he rode in, a king

[groundrules]

HONEY, WE’VE GOT VISITORS

Sa-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.

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.

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

Comments

iii

[weifinder]

He arrives in the creaking of bones and scorched wood, departing only in breaths and gasps from Lan Zhan's side, their progress stilted in the return to searching out their son. One tired blink to the next, his soulmate has faded into the white; bleary eyes instead see other, tattered, bloodied whites, and the shorter height, the familiar curving of his cheek, speaks of Sizhui, his son found.

Wei Wuxian stands, exhausted but not lessened. He has escaped their fighting with minimal injury, better at defending himself with ghostly hands than most might anticipate. He carries death like a shroud that fades and airs itself away as he steadies in this stronghold of life, their dredges given meaning in the carved out remnants of the farmhouse buildings. He comes bearing purpose, in his steps placed deliberately, in the half smile that comes to his lips.

"Sizhui." The son he claims before Lan Zhan, and no one else. Injured, and his eyes scan, looking for where, trailing to hands and the dark blotches of every fingertip. He comes to a halt, there in arms reach, his hand slipping into his robes beneath the weight of his thinner cloak, seeking out, searching out a container, rounded wooden box, to pull free.

To offer, on his open palms, held out. One of the reasons he'd been in the citadel when the undead had surged over the farmhouse: salves for injuries, healing of this land, and not their own.

"You fought long and hard and well today. Lan Zhan tells me, and you know he wouldn't lie." A small smile, the concern that drives off some of his own exhaustion for the time being. "Sizhui... Let me see your hands?"

[paperbutterflies]

"Of course, Senior Wei."

Sizhui's voice is calm, just this side from his usual cheerful response because he's just exhausted, not because he's not joyed to see him, or happy with the praise. He holds out his hands without hesitation. They don't even hurt that much, his fingers are just a little numb.

"There were just too many." Then he blinks, a spark lighting up in his eyes, just a little.

"Senior Wei, are you well?"

He knows Hanguang-jun was Concerned, all things considered...

[weifinder]

He tugs out a small, clean pouch from inside his robes, where he'd shoved it ten years ago, or twenty four hours prior. More, to keep it close when he'd been caught in the overnight of the citadel, when he'd been arriving at the tail end of the siege, when he'd turned back to rally the spirits lingering to allow them vent and not high vengeance on all that lived, once or twice or however many times. The jar with its beeswax cloth tied in cap emerges, and he tiredly plucks at the string until it surrenders to his coaxings, and the cloth pulls free.

"Lucky coincidence, I'd just picked up the healing salves for everyone in the citadel the night before last," he says, balancing the small pot in his palm and dipping his fingers in. "I've been worse. Right now I'm tired more than anything else."

He looks up to Sizhui's face, smiling with that exhaustion visible under his eyes. Still, he's standing, he's uninjured, and as he carefully, and somewhat fumbling sees to each of Sizhui's fingers in turn, he applies the salve, strong scented and warming with application. It's been thralled, encouraging healing and cleaning of an injury, to fight infection... not a cure all, and not instant, but a beginning.

"How're you doing? Aside from your fingers," he adds, attending to the tip of the next.