westwhere | bygones be bygones

Entry tags:

bygones be bygones

BYGONES BE BYGONES

Image source.

Welcome to the finale log event, stretching until 22 February. You can find a summary of recent events here. The finale log is broken in four sections:

■ Anurr’s attempt to enter Hatthevar by corrupting party members

■ The citadel’s increasing hauntings and abductions (largely CR-building scenarios)

■ Investigating a ghost ship, for final clues

■ The fall of undead creator Matthias

Thank you for being here & enjoy!

Image source.

WALLS, WAILING

The tide of war are turning: his scorpions and sand lurkers defeated by Emilia, Wrath and Benedict, the undead Brotherhood’s foremost general, Rathakku, pulls back his armies. A handful of monstrous creatures remain and will grudgingly serve the trio as their new masters.

Wind master Anurr, foe of the Brotherhood and its maker Matthias, continues assaulting the citadel with ceaseless blizzards. Those exposed to the storms may hear dark or saccharine voices that corrupt, threaten or woo them to open one of the four (north/west/south/east) gates of the citadel and allow Anurr’s forces inside.

■ Those prone to loneliness, despair or self-doubt are the most vulnerable to Anurr’s coercion and can easily turn aggressive, if anyone attempts to prevent them from their goal. A burning need to free the winds and a hatred of Hatthevar overwhelm you, while Matthias’ very name sets you off in a rage.

■ Those coerced are invulnerable to Anurr’s blizzards and the broader cold but highly susceptible to heat and flame. Their skin turns pale, limbs stiff and nearly gelid. They are slower but much stronger, and their touch can chill. They must be warmed — either by fire-side or trapped into heated rooms — to regain control of themselves. It may take up to 48 hours before they’re fully back to normal, waking up at night with a longing to walk into the wind.

■ The gates of Hatthevar remain guarded by enormous man-eating ghosts, but these sentinels have been worn down by war and are more easily overcome. Pass them and your companions and open the gates — and you will win Anurr a healthy advantage.

Image source.

A HAUNTED PLACE

Two of Matthias’ beacons have been conquered by Vanessa, Wrathion and Five, who retain them as long as they stay along. Inevitably, they are often hunted by spirits.

Not realizing why his summons have weakened, Matthias directs more and more energy towards the three beacons under his control. The turbulence agitates the spirits of Hatthevar, who become secretive, paranoid, prickly and increasingly riotous.

■ Some scatter quickly as they see you — others gang up, mutinously targeting ghost slavers or anyone who reminds them of those who wronged them when they were alive. Hauntings multiply, while ghost slavers take advantage of the riots to conquer parts of Hatthevar.

PART & WHOLE

Combative crowds, often led by ghost slavers, are especially drawn to characters who own any of Matthias’ limbs or organs. Promised rewards, they seek to abduct such owners or anyone unlucky enough to be mistaken for them, dragging them to decrepit, barely standing and abandoned Whispering Houses while they barter payment from Matthias.

■ Ghosts are fiercely attentive but also superstitious watchmen: spook them, organise a rescue party or sneak out.

■ Watching the walls, you see ink brush paintings of the silhouettes of men, their beady eyes sometimes shifting to look at you. At other times, their limbs seem to shift minutely, as they begin to run towards you, until shadow men burst out of the wall to detain you. They pull back, if you also stop moving.

■ Those who possess Matthias’ parts may find ghosts are unusually submissive to them. Their tokens will likely get seized, if they are captured.

Image source.

TROUBLED

Hatthevar succumbs to hauntings, friendly or foul. On any given day, you might experience:

■ THE BURIALS: Come morning, your shoes might be missing, buried in the nearest dirt patch — or you yourself might be entombed in the gardens, forced to dig yourself out before you suffocate. The crystalline sound of chiming bells can lead rescuers to you. Ghostly hands might try to hold onto you, if you are dragged out.

■ THE FACELESS: Lithe faceless dancers dart through the crowds of the ghostly bazaars, carrying demonic wooden masks that they place on the faces of stunned passers-by, fleeing thereafter. The victims now look like the demonic masks, while the masks have copied their likeness. If this happens to you, run after the faceless dancers, steal the mask and put it back on your face to recover your original appearance.

■ THE WATCH: Walking through the streets of Hatthevar, you find yourself visibly, unmistakably watched by an increasing number of people. First, they only steal glances; then, one or two point you out; small groups begin to whisper about you; finally, you notice whole crowds are standing eerily still, watching you covetously and seemingly struggling to keep themselves back from assaulting you.

MASTER GAO’S HUMBLE HOUSE

Least said, soonest enjoyed of Hatthevar’s new fashion of culinary delights. Amid a pick-up in crime, the street food vendors disperse, leaving behind a smattering of secluded establishments drenched in dizzying incense and patroned by… ethereal diners.

Master Gao’s family restaurant promises a once-in-a-lifetime experience, amid ghosts, ghouls and the monstrously dead. Take a seat at a private table, where you are treated to a pleasantly sweet, liquorice brew — then informed politely that you have been lethally poisoned and will die within two hours. Already, you feel your body feverish, overly stimulated, your thoughts given to wonder.

Focus, focus: the antidote, says the listless waitress, is in one of the numerous incoming dishes. A game to focus you on enjoying your meal. Even one bite will heal you.

THE MENU

Still on the fence? Reviewers say:

★★★★☆ Came for the bao buns, stayed for the screams of endless agony.
★★★★★ most places on lotus street went to the hell dogs, master’s gao stays lit, the demon bacon’s sizzle drizzle
★★☆☆☆ Two stars for the incredible heart of virgin sacrifice, cooked al dente. But this will be our last visit, after unprofessional staff treated us as if we were at our first cannibal rites.
★★★★☆ Hand-made blood pasta, rolled like grandma used to make.

Image source.

THE HEADLESS DANCER

Five and Wen Kexing share that word on the street is Matthias has favoured two hideaways. The most widely known one, where you are headed first, is the Headless Dancer: a ghost ship that appears on nights of the full moon in the misty lagoon near Hatthevar. Half-sunken and ragged, the Headless Dancer appears like a conglomerate of titans’ bones, carved and welded together. It is a proper sea vessel, atypical to sail through a lagoon.

Your objective is to search the ship for any sign of Matthias.

■ As the vessel passes, you hear a staggered, loud rattling: the chattering teeth of the skull heads that shape the ship’s hull. These hungry mouths reach to crush and gnaw you, if you fall in the waters close to the ship.

■ A pirate crew is hard at work to keep the vessel afloat. At first, the men appear normal, but their skeletal, corpse-like appearance is revealed when they come under moonlight.

■ Many crew members ignore you, chained to each other and the deck and condemned to perform their tasks while singing their ol’ song. Only the captain speaks liberally: cursing, whipping his men and carrying a bundle of chains as he makes his rounds. Hide — at times helped or betrayed by crew members — or risk getting chained down by the captain, your powers entirely muted until you are released.

■ Midway through your visit, the ship sails back into the fog, beneath a strange wave of clouds shaped like enormous fish and sea life . Spears and chains that resemble fish spines plunge down to pin the ship in place: they fly across the deck, at times skewering and stabbing crew members. Take cover or jump overboard.

■ After a few moments, the spear-chains latch onto the vessel’s sides, turning it over and submerging into the lagoon. Instead of sinking, the Headless Dancer breaks water, once again upright… in strange new sides (the ‘Other Side’) in the middle of an intensely violent storm of blood. The previously skeletal crew and captain are now fully human and are struggling desperately to keep the ship from sinking, despite furious winds and the vessel taking substantial amounts of water. You understand quickly this is an illusion or memory of some kind: there is no saving the ship. Spend the last few minutes before the Headless Dancer sinks trying to stay afloat and search the captain and main passengers’ cabin for clues. Within 20 minutes, you hear the mast of the Headless Dancer give way, while the rapidly flooding of the hull causes the ship to break in half. You fall unconscious, waking up battered but alive in the real-world shores of Hatthevar, the splinters of the Headless Dancer’s deck stuck beneath your nails.

Image source.

HE BLEEDS

Following our latest vote, the People have overwhelmingly chosen that undead creator Matthias will die.

Carrying out the plan is open to everyone, whether you did or didn’t get involved with the voting — jump in freely!

Matthias will be discovered in the second lair location uncovered by Five and Wen Kexing — the Whispering House of Hatthevar’s foremost wish maker, the Red Lady. He dwells on the first floor, which has been turned into an immense room decked in dark mirrors, whose windows have been entirely barricaded.

There are two types of mirrors: some show you exactly what you most wish to see, progressively captivating you while rapidly depleting your stamina and vitality, until you are reduced to dried husks and bones within the hour.

Looking into the second type of mirror, your character sees a person of tar that reaches out to touch them until their hand exits the glass. Upon contact, your character is overcome by a feeling of intense, spreading coldness, as if their insides are being infested by a rapidly propagating alien creature. They may feel its highly primitive, emotion-led thoughts: a jumble of jealousy, the wish to have a shape and manifest, hatred that your body is not malleable, fear, hunger. The creature takes your body over within the hour.

You can escape both types of mirrors if you cover them, do not look into them, or if someone breaks the thrall (by taking your attention away from the mirror or by physically removing you).

Matthias is often away from his hideaway, giving you valuable time to plot and tinker.

Killing him will involve:

■ Scouting the Whispering House. The Red Lady, a powerful sorceress, is unlikely to allow intruders to go where they please inside her home. But the ‘I’m just a poor wish maker, looking for the bathroom’ excuse is a time honoured classic!

■ Using Matthias’ severed limbs and organs to reduce his power: this can be done by destroying the parts. Fire will do the trick.

■ Setting down traps (tentacly or otherwise!) in Matthias’ quarters to detain him.

■ Creating an illusion or shapeshifting someone to look like Matthias’ daughter Cosette and distract him, when he returns.

■ Feeding Matthias a memory potion that will force him to remember his part in Cosette’s demise.

■ Killing him. Per RNG gods, Emilia gets the dubious honour of delivering the killing blow (most likely, with help from a special tool obtained from the Headless Dancer). Everyone else is still free to char, sting, entrap or force feed memories to Matthias!

Since several people might get involved, it’s probably logistically easier if you play out prep work or threads in groups of no more than 2-3 and assume other party members are around.

You can either NPC Matthias yourselves in your threads or ask for mod involvement.

Note: everyone who threads out any of the events of Matthias’ capture or demise can “inherit” some of his power over undeath once he is killed. Your character will then have to choose what they do with this power (keep, transfer or disperse it).

QUESTIONS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I. The Headless Dancer

[Getting onto the ghost ship was harrowing in itself; being on it was not much better. The skeletal crew was dreadful and hard to judge. Some of them helped hide the stowaways whenever the captain came too close while others gave hiding positions away and left people like Benedict scrambling to get away from the captain and his chains.

Then the fog rolled in and Benedict got a bad feeling. Well, his Companion got a bad feeling and Benedict heeded it.] Hurry! This way! [He called to anyone nearby, urging them to follow him. He dove down into the lower decks just in time to avoid the spears and jagged bones flying about, and hoped whoever else was nearby made it with him.

Then there was the cabins below to explore. By then the ship had passed to the 'Other Side' and there was little left to do but hurry. He knew there wasn't much time before the memory played to its completion and nothing more would there be. He set to quickly examining the rooms from the crew to the captain's quarters, searching for any and all clues.]

II. The Whispering House

It's always mirrors. Why is it always mirrors?

[Benedict sighed deeply upon first sight of the mirrored room. Indeed, every time he had ever come across mirrors in any realm they always spelled nothing but trouble. From the mirrors of Limbo that could mislead and capture a person, to the mirror within the abandoned gladiator barracks of Ephes, nothing good ever seemed to come from mirrors. To the point that Benedict definitely did not trust these here.

In fact, as his first glance into a mirror (it was curiosity!) revealed to him a hidden desire of his heart Benedict flew into a frenzy and smashed it with his fist. Anyone nearby may notice his eyes glow purple and a tentacle wrapped around the arm that broke the mirror (which then disappears from view; the tentacle, not the mirror).]

I don't want that. I don't ever want that. [He said as though reassuring someone in the room...that was not visible.

After finally making it through the house (and past the understandably angry Red Lady), it was finally time to take down Matthias. Benedict summoned his Companion's ability to lay a trap within one of the rooms and, telling his current company of said trap, prepared to lure or chase the man into it.]

It's an obvious exit, but there won't be an escape for him here.

III. Wildcard

[[Anything else is up for grabs! Benedict will be all around and willing to help anyone with any of the ghostly and paranormal troubles cropping up. Feel free to PM me or hit me up here at the plotting if you want to discuss something. But seriously, just tag in!]]

( At war, the sky bleeds arrows, needle-tipped, numerous and strong. A rain of steel and lesions. Here, the projectiles are in the spirit of the land, more pointlessly grand, greedy. The first chain-spear darts by, and Lan Wangji thinks it nearly animalistic, a half-blind predator twisting and winding to chase its target. It snags in the hilt of his sword, and he hisses, inevitably, when its latches in the soft flesh of his hand, a gash his internal energies toil to stitch up before his body surrenders too much of its waters.

'Here' and 'hurry' and a man's voice, and he should linger to test that he is friend sooner than foe, that Lan Wangji knows his face. Pain shames and reduces him: he flees after Benedict (friend, after all), dragging his sword in one hand, and the wounded limb like a dead, wasteful thing, cradled against his chest. They enter the decks below just as the chain-spears multiply and cross the air, skewering and stabbing —

And Lan Wangji forces the hatch shut with a thickened thud behind them, just as one of the spears darts through, only the tip penetrating the splintering wood. The hatch will not give, while Lan Wangji holds it from below — but he fears to release it, while the offensive continues above. )

Find rope and a hard weight. We will bind this shut.

( ...a sound plan, Lan Wangji, shuttering them both beneath deck with whatever else might sleep here. How can it go wrong? )

Shit.

[It's a quiet curse. He should have stayed out longer, watched his allies more closely. He could have protected, raised a barrier, made sure that-

It no longer mattered. They were both here now, safe, relatively speaking, below decks.

An inky tentacle rose from below near Lan Wangji's feet and wrapped itself tightly around the latch that the man held shut. It's reinforcement seemed strong despite the lack of a solid body from which to come.

Meanwhile, Benedict did as Lan Wangji suggested and began to search for rope. On an old ship like this, it shouldn't be hard right? It took him about a full minute to find, grab, and return with a thick hempen rope.]

Here, here.

[He began to wrap the rope around similar binds as the tentacles--which still did not budge--so that it would hold the latch down once they found somewhere to tie the opposite end.]

( There is... a wisp of nothing, a tentacle of dark, slithering unobtrusively beside him, efficiently close but respectfully distant from his wrist. If Lan Wangji were not staring with the unwavering attention of a child before a toy — or, once upon a time, of his son before treats of spun sugar — he might assume his mind has simply summoned a piece of friendly fiction in these trying times when fish spines are falling upon them.

With a shudder, he accepts the development. His circumstances, generally. The tentacle, specifically.

Then, when Benedict returns with stone and rope, they begin the task of securing the line to the latch and its closures, before letting the stone drop into the belly of the hull, seeing it stuck between two pieces of fixed, immutable infrastructure — he suspects, two pillars that will only fall when the Headless Dancer itself does.

Hopefully, they do not bring that day forward by adding more pressure to the boat's bones. No matter.

Now, safe-guarded, they may start to walk the lower decks, seeking cabins across the level. At least, until Lan Wangji lets slip: )

The appendage pertains to your body? ( Smoothy, coolly. As one does. )

[Benedict peered around curiously. He was certainly interested in finding what they came here looking for, or clues about where to go next in their search. He glanced sharply at Lan Wangji at the question then resumed normally, keeping up appearances despite their chat.]

Not mine, per se, but you're not wrong that it came from me. [He glanced at something hidden in the corner of his eye, a gesture he normally did not partake for it usually made him look strange and he had long ago learned to ignore It's constant presence.] Something attached to me, that is.

( He is still for a moment, prey to inertia, for all waters gather at his feet, soaking his skirts, his silks. An unpleasant, tiring, anchoring reminder of their circumstancing, unyielding and foul.

He should make haste. They both should. The belly of this boat, a true beast, contracts hollowly with each breath at sea. This ship will not stand long. And yet: )

A... parasite? ( But there is nothing fungal-seeming that rides Benedict's limbs, as far as the eye can freely see, no rot of leprosy. Perhaps a different ailing. Unless... ) Possession?

[Benedict paused as well, a tension filling his body as Lan Wangji's words washed over him, leaving him filled with apprehension and dread. He remembered the radio broadcast in the mirror of the mansion, a fear of his turned on him by the Mirage as that ancient entity tried to trap him within his own doubts and nightmares. Of a world full of parasites like his own, roaming, filling the land, consuming the people. Was he a prelude of that fate? Would a door one day remain open between the two realms and let a hoard of demons flood the Earth?

Benedict shuddered, and he felt the sensation of a slew of tendrils crawling along his arms, his torso, his legs. He'd long since learned to ignore the feeling when it was so strong it became a physical manifestation. But sometimes Its presence was more felt than others.

He turned his gaze to Lan Wangji and his eyes were hard, his lips pressed into a thin line. His voice was firm.]

No. A bond. An irreversible one to be sure but we made due with what we were given. He didn't have a choice in the matter any more than I did. That doesn't matter. We're one. We're okay with that.

( They are one. And he questions, intrinsically, how they can be united in perfect harmony, when the signal is — made due with what we were given — that one half imposed upon the other. And could it be the man who stole the... entity's autonomy? Perhaps Lan Wangji presumes, and it was Benedict who inflicted himself, with the survival-driven selfishness of all men, upon his... companion.

Conflict sparks and storms his gaze, before he considers, wisely, the merits of turning away. The walls. Yes. Look there, where water has embedded deeply, to the wood's marrow. Find your truths in cracks and splinters. )

A felicitous union. ( Truly, it takes skill to be as awkward as Lan Wangji. Moving on. ) The vessel is too vast. Either dozens of passengers or cargo.

( He can nearly hear his voice, muttering back in echo. )

[ooc: let me know if this is okay, I can write up a different starter if you prefer!]

[Caitlyn dreams of suffocating. It's rare that she's at all aware of her dreams, they usually come in vague bursts of feelings or images, nothing concrete. But tonight she's acutely aware that she is choking on smoke and ash, the heat of a fire – an explosion – raging around her. In the distance, she hears laughter.

She wakes suddenly, the heat of the fire gone in an instant and replaced with a cold so bone-chilling she's momentarily frozen. The distant peals of laughter fade, but the sound isn't quite gone. It's muffled, almost impossible to make out, but she realizes it's the faint chiming of a bell.

The next thing she realizes is that she still can't breathe. Suddenly panicking, she tries to push herself up, but there's a heavy weight on her back, and – precisely too late to do anything about it – she realizes that it was only the placement of her arm that was preventing her nose and eyes from filling with dirt. She tries to blow the dirt out of her nostrils, but there's no air left in her lungs and barely the strength left in her muscles to attempt another push against the dirt pressing down on her back from above.

Think. How did this happen? What tools have you got to deal with this?

But there's no thinking herself out of being buried alive.]

[The chiming of bells caught his attention but it was his Companion's words that spurred him to follow their eerily beautiful sound. "An ally in need breathes their last, Benedict." The warning worried him. Especially as he found himself making a turn into the gardens to listen to the bells grow louder. The soil was freshly churned in several spots and he grew anxious thinking of the worst.

His Companion's feelers went out though and swiftly searched the area, pointing him in the right direction. Benedict raced forward, grabbing a gardening tool along the way, as he made a beeline for one of the fresh piles of dirt. He dug the shovel in and began to dig like his life depended on it. It brought him back to the time of the Great War, and while he spent more time in special units hunting down cultists working the tides of war behind the scenes, the few times he spent on the front lines in the trenches had no problem resurfacing in his mind.

It was only his Companion's calm voice that caused him to stop before he shoved his spade straight into Caitlyn's torso. He paused, gathered his wits, and dug the dirt out from around her more carefully.]

I've got you! Just a little bit more!

[He called out to reassure her. He bent down and began using his hands to wipe away the dirt from her head and face. He needed to breath, and he needed to not cave her face in accidentally with the sharp tool.]

[Caitlyn gives one last, futile attempt to push herself up, and this time the soil around her shoulders shifts slightly, as though there's less of it than there was before. There's a blackness creeping into the edge of her vision, the weight of unconsciousness settling over her limbs far heavier than the dirt, and she's barely aware of what's happening by the time she feels a hand on her face brushing the dirt away.

She gasps, coughing, just managing to roll herself onto her side as she gratefully sucks down lungfuls of fresh air.

Who...?]

Benedict?

( River's been unlucky enough to look into the other sort of mirror. The figure reaches out, its oily black fingers connecting, and all the breath is sucked out of her in a whoosh as the sinking, paralyzing cold overwhelms her.

It's the sudden shattering of a nearby mirror that shifts her focus, snapping the tether. ) Damn.

( Why had she even looked into the mirror in the first place? Even as she nearly does so again, curious to learn more about the entity dwelling inside. Magic. Has she mentioned how much she hates magic?

She hardly seems to have noticed her companion at all, smoothing clothing and dusting at invisible lint. Until she looks up at him. )

What was that you were saying?

[It took Benedict a moment to realize he wasn't alone either. Or rather, to pull his attention away from some invisible object that held it and glance about the room to find who spoke to him aloud. He looked worried.]

I was talking to- Wait. Are you okay? These mirrors...they're not safe. [Obviously.] We shouldn't linger in this room any more than necessary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

bygones be bygones

Benedict Fox | The Last Case of Benedict Fox

headless dancer | the fish spines

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

wildcard!

no subject

no subject

whispering house, mirrors;

no subject