HONEY, WE’VE GOT VISITORSSa-Hareth-brand
Cassandra tries to flag the future, gets left on read.
True story — and then, the dead come.
His offer neglected, a desperate Unhalad resorts to sieging the farmhouse in search for the mirror
that was previously on the Imperious.
He’s in for disappointment, while the party prepare for... house guests over the
early-morning 16 June to 17 June period.
 |
Around 3:30am (16 June) of a storming night, those who are awake or sensitive to the supernatural may hear the winds and fleeing rats whisper that something comes.
At 3:45am, Karsa’s wards around the farmhouse set off, briefly shrieking. Within minutes, Unhalad’s undead infiltrate the farmhouse, with one slight creature first entering down the kitchen chimney.
A small faction of undead remain on the roof, while a swarming majority circle the farmhouse. Throughout the night, they attempt to break in through doors and windows, making slow progress. They are warier of the forest-facing back entrances.
The attackers comprise droves of undead, some clearly only recently converted in haste. They are weaker for it. |
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Over time, the undead drip into the farmhouse. They lack the coordination for a concerted effort. Attempting to exit within the first three hours of the siege will prove disastrous, as too many undead wait outside.
The undead will seek a mirror, being first and foremost drawn to Winnie, who carries a similar item on her person. Fox and Five will also be of interest. Fox can escape attention by discarding the shards.
Any character that was bound to Anurr’s tree still bears the lingering marks of Anurr’s undeath is especially perceived as an enemy. Regulus enjoys the same treatment, given his extensive recent stay with the free people.
The undead will savagely wreck the house in their hunt, striving to kill those in their path. They can be slain regularly. The older, "properly" summoned undead (identifiable because of their clear state of rotting) should be incinerated or severely amputated to avoid further resurrection.
Because of the overwhelming number of undead, it is best to keep lean, mean and mobile within the house.
Karsa joins the farmhouse around 6am. She’ll teleport in, but the density of undead outside will prevent her from teleporting out safely. Alongside three party volunteers, she reinforces some of the wards, decelerating the advance of the undead. Her group will also throw away any of Unhalad’s markings (salt and ash) out of the house and into the inner garden pond. |
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Come sunset (16 June) Unhalad himself will ride outside of the farmhouse, holding distant vigil over the hostilities with his retinue. On his arrival, unbound farmhouse animals will flee into the forest.
Unhalad will be recognisable because of the immensity of raw power he emanates — a feeling of great and overwhelming despair and hunger.
Options to evacuate the chaos include sneaking out, fighting the undead, calling on reinforcements from any local allies, or holding position until around 8am of 17 June, when Unhalad’s last-minute forces start to disintegrate because of the haste in which they were summoned.
The minority of Unhalad’s forces that were summoned back alive with the appropriate diligence will not break down and will need to be banished.
The free people will not intervene, unless they are called in. |
 |
If you’ve made it this far into Sa-Hareth’s worst hazing ritual, congratulations. A few more days of crud to go.
Over the next few days before the 21-22 June departure, characters will have to make do with their shattered lodgings and dearth of supplies, or can seek sanctuary back in Sa-Hareth. Any money spent on accommodations will have to come out of the travel fund. You're on your own, kids.
The animals can return from the forest, and the free people might spare some food and water, gifted to those who stood out during Anurr’s trials. The Anurr cultists of Sa-Hareth could also part with a few provisions for their good friends, Xie Lian and Xiao Xingchen.
To opt out of the event, have characters out of the house on the night of the siege. It will be difficult to re-enter. The OOC plotting floor is yours! |
FARMHOUSE LAYOUT
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westwhere2021-06-14 07:23 pm
post-siege - for Eleven
The warlord, the hollow thing he's called inside, it's not him and it can't have him. His name is Archeval and he still owns this body and he's not done-- He beats it back with memory and will, wrestles with Unhalad within the currents of the Force, he knows who he is and he will not be denied-- peace is a lie, goes the Code, and he remembers it because this creature is not him and can't have him-- peace is a lie, there is only passion, through passion I gain strength, and the Force shall free me--
He can hear himself think a little more properly again by the time he's deposited inside the farmhouse, stumbling to hands and knees and thinking at least to try to right himself into sitting, breathing hard. He can feel a pain in his side still, vaguely, far away, but pain was never of any consequence. There's blood dried cold down the front of his robes by now, and other substances that don't bear naming. The wound down the side of his torso still seeps fresh and wet at its center, but -- even if he had the presence of mind to reach up and knit it closed right now, he might not have the energy. Like everyone here, he was already near exhaustion to begin with, and it's taking all he has simply to hold onto himself.
He can hear footsteps hurrying in his direction, and more on instinct than conscious thought, green eyes turn up to take notice of his friend with a half-focused gaze.
As Eleven approaches he may feel something on the air around Archeval, a little darker than usual. A little unpleasant to the touch. But the fighting today has been long and brutal, demanding everything out of them; the Dark Lord's power is frequently uncomfortable to be around, sucking away the light where it passes. Perhaps it's only that. The lingering feel of the battlefield.
Perhaps.
no subject
"Hey, are you with me?"
His fingers dampen immediately, worryingly cool, but it doesn't feel like infection and that's enough in the moment. More sinister is the aura that feels darker than he's used to, disquieting in its intensity, but there will be time enough to worry about that later.
Eleven instead catalogues the dried blood and stuck carnage painted down the man's front. Hones in on the familiar shine of wet blood, shifting aside Archeval's arm and some torn cloth to better reach it. The press of the wet cloth is cool, careful in its pursuit of washing out the blood around the injury itself.
"Arche," he prompts in a tone that almost demands his attention. But his voice softens just as soon as he has it, pressing a gold bracer into his hand. "Hold this for me."
no subject
"I... What?... Eleven?..."
He blinks a few times, reaches up to rub a dirtied hand against his face. Ah. He's... He's not out amid the corpses anymore. There's no ominous presence looming in front of him -- no, just inside him now, exhausted itself and seething quietly -- wait, the lightsaber, where is his lightsaber?--
Eyes popping wide, he feels a little frantically down at his waist and-- oh, stars be thanked, somehow even in this haze of half-consciousness he's replaced it back where it should be. His sudden jerk of motion jostles El's ministrations for a moment, and he stares a little blankly over at the other's hands, at the red-stained cloth in Eleven's grip.
"--oh. I'm still bleeding," he mumbles absently, a little lightheadedly. Shock? Is this shock?... Half-aware medic's instinct starts to try to catalog his own symptoms automatically, but sheer weariness uselessly scatters his thoughts. He's probably just exhausted. Exhausted, still bleeding. Automatically, the Force flickers and dies on his fingertips. His focus isn't there, the long hours and his new passenger taking their heavy toll.
Eleven is trying to take care of it. He feels a little guilty for that, but stills himself for now, attempting to help things go quicker. He's no use to anyone like this.
"...we took him," he goes on after a second. Even his lips feel heavy to move.
"Showed his... rotting face out there. We took him down. Unhalad."
no subject
"I knew you would," he assures honestly and with a little pride. Of course, he hadn't known Archeval had engaged Unhalad, but he'd known his faith in him was well-placed.
Eleven's attention skips back down to the injury, glad for renewed cooperation as he examines the breadth and depth of it with most of the blood soaked up. The wristorative is slow to effect much, but it's saved him some energy over the course of night to let his patients hold or wear it for awhile.
Patting away further trickles of fresh blood, Eleven sets the cloth aside and reaches deep to call for his magic. A faint green glow suffuses his fingertips, hovering over the wound as it begins to mend the deepest reach of it with a warm breath of life energy.
Sweat beads his brow after only a few moments. "..Are you injured anywhere else?"
no subject
"Nothing...nothing of consequence," he sighs out at last. A faint throb has started up behind his temples. Necessary as it might have been, he's demanded far too much of himself and the Force today.
"...do we have water?..."
I knew you would.
The praise lingers with him for a little while after it's spoken, strange and uncomfortable like an ill-fitting glove. He thinks to look El in the face then, lightheadedly assessing the other's color, the steadiness of his gaze. Hopefully Arche isn't the last straw that pushes Eleven beyond his endurance.
no subject
Eleven cuts his magic just as Archeval's own breathing eases and nods. The wristorative can slowly take care of the rest. Archeval doesn't look as though he'll be going too far on his own.
"Yes," he says, drawing back with a steadying breath. Plucking up the bloodied cloth, Eleven carefully pushes himself to his feet and steps away from Archeval to rinse and towel off the blood on his hands. He returns a span of moments later with a cup of clean water, then again with a wafer of hardtack.
Eleven settles back on the floor to rest while he has the chance. He's fast approaching his limit.
"I'm glad you're okay."
no subject
"Thank you," he murmurs at last. Receding adrenaline has him a little more shaky now, but it's an immense relief to be able to sit down. That thought flits over to recall everyone who must still be struggling outside, and he realizes it surely had to be Lan Wangji who hauled him in here -- unsurprising perhaps to see the man has taken right off again, but with Arche in here that's one less person to watch his back--
His wound is healed, he should get back up, but he's not sure he can manage it. He'd just be a liability dragging himself out there in this state. There's enough coherent thought in him now to feel some embarrassment.
"Stupid..." he sighs, wearily.
"Should've... paced myself better. Never been in a siege that... didn't involve a few fortresses and Star Destroyers... someplace to retreat to..."
Another gulp of water goes down, a little desperately. He shouldn't go too fast, of course, he knows better, but intellectual knowledge is superseded right now by his jerky limbs and scattered thoughts.
"But he's... defeated. Maybe this is the last of them. Maybe there... maybe there won't be more..."
They can hope, at least.
no subject
"Rest," he advises with all the insistence of a medic that's repeated that same phrase dozens of times over. "The wristorative will help over time."
He laughs to himself, then offers Archeval a tired grin. "And now I think we can both agree I make the better nursemaid."
no subject
"My bedside manner... is highly effective, thank you very much--..." He gives an indignant sniff as he dips his hardtack in the remainder of his water, then goes to start gnawing at it a little.
"...but we'd have been lost without you today. That's for sure."
His breath is still a little labored, the words quiet, but no less awkwardly sincere for it. He glances away with weary discomfort to stare at the items in his hands, nibbles a little more before giving up on it for now, setting food and drink aside -- just a little something in his stomach will do for now, and he's ready to lay down heavy limbs and follow the sensible advice of the medic on duty. If they're unlucky, he might have to try to spring up again at any moment -- better to try to replenish a little of his utterly depleted reserves while he can.
The presence still roils, uneasy, uncertain inside him. The king of the corpses hasn't spoken, a bit of a surprise after all the chatty ghosts Archeval has experienced in his career, but Unhalad is subdued for now and there will be time to deal with him later. Perhaps a little rest, a moment of quiet, will settle the creature as well.
Carefully, he shifts himself down onto his back right there against the rickety floor. The noises of battle continue outside. He can only hope their warriors have the matter in hand.
"Wake me if we're losing...?" he mumbles, meeting El's eyes blearily again.
"...or if you need two. I'll manage somehow. Don't make yourself sick."
no subject
Although he knows the man likely doesn't have a choice when he couldn't manage enough to heal himself, it's a relief to see him settled down to rest.
"If we're losing," he promises, "..But I have faith in the rest of us. We'll pull through. Try not to worry."
no subject
Still -- one out of twenty or thirty. Much better odds than the good old Academy.
It's this wry thought that accompanies him off into exhausted, dreamless slumber at last.