groundrules: (Default)
let's set d o w n some ([personal profile] groundrules) wrote in [community profile] westwhere2023-10-06 07:00 pm

blood & sand


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







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!




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!




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!




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.




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.




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!

nothinglikefather: made by peaked (Default)

THE PROSCRIPTIONS

[personal profile] nothinglikefather 2023-10-06 06:21 pm (UTC)(link)
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?
nothinglikefather: by aeneia (sultry smile)

Re: THE PROSCRIPTIONS

[personal profile] nothinglikefather 2023-10-06 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
thank you!
nothinglikefather: made by peaked (handsome boy)

Jacob Frye / AC Syndicate / OTA

[personal profile] nothinglikefather 2023-10-06 07:47 pm (UTC)(link)
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.
Edited 2023-10-06 20:02 (UTC)
catherding: (tender)

hector | castlevania | test driver

[personal profile] catherding 2023-10-06 08:03 pm (UTC)(link)
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.

Edited 2023-10-06 20:05 (UTC)
catherding: (strife)

rhinos!

[personal profile] catherding 2023-10-06 11:30 pm (UTC)(link)
"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?"
sonofrome: (Default)

Marius Titus | Ryse: Son of Rome | OPEN!

[personal profile] sonofrome 2023-10-07 12:14 am (UTC)(link)
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.


Edited 2023-10-07 01:34 (UTC)
northerndragon: black was always my color. (dressing - animated)

[personal profile] northerndragon 2023-10-07 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
HAND HAND HAND

(we don't have a Jaime Lannister to give it to for Comedy Reasons! joking aside though, I'm signing Jon up for this because of his mirror experience and how connected this scenario is.)
nothinglikefather: not my art (fight 1)

[personal profile] nothinglikefather 2023-10-07 05:08 am (UTC)(link)
There's a time and a place for science. In Jacob's mind, that time and place is far away from him, so he doesn't have to listen to it. He's well aware that it is probably important and someone should do it, but if he doesn't have to hear about it until its relevant he'd be a very happy man.

Thankfully, as of yet his companion in this current near-death experience hasn't made his scientific inclinations public, so despite his attitude, Jacob is still hoping he can get them both out of there alive.

Which may be a difficult job, as he too is well aware of the second beast by now, not only as it charges past but as its rider tosses another spear in their direction.

Jacob breaks his cover as the animals are forced to maneuver around, which doesn't look like an easy task, and grabs that second spear along with the first as he makes his way to the other man.

Despite his appearance in local clothing, Jacob has a thick British accent. He's also splattered in blood, some of his own, but mostly someone else's, due to an earlier round of fighting. He also appears to be enjoying himself throughally as he offers one of the spears out to the stranger.

"Kill them and then run."
northerndragon: (Default)

[personal profile] northerndragon 2023-10-07 06:39 am (UTC)(link)
As was foretold in prophecy.
catherding: (tender)

[personal profile] catherding 2023-10-07 07:24 am (UTC)(link)
Killing isn't part of his repertoire. That's for better or lesser or simply different men. He has the experience of gore and carnage from a leisurely perspective. Direct murder won't suit him, neither his temperament nor his appetite for precision. He can perform it, in the way even a dog can land on his hind legs.

"You kill them," he throws back, but accepts the spear in the good spirit of pointing a sharp-ended thing at an incoming projectile and praying in which he thinks it is intended. No point in wasting good will. Still, they have a... conundrum looming long and large in their proximity.

"There's something I can do for us. But it will draw their eyes."
nothinglikefather: made by peaked (Default)

[personal profile] nothinglikefather 2023-10-07 07:45 am (UTC)(link)
There's something about people refusing to even try to save their own skins that grates on Jacob. Yes, he might be able to save them without their help, but it's the expectation that he'll do it that bothers him. The assumption is that he will, because he's a good person.

He's not a good person. He could just save himself and leave them to the charging, blood-madden creatures and their masters.

But... but he won't. He doesn't need the guilt that comes with failure.

Gritting his teeth because verbally tearing this guy a new one doesn't fit on today's to-do list, Jacob forces himself to keep his attention on the animals. One has turned around, shaking it's great head as it readies for another charge, the other isn't quite redirected yet. They have a few seconds.

"What are you suggesting?"
catherding: (merry land)

[personal profile] catherding 2023-10-07 10:48 am (UTC)(link)
Seconds, yes. The animals ready and primed, their heft both lethal and serviceably slowing. He has enough creatures doing battle to understand the fundamental (de)merits of their shape and address them.

This isn't that. Only a shortcut between in the calisthenics of understanding how to position himself, where to make himself small. When to act.

"I'm a..." No. No time for that. A wizard, then requiring the demonstration, then the typical suspension of disbelief. Men want proof, proof takes time, and Hector is staring down at the face of bulbous, thick-hooved and horny death. With certainty.

"If we're stranded, I can create a protective warding area." He sighs, rubble slipping underfoot as he shifts his weight. "But it won't be... subtle."

Bars of light have a way of drawing the eye.
wifedup: (xliii.)

[personal profile] wifedup 2023-10-07 11:08 am (UTC)(link)
Can we fight Narula ( or more importantly the person he then takes the form of ) or because he's like a spectre does he just kind of vanish each time you try?

Also pls that avocado pun.
wifedup: (Default)

[personal profile] wifedup 2023-10-07 11:16 am (UTC)(link)
Oh no you're good i misinterpreted! so basically ghost rules, you can't really fight it unless you know how to subdue ghosts?

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