'll take Karsa calling her a goat over this. Humour aside, she know where to look better than others wander into the forest in the dark. Wrathion just needs to trust her here. ]

Then come with me. [ A simple solution. Clean. She spells it out. ] We go for the fragments of her heart together, and if she grabs me in her spell again, you can knock me out.

[valeas]

Emilia tries not to startle at the sound of his voice in her mind.

Between this and his ability to glamour himself, she thinks she could learn a thing or two. Something burrowed in her mind wants to stir, as if the latter is a spell she once knew. A spell her twin was particularly fond of.

Of the two of them, Vittoria was certainly the more theatrical. Emilia will attempt to embody some of those qualities as she tucks her hand near his elbow in reassurance of her own, nodding at him with resolve.

Ready.

Ooh, that does work, doesn't it?

With one last look at him, Emilia joins him in making this grand entrance, chin held high.

[reparo]

[ She lets out a yelp as she stumbles to her knees, against her better judgement - whatever that may be. Pebbles dig against her skin, scraping it; her heart beats wild, feral in her chest. ]

You dare -

[ The first attempt arced high as she fell, but she's nothing if not stubborn - this true in reality and in this form.

The gloves come off. Hermione does not have what it takes to kill, Avada not familiar on her tongue now either, but she wants to maim. The hunt isn't for the satisfaction of a kill, after all.

It's for being good at the fighting.

The next attack isn't a disarming spell, it's what the name implies: an attack. If it lands, it will knock him back into the tree behind him, hard enough to hurt, but not enough to knock him out. If it hits. ]

[damnable]

( Red could tell Hermione was coming nearer because she'd glanced behind and seen her aura through the branches, and she was relieved to see her even if it's dangerous out here. Ordinarily, she wouldn't stop, but- but she recognizes something about this creature. It's canine. It's been controlled like she was, and now it's hurt, trying to exist. Maybe she should just kill the creature, put it out of its misery. There were times when she'd wondered if that's a better alternative than always fighting against this other power's control. Except she lived a few decades- lived.

That was worth a helluva lot even if Hades was dragging her back before she wound up here again. )

You can.

If it so much as tried hurting you, I'll transform into Cerberus and tear it to shreds myself, ( protective growl to the words, a warning to the creature who lets out a sound of pain as it wriggles ) but I think the recognition thing's mutual.

[reparo]

[ She meets Red's eyes at that, briefly as that is, her lips pulling into an unsure smile. As much as she is undeniably curious about seeing that Cerberus form, ] I can handle myself.

[Here, she will go digging into her bag for her Akhurras version of Dittany. At this point, she's made this potion so much she could make it with her eyes closed.

The bottle comes out, and she judges the size of the creature. Speaking of. ]

Take this - you can use that recognition to get it to drink this. Why are we helping instead of running here?

[damnable]

( It is now occurring to Red that the Cerberus version of herself would probably like to eat the organ. She might have to keep an eye on that especially since she has less control in that form, but if it's eaten, it can't be an anchor anymore so. That'd probably be fine.

Regardless, she's glad Vanessa is here with her. Once upon a time, they went through a Labyrinth together, and yeah, it was a painful experience but also they kicked a minotaur's ass. )

I'll keep that in mind. Gonna hope this is one of the only times we have to traipse through dangerous woods, searching for organs though.

[damnable]

( Red smiles at her then without any doubt: ) Oh, I know. You're badass. It'd be more about the principle of the thing. ( Canine instinct, canine loyalty, hurt the thing that hurts the person she cares about because how fucking dare it touch a single hair on Hermione's head. It would be pure rage. ) Especially since I'm realizing it'd be better just to kill this beast so helping it is my idea and it hurting you would be my fault.

( She huffs out a breath and then stands, stretching out a hand for the potion. )

I know it's fucked up, but I... guess I relate to the poor bastard.

[northerndragon]

[The little clench of her hand -- the trembling in her fair face -- softens him, but only a bit. Might be that she loved her husband once; all he knows points to it. Might be that her reactions to the news mean something else, but he does not see relief in him.]

If it's weeks to you -- well, time is out of joint.

You can leave this place. He will not find you.

[rumorate]

That's usually my job.

[She smirks as she comes up behind him, studying the quietly sitting undead hanging out in the corner.]

Though the undead don't actually listen to me.

[There were a few, in Alem, that she could rumor, but not all of them. She theorizes it has to do with how long they've been dead, but she can't say for sure. She also doesn't want to interrupt what Wrath is attempting at the moment, but she has been meaning to have a conversation with him about her brother, so maybe they can kill two birds with one stone.]

[inferus]

( Wrath raises an eyebrow with a wicked, little smirk when he sees the expression on Lan Wangji's face as if daring him to make whatever commentary he might like. He has the sudden thought to remove the remainder of his clothing if only to see if he can draw out the words, draw out the reaction. And honestly if those words were spoken out loud, they would likely make Wrath genuinely laugh. Of all the possible manner of actions mortals have decided are sins... There is the story that is told of the Garden of Eden - the terrible serpent who tempted them to eat from the apple and realize their own nudity was wrong.

However, there is a mirror to retrieve which takes priority, and he does appreciate the help (demon manners and the like) so he turns his attention to the waters again for the time being. )

Then that will make them far easier to find.

( Relying on sight alone would not be wise. )

Go. Find one of your brethren and occupy their attention. ( They plop, ungracefully, one after the other into the water to seek out the undead directly beneath. ) ...you'll go in fully clothed? ( that would make swimming exceedingly difficult. )

[inferus]

( Wrath looks over his shoulder Allison as she comes up behind him - he remains aware of where all the undead linger around. They are safe enough for the time being, and the undead will remain sitting until he tells them to do something else. If any others should come upon them, he can dispatch them with ease. )

I have to use a different ability to control the dead.

( Than the ability he can use to control the living. He doesn't use their sins against them. They simply follow his word, because he is Death (at least in his own world). )

I imagine that is why. Your ability works on the living.