westwhere | the channeling

the channeling

THE CHANNELING

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WEALTH WHISPERS

Assignment: the Merchant fears that Matthias, alleged father of the undead Brotherhood, might be the ‘merchant’ who was due to receive dark water-infused grains by sea from the Hand. Chasing information, the Merchant routes party members towards the docks-side underworld district of Tibras, in the outskirts of Ephes. The Hand keeps grain warehouses nearby.

In Tibras, short and decayed houses are like parasitic growths toppling each other, plaster peels falling into rivulets of bloodshed. Tension thrives. Petrified, natives overwhelmingly number beggars, pleasure workers, crude bounty hunters and thieves, who look to cut throats or purse strings. Occasional bodies drift by the docks.

■ Just outside of Tibras is the abode of the merchants’ syndicate — a ring of warehouses, private clubs and houses of currency. Merchants here are protected via steep fees and travel freely. Inside the syndicate house, doorways are barred by inextinguishable living fire — which you can cross unharmed, if you rearrange the runes marked N, W, S, E on a nearby wall in a cardinal-point formation. You can also pretend to be a servant, a merchant or quality inspector to get to the Hand warehouses. Ask a clue.

Alternatively, the Merchant forewarns that a notable guest will join the syndicate for three nights: Captain Maximilian Hawk of the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company, which deals in magical artefacts. Hold him at knifepoint, seduce him, do your worst for knowledge!

■ By the entrance to Tibras is the shop of Apollonius, noted collector of supernatural artefacts and information broker. Crafty and sly, he will cooperate, in exchange for a pair of ‘eyes’ from the ghost Tykhe, who haunts the nearby anonymous burial grounds. Come midnight, Tykhe’s spirit — whose sight was gouged — appears and picks out and bewitches a pair of marbles, buttons or stones to act as her ‘eyes.’ With them in hand, she searches the graveyard for her dead sister, Cassandra. You can steal the orbs, or she’ll give them freely, if you escort her from tomb to tomb to reunite with the mute ghost of Cassandra. Return to Apollonius.

■ Deeper within Tibras is a gambling nest of sailors who were cursed by a scorned sea witch to assume the appearance of sea creatures. Led by the giant octopus Crassus, they charge protection fees from commercial merchant ships and even intimidate pirates, gleaning information from sailors and recovering drowned bodies. This illustrious group adores games of chance — as long as you can cover your losses.

You can decide or RNG how many tries it takes for your character to win — submit a finished thread to get a question! The higher the stakes, the better the information.

— a scantly informed junior goldfish throws dice. Lose, and you must share a highly embarrassing secret.

— a moderately informed catfish, offering Baccarat. Lose, and he steals your good luck for 24 hours.

— a composed, well-informed whale plays roulette. Lose, and you must share one of your most precious memories.

— a highly-knowledgeable shark, Aurelius Longus, plays a mean hand of poker. Lose, and he asks blood or a pledge to save his life one day.

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THE FLOORS

Senate leader Caius Justus exits his seclusion, ending weeks of prayer to convey the message of Ephes’ divine patron, the Chained God of chaos. And he says in a public speech:

Friends, Ephesians, countrymen…

”Friends, Ephesians, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to speak for the Chained Father, not to praise him. The victory men reap lives after them; but cowardice is often buried with their bones. So let it be with Ephes. The noble Senate tells you, the Chained Father wishes only Ephes’ destruction. If it were so, it is a grievous fault, and grievously has the Father answered for it. Here, under leave of Messalina and the Senate – for Messalina is an honourable speaker; so they are all, all honourable speakers – come I to speak of the Chained Father’s wishes. He was my maker, faithful and just to us: but Messalina says, turn away from him. And Messalina is an honourable speaker. He has brought many territories under the heel of Ephes. In his name did the Hand rise: did this in the Chained Father seem unworthy? When now you weep asking empire, the Chained Father answers: tells you to be made of sterner stuff. Yet Messalina says the Father is unworthy. And Messalina is an honourable speaker. You all did see that I withdrew to his temple, where he spoke to me: Ephes, seize your path alone — was that unworthy? Yet Messalina says to turn away from him. And sure, Messalina is an honourable speak. I speak not to disprove what Messalina spoke, but here I am to speak what I do know: you are all children of Chaos, not without cause. What cause withholds you, then, to use the Hand yourselves? O, ambition! You have fled to brutish citadels. And men have lost their courage. Bear with me: my heart is in the temple, there with the Chained God, and I must pause and beg the Senate to vote against Messalina, til it comes back to me. ”

Returning to public life, Caius Justus advises the Senate to refuse Messalina’s proposal, but defers to a vote. Citing recent civil unrest, he imposes citadel-wide 10 p.m. curfews, bans congregations of more than eight people in the streets and sends the Hand to confiscate any visible weapons and to quiet or pre-empt unrest. Hand members — forced to present in large numbers — appear erratic, prone to violent outbursts and to taking out their anger on civilians. Hand leader Narula is excessively smug.

Newscasters are careful with their words, speeches decrying Messalina abound, and senators are‘escorted’ by Hand delegations, also for their protection. Caius Justus announces he will run again for Senate leadership — to begrudged murmurs among Senators, given his previous pledge to retire.

Assignment: lure Senators toward the position that the party supports. After Caius Justus’ return:

■ 51 Senators back Caius Justus to refuse Messalina’s proposal.

■ Maximus Faustus convinces 53 Senators to accept Messalina’s proposal

■ Caelius Silvanus persuades 47 Senators to vote to postpone a decision on Messalina’s proposal for another season.

Following the party’s previous interventions, Senators are open to considering Messalina’s cause. Many are skittish, fearing their careers or lives will end with disobeying Caius Justus. Optionally, party members previously assigned a political role might receive threats from Caius Justus’ supporters.

■ Persuade, bribe, threaten or blackmail a minor Senator to switch votes. Perhaps you can offer coin or rally supporters in the marketplace for their next election, or heal their donkey or get rid of that pesky boy mooning after their daughter. Or maybe prove their corruption streak, or place a polite knife at their throats. Hold the whole Senate floor hostage, if you want, of blockade Senators from entering the Senate on voting day!

■ Ask for a RNGed Senator if you want or submit threads of swaying votes. A final tally will be taken on 19 November

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INCENSE

Priests of the Chained God whisper that the god shows signs of awakening to trigger an apocalypse. Chained and warded twelve times to prevent the end of the world, the Chained God allegedly rests in the Halls of the Sleeper, in the underground belly of his main temple in Ephes. Above ground, the temple is silent, rife with milling priests, hummed prayers and cloying hallucinogenic incense that encourages lethargy. Access is unrestricted, but monitored.

To progress downstairs, you may need to convince guards that you are one of the groups of ferociously devout pilgrim worshippers, or a priest. Below, you feel overcome by creeping, paralysing dread.

■ You are haunted by sinister, saccharine voices murmuring intrusive thoughts only you hear, diminishing your worth and paranoically asking if your companion means you harm. You are more irritable and prone to violence.

■ The halls increasingly resemble narrow subterranean corridors with limited and overheated air reserves. You reach locked stone gates, covered in loose chains and crudely carved with the inscription, the Sleeper awakes. Instructions state the Chained God demands sacrifice and proof of chaos.

■ To enter the Sleeper’s Hall, instructions say, you must commit an act of betrayal, by: drawing your companion’s blood and smearing it over the inscription (lean into the corruption!), which prevents them from entering the halls with you; or chaining them to the door with the gate shackles, condemning them to watch as you enter; or pushing your companion away, verbally eviscerating or attacking them until they flee. With player approval, your character could get a sense of what theirs is emotionally or physically vulnerable to, then exploit it. Acts of betrayal cannot be faked.

■ The Sleeper’s Hall is narrow, nearly spherical and lit by thin rivers of flowing magma that cross cracked floors. Amid swelter, you hear the periodic gulps and quakes of stone trembling around you. The supernaturally sensitive feel the presence of great, if constrained power.

■ The black water previously associated with the undead also gushes from rifts in the ground. It has a cold, sinister aura.

■ Search the room for clues — and leave urgently, before corruption consumes you.

■ Towards the middle of the room is a large, nebulously shaped creature, fully fettered and covered in magical wards, chains and blood-painted runes. Anyone in the Chained God’s presence may feel overcome by emotional or physical agony, claustrophobia and bloodlust — but the divinity only speaks with the RNG winner.

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NOTES:

■ Some players have asked about potentially ~~stabbing~~ ousting Caius Justus and Narula in a coup — everyone can plot and participate in that, and a plotting post will go up on 16 November.

■ NPC inbox, if you need anyone!

■ QUESTIONS

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[ Jacob glares. Stops following the ghost and simply glares at the other man.]

I told you I'm not. She's not frightening. Why would I be frightened? You go find her gr- bed! Go on, get on with it!

( He is, briefly, overwhelmed by far too many questions, far too many wants. She is desperate — he can feel it — and despair and urgency resonate as threats to him, forcing him to abandon his stick, dropped cleanly in the puddle.

He takes a step back. )

I've told you enough. You're so greedy and - and stupid and... I'm... I told you enough. He's going to find out. So... shut up. And just take what you were told. It's more than you had.

( And she's being, by the sound of his far too sulking, young voice - ungrateful. )

Edited 2023-11-07 18:56 (UTC)

( That... escalated far quicker in Bucky's estimate than even Lan Wangji had anticipated, slowly but surely blinking away the instinct to agree on principle.

No. No. Think. And sigh along — )

Another match of the game. ( A beat, then, patiently: ) Though bloodshed accepted.

( ...for the future, in the foregone accepted reality where this goldfish fails to accommodate Lan Wangji in a new and mysterious way. )

( Her gra — he flinches, preparing to chastise or deny, only Jacob, at the very last stretch of the moment, catches himself.

Diplomacy and strategy, at long last. He nods, faintly amused, far more lent purpose. Sparing Jacob a parting glance — there is a weapon upon the man, he suspects, at every moment, and so Lan Wangji need not fear for his safety, precisely — he darts off.

It is not the work of mere moments. Weeds and sheltered resting places and graves straddling graves. He loiters between them, testing the stone plates for names, only to find, as the burial grounds suggest — no indication.

Finally, a breakthrough: he calls out, reedy — ) Jacob. Bring her.

( ...to a grave that appears freshly crafted within the past month, the earth still showing signs of churning. )

( She can — stun individuals, if...

...and how? How may spectators be so uniquely, so irrevocably awed? Will she... accost them? Scream? Speak thoughtlessness, aim violence at them? How will she stun them?

Excuse Lan Wangji embracing his newest favourite feline activity of all: slowly, surely, blinking at the recipient of his disbelief: )

How? ( This surely cannot be another spell. )

( A corridor stretching so far and narrow, he is tempted to collect America on his back and run the length of it at high speed, imbued with the riches of his qi energies.

He does not. They slink, like cats hunting in their territory, ears dreadfully and impossibly alert for any flinching of sound.

It comes, from the left. And then, footsteps. Lacking alternative, soon to be discovered, he only urges America forward: )

First quarter to the left. Run.

( A library sooner than a warehouse, but needs must. )

( ...ah. A sweet sliver of memory, charming for its silvered resilience. He anticipates — crisps at the mere possibility — the whale's rejection, the utter and pedestrian disdain of words and sentiments so heartfelt.

It does not come. The whale, apparently able and willing to generate its own waters, wipes the wet from the corner of his eyes and nods with the sober gravity that accompanies its heft. Lan Wangji, stricken, finds himself nodding with him, whisper a harsh, wintered sound: )

A wise father. ( Kindness is ever the solution, the appropriate step. The whale, succumbed to nostalgia, takes a moment to recalibrate — before finally returning to himself and offering them another turn.

Lan Wangji nods towards Caitlyn. )

Play. I shall cover.

( ...don't lose. )

( Act... casual. In a sea of fish and folly and the roulette still performing a vague, indelicate spin, where the whale's twist-turned it.

Act casual, yet Lan Wangji suspects: there is no need for the whale to request a superior, not when information must surely reside with each of its purveyors. The octopus — who sulks and shifts and crawls forward, the lattice of its tentacles slipped behind it — cannot hope to deliver what his subordinate withholds. )

Should there be weapons, stay at my back.

( Since they are apparently trading instructions.

Yet here master Crassus has come, wet of his drip-drip a drool-like trail behind him, as he heaves and thrusts himself, collapsing onto the nearest chair that wobbles with a worn-in creak. Lan Wangji waits, patiently, penitently. And the octopus, at long last, speaks: )

So you won the hand, did you? Which one?

( He does not linger.

The truth, such as he did not — should have considered: the maws of the room snap shut and grind him, and its teeth are blunt and numerous and strong, and the energies of the Chained God's halls churn him. He is a dust mote, irreverently absorbed, carefully digested.

The god yet rests in his presence, rejects the swirling tempest of his frustrating frailty, how he presents a spark of hope in the chasm of its dormant, all consuming, destructive power. He emerges — eaten, stained, immersed. Chewed out. Spat back, energies entirely drained and corrupted, weight of him as if the flesh of his back wishes to melt and only scars linger.

He feels dragged, and dragging himself. Limbs torn, ligaments strained. Walking, mouth far too dry, ripped and bloodied. His thoughts have stilled.

In the corridor, where air is no longer a punched force and sugar-spun thick, he breathes. And breathes.

And does not, cannot rush for Wei Ying, but simply — accepting somehow the blood-let miracle of him — crawls toward the rasped, clawed sound of his hums and drags a hand onto his shoulder, anchors on him. The full weight of him now is kitten-like, strained. )

Have your say home. ( Only, get him there. )

( He's right, America is desperate, and there's no telling how that desperation will translate to sloppiness. )

( She glares at him, but well, she can't make him talk about what he doesn't want to. )

Fine. But I thought you wanted to stop him. If that's all you have, I hope it's enough to do that.

I don't need to stop him. You can't stop him. ( He seems at once heated and resigned, in the way of children who've understood when they've exhausted their meager capabilities. )

I just want him to hurt. Because he deserves it. He lied about my dollhouse. He made it worse.

( And the child, apparently, bears grudges. ) He'll lose his territories if he keeps losing his pieces. Or he'll have to cut more of himself. And he's running out. So... so that's all I'll say. Get all his parts. And I hope he... I hope he screams.

( Ah, and let it not be forgotten: ) And get my umbrella. Bring it here tomorrow. I'll fetch it.

[ And so Lan Wangji leaves him to go poking around the graves and Jacob is babysitting a ghost. Great. Fine.

But he has no idea what babysitting a ghost entails either. He doesn't think there's any sort of small talk he can make, but he tries.]

Where'd you see your sister last?

[ He doesn't get an answer. Not before Lan Wangji calls out to them and he frowns, looking between her and the source of voice.

How the hell do you herd a ghost?]

Miss? This way please. My friend thinks he might have found her...

( Can't? Oh, her eyes narrow to that. Can't! Just watch her. )

( Luckily for them both, America has other people she can pass on the information to. And maybe together they can figure things out. )

I'll do this, because we need to do something. But I can't do much about the umbrella if I don't know what it looks like!

( America shakes her head. The blessing of the corridor is she can see the length of it, see where it ends. It's just faster. )

( She punches the air, a bright, star shape opens before them, the scene from the end of the corridor can be seen in the center of the shining hole. )

We go through there. I make it disappear. We'll have a lot of space between us and them!

[ He gives the letter a rather skeptical look, but it's decent enough, from what he can tell. It might work. ]

You still look nervous. Breathe.

[ It's a good thing his height probably makes him look way older than he is, or he might look a little ridiculous trying to give her advice. This is pretty much what he's trained in, though. Stealth, deception, infiltration. ]

If someone is, say, betrayed, and gets upset about it while locked out thus starts... acting out in the temple... smashing up statues(?)/nice floor tiles(?)/the gate ineffectually because they're locked out/I guess upsetting a guard, are they gonna get the Whole Temple on them? I cannot visualise how far away the gates/entrance is from the guards/rest of the temple, and thus how quickly a temper tantrum would draw attention and how intense it would be!

They wouldn't take your shirt, would they? [Caitlyn takes his words literally, and, as far as she's concerned, taking the very shirt off someone's back would be a bridge too far.

She huffs softly as she watches the whale set the roulette wheel in motion.]

[It's a surprise that the whale is moved to tears by her story. An uncomfortable surprise. She misses her dad desperately. She'd give anything to see him again. But she didn't mean to make anyone cry.

She glances over at Lan Wangji, the awkwardness in her posture apparent.]

Yes. He is. [She frowns heavily, thinking of her father's steady, reassuring tone and the gentle steadiness with which he always fixed her up after an injury. She's certainly not going to cry about it herself. No, she's going to keep thinking very hard about roulette and focus on doing what she needs to do to get back to her parents, so she doesn't have to miss them anymore.

She bets on red again. With an even chance every time, it'll have to be red eventually.]

[Caitlyn has never been adverse to taking advice - good advice, anyway - from anyone, no matter their age. At only twenty-two herself, she's used to people dismissing her for her age and inexperience, when she knows that she's been more level-headed than many of the adults in her life since well before the age of twenty-two.

And 'breathe' is good advice.

She takes a slow breath in, even as her jaw clenches a little harder.]

You're here to get inside as well?

( it's zoro's turn to look at nami, managing to keep his expression neutral for the most part, but he's got his eyebrows raised slightly because what, that's a precious memory? he flicks his gaze back to the whale thinking there's no way the fella's gonna buy that, but then he's indicating it's zoro's turn once more, and he's a little surprised. then again, if it's to do with collecting any kind of treasure, of course it'd matter to the orange-haired berry hoarder. still, he doesn't appreciate being called an idiot. )

Seven. ( okay, yeah. he is kind of a dummy who can't remember the numbers nami mentioned earlier, but whatever. he might get lucky here. he's feeling it... up until the damn thing lands on a five. )

Hm. ( he sucks in a deep breath, needing yet another minute to consider what he wants to share, but clearly not giving it much thought when he simply blurts out: ) Fought a whole crew of fish men. Kicked their asses. Most fun I ever had in a while. ( there's silence around the table. the whale slips a pistol out of his jacket pocket, smiling wide and showing teeth before calmly laying the weapon on its side, aimed in zoro's direction. )

[ What a stupid fucking thing to say, and the way the whale across the table from them doesn't hesitate to set his pistol down in plain sight, aimed at Zoro ramifies that point. They are still stuck in a strange world, playing by rules they don't even know, and she should really mean it when her eyes dart sideways, blazing in Zoro's direction.

However...

Fuck those fishmen.

These aren't the same guys, she knows, but it doesn't change what he was talking about when he shared his memory with the whale, thus ensuring that when Nami does try glaring daggers at Zoro - and oh how she does - there's just a little too much amusement lurking at the corners of her eyes for it to land as threatening as she wants it to.

What an asshole. ]

Nineteen. [ Time to move the conversation along before the tension has too much time to hang in the air like it is. Nami springs into motion, setting her chips down and watching the whale set the wheel into motion. 'Nineteen' says the whale and Nami's shoulders sag with relief. ]

Red on Nineteen wins it after a few failed attempts.

A question: Since we're both new players, would it be possible to just get a clue to share instead of a question each, as neither of us knows what to ask about yet?

[ It's not much, but she'll take the fact that this is as weird for the other person skulking around the graveyard that night as it is for her.

At Nynaeve's words, Nami shakes her head, frowning at a row of headstones they dart past. ]

So, it doesn't stop? If we help her find her sister, they just do this again the next night?

[ Having to relive the worst loss of your life sounds like a pretty bad hand to be dealt - she thinks she gets where the other lady's coming from wanting the merchant to choke on his ask, to say the least. ]

We should check the names on some of these, and keep her in our sights.

You know what I did to those who wronged me.

[ Is that how it works? Can this god, in a world unknown, see what he'd done in the past? He knows of Taxian-jun, at least, the status of emperor that Mo Ran can no longer claim. ]

What fee do you speak of? The fee that'll be needed to free me from jail if I release you? [ There is, after all, a reason he was chained. ]

Shared custody? [ Both an answer and a question. Like for a prisoner or something? That's how Nami contextualizes it, rolling her shoulders in a small shrug. ]

Do you want to try? I think I figured out a few numbers worth betting on. [ No telling if the house is going to take issue with her methods or not but - Nami would swear there aren't any signs telling her she can't - if her claims about it being a legitimate strategy don't work out, anyway.

Can't win if you don't play though, right? ]

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the channeling

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your call if this is the right grave!!!

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Coin flip says no :(

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