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.

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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

[clavesregni]

[Another sputter. She can hardly believe that such a thing is being proposed! And not once, but twice! The indignity! The affront!]

I certainly will not play at being y-your slave golem!

[And she will not dignify the parchment by even looking at it anymore.]

I'm far more useful with a gun than I am... squinting and groaning! I don't see why I shouldn't be your bodyguard.

[catherding]

( Ah, the staple, perfectly indignant, one-of-a-kind sputter. Turn it upside down, lose a decibel, and one might in fact hear — )

You've even got the groaning to pat.

( ...an honest critic can't help the nature of his feedback. He would be doing them both a disservice by pretending she doesn't excel at the art of... slave golem. Truly, mastered by only one woman, and it is she. A remarkable one-night performance. )

You don't have to. ( As if... she has been fighting him, chomping at the bit for the opportunity to be golem. )

[clavesregni]

Oh, how magnanimous, [she snits. Somehow, her posture has become even more rigid in her ire. She presses on, pointedly not waiting for his acquiescence.] It's settled then. You're a sorcerer, and I'm your bodyguard.

[Her eyes scan the crowd, looking for the best target for their ruse. Among the unwashed, uncouth inhabitants of this place, she spots a glint of gold - two rings worn on the slim fingers of a man drinking a few tables over. She can't be sure they're authentic from this distance, of course, but there's no discoloration of his fingers and no tarnishing on the metal that would indicate fake gold. She doesn't know what it means that someone in a place like this is wearing what appears to be real gold rings, but it's a detail that stands out, marking the man as unique in some way.

She nods in his direction.]

We can start with him.

[catherding]

( It's... settled, then. He is a sorcerer, and the beautiful but brutal creature who walks before him and has all too clearly never cut a throat on a whim is his bodyguard. They are equally convincing in their roles, barring the part where Hector performs sorcery with frightening regularity, and his companion of choice presented him with a lethal... pencil.

But they're walking towards a boss of the land, his wealth casually displayed in droves of rings, necklaces and a chorus of pursed-lip advisors, each more willing to confirm their obedience than the rest. One pours his wine (pickled?), one hastily brings him a woman. Another, quick-witted, offers to play him at cards — and lose, he volunteers, because he always loses.

Hector's squinting reaches level of complexity he is only able to surpass by taking a seat at the man's table, uninvited. Yes, that always wonders for his health. )

You look like a man of the world. My... bodyguard — ( One of the followers grins, Your whore? ) bodyguard — and I were hoping for a steer. Isn't that right...?

[clavesregni]

[It doesn't occur to Caitlyn that a bodyguard is technically a sort of servant, and probably wouldn't sit down as though she were on equal footing with her employer. Especially since a bodyguard always needs to be prepared for a hostile situation - harder to do when seated. So when Hector sits, she sits, too.

She bristles angrily at the suggestion that she's a prostitute, ready to say something very pithy about it, but Hector quickly corrects the man, and Caitlyn lets it pass with nothing more than a scowl.]

Y-yes. We were hoping you could provide us with some information. [She attempts a false accent, because her own is so obviously posh that it would make her stick out even more than she already does. The accent she attempts, however, sounds like nothing that has ever come out of a real person's mouth before.] We have reason to believe you came into a list recently.

[catherding]

( ...this. Situation. Is escalating by the second, propelled not by danger or intrigue or conspiracy, but by the earnest inevitability that the girl is dreadful at the very act of deceit she insisted on.

Far from Hector to judge or complain, but —

He visits a stern kick to her ankles, under the table. ) My thanks to my bodyguard for keeping me so appraised of these goings-on.

( Which of the boss of this interaction appears distinctly unwilling to let persist under his watch. But never mind that. Hector is smiling, the boss is waving away the instinctive impulse of his minions to step forward with steel and poison. This is fine. )

You see, I'm also a man of this world. And I understand it needs silver. I'd like to make some. ( The aforementioned smile deepens. ) I think we can help you, my bodyguard and I. I think we can help each other.

[clavesregni]

[The kick to her ankle causes a soft hiss of surprise followed by a glare in Hector's direction. But she quickly realizes that she shouldn't be doing that and instead shifts her glare to the room more generally.

Perhaps it's best if she simply stays quiet. Going undercover is not her forte, and she does want this ruse to succeed.

So she sits back, posture as stiff as ever, and watches the exchange between Hector and the target of their deception from beneath furrowed brows.]

[catherding]

( ...well, then. Alone and manning their entire venture he is. Never mind Hector's own strangulated record at deceit and cunning — he's on a mission, and both of them can't afford to fail. Not with their necks on the line and their evacuation, likewise.

The man before Hector observes them both with clear enough disdain that Hector first thinks to send for more wine — remembers the vinegar, reconsiders — then politely negotiates the next step of consigning them both to fresh hell.

The gambit: )

My bodyguard has brought along a token of my appreciation. To show we have had previous success in our ventures and can hope for more. Why don't you show our new friend?

( ...coin. That Hector, newly arrived, decidedly doesn't possess, but — surely she's in finer standing? Even an exotic gift of some kind could pass. )

[clavesregni]

[A token? Caitlyn absolutely does not have a token. Is she meant to have a token? It's all she can do to not look utterly taken aback as she starts rummaging in her case, looking for anything that could conceivably be referred to as a 'token of appreciation.']

Y-yes. Of course. Yes.

[Finally, her hand finds the ornate golden clasp of her uniform belt. It probably isn't worth much money, but it has a fancier appearance than anything else in this room. Other than the rings this man is wearing. And the symbol on it won't be recognized here.

She places it on the table and slides it towards the man.]

This is an... a relic. The symbol is that of an ancient civilization. We're quite friendly with an archaeologist who discovered it... in... Uhm. [No, stop talking. There's no need to go into a lengthy and convoluted lie about it. She knows from experience that such a tactic won't help anything.

The man picks up the clasp, eyeing it skeptically.]

[catherding]

( This... relic. The symbol of an ancient... scratched, brass, perfectly benign and pedestrian item —

Well. Well, then. They do say the finest archeological discoveries are perfectly mundane, and look. This one, carefully collected between Hector's greedy fingers and showing with perfect flair from the side, is the dullest of them all. )

It's worth a handsome sum. ( Of exactly one tenth of a coin and spittle. ) But we're not greedy. We understand the foundation of a great relationship is respect. And we show it.

( Here, now, by placing the clasp on the table, where the man watches with careful, calculated appreciation, before waving an underling over to take it in hand and deliver it the two steps to him. Yes. He is pleased. If not by the token, then certainly by its implications. )

All we ask is the chance to do business. And we will pay for that opportunity. A cut of our gains, whatever they may be, of any bounty you... facilitate by supplying the lists. A finder's fee. My bodyguard and I thought it through, and it seems only... respectful. In fact, my bodyguard insisted. Isn't that so?

[clavesregni]

[It surprises Caitlyn, how much she dislikes seeing a symbol of the career that she's so dedicated to, and the city she'd give just about anything for, in the hands of a man like this.

It's worth it, of course. If it helps them get the list. But the frown etched across her features deepens.

It takes her a moment to realize that Hector is speaking to her.]

Yes. O-of course. [She recognizes the greedy way in which he snatches the clasp from his underling - this is the exact sort of person who always made it their business to hover around her mother, vying for every last scrap of wealth or favour Councillor Kiramman might be inclined to lend them. The sort of person who always wants more, no matter how much he already has, and is very concerned with being reminded of his own importance.] We would never insult the work you've done to procure the list by not offering to pay a fee in return.

[The words come haltingly, feeling unnatural in her mouth. But when undercover, one must sometimes say and do things that one finds unnatural.]