blood & sand

[groundrules]

Hi folks! Welcome to Eastbound’s last test drive meme and the second event of the Ephes Arc, stretching until 25 October. Applications next open over 20-25 October, with invitations required for new players (but not returning ones). Individual cast and game caps are off.

Test driving characters can use this space for both network and log prompts, as well as play both the newcomer and shared prompts. Enjoy!

BLOOD & SAND

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NEWCOMERS-ONLY PROMPTS

You wake to the creaky swaying of a large wooden cage, in the back of a cart. Balmy sun pinches your cracked, dried skin. Haziness and nausea assail you, your legs weak. Your supernatural powers are muted, due to recover within 48 hours. Several other carts trot by. You share your cage with a dozen others — largely farmers — and sacks of freshly harvested wheat, their bottoms stained dark.

The farmers point you towards a heap of rusted pendants that allow you to speak and glean local tongues, and access a network. They say you were recovered following an earthquake at a Hive — one of the agricultural clusters feeding the extravagant Senate-led city of Ephes. The Ephes army, the elite Hand, was patrolling nearby and is taking you to the citadel for healing.

■ Gather your bearings and distribute the scant water that Hand soldiers dole out — the earthquake, you hear, has dried the Hive wells.

■ You quickly learn why the Hand encaged all of you, as one of the Hive farmers starts to jerk, growl and shake, weeping black water as he strikes at anyone around him. Fend for yourself, before the Hand soldiers come to remove him!

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You arrive at the main gate of Ephes, where crowds vie for passage. Your carts are inspected, and an irritable woman enters each cage, checking each passenger — before taking you and a handful of others for ‘further customs investigations.’

In the back of an alley, she introduces herself as the sorceress Karsa — and says you are otherworlders brought into the realm of Akhuras by undead lieges of the Brotherhood, who seek to weaponise you in their wars. Her patron, the Merchant, leads otherworlders to ancient transport beacons that can deliver you home.

One beacon sleeps in Ephes, where the rest of Karsa’s party is scattered. The citadel has mysteriously accrued an elite, nearly supernaturally strong army that the undead lady Messalina seeks to borrow from the Senate, in her quest to free her undead companions from the Brotherhood. The Senate is yet to vote on her request.

The black water that has touched you, Karsa says, has previously been found where the undead rally. For now, Karsa gives you a little coin, passport papers identifying you under various civilian roles (player’s choice, but keep it Ancient Rome-themed) and an iron pin of an eye with a sun for a pupil to identify other party members.

SHARED PROMPTS

Decadent Ephes is overrun by rumours, after several Senators who intended to support undead lady Messalina were mysteriously assassinated at the banquet of prominent Senator Maximus Faustus — who, Karsa informs, is one of Messalina’s shapeshifting creatures. Messalina offers her protegees demonic hound escorts.

Hand army recruits protect official buildings, while the rich hire gladiators to watch their homes. Both move freely.

The Senate fears further retaliation against those who champion the dead. Senate leader Caius Justus distantly mourns the Senatorial murders from seclusion at the temple of the Chained God.

Civilians face increased tensions and whispers of curfews in the market. Crowds frequently quarrel over undead allegiances

Following an exercise in divination, priests of the city’s patron, the Chained God, spread word that the deity holds strong despite his Chaining, and he still wishes to destroy and rebirth the world.

Karsa informs the existing party that more otherworlders joined Ephes and wear iron pins depicting an eye with a sun for a pupil. She gives the party similar pins for identification purposes. Newcomers and old timers can recognise each other by their pins or engage over the network!

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THE PROSCRIPTIONS
OBJECTIVE: procure proscription lists.

You hear from the city crowds that partial target lists are circulating with the names of politicians targeted for bounties. Karsa tasks the team to recover the lists, which can be used as political currency. Find them by either:

■ Infiltrating a tavern run by the ruthless city gang of Livius Decimus and packed with unscrupulous bounty hunters, thugs and professional assassins.
A local ‘delicacy’ drink of wine and pickle juice is often inflicted on strangers. Brawls erupt randomly. Coax shady patrons to share target lists.

■ Visit the empty marketplaces just before dawns and raid the chained wooden submission boxes of news shouters, who receive anonymous tip-offs about fresh bounty lists. The boxes are pinned to the ground and tightly locked, but rusty from the cold seasons — allowing you to break them or pick their locks, while someone keeps watch. Tampering with a news shouter’s box is a jailable offence.

■ Turn in a finished thread to receive a clue!

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AT SEA
OBJECTIVE: investigate abandoned ships and rescue sailors.

One early morning (OOCly: Oct. 13), as you entertain sailors for gossip on the docks or fish breakfast, you witness the port authorities screaming for help as several small merchant ships appear abandoned at nearby sea for reasons unknown.

Lookouts spot no activity on board, while sailors organise rescues.

■ Row a small boat some 15-20 minutes to one of the merchant vessels. All merchant ships have roughly three hours afloat, as they slowly sink from numerous small erosion holes in their sides.

■ You find no crew on deck, and doorways to the cabins below are locked from within. Below deck, you find numerous sacks of wheat from the Ephes agricultural clusters, the Hives. A black liquid, thick and tar-like, is seeping out of the sacks — corroding the ship’s wood and creating leaking holes.

■ You find a handful of dazed sailors who claim a dark, slithering creature knocked them out. They were selected by Narula, leader of the elite Ephes army of the Hand, to transfer grain onto the vessels of the ‘merchant’ Matthias, much farther at sea. If you mention Matthias to Karsa later, she reveals he is a man (?) who potentially created the undead Brotherhood.

■ Seven sailors who did not know each other were chosen to man the ship. Eight men are in the room, meaning one ‘man’ is the assailing creature. You must decide who to release upstairs for evacuation.

■ Tips: the creature, disguised as a human sailor, has no pain receptors and isn’t afraid of typical dangers (fire, drowning). It does not bleed if hurt. It sometimes forgets to blink and increasingly, unwillingly, slowly morphs its features into yours, the longer it speaks with you. Lastly, the creature has a tattoo on its forearm identifying it as a soldier of the Hand.

■ Once found, the creature turns violent, dissolving into wisps of shadow and materialising once more to strike from behind you. The shadow creature cannot be outright killed — but you can lock it inside the ship.

■ Leave by small boat before the vessel sinks & claim a question if you saved sailors. Merchant vessels can be patched up, if successfully returned to port.

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THE RATTLING
OBJECTIVE: survive & explore the arena.

To stoke her popularity in Ephes, undead mistress Messalina organises a sumptuous gladiator game at the Colosseum (OOCly around Oct. 20), inviting plebes, patricians, politicians, soldiers — and you.

Gladiators may be hired (or coerced) to perform, while servants supply copious amounts of wines, oysters and honey pastries. A tiny mechanical golden mouse, passing by each seat, drops folded pieces of parchment with fortunes and riddles, ranging from teasing to morbid to philosophical or sweet. Pick up yours and make sense of it with your neighbour!

Politicians often interrupt the games to announce donations or make elaborate speeches. Toss peanuts to signal your discontent — or join in with your own speech.

■ The games start with matches between humans, but are building up to face-offs with reptilian demons, mounted rhinoceros and flying gargolyes whose voices thrall you frozen put.

■ During the games, you feel slight vibrations, and — if supernaturally sensitive — an undefined magical tension. By 15:00, this ramps up into earth tremors that worsen over 12 minutes — as columns and seats topple over, and the ground breaks in deep rifts, releasing black, chilled, tar-like water.

■ Crazed mobs rush for the exit, stampeding carelessly, while columns and decorations tumble down.

■ Dozens of the monsters brought to gladiate free themselves and hunt down spectators. Soldiers of the army of the Hand — disturbingly fast, strong and disciplined — intervene but it’s best you look after yourselves. Some spectators shout these Hand recruits practise some of the techniques performed by a recently missing gladiator — the Beast of Brenne.

■ Passing by the earthquake rifts, you see wisps of the tar-like liquid that gushes from them is gradually assuming the shadowy shape of humans. Stalking after you, they do not speak or bring you harm, but slowly steal your likeness and drain you of vigour and stamina. You get the sense that all they want is a shape. Encountering shadow creatures leaves you with a sense of bitter loneliness that only living company can soothe.

■ If you study the arena, you see the same black liquid is gathering around freshly downed corpses, slowly reanimating them. These newly-crafted undead struggle to walk and speak naturally and remember their lives, often unaware they died. Anguished, they beg help to escape, before inevitably succumbing to the instinct to harm you. Remind or convince them they are dead, and they withdraw.

■ The largest earthquake rift in the arena is overrun by the black liquid and by nearby undead. Within it, you notice a bloodless hand that seems to never sink — Enter a RNG draw to collect it and its clue.

■ As you gather your wits outside, you see followers of the Chained God rallying in the streets, comforting the traumatised crowd that all will be well now — for the Chained God’s destruction will be mercifully swift.

Image source.

THE QUIET HOUSE
OBJECTIVE: Explore the abandoned gladiator barracks.

NOTE: a Halloween special, this area is entirely opt-in and features several frights. Mind the warnings!

As chaos consumes the Colosseum, you notice the earthquake has destroyed a previously locked arena gate, revealing a decayed tunnel. The corridor leads inside a closed-off barrack whose doors and windows have been barred from the outside with wood planks and chains. Touch these restraints, and your unhurt hand leaves behind a fading blood print.

The barracks building is withered and clearly abandoned, with scarce furniture and a few weapons in a training room.

Several discarded torches stay alight on wall fixtures. Pre-prepared braziers have been filled with spirit-fending incense of sandalwood and sage. Explore for clues.

■ THE HALLWAYS ( cw: guilt haunting ): corridors flow into each other, often leading back where you started. You run into shifting wall engravings, some listing the name and ranks of Hand soldiers, or precepts such as GODS OF THE ARENA and BECOME AS STRONG / AS FAST, AS NIMBLE / AS GLADIATORS. A large portrait of Hand leader Narula is increasingly more scratched, every time you encounter it, while the painted man looks healthier, younger and stronger. Inevitably, you hear heavy steps — a deep-shadowed spectre, the Drillmaster, who starts to stalk you with slow persistence. Visible to you and your companions, the Drillmaster fluctuates between assuming the appearance of Narula and the distorted, monstrous figure of someone from your past, who heavily criticised or intimidated you. The corridor lighting changes depending on your proximity to the Drillmaster: green for safe passage, white to tread lightly, red to stop. You can make the Drillmaster disappear out of your way by facing or acknowledging whatever weakness (true or self-perceived) you have that has caused extensive criticism or self-doubt.

■ THE BATHS ( cw: doppelgangers): a long marble hall featuring a large swimming pool, now drained and filled with mould and debris. Steam overwhelms the room, except for a wall-length black mirror at the end of the hall. The more you look into the mirror, the more the black substance that covers it slips down, flooding the floors and also dripping from walls and the ceiling. As the mirror clears, you see your black-eyed reflection that suddenly screams out verbal abuse or plunges at you. Once you subdue the doppelganger (claim a clue), it dissolves into more black water, while the mirror shows scratched inscriptions of A RIGHTEOUS HAND SHAPES EACH OF ITS FINGERS.

■ THE DORMITORIES ( cw: membranous cocoons): hollow, empty, quiet, the dormitories sport strange membranous cocoons in the walls, from which shadowy hands reach out. You hear young wo/men, whimpering and murmuring that they aren’t afraid and want to change to make Brother Narula proud, before erupting into screams or laughter. Break the cocoons without getting trapped into their webs — only to find nothing inside, except stone dog tags, engraved with the names of Hand soldiers. On the floor, you find primitive tattoo needles and ink.

Luck strikes at sunset, when a previously barred door opens to release you from the house — back into Ephes.

NOTES:

■ QUESTIONS

■ NPC inbox (for test drivers)

■ Event title shamelessly pilfered from a gory gladiator show!

Comments

QUESTIONS

[groundrules]

Beware avocadoes in the arena — they always pit against you.

THE PROSCRIPTIONS

[nothinglikefather]

Silly question, but it's been a long week! Do we have to do both infiltrating the local gang and raiding the submission boxes, or either?

THREAD TURN-INS

[groundrules]

Like sand through the gory hourglass...

THE LISTS

[groundrules]

Turn a finished* thread of recovering a proscription list or the names on it, if communicated verbally by 23:59 GMT on 18 October to receive a clue!

*you only need to have completed the part of the thread recovering the list by submission time!

NPC INBOX

[groundrules]

Test driving characters can engage with a selection of NPCs found below, by kicking off the conversation with a network comment or a brief log starter. Characters already in game, please use the NPC inbox o/

Please note: NPC threads have to finalise by 23:59 GMT on 20 October.

	MARTELLIUS Second speaker of the Senate and cat wrangler of senators representing both patrician and plebeian interests. A veteran of political warfare who gives starting orators and politicians a hand. Immune to bribery but vulnerable to reason.
	VALERIA Formerly the mistress of Caius, now sworn off earthly pleasures to serve as the great priestess of the Chained God and holiest of women. Where she walks, they say a thousand blessings follow.
	NARULA Genera of the Hand armies of Ephes. Disgruntled, easily irritable, demanding. Never thanks, never congratulates, never disobeys an order or fails to generate a result. Under his leadership, the Hand rose from meager hope to glory. Some yet question... how.
	MESSALINA Newly risen mistress of the dead, who promises Ephes any territories she conquers when defeating the established Undead Lieges, in exchange for the citadel's army. Soft and honeyed spoken, hypnotic. Advocates for freedom and equality and an end to the conflict between the living and the dead.
	KARSA Sorceress, young (?). Employed by the Merchant and deferential to him. Talented but fiery and frequently impatient, intolerant of fools. She will get today's job done yesterday. Struggles to sympathise with men, objections and those who cannot absorb information quickly. Enchanted the group's translation devices.

Jacob Frye / AC Syndicate / OTA

[nothinglikefather]

THE PROSCRIPTIONS

Jacob's known about Livius Decimus' gang, and the other, smaller gangs of Ephes, since the early days of their stay in the city. He knows of their favourite water hole too, but he's not had reason to darken the door.

Yet.

This is a perfect excuse and with the rumours of the lists Decimus has, no doubt they've got more work on their hands than enough. What better way to get a look at those lists than stepping in and offering to help scratch some names off?

Not that he's actually about to. Probably.

He pulls his cloak off his head and pushes open the tavern door, heading inside.

THE RATTLING

OPTION 1- RHINO FIGHT
Jacob hasn't ever fought something like this before. He's heard about animals like this, great armoured, horned beasts with tempers worse than any brutish drunk. The proof is evident as, spurred on by its rider, the giant rhinoceros turns and runs at him, the ground trembling with each heavy fall of its massive feet.

He curses and dives out of the way, tumbling behind the debris of a column that's already been knocked down. Wildly looking around for something to defend himself with, he sees a spear- and across the way, someone else in the path of the beast.

"Run!"

OPTION 2- CHAOS TIME
The black ooze moves like fog rolling off the Thames, thick and dark. Not unlike the water as it passes under the bridges at midnight, and just as deadly. Those who feel caught up by it seem to... fade, as the shadows take on their form. It's terrifying.

And it's all he can do to grab someone as they run and haul them away, faster as lurching footsteps of the fallen begin to catch up.

rhinos!

[catherding]

"I wasn't," he murmurs to the side, in the way of men who face certain death and blinding peril, but persist in the delusion that they can possibly wish it away, "sitting idle."

The animal is a great, frightened, manic beast, and Hector — who has been inspecting the arena for scraps and scatterings of reusable material — sees the fabric of its organic tissue and the promise of the magic that animates it with quiet, startling certainty. The rhinoceros must be studied, then duplicated, and neither impending doom nor the blistering early afternoon sun will dissuade him.

...until, that is, he notices a second rider on his own beast, and even Hector will admit that one crazed rhinoceros is an academic experience, but two are a bundle of joy past what one man may bear. He half throws himself back, half retreats, taking cover behind a toppled column just as the rhinoceroses charge, nearly crossing each other from opposite angles.

In another world, where science hasn't been disrupted by carnage, Hector might consider gratitude. In this one, he throws over his shoulder at the man who'd given him warning, as if he summoned the chaos himself, "Any other obvious ideas?"

hector | castlevania | test driver

[catherding]

i. newcomers ▶ the cart

Easy. Easy. ( The man looming small, pale and the withered definition of handsome, crouched above you, brings the good tidings of a purse — fat, full and dripping fresh water down your dried mouth, your parched throat.

The cart rattles; wheels rumbling, the bones of the cage sway. Possessed of more knowledge than bedside manner, Hector remembers to pillow your nape with a firm palm, avoiding risks to the spine, but no discomfort to the head.

Then, nonchalantly: )

If they know how much water this has left, they’ll jump you for it. ( This, with a carefree nod behind him, where a flock of unsettled, but vaguely predatory farmers seem intent on the spoils of the waterskin. Oh dear. ) Think you can shake them off?

ii. the proscription lists ▶ taverns

Not that one. Spoiling for a fight. He does it for sport.

( And they, presumably, hunt the men who kill for coin. It’s slim, shrivelled and fast-skeletal pickings in the fine establishment of Lucius Decimus, where Hector haunts a corner-side table under the guise of morose drunkenness.

...or perhaps the truth of it. Pass him more of the anonymous, gut-pickling ale whose stench has successfully bleached away any short-term memories that aren’t trying to identify who has these bloody lists. Now, philosophising to his teammate, pointing out strangers with tiny tips of his cup, between whispers: )

That one’s illiterate. If there’s a list, he’s not your man to have it. ( How does he know? The serving wench has been cheating him about prices for the better part of an hour. Another mark: ) That one is a pickpocket, that one's a whore, that one a pickpocket who strikes while you politely tell the whore she's got the itching sickness —

( Said damsel of the night, sensing ridicule, purses her lips, turns and aims the cutting part of a glare at him, while Hector sensibly gazes away. She can, most likely, stab him. All the same, (failing) business as it were: )

We’re sure there are bounty men here?

iii. the proscription lists ▶ the box

...yes, watchman. ( A proud voice, certain. Facing a guardsman beneath the pale of dawns that splinters a tired, slate sky. The marketplace has yet to break into bustle: only Hector, his companion, the newscaster’s chained box and this man-shaped inconvenience of a patrolman are here to scratch silence.

He accepts, early on, that holding watch was the easiest of burdens and that, both he and his companion failing to crack open the box and recover their missive, it is his mission to intervene and. Lubricate. Their exit with strategically sprinkled make-believe.

At least he has stepped before the watchman with blithe arrogance. And what are they doing here? )

This is my... ( A blink, then equally indifferent: ) Child. My... ignorant child, who suffers from a weakness of the mind.

( And… presumably one of the body, given Hector’s youth disqualifies him from fathering most party members. Ah. Never mind that. Speak plainly, imperviously, with conviction. Asserting the dominance of your fiction is half confidence.

Vampires have taught him that. )

My child... believe in speaking to the box. This is why we are here. So that my stupid child who should have made haste can... bid good morning... to the box.

( Some might say he is bitter. )

iv. the rattling

( The ground groans and breaks beneath them, and from Hector’s stall, the arena’s gates seem a distant, nebulous proposition. We won’t make it down in time, before the pillars rupture. Before what’s left of the infrastructure’s backbone succumbs, now brittle, to the weight on its broad shoulders.

He feels — some part of him, hollowed. Relieved. Resigned and accepting in the way of every Forgemaster who understands the final and consummate utility of a body is its potential for reuse. Ravens will feast of him, vermin will make their empire. A hypocrisy of flowers will burst from his innards, whole.

And so, his death is worthwhile —

But not yet. As it came, the tumult ends, the last gasps of the earthquake leaving the stairs that deliver spectators to upper seats, through some miracle, immaculate. He rushes down, crosses — bodies, many trampled. Some gutted by beasts that savage the lower grounds.

He sees the pin first, flashing, blinding. Then, the face of a member of his new — family. He asks no questions, only collects them by the arm, or pulls them by their shoulders — to move. Stop staring, stop waiting for the rifts below to reveal anything but hell and madness. )

Come. Don’t — don’t look. There’s nothing left to see there. Run.

( The first rule of survival is understanding: you live to avenge. )

v. network

Speaking from experience, blind alliances with mysterious saviours who claim to share all of your interests don’t tend to end well.

the proscription lists » taverns

[clavesregni]

It's what we've been told. [Which doesn't necessarily mean there are bounty hunters here sharing lists of targets. Karsa might have received faulty information. But it's the lead they have and it would be remiss of them not to thoroughly investigate it.

Even dressed the part, Caitlyn looks out of place here. Her posture is too straight, her hair and nails too clean and carefully trimmed, her expression one of faint disgust at the near-overwhelming stench of the place. She hasn't touched a drink. She's doing her best to blend in, but her best still clearly screams this girl grew up in a mansion.]

Perhaps if we pretended to be assassins, and asked around for some good... contracts. [Is that the word?] They would share with us.

Marius Titus | Ryse: Son of Rome | OPEN!

[sonofrome]

I. Newcomers> The Cart

Marius Titus is fairly sure he didn’t belong in a filthy, large, wooden cage with many other ordinary people like him.

“Ephes?

He was a proud Centurion.

“Earthquake?

He eyed the pendant lying on the ground, the language barrier to him wasn’t going to be a problem mostly considering he spoke Latin, but other languages were going to be another story.

As the farmers and Marius were lead out, he blinked, eying a nearby hand solider, muttering in Latin “You got the wrong guy, I’m a Centurion, here.”

One of the hive farmers suddenly interrupted the scene in front of them as the black water farmer began to attack anyone around him. Well, if his words couldn’t convince the Hand soldiers, he’d have to fight like a legionary himself.

It was just Marius vs the black water farmer.

Marius grabbed his gladius and began to fend for himself, at least until one of the Hand soldiers joined in.

wen kexing ( word of honor / old timer )

[wifedup]

a. the proscriptions / marketplace

( Here Wen Kexing is in the early hours of the morning, carting a wooden crate over one exquisitely draped shoulder. He weaves as he comes, unbalanced, jovially humming away to himself. From the state of his hair and the general smudged air around his eyes he looks like he hasn’t slept yet, that or he’s been deep in his cups for some while.

The box hits the ground with a thud, fat parcels of something spilling from the sides. Wen Kexing turns to the lone vendor setting up shop with an expectant air. )

Is Aetius not here? Tch, he told me to meet him, I’m a busy man you know! ( He kicks the his wares, wobbles further, sighing as he reaches for the coin purse at his waist. ) Well, can you fetch him? I’ll make it worth your while.

( Coins slip from his fingers, spiralling into the street. The person before him watches with wide, eager eyes. Wen Kexing hiccups, weighs the purse in the palm of his hand, dropping himself down so that he can lounge on top of the submission crate, trying to reach the coins with his boot. ) You can have this if you bring him back before I pass out, mm? Hurry now.

( The prospect of money seems to do it, the other man scurrying off as Wen Kexing finds a flask in the inner folds of his robes. He takes a deep gulp and then as if an entirely different person, rises steadily to his feet. The wobble is gone, and with single minded focus he aims a kick to the rusting lock of the submission box, leaning down to throw the whole thing wide open. It’s only after he’s pulled the paper out that he speaks, voice missing the slur from before. )

Can I help you?

b. the rattling

( Amidst the carnage Wen Kexing is a blurred shape. He darts through the air towards, his fan shot out in an arc of deadly precision towards the throat of an attacker. The blood splatters across the person it had been intending for its lunch, but Wen Kexing can hardly apologise for that, not when he’s hoisting them up by the elbow and back onto their feet. )

Run, get out of the arena.

( There is a sword on the ground just beyond them, abandoned, or more likely dropped as its owner became a corpse. He picks it up now, testing the weight of it in his hand. It’s not one he’s exactly used to but he seems capable enough when he takes a running leap, burying it into the chest of another monster’s chest.

And then, to his nearest companion. )

Are the bodies getting back up?

c. the quiet house / hallways

If anything appears asking for soup I'm not going to be held responsible for my actions.

( Because it's always creepy abandoned places and he always has a vaguely ridiculous time of it. At least, he tells himself, this one didn't include a statue of his beloved trying to kill him. He can take the ominous lighting and the ever present spectre of a man he doesn’t recognise, they’re hardly harmful. )

“As fast, as nimble”? Judging from the corpses outside, maybe some of their gladiators should have spent more time studying these precepts.

( The light dims to red again, Wen Kexing throwing a wry smile to his companion over his shoulder. ) Ah, our friend is back –.

Ah-Xing. ( The smile on Wen Kexing’s face freezes almost instantly, his whole body going taut and still. He is an animal hearing a crack in the underbrush, every single atom of his body suddenly honed on the sound of shuffling feet just beyond him. ) Ah-Xing, Little Ghost, have you forgotten all that I have taught you?

( Wen Kexing’s hands twitch, empty, the shadowy figure coalescing into the shape of a man, crowned and red-faced, holding a rod in one hand. ) You will learn this lesson again.

Ignore it. ( There is an emptiness to Wen Kexing’s voice this time, the laugh drained out. ) It’s not real, don’t listen to it.

( He still has not looked behind him. )

d. the quiet house / the baths

( There is something to be said about fighting yourself, though even Wen Kexing would find the story he could tell heavy-handed and awkward. The vision of himself lunges, is sidestepped, a hand thrust into the space between his shoulder blades to send the spectre staggering. )

Now I know why Zhou Zishu was so upset with me before! You can’t just grope whoever you like!

( Calling out to the sound of feet he hears approaching just as he shoves his doppleganger bodily into the water. )

You might want to find somewhere else to clean up?

e.ooc:

anything goes! find me at discord: sadgaydna or qingya if you want to plot

the quiet house | hallways

[downswing]

( Ignore it. The mutinous quakes of its steps, ground shattering. How it breathes, and the house exhales, startled, besides it. A creature so defined by heft that it has become the centre of Wen Kexing's petrified universe.

Between them, Lan Wangji chances a glance and — stills, overcome like quarry before the wolf's unhinging maws, its tight-churned malice. He does not know this man, his temper. Whatever paltry or substantive threat his smoky breath and skidding steps carry. He does not need to, torches burning red and bright, the pulse of Wangji's fingers taut on his unsheathed sword.

He thinks to draw Bichen. Reconsiders. There is a time for war and one for the strategy of clean extraction, Wen Kexing folded into himself like parchment, close to the breaking. He will tatter himself to nothingness, given time, bend til the screeching break.

No time. The corridor, like a coiled intestine, narrows and turns — but carries on. Escape is yet a possibility. )

It is as nothing. ( As, but not actual nothing. An inconvenience, a farce. A trick like a dropped plaything, the whim of the dead. )

Withdraw. It does not crave me. I may waylay it.

zoro → one piece (la) | test-driving

[serio]

▷ AT SEA

( hearing about the merchant ships that have been spotted out at sea, roronoa zoro decides to head out on a small boat in search of survivors -- specifically, he's looking for any of the straw hat pirates. the ship he'd been traveling on right before he'd found himself in ephes, the going merry, is nowhere to be seen amongst the vessels remaining afloat, but he's still holding out hope he might find a familiar face somehow... )

i.

Why don't you let me row? ( because they seem to be going at a snail's pace... )


ii. ➳ OPTION A

( the green-haired man is just standing quietly in a corner of the room observing the interrogation, one hand resting on his trusty sword. zoro gets the gist of what's going on here. seven hired sailors, so who's the eighth guy? )

I've got a question. ( finally, he decides to say something. ) Which one of you can tell me where you stash the liquor around here? ( because all he's found so far are sacks of wheat and more wheat. there's silence for a good few seconds before one of the sailors lifts a shaky hand up, nervously mumbling something about a hidden stash of rum in the galley. zoro lifts an eyebrow up. )


ii. ➳ OPTION B

( if no one stops him from taking the mousy sailor with him, and if for some reason or other, someone else decides to come along on this rum hunt, they're going to head below deck. the plan is to retrieve the liquor and whatever else they can get their hands on, bring the sailor back to shore with them before the ship sinks, and profit. judging by how much the vessel's creaking, and how they're almost ankle deep in seawater, they really haven't got much time. )

Can you swim?


▷ THE QUIET HOUSE


i. ➳ GENERAL CHIT CHAT

( zoro isn't sure how he ended up in this part of the colosseum, but now that he's walked through the corridor, he can't seem to find his way out. he's strolling casually through the barracks building, looking up, down, left, right... well. he's definitely lost, but also being very blasé about it. like, this happens a lot. no big deal. )


ii. ➳ THE HALLWAY

( sitting crosslegged on the floor with his back to the wall, zoro's been staring blankly at the drillmaster for the past thirty minutes or so. the only time he seems to react, flinching slightly as he looks away, is when a young girl with blue hair and a distorted face appears in front of him.

when he hears someone approaching, relief is evident on his face as he looks up. )

Tag. You're it. ( getting up, he wipes the dirt off his pants. he knows he's not off the hook, but with someone else here, he might not be the only one that damn drillmaster's stalking. what's that saying? misery loves company? )


▷ WILDCARD
Anything goes! Or PM me for a closed starter.



[ooc: zoro is coming in post the end of the first season of opla. i've kept this as spoiler-free as possible, but if you don't want any spoilers in our threads, pls pm to lemme know. also, will mark for spoilers in threads. and now -- take a drink for every time you read the word spoiler(s) in here! cheers! 🍻]

at sea | option a.

[catherding]

( Three elements of a nauseating equation: the sea, abandoned ships and killers on the loose. Charmingly ticked.

Far from Hector to question this fine opportunity to become another nautical murder statistic — but the circumstances leave something to be desired. The space is dank, morose, tension thick with anticipation. A symphony of bedbugs and fleas is waving regards from one of the sailors' unwashed person. There is likely an element of supernatural malice at play, they've advanced too far into the belly of the ship to make a dash for the exit —

...and his guard, protector and designated chance of survival is about to do the vessel's perpetrator a kindness by knocking himself out. Hector takes this fine moment to remind everyone, blandly: )

Look at them. One of them is likely an abductor or a killer. ( Can you not gently postpone the wining and inevitable whoring for one minu — )

They won't have cups. ( The real tragedy here. )

Zhou Zishu | Word of Honor | OTA

[lonelydream]

i. newcomers: the cart
Sometimes, it's easier not to get involved. Zishu tucks the pendant into his robes--tattered, unsurprisingly, rough-woven and patched--and settles against the side of the cart as he finally is able to understand what's going on. Shutting his eyes until they're barely open, he watches from beneath his lashes, taking everything in without making it obvious that he's doing so.

It isn't until one of the farmers start to shake that he lifts his eyes, lips thinning. "Does this happen often?"

ii. the rattling
Zishu had been drinking rather heavily and had, at first, mistaken the growing chaos for the normal brand furor that tends to take over a bloodthirsty crowd. It's only a few precious moments later that the ground splits apart, and he shoots to his feet, eyes wide.

He fights his way out, cutting down the monsters that have started picking off spectators. "Get out," he snaps, hauling someone who had stumbled up by the arm. "Find the exit, quick!"

iii. the quiet house: baths
The hall is long and large, and each of his steps echo hauntingly in the marble corridor. The steam makes visibility poor, and the hair at the back of his neck seems to stand on end the further he walks through the room. Though he really should know better, Zishu pauses in front of the mirror. It's black, shadowed, with the shape of a man growing ever-clearer the longer he stands there.

It's him, of course. That's what a mirror shows.

"Coward," it hisses at him, and Zishu does not recoil. "Liar. Selfish dog. Your hands are dirty, filthy, stained with the blood of innocents."

iv. wildcard
(( anything goes! or PM me if you'd like to discuss anything. if you'd prefer action tags to prose, I can match that too! ))

The Rattling

[nothinglikefather]

The arena, the seats, in fact the entire circus is chaos. As screaming as people try to get out, marble pillars crash around them, and beneath their feet the ground literally tears itself apart. It's like some scene out of hell, or as close as Jacob could imagine it to be.

His own blade is drawn, but considering it's not made for this sort of fight, it's easier to fight these things off with what is at hand. Bits of marble, a broken spear from the gladiator fights, anything that can be used to put some distance between the strange lurching shadow men and the fleeing crowd is fair game.

But that means those few of them fighting the shadows are soon some of the only ones left, and there are not many of them. He grabs one of the swords from the ground, dropped by an unfortunate soldier of the Hand when they fell into the gaping abyss, and sees someone helping up a fallen local.

"We can't stop this." He says, as the ground shakes again, "Just get out, come on!"

Wrathion | Warcraft | OTA (Existing character!)

[blackscales]

[ If none of these prompts work, can always shoot me to PM or ping me on discord, or wildcard me! Starters in prose, but happy to switch to brackets!]

THE PROSCRIPTIONS

[blackscales]

Blending in at a tavern while also working at the senate don't appear to be things that go hand in hand, especially after all his public escapades to support his cause. Wrathion decides, therefore, that the more direct thievery route is the way to go. Tampering with one of these news shouter's boxes is an offence, but that doesn't stop him.

Wrathion has more than luck on his side.

It's dark when they head out. He waits in the shadows for his opening, patient, when at last the small group of children arrive. Just as planned, they erupt into a noisy argument over who stole from who. Perhaps employing orphans constantly in his schemes isn't, in truth, the best of things but it keeps them busy. Busy, and in coin!

"Keep an eye out," Wrathion murmurs, and slips forward in the darkness to begin wrestling with the box. Hopefully, the distraction keeps eyes off them, but it isn't guaranteed to hold everyone's attention.

Elayne Trakand | Wheel of Time (TV) | test driver

[daughterheir]

(ooc: canon point is post-2x02 so there won't be any spoilers for anything past that)


i. the cart

[The water is a good excuse to move about the cage - as much as one can move in a cage - and assess her fellow captives. Mostly local farmers, it seems, but one or two who stand out from the rest.

Elayne kneels by one such captive, holding out a waterskin as she leans in just close enough for a whisper to be heard without looking too suspicious.]

Have you got anything that could be used to pick a lock?

[A subtle weave to test the strength of the lock was one of the first things she'd attempted when she woke up. But the Source had felt frustratingly out of reach, as though she hadn't quite got the strength to touch it. She's read the accounts of what it's like to be cut off from the One Power, the endless oppressive emptiness that drives most to end their own lives. And it doesn't feel like that at all. So, after a moment of subdued panic, she'd made up her mind that she couldn't possibly be stilled.

But stilled or no, she is incapable of channeling right now. And that means she'll need help to get this cage open.]


ii. the proscriptions

[It's quiet in the marketplace, perhaps eerily so, the first hints of dawn's light starting to spill over the roofs and cast deep shadows across the cobblestones. But quiet doesn't necessarily mean abandoned.

With the air of one who expects to be obeyed, Elayne holds up a hand to caution her companion.]

We mustn't draw any more attention to ourselves than strictly necessary.

[The large wooden cudgel she's carrying by her side is Plan B.]


iii. the quiet house

[Having wrested a torch from a wall sconce, Elayne is carefully making her way down a dark, steam-filled corridor. The torch is accomplishing nothing but making her feel a bit better, the flame reflecting uselessly off steam that parts for just a moment, allowing Elayne to catch herself - just barely - instead of toppling into a pit that was once a swimming pool, now devoid of water. The thick atmosphere muffles her cry of surprise.

But it doesn't muffle the sound of something behind her. She whirls around, squinting through the steam, trying to see if someone - or something - has followed her in here.]

Hello?


iv. wildcard

[wildcard!]

the cart

[catherding]

( Feverish amid the aridity, overcome by the swaying and morose trotting of the cart, Hector is all but an occasionally retching part of the landscape, by the time the girl approaches him. She brings, at least, water — and, closing both greedy hands around the skin, he nearly neglects to hear the rest of her offer, however implicit.

Escape. His eyes, straining to focus, slant and wander the cage, their circumstances. He sees... hey, farmers, a deficit of amenities. A small dog someone hadn't the heart to leave behind. And bars, perhaps no more menacing than a precaution to avoid that they topple over and out of the vehicle, while they struggle with their footing.

...or so a more naive man — Hector himself, a year prior — might think. Now, he nods (seemingly, his thanks) between greedy gulps, before blindly fishing for the silvered brooch on his jacket, a trinket of neglected nothing. It gives way, unfastening with barely a graze of his fingertips.

He holds it out beside the waterskin. ) Thank you. ( And taut: ) Is there anything I can do to help you in return?

( Wondering ears will surely assume, for the water. )

nami — one piece (la), test driving

[cartographie]

– i. arrival (for serio)

[ For a person as used to the rock of the ocean as she is, the way the carriage she wakes up in bumps along on land is disconcerting, enough so that Nami ignores the persistent sun-induced ache in her head in favor of slowly cracking her eyes open. She casts a discrete look around through her eyelashes, not yet wishing to appear alert if it was better off not to. The weight of her rucksack’s strap on her shoulder is comforting, considering there’s almost nothing else familiar around at first glance until her eyes land on a shock of green hair. Not a straw hat, but it's a start. Filled with relief and somewhat more at ease about moving after spotting a few conscious captives standing around in their rolling cage, Nami tucks her bag under her arm and moves closer.

He’s unconscious, but he’s alive - she’ll take it. After settling beside Zoro on the wagon’s floor, she wastes no time and spares no delicacy in the way she starts poking his arm, repeating his name quietly. It’s probably only slightly less abrasive than being woken up by Luffy, but, who cares? Thus far she hasn’t spotted their other three crew members, and unless she’s mistaken (and she rarely is about things like this) they’re in some serious trouble. ]

Wake up. [ She pokes him again, long and hard, like his shoulder’s a doorbell, and she’s not leaving without an answer. ]

– ii. proscription (tavern's version) (spoilers for s1)

[ A rough and tumble tavern full of shady criminals with pockets full of secrets?

They might as well have rolled out the red carpet. It’s a dangerous, dimly lit bar, but she’s situated herself in hundreds of those, being in a new world is pretty bad, but it’s nothing compared to the places she’s had to insert herself into while hustling berry. Nami will survive, it's what she does best.

Right now Nami’s surviving while posted up at the bar, half a drink idly hanging in her grasp as she surveys the room, her attention lingering on the tables where cards are being dealt and dice are being rolled. The sharp smell of wine and pickle juice as a glass for the person beside her is slid across the bar makes her turn her head sideways, regarding them passively. ]

I wouldn’t if I were you. [ Her gaze flits from the pin Karsa’s told them to look out for, which denotes someone else from the group to the stranger’s face, tipping her chin towards the glass. ] Unless you like vinegar. [ Yes she’d been offered one already, and yes she’s tried it. She’s not going to talk about the experience, just try not to look too disgusted as she does her good deed for the day and attempts to put the other off experiencing the local fare for themselves. ]

– iii. the rattling

[ Nami discards the fortune into her rucksack without taking her eyes off the golden mouse as it whizzes past where she’s seated to bring treats to the other onlookers. The show really isn’t her speed - brutal bouts of might and violence are things she endures when she has to. She won’t hesitate to fight, but that doesn’t mean she wants to pull up a chair and spend hours watching others do it, but the lure of gold is evergreen, and here in a world where her berry’s no good (the secret stash she’s always got in her sock, wrapped around hidden lockpick one of four proven useless), it’s tempting to just follow the mouse and see where it goes.

Gold is good everywhere, and, maybe it’s got friends.

There’s a cover story already assembling itself in her mind as she picks her way after the mouse, moving behind the rows of seats while she works out where in town she can get it melted down into currency, and if she should smack it against something to try and stop it moving before she shoves it in her bag.

It’s just as she reaches a spot where she’s sure her hand can dart out mostly undetected and close around the mouse that Nami realizes she’s positioned herself a little too close to another person. Her hand pulls back and the mouse zips past, leaving her scowling and rolling her eyes before she looks at them without so much as a wisp of sheepishness in her expression. ]

Do you work here? [ She hopes not, that’s a big part of the tale she’s gearing up to spin if she gets questioned about her actions. ]

– iv. wildcard

[ dm for questions or if you'd like to work out something else, otherwise feel free to seize the day and toss a start my way, i'm good to roll with any of the above prompts. will mark spoilers, but shoot me a message if you'd prefer to avoid them entirely. ]

tavern

[catherding]

( The trouble with a beautiful woman in this kind of establishment where fleas, gore and human or animal vermin are served indiscriminately is — this is the third gentleman who approaches Hector with questions over the nightly going rate of his delightful feminine companion.

He's tried, valiantly, to suggests she pimps herself out, if anything. So far, his business qualifications remain undisputed.

At least, so far, these would-be pursuers have all discovered the decency to start their entreaties with bribes of hard drink. Hector, by now relieved of enough of his senses to philosophically ponder the bubbling, red-green-brown-swirling contents of his latest alcoholic gift, hasn't been put down by the crowds, the clutter, the occasional glimpse of severed fingers, or the liberal talk of someone's close relatives, culled last week — a little soured wine sounds almost attractive.

To hear a warning is not the same as to heed it. ) It can't be that bad.

( But he drinks, mouth virginal and wholly unprepared for the deluge of briny, putrid sadness that cauterizes both his taste buds and will to live in one fell, cloying swoop. Good God, it's in his mouth and somehow reeks. It's sliding down, at once liquid and gelatinous. It is, quite possibly, alive.

He thinks his innards have died and been reborn again, by the time he sets the cup back down on the table, blinking owlishly at the woman. )

...it was worse. It was... so much worse. How could it be so much worse?

wrath | kingdom of the wicked| old timer | ota

[inferus]

( ooc: cw some descriptive monster violence ahoy. choose any option or hit me w/ a wildcard. )

As much as Wrath has enjoyed watching his wife in the colosseum (furious and violent and covered in blood - she was an incredible sight), Wrath has been aching to enact violence himself. This is even more true after they've broken their own curse in the moonlight with the gifts given to them by this place. His favorite weapons have finally been returned to him. And so when the ground breaks revealing familiar dark water, when the beasts are free, Wrath dives into battle while the rest of the masses attempt to run away.

From his back sprout two wings of silver fire with black underneath, he flies into the ring to dispatch at least one of each of the beasts. He moves with supernatural speed, with fluidity, with expertise and a sheer enjoyment of violence and blood-spilling.

A) To the rhinoceros a second before it might gore one of the party, Wrath soars in, flying on his wings and dives his House dagger (a serpent coiled around the handle of it) into the side of its leg, blood spraying up at his face. It trips and tumbles off balance and away from them. Wrath flips the dagger over in his hand as he prowls toward the rhinoceros' form with a predatory-look, fighting against its thrall and sending one of his own back in return - enough to make the creature whimper.

B) When the newly risen dead forget who they are, begin to attack, Wrath responds on instinct, utilizing his weapons as blades that easily carve through several of the Undead. To another of the dead, he might be kinder by simply ordering them to stop in a voice sharp with command - moments before they get their teeth around someone's leg.

C) Or he might come sailing down from above with a gargoyle in his fists, diving with it into the floor of the colosseum. It's body a mangled thing beneath his feet. Wrath's wings extend as he stands slow - his wounds have yet to heal, scratches and cuts cover his body, open wounds which are slow to stitch themselves back together. They drip golden ichor from his body that gathers on the floor at his feet, but his expression seems to show he is enjoying the pain as much as the violence as much as he is breathless, pushing the limits given to him by this world specifically. But blood and bones, his wings are a miraculous piece of him restored.

( OOC: very open/wanting to exploring the barracks as well, which i think can follow upr esponses to any of these prompts. :) also, if you want to help his ass out at the end when he's pushed to his limits cause he's the devil and doesn't like to think he has limits, feel free to kill a monster before it gets to him in the final prompt. also open to any other wild cards that might be thrown his way. )

C

[somebadnews]

The reason Five is in the colosseum has a lot more to do with who else is. He has family to look after, and once he got a good idea of what Messalina was throwing at them, he didn't trust that it wouldn't get out of hand and he'd need to step in. Working with the undead is always a gamble, and he's prepared for it to backfire at any moment even as he tries to work their situation out in their favor. What he finds instead is Wrath, with a pair of wings he doesn't remember seeing, brutally ripping apart anything that comes near.

Five has long been aware of Wrath's power, fully believing he's the strongest of their group. After the earthquake spurs a stampede in the stands, he gets a perfect view of what a machine he is, and what a fierce ally they had on their side. But something seems different. Aside from the wings.

It's after the gargoyle is obliterated on the floor that he notices the wounds and the heavy breathing. While the others push past him to run from the monsters emerging, he pushes forward until he sees a reptile demon coming fast from behind him. The crowd's screams swallow up his shouts of warning, and so Five blinks and reappears on its back, and blinks away with it in another second before anyone watching can get a good look at him.

When he returns the fight seems to have settled, and he waits in the shadows of the sidelines until Wrath could hear him over the chaos. Not without a glance around at the carnage he left in his wake. For his part, Five only looks slightly disheveled from his brief tussle with the reptile.

"Messalina got more than she bargained for." He doesn't know if his assistance was welcome, or necessary, but he also doesn't know if there's something more that brought on this bloodbath. It worries him what he might have missed, and he's uncertain in a way he's not used to being when his gaze returns to his friend. "...I don't think I've ever seen you bleed."

Monkey D Luffy | One Piece (la) - Test driving

[bigsmile]

NEWCOMER ARRIVAL (A)

(Luffy isn't sure what got him but waking up slowly to hot air with the sun glaring down on him wasn't on his Grand Line checklist. He has no idea how he even got to wherever this was and the young man pulls himself into a sitting position, instantly regretting the sudden motion as the haziness kicks in. Urk. What...? It's a wooden cage on a cart from what Luffy can see and he squints, trying to get his bearings as he lets the dizziness pass, hands going to his hat as he ensures it's still there.

After some prompting from a farmer Luffy snags one of the pendants, listening to what the others are talking about. Hives? Ephes? Healing?? Everything is so far removed from being on his ship out on the ocean that Luffy can barely even keep up. If it involved a hive it had to be about bees, right? Right?

Luffy has never been one for staying still and it isn't long before he feels well enough to stand, getting to his feet as much as he can before pointing to the farmers. He has no idea what this is, but a cage is a cage and the rest he can deal with later.)

Don't worry, I got this, all I gotta do is just reach around the side of these bars and — (As Luffy talks he's trying to stretch his arm out behind him, intent on somehow picking a lock and blinking when nothing happens. No stretching, not even a flex and he pulls his arm in front of him, eyes widening as he tries to wrap his head around that.) — what?!

(The panic and concern is instant. He's made of rubber, he should be able to get out of this cage no big deal and not being able to? Worst news ever. Luffy spins around to grabs the bars of the cage, face going bright red as he's pressing up against them almost as if trying to squeeze his head through.) Just. Gonna. Need. A moment!

NEWCOMER ARRIVAL (B)

(Soon enough they arrive at the main gate of Ephes and Luffy finds himself taken to one side. He can't help but glance back at the farmers, concern visible in his expression at the uncertainty of their fates. But there's no time for that when Karsa is explaining everything and to Luffy's credit he listens to every word. None of it makes much sense when comparing it to back home, but he can learn by doing. He always does. By listening he'll be able to think of where the rest of the Straw-Hat pirates are; their absence is glaring and Luffy is already missing them as he hopes they're doing better than he is.

He's handed some money, a pin and some papers which he peers at.)

Is this like a job? A "taste tester"? I get to eat and get paid for it? (Luffy gives a whoop, looking at the nearest person. It's lucky for anyone in this place that he won't be working, if only because they'll never know he's somewhat immune to poison until it's too late.)

Paid to eat, isn't that the best?? I mean uh. So what do you think about all this.....?



AT SEA (A)

(Luffy naturally gravitates towards the docks, heart aching ever so slightly over the fact his crew are still missing. He doesn't know if they're here or not and no matter how much he has looked or listened, there's yet to be sign of them. So the dock is the natural place to go; if any of the Straw-Hat pirates are around he's certain this is where they'd head to. Luffy's faith is unshakeable in them, knowing that if they are in this world they will cross paths and find each other again no matter what.

It's only when someone starts shouting that Luffy looks up from the paper he's staring at, eyes squinting at the vessels that he's sure weren't there before.)

What's going on there?

AT SEA (B)

( There's no question in Luffy's mind that there's a mystery to be solved and he doesn't think twice about grabbing the nearest helpful looking person and taking a row boat as he proclaims that this should be his job as future king of the pirates! Something is happening here and as a pirate himself it's almost personal to him that it involves ships, boats and strange goings on. Luffy even rows the boat himself, making sure not to get any salt water splashed on or near himself.

They'll need to be quick if the ship is due to sink in a few hours. Should Luffy get salt water on him he'll be weak, paralysed and unable to do much of anything. Sinking with this thing is the last thing he wants to do and so he races around the place trying to find clues as to what is going on.

He can be found later in a room with the other sailors, slowly pointing to each one as he counts quietly. That can't be right. Luffy counts again, and again, totalling the group up five times before putting his hands on his hips with a confused smile.)

Huh. Something isn't adding up here. Am I that bad at counting...?



QUIET HOUSE (DORMS)

( Luffy doesn't do regret, nor does he ever look back and wish he'd done things differently. He's very much living in the moment, always walking forwards with his head held high. Though right now he's simply staying put, head tilted to one side as he tries to listen to the noises around him. Something about not being afraid, making someone proud? Luffy almost jumps out of his skin when the screams suddenly piece the air and he instinctively grabs the arm of the nearest person.

Who's idea was this place anyway?! )

Just so you know, I'm not scared. Are you scared? It's actually okay if you are, it's a natural thing. So if you're scared just let me know, I'll get us out of here....

NETWORK

( Luffy has no idea how this network works, but he's just going to go for it. Sadly Luffy does not come with a volume button, so his voice cuts loudly across in audio format, name showing as KINGOFTHEPIRATES.)

IS THIS THING WORKING? HELLO??!

WILDCARD

( Happy to do any prompt or something completely different, feel free to PM or PP at spiciest ! )

net... work... but I'm probably going to hit up your log prompts too, I love Luffy T_T

[downswing]

un: absterge | text

Discretion, a virtue.

Ben Hargreeves | The Umbrella Academy | Voice testing test driver

[stomacles]

NEWCOMERS
cw: death and dehydration
Can you hug me as I go. It's been a long time -

Ben is not necessarily ready to go into the light, even now. Whether he goes to Heaven - or somewhere else - he hasn't even had a chance to talk to Luther, Five or Allison, yet, but it seems it doesn't matter. He is no longer able to hold on, so one last conversation with Vanya - who will be Viktor later, but Ben does not know that, yet - and saving them (and by extension, the world) by calming Vanya down, will have to do.

He can even almost feel Vanya's arms around him as he starts to fade into brilliant blue sparks. Ben closes his eyes and waits to open them in wherever he ends up, only to feel heat seconds later.

"What...." Ben opens his eyes, a little slack jawed. He knows this feeling, he thinks. It's been seventeen years, but this doesn't feel like when he possessed Klaus, doesn't feel like walking around in Vanya's mind, and he definitely isn't a spirit. He thinks.

He pats the solid form he's in, and looks down. Black hoodie - not Klaus' body. Quickly, he pulls at his jeans and double checks. No, definitely not Klaus' body. And his hoodie is so stifling hot in this heat. HEAT! He feels heat. Sun on his skin as he removes the hoodie, skin cracked and dry. There's a wave of nausea and he smiles.

"This can't be Heaven," he mutters, but does not sound disappointed, mostly because Ben doesn't think it's Hell. Unless Hell is just dehydration? He doubts. His joy slowly tappers off as the feelings of being in a human body once more take over him, the lethargy that comes from with dehydration, for example. He takes a pendant and feels it in his hands, obsessively, letting his fingers hit every bump and indent.

Then he realizes - there are other people here!

"You can hear me?" he asks, Ben's giddiness returning.

This doesn't abate, even when one of the Hive farmers lashes out, aimed in Ben's direction. He dodges and laughs.

"He can see me!" Chuckle. "He's trying to kill me. But he can see me!"


THE PROSCRIPTIONS
"I'll keep watch," Ben ensures the person he teams up with, who seems able and ready to pick the lock, or is able to bash it open.

He's on lookout! Involved in something. He misses that attachment to Klaus for moments like this, but he can communicate for himself, and that makes it great. Of course, Ben is accustomed to not being seen, so he just stands there out in the open. He can be more distracting this way if anyone comes near.


THE QUIET HOUSE - THE BATHS
cw: doppelganger, abusive language and violence, possible stomach tentacles
It doesn't occur to Ben to take someone with him, not at first. He takes a few steps, and people are welcome to join him, but he might also backtrack and offer, "Want to come with me?" just because he can.

The first thing Ben really notices when he enters the bath area is the scent - he can smell something moldy and old - feel the mugginess against his skin. The air here is damp, and he should hate it, but he doesn't, not completely. It's a mild discomfort, and one he hasn't truly felt for seventeen years. It still hasn't lost its novelty, though it will, eventually.

He feels the walls as he passes, fingers taking in the texture, no matter what it's covered in.

Other things Ben should probably not be so into? Looking into mirrors. But he has a reflection! The mirrors see him, and the face looking back is his own, not Klaus'. Even if mirrors feel empty without Klaus there, by his side, Ben is still intent on enjoying every moment of this.

To the point the black mirror found in the bathing area confuses him. It's black. No reflection, yet. But the goo starts to drip. Part of his mind thinks he should probably back away, but the reflective surface of the mirror can be seen as the black goo falls away.

"What did you think? You could just get your life back, just like that? You putrid, clingy shit!"

Ben backs away from the mirror as the reflection opens it's mouth, speaks, then seems to step forward, to leave the mirror.

"What the hell!" For anyone there with him, this might get confusing, very fast, aside from the black eyes the doppelganger has.


Wildcard - here for anything that comes to mind. He's new to me and I'm all over exploring possibilities with him. Good with doing an AT SEA, THE RATTLING or other THE QUIET HOUSE parts here if you have a starter in mind, if not, we can discuss.


[OOC: Will do [, (, past, present, prose, whichever is most comfortable - I will follow. Feel free to contact me on plurk metaljean, on this journal, or discord midknightcat to discuss ideas.]

wildcard | lemme know if this doesn't work

[rumorate]

Gladiators aren't exactly given a free pass to roam, but Allison's made enough fans at this point that she gets purchased away from the coliseum on a fairly regular basis. She travels through the streets, watched by Laetio's trusted men, but she's never really been one to resist - at least, until a familiar face catches out of the corner of her eye. She draws her retinue to a stop, turning after face and feels her heartbeat start to catch.

"Ben?"

She knows there are two options. It's either her Ben, which she isn't sure she wants to hope for, or asshole Sparrow Ben, which ... while not great, is at least better than no Ben at all. But she's not going to know for sure until he chooses to turn and engage with her.

Sanji | One Piece LA | test driving

[legsbenedict]

I; newcomers

[ Awareness comes with the heat of the sun beating down on his back and an unfamiliar, jarring sway. The creaking isn't unlike the way a ship creaks and groans as things settle, but everything feels off. The air doesn't have the crispness of the ocean that he's come to expect. Had they been ambushed? Where was everyone else? Opening his eyes, Sanji shoots into a sitting position, which ends up being a mistake as his stomach flips with nausea that's enough to make him gag. After a few breaths to center himself, he reaches into his suit pocket and is relieved to find that his lighter and cigarettes are still present.

Thank the seas for that. He could definitely use one.

Taking one of the pendants, he turns it over in his hand before tucking it into a pocket. Water is handed through the wooden bars and he instead holds it out to his neighbor. ]

Go ahead, I'm good.

II; the proscriptions [ be our guest ]

[ It hadn't been an easy acquisition by any means, but being good with words and laying on the charm certainly helped. (The identification papers he'd been handed took the guesswork out of a lot of it.) While waiting tables in a crowded, dirty tavern supposedly filled with the worst sort wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to do, it felt like the easiest way to blend into the background. Besides, who paid much attention to the worker bees when they weren't right in front of you?

Gossip and leads are better listened to in passing, but the best part about working in any sort of dining establishment? People love to talk when they think nobody is really listening, though it becomes a little more difficult with rowdy guests or when a fight breaks out. Spotting a table of newcomers, he weaves his way through, trying to edge around what's bound to become a skirmish. ]

Welcome, the food is warm and there's certainly something you can call a drink on tap. Thinking about the local delicacy? I'll save you the intestinal distress- don't. What will it be?

[ He smiles pleasantly enough, waiting. ]

III; the quiet house [ the baths ]

[ Failing to resist the urge to delve further into an area that had probably been sealed away for a reason, he's drawn toward the long marble hall that was clearly once a pool or large bathing area. Where he can envision crystalline water in its heyday, it's been long overrun by muck and mold, giving the air an unpleasant smell.

It's empty and silent, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the steam filling the room almost oppressive. Still, the black mirror that takes up the expanse of wall holds his attention- and worse, his curiosity. It's odd, right? Out of place. He looks back over his shoulder, his laugh high and tight. Nervous? Who's nervous? ]

Is this place freaking you out or is it just me?

[ After all, the steam is loosening the muck on the mirror and it's just his own reflection, nothing at all to be nervous about. ]

IV; wildcard

[ If none of those suit your fancy, let's come up with something together! oopsallsadboys I've tried to keep it spoiler-free and I'll mark for spoils, but lmk if you want none of those or have questions. <3 ]

IV; wildcard | @ the tavern

[serio]

( with most of the straw hats accounted for by now, zoro is resting a little easy. still recovering from that chest wound -- fish skin and bandages intact, this green-haired ex-pirate hunter is sitting by the bar, quietly enjoying his drink for the evening. mm. well. maybe not so quietly. because the moment the blondie walks past him... it's like he just can't help himself. )

Waiter. I see you've made yourself at home. ( he then points to his empty glass, looking to get a refill. the whiskey tastes rough rather than smooth, more bitter than sweet, but it has enough of that smokiness and spiciness to it that he'll take it. anything to help dull the pain in his chest. seems like he might have outdone himself this morning with having dragged two people back to shore after their boat had capsized. )

wei wuxian | the untamed | old timer, ota

[weifinder]

defending the rich, or richly defending?

( He holds no objections to being paid to walk outside the arena and the halls where the gladiators live, and have it be on more than the coinage of a brother-in-law and another companion's largess, and yet. Wei Wuxian smiles, nods, and when the moment presents itself, promptly leaves the home of whichever rich senator he's been hired to protect to move along the streets, out of costume, and dressed to blend with the particular local styles.

The civilians are anxious, tensions rising hire, and on the brink of one confrontation for and against the walking dead, with the violence starting to crest over the crowd, Wei Wuxian moves swiftly to shepherd separated children out of the moving crowd. One had fallen already, separated from a guardian, and he can hear the frightened cries of another child as he looks for help on the fringe of the public courtyard.

The identifying pin on his lapel marks him to those eyes who recognise the symbol, and it's his own recognition of the pin on another's chest that leads him to depositing a child of two or three in your character's arms, only waiting long enough to see some semblance of a hold before he lets go. )

Hold them, there's another child I need to find — get back to that alley, this is going to get worse before it gets better.

market locks for market box

Which will it be? Standing watch or opening the box?

( Asked with a quick grin in a murmur from the side of the marketplace, empty in the pre-dawn dark, shadows still deep enough to swallow them all whole. For now. )

this ship's a sinking, bail and go, bail and go

( From one of the rescue boats rowed out to the distressed merchant ships, Wei Wuxian wonders briefly at what he feels, his lips thinning into a tight line. No, not really wondering, but feeling the increasing certainty that has him mention to those with him to: )

Move carefully. Touch nothing that looks like it might be tar.

( With a wry smile at the end, since tar on a ship — far from uncommon.

The concern is met with validation when the sacks that should be grains of some kind are found belowdecks, leaking the tar-like substance he suspected, and he tuts his tongue, shaking his head. )

What a waste! ( Looking to a companion bearing the same pin as he does, he grimaces. ) Let's coax out the survivors. I have a few questions for them, and I suspect I'm not alone in that.

fractured arena, part i, for fellow gladiators or anyone joining in the fun as a freelancer

( Wei Wuxian has observed a variety of the creatures pulled in to 'fight' for the arena, and his instructions for this one are simple. Easy. "Make it a show." No nuts needed, whatever his "name" as a Nutcracker, given he's not facing off against anything with that particular, ah, weakness.

No, he can hear the shrieks of the gargoyle already, the thick hided creature's magic already fighting to incapacitate his ability to move. There are better ways to handle this, he thinks, and he smiles, eyes narrowing a fraction, pulling out the flute that has been little in use for these playfights.

He looks to his fellow fighter. )

I'll play counter to its voice, which should allow us to keep moving. Think you can bring it down while I do?

( His smile seems to imply he believes his partner can. No time for doubts. Only action. )

fractured arena, part ii, for everyone

( The feeling building in the back of his head since earlier crescendos as the quaking of the earth beneath their feet gains violence; seats collapsing in uneven swathes, columns cracking loud as thunder and collapsing with misleading slowness to the ground, the arena splitting apart in dark chaos.

The beasts not yet injured break free of their containment, flooding the same area and intent on their own brand of chaos, either in the escape or caught in the throes of their ongoing madness. Voices cry out from every direction, people panicked and stampeding, and Wei Wuxian clamors up on top of a collapsed column, trying to gain some elevation to see the extent of what's happening. It's not high enough to see much, and as he scans for a next likely perch, he feels another familiar contact brush against his mind.

Lethe. )

How are you with heights?

( He asks, eyes trained temporarily toward the skies. His friend of a dragon, a call placed out weeks earlier for different reasons of eyes over a city and landscape around it, can be a different brand of assistance now. )

all's quiet in the house of guilt and regret

( The battered sword in his hand has seen better days, and, ruefully acknowledge to himself at least, so has he. This opened avenue to closed off regions of the barracks matches a certain undercurrent of what he'd suspected before, but as part of the aftermath of the breaking of the arena, how much of the taint of the dark waters has made its way in? Mirrors, perhaps? Creatures? Oh, he has thoughts enough, but it's the slow pacing through where he's been temporarily trapped that has his lips thinning when he comes across the odd cocoons within what once was a dormitory space, similar to others within the greater complex.

These are familiar, for other reasons. From Serthica in his mind, and he lifts the sword, sending some of his qi into it to sharpen the dull edge enough that one swing cuts into a murmuring sack that quivers into laughter before the whole of it collapses, the shadowy hands that reached for him fading into the true shadows. Nothing emerges, and he cants his head, squinting to see inside the deflated cocoon's casing now that it's gone silent.

The other cocoons continue their murmurs and pleas, their laughter edging toward hysterical, their shouts, with shadowed hands reaching forth, grasping at air, raking at them ineffectively as long as they stay distant. He notes this, but more pressing and of interest, he notes what he does find in the flaccid cocoon in its demise.

Wei Wuxian uses the dulled blade to drag out the leather cording binding two small stone pendants together, at least one showing some sign of engraving. When they hit the floor with a dull tink, he waits, observing for any immediate reaction. Waits longer for any less immediate response. Deprived of both, he crouches to pick up the odd pendant necklace, or whatever it is, and stares at the stones. )

Have you seen anything like these before?

( A suspicion for what it is sits heavy on his chest, but the carved name is unfamiliar on the stone, and he's not familiar enough with what the soldiers of this citadel carry on their persons to recognise the dogtags for what they are. Thus he offers it toward his companion, in case they've seen the like, even as his mind flits to suspicions of what those murmurs around them mean, paired with a name forgotten inside.

Paired with memories of puppets constructed and birthed to fill a dying citadel in the aftermath of its own unmourned mass death, each one twitching to life in new form, with new purpose, to enact the play as they'd been requested. Here, that play is toward conquest. In Serthica, it was to pretend that nothing had happened at all. )

( ooc note: please tag me in whatever format you'd prefer to thread in! likewise, if you want to wildcard in any scenario, go for it! i'm happy to roll with other prompts, no need to ask. wei wuxian is in the role of a gladiator here ('the nutcracker'), but as of this point he has full mobility! )

fractured arena, part ii

[nothinglikefather]

[ There's only so much fighting he can do with what he's had to hand: borrowed weapons picked up from bodies or abandoned as others flee, added to the hidden blade in the gauntlet at his wrist. He's had to use every trick in the book to keep ahead of the shadows that swarm out of fissures in the ground, fighting a path through towards the closest high ground.

He finds himself on the same remains of the column as another man, surveying the chaos as people run, trying to get away from the dark tide. Glancing away, if only briefly, is something of a relief when the other man speaks. ]

Are you planning to go up and out?

gilia st. loe — original | test driver

[seaboard]

[ ooc:

her cover: a hand-maiden to a respected, but now widowed domina that has become reclusive in her old age, and has her run errands outside of the house which allows her to move around servants' quarters unnoticed or be out of the house going from place to place with provable purpose, being modest and a little dull at all times with truly inane talk of nothing she does a good job at becoming boring set dressing.

feel free to wildcard me, mix stuff up - if you're unsure feel free to pm here or at aeneia ]

the prescriptions;

cw: potential violence and threats of assault, etc

[ She should not be here. She knows she should not be here. She hardly knows what to do with herself standing around so many men and women so comfortable with their violence, brutality and crudeness.

But this was apparently where some of the letters might be found they were supposed to be seeking. If nothing else — she has a skill at sitting quietly and blending into nothing but a wallflower, after all these years. She has a cup of wine, she eats a little, and when she is approached, she says that her mistress sent her to wait for a friend. A soldierly sort of friend. Otherwise, she just listens, quietly and with her eyes down as to be unobtrusive in her observance or interest. That with enough time, she thinks she has figured out the patron that has the list in her slower way of finding it out, changing hands to be tucked into a satchel on another patron's side.

Which is about when she spots another of the group here, by the pin on their clothes that marks them out as an ally. Whoever it is, is far bold in trying to get information than she currently is (not exactly hard, given she was as brave as a mouse...). They were going so far as to steal it outright, from what she could tell from here, rather than Gilia's just trying to locate it.

Or they would be, she realises from her watching, they would — if not for the fact there was someone else had spotted them in their attempts too. A big brute of a legionnaire, it looks like, hulking with scars. A guard for whoever runs this place, maybe? She could hardly say for sure.

Oh dear - oh, oh bother. Oh - snakes and spiders and everything unpleasant. She had to do something! Had to help!

But what?

A distraction, something to stop him. Anything at all. Spirits, where were her sisters? They always did this sort of thing. What would they do when her brothers -

Oh, yes. Yes, of course.

Half a plan in mind with only blind panic to sell her lie, she jumps up. Suddenly as she could, knocking her chair over with a bang on the stone floor, she opened her mouth and let out deafening, ear-piercing, shrill as a seagull, shriek. As loud as she possibly could with a half-made-up idea and pointed one threatening finger at a patron completely at random that was closest to her to make the biggest, loudest distraction she possibly could. ]

You! You put a rat in my cup! You - you awful - awful nasty man! [ Truly, an incredible insult for a tavern of black-hearted creatures. It even makes some of the other patrons laugh. This was working, oh Spirits, it was working, no one was looking now at the person who was stealing the list. Not even the guard. Hurry up. Please hurry up.

Though naturally, the person she was shrieking had objections. ] "The fuck are you shrieking about? Did the fuck not."

[ She puffs out as best she could. Had to keep this up, keep the distraction going for as long as possible. Summons up that shrill voice again. ] Yes, you did! Look!

[ She picks up the cup of wine - and with the absolute confidence of whatever she has to do to get the list stolen, she throws the liquid directly into the other man's face. There is a roar of laughter in amusement as the man stiffens in shock. Now it's his turn to puff up in rage, standing up to stand a good foot over her with a hot spike of fury in his expression as he bears down on her with a fit of anger that makes it clear: he was going to get even.

Oh. Oh dear. That worked too well. Oh. Her eyes wide as saucers she stared and looked around for a way out. She hadn't got this far in her little plan (this was not a good plan, is probably more exactly the problem), now what?

Help? Help! ]

at sea;

cw: eldritch sea monster / ocean creature horror vibes

[ That there is a danger to a crew at sea? For once, she is not so unsure what she could do to help. In fact, she barely hesitates at all, when the panicked call starts up.

She is on the rowboat with those brave enough before the question is asked, far from home or not, she is patron of all those that took to the waves, no matter the land. By holy duty first.

The ship is sinking, she realises, and every moment takes too long to get there. Who knows what could have happened to those on board?

So on the rowboat, regardless of the alarmed question when she does it — she stands, her hands pulled into her, up to her throat. Inhaling deeply, she opens her mouth to hold one, pure, long note in her voice on the exhale - as she focuses her mind on the water below. She does not lose her footing as she does it. Not that she is still, but that like a dancer she falls into the step of each wave that rocks them with the grace of someone who has done it all their life. Holding that one, long note until she has it full in her throat, vibrating in the air. Pure and sweet and high with its power.

Looking down, the note dying, she gives the one nod to whoever is with her. ]

Hold on, please.

[ And flicks her fingers like she throws the sound from her and suddenly the rowboat she is on lurches forward at a greater speed than anyone could row at. Pushed by the water itself to cut ahead. ]

the quiet house: the hallways;

cw: horror themes, discussions of public executions, abusive family relationships & gaslighting

[ Like so many others, she flees from the violent games when the ground shakes. Like so many others she was lost and confused, that she does not know exactly where she runs, only that she does to somewhere that is quiet and more secure away from the horrors going on outside.

Or so she thinks.

But it is only a little later she realises her mistake, and by then, she is well on her way to being lost. The corridors blend into one another, a winding stone maze when she sees that awful shape emerge out of the darkness, first of a strange, that is no less than imposing - but then it becomes worse, so much worse, as the ghastly figure takes up a familiar shape. The colour drains from her face, her eyes filling with wet hot tears of dread. ]

No — no, no, no, you are dead — you are dead!

[ Terrified, she grabs her skirts, and turns regardless of the warning lights, to flee as fast as she could away. ]

the quiet house: the hallways;

[nothinglikefather]

[The tunnels are twisting, turning, leading in a hundred different ways to barracks and training grounds, the stench of mould makes him think there must be a bath or pool somewhere too. It is unpleasant, enough to make him wish he had some way of covering his mouth and nose, but he has nothing like that. Just the blood-stained tunic and belt typical of the average Ephian male, the leather gauntlet at his wrists, a stolen sword in hand.

Eagle Vision has helped him explore the place systematically, although he's not been down there for very long.

Not long enough to see his own horrific vision, but from what he's seen above in the ruin of the arena he imagines nothing down here can be good. The sudden screaming proves it. It takes a few moments, thanks to the echoes, for him to understand where the sound originates but he heads that way at a run.

Which means he turns a corner and almost runs right into the blonde woman, her veil askew, her face full of horror.]

Are you okay?

Moiraine | The Wheel of Time | Tourist

[blueajah]

EPHES GATES / MARKET

[ The sorceress Karsa takes one look at Moiraine Sedai and casts her as a visiting lady from a respected but far off house. It isn't far from the cover Moiraine would have chosen for herself and she accepts her passport papers with a small nod of understanding. She carries herself with purpose disguised as poise as she passes through the gates of Ephes. The market seems the best place to gather information so that is where she heads.

She passes from one stall to the next, pretending to scrutinize wares while listening in on chatter, bits and pieces from conversations strung together to form a mosaic impression of the city. All the while she keeps an eye out for others bearing the emblem identifying them as fellow otherworlders. When she spots one at last, she slips strategically into the person's line of sight and angles her own iron pin so that catches the sun, becoming difficult to miss. ]

THE PROSCRIPTIONS

[ Moiraine's connection to the source remains muted, due to return after forty-eight hours if Karsa can be believed. Twenty-four hours down, twenty-four hours to go. She has gone longer without; she can endure this too.

As before, the depths of her despair for a severed connection are swept aside, relegated to the recesses of Moiraine's mind to gather dust along all the other feelings and memories that do not serve her goals. Too restless for sleep, she arrives hours before dawn to stake out the submission boxes. She is there when another approaches, much closer to sunrise, seemingly for the same reason.

Her instinct is to work alone, even now. Where some might wave the other down, Moiraine waves them away, signaling as best she can that she has this under control. ]

[ OOC: Wildcard option is open for anything else. PM if any questions/ideas/etc. Tentative canon point is late season 2. Happy to avoid potential spoilers, just give me a heads up. ]

proscriptions!!

[downswing]

( It is sky's blue and the cut of her high cheek — that is what alerts him, stays him in step. The wispy, fragile silhouette of her body, an extension of her magic made flesh. Moiraine, the sorceress, wise and child-loving and known.

He stills, the stirrings of near dawns raining pale light on the marketplace. A light breeze snags on his silks, billowing and blooming. He waits to feel the cool calm of her magic pulsing, of her attention landing upon him. Waits, as nothing is born of nothing. Waits, as she waves him by, in the dismissal of a feral dog.

The curve of his shadow, fissuring on cracked ground stone, is like a tree growth, shapeless and powerful and organic. He is better without himself.

Then, unbidden, unwanted, unanticipated, he drifts closer, taking the knee to loom large by the box, palm hovered above it to catch and sweep away any tangles of corrupted energies that might disrupt her work. No. None here.

Whatever her hindrance, it is not born of these lands. Their energies do not suggest it. )

...what is it you attempt to do?

Buggy the Clown | One Piece (LA) | ota

[theflashyfool]

Arrival > The Cage

[Something is off. The swaying and creaking isn't what he's used to. The heat on his skin, and the vague feeling in his stomach that one small move could have him throwing his head over the side of the-- of the what? Buggy opens his eyes blearily to look around.

And then despite how shitty he feels, he jolts forward, eyes widening. He regrets it when his stomach lurches and his head throbs, but this is not his ship. This is not-- anywhere familiar to him at all. He's caught in a-- cage? With people he's never seen before, and no idea what exactly to do.

He doesn't appreciate that.]

... Uh.

[Something else feels off. He can't describe it. Something that goes down to his very bones.]

What's going on here?

[He's not stupid enough to come in demanding answers or acting out to the fellow-- prisoners? Or whoever else is around, but there's an edge to his voice, a certain tightness in his posture. Being vulnerable is not something Buggy has ever found solace in.]

At Sea

[Buggy isn't the heroic type, but all he has to hear is something remotely familiar to him to jump at it, it seems. The docks, ships. That feels like home when nothing else does. Besides, who's to say he won't find something for himself on board the merchant ships? You never know. So, of course he's gonna get in a row boat and go check it out.

Surely for no nefarious purposes. Surely only to help those poor sailors who are on a sinking ship, doomed and hopeless.

Speaking of -- when he does arrive, it's a bit of a disappointment. The ship is sinking rather fast and there's nothing but... wheat? And grain? And a mystery he doesn't find himself overly concerned with, something he doesn't care about that much.

Sure, it sounds terrifying for the sailors, but now he'd rather prefer just wrapping it up. Good deed done for the day.

Well, almost. He does do another look around, curiously. He can be heard grumbling to himself:]

Really? No one brought anything else on board? It can't all just be wheat!

[Gold or jewelry, clothes, food, booze... Anything?

There's an irritated huff later as Buggy surveys the men. There's an eight, isn't there? He thought it was seven.]

Something isn't adding up, is it? Feels like maybe there's something a little... naughty at play.

[Putting himself in danger for nothing is frustrating, actually, and now he's gotta sort an additional mess out. Great.]

The Quiet House > hallways

[Cages, downed ships, earthquakes. Buggy is just obviously delighted to have been pulled into this dump. He ran when things started to come down and chaos that didn't work in his favor broke out.

Not knowing where the hell he is or where to go, not familiar with the lay of the land-- Well, now he's found himself... somewhere.

Some place that gives him a chill down his spine for sure. Buggy wants to turn around, go back, but... the thing is? He's not sure where to go back to. So he just pushes forward through the hallways. He tries to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his gut that tells him he's in danger.

Mostly because he has no idea where else to go right now. This is the safest place he's gotten to... not that it's saying much. But he doesn't exactly want to go back out there where things are crumbling, where there's chaos unfolding.

The specter is unnerving that seems to be following him, but he can handle it. He thinks. As long as he keeps moving through the winding, confusing corridors, it surely can't do more than give him the creeps.

It keeps changing and he keeps trying to look away as he goes... at least he until he catches sight of a familiar strawbhat, red hair. It freezes him in spot for a moment.]

... Shanks? [He starts, voice pitching higher than he means for it to.] No--

[There's that familiar, infuriating smile on the phantom's face though. Something he won't ever forget, not until his dying day. He hates it so much. The man who tried to dim his star, who left behind a wound that won't ever heal. He loathes it. And he can see it. Judgement where others would insist there's kidness.

Torn between running away and confronting whatever twisted joke this is, Buggy ends up stuck in place, his hands clenched into fists and a tremble running through his body.]

Shanks! Can't you ever just leave me alone, you bastard!

The Quiet House > The Baths

[He doesn't quite know how he finally ends up in the baths, and frankly, they don't look any better than whatever else he's seen around here. The blackness leaking down the walls makes him pull a disgusted face as he steps in.]

Couldn't really get clean in here, huh? This place is such a dump.

[He grumbles, half to himself, half to whoever's with him. But it's the way the mirror starts to clear of the blackness that catches his attention. He sees himself -- of course he sees himself. But the closer he gets, the more he notices the almost sinister grin, the black eyes. It's not his face, but it is. He's pretty sure he's not smiling at all though.]

You stupid clown--

[The words are out and the-- whatever it is is lunging at him before he can even hope to duck. There's a startled noise that wrenches from Buggy's lips as he brings his hands up to try to fend it off at least.]

What the f--

wildcard
[Hit me with whatever! Or feel free to PM or hit me up at noassgardian to discuss!]

i love all of these but, AT SEA

[bigsmile]

( Luffy's heard of the ships that have turned up and just like Buggy he can't resist. Not only is meddling his thing, but doing so at sea on a ship? It's practically guaranteed that Luffy would get involved and he does just that as he nabs a rowboat and makes his way over, shimmying up the side of the vessel with gum-gum ease.

He didn't have many expectations, some mystery, some missing sailors perhaps. But spotting a grimly familiar figure out the corner of his eye had not been on the cards and Luffy ducks behind a barrel, temporarily staying out of sight. Really? Of all the people that have arrived here on this ship it was Buggy the Clown? Flashy Jester, Genius Fool... or wait, which was it..?

It's only when Buggy starts counting the sailors that Luffy wanders up behind him, peering over the other's shoulder and also counting eight. He'd been intent on making sure the sailors were safe from Buggy but now? Now even he's feeling confused. )

You're telling me, Bertie, cause I know I can count and this isn't right.

number five | the umbrella academy | old timer

[somebadnews]

[ Starters below, to be added to as needed! Feel free to wildcard, or PM me/shoot me a note at lonesheep /discord if you'd like to plot beforehand. Action or prose welcome. ]

at sea

[somebadnews]

[ The last time Five was in a rowboat he was pulled into the water and nearly drowned, so it may have been a better idea to leave this one to someone with better history with lakes. But once word floats to him that Matthias is connected to the merchants, he has little choice but to investigate. This time he's at least smart enough to bring others with him. It pays off that he doesn't take up much space.

Sometimes the enemy is all around them, and the dark water has cropped up again and again. If he can find out what the sailors saw, and what Matthias wants, it'll be worth his trouble. ]

...Shit. [ Once they've rowed close enough, he can see the problem: they're sinking. What is he supposed to do now, teleport them all to shore? He frowns at whoever is working the oars at what seems like a leisurely pace. ] Can't you row any faster?

kamala khan (ms. marvel) | mcu | old timer

[cosplayqueen]

[Catch-all for starters as I write them! Please feel free to PM this account if you want to wildcard something or otherwise plot. Both action and prose are welcome.]

the rattling

[cosplayqueen]

[She's here to watch Allison and Emilia. Kamala doesn't like the idea of either of them in a dangerous situation. By now the whole thing has been underplayed enough that she can sit through it. It's like wrestling back home. Allison is a really good actress so of course it seems real. She is hoping to steal a second or two with both women after the show is over.

Of course, it's never that simple, is it? The tremors hit and it all goes to Hell. At least not literally this time, she thinks.

Kamala initially focuses on helping people out. She generates light constructs to shield people from the debris, the monsters, and even each as needed. If needed she'll even battle off the monsters as well. Her agenda is literally to get people to escape in a way that doesn't get everyone killed along the way.

She can't save everyone. Sooner or later that black tar becomes impossible to ignore. Kamala associates it with those early days of arrival when she lost her memories and rested in the water for who knows how long before Allison came to her rescue. The sight of it drains the blood from her face. She can work past it if there are people left to save.

Sooner or later, she's left facing a shadowy creature. Kamala can't help it- she screams and makes a run for it. She doesn't want to lose her memories and sense of self ever again. This would be a pretty good time for someone to step in. This is the one time she is scared enough to act like the child she still is.

Eventually, in her attempts to help she is left watching a corpse slowly reanimate. It is horrifying especially when they beg for her help. Kamala agrees to it until they turn on her. She is left shielding herself while trying to convince them of what's happened. She does eventually. The encounter does leave her crying as much for the victim as for herself.]

Dion Lesage | FF16 | Newcomer

[zettaflair]

I. AT SEA

[Try as he might, Dion does attract attention. He's dressed in gleaming chainmail, and he strikes a very gallant figure as the gladiator he apparently is supposed to be although he has yet to actually participate in a fight - apparently, he's being hyped as debuting soon. So when he walks in the streets he is often assailed by 'fans' and while he tries to be polite to most of them, he also tries to avoid them if he can.

Early morning on the harbor is usually quiet... except when it is not. After the cries for help and seeing people start to ready a row boat, he walks to the end of the pier.]

I shall scout ahead and meet you there.

[His powers seem to have recovered somewhat so that he can call on Bahamut, at least enough for semi priming. A bright white light envelops him and Big, wyvern-like wings erupt from his back, dark grey scales crawling up his neck, claws elongating at the end of his fingers. Horn-like appendages emerge from his blond hair, and a third eye, just as golden as his human eyes are, opens in the middle of his forehead.]

Have a care on the sea. We know not what awaits.

[A flap of the wings and he is airborne, flying towards the ship at high speed and hovering above it to try and gauge what is going on.]

II. THE RATTLING

[And so that was supposed to be his big debut as a gladiator. Dion and his lance make short work of other gladiators, and even of beasts. Dragoon jumps are a sight to see.

But as the tremors intensify and the the earth starts to shatter, he barely has the time to use one of those powerful jumps to perch himself on top of a column that has not yet been toppled.]

... Bahamut, if you would still answer to me, now would be the time.

[And he jumps from the column, suddenly enveloped in a flash of light... and from that flash emerges an enormous dragon that lets out a roar.

And then it swoops down to slash at some of the beasts, but suddenly recoils when it touches the black, tar-like substance.]

ii

[rosarianrebirth]

[ There is a rather young voice, one that rings clear despite the panicked screams around them. ]

Bahamut!

[ Joshua ducks someone trying to escape, his eyes focused on the dragon. ]

Prince Dion!

Benedict Fox | The Last Case of Benedict Fox | OTA

[companionsgrasp]

I. The Proscriptions

[Benedict wasn't keen on the rowdy route for finding clues when he could much more simply pick a lock. While chatting up patrons of a tavern was typical in his business, he'd rather have to talk his way out of a petty crime if caught than deal with the crowds. At least for now.

So he found himself at the marketplace, eying the surroundings as he got ready to get to work. He had an extra set of eyes (more than he could count some days, but that was an eldritch demon for you) but an extra set of hands and eyes would make the work go more quickly. Therefore, he had company with him.

He turned to his partner in crime and reiterated before they got started:]

I've got a knack for this sort of thing so if you could keep an eye out, it would let me concentrate on the work at hand. Are you ready?

II. At Sea

Great.

[The word was muttered as Benedict finally got to the room where the sailors could be found. He knew that there were supposed to be seven sailors to rescue, but one glance at the room confirmed that there were instead eight people. Things were literally not adding up here.

After a few questions of the sailors, he determined that something had knocked them out and now they were here while the ship sank. Lovely. Benedict looked around at the men one more time, eyes narrowed slightly as he examined them suspiciously. His Companion couldn't tell him much but there was definitely a presence here that was not human. It was hiding damn well to keep his demon from identifying it quickly but that just meant Benedict would have to rely on his own senses.

He was a private detective. He totally had this.]

So, we need to figure out which one doesn't belong here. Preferably without hurting any of them although-

[He didn't finish but the implication was clear: if they needed, it could be a last resort to see how each of them bled. A supernatural creature might not bleed red, or blood at all. Well, anyway, until then. He nodded at his fellow traveler. Time for them to do some investigating!]

III. The Rattling

a. gladiator fights
[Benedict was still a gladiator here after all. It was only natural that he participate in the arena's spectacles. He was most often pitted against the monster opponents that began ramping up towards the end of the event. It was his specialty. The trainers had learned earlier that he was used to fighting giant creatures and monsters from his own land back home. His god gave him gifts that let him fight them and left him no fear in the face of such bestial opponents.

Fight alongside him and he may lend his blade to a coordinated attack against a foe. Or perhaps he'll be forced to use one of his 'priestly' powers and form a bubble shield around himself (and you!) to protect from an attack.]

b. after the earthquake
[The detective had been feeling uneasy since the games began earlier that day. Some supernatural force was about--it kept prickling the hairs along his neck as faint vibrations occurred periodically. He tried to warn an official when the frequency got too high for comfort but he was told sternly to get to his next position and keep his mouth shut til they were ready for his next match. It was frustrating.

Not as frustrating as when it finally all culminated in a tremor that shook apart the earth and toppled whole sections of the arena. He managed to stay upright throughout it despite the ground's attempt to throw him off balance. He sighed in relief when it ended, only to grit his teeth in grim determination as he glanced about and surveyed the damage done. Not just the physical damage, but the newly released sludge and creatures appearing from the aftermath on top of it all. This wasn't good.

Benedict immediately leapt into action to help the spectators. Fighting off the loose monsters was easy, and he directed civilians to make a break for it as he held off the beasts from preying on them. Where it really got fun was when the undead began to form out of the rifts.

It only took Benedict one encounter with a shadow to decide how to deal with them all. The first one cried out and Benedict hesitated, reached out to help like he had the ghosts back in Unkharil. It was a mistake he only made the once. It couldn't seem to help itself when it attacked him and only his Companion's hissed warning allowed Ben to come out of that with all his limbs still intact. Ignoring the blood running down his arm, Benedict made swift work of the rest he encountered. He attacked without hesitation any more shadows he ran across. If he couldn't destroy it swiftly, then he bluntly told the shadow that it was not living, already dead and forgotten, to eradicate it ruthlessly once it realized the truth and weakened.]

IV. The Quite House

a. the baths
[The oozing mirror was a sure sign that they should turn around and head back in the opposite direction, screaming all the way optional. Yet Benedict was naturally curious and he wanted to know what was going on. He encouraged his exploring partner to cross the floor with him--or, if they were too scared, to stand their ground at the entrance and wait for his return. Either way, unfortunately, his (or their) presence caused the mirror to flood black and eventually form into one (or two) eerie creatures.

Shadows. Lookalikes. Dopplegangers. Benedict had only ready about the creatures before and not encountered one despite all the trouble with demons he'd gotten into so far in his life. Now here was one with his own face. At first it looked as tired as he did--and then its face broke into a wicked grin and Benedict took an involuntary step back. His face did not look like that!

Well, if they were lucky, it wouldn't be able to mimic his powers. So he hoped.]

Get back! [He cried, just as the shadowy form leapt at him/them.]

b. wildcard
[Feel free to write a starter for any of the other haunted places, or request a starter for another place if you would like one! I love all sorts of haunted/spooky stuff so literally any Halloween trope you want, we can go for it. I'm all in. Have fun!]

proscriptions

[downswing]

( Paler than the ghosts that early dawns summon, he is not the man often conscripted for feats of subterfuge, of cunning. There lives and breathes and sulks in Lan Wangji a deficit of deceit, of that sophisticated quality that lends generals to martial consideration and strategy.

When Benedict calls out, Lan Wangji is — flinching, first startled from reverie, as sound scratches the young morning's stillness. Then, curious. At long last, invaded by self-awareness, prone to shaking his head and refusing a task that might see him fail —

Before, hands gristling to the knuckles on his silvered sword's hilt, he understands he can perform some part of this. Break it down and keeping watch is only partly the diversion of troubles. More of it is mere... playing guard, and has Lan Wangji not excelled in all matters of bloodshed? Death, music, amputation and increasingly rolling his eyes at Wei Ying's performances are the highest skills he has perfected.

He nods, once. Again. And he begins to quietly stalk the perimeter, walking the open marketplace in a tight circle around Benedict. Stark, long shadows, blaring braziers. Streets so dust-mantled, they may well be the desert. )

You are a veteran of — ( How does one ask such things? ) Thieving?

( ...not like that. )

mo ran | husky and his white cat shizun | old timer

[inkfire]

i. at sea.

[ As a gladiator for the last few weeks, Mo Ran is in peak physical condition. It helps, of course, that he was also in such a condition before his arrival, and that he's an old hand at rowing— it's not actually easy work, you know.

But he can do that, a steady hand on the oars, eventually reaching one of the merchant ships.

The wheat is perplexing, and he almost reaches out to touch the black liquid, jerking his hand away at the last minute. ]

Probably a bad idea to do that.

[ Despite his habitual easy grin and refusal to take most things seriously, he isn't dumb, and even he knows something that's corroding the wood will certainly hurt. But the sight of the destroyed wheat is concerning. ]

We have to find out more about this.

ii. the rattling— the earthquake.

[ Pretense is an easy thing for Mo Ran, especially when it's something like playing a gladiator, and he'd shined in his role. And even now, when it wasn't necessary to be in the arena, he's there, fighting human and monster alike. Mostly winning, until the vibrations start. Skilled though he might be, not even qinggong can keep him on his feet when the earthquake hits.

He regains his footing quickly, though, and starts herding spectators and anyone he can rescue to the gates; the crowds are wild and that inevitably brings disaster, especially considering the way the arena is falling apart around them. Spotting someone falling, he rushes over. ]

Let me help.

[ He doesn't wait for an affirmative answer; if the person is smaller than he is, he simply scoops them up, and if they're roughly his size, he's loop an arm around their back, helping them to stand, and takes off through the crowd, trying to find his way out. ]

iii. the rattling— bitter loneliness.

[ Loneliness is a demon, haunting Mo Ran over the years. Out of everything he's encountered, it's perhaps the worst feeling, makes him crave people, and connection, makes him desperate in ways he can't articulate. Even the past five years spent traveling alone, with only the torment of his memories and the occasional friendly common person his companions, haven't prepared Mo Ran for the loneliness that these wisps leave behind. ]

Pay attention to me! [ He says it to anyone walking past. Despite the fact that he's tall and broad-shoulders, obviously a grown man, his voice is still light and charming. But there's a distressed note to his tone now. ] Hey! Pay attention to me.

iv. the quiet house
[ cw: guilt, doppelgangers, future references to genocide and torture ]

[ Monsters and wraiths are nothing unusual, nothing Mo Ran can't handle. Instead, what rattles him as he enters the barrack is the scent of incense, and he moves quickly, trying to escape the scent while he also looks for clues. Very little stands out to him, but then he's not looking closely. So it takes him some time to notice the Drillmaster, who shifts to become the distorted figure of Chu Wanning.

Mo Ran closes his eyes against that. The Chu Wanning in front of him is nowhere near beautiful enough to be him, but it hurts to look at him, still. He knows how badly he failed Chu Wanning, and everyone who cared about him, in the past. He doesn't need to be reminded. ]

Just... go away.

[ But nothing is ever that easy for Mo Ran. He wouldn't trust it, should it be that easy, because he knows he doesn't deserve peace. He certainly doesn't deserve Chu Wanning's forgiveness.

Anyone with him will get a look that speaks of desperation. ]

Want to run for it?

[ After fleeing the hallways, one way or another, the baths are peaceful.

Until his doppelganger shows up. Mo Ran stares at his before the man starts screaming, and doesn't flinch when he starts the verbal abuse. ]

You get used to these things, eventually. It's happened before. [ After all, Taxian-jun haunts him all the time. This is just one of those situations, right? ]

v. wildcard

[ feel free to pm me or ping me in the game discord for plotting, if you'd like something specific. or throw a starter at me, I will run with it! ]

ii.

[jicheng]

[ Pay attention to —

Pay attention to him????? Don't the heavens test him every time Mo Ran breathes? Is he a Buddha now, expected to witness this and not erupt in anger, volcanic? Forgive him, forefathers, for he sins: it has been days since he last delivered Mo Ran teeth-first to the bitter floor, but, after the day's proceedings, he plans to enter the realm of death without regrets.

The crowd's dispelling like trembling autumn leaves, one at a time peeling to reveal the withered branch of Xue Meng, shivered with anger. Soot-laden torch sticks and rubble-stones have hurt his bones for the afternoon, but these words can only hurt Mo Ran. Pay attention to —

He doesn't know where the peanuts come (the road, discarded from the hurt hand of a passing child) from, only that he weaponizes them with blunt, savage enthusiasm. One, targeting the top of Mo Ran's head. The next, his jaw. Another, his shoulders. On and on and on, until the fusillade would make a veteran batalion proud. ]

At least hold your head down, so people don't know what sect you represent, being so shameful!