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sticksandbones2023-08-04 10:59 am
- !event,
- !tdm,
- arknights: gnosis,
- arknights: mizuki,
- arknights: shalem,
- baldur's gate iii: astarion ancunín,
- elsword: elsword,
- fate: bb,
- handead anthem: gara ukai,
- i'm the grim reaper: brook,
- jujutsu kaisen: toge inumaki,
- original: caoimhe ailbhe,
- original: felicity morais,
- original: rennuid tathviel
Event & TDM 003
You open your eyes.
It feels like you’ve been here before, like you’re finally home. Today, the sun shines brightly, brilliantly, on the open forest clearing making up Aldric’s Grove. Vines wrap around old buildings, overgrowth covers ruins of what once were homes and shops, and weeds poke up through the cracks of foundations. Before you stands an inn, a well, and one hundred beautiful flowers peppered throughout the clearing. Be not fooled by their beauty, wanderer; should you stray too close, the flowers are happy to bite.
Fret not, however; should you seek escape from the carnivorous foliage, the inn is plenty safe from attacks. Perhaps you ought to get acquainted with others like you, lounging in the lobby with nowhere to go. Perhaps you should find yourself a room, a place to stay. After all, room and board is completely free of charge! Should you dig through the bedside table of your new room, you’ll find only one thing within: A Polaroid photograph of yourself from years ago. You were younger, then — or, if age doesn’t define you, you were different. Still, you remember posing for this photograph… don’t you?
If the photo is too much for you, a trip to the river might offer respite. The oppressive fog wrapping around the grove and obscuring much of the distant forest some miles out won’t let you wander too far. Luckily, there’s a stretch of river perfect for a round of fishing, playing in, or simply relaxing by. Mushrooms grow along the banks and on the trees, but remember to say “thank you” to the forest if you take them. You wouldn’t like the consequences otherwise.
cw: madness, hallucinations
You might have had luck avoiding the gnashing fangs of the flowers thus far, but they begin to get restless and aggressive the longer they go without feeding. They can’t quite uproot themselves and chase you down, but they will stretch their stalks as far as they can, unfurl their petals and try to wrap sharp leaves around your legs and anything else within reach. If you aren’t careful, their fangs will pierce your flesh, and they will drink from you until they drain you dry. Shout for help if they latch on. Surely someone will come to your aid.
…just try not to look at them much. The flowers take passive abilities of anyone they feed from, and that means they possess powers of their own. Stare for a moment too long, and you’ll begin to see your nightmares brought to life, feel a crawling down your back like one million insect feet, a grappling at your ankles as something tries to drag you under the metaphorical tides. Black tendrils sweep over your eyes, they grip the facades of buildings, they tear your friends to shreds and eat them whole. Focus. Focus on that voice telling you to snap out of it, on the people around you waving their hands in front of your eyes. It isn’t real. Blink, shake your head, and clear your thoughts.
Or don’t. “Give in,” a sultry voice murmurs, “Let me consume you.”
cw: auditory hallucinations, animal butchery
From the fenced-off, locked-up manor to the northwest of the Grove, a spill of magic begins to leak out from boarded-up windows. It’s gradual at first before it suddenly bursts, and that’s when everything starts to go haywire. The Manor’s heart aches, friend. Something in that house is oh-so-miserable with no way out… and it intends to make you feel its pain.
Every regret you’ve ever had — every word left unspoken, every lie you’ve told, everything you believe you’ve done wrong — those feelings are brought to the surface and magnified. No matter where you look, what you do, or how much you try to distract yourself, those emotions will always bubble to the surface.
You might think wandering into the forest will help you flee from yourself for a time, but as soon as you cross the threshold, the path back to the clearing closes behind you in a rustle of leaves. The only way out is forward, it seems, but the forest won’t play fair. The path will shift unexpectedly, blocking your route, forcing you to backtrack, but never quite allowing escape. All the while, voices fill your mind, chasing after you no matter where you go. They are the murmurs of those you have wronged, the murmurs of a conscience slighted.
Seeking out a companion in the labyrinth will quell them, for a time. Should your heart weigh too heavy, confessing to your labyrinth-partner what you’re grappling with will absolve you of your guilt and leave you feeling clear-headed enough to escape. At that point, the forest, too, seems content to let you solve the maze without interference.
Should you escape fairly, without harming the labyrinth, you’ll be rewarded: A freshly-hunted game animal from your homeland is dropped at your feet just as you step back into the clearing. Enjoy it, for you will not have the opportunity to get another. The forest only allows one round per person.
The residents of Aldric’s Grove have had a rough time here, but not everything has to be bad. On the night of the new moon, the Shopkeeper leaves his store for the night, and alongside the Trader — who normally sits outside the inn by her stall and her giant turtle — he constructs a bonfire some distance from the carnivorous plants. Nearby to it are tables with a feast set upon them, free for everyone to enjoy. There’s music playing from… somewhere. Don’t think about it too hard. The wispy, sentient shadows that comprise the Shopkeeper and Trader are happy to dance with you, too, if you ask.
Enjoy your night, friends. You’ve made it to the end of the month, and you deserve a break.
CLICK TO EXPAND!
❖ Several patches of the murderous flowers seem to have been electrocuted, lit on fire or cut.
It's (totally) alright
Well, truthfully, as far as plans go, he didn't quite get that far. Kazuha is not the owner of a face that's familiar to him, but neither is this forest. Given the danger of the latter, it had seemed smart to treat the former with just as much reactive hostility. For a moment, he keeps the dagger aimed towards the other, eyes sharp and wild as he takes in the details of Kazuha's form. His breathing is a ragged pant, a faint sheen of sweat dampening the skin of his brow. The gnawing twist of hunger within his belly sharpens, the beating drum of the pulse before him just loud enough to drown out the frantic tempo of the fear that had been pounding against the inside of his skull. The sweet scent of blood so tantalizingly close... If he moved fast enough, perhaps...
Without the intent of doing so, it's clear he's stumbled his way onto a crossroads.
He could, of course, attack. Naturally, there is no guarantee that will end in his favor, and he knows far better than to underestimate someone based solely off of their appearance. Alternatively, the phantom hands of these dark woods seemed to have stopped in their grasping now that he's no longer stumbling blindly though them all by his lonesome. The whispers are still present, albeit soft enough now to fade into the background rather than continue as the all-encompassing roar they had been mere moments prior.
Mmm... Yes. If his past traveling companions were anything to go by, then his chances for survival would rise with the added numbers. That pretty, pale neck would just have to remain unmarred for a while longer, then.
What a shame indeed.
Astarion's own throat bobs around a swallow that feels like broken glass, straightening his posture and letting his expression melt away into a softer, friendlier one. The dagger stays in his hand even though the point is lowered, and he rakes the fingers of his free one through the curls that have fallen into his face.]
Aha... Allow me to offer up my sincerest apologies. Given the... [A flippant gesture with the blade hand, motioning to their surroundings.] Well. I mistook you for someone else. One cannot help but be cautious under such circumstances, after all.
[Two hundred years of practice made it easy to slip back into old habits. Charm, beguile, survive. The transition was practically seamless.]
no subject
The force of the man's gaze upon him makes a single word resound through the fog to the forefront of his mind: prey.
Kazuha thought he knew what it was to be hunted; he realizes now that he was wrong. He had merely been pursued. This, that hungry look in the man's eyes, this is a hunt. And Kazuha has no illusions about where he falls on the food chain.
Then, in an instant, it is gone. The intensity fades from the eyes of his would-be killer, like brushing away the remnants of a bad dream. Previously more beast than man, he seems suddenly, painfully human. The sheer strangeness of the shift is enough to make the thrumming paranoia in Kazuha's head scream for him to take this chance and flee, and a slight breeze kicks up in the region of his feet, muscles tensing in preparation.
He doesn't move, though. This man, whatever else he may be, is also the first sign of life he's found since entering the forest. However dangerous his company, Kazuha is loathe to give it up just yet. There is something reassuringly solid about the threat he offers: it's rooted in the present moment, something Kazuha can see and feel, fight against if necessary. Not like the specters in his head or the winding forest paths that only ever lead back to where he started.
Perhaps, if he can defuse this situation, they might even be of help to one another. Two animals may be predator and prey in the wild, and yet join forces to escape a trap that has ensnared them both. As for whether the rabbit can outrun the wolf, once they are freed... well, that remains to be seen.
Kazuha's eyes track the movement of the knife as the pale man speaks. His sword shifts ever so slightly, grip adjusting to something looser and more adaptable, and he tilts his head as though listening for something else behind the meaning of the words.
Flatly, he asks:] Oh really? Who did you mistake me for?
[The tone is not hostile, but it is certainly not charmed.]
no subject
The whispering ambience encircling the clearing like a fog stirs louder once again, words drifting in and out of focus alongside a ghostly chill that claws its way down his spine.
Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine.
The curve of his smile tightens noticeably, and despite knowing he will find nothing in doing so, his eyes dart off to the side for just long enough to confirm that they are still alone in this little clearing.]
Someone who would have received a greeting far less kind than this, for starters. [His tone remains casual, seemingly unbothered as the dagger is sheathed against his hip with a soft shink. There, that should make him seem less dangerous, shouldn't it? Visibly declawed, though not defanged, should the need arise. Hip cocked, he crosses his right arm across his middle, shelving his elbow atop the back of his hand so that he might examine the nail beds of his left.]
I would ask for directions, but you appear to be just as lost in this wretched little forest as I am.
no subject
The man's body language speaks of wariness--Kazuha notes that sidelong glance--but no overt hostility, and nothing of the hunger he saw before. He is not thrilled with the idea of dismissing his sword so soon after discovering this would-be predator stalking him through the trees, but he cannot continue holding a disarmed man at sword point. No, that is not his way, and he will not allow this forest to change that.
Though the decision to sheathe his sword is made swiftly, the movement itself is slow and deliberate. There is no actual sheath to speak of, however, and the sword simply disappears into motes of light once the motion is completed. When those wink out, it is as if the blade had never been. The gesture is more of a symbolic one: with both their weapons put away, there is no longer any direct threat of harm, and the tone of this encounter can shift accordingly.]
This forest is not natural. I had thought to follow the wind back the way I came, but it has been leading me in circles for...
[He doesn't finish the sentence, as he finds that he has absolutely no idea how long it's been. He takes a slow breath in, not quite closing his eyes to focus (the nature of his company, after all, is still uncertain), but shifting his attention to the act of listening instead.]
Do you hear... thunder?
[It's not thunder he hears at all, but the sound of lightning striking stone, far off in the distance. Like the one that had happened mere feet from him, before the body of his friend crumpled to the ground.
But this is too much for him to share at present, so as far as descriptions go, "thunder" will have to do.]
no subject
Quite the interesting trick, that. One enough to make you the shining star of every social gathering, I'd assume.
[There's a soft click of his tongue, and his hands travel to rest on his hips. Yes, yes, of course this was some preternatural stretch of woodland; that much he'd figured out on his own, thank you very much. Winds and whatnot be damned, Astarion had begun to see himself as something of a survivalist with how much camping he'd been doing as of late.
Dreadful, really. At least here, the local bug population had yet to make itself known.]
Thunder? [He also pauses to listen for a moment, though the sounds that drift into hearing from the depths of the trees are very much not thunderous in nature. No, those are still whispers. And screams. Wails, gasps, sobs... A dismal choir of humanity's worst noises, really.]
Hm. I think you might be hearing things, darling. Unless thunder sounds like the weeping of the damned to you, in which case yes. That I hear.