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

.....does it tho

[downswing]

( Life grants moments of grace, and lo, 'tis not one of them. The young man clings, Lan Wangji bids Bichen's blade silently lifted, this series of events conspires to complete, within blinks, to satisfaction.

All is well in a rotten, cadaver-infested world. All hail the union of flying sword, grudging wielder and impossibly impulsive adolescent.

It seems almost as if Bichen might suffice to propel them briskly forward, and they'll cut through the skies to reach their destination — until one of the dead suddenly propels himself halfway over Bichen blade, head lulling, Lan Wangji

stuck

gazing down at the stowaway by his feet, parallel to Lockwood. He thinks, summarily, to kick him off, but decides the turbulence could upset Lockwood's balance. Therefore, politely, as he stomps on the dead man's rotting hands instead, where he grasps onto Bichen: )

May you skewer him with your rapier needle?

( Politely, as one might ask for another cup of freshly brewed tea. )

Surfing on a sword with an animated corpse? Has to, right?

[recklessenough]

A rapier is a perfectly serviceable weapon. [ Lockwood feels moved to defend the honor of his rapier! Never mind the fact that he's laid out on a flying sword with hoards of corpses swarming just beneath him. Obviously this is the perfect time to get uppity in defense of his choice of swords.

Twisting awkwardly, almost losing his balance and somehow ending up looking like a deranged octopus as he tries to hang on to the flying sword -seriously W.T.B.H is this shit- one of Lan Wangji's shoes -he's genuinely trying not to grab you, sir- and draw his own weapon. By the grace of whatever force has kept Lockwood alive to this point, he manages to get the weapon free and begins to use it against the corpse.

Now? None of them have dignity. Because this has got to look like something out of a Benny Hill skit. Lan Wangji trying to control the blade, while stepping on rotting hands, and Lockwood poke poke poking at the half skeletal torso from between Lang Wangji's legs.

Eventually, Lockwood grunts as he throws his own torso forward and, with the silver tip of the rapier embedded between a couple of ribs, he shoves their passenger off. Sorry, corpse; no ticket no ride! At which point, Lockwood twists so he can look up at the older man, the youth wearing a side, manic smile that reaches all the way up and into the twinkle of his dark eyes. ]

Not bad for a needle, eh?

[ Is someone enjoying this insanity? Yeep. ]

a story to tell the grandchildren

[downswing]

( It is... as graceful and artistic of an offload as any man might envision, manifest, implement or scuttle away with.

Lan Wangji maintains their course straightforward, viciously but reliably direct. Lockwood hacks, slashes, pokes and prods at a wriggling, squirming and mewling dead thing caught unabashedly to their means of transport. The division of labour works spectacularly, until such a time that Lan Wangji, noting their — passenger has been relieved off Bichen, nevertheless fails to course correct the redistribution of weight and nearly sets them down to crash — before recovering to lift the sword at the very last moment.

...this is why you should not take a passenger on your flying sword. Or weaponise a flying sword for travel, to start. )

Well done.

( Between gritted teeth, like crunching gravel, because young people bloom beneath praise, and the sun of Lan Wangji's appreciation shines bright, lo, like a diamond.

But then, finally, they descend. Slowly, gradually, Bichen stayed until Lockwood's feet nearly touch the rickety, half-sunken pier. He hesitates — )

You acquitted yourself admirably. ( A pause, then: ) Barring your last advance. ( A pretty name for Lockwood's burst of impassioned rescue. )

[recklessenough]

[ Point of order though. Had Lan Wangji weaponized a flying sword, or flown a weaponized sword?

Yeah, good point. That could be a conversation for later.

Lockwood tumbled from the sword with all the grace of a leggy newborn foal, long limbs going in all directions. But he held on to his rapier! And he bounced up with that megawatt, shit eating smile on his face. Lan Wangji certainly wasn’t the first adult to use a backhanded, sarcastic comment in his direction, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Lockwood knew he was a little shit. ]

Effective at least! [ He exclaimed happily, holding up the shard and then indicating to the fact that they were both still in one piece. Then he sought to just … change the subject. ]

That is an amazing functionality in your sword! [ He’s an ass, and Lockwood does know how to weaponized his charm to wriggle out of tense situations, but his admiration is genuine. ] I think I understand why my rapier comes off as quite inferior in comparison. How did you come to have possession of such a partner?

[downswing]

Clan blades host spirits. ( A tenuous, dubiously ethical arrangement, some might say — but for how man and sword are each deployed in ultimate service of the sect. Honoured and privileged by their assignment.

If it troubles him to weaponise the shrapnel of a man's soul, it appears Lan Wangji is unprepared to say so. To admit that possibility. But he dotes on the blade with silent, scrupulous diligence, spill of silken cloth wiping the flat of her in a slow slide. High above, white birds are calling.

The sky waits on more bloodshed. He does not turn his eye to where the dead in the water tip their heads back to scream their mute, unhurried horror. )

You may wish to cleanse. Corruption of the dead clings.

[recklessenough]

[ He doesn't mean to offer offense, but at the words 'blades host spirits', Lockwood draws back a step. His conscious mind repeats, over and over, that the blade and it's wielder had just saved him from a very difficult situation. His subconscious, at the lizard brain level, screams danger.

It also doesn't help that he hears censor, as well as dismissal in Lan Wangji's tone. Perhaps there is none on offer. Perhaps it is Lockwood's own uneasy conscience that is offering the censor; the little voice that sounds like Lucy, George or Flo. Regardless, the happy, go lucky young man façade that Lockwood usually projects is replaced by someone more cold, reserved and walled away. ]

You were meant to go back to the shore. [ He speaks softly, in a voice that is posh but otherwise flat and emotionless. While still a child, and perhaps erroneously in this instance, Lockwood's tone is one of a man who is used to responsibility AND the authority that comes with responsibility. ]

That is how it would go in my world. I protect those in my care. [ 'It's my name on the door' ] Usually because they are children, younger than myself surrounded by adults who throw us out, night after night to fight ... that. [ He motions towards the dead without looking at them. ]

Perhaps my choice was impulsive. A lot of my choices usually are, but that comes from not having a lot of other options.

[ His piece said, and he'll wrestle with himself at a later date about why he felt the need to explain himself to this man, Lockwood turns to accept his dismissal. Whether or not it is to actually 'hit the showers'? Eh ... probably he's just going to go find more trouble to get into. ]

[downswing]

( The recoil, the implicit if tacit revulsion. Slap to his face would at least purify through the sting. He bears it, chin jutting, the restive but attentive weight of his gaze settling on Lockwood's young face, chilled. You might have lost an eye, he supposed. That noise, battered. The mouth unstitched. Did you think?

Children have their way of painting foolishness as immortal bravery. They think death a sister to glory. )

You were meant to know summer's sun and laughter, unarmed. ( Live the life of all children, unhastened. Only, That comes from not having a lot of other options. The poisoned chalice of independence, of young men and women bereft their innocence.

He does not grieve what is not his own to mourn. Pity is an insult. He walks, and it is a settled, slow step. )

We are not all as we were meant to be. ( The Heavens ordain, and it is done. ) Retain the glass.

( This, sir, is dismissal. )