westwhere | unkharil

unkharil | event

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Th replacement sentry meets the same end as the first, a sharp blade through the throat, dispatching quickly and efficiently. Jacob's setting the body down next to the other when he hears the commotion start, the cry of Ambush! and then hullabaloo of bandits, tipsy or all the way drunk, a couple still sober, trying to get armed and find their attackers.

Unfortunately, there is only one in their midst currently, and Jacob feels a stab of concern for his companion. He shouldn't have let them go in alone.

Cursing under his breath, he shifts quickly through the trees, dodging them as he would the crowds on The Strand, seeing the other figures running around the campfire, shadows in front of the orange glow.

He takes a second, trying to spot his companion, but he doesn't know if they've changed their form again, if they've run, it's frankly impossible with all the running and the shouting. So he does what any self-respecting assassin would do, and adds to it. It's easy enough, grabbing a long log from the fire, yelling as he waves it like a torch and sending more panicked bandits into the jungle.]

Demons! Ghosts! Witches! Run, run! Save your skin!

[ If Vanessa needs a moment to recover, it's only because she's had the unfortunate curse of having the man's blood spray onto her, and the taste of it leaves her gasping. It's only when she sees several coming toward her that she snaps back to her senses, disappearing just before they can grab her.

She won't be easy for anyone to spot with how she moves around the camp, taking advantage of the pandemonium only furthered by cries of witchcraft and demons. She's inhumanly swift, as if disappearing and re-appearing at just the right moment to capture anyone who decides to run towards her companion instead of away.

Anyone she finds collapse under her as if mere children, and with every fall, more bloodstains disappear into the darkness of her dress. With each final gurgle, Vanessa feels her insides twist, her memories wail, and her teeth grit. She mustn't succumb. This is a duty, a sin and a sorrow; it's not a pleasure. She hadn't wanted this. ]

[At the other end of the bandit camp, those that don't move fast enough get a kick to hurry them along, and those who seem to recognise Jacob as an outsider meet his blade or get a sharp punch that lays them out on the group dazed. It'll give them enough time to rid the camp of occupants and collect whatever supplies they can before the bastards come round.

Now the camp is emptying out, now his attention isn't so much on the figures of the bandits, spotting his ally is easier. No one else is wearing full skirts, and with the flickering light of the fire and the dancing shadows, it's hard to keep his eyes fixed on it, them, her? Whole, it seems, although he doesn't know how they've managed that.

It's safer now, with all the bandits gone save the dead or the unconscious, neither of which should cause them problems. He heads up to them, pace quick, just to make sure that they aren't actually more harmed than they appear. Forgotten is the shape-change, now Jacob's only thinking of the pale, elegantly beautiful woman who walked with him to the camp. ]

Hey, hey! Are you alright? I didn't think that would work, well done!

[ Sprawled on the ground now, Vanessa is shoving a limp figure twice her size away just as her ally approaches. She's dazed, though not from any physical injuries. There is a cut on her arm, but she doesn't pay it any mind, simply staring up at the night sky with pale eyes until she hears the man think to congratulate her.

With a grunt, Vanessa sits up, her tangled hair having been pulled loose in the tussle so that she needs to push it back before it can fall over her eyes. ]

It didn't work at all.

[ It's her own fault. She had attempted this task while still weak; she had overestimated herself. At her best, she likely wouldn't have been snuck up on by the camp leader in the first place. She could have been in and out to count their numbers, then managed a spell to scare them all away. But no, no, she had been foolish.

At least three are dead because of her, and she can still taste the blood of the first. It had triggered a bloodlust she had never known before. The realization nearly makes her gag, and Vanessa staggers up to hurry to the fire, snatching up the nearest cup to rinse her mouth and spit out any traces.

Hunched over, she wipes at her mouth with a sleeve, then glances back to the man seeming proud of their work. At least he had been capable enough to manage the mess she had created. If anything, she ought to be apologizing to him. ]

...Were you hurt?

You're not dead, I'm not dead, therefore, it worked.

[But that quick reply isn't what this woman needs to hear, he realises as he's about to help her up and her eyes take on a familiar glaze. Some people aren't natural killers, and the proof of that is when she snatches up the cup to wash out what Jacob can only suppose is bile from her mouth.]

Most of them got away. It was only the few that tried to hurt us that got hurt in return, and these people? They've killed a lot of innocent merchants in their time. Don't feel sorry for them, they wouldn't feel sorry if it had been you.

[He says it with certainty, but not unkindly, coming up to stand just to her elbow. He doesn't want her going all to pieces, not when he knows that sooner or later, those bandits are going to come to their senses and come back. But he acknowledges her question, the concern for him. He doesn't deserve it, much like those bandits don't either.]

No, I'm an old hand at this, worst I'll have is a bruise or two come morning. We should search this place and leave. Do you want to sit down? I'll have a look around, then we'll head back to the caravan.

[ Her brow furrows as he goes on about the men who died, and she straightens back up with a shake of her head. Only then he draws close, and she can still taste it, like buttered copper, while her gaze drifts to his neck. Rinsing her mouth of the taste had done little to ebb the desire... The disgust at her desire.

The poor man must think this her first kill. If only he knew the number of bodies she has walked over to be standing here still. She tears her eyes from him and pointedly steps away, enforcing distance for his own good. To have been so triggered by the bloodlust may endanger anyone in her vicinity. So many are dead because of her, but she will never be glad for it.

It is what it is. She is what she is.

Vanessa has gone this long without giving in to the urge to drink, and she can continue on as such. At least this much she will not concede, even if Dracula is nowhere to benefit. No matter if it weakens her, she's still stronger than the average human. Best that he remains ignorant just as the rest of their company. ]

...No. I am fine.

[ The cut on her arm can be handled later, and she is eager to move on. If those unconscious awaken, she may be forced to shut their eyes permanently as well.

Without another word, Vanessa disappears into the tent she'd first been discovered, retrieving her cloak and gathering what supplies she can into a nearby bag. There's at least plenty of food in here, but she's looking for their coins. It will get them much further with the merchants. ]

[ She insists that she's fine, but she clearly isn't. She's no music hall actress, because its bloody obvious from the stiffness of her shoulders. She must know that he's fooling no one, as shortly afterward she's on her feet and dramatically stomping into that tent.

...But maybe that's because she wants to be away from him. He felt her gaze, the disgust. It came off her like heat from the sun. He isnt fit company for nice women, but he never pretended to be. He's a thug and a killer and the fact she finds him revolting just makes him angry.

She can be choosey about the company she picks when they're at camp, but if she volunteers to keep bandits away from the caravan then she has to deal with reality. People kill other people. Not for noble causes like god and country, but because they're petty, hungry, nasty bastards. And he is one of those nasty bastards.

As he hears her begin her search of the tent, he makes a mocking bow.]

Next time you come hunting, take that stick out your arse, your ladyship.

[ He turns his own back, going to search the various crates and boxes piled up outside another tent, taking anything useful and light, using the many pockets of his coat to his advantage.]

[ The strange remark does bring pause, but she's quick to resume her search. Whatever has him riled is likely yet another misunderstanding, but Vanessa doesn't care to defend herself. Such insults fall on deaf ears, though it does remind her that she has yet to learn his name. Whatever he may have against her, to remain nameless will serve them even less in the future.

On fetching several coin purses and a crate of dried meats and bread, Vanessa will breeze past him back toward the fire. One of the men is beginning to stir, and she gives a swift kick to the head to silence him before setting the crate down. ]

I am no lady. It's Miss. Vanessa Ives.

[ Beside the fire, she crouches to pick up one of the cups of ale to pour over her knife, rinsing off most of the blood before she wipes the rest on her skirt. It needs to be pristine, or the spell will be quite confused. The blood from her arm is too little, so she slashes at her palm, letting the blood drip onto one of the logs the bandits had been sitting there. Pressing with her thumb, she paints a symbol, slowly forming the shape of claws and a venomous tail. Around the scorpion, a cobra circles. It's a small sigil, so it doesn't take her long at all, but she's talented enough that it's easy to tell what she's drawing.

Her wish is to prevent these dead from ever rising again, but yet again she doesn't think to explain herself. Especially when she doesn't know if it will work, but in such a realm as Akhuras, one must take every precaution to prevent further undeath.

As if she weren't just as undead as they. ]

[ He couldn't really give less of a damn what her name is, but manners beaten into him (quite literally) force him to reply. Even so, its done with no small amount of irritation. ]

Frye. Jacob Frye.

[ He has enough supplies of his own now, although not quite as much as her, to be content to leave this place as soon as he can, but once more the woman seems to have her own bloody idea of what they should be doing. If she'd just listened to him in the first place...

He sighs, not bothering to hide it, as she begins to clean the knife she must have defended herself with. That can wait the twenty minutes or so it will take to get back to the road and the merchants. ]

Miss Ives, can you please stop playing silly-

[ And then he sees it. The slash across her palm, the way she begins to draw in her own blood, strange shapes that while could be totally innocent animals, scorpions and snakes tend to have negative connotations. Especially drawn in blood, in front of a fire, in the dark.]

Miss Ives, What the bloody hell are you doing?

[ The words are sharp, but not scared. More frustrated that he's probably going to have to kill this woman too, because she's in some sort of cult that sacrifices people or some such. It wouldn't be the first time. ]

It is a totem for protection.

[ Once through, she pulls the ribbon from her hair since it has mostly come loose by now anyway, and wraps it around her hand. The wound should heal soon enough. ]

Call it a prayer to keep their souls from becoming tarnished, if you like. I would prefer to burn the bodies, but we haven't the time.

[ With the crate back in her hands, she stands up, first to look to Jacob with a much calmer expression than before. When she glances beyond to the mess they've made, there is a touch of grief tensing her features, but it is more for herself than the fallen men.

Without another word, she turns to go.

Should he think to attack her, well, any such attempt will be sensed and immediately sidestepped with footwork too quick for any normal human. ]

[Attack her, no. Despite how much he would like to, she's not posing a danger to him, yet. As soon as she does he will defend himself, just as he's been taught to do. But for now, the way he moves- which she may well notice is faster than ordinary humans- is not violent. He does grab her, holding her tight by the upper arms, gripping both hard, and giving no hint that he's about to let her go.

He's a strong man, young and extremely fit, built to best men a foot taller than him. He can box with the best of them, and keep up with some of the fastest pickpockets in the capital, and be as silent as the wind that dances around the chimney tops, when the situation calls for it.

But he is also a young man, with a wild temper and a whole heart full of hurt, and he does not like being in the dark. This woman, this Miss Ives, she's laughing at him. He can feel it, sense it, almost hear it, and it grates on him, rubbing him raw. An insult on top of every insult he's faced since arriving here: being forced to run a maze, the creatures like ghosts screeching in bathrooms, and the vines that threatened to squeeze the life out of him. All he wants is to understand, to feel some small measure of control, be familiar with something in this nightmare.

He gives her a shake, gritting his teeth and glaring at her.]

Start making sense. What the fuck was that all about? Who the hell are you?!

[ She holds the crate tight to keep from dropping it, a flicker of irritation narrowing her eyes as he bothers now to waste time they don't have. Whatever grip he has on her feels like nothing more than a child clutching at her for assurance, but she allows it. There's a panic to his actions that tugs at Vanessa's heart; she can feel his desperation even without the warning in his tone or the shake to his grip.

He needs to know. She understands. She had always wanted to know as well, to know it all and make it her own. Unfortunately, there are no words she can offer that will bring him any comfort. ]

You know my name. I am here to help the people of this citadel in whatever way I can. Does anything else matter?

[ Her head tilts just slightly. ]

You will need to steady your nerves, Mr. Frye, if you are to survive here. What you have seen tonight is merely a pebble skipping across a pond. You must be able to breathe through depths of the sea if you don't wish to drown.

Edited (welcome to the redundant city of redundancy that welcomes you) 2023-08-27 21:20 (UTC)

[There's something, some small, slight, almost impossible to detect change in her eyes (very pretty eyes, a voice in his head notes) and as her lips (full and pink, why hasn't he seen that before?) form the first word, his grip begins to ease.

But she doesn't explain any damn thing. She tells him nothing, only laughs at him more. Does anything else matter? Maybe it doesn't to her, but it bloody well does to him! And then she has the balls to go on about steadying his nerves, when she's the one who went completely to hell over a few dead bandits?

He lets go, utterly frustrated with her, with the situation, with all of it. His glare is hard, the set of his jaw unfriendly and he shakes his head as if trying to cast her voice out of it. If he wanted to listen to nonsensical bullshit, he would have stayed in camp and let people talk to him about monks and dead gods and ghosts.

If the people here want to talk in riddles, then so be it.]

You know what? Bollocks to you. You don't want to talk to me, then you go your way back to the caravan, and I'll go mine. Good day to you, your ladyship.

[ If only she could laugh. Vanessa has forgotten how.

Whatever thoughts he forms in his mind, she watches, her pale eyes openly searching his with intent to spy into his very soul before he sees fit to release her. But she has seen enough—enough to know that death follows closely at his heels. She has a habit of finding these types. She also has a habit of frustrating them with her mystery, and this ought to be no different. It isn't her job to nurture him into acceptance, it's something he must manage only when he realizes that here, death does not merely follow; it gazes into one's eyes and invites a kiss.

It ought to be no different, but much is. She is struggling to accept that, to find her new way now that she has returned to Akhuras as nothing but a shell of her former self. Something needs to fill that space. Compassion doesn't need to remain a memory.

There really is only one way back to the caravan from here, so his threat sounds nothing more to her than a tantrum. Even so, she is patient. She can sympathize, though it may be difficult to tell in her expression. ]

You ask what I am, and what do you hope for me to say? That I am a witch? A demon? No. I am only myself.

[ She oversimplifies, she knows, but what Vanessa is she would never be able to give name to. Satan would call her goddess. God would call her devil. She doesn't even know if she can still be called Vanessa, but she would sooner take that name than Amunet.

Crouching down, she'll pick up the few supplies that had fallen from the crate when he attempted to shake her like a ragdoll. ]

I have no answers for why this world is the way it is, or why we are cursed to be here. I didn't choose to be here any more than you did. You may blame me for alerting them, for my failure in a silent execution, but I am not to blame for all of your troubles.

[ Well, she may be...depending on what year he arrived from. But Vanessa has yet to meet anyone here who has experienced London the same way she has, so she feels safe to assume not. He is too stricken by the sight of spellcraft, so it's unlikely he has seen the end of days.

Regardless, she'll stand and move on. If he is intent on pinning her with his woes, then so be it. She is responsible for enough pain elsewhere that she supposes she deserves any manner of punishment, even from one who doesn't understand why she should be punished. ]

Edited 2023-08-27 23:29 (UTC)

[ That should have been the end of it, she should have gone on her merry way and he would have gone on his. But just as he's about to turn his back on her and go, she decides to speak again.

His lips press into a line as she does so, his arms coming to slowly cross over his barrel chest. Demon, witch? She says no, that shes only herself, but Jacob takes all this to mean that she is something other than human. Or more than human, somehow.

He doesn't like the idea. Everything he knows rebels from the concept, but here isn't home. This place, whereever and whatever it is, doesn't have the same rules. One glance arpund his strange jungle can tell him that. Theres ghosts, theres strange flying lizards they can ride. There's dead gods and vines that try to eat people.

And perhaps his world is the odd one. Other worlds may have this too, these impossible things. Watches and demons, like she says. Back home he'd think her a dangerous mad woman, but here? Here she could be something else entirely.

She may be telling the truth about all this. He knows that there are at least a couple of dozen people brought against their will, held here for...something. she may well be one.

In which case, she's an ally and not an enemy.

As he thinks this through, the tension in him changes. No longer so aggressive, his arms unfolding and his shoulders relaxing.

Although he rolls his eyes when she insinuates he blames her for all his problems. He doesn't... but he did take it out on her.]

Right. You aren't to blame for what happened back there. Not entirely. We could have worked better together. I know my way around a blade and it seems you do too.

[ He pauses, looking her over again, and steps closer, offering to take the crate from her by silently holding out his hands. ]

I don't understand what you are, but in this place, we need more friends than we need more enemies, correct?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

unkharil | event

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sorry this is so late!

no problem! <3 I've not been about much myself [I've been playing Baldur's Gate, it's my own fault]

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cw; scorpion + snake imagery

Cw: continued mention of snake and scorpians

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