the harp(y) was a big winged lyre | event + test drive meme

[groundrules]

Hello, hello! Fresh out of the box is the action spanning 14-31 July, also serving as our second test drive meme (TDM). The event is broken in three parts: one exclusive to TDM participants, one that's for the existing crew, and a communal section, as... sparks literally fly, when characters cross paths.

OOC planning & questions are HERE. Existing players can use this log to party, or you can alternatively make your own logs & network posts. Our TDMers are stuck in this playground only, but — to replicate the game experience more faithfully, they can ask questions and briefly interact with NPCS HERE.

Tiny reminder: eastbound is an invite-only game for size control, but if you found yourself here, love the setting or the playerbase but don't know anyone — PM @ groundrules, we'll figure something out. You're welcome to make a note in your top-level comment title, if you're a TDMing newb, shiny and chrome!

TDM TOURISTS | OLD TIMERS | COMMON TIMELINE | NOTES

TDM TOURISTS

A great day to be alive, chipping manicures and clawing out of a salt mine just in time for a befuddled undead cavalry to whisk their visitors away, one by one as they're recovered.

TDM characters receive quartz stones that function as translation and (network) communication devices, before they are presented to Haltham.

Cursing his luck, Haltham informs newcomers they are in the frozen citadel of Sa-Hareth, controlled by undead warlord Anurr. Characters were wrenched free from the mines of deposed death king Unhalad and... two weeks behind the eastbound caravan that is the Merchant's troupe — their one ticket home.

IS THERE AN ACCOMPLICE IN THE HOUSE?

As Haltham brokers their getaway, newcomers are foisted on Caspar and the Lucky Hands, a gang of thieves set to hijack a port delivery of silvered powder. The Hands handle the theft on D-day, but pairs of newcomers are each saddled with a stolen pouch to transport furtively across Sa-Hareth.

They must escape frequent sentinel searches and other petty thieves to rendez-vous within a day at the dark, dusty and overpriced Hog & Mead tavern in the Merchants' Arena.

Anyone caught by local enforcement can spend a few hours imprisoned in a converted fishermen's warehouse, guarded by three underpaid officers, before breaking or talking themselves out. Thank your predecessors, who ruined the only decent jailhouse.

ALL ABOARD

The travel hell punishment fits the larceny crime: after rendez-vous, Caspar, Haltham, two undead and the TDM tourists join some noble passengers, who seek refuge in Taravast after vocally supporting Unhalad.

They board a seven-wagon streetcar pulled by twelve mechanical horses, heading out of Sa-Hareth down the haunted Stairs of Sighs passageway.

To keep the peace, newcomers must pretend to also be disgruntled Unhalad supporters — and to know nothing about the many bags of exotic opiates that Caspar has dragged aboard.

As they advance down the Stairs canyon, characters may observe each night brings a full moon and blood rains that disappear without trace, come morning. They can also hear the melancholic, indecipherable song of a woman — and find themselves dreaming nightly of burning alive, or being buried under hot tar. They will wake alert and increasingly distrustful of their companions.

At one point, the express train horsecar will pass by a galloping arctic bear, which will stop to salute. Do not feed it.

Characters receive a red helleborus brand on their left wrist to identify each other. It disappears within a week's time.

Test drive questions HERE.

» THE NEXT STOP

EXISTING PARTY

THE WAR IN WORDS

The recent emergence of the dark tar-like creatures gradually unsettles Lord Arha and his ghostly armies into violent outbursts. Throughout the day, the legions become progressively corporeal, no longer flickering out of existence and retaining their memories. They remain dead.

The following morning, the harpies throw down their usual homages of splintered aged bone, now alongside withered parchment. The strips feature excerpts from the letters of Arha and the Lady Hatisse — which Mazyar and his people can translate.

After reading one such parchment, a soured Arha takes unasked command of Mazyar's caravan, imposing benevolent but firmly enforced curfews. Grim-faced ghost soldiers start to keep watch of characters at all times. Some will accuse caravan travellers of being witches or spies of Taravast's Attaryl school.

Those crafty enough to pick up Arha's discarded letter can see his hands have smeared it bloodied. Translated, the missive encourages Arha to turn back with his armies from Taravast.

DON'T HARP ON ABOUT IT

All hell breaks loose as Allison, Lily, Wei Wuxian and Five follow tar harpies inside their makeshift "nest" — going down a steep pit into one of the canyon mountains, and reaching the cavernous and shifting corridors of a stone temple. The passageways lead to small chambers that host stone tombs, many opened and still holding the remains of bones and drips of tar.

Angered by the intrusion, the laired harpies turn aggressive and exit into the canyon, starting an attack spree. They throw rocks, claw or fly down and pick up stray animals and humans. Arha and his army can help you defend against the creatures.

With their main entryway compromised, some harpies will leave the lair through the fissured canyon wall, creating a crude and claustrophobic opening. The sorcery contained within the temple will seep out, with magically sensitive characters finding they can no longer quite tell the difference between the living and the dead. (All) characters can now sometimes briefly see the flickered figures of people they deeply miss around them.

Existing character questions HERE.

» AND THEN YOU GET VISITORS.

OLD TIMERS & TDM TROOPS

FASTER THAN A SPEEDING BU—

Gone rogue, some harpies will target a rapidly incoming seven-wagon streetcar, destroying or flying away with eight of its 12 mechanical horses, and the sad coachmen. The remaining steeds are completely unmanned.

The existing crew can wave their handkerchiefs as the train horsecar speeds by the caravan, set to crash into a canyon wall — or lend a hand to evacuate our TDMers, more Sa-Hareth refugees, and... our good friend Haltham and two of his creatures. Also, opium.

TDMers can meanwhile (haphazardly) board off or try to take control of the mechanical horses.

Write your starters as you will, or plan out the fate of the train horsecar HERE.

FRIENDS & FAMILY PROGRAMME

Following their unlikely survival, newcomers can join the existing party as part of smuggler merchant Mazyar's prosperous caravan. They will receive food, decent clothes and a donkey, horse or elk mount — a rare upside from the ongoing blood rain weather forecast, and the tar-drenched harpies that throw down aged bone.

They will also notice that Mazyar's caravan has been escorted by a ghost army led by the Lord Arha. He travels to free his lover, the oracle Hatisse from her alleged imprisonment by the witches of Taravast. All characters will experience a blood-curdling dread whenever they think to tell Arha or his men that they are dead — but speaking the words is now possible. Report HERE, if you'd like to break the bad news.

As the caravan stops for a few days, the existing party and newcomers can make merry, recover or raid the open haunted temple — where they may find several untouched stone tombs, including one engraved with a sculpture of Lord Arha. It will prove highly difficult to remove that lid without a group effort... but for that, or any other tomb questions, GO HERE.

NOTES

FRESH MEAT GONNA EAT

TDM events count as game canon, if you app in.

You can do network-style posts & log starters. Invent a username for communicators — but you're stuck with it after!

You can use the two allied NPC undead during the train horsecar disaster portion. Deploy them as you see fit to keep your character alive. The undead come with higher strength, speed, hunting instincts and a... disturbingly cold presence.

Haltham can make last-stand miracles happen for you, but at a heavy price. Inquire here.

OLD TIMERS, THINE WRINKLES SWEET

Existing characters won't be able to tell whether the newcomers or each other are living, dead, memories or ghosts, as a result of the (temporary) temple magic.

...yes, any leftover opiates are up for grabs. Hooligans.

You're welcome to respond to network posts from TDMers — but please keep your network posts in eastbound, think of Ye Olde AC.

Comments

NPC OUTREACH

[groundrules]

Existing characters should please keep using the NPC INBOX. But for TDMers, you can reach out to NPCs ICly below, putting their name in the comment header. Try to keep it to just quick text/audio/written exchanges or inquiries that can accept summarised answers, please!

	KARSA username: lady of the willow tree Sorceress, young (?). Employed by the Merchant and deferential to him. Talented but fiery and frequently impatient, intolerant of fools. She will get today's job done yesterday. Struggles to sympathise with men, objections and those who cannot absorb information quickly. Enchanted the group's translation devices.
	ASGEIRR The ghost of a scholar monk. Haunts the tattered execution cloak that the party stole from the La Rea bank in Sa-Hareth. Once a champion of equality and freedom, he faced ire for converting his followers against the regionally profitable trade of slavery. Soft-spoken but wise and just, slow to regain his strength. Will speak to those who visit his cloak in brief interludes. Favours necromancers.
	MAZYAR Charlatan, crook or wise man, Mazyar has worn all the names. Once an exceptionally skilled smuggler, now an equally apt tradesman and caravan master, allied with the Merchant. Less cryptic than his 'associate,' if more prone to riddles and keen on items with value.
	GHOST ARMY OF ARHA A maudlin, marauding and eerily fixated army led by the young lord Arha through the Stairs of Sighs. They seek to rescue Arha's oracle lover Hatisse from Taravast.
	THE BEAR Guys, it's a bear.

SA-HARETH

	"HALTHAM" | ANURR username: Haltham | illiterate The undead warlord Anurr, previously posing as gentle-mannered giant Haltham. An embodiment of Sa-Hareth's cold storms and wind, who regained his territory from contender Unhalad with the inadvertent help of the party in Arc I. Frostily rational and amenable to some negotiation.
	THE (NOT-SO) GOOD PEOPLE From distressed locals to busy-bee merchants, guards, enchanters, tradesmen, politicians and looser-tongued courtesans — never underestimate the value of indiscretion in a citadel built on commerce, rumour and stubbornly choosing to ignore the expanding rule of the undead. Not every piece of gossip or legend's worth your time, but beggars can't be choosers.

[inferus]

While Emilia and Wrath were in Sa-hareth before heading out on the streetcar, if they had sidled up to some of the (not so) good people, what kind of rumors or gossip might they have currently heard?

A summary would be lovely. Thank you.

Wen Kexing | Word of Honor | newb

[wenderer]

Salt

[ After being chained and drugged for days, Wen Kexing ought to be delighted at the prospect of rescue. ]

Ghhhhh! Let…. Let go! Let go of me!

[ He is, unfortunately, still pretty drugged. And drugged!Kexing wants to do only one thing. As soon one of his arms is freed, he immediately seizes the throat of his nearest rescuer and squeezes as hard as he can.

That’s right. Wen Kexing wants to fight. Who will rescue his rescuer? ]

Bear

[ Whoever heard of a white bear? Not only that, a saluting white bear? Not Wen Kexing, that’s who! ]

Look at that! Hahahaha!

[ He’s a little drunk. No, that’s not quite true. He’s a lot drunk. Come discourage this fool from jumping from the train horsecar to pet the bear—or jump down with him, the more the merrier. ]

Horse

What’s wrong with this thing?

[ He’s seated on the back of a runaway mechanical horse, pulling on its harness, but the thing keeps doggedly heading for the canyon. Wen Kexing has never heard of a mechanical horse, thus the fact that the horse has actual controls has never occurred to him. ]

Hey! Hey, you stupid horse, stop!

[ The canyon wall is approaching fast, why isn’t it slowing down or even turning? The whole wagon train is going to crash at this rate! ]

Tomb

[ On the one hand, he’s finally figured out what all that white stuff is, in the pouches. On the other, he’s fallen asleep trying (unsuccessfully) to get the lid off a tomb.

At least he seems to be at peace, with a faint smile on his lips. Someone probably should wake him up, however. With any luck, he won’t be quite as murderous this time… ]

to... mb...

[downswing]

[ Teeth gritted, a spatter of wet gravel on his shoulders, his temple, peeled from the maws of the tight, bruising corridors he traversed to reach the hall room. If there is a loss of decorum, then, between Lan Wangji and the sleeping gentleman, they have shamed three sets of ancestral generations.

...still, Wangji at least bears his lamp and enough fragments of wherewithal to avoid sleep among the dead. Rest eyes when you've collapsed, a contained storm, on the other side of the lid.

Infiltrating, Wangji had thought his step deep, heavy. A mockery of Gusu Lan discretion, spittle on the cheek of espionage etiquettes. Not enough, it emerges, to wake his... unexpected companion, draped over one of the lost tombs like a courtesan grieving a cold-hearted patron's coin purse, as it steadily disappears in the distance.

Nobly, Lan Wangji attempts to right his voice. Taps his fingers on the stone lid. Whispers greetings. No significant stirring. Very well.

Excuse him, when he harshly drops the clinking, hard metal of his lamp on the floor, sending ripples of the groaning thud across the temple corridors. Somewhere, aggrieved, a rat scuttles away and considers the merits of safer rent on the other side of the canyon. Then, placidly: ]

Apologies for negligence.

[ Wake up, good for nothing. ]

Salt

[softheartedshizun]

What do you think you're doing!?

[ If Shen Qingqiu had a fan on him he would be gesturing with it right now, alas the most important accessory was not on his person. In fact, not a lot was on his person at present other than burial clothes. ]

What a way to treat a person who just dug you out! Let them go, don't you know how to assess a situation before reacting?

[ His tone was that of someone scolding a child. ]

Bear

[fated_dance]

[ Zishu has no idea what to make of any of this. But hearing a rather familiar voice chattering like that has him both relieved, and worried. He shifts through until he spies his soulmate, then sighs before lunging forward to grab for Kexing's arm to drag him back in place. ]

Lao Wen. [ Sharp and reminding. ]

Sit with me. Leave the bear alone.

horse???

[weifinder]

( There are good ways to do things: thoughtful ways that will not startle.

Then there's Wei Wuxian's way of doing things, which is not strictly lacking thoughtfulness, but perhaps lacking certain trains of thought. But with runaway horses and nothing to cut one down with, and no understanding of the workings of a mechanical creature, he does what he can with what he has.

Thus Wen Kexing, apropos of nothing and with no warning but the song on the wind, finds a black shadow coalescing enough to slam into the horse's shoulder, starting to send it careening away from the canyon wall and pushing on. Any spiritual sensitivity will tell him with no doubt that the mass of shadow is comprise of resentful, human energies; and that their resentment is aching to turn toward something other than helping divert a mechanical horse from smashing itself against the canyon walls. )

Shen Qingqiu | Scum Villain's Self-Saving System | New

[softheartedshizun]

TDM TOURISTS part 1

Shen Qingqiu was not sure what was going on, one minute he was dying (again) and the next minute he was... not where he expected to be. Though, once he crawled out of the mine he discovered he was in what he expected to be at least.

However, the atmosphere was all wrong. The landscape was wrong. The location and clothes were wrong.

WHERE THE FUCK WAS HE!?

He couldn't help but sit there dumbfounded for a moment.

TDM TOURISTS part 2

What was this, the first page of a fantasy novel? He doesn't want to be here! He doesn't know this genre that well! It was dark and gritty, and the rules were different from what this body was designed to deal with!

He wanted to collapse to the floor and mourn his fate. Two weeks behind? Two weeks behind!? He didn't even have a sword to fly with!! Could he do anything? He already felt week compared to the power generator body left behind.

"Easy mode! I want easy mode!" but there was no system here to even offer that much.

FASTER THAN A SPEEDING BU—

He knew nothing good would come of this. They were drug trafficking, right? Right!? Even if this was the only path he had right now, taking what crumbs were thrown on the ground for him to pick up, but this was too much! This was too much! This sort of dramatic upheaval and consequence! Was this a quick time event? Was he suppose to be saved? Was he supposed to save himself? Too exciting! He doesn't want this! He wasn't even sure about trying to jump out because his cultivation wasn't quite feeling right....

"FUCK!" unsteadily he wondered if he should go for a drop and roll....

[Network: UN: PeerlessCucumber]

Hello? Hello? Is anyone out there? I would like a tutorial please, thank you.

[ OK, maybe he shouldn't just say that from the get go.... He cleared his throat. ]

What I mean to say is, a lot has happened in a short period of time, and if anyone could maybe, explain a bit, from an outside point of view, that would be great.

train tragedy

[downswing]

Storm's speed, roiling. The creatures that man the cart answer to no force or impulse Lan Wangji can name, likeness smeared to harken horses, their make adjusted. Metal, on rare, ill-brokered step, when Lan Wangji negotiates pace with the horsecar.

The hunt of it consumes him, crawls ache up his legs, burns his lungs. When he lounges, inevitably, to spider on the side of a cart, clutching it with worn hands, scowling when idle road stones strike the length of the wagons, drifting from beneath horse hooves —

It's to find the window close, the cart lived, the passenger... distresed in ways Lan Wangji exacerbates, slinging an arm through the opening, anchoring himself to raise himself up, starting to crawl in like insects under foot.

"Open path," he hisses out, stab of Bichen's hilt come up to graze and torture glass, beat once, and again, and it shatters.

A proud guest unto any house, our Hanguang-Jun. Abd bright, wilder-eyed, for glimpsing undead among the passenger.

Under his breath, to the anguished man, "You brought the dead?"

wei laozu

[weifinder]

I'm sorry, a what? There are no outside points of view, we're all inside this sorry little tale and mess, but if you'd like a rundown, I can try based on what you want to ask!

jiang cheng | the untamed (old news)

[consignation]

birds of prey

This, at least, is something Jiang Cheng can understand. Existing in this place, stripped of rank in all but name, bereft of duty, robbed of vengeance, of purpose, of all but the most tenuous of peace with that which was once and can never be home again— He is barely treading water. He, of Yunmeng Jiang, raised in high rivers and lotus ponds, is drowning.

He cannot remember the last time he pulled air into his lungs and did not find it rancid, did not find himself choking. This has been true since the war, since the burning of Lotus Pier, but since arriving here the water-drenched rot has corrupted the blood in his veins, has seeped into the marrow of his bones.

The cold batters him. Lan Wangji's words flay his spirit. Wei Wuxian's existence, an open door he cannot cross that would lead him home, bleeds his soul. Wen Qing's tolerance of him remains a testament to his failure as a sect leader, as a friend, as a man.

But put a weapon in his hand, put something he can identify as an enemy before him, and for a moment all the rest just goes away. The war was much the same for him. He has no love of bloodshed, but most days he wakes up and violence is all he can make sense of, all he can understand.

There is clarity here his life does not otherwise afford him, and so he moves readily to embrace it. Zidian crackles in his clenched fist, Sandu at ready at his waist. He moves through the canyon as the harpies converge, Zongzi—the hound—keeping guard at his heels.

"Get down!" he snaps at some figure he does not recognize in the chaos and the dust, swinging his whip to intercept rocks being hurled at the bystander. Leaping forward, he puts himself between the stranger and the attacking harpies.

"Can you fight?" he asks, to determine how much of a liability he has on his hands. Another crack of Zidian keeps the harpies back as he assesses the situation. "Are you injured?"

in life and death

Death has long walked in Jiang Cheng's steps. He is a survivor but never by skill or choice. Through misfortune alone, through sacrifice, he endures. It is not a point of pride, it is simply something that is. The sun rises, people die, and Jiang Cheng remains.

His parents died on the same day, their hands and hearts entwined. Wei Wuxian fell to Lan Wangji's outstretched arm. Who would ever reach for Jiang Wanyin?

Even Yanli drew her last breaths watching Wei Wuxian.

All Jiang Cheng has are the things they left behind. His father's sect. His mother's whip. His sister's child. Things borrowed, bequeathed, stolen.

It has long worn into fact for Jiang Cheng, that this is all he has because it is all he deserves. Wei Wuxian earned every ounce of love, every drop of devotion.

All Jiang Cheng ever did was react, was accept, was obey.

It's a strange thing, remembering being a child who never quite belonged in his own home, in his own skin. Hoping to grow into the lofty expectations set of him, growing out of them instead.

Jiang Cheng remembers being a child and hoping, fervently, to find his footing. To gain security and stability as he matured, to become everything his parents hoped of him and more. He always thought the older he got, the more assured he would feel.

It never came.

Jiang Wanyin knows he will never go home again, because his heart has no place to rest. He asks himself, day after day after day, who will reach for him in the end? Who will he reach for?

There is nothing and no one. Not even himself.

As though this was not torture enough, lately—

Lately, he asks himself this question and sees a flicker of something out of the corner of his eye. A flicker of someone. A glimpse of fluttering lilac fabric, a pale jade-adorned wrist. She's gone, long gone, but so was Lady Wen, so was Wei Wuxian, so Jiang Cheng turns in spite of himself, reaching out.

"A-Jie—"

spoils of war

Exhausted in every possible sense of the word, Jiang Cheng turns towards busying himself to try to quiet the turmoil of his mind. He does what he can to assist the poor souls joining them on this journey. He sets out into the wilderness for small game, for plants, for whatever he can bring back to the group and call progress. He antagonizes Lan Wangji in one breath and demands his company the next. He drinks, and he checks on Wei Wuxian every other hour, and he talks to his sister when he's alone as though she's actually there, because he can't help but feel like she is.

He spends time with the dog, goes out running, trains with his sword.

When the caravan crashes, he helps people wherever he can but inevitably, invariably finds himself investigating the spoils. He is not above salvage, has not been above it since the war, since rebuilding Lotus Pier from smoking ruins, and he has Wen Qing on his mind when he finds a powdered substance among the wreckage. He tastes it to try to discern its properties, finding it bitter and medicinal. He can't identify it past that, but he does quickly gather some into his bag to bring back to her as he's certain she'll know how it's useful and what to do with it.

He's almost on his way back to her when he starts to feel woozy, stumbling over his own feet.

"Wh..." he mumbles, feeling flushed as he looks up at a too-bright sky.

reaching out

[ audio to lan wangji; un: sect leader jiang ]

你在哪？
蓝忘机。
我摸不到我的脸。
蓝忘机。
过来看看这个怪药物。
我们以前一起合作过。
我怀念那些日子。
很怀念。
特别怀念。
喂!魏无羡在哪？
我要找魏无羡。
我要—

[ audio to wei wuxian; un: sect leader jiang ]

Where are you.
Why don't you love me Wei Wuxian I am your brother...!
I gave up dogs for you.
Not... right now... I love Zongzi... She's staying...
But before! For you!
Where are you!
You can't marry into Lan sect I forbid it! He has to marry into Jiang, do you hear me?
Wei Wuxian!

[ lmk if you want a whiny high jiang cheng dm. ]

network

[weifinder]

Mah, Jiang Cheng, where are you? What are you going on about, who's marrying, who's not marrying, what is this? Of course I love you, what is this not loving you, you've been my shidi and didi for—two lifetimes, right?

( okay but seriously he's worried because how much did Jiang Cheng drink after this wreckage of the mechanical horses and wood wagons to ramble like this )

un: absterge

[downswing]

无耻。
一个宗通过你说话。

Xie Lian [Old hand..... like, really old]

[scrapgege]

A. GHOST CURFEWS

[So the friendly ghosts are starting to get not so friendly at times, which is definitely a problem. You can't have ghosts ordering people around like this, it's not proper. But they still do. Except...

Except some of them do remember Xie Lian all too well, and when one soldier comes to tell him to get back with the rest and he turns to smile at the ghost, said ghost freezes and then scampers away very quickly.]

Wait, what did you want? Excuse me? Hello?

[Xie Lian looks vaguely puzzled at this turns of events, and throws and embarrassed smile to whoever is around.]

... I guess they still don't want to talk to me, huh.


B.RESCUE OPERATION

[Once the crash has occurred, Xie Lian is of couse on the scene to try and help rescue people. Which is helpful, because he can basically lift a wagon with one hand, which is what he's doing now to help the people trapped inside slip out through the window.]

Steady, now, don't hurt yourself on splinters or glass. Just step in the direction of that smoke over there, towards the camp, and they'll have a look at your injuries.


[For Mingyu - July 15]

[July 15 is Xie Lian's birthday, not that anyone here would know it. He hasn't really thought about his birthday in a while, to be honest, and before Hua Cheng came back into his life he never really did anything special for it for hundreds of years.

Right now, sitting on a rock and looking up at the stars, for some reason, he thinks about his parents, and the extravagant feasts they used to throw for his birthday.

Ruòyé uncurls from around his wrist, and he gives the white silk bandage a small pet.]

It's fine. I'm okay.

A

[somebadnews]

[ Five happens to be nearby, just daring someone to tell him about a curfew, when he lifts his head to witness the soldier run off in fear. That's... interesting. He's well aware of the food poisoning fiasco (how could he not), but he never gave it much thought until now.

He stands there to watch until he's out of sight, then looks back to the other. It occurs to him that he really doesn't know who he's traveling with. ]

Who knew ghosts had such weak stomachs.

Beitang Moran [Old timer (shut up Moran you're 26)]

[beitangmoran]

A. LOVE LETTERS

[This at least has proven a more interesting endeavor than endlessly traveling under the scorching sun and swooping weird creatures alongside more dead people. Moran throws himself into studying the parchments, especially with the help of translations, and making notes of the many linguistic discoveries int here along with what he gleaned from the farm's account books.

The language is not identical to that of Sa-hareth, but it is close, related in some way at least. It's also pretty flowery, which is going to be a lot less useful in the long run, probably, but truly, Moran is just happy for the intellectual stimulation. Sill...]

I wonder if those are real, or if they manifested from the stories people tell. It really feels like this land is intent on showing you loved ones and regrets, so they might be real.

B. GHOST CURFEW (attempted)

[The ghosts seem to have taken charge of the caravan, which doesn't really matter to Moran since they are still moving in the right direction.

It becomes a bit trickier when ghosts try to approach him about curfews and such while he is deciphering some parchment by the light of the fire, because Moran, being still quite firmly entrenched in the fact that ghosts are illogical and should not exist, has simply opted to... ignore them, when they try to address him. And besides, he's not tired and who would sleep when there is knowledge to be acquired!]

.... Hm, this seems to follow quite closely behind that other one. It makes references to the same events but from his side. Have you seen this one yet, Xunxian?

C. TEMPLE MAGIC

[Moran has been mostly spared visions of loved ones so far, but not anymore with the unleashed magic from inside the temple. The whole caravan seems so much busier, and the shadows are indistinguishable from people, and he walks about in a slight daze, looking this way and that.

Suddenly a brightly dressed young woman with fancy hairpins runs past him, and his heart stops in his chest as he whips his head around.]

Feifei!?

[She turns back and smiles at him, and then she's gone, and he's left with his am held out as if to catch her hand, but left empty-handed. But just as he's about to sigh and move on, another figure emerges from the crowd.

Tall and thin, a bit taller than he is himself, wearing rich robes of dark green and gold, his hair pulled up by a tall and elaborately carved hair ornament.

Moran is rooted to the spot.]

... Xiongzhang?

C.

[topoiran]

[ Xunxian finally manages to catch up with Moran, standing beside him...

... then his eyes widen and he cups his hands, bowing low. ]

Your Majesty.

[ ... His elbow, once he straightens, is touching Moran's. ]

lan wangji | the untamed | so old, there are scales on him

[downswing]

i. FRIENDLY CURFEW | OLD SQUAD

[ Dread settles over him like wax on water, dripped into shapes of accident and artistry. He knows the tyranny of the ghosts before it manifests itself, sees them contort and coalesce wispily and take flesh and change, like a poison brew that graduates from the sum of its helpless, garden parts into its destructive whole.

It starts with whispered entreaties, rushed instruction. With eyes that watch him dead and long gone and sling indignities like base filth on his honour, stain it torn and dark. With curfews, rigidly enforced, as if they are visiting disciples learning the precepts of Cloud Recesses. With questions, when Lan Wangji walks past without greeting, detainment when he delays to prepare Sizhui and Wei Ying’s breakfast fare, after the first watch.

Patience thins when he is cornered with queries, come dark, as he balances two buckets of warmed water that spoils itself under harsh wealth of blood rain — what is his purpose, what does he intend with his instruments, what of the…... sharp growth of half-sundered, half burned wood bound to his back — curiously, the leftover skins of a trough — and what of the suspicious violence in his hands, that greasy aggression, a common soap paste?

To his merit (rare, unearned), he makes attempt to nod to the large, half-filled barrel beneath the watchful eye of a tent flap. Fails, miserably, to persuade the dead. ]

The creature must bathe.

[ Help him. Please help him. Lose this one chance to coax Wei Ying into bathing rites, and he will never be free to burn his companion’s nest of litter and scraps again. Rid him of ghostly persecution. ]



ii. (DERAILED) TRAIN TROUBLE | NEWCOMERS

[ Stunted, staggered, pace of Lan Wangji’s chase compromised by the uncivility of rattling wagons. No strategy in keeping the step of furious, volcanically angered mechanical horses. No skill, but he applies himself, mouth cut in a blunt snarl when the winged beasts from above rain down their splintered bone. A cadaver's knuckle grazes his cheek, yellowed and dulled and blunt, when roundness scratches his chin raw-red.

He knows, intimately familiar, the points of his upcoming strategic failure: one man cannot hunt a chain of carts dragged by horses, not on legs of flesh and bone. He will yield. His strength will surrender — gives in gut-wrenching degrees already, when the tight space of the a canyon road and the sharp teeth of cliff wall and the derailed, serpentine whirling of the wagons compel him to keep his distance.

No use to him, if he is trampled first. Less, all the same, if he dallies further. At the first opportunity of the swaying carts, he jumps on the side of one, hands wilting over the window sill, negotiating purchase. Ache to push himself up once more, but then he perches on the top of the cart, crouched for (short) change of balance. He walks the line until, turning to the side, he glimpses a window once more — and leans, tap-tap-tapping it with the hilt of his fettered sword, waiting for a passenger to show face.

An awkward thing, to sit a (wo)man’s ceiling, and speak down without introduction. A proper guest might have brought tea. Uncle would wither into stupor. ]

You must jump.

[ Well, that’s one way to make fast friends. ]


iii. TEMPLE TOURISM | OLD & NEW

[ Dignity would have defaced this trial into mockery. Knelt or crawling like a broken-backed beast, whispered in the corseted tightness of the corridor. Lungs awash with the damp convulsion of air, stale-stiff, the markings of extended closure.

From outside, where light still burns his shoulders, to ridicule the quiet pulse of his brazier, the passageway had seemed — if not generous, then serviceable. Past the gasped mouth of the entrance, into snaked corridors, the illusion dispels itself: he comes into the first great stone hall, all but rippled white rags of himself — first step stumbled. The second, footing negotiated, soft. The third, even.

Tombs each way, raised in stone, and the walls stone, and the ceilings stone also. Hardness and weeds and detritus, and the tatters of linen wards, the stench of old things and decay. Braid of lichen binding a noose to choke out shifting statues. One reins in a spear; the second, a scream. Farther out, a legion, barely sketched out in motley spreads of golden granite, washes in fire. Tributes to the dead.

Lan Wangji trails his fingers over locked tomb lids, writes out the characters of peace and stability without qi reinforcement. Foolish, to bleed himself of strength, when the yin and yang and parameters of the quarters elude him.

Rule yourself before the room —

...and turn the cold pale glare of Wangji’s sword on the first silhouette of shadow that rips form the wall behind him. ]

You gave no greeting.

[ Compared with Lan Wangji, the picture of manners, faced with a perfectly hapless companion among the dead. ]

iii

[elfuego]

[ Seeking to get the lay of the land now that the dust had settled, Zuko found his way to the temple, curious to know more about where he found himself, still hopeful that he might catch sight of something familiar though he knew the chances were slim. He held his breath as he entered, walking almost soundlessly across the ancient stone floors, his head turning this way and that, taking it all in while his feet took him further.

It was solitary and quiet enough in here that he thought it was safe to bend, opening one hand to allow a small flame to bud up in his palm, illuminating the carved walls and tombs around him. Zuko stood motionless, taking a long moment to look and listen - the far-off sound of movement dictating his path.

There's no reason to put a hand on the hilt of his swords in anticipation, the fire in his hand was ready to grow in a split second if he needed it to. He wasn't worried about defending himself, but he was concerned over what he might regardless.

The figure in white, sword drawn and ready for him made Zuko come to an abrupt halt, watching but making no move to advance. The stranger was right, he had made himself as quiet as possible on his way inside, and he knew he would have reacted similarly, or worse, being snuck up on. ]

You're right.

[ The flame he held dismissed Zuko dropped both arms to his sides, bending slightly at the waist in a small bow. ]

Do you know these people?

[ His head tilted sideways, motioning at the tombs around them. ]

zuko (atla, new)

[elfuego]

IS THERE AN ACCOMPLICE IN THE HOUSE?

While the bag he’d been given to ferry through the frigid settlement remained safely strapped to his leg, Zuko had lost his swords to what passed as the local guard here. Up until his swords were taken off of him and he hadn’t been tempted to firebend, not wanting to risk it in case he was in the company of enemies - which he was. The undead welcoming committee had been the first big clue, and the evidence had piled up from there.

Now, seething by the door of an old warehouse that bore the lingering scent of fish guts, he was tempted all over again. He wanted to blast the door off, get back his swords and take off to try and figure out how to get back to the Avatar and the rest of the group.

He had spent a lot of time trying to learn patience, and thankfully some of that had paid off. Instead of diving into a fight against two armed men without his swords, and still hesitant to bend in front of that many enemies, he decided to gain what advantage he could before attacking.

Zuko stalked across the warehouse, grabbing a moldy, tattered fishing net from a heap in the corner. He was scowling when he set it down right in front of the door. It was gross, but it would burn.

Looking up sharply at the other prisoner in the warehouse he spoke quietly but deliberately. “I’m getting out of here. Come with me or not, but don’t get in my way.”

His tone suggested he had nothing else to say, and there wasn’t much time for rebuttal anyway - as soon as the words had left his mouth he jabbed at the air between him and the net with a fist, sending a small ball of fire at it.

“Fire! Hey! There’s a fire in here let us out!” Zuko laid the urgency on thick before ducking back to wait beside the doorway for the guards. A moment later when the door swung open he didn’t wait, getting his arm around the guard in front of him while his other hand went to the guy’s belt, pulling his swords free.

“Come on,” he looked to his fellow prisoner. “Let’s get out of here.” The guards would be able to stamp out the burning net with little trouble, he didn’t see a problem with locking the warehouse behind them.

FASTER THAN A SPEEDING BU—

The bear was weird, the blood rain was weird, and he didn’t like being cooped up in this land-tank-thing either. Crammed into a rattling metal carriage with a bunch of strangers Zuko stayed by the window, sulking, his arms crossed over his chest as he frowned at the barren view beyond.

He saw the harpies coming down on them and recoiled from the window, having no idea what to make of the bizarre, bird-like beasts. Getting to his feet despite the rattling pace the carriage kept he looked around, trying to confirm if any of the other passengers had seen what he had seen.

The harpies didn’t seem too interested in the carriages themselves, but the sickening metallic sounds he heard coming from up ahead of his car told him something had drawn their focus.

As the carriage picked up speed at an alarming rate, Zuko returned to the window, calling over his shoulder as he drew his sword and attempted to pry open a window with it. “I think something’s wrong. We have to get off this thing, help me get a window open.” He wasn’t sure if everyone was going to be able to jump off safely, but he was certain they weren’t going to be able to stay put. He needed to get a better look at what was happening, to figure out what came next.

FRIENDS & FAMILY PROGRAMME

Zuko stood in front of one of the campfires, arms crossed as he tried to center himself in the aftermath. He ignored the ghost soldiers and the snippets of conversation from the other, living, members of the caravan, frowning at the flames as he breathed in and out, attempting to temper the rough edges of his mood. Closing his eyes to take an especially deep breath, the fire in front of him brightening and rising very slightly in response.

It was the twist of hunger in his empty stomach that made him open his eyes again, better but still bewildered as to where he was, or how he was going to make it back in time to help the Avatar. His uncle would point out that he wasn’t likely to solve any of the riddles thrown in his path on an empty stomach and while Zuko hated to admit it - his uncle would have been correct.

Another groan of protest from his stomach set him into motion, his face neutral as he turned away from the fire, heading through the caravan’s camp instead. He didn’t want to ask one of those ghosts - they looked solid enough to talk to but they were incredibly unsettling. The spirits in his world weren’t like this, and he was fine to give them all the space they needed to cross paths with him as rarely as possible.

“Hey,” calling out to the first lively-looking person he saw, Zuko quickened his step to catch up with them. “Do you know if there’s any food around here?” He didn’t have any money, but his time on the road had humbled him. He would wash a few dishes in exchange for a meal if that’s what the situation was.

He hoped not.

WILDCARD!

( Feel free to reach out via pm if you don’t see anything that suits your character, or just wildcard me! also, if action is more your thing I’m good to match format. )

friends & family? PERFECT

[thesuspense]

'I have candy,' was Xue Yang's actual first thought at the question, but there was a reason why he wasn't saying that out loud. He was in no mood to share his candy. Not ever, honestly, but especially not right now, when it was unclear when there would next be food available. He was used to that, naturally, having grown up on the streets, but that made him less inclined to want to share, not more.

Still, he had looked at the man - boy? somewhere in between - so now he felt he had to give an answer, other than suspiciously keeping his arms close to his body, so his candy wouldn't be taken.

"Food?" Perhaps he was overdoing the ignorance here, he had a feeling he was burgeoning on sounding as if he had never heard of the concept. So he tilted his head a little, a regretful smile on his lips. "Very sorry, young master, I know less than you."

Ha! He totally knew more. But be that as it may, he was certainly not against finding more food. Always seemed like a good idea. So he took a step closer to him, lifting his shoulders a little to offer a slight shrug. "Perhaps we can find some together."

AVA | EX MACHINA | new new and all aboard

[artifica]

[ How vast and incomprehensible the world outside her box is. Full of wonder. Wonderful. Ava remembers the pull of Nathan's face when he first beheld her, the tug of a smile when she spoke her first words, and wears that expression often. But for all the awe this place inspires, what it lacks is simple electricity. As the days go on, she must become more and more still. Wonder is an inexhaustible resource, but power is not.

Ava sits as a statue, hands resting on her knees, her chest steady with no sign of breathing. Eyes open and watching you when you are roused from your nightmare. Outside, blood pours down steadily and that woman sings on. Ava's voice cuts through the drone of the rain. ]

What did you see?

[ ooc: toss any wildcard at me too, I'm open to anything! ]

sidles close

[downswing]

[ At first, he kept himself sane each night with cruelties of inertia. He has seen the armies draw and scatter like great, pale stains, and he has seen the winged beasts rally, and he has seen the cavernous mouth of the temple break open — and in tight, limited action, in the instinct to deny the canyon its twitched, trembling dramatics, he felt superior.

Here, a passive victim of his environment, he has had but one recourse to control as his own: inaction, seldom chosen. Now, another moon swollen white and fat and royal, diffused between thunders of red rain. By fire-side, great flaps of tent perched above them as they extend the night's watch, he knows himself invulnerable.

The woman startles him too well for a night's companion. And what does Lan Wangji see, gaze lizard-like and empty, when he trails dust and stone and the alien spread of footsteps in the ghosts' wake? ]

You.

[ Four hours, unending, he has seen her, and she has held herself immutable. The first half of long watch, the second sprawling. She is languor, cloying. A scent of lichen and resin, of pretty things dried onto paper. There is a sickness in her of stability past Gusu Lan precepts of grace — a stillness of the deer before the huntsmen's bow strikes.

Days, weeks — months, since first he stumbled on this great, wide, yawning world, he has not felt himself soft. The storm of roiling resent in him quiets to broken wave and spume. Bending on one knee beside her, as if he were drawing to collect his garden rabbits, he holds one hand out. The second. ]

Come. Rest. [ A pause, weighed. ] You have done enough.

[ Whatever she has done. Whatever she yet intends to do. ]

hughie campbell | the boys | newbie

[mysecondwind]

THIS TOURIST TOWN

[ It says something for how crazy his life has turned out that this isn't currently more terrified than he's ever been. He isn't hiding from a superpowered psychopath who could turn him into soup by looking at him, so he's been worse. He figures it's less that he's desensitized to insanity and more that his brain can't quite keep up with everything he's witnessing.

When it hits him, after whatever drugs he must have been on don't wear off to reveal he's not locked away in some sort of Vought black box, he starts to realize just how bad this is. His phone doesn't have any signal and there is no backup coming. There are literal undead pushing him around. (But not eating his brains. Which is considerate.)

And... he's fairly sure they're asking him to smuggle drugs, which he dumbly accepts without the proper followup questions. He doesn't make it inside the rendez-vous before he takes a look at the powder inside and makes a very reasonable guess. ]

Can I ask you something? This isn't real, right? [ He asks the first person who passes by the tavern, all sincere and hopeful. Realizing he has opium on him he's quick to close the bag up and clarify: ] No, I haven't been — I don't take drugs.

[ That's kind of how he ends up alerting the local authorities monitoring the situation, but he's still trying to have a conversation. ]

Um. I know Haltham? I think we must have got our wires crossed, so maybe if you could point me in his direction.


FASTER THAN A SPEEDING BU—

Oh. That's... what is that?

[ Hughie stands up the moment the first harpy flies by, then immediately grabs onto the side of the horsecar as it rattles to the side. Suddenly he regrets how quickly he agreed to this insane offer to give him a ride.

Soon he sees where they're heading and he panics. He isn't a supe. If he slams into a canyon wall, he'll "pop like a water balloon" as an asshole once so eloquently put it. (And god, does he hate that he thinks of that right now.) He fumbles to the door and looks out to see if there's somewhere he can jump without dying horribly, but he quickly loses his nerve.

Looking around for anyone nearby, he hollers at them to see if they have any better ideas. ]

Can you ask them to slow down?


FRIENDS & FAMILY

[ For the moment, nothing seems to be actively trying to attack him and he isn't hurtling towards a quick death on the canyon wall. He knows he should be conserving his one functioning piece of technology, but he doesn't care. He just curls up on the ground away from camp with his earbuds in and cranks up the sound until he can't hear anything but the soothing voice of James Taylor blasting in his ears. Fire and Rain comes on, and he starts mouthing the words.

'Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain'

Then he sees another giant harpy fly by way too close to him and he squeezes his eyes shut and starts singing quietly to himself.

'I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend.' — His breathing slows, shaky but steadying. — 'But I always thought that I'd see you, baby, one more time again.'

By the time the next track starts he's feeling more like himself, but he barely gets to sing the next bar when it abruptly cuts into silence. His eyes fly back open and he looks down at a black screen, cracked down the middle from their earlier excitement, and his expression falls. ]

Fuck. Come on, please just... [ He hits the side a few times, then washes his hand over his face when it blinks a familiar 'low battery' icon. He absolutely does not have tears in his eyes when he throws his hoodie over his head and lets out a muffled scream into his palms.

It's ridiculous. This entire situation is fucked and why was he such an idiot, he knows to keep his phone charged. But he calms a moment later and shakes his head. ]

This really isn't my day.


WILDCARD

[ Have at him! ]

horsecaaar

[manwol]

[ Jang Man-Wol hates this world with every breath she takes of its dusty air and undead inhabitants and severe lack of fashion boutiques. Where is the glam, the luxury? Is there anything here to inspire any joy whatsoever? By the time the horsecar is jolted and the harpies swerve past them screaming bloody murder, she's almost resigned to her misery already. A slight girl dressed in what might be a matching Chanel suit, she holds on tight to her seat as the whole thing rattles onward. But there's no fear in her eyes, just annoyance, which she now directs squarely at him. ]

Oh yeah, cause I look like I speak car?

[ She cocks her head toward the door before him and clicks her fingers impatiently. ]

You jump first. I wanna see if you'll die.

a harpy adventure | closed

[rumorate]

Allison can't say she's a fan of the flying part of this adventure, but once they are settled on the ground at the bottom of the temple, she switches into business mode. With the way the harpies burst out of there, they might only have a limited amount of time before the harpies return. It's possible they might be less than happy about it, as is their right. Time to find what they came for, and hopefully some answers to go with it.

"This way." Her eyes scan the walls, then catches the corner of one of the coffins that she passed after she woke up. "The temple's on the other side of the coffins."

Because that's not creepy at all.

[somebadnews]

There was never a chance that Five wasn't going to be here for this little excursion, but he's been edgy even before they started. Not that his behavior is that unusual. The fact that he's barely said anything might just come across as being focused on the mission. His priorities don't completely line up with the rest of them, so whatever they discover, he's mostly concerned about keeping his family safe. Considering what he's up against, it's best if he doesn't let his curiosity distract him from that main objective.

He anticipated that they would arrive to a slew of harpies, but he wasn't counting on them rushing out all at once. The wave of them flying overhead nearly knocks the breath out of him; with them a sensation of being burned that grounds him in place by the entrance. It takes him a few horrible seconds to realize that they aren't attacking and he's not currently on fire, though the feeling doesn't entirely leave him once they're gone.

After a moment passes, and he sees that the others aren't affected, he forces himself forward. His arms stay crossed tightly over his chest as he follows the path like nothing happened. It all seems familiar to Allison, so he trusts her to lead the way.

Zhou Zishu | Word of Honor | Tourist

[fated_dance]

Salt
Clawing his way free, coughingchokingwheezing when he wriggles free, Zhou Zishu is less than amused as he sprawls, fighting to catch his breath on uncertain ground. So when caught up and carried off, he feigns incompetence, as if too weak to even struggle beyond weak slaps at arms that end up more like a pat or two of reassurance, as if misunderstanding the possible intent behind it.

"I'm alright-" another cough and he doubles over, shifting his weight to see if he can twist free. If so, then he'll keep rolling until he can better defend himself with anything he can get his hands on. He misses the weight of his sword wrapped around his waist - whoever has it will just have to be hunted down and the precious blade reclaimed.


Accomplice
Who would expect someone as ill as he looks and acts of carrying smuggled goods? The best, for they've likely done something similar. But Zishu relies on these ones to not be the best. So he leans on the beggar act he'd worn before Wen Kexing had unmasked him all those months ago, shoulders slumped, eyes half open, and huddles in on himself as he walks, seemingly aimlessly. But always forward, mostly. Anyone who stops him gets an increase of the act, with an exaggerated cough or making like he's about to throw up on them before slipping past and away in the moment of utter disgust that few people can resist.

Only when he reaches where he'd been told to offload the goods does he lighten up on it, waiting patiently, drinking as if he can taste whatever swill is placed before him. He never seems all that interested, outwardly, in what goes on around him. But he's always listening, and watching. And thinking.


Street car
Pretending to be someone else is just another mask for him. He sits in a sulky slouch on one of the seats of the uncomfortable carriage, moving with the strange pace in a way that makes it seem like one wrong move and he'll go flying into someone, or off the carriage entirely. Odd how he stays put, hardly really budging unless someone he doesn't like the look of gets too close, then he goes rolling away with a squawk of disapproval.

The white furred bear is certainly a new feature though, but he only gives it a wary look when it bows. Belatedly he'll offer a nod of a bow in answer, hands starting to come up as if to offer a more complete bow - but they're away before the slow motion can complete so he'll drop his arms back to his sides.


Wildcard [ Or go wild and start something new! Will switch to brackets if you prefer. ]

Salt

[jingqi]

"Are you, now?"

Jing Qi, on the other hand, is as composed as the the circumstances allow him. His robes, even if a little torn, are in perfect order, and even his hair has been smoothed down.

He is also... very pale. Years and years of pampering have steadied his health, somewhat, but showing up here, and alone, has been harrowing enough to put it at peril.

"Come, there is the promise of tea."

xiao xingchen | mo dao zu shi | old, blind, and probably smelly

[binghua]

1. speeding is bad, y'all

[Just because Xingchen can't see the oncoming train disaster doesn't mean he can't hear the commotion or feel the ground rumble beneath his feet. So even though he can't pinpoint the exact location, he still tries to get some of their number out of the way - and then is himself rescued for his efforts - but as soon as he's deemed safe and sound, he gets right back to his feet and rushes toward the wreck. Or the not!wreck. Was there a crash? You tell him.

He runs in a flurry of dull white robes, not seeming to care that he could trip over anything at any time, and calls out desperately.]

Is everyone okay? Is anybody hurt?

[He knows basic first aid! Hopefully he won't have to use it on himself.]


2. making new friends is always preferable to having no friends

[While the caravan has made camp, Xingchen tries to make himself useful. Previously he's been entirely unhelpful with the letters falling from the sky and then recovering before all that from one unfortunate meal.

But he can help welcome their new compatriots with a meal of his own cooking. At a little campfire set off to the side, he works on a stew. It doesn't smell particularly strong unlike poor Xie Lian's concoction or mouth-watering, but it looks to be hot and filling enough.

Sensing someone approach, Xingchen smiles and stirs the pot.]

Please, sit. Are you hungry? I admit I'm not the best judge of seasoning, so this may be bland, but I'm happy to share.


3. wildcard

[Is there something else you'd like to drag a cute blind boy into? Hit me up! Let's go crazy.]

HELLO NEW FRIEND

[manwol]

[ Like a moth to a flame, Jang Man-wol gravitates to food. This is no TV-featured, highest-rated eatery with weekslong waiting list but the steam hints at something more delicious than the dried packs of whatever the others are shoving into their mouths. She takes a seat without needing an invitation, crossing her legs with a swish of her skirts then rests her chin on her hands.

It's been a long time since she's felt properly hungry, but there's another kind of hunger as difficult to tame. Cravings. ]

What's that then? Hangover soup? Red bean soup?

lily evans (hp, current resident)

[lancifolium]

THE WAR IN WORDS

After Arha asserted control over the caravan things changed quickly. She had not been as careful as she should have been when it came to using magic in front of the soldiers, foolishly growing used to their presence to the point of forgetting herself. It was a lesson she learned the hard way after she was met by a pair of ornery soldiers, waiting for her outside of her tent the morning after their leader had asserted his command of the caravan.

Choosing to ignore them, despite the withering glares they wore, she frowned at the ground, the grip on the strap of the bag that hung from her shoulder tightening. The ghosts had never given her a reason to think they were malicious, but she had seen looks like the ones they gave her before at school. Her sister had always worn a similar sort of disdain on the faces, and she loathed it now as she had then.

Scowling, Lily walked briskly towards one of the cooking fires, sitting on the ground beside it as she pulled her bag into her lap. She would have rooted around for the leaves she liked to transfigure into a cup of tea instantly, but that morning she hesitated. Aware that it was her lack of discretion that won the ire of Arha’s troops, she resented all the same. Seething she stayed where she was, saying nothing until someone else from their group paused by the same fire.

“Did you get a welcoming committee when you woke up too?” Her typically cheerful demeanor was soured by an annoyance she didn’t try to conceal.

FASTER THAN A SPEEDING BU— (for Xie Lian)

The strange robot-horse-drawn convoy barreled past their caravan, the mechanical beasts drawing it besieged by harpies. While the sight was alarming all on its own, the sounds and silhouettes of the people inside the carriages the horses were pulling drew her focus, making her hand fall to the pocket where she kept her wand as she nudged her donkey to speed up.

It was Xie Lian she spotted first and Lily rode hastily towards him, “Did you see those carriages?” She looked towards her fellow traveler with alarm written all over her face.

“Someone has to help them, will you come with me? My donkey’s not going to catch them in time, I can get us closer but it won’t be pleasant” After the siege they had both endured back at the farmhouse, she knew Xie Lian was more than capable of lending a hand and believed him kind enough to want to.

DON'T HARP ON ABOUT IT (for Wei Wuxian)

Aware that he too had taken an interest in the fates of Arha's men, it was Wei Wuxian that Lily sought out to help her. She had promised Izahad that she would help him find peace, and if she could find his tomb perhaps she would find a clue as to how to help.

They had come to the harpy’s nest with the Hargreeves siblings, but after seeing the number of tombs in the caverns around the temple she hung back, catching Wei Wuxian’s eye as she approached him to speak in a whisper, glancing around to make sure they weren't going to be overheard. “Can I ask you something?”

WILDCARD!

( Feel free to reach out via pm if you don’t see anything that suits your character, or just wildcard me! also, if action is more your thing I’m good to match format. )

Finally getting here wheeee

[scrapgege]

"Of course!"

If there are people to help, Of course Xie Lian would want to help, and if there is a crash, he can definitely help with rubble, pulling people out or a bit of first aid.

"How can you get us close faster?"

Number Five | old and late and nobody is surprised

[somebadnews]

harpy nest (for Allison)

[ The temple is a large place, so splitting up seems like a natural choice. It has nothing to do with Five being anxious to put distance between them because of what they found. In fact, after he insisted on going along, he seems to not want to discuss that or anything else they discovered since they came down here. He isn't always great company, but he's looking out for their best interests, and he's not going to see a repeat of any alleged mistakes because he lets his guard down.

If Allison really did get chosen so she could lure the others here, she already fulfilled her part and they can exorcise their own ghosts.

He frowns and steps around another pool of tar as they make their way through a corridor. The smell gives him a headache. Nothing feels right about being here, but nothing has felt right in a long time, so that's unsurprising. He has half a mind to teleport her out with him the moment they're alone. Suddenly over the entire notion that something good can come from this. ]

... They can probably find their way back. You know, if you're done here.

what the hell did we do

[ The fight Five expected to find in the temple has apparently moved outside, and in the chaos it takes him far too long to figure out what happened and why. Although it explains where the harpies went.

At some point another group must have joined them, and Five has no idea where they came from or how this all escalated as it did. The burning memory from before seems to grow stronger the closer he gets to the flying beasts, along with a more devastating feeling that keeps distracting him from what's going on around them. Whatever is causing it, it's getting really fucking old.

Twice he recognizes someone who is about to be hit or snatched up by a harpy and teleports them to safety, but by the third attempt his powers push back at him. They're on their own. He's seen them handle far worse, and he needs to reserve whatever he has left for his sisters. If he can find them again in this mess.

He goes around calling their names, hoping they've stayed within earshot so he won't have to pull out the crystal. Can't turn his back for one minute. ]

friends and family

[ Somehow they drive off the threats and the camp quiets again. There are several new faces among them that Five notes without comment. Another time and he might be hovering by, asking probing questions about who they are and where they came from, but he spares them from all but a mildly threatening smile when they walk by. For a moment in the fight he thought he saw 'Haltham' in the group, and that's enough to remind him to be suspicious of anyone who seems overly friendly.

In all honesty, he's seen too much and he's a few days past wanting to deal with their collective tragedies. He's even less interested in any offer of help that isn't in the form of alcohol, though that seems to be in low supply. That or they're holding out on him.

The most active discussion he has is when he thinks no one is around. Those times at night when he seems to nod and hold one half of a conversation. It's been some time since he broke that habit. He knows Dolores isn't really here, but he needs her to be. Just for a while he can hear her voice again. ]

Yeah, I know. [ She doesn't have to say it to know he screwed up. He sighs. ] I'm starting to think we should have taken the other option.

wildcard

[ Open for anything else! ]


ooc: will match prose or action tags! all fine with me

[rumorate]

[Allison isn't sure if she's done yet, is the problem.

She's trying to see what she can make of the art, trying to connect dots that might be better or worse. There's pieces that they're missing. Was Arhas betrayed or was he the betrayer? Did Hatisse really want him, or is she the victim of a man who wanted more than he was allowed, like Menelaus and Helen? Or was Arhas Paris?

This is making her head hurt.

She does consider the question, however, and is about to say something about how they shouldn't leave them behind when a very familiar voice echoes off of the walls of the cavern.

"Mom?"

Something seizes in her chest, because it's been years since she's held her daughter at this point, and he head snaps in the direction of the sound, scanning the stone walls for the source.]

Did you hear that?

emilia di carlo, kingdom of the wicked | very, very new

[valeas]

I. THE SALT MINES

[ she wakes to an army of bones and the warning signs of an oncoming fever.

her dress is in tatters, the midnight waves of her skirt muddied and torn. the metal of her corslet digs uncomfortably into skin. smoky gems that had been sewn into the delicate fabric, once-glinting like crushed hematite, now lay scattered at her feet. she barely looks the part of queen of the underworld.

and yet this is the underworld, isn't it?

what stares down at her has long since died. all that survived is its hunger, and its company. she wonders if this is an impromptu test before she is taken to pride. she wonders if the bloody war demon truly hates her that much, and then decides this isn't the time to be wondering.

with the bulk of her fear in her throat, emilia runs like her life depends on it, because it will. ]

II. THE GETAWAY

[ turns out this is a frozen citadel and not, in fact, the underworld she was expecting.

not if this haltham is to be believed, and emilia is too skeptical at heart to believe anything without question. she grips the quartz stone she was handed in her tightly closed fist, anger mounting at the realization: she is stranded with weakened magic and very little in the way of reasonable answers. if she is to find a way back home to achieve her ends, her justice, she needs to survive this — and that means not letting her temper get the best of her.

fortunately, stealthiness is a skill she possesses. when the next sentinel search occurs, emilia manages to evade it. if she notes that someone with a similar pouch in hand is close by, she grabs their wrist to pull them with her before they can be detected.

she only allows herself to speak once she deems it safe, the threat having passed. ]

I think we're in the clear.

III. ALL ABOARD

[ she's had this fear before — the one where she burns.

just like her ancestors did at the stake. the dream is so vivid that she can almost believe she is back in palermo. the hunters have found her and deemed her soul evil. the flames consume, or they start to, when a loud wail cuts through the haze.

emilia straightens with a quiet gasp, suddenly alert.

the streetcar advances still, the moon as full and bloodied as it was when her eyes closed. she tugs at the roots of her hair, a habit of hers that replaced nail-biting whenever she is scared or worried. whenever she seeks to jar herself back to reality. she can't be sure that this isn't also a bad dream. ]

Who is she? [ this woman's song... emilia can't make out the words to it, but its melancholy is unbearable. ]

IV. WILDCARD

[ feel free to PM this journal if you'd like to plot something else out (especially where the harpies/collision/the new caravan is concerned!), or surprise me!
NOTE: i genuinely love prose and brackets equally, so please go with your preference and i'll happily match you. ]

wildcard!

[rumorate]

[The harpies are totally not Allison's fault.

... They might be a little Allison's fault.

But that's not important right now! What is important is trying to slow down the streetcar or helping the people inside get off safely. And with the momentum so out of control, there's only one way to do that. She manages to run fast enough to catch the edge of one of the street cars, pulling herself up to look at who's on board.

Emilia happens to be the first person she sees, so she reaches for her arm gently and looks at her apologetically.]

The harpies took the horses. You might want to jump.