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

---

Image source.

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!

Image source.

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!

Image source.

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!

Image source.

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.

Image source.

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

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.

[wifedup]

( How long has he been Ghost Valley Master now? Eight years, give or take, and the last time he saw this man he was peeling the flesh from his bones, as cruel as he has ever been, soaked to the skin, red between his fingers, his teeth, viscera dripping. A revolt, a hard won battle, but he had done it. That chapter of his life had been done with

Why is he here? )

It's nothing.

( He's not looking at Lan Wangji either, his gaze flat, levelled into the middle distance. He can hear another footstep, the sound of the rod thwicking through the air. Wen Kexing does not flinch, but something goes tight in his jaw. He takes a step of his own, neither toward or from, but spurned into movement anyway. )

You are not afraid of pain. ( The spectre continues, Wen Kexing's tongue unusually still. He cannot leave Lan Wangji alone with the old Master, and panic is making him dumb, stupid, a child. He is no longer a child. ) You enjoy it. You are not like them.

( His fan arcs through the air with barely a warning, sliding through the ghost like it is nothing. Wen Kexing's grip is white when he finds the weapon back in his hands. Still, the sound of footsteps. To Lan Wangji -. ) Is it like the kitchen ghosts? Do you know? Can it be stopped the same way?

[downswing]

( It burns his mouth, dries it: the cutting, cauterizing reality that he must inflict like plague upon Wen Kexing. Not for the first time, he wishes himself a different man, a shield sooner than a blade — one who could master the art of deceit to sufficient aptitude that Wen Kexing may now be spared.

The creature looms, stalwart, derisive. Taunting, in ways that Lan Wangji finds himself splintering Bichen from her sheath to disrupt. Her blade hisses cold violence. He does not yet aim her, only sketches out a circle when Wen Kexing sends out and receives back his fan.

They cannot struggle against this spectre, who does not so much as reach for them, yet, for all Lan Wangji spies strength and cunning in the catch and latch of his hands, for all there is a brimming red of anticipation to each of its movements. This corridor is too small, once more. )

Leave. ( Perhaps to the creature. More likely, to Wen Kexing. ) You do not aid. It seeks your — ( And he listens. ) Pain.

[wifedup]

( A laugh, sharp as it bounces off the walls, the madness in it shaking with fury. There is a pain building inside of Wen Kexing's head, a lancing brightness that threatens to overwhelm him. The bones of his fan creek with how tightly it is caught in his grasp. ) My pain?

( The old master takes another lumbering step. How terrifying he had found that once upon a time. A child, quiet and obedient, learning cruelty to avoid his own suffering. He'd thought him so vast, so overwhelmingly present back then that all Wen Kexing could do was to listen and take his beating silently. What else could he do in the face of the Ghost Valley Master?

And then he'd killed him, taken his place, proven the man right and right again. )

Ah-Xing, you will learn. You will learn to survive.

Shut up! ( It explodes out of him, more violent that any of his actions so far. The spectre pauses in it's step, as if held back by the raggedness of Wen Kexing's breath. And then a blink, and it is gone. It is not unlike what they have been dealing with before, the Drillmaster dogging their steps around the hallway, and he is sure he the thing will be back. For now the light dims around them, steady white. ) Ha.

( He feels insane, all of a sudden, knuckles cramping when he shakes out his fingers. ) Lan Wangi, you should get out of here.

( Pleasantly, in a way that shows all his teeth. ) I'm going to burn this place to the ground.

[downswing]

( This... was not his sight to rue, not his ruin to bear. A tragedy unfolding in the shape of withered scars, malign upon a cleaved soul. He feels them, reverberating, copied unto his own memories.

Ah-Xing, you will learn. The likes of brutal killers never do. It is not their own survival that eludes them, only the significance of that of others. Wen Kexing screams, as if he wishes to surgically extricate the part of himself that spawns monsters. To cut, to tear, to rip free.

Lan Wangji should assist him, after the creature's dissolution, flecks of dust and motes of trickling shadow. He raises Bichen, a barrier between Wen Kexing and giving pursuit.

A mad dog must be stilled early. Culled, elsewise. )

You will not. ( Definitive. ) There may be people. ( Unlikely. ) Bones.

( Requiring appeasement. ) Your hardship is ended.

[wifedup]

Has it?

( The flash of his teeth. )

I can't leave here, not if he - if it - threatens to come back. Even a ghost of that man can wreak havoc on people if left unattended. And if you think I'm a problem, Master Lan, I am nothing compared.

( Wen Kexing is only dangerous when he wants to be. The old Valley Master did not house the same subtleties. He was a blunt instrument, meant for battering down doors, for bruising, bludgeoning. He survived for less time than the man currently standing here, and for all he is called a Lunatic there has always been method in his madness.

It pulses here, now.

Pressing a hand into his eye socket, hard enough to see stars. ) I need to figure out what it wants.

( The Drillmaster, the Valley Master. Either. Both.

And then he needs to get very, very drunk. )

[downswing]

You believe you need vengeance. ( Want, urgency, the private gnawing to understand oneself as a better man. One flattered by ethical imperatives to rescue his companions, sooner than abolish the dregs of his suffering.

No, there is no kindness in fast culling, in the jittery, clumsy silhouette of Wen Kexing's rage. He haunts himself: a child, or a boy, or the young man of yesteryear — breathing hate into the husk of the man he is today.

Figure out what it wants. Nothing. Everything. What is it such things desire? Like guttering candles, only enough wind's fuel to survive. These are unsophisticated hauntings. They have no intent past the base, no prospect beyond the first sip of a living being's nightmares.

One gasp is more than they had hoped to steal. )

It had the better of you, winning one battle. Leave it, to claim the war.

the rattling

[clavesregni]

[A year ago, Caitlyn would have been overwhelmed. The sudden outbreak of violence, fissures opening up in the earth, the dead rising... she would never have encountered anything like it before. So it speaks to her experiences over the past year that she's keeping a cool head, ordering people to safety as she shoots down monsters, every bullet finding its target.]

Yes. The undead are fairly commonplace.

[Above them, a gargoyle rears back on tattered wings, its eyeless face turning towards them as though it can see precisely where they are. But Caitlyn's already taken aim, and as its jaws open, a bullet tears through the roof of its mouth and out the back of its skull. The creature lands in a lifeless heap at Caitlyn's feet.

She doesn't notice the reptilian monster until it barrels into her, knocking her off her feet with a cry.]

[wifedup]

Sometimes people claim something's undead when they just mean unnatural!

( Not that he'd doubted anyone when they mentioned it before, it's just that this is his first time seeing it well and truly in action. One of the corpses has its head barely attached, shambling to it's feet. He's paying horrified attention to that and not Caitlyn, so he misses the reptile at first, but with her cry he's back into action, leaping over and raising his pilfered sword to meet the things club. The shock travels down his arm, and he grits his teeth, free hand channelling enough qi to lash out at it, sending the thing hurtling back into the debris.

He pulls Caitlyn to her feet shortly after, not unkindly but certainly ignoring propriety, grinning at her. )

Careful. ( His fan goes flying from his hand, severing the creature at the wrist so it drops it's weapon with a roar. ) Are you all right?

[clavesregni]

Yes, thank you.

[Caitlyn gratefully accepts the help, needing a moment to get her feet back under her. But once she's regained her balance, she quickly raises her rifle and shoots the reptile - bellowing at the loss of its hand - through the eye, watching it fall with a certain satisfaction.]

You're quite good with that fan. [She's genuinely impressed.]

[wifedup]

I've had practise.

( Which is fairly demure, for Wen Kexing. With Caitlyn back on her feet they are not quite so overrun. He still has to move in a wide arc around her, kicking the nearest angry corpse in the head with a fair amount of force behind her. But, as if they were merely taking a stroll and not surrounded, he's still throwing comments over his shoulder. )

I have no idea what kind of weapon you're using, but it looks interesting! Capable too.

( Noisy, in a way. Useful though. )

[clavesregni]

A rifle. [She reloads it quickly, slotting more bullets into the magazine with sharp, precise movements.]

I can show you how it works, if you like. [Riflery has always been a passion of hers, something she not only enjoys but excels at. And it's rare to find people as interested in her passions as she is; she's always eager to share.] Once we're not under attack.

[wifedup]

( It's a little like a crossbow, he thinks, but somehow also not. The results are bloody either way, and Wen Kexing finds his appetite for learning at one with his more violent predilections. He's curious, to say the least. )

You're right, it would be hard to pay attention to it now.

( Two of the corpses advance and he moves, a flutter of robes to dispatch one, then the other, fan coming away dark with gore at the edges. He doesn't even sound out of breath, slightly cheerful all the while. It even holds when there's an almighty roar, and Wen Kexing looks to their right, eyebrow raised. )

Incoming.

( The rhino does not look happy. )

[clavesregni]

[Caitlyn's attention shifts at the sudden bellowing of the rhino, her rifle whipping around to aim for the creature. It's lowering its head, seemingly intent on charging and goring them with its massive horn, and if they want to avoid a gruesome death, they need to act quickly.

She lines up her shot, taking a slow breath in as she waits to make certain that the bullet will hit between its eyes, and pulls the trigger.

But the beast jerks its head away at the last second, and the shot goes wide, hitting in the shoulder instead. That only seems to enrage it more.]

the baths

[jingqi]

I will consider that.

[ Jing Qi's voice doesn't seem particularly worried. Despite knowing this face he is seeing twice, fighting itself.

After a few moment, the subtle tension in his shoulders eases. He can recognize which the original Wen Kexing is. And that he has the upper hand, at least right now.

His eyes meet the dark mirror for a moment, and then glance away very quickly. ]

[wifedup]

( Wen Kexing's wary gaze flickers towards the voice, but unfortunately there's very little recognition in it. The man's state of dress is at least familiar, but as for everything else, well. Instead he focuses on the version of himself trying to reach for him, fingers wrapping around his boot. He stamps at them with a viciousness not usually found in his fighting, the doppleganger snarling in response.

You're a monster, it says in Wen Kexing's own voice, You're a monster, he will find out. )

Oh, shut up.

( The flurry of blows they exchange this time is more violent, the noise loud. He finds a heavy pot in the corner of the bathhouse and lifts it, hurtling it down over his shadow self's head. Water gushes everywhere, black and cold. To the stranger, like he isn't trying to brutally murder himself, he speaks with enough of a jaunty air. )

Even when it's not inhabited, the place is fairly disgusting. I'd absolutely consider that.

[jingqi]

There are more miserable places to be.

[ No recognition... well, that may mean several things. But, mostly, that this place is being ... complicated.

Jing Qi hums thoughtfully to himself, watching the fight with appreciation. His martial arts are certainly nowhere near that level, but his husband is the one who fought the way out of Ghost Valley for those who made it out to safety. He can appreciate what he is seeing, even while avoiding the dark liquid. ]

I do agree, he should shut up. Our worst thoughts never know all that needs to be known.

[wifedup]

( The second Wen Kexing staggers back, clearly disorientated from the blow, the real one left to push the advantage. There's something cold in his expression as he ducks in close, framing a stabbing motion to the creatures sternum, an almighty crack echoing around the room as the palm of his hand connects. Another blow and the thing howls, grasping outward, seizing wet fingers in Wen Kexing's robes. It pulls him close, a snarl on it's face as it continues to taunt him. )

You won't escape, you can't. You will always be this thing, monster, monster, mon--.

( The heel of his hand thrown upwards beneath the creatures jaw, another crack and it's spine is broken. Wen Kexing barely has time to step away before thing dissolves into water, the hem of his robe soaking further. His fan is somewhere on the ground and he ducks to reach it, nose scrunched in quiet disgust. )

If it's going to pretend to me then at least it can do it right.

( He plucks at his sleeve, straightens it, looks the man in the face, a minute frown beneath his own brows and something still wary in his stance. )

You're not from Ephes.

A

[xiaodu]

Well, that depends. Do you need help?

[The voice should be familiar to Wen Kexing... and at the very least, Wu Xi doesn't look very flummoxed at all. He is simply raising an eyebrow at the shenanigans, because why would he even be surprised.]

You usually do, to be fair.

[wifedup]

( He's actually getting more and more used to unprompted rudeness - they all pale in comparison once you have been thoroughly judged by Lan Wangji - and so Wen Kexing doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. He spares the newcomer a glance from where he's crouched, riffling through the parchment, looking for anything that even remotely resemble a list of names. Most of them don't appear to be what he's looking for, and so he frowns as he reads, hands shuffling through them quickly. It's only after a moment that he deems to respond, something lofty in his tone. )

Oh, I think I'll manage.

( He has excellent acting, didn't you just see? )

But you seem to have me at a disadvantage. Do we know each other?

[xiaodu]

Wu Xi looks... confused, for a second, before he remembers a thing the witch Karsa said when they arrived. That people might come from different times.

"Hm, I see. Well, this is inconvenient. I do know you, Wen Kexing, but I will have to assume you, on your side, have not met me yet. I know Zhou Zishu."

[wifedup]

( Something narrow eyed and cautious flickers across Wen Kexing's face, there and then gone in seconds. He's still slow to move, folding the pieces of paper back up to hold them in one hand, rising to his feet. His smile, when given, seems friendly enough - though that does not mean much. )

From here?

( Lan Wangji had known them both, it's a legitimate question. But Wen Kexing hasn't seen this man before, not on the network nor any of the usual places Ephes' interlopers like to haunt. He gives him a once over, subtle and fast. He's not wearing Tian Chaung's usual attire, so not like the little spy either. It is Zishu and not Xu too. A hum, thoughtful. )

Ah, you mean from home. ( More interesting, and a reason to be careful. ) Well, any friend of Zhou Zishu's is a friend of mine. ( He says, like a lying liar who lies. ) May I ask this one's name?

[xiaodu]

I know him from Da Qing.

[That was where they'd first met, back when Wu Xi had still been a teenager.

And given the circumstances, of course Wen Kexing doesn't trust him as far as he can throw him, and if at all possible, Wu Xi would like to avoid fighting him, because there is a good chance he would not come out on top.]

I am Wu Xi, Great Shaman of Nanjiang.

[wifedup]

( There is something unsettling close to jealousy inside of Wen Kexing's chest. He knows that it is very foolish, other people know and have known Zhou Zishu, but then again he has never claimed to be sensible about his emotions. He lets it sit for a moment, a boiling sickness, before he banishes the thought. )

He hasn't mentioned you.

( Which is unfair, considering Zhou Zishu guards his secrets just as closely as Wen Kexing does. It is only recently that he has opened himself up, suddenly earnest. )

Ah, no matter, he isn't here. So I'm afraid we'll both be disappointed.