unkharil | event

[groundrules]

UNKHARIL

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Leaving the House of Manouk through waypoints, the party arrives back to the present time of Akhuras, in the jungle swathes of Unkharil. Those undergoing a canon update fleetingly detour into their home worlds. Old or new, you wake with a start, on high alert — body ablaze with static electricity. Some characters might struggle with vertigo, misted memories and dimmed powers for up to 48 hours, while their bodies readjust to no longer being lost in time.

You are in the care of a highly disciplined, if largely nomadic caravan — the refugees of most holy Alem, the kingdom built upon hell that succumbed to the undead. Karsa informs new recruits that the party assisted Alem’s king Deimar with evacuation efforts and with sealing the gates of hell, months prior. Their kingdom lost, Deimar has now taken his people to his mother’s ancestral grounds of Unkharil — a temple-fortress in a valley bordered by four tall mountains that serve as its protective walls.

Legend says the four mountains pillared the heavens, while snake god Kharil-asuk nested in the valley below to recover after birthing the world. So long was his sleep that cloud gods sent down the first bursts of lightning and thunder — frightening awake Kharil-asuk, who slithered into the jungle, never to be seen again. Since, sacred Unkharil has served as site of worship and coronations.

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King Deimar — whimsical, breezy, but cuttingly sharp — welcomes you in Unkharil, until the Merchant finalises your travel arrangements east. His people are weary, battle-worn and starved for kindness. Where applicable, some might optionally remember you under the false identity you wore in Arc V.

Seek out accommodations in the stone huts of the temple-fortress or the humble, often single-person cells that were dug bluntly into the mountain walls for hermit monks. Unkharil was deserted over the years as Kharil-asuk’s cult lost worship — but superstitious bandits have kept their looting away from temple grounds. You may still find furniture, pieces of clothing and worship, while refugees can spare clothes and food supplies.

TASKS

■ Assist with cleaning and reconstructing the destitute grounds of Unkharil, raising new stone columns and cleansing altars. Those with a connection to nature or the animals sense this is a quiet, revered territory.

■ Many survivors of Alem’s siege suffer from burns, cuts or trauma you can allay. The orphaned, widowed and wounded appreciate a kind word, company or help settling in.

■ Find a thin golden stream in the jungle, whose tepid waters may accelerate healing, improve your spirits or give you a day of staggering good luck. Bring back waters for recovering refugees.

■ Learn to use mountain scaling gear (rope-bound pairs encouraged) — or tame a 3-meter Kalioperus flier (useful for scouting and the Wailing below). Refugees and the few remaining temple monks may assist, but it’s learning by doing on the slippery mountain sides and with the thin-tempered fliers.

■ Largely warriors, Deimar’s people lost numerous troops defending Alem and now replenish their forces by teaching their youth weapons combat and light magic. Come dawns, join them in the courtyard to learn a skill or offer your own lessons. Alem instructors are strict, disciplined and martial — but fair. Characters who lack natural magic can learn to operate gem-triggered spheres that generate shields or a burst of fire/lightning. You may keep the gems after, but your character will need a few weeks of study to achieve mastery.

■ (Learn to) fish, hunt and forage to renew supplies. Beware flesh-eating fish in some jungle rivers. Ride an okapi?

■ Yet wary of traders, Deimar (grudgingly) invites merchants to revive their routes to Unkharil, with many caravans, errant scholars, priests, necromancers and sorcerers arriving to study his proposition. Some arrive all the way from magical jewel city Taravast — including an exuberant acolyte of old master Wrath! — and may offer exotic food and drink, or unique items. You may trade or earn coin by selling services or performances. Musical, art and thespian instruments can be found on the grounds.

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QUESTS

THE HEART(H) OF IT

”Rise and shine, lads! Heat of a jungle’s sun won’t be waning, no use waiting it out. The iron here’s rung cold too long. What little’s left of it. Shows the place was run by monks. They abandoned the smithy, once the fires guttered, and the mines, soon as the mouths collapsed only a little! Ha. Spoiled devils. Even left behind the ore already dug out. You go right in and fetch some iron… some copper, some silver… whatever yo find. We’ll get the blaze going. Time to forge. Don’t worry. We’ll make it worth your while.”

— Eitam, master forger

Deimar’s ironmongers revive the smithy of Unkharil but require precious ore and materials for manufacturing. Scale the steep mountain of Masida that walls in Unkharil to the east and infiltrate its abandoned mine to recover some previously discovered, but abandoned goods. Beware crumbling paths, rotten wood stairs and moulding ropes, as parts of the mines threaten collapse. Refugees supply golden fireworks that can shoot out to alert anyone within the mine you are in danger. Blacksmith rewards await.

PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

Visiting merchants are willing to resume trade, but have ongoing safety concerns.

■ Meet a first set of incoming grain-bearing caravans in the jungle and escort them on the last six-hour leg of their voyage to Unkharil. These are hefty and slow wagons, frequently targeted by bandits who dam their paths or pretend they are wounded, while their brothers attack from tree outposts.

■ Destroy the encampments of the vicious jungle-based Red Claws bandits. These outlaws typically attack in groups, share nightly meals and drink to strengthen their ties, providing excellent ambush opportunities. They cover their faces with a cinnabar or blood print of their leader’s palm.

■ Hold talks to appease the merchants Balthazar (easily impressed by shows and the arts) and Anathula (who wants a clear business pitch). Give diplomacy your best!

THE WAILING

”… they were so happy, so holy, then why do they shame themselves with tears now? You must be wondering. The truth does not honour us: first, Unkharil’s priesthood only accepted brothers from among those who survived snake’s poison. But the chosen were few, and the lands needed tending. Then, Unkharil accepted brothers from men of great skill, literacy and wisdom. But the learned were few, and the lands needed tending. Then, Unkharil accepted orphans, survivors of the jungle, men of the snake’s vision. But wanderers were few, and the lands needed tending. And soon, what recruits Kharil-asuk did not provide, in his mercy — his priesthood took… from the breasts of widows, from pillaged homes, from bandits. They kept even the most unwilling.”

— groundsmaster Kayik

Unkharil’s new residents soon find their beauty sleep disrupted by nightly wails, projected from several of the monk cells dug into Mount Nathadi, which walls in Unkharil from the south. These are the ghosts of former monks, whom you can appease by scaling the mountain and cleaning their cell, recovering their bones for burial (where applicable) or providing a minor service for the ghost (your choice of what the monk might desire: perhaps the recitation of a poem, an update on the weather outside, a good deed, etc.) Many of the monks were especially devoted to Kharil-asuk and to theories of reincarnation — for the lives of men are to the soul like a snake shedding its skin — and may impart you their wisdom.

WATER MY CROPS

Help Deimar’s people to revitalise local soil, seed gardens and crops, build dams and redirect jungle rivers. Water or lunar tide sorcery also work. Alem refugees were primarily warriors and will need you to illustrate the basics of gardening and land care.

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TO DAYS GONE BY

To welcome the start of their new lives, the refugees hold two nights of celebrations. During the day, you prepare tall bonfires or purify the lands with incense and sage-infused water, finding you are readily welcome in every home.

■ The first banquet night (OOCly on 25 August) pays homage to the lost: the survivors of Alem remember the siege and encourage you to speak of your own dead. Letters of penance, love or remembrance are written to the dead, read by the witness of your choosing and burned in bonfires. Heavy, syrupy and thick drink abounds.

■ The second banquet night (OOCly on 5 September) honours the living: everyone must show and express gratitude to someone alive, for any reason. Grit your teeth and offer thanks.

SERVANTS OF AFIRU (warning: snakes)

”There was no strength left in the bones of Kharil-asuk, after birthing the ground and the sky and the moon, and man and his mountains. And the first son of his likeness paid the price: brave white Afiru, small and feeble, but how proud he was! And the dozen men who caught him, not knowing his right divine, thought they did him a kindness to cull his pain young: to set him on a slate of stone and cut him in small parts, and eat of him for their dinner. Fools! Each bite of Afiru took root within them! Come morning, a dozen men woke in the image of Afiru: half snake, half human, beastly and cunning, their roiling bellies only quenched when they ate of their brothers. So, Afiru seeded his curse, and that same stone plate is now his altar: and just as he washed it with his life’s blood for men, so too must men now pay the price of bleeding.”

— old village tale

Within the jungle depths sleeps the minor, ruined temple of serpent god Afiru — malicious son of Kharil-asuk — whose mind-thralled servants abduct hapless innocents as sacrifices to the deity’s naga emissaries. Infiltrate the decayed temple to ruin Afiru’s altar — releasing his servants from their thrall and ending his worship. The naga priests are half beasts, half men, but deathly silent and possessed of fiercely sharp and venomous claws and fangs. If poisoned, your wounded limb swells, then numbs, then darkens as the toxin spreads through your body. You have 12 hours to get back to Unkharil, increasingly groggy and stiff, and drink a cure — or may pre-emptively carry a few doses, going in.

A HUNDRED MOUTHS (newcomers only)

Large stone gates carved into the northern mountain that walls in Unkharil hide an ancient granary whose wares could allay starvation… and interest visiting merchants. To open the doors, you must fit missing ruby beads back into the gate’s carvings. The gems, you learn, were picked out and dragged away by feral Kalioperus fliers — larger and more vicious than the ones you ride — and taken back to their nests at the very tip of Unkharil’s walling mountains. Report your ruby finds — rewards await.

ANOINTED (warning: snake)

”I saw him! With my mind clear, and my eyes shut, and my heart open. And he was beautiful! I ran in high grass, and my feet tore, and my dress ragged, and do not listen! I was not as the others are, greedy. I wanted nothing, nothing! He asked, ‘Daughter, what do you wish of me?’ And I said to him, ‘Only to see you.’ And he said, ‘So be it.’ And after mother Moon rose, and the good rain downed, and it was silence in this world he gave us, but for this breath, that was the murmur of the skies! No vastness greater than the drums of his heartbeat, and his sundered gaze: one eye, it was blood, and the other gold. And together, they saw me. He saw me. And he loved me! So he gave me the silk of his shed skin, to remember him by. In the morning, old women say, hunters found me in the jungle, stroking a piece of old, mouldy rope. But I know, it was him, it was the Father. And he saw me, as they do not see him”

— Laila, weaver

Deimar inherited his mother’s lands, but his uncles are likely to contest the claim of a pauper king with a feeble army. To legitimise his rule, Deimar wants the blessing of snake deity Kharil-asuk. The few remaining locals of Unkharil say the great serpent may be seen on stormy nights with lightning and thunder by those who wait at night in the jungle, after purifying themselves with meditation or partaking of ‘mind-cleansing’ asuk — a strong drug that triggers hallucinations and prophecy. The enormously large serpent body of Kharil-asuk — two-kilometres long, 100 meters wide — slithers before his chosen and must be chased into the depths of the jungles, no matter the animal and bandit dangers, before it disappears.

Inquisitive and untamed, but not necessarily malicious, Kharil-asuk often seeks to shrug off his pursuers, camouflaging in the landscape. He speaks as a voice in the heads of his pursuers, assessing them with questions about true worth and what entitles men to land, wisdom and nobility. He may attempt to drive those he deems unworthy for their past sins (betrayal, murder) in the path of mortal danger (cliffs, bandits, traps). Anyone can chase Kharil-asuk and speak with him. You can still sign up for a RNG to receive his blessing.

NOTES

■ Newcomers may be introduced to the large undead dragon, now bound to the party since Arc V. Formerly a tormentor of Alem, she keeps her distance and flies outside of Unkharil for now.

■ This downtime event lasts until 15 September and is followed by Arc VII. Pace yourselves and engage in as much or as little as you want, quests-wise!

QUESTIONS

NPC INBOX

Comments

QUESTIONS

[groundrules]

Grab an umbrella, we're heading into a rainforest.

[blackscales]

I see a trader from Taravast !

Wrathion (legal pioneer, diplomat and master orator, whose impassioned five-minute improvised speech once convinced 4,000 men to turn their swords against their wretched commander) desires (with a hint of trepidation) to know... what news of Taravast, and Macaluso?

THREAD SUBMISSIONS / REWARDS

[groundrules]

Ssssssssssup?

BLACKSMITH REWARDS

[groundrules]

Turn in a completed thread* of recovering mine ores and materials by 23:59 BST on 12 September and request an item from the smithy. Said items cannot be magical, but may surprise you in their utility and/or beauty...!

*only the thread part dealing with the material/ore recovery needs to have been finalised by the submission deadline.

Clara Oswald | Doctor Who

[makemeasong]

[ ooc: open/private top levels are incoming. If there's anything not covered that you wanna thread out, definitely feel free to reach out for a private starter. You can PM me, or reach me on disco @ lifewasawillow, or hit up my plot post top level. Clara has been canon updated, but not drastically far, (yet) so things won't be too different. ]

On Golden Streams

[makemeasong]

[ Clara was gone in a blink; one second with the group standing next to Red, and then she was back home, getting to know a new Doctor. Then she was returned, waking up with a start and sitting up quickly. Not on the TARDIS, but someplace unfamiliar. It takes a few moments of staring upward and blinking away her vertigo before it clicks. She's back, and she forgot all about it here, just like everyone always said happened. Just like Red said would happen. But if she's back, that means her bow-tie-wearing Doctor is here, and she doesn't know what to think about that yet.

Once they're properly in Unkharil, she needs....well. She doesn't know what she needs. But when she hears about the golden waters, she decides it sounds safe enough (before remembering water in this place has it out for her) and she sets off. With a jar in one hand, Clara's lost in her thoughts when she hears something crunch underfoot behind her. Turning around, she startles, then relaxes her shoulders. ]

I thought you were a people-killing something.

Wrathion | Warcraft

[blackscales]

[ ooc: plot with me here for a custom starter! I will start in prose but switch to brackets if you prefer and I will match. FYI Wrathion has been canon updated to Dragonflight 10.1! ]

Dragonflight Timewalking: Anduin

[blackscales]

The Zaralek Caverns are underground, dimly lit, smelling of heat and earth and damp and filled with the sound of both burrowing creatures and distant djaradin.

Then, in contrast, the jungle is bright suddenly.

He fumbles, and the ground rises to meet Wrathion's knees as a wash of nausea passes through him. A strange feeling of static, a pounding in his skull. Clammy hands brace against the ground as his head throbs. He doesn't recognise this place (how is he here? Did he accidentally take a portal somewhere?) But the faces of those passing by sharpen his headache. There are caravans, voices, figures moving.

He doesn't recognise this place, specifically, yet he knows all the same where he must be.

Arkhuras.

Memories fight for dominance: being chased, a city, a revolution, Pandaria, a wedding, Kalecgos, a city decimated by undead, the Dragon Isles, Dracthyr, a village suffering a drought, Raszageth, Fyrakk...

Wrathion growls in discomfort, shakes his head as if to set right the irritation. As if the muddle of timelines will somehow fix themselves in his mind by force with enough aggressive jostling.

Shifting his weight he moves up onto one knee, letting out a slow breath, then lifts his eyes towards a presence near over him. Blond hair, pale skin.

Dull red eyes meet bright blue ones, and Wrathion feels his breath catch.

"Anduin?"

He's here -- he remembers him being here, of course, yet on Azeroth...

He'd been gone so long.

Hermione Granger (of the Harry Potter variety)

[reparo]

[ooc; Various open starters and closed starters will follow. If you want anything in particular and have an idea, you can let me know here. Or dip into any of the open ones. Prose or brackets, go with what your heart commands and I will match.]

paved with good intentions

[reparo]

a.

[ Six hours is a long time, and time stretches out - but the people of Alem, the people of Unkharil, need food and trade to sustain them further along than just the weeks that they are here. If this is how she can be useful, and given that some people of Alem still remembered Hermione fighting on the towers against harpies, and therefore volunteered her most generously, then it's a good thing she likes to be useful.

As the caravan moves (s l o w l y), she tries to keep an eye out for bandits, for the wellbeing of the travellers, and for the wellbeing of her companions.

To the latter point - she's caught up to you, and holds out a waterskin. ]

Have some. It's going to be a long journey, won't it?

b.

[ They're terrible actors, the bandits, but other than stealing goods they've not been a danger, to the merchants, so far. So this whole wave of panic and paranoia from one of the merchants, when one young man appears on the road ahead of them, wobbling, is a little exaggerated. ] Really? It's a good thing you're not tasked with trading guillotines, sir - no, do calm down, I'll go see what's happening. [ She indelicately extracts her sleeve from the hold of the merchant, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a prissy way. Speaks with authority: ] My associates and I know what we're doing, I assure you.

[ And as she strides off to the front of the caravan, and passes you, she mutters under her breath: ] Act like you know what you're doing.

caitlyn kiramman | arcane

[clavesregni]

I. The Wailing.

[Caitlyn has never climbed much of anything before. She's had one or two experiences with Vi - mostly clambering awkwardly up and down ladders while Vi pranced through the architecture like a sure-footed mountain goat - but nothing that could prepare her for this.

She's gripping a rope with white knuckles as she stares up the side of the cliff. Those poor monks, trapped up there, even after death. They need help.

But why does helping them have to involve climbing a mountain?

Her white knuckles and the very tense set of her jaw are the only things that betray her nervousness as a heavy frown settles across her face and she turns to her climbing companion.]

We're meant to tie ourselves to each other, I believe.


II. To Days Gone By

[An awful lot of people died in Alem. And an awful lot of people are grieving those that died. Caitlyn sits quietly, occasionally sipping her drink, listening to people speak of their losses. Her posture is as rigid as ever, ankles folded neatly one over the other, hands in her lap.

It doesn't feel fair to be thinking of the people that she's lost, because she's going to get home to them one day. But still, her thoughts stray to her parents, to the vision she had in the clocktower of their deaths. It wasn't real, of course. It wasn't real. Her parents are safe at home.

She glances up, catches the eye of the person sitting across from her, and offers a wan smile.]

Are you here to speak? [she asks softly.]


III. Servants of Afiru

[The air in the jungle is oppressive, and by the time they arrive outside the temple, the stiff, heavy fabric of Caitlyn's clothes - normally something she finds comforting - is stuck to her skin. She was warned to tuck her trousers into her boots to protect against biting insects, but she's positive that's only shifted the insects' attention to her arms.

Despite her monumental discomfort, she reaches up to swipe her fringe - plastered to her brow with sweat - out of her eyes before returning her hand to her rifle, keeping the weapon steady as she sights down the barrel.]

We should avoid killing them, if we can. We may be able to break the control the serpent has on them.


IV. Anointed

[Caitlyn's feelings about Deimar are rather complicated after everything that happened in Alem, and she isn't sure how she feels about who should be ruling now.

So it isn't for him that she decides to take the necessary steps to meet the serpent god. It's pure curiosity. The little girl who stayed up late reading folk stories of long-ago Ixtal, imagining what sort of magical secrets lurked deep in the impassable jungles south of Piltover, now has the opportunity to encounter something beyond even what she dreamed of. How could she say no?]

Do you see that?

[They told her the drug she needed to take might cause hallucinations. But she knows what she saw. Something's moving through the jungle. She's sure of it. Her hand reaches for the rifle on her back, but she stops herself just before pulling it out as she frowns into the trees, eyes alert for any sign of movement.]


V. Wildcard

[Wildcard me! If you'd like a custom starter, feel free to hit up my plotting comment here, PM me, or hmu on discord @ sprucemooses.]

for Benedict Fox

[clavesregni]

[As soon as Caitlyn catches wind of some food going missing, she puts herself on the case. It feels almost trivial, after dealing with a serial killer in Alem, but a crime is a crime and it needs solving. And missing food is anything but trivial. Especially when the people here are refugees in need of every last grain.

She begins, of course, by questioning the person who noticed the food missing, writing every piece of information they give her down in the same messy, cramped handwriting that covers nearly every page of her well-worn notebook. She then makes her way to the storage area where the food is being kept.

To her surprise, she's not the only one there.]

This is a crime scene. Don't touch anything. [Her tone has all the sternness of someone who takes their job perhaps a little bit too seriously.]

bucky barnes — mcu

[traumatology]

01 CLIMB EVERY MOUNTAIN

( you know who can't climb a mountain? bucky. but, when faced with the challenge, he can't really turn a blind eye to it. he wants to test himself and, after all that shit they just got through, he has a lot of restless energy to burn through.

so, he's going to try. it's easy enough to get the gear all on and then he's reaching for the outcroppings of rock. bucky manages to get up...a few feet before he does something wrong. his foot slips or his hand slips and he can't get a good grip with his metal arm and he ends up tumbling down and onto his back.

he makes a small crater with his arm but otherwise the ground remains unscatched and bucky just lays there, groaning. )

Ow.

( that hurt. )

02 TRAINING DAY

( suffice to say, mountain climbing hadn't been a real success. but, this is something he's better at and this is a place where he feels he could be helpful.

there's a lot of people here to both train and to be trained. bucky had offered a lesson himself when he was in one of his better moods and he can't really back out, can he?

nope. so, he's offered to do some basic hand to hand combat. he's already got a good crowd though he thinks most people might be caught by his metal arm.

whatever works. he decides to give anyone else that wants to join a few more minutes before he starts. )

03 FISHING

( this really is more sam's deal than anything but maybe bucky misses him a bit. and maybe he wants to just kind of sit and think.

though, maybe that wasn't the greatest idea since being inside his mess of a mind isn't smart.

still, he knows enough about fishing to be able to bait and then cast his line. and then it's all a waiting game.

he even whistles a bit. )

This is fun for people? Really? I'm gonna get so bored.

( he says that to no one in particular. )

4 PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

This feels familiar.

( yep, very familiar. he and sam had done a few of these escort missions, getting high valuable assets, from one place to another. this is a little different in that it's more protection than anything but it let's him feel helpful and let's him be in motion.

it keeps his mind busy.

the wagon he's walking with is slow and unwieldy with some talkative traders that he mostly ignores. he's not a great conversationalist.

but it's mostly so he can focus on the bandits that he's been told will most likely attack. he can't be making small talk about the weather when he's waiting for armed men to come out of nowhere to try and take them all down. )

05 WILDCARD

( find my plotting comment here if you wanna do something. and feel free to toss something at me that isn't listed here if you wanna do something else. )

fishing

[reparo]

[Learning new skills is a good way to improve one's wellbeing, right? And the refugees - and honestly all of them, too - needed food, right? But she's been sitting here, in silence, with a bloody stick in her hand for what feels like hours (twenty minutes, to clarify), and it is not happening.

Hermione Granger is not Good At A Thing, and that's just not on.

From the left, another fisherman speaks, and she glances over to spot a familiar face, someone she knows in passing (and from doing the good work of rescuing Lan Wangji that one time).

He's right and he should say it.]

It's so boring - I'm starting to think the fish are asleep.

merrin ☾ star wars

[nochnaya]

i. the wailing

[ ▶a. climbing Merrin is already an excellent climber—from a certain point of view. The point of view: she teleports her way up the side of the mountain, disappearing in a puff of iridescent green smoke and then reappearing again on a ledge a few meters up. She does this over and over, climbing steadily higher, leaving whichever poor sap is also on this errand to the monk cells in the literal and metaphorical dust, likely to their exertions.

When she reaches a nice, stable ledge, jutting out over the cliffside, she kneels down and looks over the edge, watching her (willing or unwilling) companion with thinly-veiled amusement. ]

Is that the fastest you can go?

[ Yeah, she’s having fun with this.

▶b. ghosting After finally making it to the top, she brushes the dust from her pants and considers the cell she’s standing in front of, her expression thoughtful. How long have the monks been left here to wail? Then she turns to the person accompanying her. ]

Did you have a nice climb?

[ An earsplitting wail pierces the silence. She doesn’t startle, but she does tense, her expression becoming pained.

Offhandedly: ] I miss my sisters. They are courteous enough to not interrupt my sleep.

ii. to days gone by ( major spoilers for Jedi: Survivor )

[ Earlier, when it was her turn, Merrin had said a few words for Cere and Master Cordova, speaking about Cere’s strength, wisdom, and patience and Cordova’s kindness, intelligence, and curiosity. Saying that their galaxy was a little darker without them in it. Then she’d set her letter on fire with magick and thrown it into the flames.

Now, she still lingers near the bonfire, quietly sipping her drink. It’s a little too syrupy and sweet for her taste, but that doesn’t really stop her from partaking anyway—in moderation, unlike quite a few people at the banquet.

Not that she blames them. Death, loss, grief—she still struggles with it now, even after so much death, so much loss, so much grief. It never stops aching. ]

Do you need a witness to read for you? [ She doesn’t mind offering this small kindness, if that’s what it is to someone. Sometimes, it’s easier to have someone else, even a stranger, read the words—and she’s as neutral a third party as it gets, right now. ]

iii. servants of afiru

[ This isn’t Merrin’s first decayed (or decaying) temple, but at this rate, she’s hoping it’s her last. They’ve only been getting worse since Pilgrim’s Sanctuary, anyway. All downhill.

This temple is eerily quiet, though she doesn’t let that slow her down, her mouth set in a determined frown. With so many innocent people missing, she came prepared to fight to get them back, though the only apparent weapon she’s carrying is the knife attached to her belt. The rest…

She takes a breath and reaches out with her senses instead, feeling for the energy of the planet and its people. Its creatures. To anyone sensitive to life energy or magic, it may feel like it’s gathering around her. ]

This way. [ Then, as a warning: ] Keep your guard up. We are not alone.

iv. a hundred mouths

[ Once again, rather than do any physical climbing (or flying), Merrin instead teleports her way up the mountainside, outpacing anyone accompanying her on this ruby-gathering mission—though she does keep an eye on them. From above. She wouldn’t let anyone fall to their death.

Probably.

It’s a long climb (or flight) to the very tip of the mountains, where the Kalioperus’ nests are, but she waits at the top, trying to scout the nests and catch a glimpse of any of the rubies they’re looking for from afar.

Without preamble: ] If possible, I would like to avoid harming them. [ A beat. ] Perhaps you would make for a decent sacrifice to that end.

[ Is she... joking? Not joking? Who knows. ]

v. tasks, wildcards, etc

[ Around Unkharil, Merrin can be found healing survivors and party-members alike, should they need it, using her magick, which looks like a glowing green mist. On top of that, she’ll be all over the grounds helping with the rebuilding efforts, once again using her magick to move heavy stones and reconstruct broken buildings—they almost look good as new! Finally, she’ll be helping Deimar’s people with farming and gardening using—you guessed it—her magick to move the earth and encourage seeds and plants to grow.

If nothing else strikes your fancy, feel free to wildcard me! My plotting comment is just over here. ]

i. b

[deescalate]

[The climb is a long one, but nothing Cal can't handle. There's a familiarity in it, the burn in his arms and chest as he pulls himself from ledge to ledge. And when it's a long climb, it gives him a chance to empty his head of distracting thoughts. Instead, he can just focus, find the right handhold or place for his feet to give himself a boost. It's nice.

All the while he can feel Merrin watching him. This isn't anything new, of course, but it still sends a little thrill throughout his body. To think he caught her eye out of all the beings she's met in the galaxy...

Cal eventually reaches the top, sitting down to give himself a moment to breathe after all that exertion. Merrin, of course, is right there to tease and he just breathes out a laugh and smiles.]

Can't complain too much. The view's pretty great, too.

[And while the view of the valley is breathtaking, Cal is looking at Merrin.

The following wail takes him by surprise and he's back on his feet in the blink of an eye, a hand hovering over his lightsaber, but soon enough he lets out a breath and relaxes again. Right. That's the reason they're here. Cal shakes out his hands and then joins Merrin, resting a hand on the small of her back. He didn't know her sisters, of course, so he doesn't know what to say. But he can be here for Merrin, always supportive.]

I wonder how long these monks have been alone up here. Even if they chose solitude, they must be lonely to be crying out like this.

lan wangji | the untamed

[downswing]

( ooc: mostly tagging out this round, so if none of the below work for you, but you'd still like to do a lil somethin-somethin', link me your top level or wildcaaaaard \o/

Drink one shot every time Lan Wangji privately complains about the heat )

the wailing | world's pickiest interior decorator, now a ghost

[downswing]

( For the eighth, thirty-fourth, hundredth time: )

…yes, elder. ( And: ) Be at ease, elder. ( Perhaps: ) At once, elder.

( They have rummaged and scavenged and upturned the few steps of the spirit’s abode since the sun glared his wrath young in the morning skies, and now the heat has ripened strong, and it lashes balefully the arc of their toiling backs through the nooks and crannies that this crackled cell passes for windows.

He had known, when the wailing commenced, they would struggle with appeasement: that the bones of men — perhaps spirited from their rightful homes — who devoted themselves to a path most singular would not rest easily or well.

Monks, it emerges, are particular. Wangji’s companion and he have studied the extent of that specificity for the better part of sprawling hours, cleansing the same parcel of cell stone and shifting around the ghost’s few possessions, private and of worship, in permutations that Lan Wangji suspects have repeated themselves at least four times over.

In between, they sprinkle their obedience with cautious, measured glances, while the sharpened strings of Wangji’s zither hiss and howl the spirit’s latest instructions. He translates, diligently — until such a time that the spirit disagrees and speaks his own mind in common tongue. Helpful. Most gracious.

Now, they must ferry — while the heat sticks silks to skin — the great jade heft of a poorly carved serpent's statue from one end of the cell to the other — where it has graced the quarter three times already, by Lan Wangji’s count, to the elder’s dissatisfaction.

Uncle would flinch to think of him refusing the wishes of an elder. Uncle is not present.

Lan Wangji’s teeth grit, as if on gravel. )

Perhaps the quarter’s arrangement is not the trouble.

Jacob Frye / AC Syndicate / OTA

[nothinglikefather]

[ Please feel free to hope into one of these or start your own! <3 ]

THE HEART(H) OF IT

[nothinglikefather]

Jacob's not been in a mine before. But he's no stranger to the half-finished tunnels under London, new drains and sewers being carved out beneath the cellars of the city. These mining shafts aren't quite the same, the cave-ins and the decay of many years has seen to that, but the smell of damp air and the scurry of small creatures is familiar. It's not very pleasant, but none of Jacob's jobs ever are.

"Come on, you can make it," He says, having reached the top of the rocky debris that has almost completely blocked off the tunnel mouth- leaving only a small gap to climb through. Big enough to clamber through, with help. That's why he's there, on the other side, letting his eyes adjust to the dark and holding out a hand for his companion to take, helping them into the shadows.

"If we stay in this main tunnel until we get down into the newer seams, we'll probably find what got left behind when they abandoned this place."

Eda Clawthorne | The Owl House

[traaaaaash]

magic-making

[traaaaaash]

[ Eda is not what you'd call an early riser, but today, for some reason, she woke early and couldn't go back to sleep. After giving herself some time to awaken (despite sorely missing her apple blood), she flies down the mountain to see what's up in the dilapidated town.

She's barely landed before the troops in the courtyard accost her, asking about her flying, if she knows magic. Apparently, they're trying to learn. ]

Uh, well, I know magic, but I can't do much at this point.

[ A few more words of explanation exchanged, and the person she's talking to shows her something odd. A gemstone, with which, supposedly, even those not magically gifted can perform basic spells. They show her how they make a magic sphere using the gem, generating a shield.

Eda's eyes widen. ]

Huh. It's kinda like glyphs! Say, you wouldn't have a spare one of those lying around?

[ And as it happens, they do! Eda receives a gem and some basic instructions and spends the rest of the morning on the side, practicing. You may see her smirking as she summons a sphere, which looks a bit wonky if you squint, but Eda doesn't let that dissuade her. ]

Spicy Toss!

[ She calls out in excitement, activating the sphere, only for... a tiny flame to appear and putter out very quickly.

Eda slumps down and groans in frustration. ]

This is just like learning glyph magic...

[ She takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and scowls. ]

Guess that means I'll have to learn......... [ and she fills her next words with great gravitas ] the basics.

five hargreeves | the umbrella academy

[somebadnews]

[ Prompts being added below. Feel free to wildcard or ask for a specific starter. If you want to plot beforehand: Five's plotting comment is available for convenience, or you can contact me on my usual. Will match action or prose as you like. ]

Touchpoints (open to Allison, Wrath, and Emilia)

[somebadnews]

[ Returning from the House of Manouk to a timeline that isn't shattered was nothing short of a lucky break. It also came with the very familiar feeling of their consciousnesses being forced back into the present like ill-fitting puzzle pieces that never quite matched to begin with. The sensation isn't exactly like his powers, but similar enough that he doesn't question that it worked. What that excursion means is something he'll continue to dwell once he's out of the jungle.

As disorienting as it is initially, like waking up to a bad hangover, he's able to shake it quicker than most. What's left of his discomfort is something he's carried with him for most of their journey. He knows the curse has been building again since he emptied it on the train, because it always does. They're never short on anguish for him to absorb, and the only thing he's mastered is how to grow accustomed to it. For a while he thought he could ignore it for as long as he needed to, but history has proven that he has all sorts of limits he's still discovering. The best he can do is judge the level it's at and calculate a rough estimate for how long he has to deal with it before the next time he loses his tenuous grip on sanity.

Once they've settled to the more livable areas, there's little else on his mind than the constant reminder of a promise he'd made that he'd deal with it at the next opportunity they have. Now that he's literally and figuratively out of the woods.

He finds them easily enough, blinking around the caravan until he reaches where they've gathered. For a while he waits to catch them alone, and observes them at a close distance to see if they arrived unscathed. Not everyone was born for what they experienced. ]

Seems stable for now. [ The timeline, he means, and he steps closer. ] How do you feel?

wen kexing ( word of honor )

[wifedup]

a. fishing.

( Sometimes, needs must, and even the most discerning of men have to fend for themselves. So here Wen Kexing is, standing very still and very barefoot in the middle of a prettily flowing river. He's somehow managed to tie his skirts in such a way that the fabric is held out of the rushing water, and in his hands he's holding a long, crudely fashioned spear. On the shore just beyond him are his abandoned boots and a pile of already dead, drying fish resting on a strip of torn fabric. He's clearly been at this for a while.

The stillness about him goes a little tense at the sound of footsteps, but Wen Kexing doesn't look up from the water. Instead he calls out quietly in an overly friendly tone, tapping his fingers against his wooden pole. )

If you scare away the fish I'll have to use this for unintended purposes.

( And then he's plunging the pointy end into his very next underwater victim. )

b. performance.

( If there is anything Wen Kexing knows, it's how to put on a show. Usually that involves a few more theatrics but he's fairly happy to take up his own little plot for now, standing unassuming as he plays his xiao. Most of the music he chooses is light, airy, the kind that buoys mood, or lends itself to a pleasant atmosphere. Some of it turns melancholy. Towards the end though, he seems to get a little bored, twirling the jade instrument cleverly between his fingers before he starts to play his last song. Don't worry, he doesn't sing the words. He has a terrible singing voice. When he stops, he grins, mischevious. )

Surely that's worth some coin, no?

c. gems.

We're supposed to ride that thing?

( Don't get him wrong, anything that wins him some good favour is better than nothing, but Wen Kexing stands a little away from the Kalioperus with something disquiet written over his features. It's not every day you see something that looks like ... that. And while he's been keeping a, quite frankly, epic hold of his sanity he's sure he might actually be losing it now.

The fan in his grip snaps shut with sudden movement and he straightens himself up a little. ) Fine. If it bites off anything important there'll be hell to pay. ( Steadily muttering. ) Oh, I need a drink.

d. wildcard.

( plotting comment here or hit me up on plurk/discord if you'd like something specific. )

fishing

[bravelyrunsaway]

( Licyn is a creature of considered actions, little as he'd like anyone to realise as much. Keeping to four feet in a jungle as massive as this provides him a sense of better security in his chances to evade as well as attack; there's a bird in his mouth which had been ground based and showing its plumage to a perspective mate before Licyn found it an opportune moment.

Meaning he's carrying said bird when his ears and nose led him toward one of the scents he's already associated as being part of The Group, ragtag and chaotic as it is. There's a man over there, familiar from... well, nose and that time in the kitchens, apparently spearfishing. It's an interesting enough sight in the river here, where he knows there are things lurking which no one truly wants to turn into, toothy things, because he's caught scent of reptilian things and death in carcasses half eaten and bloated, but that?

Was downriver. He pads toward the waterline, sitting down with the bird still in his mouth, an overlarge wolf who gives a friendly wag of his tail if Wen Kexing glances his way, ears perked forward in greeting. One swivels backward moments later, listening to the jungle at their back.

Another fish in the waters is a silver and green shadow darting by Wen Kexing's legs, brushing up against as it diverts away from what creature thrashes at the end of that rough spear, sending water droplets arcing right up at his front. )

nynaeve al'meara | the wheel of time

[mashiara]

( ooc: starters, open and closed, will be below. please hit this up with wildcards for anything in the event too! )

for jon | kharil-asuk

[mashiara]

If these are ablutions, they are alike and unlike what she knows and guides in the Two Rivers, for the women, for the braiding of hair as one is accepted by the community as an adult, to her loneliness and yet also her wholeness, the connections and ties each has together.

The asuk is not her first choice, but it is a measured one, weighing the concern she feels for knowing there are others of their group, there are others of the refugees who came here with their pauper king, who will have, will do, can continue to try this same thing. Meditation is not her strength, that stillness a space she finds rarely, and with great focus, not great letting go. Asuk makes aspects simple, even as the voices of the youths who'd been led out of the Two Rivers, out of Emond's Field, flicker and dart, limed with light, in the foliage.

There, for a breath, stands Perrin, eyes a molten gold even as he lifts his axe, and that must be his, to settle on his shoulder. Even as his features slip back into the dark, long strides strong and lengthening, smaller shadows breaking off from the leaves and trailing after.

There, for an inhalation, stands Matrim, uneasy in his own skin, twitching, a blood-red glint of a dagger in his hand as he slips between deeper shadows, tendrils reaching out to try and recapture him as he passes. Laughter and the sound of dice rolling, and he, too, is gone.

There, for a heartbeat, stands Egwene, in unfamiliar raiments, lifting her hands, glowing so painfully, beautifully, awesomely bright. Nynaeve doesn't look away: between one heartbeat and the next, Egwene simply ceases to exist.

There in the pause of her breathing, her heart, stands Rand, hair a touch longer in those tight, red curls, his father's sword or no, another, at his hip, his eyes shifting from hard to tired and softened. A carving of some kind, a man, a sceptre, in his hand, and he holds out another, imperfect mirror to his own, voiceless words stretched toward Nynaeve, and she holds out her hand to accept, and —

Crashing. Sliding. Silence that screams as the serpent, impossibly large, impossibly present, overwhelms every vision of those she fights for back home, those who feel like they're hers, responsibility and otherwise, with its improbable grace. A creature so large should be impossible to hide, yet she feels it, deep in her marrow, deep in the shiver of magic she doesn't know how to control, he is seen only as he wishes.

Nynaeve doesn't look for Jon before she begins running. Faster than all the boys, the men, in her village. Faster than anyone. Nynaeve runs in the wake of the impossible serpent, the local god, terrifyingly gorgeous, over the plants, the rocks, the earth shifted out of his way, drifting to refill itself to splendor in his wake. She trust he'll be there, or he won't, this longstanding member of their abducted group, hunting for what? The snake, now. A way home, more than all others.

There is moonlight but no moon, starlight from hidden stars, glints of silver and the call of every creature that delights in the night, or frightens before it. Her heart pounds, her feet pound harder, faster, and she's breathing as if her lungs were made of wind when she catches sight of the immense tail of the snake once more, when she exults in the finding, after two rolling tumbles she hadn't allowed herself to be slowed by, coming back up from them into the ground-eating run sustained past all sensibility.

She comes to a stop so abrupt, she vibrates with it, the air sings with it, magic comes near to bursting, but the One Power, the True Source, stays close, does not extend, explode outward, radiant and beautiful and dangerous depending on the turn of her mind.

Why are you so certain this man deserves the crown you seek?

Breathing in, and out, and snorting, because what is deserved, what isn't?

"I'm not." She says, blunt. "What I'm certain of is he's willing to work for his people, has worked for his people, and of the available people who'd make themselves ruler of these tired, healing refugees, right now, power is not his desire for the sake of it. I won't pretend I know what he'll be later. That's not what I've seen. What is deserving, in your eyes?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton | Assassin's Creed

[mustact]

A. The Heart(h) of it

[ They've shown Ratonhnhaké:ton the ropes - literally - and encouraged him to find a partner to climb with, but he's decided not to take their advice. After all, he'd like to say he could do this in his sleep. Which is why he climbs easily up the wall of the mountain, finding purchase swiftly and seemingly without effort everywhere he goes. Occasionally, he doesn't even climb so much as launch himself up bit by bit.

Meet him somewhere along the way up the wall, or when he comes up. ]

B. Paved with good intentions

[ Ambushing and taking out camps of bandits sounds like just the job for him, so it doesn't take long before he's out in the forest in the dark of night. While he goes out with the intention of doing it alone, he can certainly be found or bumped into while creeping up to a campsite.

Or he can be found in the morning, with some red stains on his white robes. He won't speak to anyone, though might nod in acknowledgement to anyone he passes as he goes to get a few hours' rest. ]

C. How to drain your dragon Kalioperus flier

[ Although he's uncertain about riding something that can fly, there's no denying that going after rubies taken by something that flies will be helped by riding something that flies. So he makes his way over to where they're kept, and approaches one that seems relatively calm. Not because he doesn't trust his ability to bond with an animal, but because he'd rather this go relatively quickly.

With some food in hand, he sits down close to the creature, and starts quietly humming a song. ]

D. A hundred mouths

[ After making friends with the animal, he wastes no time mounting up to fly up to the mountain top. And, yes, he's fully intending to go all alone, when they've been told the creatures that took the rubies are big and vicious. It'll be fine.

If all goes to plan, he won't be seen by any of them anyway. This animal will get him close, then he should be able to climb the rest of the way, if necessary. ]

E. Wildcard

[ Aside from this stuff, Connor can also help people with hunting and practicing some fighting! Swords, axes, bows, guns, you name it. Also up for other stuff. Plotting comment is here, and I can be found at Tossino and tossino @ Discord. :3 ]

B!

[kahl_175]

[Kahl wasn't made for being sneaky. He's too tall, too broad, he's lost an eye, and grineer armor has too many little glowing lights that help soldiers keep oriented when they're in a chaotic fight.

But Kahl knows how to douse the lights, how to stay low, and his augments help him track his surroundings, even on his blind side. He's strong, with metal hands and vat-grown muscle that let him kill quick and quiet.

And Kahl knows jungle. He knows how to sneak here. So he took a mission to go out and deal with bandits tonight.

And it looks like he's not the only one.]

Hey, white coat guy, [Kahl stays quiet, in case there's sentries his augments haven't picked up on yet.] Hitting bandit camp? Kahl can help. [Whoever white coat guy is, he looks armed enough for the job. Gear looks like it's been used well.]

lucy carlyle — lockwood & co

[justreckless]

DAILY CHORES

[ despite the vertigo that makes her head feel fuzzy and her natural propensity to nocturnal rhythms, lucy makes herself useful wherever she can:

cleaning alters

fishing (poorly)

carefully bandaging small cuts and scrapes

sometimes she can be found snoozing in common areas, looking like she was meant to be doing something else but she's been sleeping poorly. ]

THE WAILING

[ she's been sleeping poorly because of the bloody wailing keeping her up at night, so when she hears there might be something to do to make them shut up. trouble is, she's not exactly adept at scaling mountains. london isn't particularly mountainous, you see.

still, she's determined and more than a little stubborn so she hooks herself into a harness, making sure it's tight. ]

Have you done this before?

TO DAYS GONE BY

[ lucy spends a good long while writing her letter, or rather contemplating her letter. she only writes a little and then clutches her letter to her chest as she watches and listens to the parade of letters being read and burned.

she wonders if it can just be burned and when someone stops and offers to read her letter, she shakes her head. ]

No, I don't think I want it read.

WILDCARD

( go where your heart takes you, lucy is a nosy, teenager ghost hunter who resents adult supervision but is also very out of her depth! hit me up at plurk (baleinette) or discord (dostoevskyish) or on the plot post if you want something special xoxo )

the wailing

[downswing]

( He feels — unequipped to the task, disparate. She burdens and fetters and contorts her body within the lattice of ropes, and he stands, far too idly by, watchful. Moonlight's a clumsy, syrupy addition, pouring down in faint increments. Washing his face, the girl's back — Lucy, he thinks. Their group must have shared names.

He does not touch her, does not inflict the violence of his proximity — one hand to his back, fist bound. He waits, until the night's air sunders with more crisp calls of the wailing dead.

Then, finally, he steps forward, grazing the end of the rope detached from her gear with his fingertips, and beginning the gradual process of binding it loosely around his waist in one noose. What difference, if he is supported? He will not climb in the natural way of commanding the mechanism. He only serves as anchor to her, and so —

He reaches for the hooks. )

Irrelevant. It wants done. ( As if through the sheer force of his will, Lan Wangji will make this happen. ) Before, you said you know of the dead. Exorcism?

[thewarder]

A: Training

[Few things made Lan more comfortable then blade work, and working on forms with his fellow Warders when he got a chance to do it. It wasn't often, but the recent reminder of it right before he had arrived made this an easy decision on what to do.

He was no use when it came to magic, the small bit he could do wasn't because of his skill but rather the bonding ward placed on him, so he focuses on blade work. Teaching the learners about form, how to make good connection, how to avoid being connected with. ]

B. to days gone by

[Something about this festival not too long after arrival felt apt, he'd just gotten past a funeral right before showing up here. Was this a sign that he should take this time to try to heal the internal wounds that he had been ignoring?

Perhaps.

He writes his letter anyways. There has been so much loss in his life, even since before he could remember, but there's no question who he will write about. He takes a drink of the alcohol that's been served and shakes his head.]

The reading aloud part is the strange bit, isn't it?

B. wildcard

[Want something different? Feel free to drop it here or hit me up for a personalized prompt via pm / discord or endtransmission]

Training!

[northerndragon]

The man is new to their party. Jon rests from putting some of the learners through their paces to watch the man do the same - quiet, standing at the edge of the training ground. Longclaw is sheathed at Jon's waist, but he doesn't use it here. He holds a practice sword in his hand.

When they break, he approaches. "Good form. I'd ask if you've been fighting long, but -- " A little half smile, almost wry, and then he continues. "Well, I'd be a fool to ask. I'm Jon."

He holds his arm out to clasp in greeting, meaning to do the same.

cal kestis | star wars

[deescalate]

1. the heart(h) of it

[Scaling mountainsides? Cal's been doing this since he was about twelve years old. Well, the scrapyard of Bracca may not have been a mountain exactly, but close enough. What's important is to keep an eye out for handholds and footholds that won't send him crashing down. Luckily, he gets up this cliff face relatively easily.

And, yep, mines sure are dark. He raises his lightsaber and ignites it, the crisp blue glow lighting up the path before him, accompanied by a steady hum. This is normal for him, though any other mine-liberators may be surprised. Oops.]

Keep your eyes and ears open. I'm used to these kinds of places having all sorts of creatures ready to eat you.

[That's...comforting?]


2. to days gone by - SPOILERS FOR JEDI: FALLEN ORDER AND SURVIVOR

[Cal didn't think showing up to this banquet would be a horrible idea. Not a great one, mind, but not the worst, either. It's just...death has trailed after him for so long now that when he thinks he's grown even a little used to it, someone else he cares about falls and the grief grips him by the throat.

He didn't think this would be horrible, but the longer he stands around, and the more he drinks - and it's not like this sweet concoction is even all that good, in his opinion, but it's something - the more he regrets letting himself dwell on all this.

For the next hour or so, he slowly writes down names on a paper, and takes the drinks offered him. The first few come somewhat easily: Master Tapal, Prauf, even Trilla Suduri. They've been gone for a while now. It's the names that come after that leave his heart feeling as if someone is trying to tear it out of his chest. Koob and Lizz. Gabs. Bravo. His team. They trusted him. They believed in him and all they got in the end was a life cut short. Cal isn't sure if there's anyone else in the galaxy who knows to mourn for them. So. It's on his shoulders.

He has to take a few large swallows of a new drink before he adds to the list. Master Cordova. If he closes his eyes, he can still see that blaster pressed to the Jedi's gut, can hear the two shots that would end an incredible and wise life, along with so much knowledge the galaxy will never learn again. Cere Junda.

Cal's hand shakes and he presses the heel of it to one of his eyes, pressing hard, hard, hard to stop any tears that may come. He already wept over her body. He already promised her that he would make something to outlast the Empire. But it still hurts. There's so much regret, the years after they all split up weighing on his shoulders because he was hurt and didn't understand what Cere was doing, when he could have sought her out and...and...done anything. Learned more. Helped more. Not had this weight in his stomach that won't go away.

Before he knows it, Cal starts to write another name. Bode A - ]

...No. Not him.

[He hastily scratches that name out and takes another gulp of his drink, his mouth having long since gone numb. Cal has already given that man enough.

...So why is his heart still heavy?]


3. servants of afiru

[Cal should probably be more concerned than he is upon infiltrating another temple, but he's been in a few the last five years. Temples. Tombs. Other ancient or maybe not-so-ancient architectural wonders. And they're usually infested with oversized vermin or bugs or even really old security systems.

So, really, what are a few snake people?

Still, they've been warned that these naga are quite dangerous, so while Cal is perfectly content to run in, lightsaber blazing, he takes his companion into consideration. Just because he might be a reckless do-gooder doesn't mean everyone else is. And, in lieu of BD-1 and literally all of his stims, Cal has seen to collect a couple bottles of antidote in case they get in over their heads.

Inside one of the temple's corridors he reaches out with the Force to try and get a read on where any of the priests may be.]

I can feel a presence on the other side of this wall. I'd rather get to the altar before we have to fight any of the priests, if we can help it. What about you?


4. wildcard

[Hit me up for more shenanigans if you don't see something you'd like here!]

2. speedruns cr with cal, too

[datapoint]

[Aloy is not particularly adept at navigating emotions. She is filled with love and empathy for humanity in an abstract sense; dealing with the confused feelings of individuals is not in her wheelhouse.

Still, after having her own confused feelings witnessed by the hot goth girl woman with facial tattoos, she feels like she should at least try to pass the kindness on.]

It's hard to come up with the right words, [she says as he scribbles something out, dropping into an amiable crouch nearby.] A lot of pressure.

Xie Yun | Legend of Fei

[balancedwire]

The Heart(h) Of It

[ The heat, to him, was far better than the icy cold feeling of Bone Piercing Blue. A poison that had, one point in time, ran through his veins. It had even left coin that he'd held icy to the touch.

So if ore is required for materials (hey, he loves forge) then he will head down the paths given to see what can or cannot be discovered. He knows, too, that whomever is following him need be careful as well. After all, not everything is as it seemed. ]

Don't walk there, if you do then the path before you will break more.



Paved With Good Intentions

[ His sword stays drawn even as he sets to escort the caravans that run through the jungle. No matter how many hours it takes he will do what he can to keep the people and the grain safe. If he gets harmed in the process then that will not matter to him.

For now, though, he needed to stay alert and the first bandit to come out of seemingly nowhere will be met with his sword. ]


To Days Gone By

[ The bonfire is nice and he will use that time to play his xiao, to give the people music. Though when he is actively encouraged to speak of his own dead, to pay homage, he gives a nod. There were many that he could pay homage to. Many that had lost their lives.

He sits and writes letters to a Taoist, one who took his own life. One that was important to him as a child. Of course, there is also the letters to the family that he lost as well. ]


[ Wildcard ]

[ OOC: If there's anything else you want then toss a starter at me and I'll happily follow. ]

Wen Ning | The Untamed

[fiercechains]

Water My Crops

[ Revitalizing local soil or even planting seeds is something that he is rather good at. It was something that they had done, the best they could, in the Burial Mounds. This was not something he would've thought to be doing but he was enjoying it.

Though there was also the thought of teaching the warriors about gardening and land care. That? He did not mind helping them with. It would help them in the long run. ]


[ Fishing ]

[ He is not overly fond of the water. This water did not seem as if it was deep enough to drown in. However, the forest was a good place to go and the jungle rivers seemed teeming with fish.

Sure, he could use his chains to take them out that way but he didn't want to do so. That, in itself, would be brutal and cause far too much harm to the fish around him. If fishing doesn't work, however, he could always hunt or forage. Those? He would probably be better suited for. ]


[ Wildcard ]

[ OOC: If there's anything else you want then toss a starter at me and I'll happily follow. ]

Anthony Lockwood | Lockwood and Co

[recklessenough]

Stone Hut - 35 Portland Row redux

[ 35 Portland Row was all he had left of his parents. All he had left of his entire family, come to think of it what with the death of his uncle and his sister. Lockwood would not be considered the heart; that was Lucy and her empathy. Nor would be be considered the comfort; that was George and his amazing food. Lockwood was the one who ensured that 35 Portland Row was safe and protected.

That it was a haven against the threats from the world outside, all threats not just the Visitors. He made it a home for his new, found family and did his best to ensure their comfort and security.

Whether Lucy decided to join him (without George, perhaps it was too awkward) or not, Lockwood had claimed one of the stone huts with quiet determination. This particular hut stood with an open door, an unspoken invitation to whomever might wander by, catch the scent of brewing tea, or perhaps a meal being prepared, and wish to investigate.

Meals would mostly consist of fresh fish, fruits and vegetables; again George was usually in charge of cooking, but Lockwood wouldn't poison anyone. ]

The Heart(h) of it

[ Lockwood's slim build and nimble athleticism made him perfect for navigating the rotting stairs and crumbling paths that littered the mines. He took and kept one of the golden fireworks tucked within a flare holster on his sword belt, but in typical Lockwood fashion, did not anticipate needing it.

Rather, he kept an eye out for others, in between his own quest for different ore. Silver, was especially near and dear to his heart, though he also focused on veins of iron. It might have been hard to recognize him; the normally dapper young man dressed in rough, miner garb and grubby with dirt and ore dust, but he was there all the same.

There, and quick to call out if he thought he saw someone in danger of taking a wrong step. ]

Careful there! Those joints of those stairs are rotted.


Paved with good intentions

[ An opportunity to fight bad guys and potential secure fresh tea, good will and other goodies? Sign him up!

When Lockwood wasn't either fishing, or up in the mines, he could be found patrolling the last six hours stretch along the jungle into Unkharil. In between any skirmishes he had encountered Lockwood also used the time learn as much as he could about the traders and their wares.

Eventually he would approach and do his best to charm Anathula with a combination of, well, charm and good business sense.

ooc: feel free to help him fight bandits, or catch up with him when he's headed to go talk to Anathula! ]


Fish & Sword

Fish

[ When Lockwood wasn't at the mines, or trying to help merchants make it safely through the jungle, he could usually be found in two other pursuits.

First thing in the morning, usually just as the grey light of dawn was starting to paint the sky, he could be found fishing. A London boy, one wouldn't think he had much experience with fish and they would be right. But he did have some memories of being in the country with his uncle, and it hadn't taken more than a couple mornings out with a tolerant local for Lockwood to pick up an understanding of the waterways.

Any other time the young man probably would not have had the patience required to fish. But the events preceding their release from the House of Manouk, as well what had happened with Yancai still weighed heavily on his mind. The sort of mental and emotional weight that Lockwood did his best to avoid displaying when he was around people.

He tended to go deep into the jungle with the dual purpose of finding quiet, out of the way -but hopefully well stocked- fishing spots. If these sports also provided quiet, out of the way places in which to brood? Well ... happy coincidence that.

Sword

Finally, if he wasn't fishing, mining, or otherwise being a busy body, Lockwood indulged in some sword work.

He was not, by nature, a teacher, so he did not seek to offer his skills to the instructors, who obviously had very well thought out and disciplined approaches to the art of warfare. Mostly Lockwood stayed off to the side, watching some of what the instructors taught but otherwise following his own katas and rhythms with the nimble rapier.

At first he resolutely ignored any of the magic that was being practiced along with the blade work. But slowly, as each day passed, he found himself drawn to some of what he witnessed. Lockwood was too experienced a fighter, too experienced a leader to allow his own personal reservations override a technique or bit of equipment that could turn the tide of a fight and save lives.

His Talent was psychic in nature, not magic, as he had seen Hermione, Wrath and others use, so he certainly would never present himself as a natural magic user. But when he learned more and more about the gems, he became curious, then developed a genuine desire to learn how to use them.

When he had the aid of one of instructors, he could get the gems to produce impressive displays of lightening or fire!

By himself, however?

Lockwood -being Lockwood- executed a magnificent display of deft blade work with his rapier and then spun to deliver a dramatic flash of lightening with a gem as a follow-up to the attack.

Shame the gem hung in the air, spit out a sad little spark that wouldn't haven even lit a sparkler, and then dropped harmlessly to the ground. ]

Damn.

stone hut

[companionsgrasp]

[Benedict was still getting used to this whole new ordeal. First he was ripped from his home to land in some maze of an estate that was, he had been told, set somewhere out of time itself. That was mind boggling on its own. Now he was here in this land of Akhuras which was not at all Earth. There were so many troubles here it was impossible to decide where to start with questions much less learning answers.

What he'd taken from it all so far was that there were, in fact, several more alternate dimensions other than Earth and Limbo. Demons weren't the only monsters out there. And God only knew what else he was going to run into in this world.

There were details, many details, and he was slowly learning them as time passed, but sometimes he was easier to simply focus on the little things and let everything else fall into place in its own time. He'd learned that the hard way. So, for now, he settled on trying to adjust to this new life and simply keep moving. He focused his attention on helping the locals as best he could. And using his investigative skills to learn the ins and outs slowly but surely. This was his new life now. He would figure it out.

In the meantime, he was keen to make connections. He didn't know anyone here and he had no contacts on which to rely. That was new. He already missed his usual go-to. Harry had been there to support him for a number of years now. Greedy as he was, Harry had always been his friend, ready and willing to come through. Now he supposed it was time to make new friends.

That wasn't necessarily his forte. But as he passed by the stone hut on his way back from a day of hard work his nose caught the scent of freshly brewing tea and he paused. The door was wide open and inviting. The occupant inside, his Companion told him, was a familiar one. One of the handful of people he had met during the time spent at the House of Manouk. Benedict walked through the threshold and paused to let his eyes adjust to the light inside, then glanced around.]

Hello? Is it all right if I...?

anduin wrynn | warcraft

[massrez]

Training

[ He'll never be a warrior first and foremost. In his heart, healing has always been his calling. But his father saw to it that he was trained all the same, in all manner of weapons and combat. He's fought in wars. He knows enough to impart to these brave soldiers that they might return.

And when he discovers their aptitude for the Light? It becomes as natural as anything. He's forsaken his armor for the moment, choosing mobility for the training exercises, sleeves rolled high as he demonstrates with Shalamayne in hand. Demonstrating proper shielding and channeling the Light through one's weapon should see a lot more of them coming home at the end of the day.

That fact alone would ease his heart, to know fewer will return to rites and mourning. ]



The Wailing

[ Anduin has visited other temples and holy sites in his lifetime, always hoping for a new perspective on faith to broaden and enrich his own. Even the most unusual practices often have something to learn from. But as he discovers more about the fate of the monks in this area, what they were subjected to, the tormented wailing that comes from that lonely mountain --

He has to go. Has to see for himself if there's anything that can be done for them, before their group moves on.

Since the wailing has been noted to take place largely at night, it is early evening when Anduin climbs to the monk cells, the sun just beginning to set. His knee aches in the way it usually does, old pains flaring as he grits through it and pulls himself up on a rocky ledge, before pausing to rest. ]



To Days Gone By

[ The second night of celebration is much easier to bear than the first. Anduin lets the memory of his father settle as his attention turns to the present. To all that he should be grateful for.

Should be. But it's difficult, even now. What grace he's managed to scrape together in regards to the person he should be grateful for still holds a sting to it, but one he holds close to his chest. Any passing gazes are met with a polite smile and a nod, before his attention drifts once more.

Light help him, what a mess this all is. ]

the wailing

[downswing]

( A hand, in need. That is the game of it, the exchange: he offers freely, lines of his body poured over the cell's edge, artless as Anduin climbs. But for the rustling of crumbling, heat-brittled stone, harsh where the wailing is tepid and liquid and fleeting — Lan Wangji might not have deciphered the intrusion.

Human sounds are a foregone conclusion here: the dead of these cells walk and moan and plead and show their ire, and rain their deluge of emotion freely. It is in the way of a lifeless world that each opportunity to seep out feeling must be abused indiscriminately.

This particular cell is broad, generous. Early scratches and sculptures had hinted the possibility of a premium shelter, for all it's still empty stone that grazes his legs, where Lan Wangji has taken the knee, and scant decorations linger.

The spirit, their host, watches on behind him, presence like a weighted burden. )

Come up. ( This, to Anduin, neglecting the monk. ) He has only stirred.

( They are in time. )

Xie Lian

[scrapgege]

A.THE WAILING

[Well, if there are unruly spirits, that's usually where you can find Xie Lian.

Climbing the mountain up to the cells is a trivial matter, really, but it is a right mess up there and clearly, many many souls have not been put to rest. No wonder they are unhappy.

Xie Lian looks at the small piles of bones in the cell he's entered and kneels down to start gathering it.]

All right, all right, we're going to so something about it so can you please stop yelling so loudly?

[Said in a soothing, sing-song voice to try and distract the ghosts from its teeth-gnashing wail.

Which seems to work, for a while at least. Now they look curious about what Xie Lian is doing.]

B. WATER MY CROPS

[Xie Lian has tended to crops before and he's hardy at work, so he's happy to help... the problem is that if Hua Cheng isn't nearby to offset it, his phenomenal bad luck seems to take over.

If he's digging a hole, the spade will hit a gnarly root and break. If he's carrying water, he will trip on something and break the pots. Ig he's hauling a sack of grain, it will have a hole and lose half of its contents before he realizes what's going on.

... Help?]

b

[silverneedles]

[ She watches as Xie Lian trips, the full pots flying from his grip and breaking into pieces, splashing the ground with water. She winces, as that water would be useful elsewhere, and hurries over to his side. ]

Are you injured?

Beitang Moran

[beitangmoran]

A. PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

[Doing this in the middle of a jungle with temporary accommodation is a bit unusual, but here, it seems to be the norm anyway. Beitang Moran is nothing if not adaptable, but to make this more palatable, it needs a bit of decorum. He manages to commander a table - a round one - to be put somewhere in the shade, and some food an refreshments for those attending, letting them air their grievances and fear first.]

The bandits are a problem indeed, and we are working to get rid of them even as we speak. It may take a bit of time, but secure roads will be there soon. Knowing that, wouldn't it make sense to help out a King in need, knowing what is gratitude is likely to bring you later?

B.TO DAYS GONE BY

[Beitang Moran is used to schmoozing, he just doesn't particularly like doing it. So he'll be present and even mingle a bit, so that everyone has seen his face and heard a kind word, quite skillfully, and then he'll find some place a bit out of the way from where he can observe people while sipping on a drink.

And firmly declining to participate in the rituals for now, if needed by lying through his teeth about having already done so. He might drink too much if they insist.]

B... second night.

[topoiran]

[ While staying away from most rituals, Xunxian thinks... some thanks are indeed in order.

The first night, he wrote a letter to those under the sign of Ophiuchus who had given their lives for their compatriots who had maligned them for so long. While the gravity of their mistake and the awareness of their debt, it would not hurt to give thanks, too. Wherever they may have ended up, after.

But, tonight, he has a far more important thing to do, and there is no teeth-gritting whatsoever. ]

Moran. [ He seeks him out with his own drink to sip from in hand, and a bright smile in his eyes. ]

vanessa ives | penny dreadful

[matermali]

{ to days gone by
there is not room for death

[ For the first banquet, there are too many dead for Vanessa to write to, and they would want nothing of her sorrows. For all else, she can linger near those who openly suffer, mutely offering support should a poor old woman become weak-kneed in her grief.

One particular soul seems to have nobody else to read his heartfelt letter, and when he requests Vanessa to help, she attempt to awkwardly sidestep. No, I can no longer carry their grief. I haven't the right. So she thinks, so she says, but somehow Vanessa still ends up holding the poor man's letter, whispering his words of love and regret until her husky voice is hoarse and tears threaten to sting. She does not weep outwardly, but within there are silent sobs. With his letter burned, Vanessa remains with him until he departs. Lingering near the bonfire, it's easy to become mesmerized.

As soon as she catches the eye of someone familiar in their gang of outsiders, she may attempt to smile, but it's as bittersweet as the banquet itself.

During the second banquet, somehow Vanessa feels more loss than before. Yes, it's the living that she misses most of all now. They are the ones who continue to shoulder burdens, to suffer, and for them she may openly shed tears. Her thanks given, however, are kept silent. They have all made sacrifices of their own, to a degree that still puts her to shame. No doubt they think they failed her, but it was she who failed them. She has lost the right to pray, to do so alone would be perverse, but Vanessa still sends her gratitude to the stars whenever she dares glance up.

Should anyone else nearby seem troubled or distracted by the banquet, she may step near to offer some company, however melancholy it is. ]

Have you given thanks?

five hargreeves | nor atom that his might could render void

[matermali]

( cw; suicidal ideation )

[ How she has tried, and tried, and tried, but what is left of her to make further attempts? Is there anything left of her to mourn? Vanessa had died before Ethan had the chance to pull the trigger; she had gone when the cross was taken down and placed in the fire. No—

No? She had gone when she had cried out for the darkness to enact her first murder. Ethan had said her soul would be lost to the night, and she felt it so. Or...

No.

Had she ever been?

She waits until she's certain that Hermione is fast asleep, not bothering to check on their solitary neighbor for once as she slips out the door and into the night. A memory has come to her. They have been trickling in slowly since she arrived again after those terrible months back in England. Names continue to come to her. Names and promises. Had she remembered upon first arriving, she might have sought him out before the blood on her white dress ever had a chance to dry.

Five Hargreeves. She follows after the name as if tracking a scent, her feet still bare though she has had the decency to wear a dress, however simple it is. White truly isn't her color.

She doesn't need to wander far, finding him near the stone huts carrying some supplies. Given the sort of creature he is, Vanessa wouldn't be surprised to find him awake while others sleep. His mind is troubled, she knows, and troubled minds rarely rest. How sorry she ought to be for attempting to add to his burdens. How selfish she is—continues to be.

But he had agreed, after all. And now, here she is, only one thing on her mind as she draws near with a scratched whisper from the shadows. ]

Mr. Hargreeves.