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

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?

[seaboard]

[ She tumbles into him like a crashing wave - does not know him, does not care, only that he is not that awful, twisting vision from before, and with it, she can throw herself into him.

Sobbing, her shoulders shaking she latches onto him to hide her face into his shoulder. She cannot explain the thing that she saw, the wrongness of it, only just to hide,hide,hide, where it cannot find her.

It takes her a good few minutes to muster a word, anything that makes sense, other than to shake against him to get her thoughts even slightly together. ]

Somethi- [ she drags her hands across her face as her face cracks. ] - Something was chasing me.

[nothinglikefather]

[ His arms instinctively go around her, forming a protective circle around her back. It's harder to know what to do after that- Evie was always the one better at comforting and consoling. Jacob's words tended to have more bite or sarcasm than people needed during moments like this.

But Evie isn't here. It's just him. And while the woman hides her face against his tunic, he pulls himself together. He looks up, in the direction the woman has been running from and sees nothing. Yet. ]

It's alright. You're with me, I'll keep you safe from him, alright?

[He doesn't let go of her, just shifts his grip to her arms as she pulls back and wipes at her face.]

Let's get you out of here. This isn't any place to be wandering around alone.

at sea

[downswing]

( Spumes and sea roiling and, at dawns, waters dark like opening maws. Fickle. He does not question when the task of rowing seems to deliver little progress, when they fight the wind to advance. When the girl raises herself and her sorcery is sound, a distant cousin but same blood of his own wielding of the zither.

Scarcely shifts, past discarding the oars obediently, like orphaned sons lined in the belly of the boat, allowing the tide to turn and their ship to soar. There is an expectation, as with all children of sorcery, that the girl's spell will give — a risk of blatant, tragic failure. And then, they have reached the creaking, leaking swell of the waiting merchant's ship, and that risk is already gone.

The infuriating stillness of the early hour rattles him, steels his spine straight. Sharpens his gaze and keeps the grip on his sword, sheathed. She has brought them here, unerringly. And so, leaning out to drag his hand over the ship's exoskeleton until it snags on bound cotton —

He has found the rope. ) You are adept at climbing rope?

[seaboard]

[ Her eyes lift to look up the ship and then back — it is nothing she could do of herself, like this.

She shakes her head. ]

I am not, not like this. But... go. I will follow you in a moment.

[downswing]

( She will follow. And, unspoken but inexorable: she will slip, and she will fall, and she will bleed for it. Fair skin blooms in bruises, bones break, fragile and thin.

She will not thank him the recourse.

And so, back rigid and the lines of his body taut and predatory in wait, he takes the measure of her, deciding: )

Shall I carry you? ( Have no worry, mistress, you are in the company of a married man. )

The Proscriptions

[massrez]

Easy, friend.

[ A chair scrapes against the floor, and a hooded figure steps quickly between the young woman and the advancing, obviously agitated man.

One hand held up placatingly, Anduin peers up at the furious face bearing down on them both now, dripping with wine. Thinking fast, his free hand reaches for his own belt, tugging away a kerchief of sorts to offer up. ]

There's no need for rash action. I'm sure she meant nothing by it. It was a misunderstanding. Isn't that so?

[ His eyes dart towards Gilia, the calm reassurance momentarily replaced by quiet urgency. Play along. ]

[seaboard]

[ Her eyes still wide, but now deeply thankful, she is quick to take up the cue as she falls down into a deep, deep curtsey. ]

Forgive me, I was so shocked I lost m-my temper.

[ She has never lost her temper about anything in her life, always too quick to this action. Crawling away submissively rather than standing her ground that at least she can sell the act of contrition. ]

I was frightened when the rat crawled over me, I should not have blamed you.

[ The huge man grunts as he stares at the both of them, bearing up now on the easier target of Anduin that Gilia where she hides away behind him, head dipped to not anger him further. ]

"Bitch owes me a fuckin' drink for this mess!" [ snarled at the both of them. ]

[massrez]

[ Taller though the other man might be, Anduin doesn't so much as blink as he's suddenly squared up against. Not the first or the last time.

The young king simply stares back for a moment. ]

It's not worth the trouble. You'll laugh about this later.

[ He hasn't resorted to this since he was a child, but it seems the safest way to diffuse the situation. Focusing that small thread of void energy until he can see it flicker behind the man's eyes, dispelling his fury behind a sudden confused haze. ]

Yeah. Yeah, it's funny, isn't it?

[ Scratching his head, the man suddenly pivots and starts back towards his own table, while Anduin turns towards Gilia with a slightly furrowed brow. ]

And I think we ought to find a table a little more out of the way, for now.