Event #1: The Big One

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The Awakening
🜙 Awakening the Heart Warnings: Injury, Blood, Death
	You are awakened from death by a cloaked figure. The sky is thickly choked by dark storm clouds, but it's growing darker. Sunset is approaching and you know you are far from any of the kingdom cities. It is only once you find your feet that you notice your new tunic adorned with the colors of one of the three kingdoms. It might not be something you remember wearing, but you're about to be thankful for the extra fabric as the first drops of rain begin to fall, hitting you hard and heavy. You won't survive a night out on the marsh flats during a storm. The weather out here is violently unpredictable and it's freezing cold to boot. Your breath escapes in a cloud in front of your face and a shiver runs through you as your feet sink further in the muck of the marsh. You need to find somewhere to go while you sort out what has happened to you. Atrómitos is the closest city to where you are now. You know these marshlands are part of their kingdom. Whatever side you might have been on for the war a simple analysis of the circumstances and surroundings you find yourself in make one thing clear. If you want to survive the night, Atrómitos is your only hope. The chill in the air makes it very clear this is winter and the other kingdoms are much too far to make in so little time. You will have to sludge your way across the muddy, icy marshlands and avoid getting trapped in the thick, deadly mud pits to get there but survival instincts instill a sense of urgency in your movements. You can pillage rusty weapons from the partly to mostly mud-buried skeletons of fallen soldiers on your way, but you had better keep a brisk pace if you want to survive the night. Take care not to grab a living body if you are grave-robbing.
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🜙 X Marks the Spot
	Night falls as you approach the outskirts of what used to be Atrómitos. In the poor light of dusk you can make out just enough to know that something is off about the silhouette of the great city, but you shrug it off to the exhaustion crashing down on you. Your limbs are heavy, your clothing drenched and thick with mud that is hardening in the biting cold. You are finding it hard to keep your eyes open and your limbs moving. Just across a bridge over the river is a large inn. The building is enticing, alive with the sounds of music and life. Light is twinkling from lanterns and candles in its windows, reminding you of warmth. You give the vanishing city silhouette in the distance one more look before it fades from view, swallowed by the approaching darkness. You will never make it to the city before the heavy black of a densely-clouded night cloaks your vision and strands you to stumble blindly across the uneven land and broken paths. It's too risky. You turn for the inn, knowing you have no coin to pay your way, and enter. The portly halfling woman at the bar catches sight of your muddy tunic and drenched form and heaves a heavy sigh, setting aside the flagons she had been cleaning to cross the inn and meet you at the door. "Another one, eh? I don't suppose you have even a handful of silver either?" She clucks disapprovingly, but there is warmth in her expression as she reaches a hand up, offering you a clean, dry towel. It is small, barely enough to dry your face, but it is a gesture of kindness. "Strange times, this. The lot of you are going to run us dry at this rate. Go on then, get yourself over to the fire. Alphie will bring you a flagon of mead and a bite to eat." She points a finger accusingly, stopping any efforts to speak. "And don't you be causing any trouble now. We have rooms enough to spare but you'll be sharing. Beggars can't be choosers. I don't want to hear a word of complaint or excuses. Shoo. Off with you." She doesn't wait for a reply, gesturing toward the large fireplace where a few strangers in similar dress and state to your own are talking over large flagons and bowls of something warm and savory-scented. A teen halfling brings you a bowl and flagon of your own once you find a seat, the smell of a hot and hearty mushroom stew greeting your senses. He also hands you a key fished from his pockets once you've taken your food and drink. "Mum says she expects you to help with chores in the mornin'. Don't be fightin' or she'll sick Boris on you." With that he leaves, heading back toward a massive beast of a saint bernard that sits by the bar. It maintains eye contact for a period before snorting and walking off after the boy. The heavy brass key in your hand goes to a room on the upper floors of the inn, a tag with the room number attached to the ring of it. Chances are you won't be alone when you turn in for the night, but there will be clean linens, a towel, and a fresh tunic and pair of pants in something near your size atop them. It isn't perfect, but it's something. The skies are clear in the morning and the ground is covered in a thin layer of fresh snow. True to the boy's word, Gilly, the woman from the night before, gives you a task in the morning. There are a number of chores, from tending to the sheep or pigs, shifting hay in the barn, cooking breakfast, dishes, doing laundry, or cleaning up the inn. Whatever the task, when you finish it she gives you a bowl of something warm to eat and she thanks you for your help around the inn. You are given the offer to stay so long as you keep doing chores to pay your way.
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🜙 Awakening the Soul
	You leave the inn, but before you can make much progress toward the city a strange sensation overtakes you. It feels like the pull of a magical compass, persistent and steady. The vial you picked up from the battlefield grows cold. It feels like ice against your skin. As the warmth fades from it, it also fades from you. Nothing warms you, not fire, furs, or even the false warmth of alcohol. With the cold comes pain as old injuries begin to appear on your skin, slowly growing worse over time. Succumbing to the pull you stumble back to the battlefield you came from, back across the frozen marshlands. The spot you rose from is untouched by the ice of frozen rain, the grass there still a vibrant green. Something strange is happening. With your animas now close to you and a device in your hand or pocket, you realize the sky has turned menacing once more. The dark clouds of the previous day have choked out the blue skies again and thunder rumbles, approaching at a fast pace. The storm crashes above you. Lightning cracks across the sky and thunder follows it. The weather has warmed enough that rain is falling once more and the hair on the back of your arm stands on end from the electricity in the air. You should get going.
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🜙 A City Under Siege. Warnings: Warfare, Death
	As you return to the city that used to be Atrómitos you quickly realize something has changed. Fires burn around the outskirts of the city. A skirmish has broken out and bulky knights in golden tunics are clashing with a band of fur and leather-clad red orcs, their faces painted with black and white colors of war. The sound of battle is familiar, and the orcs are pushing the city's defense back. There are a number of options before you. You could take advantage of the chaos and join the attack or loot the market. You could assist the defenders in fighting off the orc pillagers. You could slip by into the city and help the people trying to get away from or stop the fires. Or you could just find a local tavern, get a drink, and wait out the battle while you try to make sense of the city's vastly different appearance. Eventually, the defenders manage to beat back the attack and the fires are all extinguished. A crew of volunteers helps to move the bodies out of the city to waiting pyres. Anyone who manages to insert themselves into the crew could easily pilfer some weapons, items, or coin from the bodies. Post-attack the city returns to normal surprisingly quick, these attacks are common for the wall-less city. As night approaches, fires are lit on the outskirts and the city defenders start their nightly patrol. The temperature drops and the rain and thunder turns to snow. Winter is finally here.
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🜙 Divided We Fall.
	In the aftermath of the orc attack the smoke clears and rumors spread faster than fire through the city's streets and taverns. The general consensus is the orcs were after something or someone, but what? That depends on the rumors you hear, and which ones you choose to believe. The city is alive with whispers and theories while attempts to strengthen defenses and repair the damages are underway. Several things become clear in the aftermath: The Skywhale, the airship meant to travel between the City of the Free Peoples and Didymos has been badly damaged, sabotaged and grounded in the orc attack. People in the know about these sorts of things are saying it looks like it will take at least a week or two to be repaired. Winter's first harsh breath has stopped Krimnos' airships as well. The sudden and severe temperature drop in the mountains and the high risk of avalanches has grounded their ships temporarily. As a result, the City of the Free Peoples has effectively been cut off from the other cities. No one seems certain for how long, only that assistance will not be coming soon. And perhaps of more concern than any of this: the orcs are still out there, not far from the city, and they seem to be preparing for a second assault.
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🜙 A Mysterious Message.
	Some time during the chaos a message arrived to your courier. After finding someone who knows what the device is or some tinkering and exploration of your own you discover how to view the thought message it holds and what you find only adds to your confusion. Your message differs depending on your allegiance: Yearning: Do not forget why you are here. It is within your grasp now. You need only to claim what is yours. Hold strong and show no fear. -Epithymetikon Devotion: Burn bright in the dawn where your suns set. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten. Your efforts will not be in vain. Your soul will follow where your heart leads it. -Thymoeides Reason: There is an answer for every question. The truth will not find you. You must seek it for yourself. Do not lose sight of what you seek. -Logistykon
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🜙 It bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns. Warnings: Warfare, Death, Suicidal Orcs
	Snow continues to fall thick and heavy, coating the land in layer after layer of dense, wet, white until a foot of snow coats the plains and lowlands. It seems winter has arrived eagerly on time this year. Small raiding parties of orcs continue attacking the city periodically from different directions. The raiding parties never contain more than a dozen orcs and the attacks rarely last more than an hour. Fires are set, lives are lost, and the orcs vanish once more, their tactics and chosen locations unpredictable. A bounty is issued against the orc tribe, city-wide and open to all. Gold and silver are offered for any information gathered on the orcs and a much larger purse for any who bring back one of the orcs responsible, alive. No simple task as these orcs would sooner die by their own blades than be taken captive. The city is on lockdown, the airships are not coming or going, and city defenses are on high alert. The city's guards are recruiting anyone who is willing and able to help put out fires, fight the orcs, repair damage, offer their weaponry, their magical aid, or their healing talents to the effort. It is made known across the city that all who can help will be compensated in coin, and possibly other rewards, by Captain Lykos himself.

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⤛ Sources: 1 2 3 4 & 5 6 7

Comments

christine delacroix | ota; will match prose or brackets

[aceso]

{ divided we fall }
It never does any good to sit and wallow in circumstances, and so Christine is pushing aside all her questions and her fear over whatever happened to her to focus on what's around her. The city is damaged from the attacks and people are hurt, so Christine offers her services to them. Without her stock of alchemy potions, she heals using her knowledge of wild magic and charges very little for her services. She will need something to live on, but has the conscious to not take advantage of those whose houses and businesses have been damaged.

She can be easily found should anyone want to help her in the cleanup and rebuilding, or if they came across the orcs and need healing. The entire time a small falcon can be seen circling overhead, perched nearby, or even perched on Christine's shoulder. She winces when the last of those happens, and makes mention that she will need to sew up a quilted shoulder pad to deal with those talons. After every long day of work, she returns to the inn to eat downstairs and socialize before she and her animas head up to bed.

{ a mysterious message }
The message shakes her, and she sits in contemplation for quite some time. The dragon she showed allegiance to: the one she thought had the most sense of the three... was dead. He had died first and Christine remembers her despair in the midst of the battle knowing he was gone. But... had she not been dead too? And some power or magic brought her back. It's possible the same happened to Logistykon.

He said she must seek the truth for herself. So she rises from her seat and searches for others like her, whether they're in the inn or out in the city.

"Did you find a strange object in the field with your animal? Did you receive a message through it?"

{ it bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns }
a.)
Christine helps after each renewed attack, mainly with healing, but also with putting out the fires using her elemental magic. Water, frost, and dirt are all used to smother the flames out and after each one she wonders where the next with arise. The city can't keep going on like this. She teams up with others — some she recognizes from the inn — to discuss the situation as they work.

b.)
Something needs to be done to stop these orcs. Why are they doing this? What do they want? Unfortunately, she's no bounty hunter, so she doesn't set about organizing a party herself. However, she's easy to find should someone want to recruit her.

it bites, it burns

[kingsroads]

As Christine works on smothering one fire, the dirt from the ground rises up to assist. It's not her magic, though: it's Strange, standing a few feet away, murmuring under his breath as he concentrates on the fire. With that one smothered, he turns to look and—wait, Christine?

He can't hide the shock in his eyes as he looks over her. Strange looks close to the same as she saw him last, though there's more gray in his hair (which looks like someone forgot to brush it). He's wearing some secondhand threadbare clothes obviously purchased from the fantasy equivalent of Goodwill and a reddish-brown hare sits next to his feet.

"You, how," he stammers for a moment, still dumbstruck. There's no polite way of saying 'you should be dead' or 'why the hell are you alive' so Strange just gapes for a moment before exclaiming, "What exactly are you doing here?"

There's a tone of relief in his words as he speaks...though he doesn't realize the obvious answer to that question, 'putting out fires, you dipshit.'

divided we fall

[redwhaling]

Billie doesn't like going in for heroics when she can help it but sometimes you just have to be a good person, right? She's quick, she can get places others can't in the blink of an eye, and that's why it's her who does just that almost immediately next to Christine once she ends up with someone needing a healer on hand.

Or more like in arm, considering she's hauling a little cat-like beastling kid around in both of them.

It's mostly a coincidence that Christine is the first healer that someone mentions to her when she asks, pointing her that way and telling her to hurry up. Hurrying entails Blinking, which means one moment, Christine is either alone or wrapping up her current work and, the next, she has a someone in what might be a familiar red coat (but also a very unfamiliar mask) popping into existence with the aforementioned kid in tow. Conscious, thankfully, if dazed and bleeding from a cut on the head.

"Hey, you're one of the healers, right?"

A mysterious message.

[apilot]

"Yeah, I did." Poe's response is immediate and honest, his bartered map still flattened out on the table. He looks down at the beagle whose head is resting on his foot for a moment before his focus moves back to Christine.

"We were actually planning to go and see if we can find the supposed sender for ourselves." He wants to be sure the dragons are dead. Even though he had wished for their end as the war grew more and more pointlessly destructive and murderous, the fact that Thymoeides, who his mother had always adored and who had strove so hard to protect the city before that awful war, was now nothing more than a skeleton was a hard truth to swallow and accept. There was something very bitter in the triumph of knowing that war was over. He had never known the cities without dragons and imagining it now is not easy.

"I don't know what kind of message you received, but the signature on mine is impossible if you believe what the people in the city are saying."

[specialinquisitor]

Awakening the Heart

Hunger.

That was how she knew this was real.

Hunger crackled in her veins. She was distantly aware of other sensations -- cold air in her lungs, dirt felt through the leather of her gloves, how heavy her whole body felt as she knelt and shuddered on the ground, but the hunger washed over it all. Mòrag welcomed it, for the first time in her life, because it was familiar. Second nature, almost. A challenge to be overcome, and thus a means to center herself.

Breaths, in and out. The faint pressure of concentration in her temples and the sockets of her eyes. She was its master. She had it under control. She was Mòrag Ladair. Her fingers tightened in the dirt, her muscles tensed, and she stood.

Phew. The first moment was always the worst... though as she brushed dirt off the clothing both familiar and unfamiliar on her body, she started to think that 'worst' might be about to hit levels she'd never before imagined. All right. First things first. Survival. Survival meant weapons. Her own... nowhere to be seen, fine. A quick moment's work scavenged a pair of rusty swords whose only virtue were being better than nothing -- but they were better than nothing, and she stuck them into her belt in so that she could draw them quickly, and never mind how they might interfere with her movements.

Second? Making it to shelter. No, second was surviving to make it to shelter. Her clothing, even layered with a tunic as it was, couldn't ward off the chill. But there was a reason she was called the Flamebringer, and even now she still had magic.

A swath of flame around her shone brilliantly as she set off through the icy wilderness, a bright beacon that could be seen for quite some distance. Clear warning that a person was here, not subtle in the slightest. Dangerous, but Mòrag felt she could handle whatever danger it might bring. Better than freezing.

On she trudged, eye turned carefully around, looking for those who might approach, or signs that others might be hidden. She needed to know what was going on.

X Marks the Spot

A part of her rebelled, but that part was pride. Realistically, Mòrag knew perfectly well she dared not muster her magic to make the whole distance in a single night, and so she pushed pride aside to where it would only rankle and stepped in.

The conversation went swiftly enough, and left Mòrag with more questions and no answers. Her eyes glittered in the firelight as she swept them across the inn, then without a moment's delay moved to approach those who wore tunics as she did -- no matter their colors.

"Forgive the intrusion," she said, polite and yet with implied insistence that the intrusion would come whether it was forgive or not. "But I hope you can help me with a few questions."

Waking before Awakening

Morning found the elegant and dignified woman working at a table with a stiff-bristled brush as if she were born to drudgery, rather than aristocracy -- and by all rights she was. This had been a common task in the temple to instill discipline and duty, and clearly it had worked. A frown on her face that came from focus rather than irritation, Mòrag glanced up at those coming down to the common room, offering nods to those she might have met before, and assessing those she hadn't.

"No breakfast before chores, I'm afraid."

A City Under Siege.

"I'll not allow this!"

Flames trailing down her blades as her wild magic wrought power into deed, Mòrag lunged into the fray without hesitation, taking an orc from behind with a slash that cut its kidneys and snapped the rusted sword off in its spine. The smell of cooked flesh wafted up as she kicked it over hurriedly, then snatched up the sword it had lost in death, a better replacement for what she'd lost. Then she was in motion once more.

This she understood. This she was born for. This was honor and duty, to herself if nothing more.

Perhaps you find her when she joins you in battle, swift to help those locked in combat with the orcs wherever she can with strikes of her flame or thrusts of her weapons.

Or perhaps you found her dueling with an orc at a disadvantage, her stance and form badly compromised by the need to hold her other hand steady as a wall of flame kept two other orcs at bay. She was skilled and resolute, after all, but only one woman.

Divided We Fall.

Rumors flew like arrows, haphazard and uncaring of what they hit. As if she were still in battle, Mòrag listened to the flights, judged from their trajectories where truth might be hidden, and fired none of her own. She had other matters to attend to.

First and foremost, finding a healer would be pleasant. The bandage wound her wrist and forearm was no longer wet, but the gouge it covered had only barely clotted over. Sudden movement would break it and set her to bleeding again, and that was no condition for a warrior to be in.

Mòrag paused to tighten the bandage, a little clumsily thanks to having only one hand free. "Damn," she said as she worked at it, almost conversationally.

It bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns.

Among the first to join the efforts to fight the orcs, Mòrag was not fool enough to go out into the wilderness alone. A partner, at the very least, would treble her odds of success, presuming she could find someone to work with. So Mòrag hung close to the road outside of town, not far from the guards who she had originally spoken to about recruitment. If anyone looked as if they were so inclined as to join and hunt orcs, she'd waste no time in approaching them.

Waking

[racter]

He recognizes the hat first, and wonders if he is dreaming the whole thing. There were others who had also revived, he knew that much, but a familiar face was still unexpected. And her? A project of sorts, an attempt to correct the mistakes of his own upbringing. Perhaps a protege. He could even consider her a friend.

He can't decide if he is glad to see Mòrag, or disappointed that his advice had not been enough to keep her alive.

"Strange, the lessons we remember." He takes a brush and begins scrubbing another table nearby - he'd done so often enough that his hands remember the motions. "It seems even decades are not enough time to forget chores."

[cryptsleeper]

X Marks the Spot; Multiple evenings
[In this raising, in these compulsions, in the...very undersized white wolf that now follows Alucard wherever he is, there is one fact that has made itself clear. This magic is most likely necromancy, and there are things being done to Alucard that are against his own will. Like walking across a battlefield and finding a wolf in it, for none of those things are natural to his person.

Deep in him, there's only one desire: to go home. Back to his family's home, to see if there is anything left. It has likely been looted over the years, all his father's wisdom, all his mother's notebooks, all their family's treasures that he found and curated because they could all learn, they could enrich themselves and the world. Gone. Gone and sold because in wars people need coin to buy food and to have shelter and to survive.

It angers him. Of course it does. But Alucard cannot think of a better place to begin to research what kind of horrifying necromancy has dragged him from well earned rest.

So for one day, he does odd jobs. Enough to buy a small notebook of bound rag paper for his thoughts, along with pen and ink. Then he takes to himself in the inn that for labor, he can keep staying, and writes neatly on the top of the first page:]

Necromancy
--Causes
--Compulsion?
--SOURCE?

[His handwriting is neat and compact, and there's no attempt to cover his work. Alucard is too deep in his thoughts to pay it attention, struggling to regurgitate everything and anything his father might have once said on the subject. The dark and forbidden things, his father thrived there.

The wolf that follows him around makes it a sport to stretch out beside Alucard's chair, her paws still awfully large for a compact form, seeing who she can trip. It takes time for Alucard to catch onto the game, but when he does, he stares down at the animus like he's scolding...a much older friend, in truth.]

Don't be rude.

Message Mystery!
His father had a contraption in this shape once. An engine of sorts, or so his father thought it could be. It was a part of an experiment, to see if one day the castle could move from place to place without anyone traveling at all. A concept fascinating and maybe impossible.

In the end, the experiment never came to be. Dead men could not work on their arts, and Alucard's concerns did not allow for any time to be invested in his father's work. So the courier is still a novelty, something that he experiments with when taking a break from chores assigned and...

...and no, this is wrong too. Necromancy and dragons. There's surprise on Alucard's face, and then a look of real contempt. "Whatever this is, it gets fouler by the day."

Never mind who hears this. Never mind replying to the message itself. The dead are no longer dead and a dragon has an opinion on it.

It bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns
OTA
This city is not his home. This country is not his home. Alucard knows these things, just as he knows that to enter this kind of fight is a matter of basic justice. Night raids on an unwalled city are not right, and maybe there is a part of him that needs to let out all the anger that has built up deep in him about this situation.

So he walks the city streets and waits, anticipating the next orc to come, and when it does, there's a flash of gold in his eyes, a hiss that is not human at all, and...

...and he's in the goddamn air, sword in hand, flying in battle like this is a totally normal way to pick a fight with a goddamn orc.

CLOSED TO VICTOR
[It doesn't actually matter how it is they've agreed on the dangerous task of taking an orc alive. They have, and now it simply is a matter of putting things into action. The question of offense and defense is simple enough, and there is using one's surroundings as an advantage. Lure an orc into a narrow enough alley, make sure he drops a weapon and can't turn around to pick it up. Restrain it. Move on from there.

Alucard stands on top of one of the small wells that mark this portion of the city. Not a proper town square or a plaza or anything of the sort, but a wide enough place to start a fight and to lure the orc further inward, down twisting horrible streets that can trap and bind.

Standing there is also perhaps too dramatic, the animus of a wolf standing on the ground below, but there's only one other person around to make commentary, and Alucard is not certain Victor is that type.

His eyes remain ahead:]

Are you prepared?

x marks the spot

[consecrates]

[ Normally, Davina keeps to herself especially during the evenings at the inn. She's not only exhausted from the day's chores but there are still things that she doesn't understand, things that don't make sense.

For example, her second life on this world and this cat she's now carrying around. Sure, inwardly, she can feel the tendrils of her magic settling inside of her, comforting her that this is how it is now, she just needs to trust her power. But still, the confusion and the sentiment still remain. After all, not even her magic could answer any questions she has about it. ]

You might want to be more discreet with your notes.

[ She moves in front of him from behind, her cat jumping onto the table and pawing at his note. Davina picks him up right away, letting him settle on her shoulders once more. ] I don't know if that kind of magic has gotten popular even after a century.

Groot | OTA, will match prose or brackets.

[iamgroot]

Awakening the Heart

Groot has never seen a marshland, not that he can remember. Awakening in one is as strange a sensation for him as witnessing it might be for another. His body, largely buried in the thick, stinking mud and weeds, looks for all intents and purposes like a bit of deadfall, an old log to sit upon--and then it jerks upright and limbs break apart from the core of it.

He sits up in a fluid arc, like a child awaking from a nightmare, and the mud sloughs from him loudly, sliding into the puddles and the murk at his hips. It takes him a while longer to free his legs and stand. He doesn't even notice the red and black tunic draped over him at first, not until the rain begins to fall in earnest, and once he does he picks at it.

One can only hope that others are nearby--for he makes no move to walk, or to wander, and spends a long time staring at the distant horizon.


X Marks The Spot

It has been a terrible and distracting night and Groot is both disoriented and cold. He cannot recall ever feeling cold but, by the same token, he cannot recall any feeling other than cold and, as such, is in a sad and miserable mood. The battlefield it had left is full of memory and sadness and everything is grey--everything save the building in the distance. It is not the safety of the trees but Groot heads toward the sounds of life and laughter and the little lanterns.

The woman who greets him is kind, he recognizes that much, even if he doesn't quite parse what she is saying. He stares and she points and gestures. The flames inside give him some pause but it is warmer inside and so, despite his misgivings, he enters the building and moves to where she has directed him. He all but folds himself in half to avoid taking too much room and is careful and delicate with his motions. When they bring him soup he honestly does not know what it is and spends some time staring at the bowl before him.


A City Under Siege

The city is a strange place full of loud noises and lots of movement. The people here run to and fro, ducking away from fires or toward them, swinging weapons and fighting. They clash all around him and Groot is simultaneously fascinated by them and wary of lingering too near. The last thing he recalls doing was searching for familiar things--a little mouse where his last friend had been and he had no idea where his home was. Fortunately, he had one other friend.

Groot weaves around the combat and wanders toward the city, trying and failing to be subltle in his movements. This place is full of people and chaos and noise and he hopes it will not take long to find his only friend.

The idea that he might not be present here doesn't even occur to the arboreon.


Divided We Fall

The city is very large and very interesting. Groot rises with the sun on the day after the Orc attack and from the moment he steps outside into the daylight, he is overwhelmed and fascinated. He walks in bursts of slow, plodding momentum until something new or something moving catches his attention. Sometimes he investigates, looming or leaning to stare from far too nearby, sometimes he watches from afar for a long few minutes before moving on.

He is not subtle and he is not short. He towers above the crowd by several feet and is given to leaning over people. His whole body creaks and sways like a tree in a gale. When he hums it is a strange and wooden sound and, occasionally, one might spy a small mouse peering out through the gaps between the bark that grows over his surface.

(OOC: Feel free to use this prompt as a wildcard option and set Groot up in an awkward situation if it helps. Groot wanders around day. He will be doing awkward tree stuff in awkward places and has no sense of decorum or personal space.)

Awakening

[thatsruff]

The moment Teddy had realized he was exposed he had found cover and shifted back into his canine form. He wasn't to be seen in his human form and even with the memory of his clan abandoning him to torture and death he couldn't bring himself to disobey his leader's orders.

Back in the skin he felt most at home in Teddy had emerged from the brush, a larger than normal canine, too dark and short-furred to be a wolf but large enough to be mistaken for one from time to time.

He was cautious in plodding his way through the muddy marshlands and he stills when his paw hovers over a form of solid vines stretched across a section of the marsh that resembles the greenery of his own awakening in the battlefield. His nose twitches and his ears tilt back with cautious uncertainty.

After a moment's pause he slowly sets a heavy paw down onto the form, testing for stability or something else.

Jonathan Strange | ota!

[kingsroads]

city under siege
The buildings are burning. So he's going to help with that. Strange immediately heads for the outskirts of the city, hare jogging at his side as he does so. As soon as he spots a building on fire he stops, bends down, clenches his hand around a fistful of dirt and mutters something under his breath. The earth raises up to form a large yet crude shape of a hand which slams against the wall of a nearby building on fire.

Jury's out on whether he'll remember to return the dirt to where it belongs afterwards. But at least for now, Strange is literally patting out the fire...and leaving himself a pretty vulnerable target to any orcs that might have made it further into the city or any ranged bolts that might fire his way.

"Cover me!" he yells, as the earthen hand moves from one patch of fire to the next, setting itself a little too roughly on another roof.

mysterious message
It takes Strange a while to tinker with the courier enough in order to see the message. And when he sees it, he just breaks out into a grin. Unsurprisingly, someone who's put so much focus on draconic magic, who's studied and learned and explored it to the point that he wrote a book about the dragons is damn happy at receiving a message with the name Logistykon attached. So happy that he can't help it: he lets out a laugh, mostly triumphant and a little bit unhinged as he thinks over the name again.

He knew the dragons couldn't have died. Obviously this was Logistykon himself sending him a message. Strange stays where he is, brimming with excitement, until he spots someone else he knows was risen from the dead as well. Grin on his face, he walks over to them, his hare dogging his footsteps. Under his breath, he asks, "Did you see? Did yours have a message as well?"

it bites, it burns
Things are quiet at the moment, though it's been quiet for long enough that the raiding party could happen at any moment. Not that it worries Strange, however. He's frowning, looking out past the outskirts of the city, staring seemingly at nothing. And anyone who approaches him...is straight up getting talked at, though it's less 'wanting conversation' and more 'Strange likes the sound of his own voice.'

"You know, the last time I was in war, I occasionally used my scrying to help locate enemy lines and things like that. I doubt it will give us the precise location of wherever this camp is, but it might give us an idea as to what their fortifications are...of course, the magic does work best if I know the name of a person or have a general idea of what they're like."

message LET'S START THIS OFF RIGHT SHALL WE

[cryptsleeper]

Alucard's face is sour, like he's some dhampir rabbit that has sucked all the juice from a lime by accident. This thing, the message on it, it's wrong. This entire situation is wrong on every level, and not only is it wrong, it has just gotten so much bigger and so much more complicated.

And maybe it's for that that the response to Strange's question is met with the quiet disapproving intensity of a man who would very much like to meet someone in the pit or just scream into the void about what has come to pass.

Death is in life, life and death are all askew, and there is no telling what else lies ahead. There are compulsions that have driven Alucard to do things he would never do, and how dare anyone force that upon any once-dead thing.

"Yes," he says, all intensity and fire baked int a single word. "This farce continues apace."

[racter]

Divided We Fall
There’s a reason Racter did not usually fight directly. He could call upon a dhampir's strength if needed, certainly, but enhanced strength meant little when there was no talent or technique behind it and one's original strength started at "occasionally carries large reference books". But he can’t ignore what is happening. It’s all too convenient – the revivals, the storm, the attacks.

If the orcs are indeed looking for something, then they are his best lead. And this is the perfect excuse to pursue them.

The city needs defenders? Then they will have them. Racter can be found around the city, offering to help with building repair and doing odd jobs in exchange for scrap wood, metal, stone. When he does return to the inn, his bed gets turned into a workbench. He’ll be working late into the night on strange, spidery limbs and contraptions. Perhaps the noise wakes you up. Or, if you have any inclination towards engineering or alchemy, he might ask for opinions on designs.

Mysterious Message
The courier, as he found out it was called, was a marvelous device. Durable too, unfortunately – he’d been unable to take apart the panels so far, and the gears remain unmolested, ticking away in a strange double beat behind the glass.

But more relevant now, it can relay messages.

“The truth will not find you. You must seek it for yourself,” he repeats, turning the courier over in his hands. He had been in Thalassa his entire life, of course he knew of Logistykon. But it wasn’t as if he knew the dragon personally, or even professionally. Why would the white dragon reach out to him now? Or, possibly, who would be so bold as to masquerade as a dragon?

It’s good advice, regardless of the source. And so he decides he will follow it now. Perhaps he’s not the only one to receive such a message. So he approaches whoever he sees with the same icosahedron courier.

“Do you think these devices are truthful? Or can they lie as well as the ones who use them?”

It Bites, It Burns, It Yearns and Yearns
They weren’t perfect, but they’d have to do. Racter has built about a half dozen quadrupedal golems, about knee height. They’re rather abstract, not really resembling any living creatures, with crude spines and reinforced metal ends on their multi-jointed limbs. He didn’t have the supplies for anything larger, or more elaborate. He’ll have to be careful – he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to repair these if they get too damaged.

If any others are going out of the city, he’ll offer to join with one or two of his golems. Controlling them takes most of his focus in combat, so he’d rather have a team to help watch his back, but they are much more effective than those with a simple control rune. For anyone familiar with golems, they behave oddly, almost animal-like. They seem to enjoy combat as much as their controller, whose eyes remain a bright gold while he watches them work.

Racter will do his best to capture an orc alive for questioning - if he is successful, he has no issues with letting others try a few questions of their own.

It Bites, It Burns, It Yearns and Yearns

[listentoreyeson]

Jaime was trying to help get people out of the part of the city he had been searching for answers in when the attacks started again. He doesn't want to fight but if it means other people don't get hurt he will and does. He directs a family with young kids toward a safe route out of the city, Khaji Da's claws digging into his shoulder as the lizard expresses the same nervous tension he feels in his gut.

He freezes when he catches sight of the monstrous golem fighting the orcs and his stomach twists uncomfortably at seeing the thing in action. In theory he had always found them fascinating and unusual, a miracle feat of magic bordering almost uncomfortably on the edge of forbidden magic, but amazing in either respect. Seeing them in person and in action is something entirely different. It throws itself with something he can only describe as glee at the attacking orcs and the violence it is capable of is not something Jaime's education prepared him for.

He almost intervenes but he is distracted when one of the structurally unsound buildings starts to collapse and he has to dive for the kid from before, just as distracted as he was by the golem. He tucks and rolls taking the boy with him and hands him off to his parents, yelling for them to go as his eyes scan for the controller he knows must be somewhere nearby.

What he doesn't expect is that it will be a face he recognizes.

"Professor?"

On the ground Khaji Da makes a sound between a hiss and a growl over being dislodged from his perch, scaling Jaime's leg and back to get back to his shoulder.

It's a monster! I'm sorry

[44pistolundermyhead]

A City Under Siege
[Ellie let another arrow fly, watching as it went through the orc’s throat. The orc staggered, but kept pressing forward, apparently determined to destroy as much as she could. Her torch was still gripped tight in her hand as she made a desperate lunge for the wood building.

The second arrow through her head before she finished the job. Ellie didn’t wait for the orc to stop moving before she approached, to see if any of her arrows were salvageable. Theseus padded forward from where she had been crouching. For a moment she looked calm, before her ears flattened and she yipped sharply.

Ellie whirled, drawing another arrow sharply, looking for another orc trying to attack her from behind.]

Divided We Fall
This part of the city was in shambles. Ellie stared out at it, hands quivering. She hated the adrenaline after battle, the way she couldn’t stop shaking - it had nothing to do with fear. Not really. It was just--too much all at once.

Ellie sat down a little ways away from a fire with some people around it. She stared down at the guitar in her hands - when had she picked it up? She didn’t completely remember. Sometime after the fighting, but had it been on a body? Had she asked someone?

Ellie took a deep breath, and then another. The reddish wolf she had taken to calling Theseus still paced beside her, silent and nervous. She could feel her pulse in her fingers.

There was always something about music that brought Ellie back to herself. She didn’t know why, but the feeling of the strings digging in and having to remember how to move her fingers in a way that wasn’t drawing a bowstring or gripping a knife--it helped. It helped.

Ellie aimlessly played a few chords, trying to think of a song. She knew she wasn’t the best of singers, would never be a bard--but her voice had been called “easy to listen to” once. Not moving in of itself, but... not bad. Ellie stared at her wolf for a long moment, before smiling.

Yeah, okay, she had one. She had a decent sense of irony, if nothing else.

"There ain’t no grave, can hold my body down..."

It bites, it burns, it yearns and years.
[Ellie waits. She’s crouched behind a rock that’s been covered on one side by snow--the other hasn’t been covered in snow yet, though it does nothing for the bitter cold. The blizzard howls, and she waits, bow in hand.

The orcs are smart. This kind of attack on a city so big means that the forces of Atr-- the City of Free Peoples--is spread out. They can be here and gone before enough forces can arrive to take them on.

This isn’t the most exciting solution, but it’s the smart one. Where she and her partner sit, they have a decent view of the western plains. The orcs may not come this way, but if they do? There’s another small team waiting ahead, closer to the city. All Ellie and her partner have to do is send the message so the other team can know where the orcs are and where they’re headed. Then the two groups can attack from both sides, leaving the orcs undefended from at least one side. Theoretically, anyway.

Unfortunately for Ellie, the message is magic. Fortunately for her, her partner has more skill than her - which means any, in this case.

The trick is just twofold: don’t get detected when the orcs pass, and don’t get detected following them. It’s easier said than done, but Ellie refuses to let panic encroach. She’s good at what she does. She can keep herself alive. She can keep her partner alive.

If the orcs even show up, anyway. If not, they’ll eventually retreat and switch places with another group.

(Ellie hates this, the snow makes her skin crawl and she can taste something copper on her tongue--)

Theseus, her wolf, shudders. Ellie reaches out a hand to steady her, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. They’re okay. She’s okay.

She glances over to her partner and reaches for her device. Thank the gods for the thought function. She holds it for a moment, waiting for the message to appear on her partner’s technology. The snowy land is too silent most of the time, and the wind carries voices in strange ways. Ellie doesn’t trust speech or noise.]

One hour down, two to go. Holding up okay?

[OOC: This can happen with a few characters, assuming Ellie would do a couple of rotations of this kind of shift. LMK on journal or discord or whatever if you want Orcs to show up and how the battle should go if they do.]

it bites

[consecrates]

[ Honestly, Davina doesn't like the cold either and the same goes for her animas, huddled under the thick hood of her cloak. And the fact that she can't conjure any kind of fire to tide them over is starting to get annoying. But if she's to ensure the traps she's set would work and hold the orcs off, then she'll need to deal with it until their time is up. If things go well, then she and Ellie don't have to do anything.

If things don't go well, then ... well, they'll cross the bridge when they get there. At the very least, Ellie is skilled with a bow and an arrow and she can cast spells. Best of both worlds.

Davina's murmuring a spell to warm her hands up when she finds her device whirring softly in her cloak. Pulling it out and reading the message across the glass, she glances at Ellie as well. ]

Yup, still can feel my fingers. I can't believe it's only been an hour. [ Because it sure feels like ten in this cold. ] You?

[consecrates]

i. X MARKS THE SPOT

Anyone who passes by the fireplace will find Davina sitting close to it, cradling a flagon of mulled mead. At her feet is a snoozing cat, seemingly content with the warmth of the fire with the way it's rolling on the fur mat. She doesn't seem to be doing anything, at first, until one notices that the fire is getting bigger every time she opens her hand, almost spilling out of the hearth but thankfully not burning anything, and then getting smaller, seemingly dying every time her hand curls into a fist.

Yes, she's playing with fire and testing out her magic now that she's alive again, making sure she remembers how it feels. Care to join her?

Alternatively, she can also be found shifting the hay out in the back the next day, looking very cross as she tries to shoo away an escaped sheep that's trying to eat said hay while she's pushing it around. Is it your job to tend to the sheep? Then please get it away from her before she decides lamb chops is a great main course tonight.

ii. DIVIDED WE FALL

[ a. One will find Davina wandering around in the outskirts market, going through each stall that sells herbs and other items she uses for magic. The army has only provided her so much when she offered her help and it's honestly not enough for everyone to go around, not with the amount of injured soldiers and civilians.

You might find her arguing with one of the merchants over what's clearly a small bundle of leaves: ]

Look, it's just common comfrey. With the price you're charging, you might as well give me a merlock orchid— [ The merchant tries to push her away, yelling that she's being rowdy and rude and that she's being a nuisance to other customers.

"Then get it from the forest, missy. If you don't get yourself killed." ] Maybe I will, you unsympathetic thief!

[ b. She's currently crouched on the ground with a random civilian, talking to them, asking them questions as she binds their wounds. She's not a healer but she knows basic first aid, at least, especially since her potions were once used for it.

One might overhear their conversation about the orcs, how an organised attack like this is rare. Almost too rare, in fact, that it doesn't seem like a random attack. Useful information, but she's not entirely sure how it would help.

... Or one might see her taking out a small portion of her courier, the triangle segments moving as they seek each other and form a little pyramind. She's very fascinated by it. She soon gets a small lesson on how to use them as thanks for her help, testing it out and perhaps accidentally sending you (and the entire quarter) a thought message.

Hi? ]

iii. A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE: THOUGHT

So that was not ominous at all.
Anyone's questions have been answered yet?

[ Yes, she's testing out what she just learned about their new thingamjig. And of course she sent the message to everyone. ]

iv. IT BITES, IT BURNS: VICTOR

[ Even in the previous war, Davina never participated on the frontlines. Her magic was used mainly on her healing potions, on fortifying armours and weapons and on setting up traps. But this time around, in all her reckless and impulsive glory, she's found herself running after a straggler close to the city walls. She holds out her hand and shouting a spell that immediately impairs the orc. It shrieks in pain, dropping its weapon and holding its head like it's being split open; if she were to be asked, yes, that's exactly the sensation the spell intends to bring. Another orc jumps out at her and she does the exact same thing with her other hand, holding down both creatures onto the ground.

She soon chants another spell, slowly, carefully walking towards them through the snow. It's supposed to paralyse them, keep them from moving and doing anything stupid—like, oh, kill themselves? It's all swell for her until a third one announces itself, walking towards her with a taunting smile and a swing of its axe. Her animas seems to have realised that she's unable to do anything else while she's holding those two down, hissing at the advancing creature from her shoulder. ]

Stop moving, Orc, or I swear I'll set you on fire while keeping you alive. [ No, she can't do that with just her mind but delaying tactics, you know. It's useful once in a while.

Need a hand, please and thank you. ]

v. WILDCARD

[ Need her somewhere? Want to do a different Orc prompt? You can also send me a PM or ping me on discord (lucifel#1050) ]

Divided We Fall

[racter]

[The market was surprisingly busy, full of people and merchants as interested in the latest gossip as they were in shopping. Racter wanders through looking for any interesting materials - not much to choose from, but there are a few pieces he can repurpose. Enough to make the visit worthwhile, at least.

A few stalls down, he hears a bit of commotion. An argument over prices is common enough, but one voice is familiar. That's still enough of an oddity to be worth investigating.

He approaches the booth and addresses the merchant with a conversational smile.]

If the captain heard you were overcharging one of his healers, my friend, he would not be pleased.

[His animas doesn't seem content to leave the unspoken threat as such, and hisses from where it sits on Racter's shoulder. He tsks at the tarantula disapprovingly - such aggression! Of course he agrees with the sentiment, but there's no reason to be so crude about it.]

It will be safe to resupply soon, and your assistance now would make this happen all the sooner. So I'm certain you can offer your usual price, despite the circumstances?

elizabeth | ota

[brooches]

X MARKS THE SPOT

[ Confusion was still a high coursing through her veins. Senses adjusting, but no sense being made. Elizabeth had come from a long line of temple scribes and yet — the world was nothing more than an adventure waiting to be had. This... was certainly not what she believed it would be.

You can find Elizabeth:
a. outside of her assigned room when she first arrives.
b. out hanging clothes on the wires in the back of the inn to earn her keep.
c. sitting around polishing the mud and dirt off the Siphon.
d. asking anyone about Atrómitos and its downfall. ]

CITY UNDER SIEGE

Get out! You — brutish — creature! Ugh!

[ Elizabeth had found herself holed away in one of the smaller inns on the outskirts of the city. She's seen orcs and their torches march past the inn, a direct course to the city resting onward beyond them. There was rustling downstairs — a few screams and grunts. Had she any idea, she would have assumed the poor barmaiden had undoubtedly lost her life or the small congregation of wisemen she's met been slain. Elizabeth was a wise satyr, barricading herself in one of the store rooms in the kitchen.

That was smart, until she had no way out. The door had already opened and instead — you, or some orc depending — opens the door to it. Elizabeth's cry out was the only warning before jars of canned fruit and her own bag was sent flying to your head. Sorry, she's not going down without a fight. ]

IT BURNS, IT YEARNS

You can't be serious.

[ A bold voice for such a meek girl. The sun was a distant memory and the darkness of cover provided the inn Elizabeth first found herself a resident of as a hot spot for some questionable activities. After all was said and done, there was a small gathering of bounty hunters keen on setting out for the first orc they could fine. They had their figurative pitchforks and torches ready. Ah, actually the group was armed and ready to bring the "beast" back. Elizabeth had only come in to help serve selflessly with a hot meal to earn her own keep — and yet, here they were... trying to come up with a poor idea.

Her little satyr hooves could only take her so far as she weaves between the people, speaking up louder: ]

They still have more than you all on their side and you wish to charge in waving your swords? You — you can't simply expect to succeed with this foolish, headstrong idea!

WILDCARD

[ i'm bad at top-leveling, so pls feel free to wild card me if none of the options fit! ]

{ x marks the spot; c }

[aceso]

[ After discovering the inn, Christine and Elizabeth had gone their separate ways, but the former sees no harm in getting to know the latter a bit more. It's not long after picking up her animas and returning to the inn that Christine finds Elizabeth cleaning... something. ]

That's an interesting looking thing. What exactly is it?

james potter (cw for death)

[chasingstag]

city under siege.

[ Fighting had been a thrill once to James back when he and his friends had been teenagers still fresh out of school. They'd laughed about it once: daring each other on increasingly dangerous acts of nerve, counting triumphs in battle, betting who would have the first song written about them and what they'd do when the war was over.

Reality, however, had hit them quickly. The deaths of so many loved for what had seemed like senseless purpose had piled one by one, more and more frequently, until war was no longer a joke and the wish above all else was to end it—not to win it. They'd been planning to fight a dragon, James thinks with a wet laugh: any dragon. It had seemed so simple at the time. To take out the dragons would have been to take out the powers of the armies, and from there they could have said—enough. But the War had had other plans. James had died, and a hundred years later, he's still alive and fighting. A good joke, but not one he likes much.

He's tearing at a still-smoldering pile of rubble with his hands, his expression as wild as his hair and his clothes streaked with ash. Only after a moment does James remember his magic: there's a choked ] Levicorpus [ and a body the size of a child, younger at least than five years old, lifts towards him. ]

Breathe. [ His vision is blurred as he lays the child down and grabs his small shoulders. ] Breathe, dammit—Ennervate—breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe—ennervate—

mysterious message.

[ James has found a better use for his courier, he thinks, than simply carrying it around in his pocket. It makes for a rather entertaining game of catch.

Before the merrily crackling fireplace in the inn, James tosses from hand to hand. He flicks it up with just a thumb, balances it on a fingertip, then absentmindedly prods it to spin indefinitely (and magically) in the palm of his hand before he tosses it again. At a glance, James is merely bored and fidgety. On closer inspection, his best tricks happen when people seem to be glancing his way; and it's only when nobody says anything to him at all that James sighs and allows the courier to rest gripped in the palm of his hand.

He glances at the abnormally small stag who's been standing, odd and out of place inside any building. James raises his hand, and the stag stares back. ]

But if you were up for a game of fetch... [ He lifts his arm further, clearly considering throwing the device held in his palm. ] Your soul will follow where its heart leads it. Don't let my efforts be in vain, Prongs.

divided we fall.

[ James has a glass jar flickering with blue flames that he's offering to anyone who looks cold and huddled in the sudden weather. ] It's warm, [ he promises, ] and it will give light, and if you let it out of the jar, it won't spread beyond where you set it. I swear.

[ It's a difficult promise to make to a city that's just lost so many homes to fire, but he makes it anyway. He makes it earnestly. ]

Look—I don't want money for it and I'm not trying to trick you, either—I wish I could pull food out of thin air, but even magic still struggles with that one, but I can at least do this if you won't take the fire—

[ And he flicks his wand at a pile of half-charred dishrags, which promptly leap up, turn a brilliant shade of orange, and knit themselves into a warm woolen sweater. ]

I was aiming for red, but I think I'm out of practice.

wildcard.

City under siege

[44pistolundermyhead]

[There's a lot of things Ellie has seen in her time. Outlaws who killed people for their shoes. Men who tortured for fun. Dead teenagers. Suicides, old or recent. Cannibals.

To be honest, though, she's never seen a dead child younger than thirteen.

She's not sure what's more horrifying - the mangled body and sightless eyes, or the way James is begging it to live.

(She doesn't see Prongs, then. Maybe the stag is standing guard at a distance, or is in just the right shadow that she can't find him. For now, it's for the best.)

Ellie stands ten feet away when she first speaks. She knows she can react violently when startled--who knows what a magic user can do?]

James. James. [Ellie walks towards him slowly, a hand out. Theseus herself sits a safe distance away, ears pinned as she looks around.]

They're gone, James. You can't do anything for them.

Teddy | OC

[thatsrough]

X marks the Spot

[ Strays are rarely allowed into Inn doors, especially ones not within bustling cities where people frequently come and go. Some distance from the inn, Teddy stands in the rain and the dark for a long time, suffering from a conflict of instincts and an internal debate over his next course of action.

He was never to be seen in his human form beyond the secrecy of the clan's camp, but the camp was long gone. He had caught no scent trails, no sound cues, there were no signs of his former pack in this change world.

He was a survivor who had been raised to adapt and prepare for the unexpected but a life after death had never been a part of those preparations. After half an hour of conflict in canine form Teddy shifted back to his human form, just as drenched and still clothed in the muddy green and gold tunic over his simple beige shirt and dark brown pants. He was unarmed and disheveled, covered in mud, drenched through, and with hair mussed in every direction.

He didn't look like someone who would normally be allowed into establishments like this so when he begrudgingly plodded on two feet through the door the kindness of the innkeeper caught him off guard.

He found a seat by the fire, a shiver racking through him from his toes up to his head that caused him to shake, as if trying to dislodge the water as he would in his other form. It did not have the desired effect and instead he merely wrapped both hands around the offered bowl of soup and hunched around it, drawing warmth from it and the steam rising from it.

He sits there until the soup had gone cold, still staring almost entranced into the reflection of the fire on the liquids service, the alcohol beside him untouched. Inner turmoil over the potential of poison in his food keeps him from digging in until his body wins out over his mind. His stomach growls and he lifts the bowl to his mouth, downing it in one go with the deep and desperate swallows of a starving man. ]

A City Under Seige A: Human Form
[ This city is unfamiliar to him now but in the years before his death its streets had been his home and its people the only brief glimmers of kindness that had been shown to him, even if they had only occurred because its people had believed him to be a stray. He had protected and played with children in this city's streets. He had eaten from meager but heartfelt offerings given to him by kind strangers. He had memorized and learned so many scents and faces.

Now the city is flickering with fire and suffocating under the heavy, acrid smell of smoke and burning and it sparks something in the shiftlings core that sets off his most basic and ingrained instincts. Defend.

Teddy grabs the first sword he finds from the ground and hurls himself like an animal into the fray. He slams bodily into orcs larger and stronger than him, fighting with fury and no finesse. The sword is used as much like a club as a stabbing implement, Teddy slamming its hilt into skulls, shoving the blade up against throats and using it more as a battering ram before his forceful body slams than a weapon he has much familiarity with. He has trained with swords, but his mind is far from his humanity in this moment.

He is likely to hurt himself fighting like this but Teddy places himself between evacuating citizens and the orcs, eyes wild and teeth bared. ]

A City Under Seige B: Canine Form
[ At some point in the fighting Teddy does get himself injured, a spear to the shoulder, an ax slice to the torso. Various small blade and arrow wounds on his human form that drive him to shifting. He can still feel the aches but in his canine form the bleeding is no longer there until new injuries are added.

He is just as fiercely defensive in this form, tackling orcs, lunging for throats with his powerful jaws. A trail of bodies are left in the massive canine's wake until he can fight no longer, and it is then the bloodied and weary shiftling collapses in the chaos of the assault, dragging himself toward an overturned cart before lying down to lick his wounds. Through it all, the minuscule animas somehow evades death or harm, buried in his fur or hidden in his hair. The pygmy marmoset is virtually invisible there.]

A Mysterious Message.
[ Back at the inn, Teddy's human fingers trace over Epithymetikon's courier message. There's a gash over one eye poorly covered with a bandage and his shirt is torn at the front and shoulder, sporting some unpleasant wounds and bloodstains all of which have been amateurishly patched with bits of torn linen.

He can't make sense of what he is seeing. How could he hope to remember something he has never known? How could he claim what was his when he had never owned anything in his life but a few bare minimum articles of clothing? A marmoset is sleeping on his courier, barely the length of his finger and Teddy watches it sleep, his eyes glossy and unfocused. His voice is a hoarse whisper when he speaks to the creature.]

I don't know what I'm meant to do, Mouse.

Mysterious Message

[racter]

[He spots the courier in Teddy's hands from across the inn. Racter almost pities him - the man is a wreck of injuries and seems utterly lost. But it's the courier that he's truly interested in. Another device could mean another message, and he needed to know more.

He approaches slowly, deliberately, so as not to startle Teddy or the little creature with him. When he finally speaks, it's in a soft, measured tone, meant to reassure.]

You aren't meant to do anything. It's a choice, and not one another can make for you.

Poe Dameron | Star Wars

[apilot]

Awakening
[ The moment Poe realizes he isn't the only one struggling up out of the mud he starts actively looking for others who are also slowly rising or stirring, offering a hand to help them to their feet. The purpose of this war had left a sour taste in his mouth and he doesn't care what colors the others are dressed in, his own red and black tunic shoved through the belt holding up his still slightly flame-charred pants.

His armor and weapons are gone but by the looks of things Poe didn't need either. He starts coughing at some point, the chill and damp soaking into his lungs, but as long as people are still getting up out of what looks like a forgotten graveyard crafted by the war he remains, helping those who will accept it.

Despite his exhaustion and the mud and water weighing down his clothing, his smile is warm when he offers out a hand. ]

Let me help you. [His words are a request, offered loud enough to be heard over the rain.]

X Marks the Spot: Night
[At night, Poe's spirits are warm and so is his smile. He jokes and laughs with anyone who will speak to him and offers his help or his ear where he can. He lets the state of others and the distraction of tasks keep his mind off the war not waging in the background and the lack of the innkeeper's attention to the world beyond her inn. There is no great roar of dragons or distant rumble of war. There are no towers of smoke rising into the sky. This isn't the world he remembers before the cold, wet awakening in the marsh. Drastic changes have occurred somewhere between the world going hot and dark in that burning village and waking to the cold bite of winter rain.

Eventually he takes a seat near another muddy stranger and offers them a tall mug of hot water he had fetched from the inn's well. Alcohol was good for the soul right now, but the body, or at least his body, needed hydration. ]

Drink up. You look parched.

X Marks the Spot: Chores
[ In the morning Poe takes to the chore assigned to him without protest. It almost reminds him of home before the loss of his mother, the simplicity of this day. Wake up, work, eat. It's a pattern with just enough command to it to keep his mind off the previous day until he is seated at breakfast, his fingers holding loose to his utensils and his eyes slightly distant. To no one in particular, he speaks. ]

Do you smell smoke? [ The problem for Poe is not that he does. It is that he doesn't smell smoke. ]

A Mysterious Message
Your soul will follow where your heart leads? [Poe repeats the last line back at the inn, Bey asleep at his feet. He glances down toward the beagle thoughtfully before shaking his head. It couldn't be referring to the creature, could it? And how could Thymoeides be speaking to them? Someone in the city had looked at him like he was insane when he asked about the dragons and had told him they were dead. Had been for a century at least. Which meant so had he. ]

What do you think, Bey, should we try to find old fancy scales' grave for ourselves? [ He wouldn't believe they were really dead until he could see the skeletons for himself. He unrolls the map he had traded his tunic for onto the table, checking the mark the merchant had made for him of where each dragon was meant to be. ]

Yearns and yearns
[ Poe isn't proud of acquiring his bow and quiver from a dead guard but the city is under attack and even if this isn't Krimnos, Poe is not one to stand by while innocent people are slaughtered by Orcs. He notches another arrow into the bow, trailing the shot after a charging orc and letting it loose. Arrows don't seem to be enough to stop them with one hit but it is enough to draw focus away from unarmed civilians.

The longer the attacks progress the more Poe realizes they need to act rather than react. He isn't sure how or why the Couriers were given to them, but after a brief lesson on their use from a citizen of the city, he is confident in his ability to use them. He sends an audio message to anyone listening. ]

Anyone out there want to find out where these bastards are coming from?

[ He could trail them aerially but orcs were skilled hunters and beast tamers. Poe didn't feel like getting shot out of the sky on an errand that might change nothing if he went alone and died. Better to track them the old fashioned way, but they couldn't do that if they kept killing all the orcs who ran into the city. They needed to wound one so they would, hopefully, head back to their camp. ]

Yearns

[specialinquisitor]

[The Courier is intuitive, responding to her will. Mòrag likes to thing she would not struggle with it even if it were not, but she is glad not to undergo the laborious process of learning intricacies and quirks. As it is, she can send a message straight back without delay.]

That would be wise, yes. Are you proposing a partnership?

kylo ren • star wars

[warfares]

— feel free to pm this journal or contact via resurrectionist/resurrectionist#2222 (discord) if you want to plot or ask a question!
— here is kylo's info page if you'd like to take a peek.
— starters will be added below.

x-marks the spot

[warfares]

( most of the slog out of the marshes is spent hoping for someone foolish (or desperate) enough to try him; he’s not so fortunate and his hunger gnaws at him with all the insistence of a greedy child, refusing to be denied.

it’s sheer luck that has him finding the inn just as the rain begins in earnest. with winter’s chill already hanging heavy in the air, what animals might be about have no doubt already been driven into their dens.

he huffs, casting one final glance toward the fading silhouette of the city before turning toward the promising twinkle of lantern light. )


BEFORE.

( the confusion doesn’t abate so much as it settles. Gilly's offer of a bed and a meal ㅡ and, more importantly perhaps, a bath ㅡ is readily accepted.

he settles in close by the fire, a bowl of something warm and steaming to hand. a pink-haired tiefling plucks idly at her lute before starting a song about a fair maiden from a distant land that wed a river nymph and was born away to the shores of the ocean, where she lived out her life in happy solitude. )

It probably consumed her.


AFTER.

( settled atop his shoulder, Tira studies the common room with bright-eyed curiosity. as pleased as he is, no doubt, to be out of the rain. )

I have no idea what to feed you


WILDCARD.

( so, “before” is meant to denote a time pre-getting his anima and “after” obviously refers to after he has returned to the marsh and found his anima. in between that time feel free to find him:

a. outside, chopping and stacking wood.
b. seated at or near the fire, enjoying a meal or a drink as he listens to whatever’s entertainment is playing that evening.
c. playing cards with some patrons, perhaps earning a little coin and learning a little of the state of the world.
d. Inside or nearby his room, room eight. )

rey / ota

[forcevisions]

AWAKENING THE HEART

[ Rain drenches her blue tunic, soaking straight through to the bone. Rey has never been good with cold. She was made for the mountains, not frozen marshes. It's not possible. It shouldn't be possible that she is here after she had died on a battlefield just like this one. She can remember the arrows in her back. It was the only way anyone could have taken her. A cowardly way. Undignified, for her part. But it had happened.

A. And now it is undone. She slips and stumbles her way across the field, gasping and shivering, and does what she does best: picking the bodies of the fallen for what she needs. It's possible in the course of her effort that one of the bodies she picks is yours — and that you're not as dead as you look.

B. Eventually through her grave robbing efforts, she gets her hands on a rusty knife about the length of her forearm. It's not much, but it'll do in a pinch. A different sort of pinch than the one she finds herself in. She gets the knife tucked into her belt, but in short order, she has slipped into one of the mud pits, gasping and trying to keep her head above the surface before it drags her down. She could use a hand. ]

KNIGHT OF THE CITY OF THE FREE PEOPLES

[ After a nasty run-in with an orc during the first raid, it has occurred to Rey that a pitchfork wasn't the way to go. Instead, she goes for a short sword from the city defense, slipping out with it. Really it's mostly to protect herself. Rey knows the value of survival, and she's not lost on how to best acquire it.

The sword is old. Dull and too heavy for her, badly balanced, but it's what she's got. She's made do with worse.

But despite her own self interest, she is quick to jump into it when it appears the orcs have returned. When two of them get a pair of orphan children cornered in an alley she's been frequenting — to keep an eye on them, as it happens — Rey appears at the end of it and hurls a rock at one of the orcs. ]

Hey. [ Another rock. They're not substantial stones, but that's what the shout is for. ] Mind someone your own size.

GIFT OF GRATITUDE

[ The Skywhale was a beautiful ship. Sizable and respectable and essential, so when Rey walked past and heard fussing over its damage, she went closer to see for herself. There's not a lot she knows about this world and its needs, but she does know her way around tools.

So she offers a hand, and at first they only let her run about the site to get supplies. She's young. It makes sense. But as soon as she corrects one of the workers on how she needs to address the issue she's facing in her repairs, Rey is instead given a spot in helping to work at the ship.

After that, she can be found at it more consistently, clanging around to help put it back together. ]

TSEKOUR'S SIGHT

Where did you say they are?

[ Rey's in a tavern when the bounty comes, announced by one of the Defenders to the lot. She gets to her feet, nose scrunching slightly, eyeing them. Some of the patrons laugh at her for bothering to ask — 'What are you going to do?' One asks. 'Feed them?'

She shoves her way out from behind that particular burly man who's too deep in his cups and stands up in front of the Defenders. ]

'Epithymetikon's Fall'? Which way?

Awakening B

[specialinquisitor]

[The sound of a struggle against mud reached Mòrag's ears and drifts through them only a moment before she turns her conscious attention to the noise. Like as not it's prey trying to escape its predator... and she is poorly armed, but yet she can't simply leave it be. Tugging at the bill of her hat, Mòrag picks up the pace, striding in that direction.]

[Which means, fortunately, she hadn't walked away from someone who needs help. Spotting the sinking figure, Mòrag picks up her pace to a sprint that way.] Hold on!

Rocket Raccoon, will match prose/brackets

[rocketraccoon]

🜙 Awakening
Rocket dashes through the field with his ear back, his breathing ragged and frantic. The rain has drenched his fur and for once pilfering random items from the field is the farthest thing from his mind. He stops beneath a tree, shaking the water from his body and pressing his shivering form against the bark. Thunder crashes and he squints up at the sky with a grimace.

This doesn't add up.

🜙 X Marks the Spot A
Taverns were a second home for Rocket. They were packed full of opportunity. Right now, though, Rocket's interest is getting out of the wet and cold and by a fire. He takes full advantage of the hospitality of the halfling innkeeper and drops his wet-fur smelling body in front of the fire. He looks like a drowned rat more than a raccoon. Really, it's pathetic. The image is even more depressing when he gets the stew. Just a miserable wet mess staring into the fire and shoveling food slowly and methodically into his mouth.

🜙 X Marks the Spot B
Sometime before dawn a short shadow slinks through the inn, quiet on shoeless feet. He slips from room to room looking for valuables but so far every room has been more of the same. Coinless refuges like himself. He gives up on it not long after and heads down for the kitchens, searching for something to eat. A deep, rumbling growl comes from behind him and he freezes with his hand hovering above a loaf of bread.

🜙 A City Under Seige
The rain is really starting to piss him off. The otter slinking along behind him on his way back through the downpour seems content to splash past and through puddles but neither of them looks happy. The otter just looks significantly less like a wet cat. The smell of smoke hits him before he sees the fires and Rocket scowls at the battle happening on the city's outskirts.

Rocket has no interest in actual wars. There are too many opportunities for someone else to do the stabbing and he doesn't have a weapon. He tries slipping past but an arrow hits the ground right in front of his animas and an orc body falls on top of him. He scrambles and shoves until he can get out from under the brute. Once he's free he scoops up the otter and dashes through the fighting, making for the safety of the inner city.

🜙 A Mysterious Message.
Rocket's courier breaks apart into triangular segments when it collides with a nearby wall, his hands curled into fists as he stares at the dent it left in the wood of the wall. Lylla bounds after the pieces, gathering them together one at a time while chittering irritably at him and Rocket waves one hand with a scowled grumble.

"Ain't no one tellin' me how to live my life, Lylla. Specially no dead, good for nothing, promise-breaking, selfish sack of scales. What does that over-sized lizard think he knows that I don't? Think I can't make my own decisions. We don't got time for chasing ghosts. We got a bounty to make." During his pacing, fist-shaking rant, Lylla has pieced the courier back together, holding it between her paws. She looks a little silly with some makeshift armor strapped over her shoulders and back and a child's play sword slung over her back but she seems to be arguing back if the noises she is making are anything to go off of.

Rocket's angry tirade ends with the beastfolk's ears just slightly tilted back and his eyes narrowed. He reaches down and gently takes the courier from Lylla. If he didn't know any better he'd think she really was the Lylla she was named after, but he does know better. She's gone. Rocket doesn't have anyone but himself and this otter reminder of the one bit of non-gold related almost joy in his miserable life and he knows it. His clawed fingers tap on the device slowly, staring into the ticking gears within it. He's speaking to Lylla when he talks, unaware of anyone his fit might have attracted.

"We make our own way in this miserable world."

🜙 It bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns.
Rocket is armed to the tooth and claw when he sets out to capture Orcs. A weighted net over one shoulder, folded so many times it's almost over his head just to keep it from dragging on the ground. He has his crossbow in hand and the bolts strapped to his chest, a pair of daggers in his belt, and a collection of small black and green lumpy metal spheres attached to a belt around his waist. He's a walking arsenal, his bolts tipped with a powerful non-lethal poison that should weaken the orcs and knock them out.

All he needs is someone big enough to drag the orcs back and while he can think of at least two he can call on immediately he doesn't touch the courier tucked away in his pocket, choosing to seek people out on his own. Anyone who looks useful or strong or just gets in his way gets a short, well-armed raccoon looking them up and down with narrowed, sharp eyes.

"You wanna hunt some orcs?"

{ it bites, it burns, etc. }

[aceso]

Christine has been wanting a solution to this orc problem, but there really isn't much she can do about it on her own, and she doesn't want to rally unprepared people to take the orcs down. But when Rocket approaches, she sees he is very much prepared for the endeavor.

"Since it appears to be the only way to get them to stop this, then yes. Besides, you might need someone to heal you out there in the thick of things."

Doug Ramsey | ota (sooo late)

[readtheworld]

i. awakening

Oh. [As Doug shivers in the cold, wet clothes pulled tightly to him with crossed arms, he takes a moment to acknowledge that these aren't the same clothes he was wearing when he died. Strange, that.] Yellow. That's fine, I suppose.

[Not that he's talking to anyone but himself. It's more for comfort than anything, given how lost he feels. One shaking hand grasps the vial around his neck as he tries to steady it. That doesn't help much.

Bare feet sink deep into the mud. They're cold, and he's already losing feeling in his toes. Maybe if he walks through enough of this muck it'll harden around them and he'll have earthen shoes. No, if only it worked that way. He has no control of the elements at all.

The half-goblin keeps his ears tucked close, half buried under his hair. Shoes and a hat, that's what he needs. Seems whatever brought him back could only be so generous.]

Knew I should've at least carried f-flint.

ii. divided we fall

[The whole city is unsettled. Doug doesn't need any special abilities to be able to tell that much. As for himself, he's unsure how he fits into it all. Should he offer help? He doesn't fight. He can't build ships. He translates. Right now all he's doing is reading fear and anxiety.

He stands outside the inn with Warlock in his arms, for all the world like a lost urchin cradling an overly large rat. It's not a very appealing look, and many people have chosen to walk further around him than necessary when passing him by.]

[He glances down at his animus.] Whenever you want to help give me some direction, I'm willing to listen.

[Yeah, that's not going to get him anywhere.]

iii. it bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns

[Back in the inn, as it feels safer here to be surrounded by others like himself, Doug is sitting on the edge of a table with one of the bounty fliers in his hands. He frowns as he reads it over repeatedly.

It's not that he needs the money, though he certainly does, but he wants to feel like he can contribute something. He wouldn't be able to capture an orc on his own. If he got lucky he could kill one, but violence was never the part of adventuring he enjoyed.

But...]

I could speak to them, you know.

[He muses this aloud, not particularly caring who's listening.]

Not just their language - that's nothing special. Their intentions, at least somewhat. It might help. Maybe we could communicate properly without swinging axes around.

iv. wildcard

[ooc: Hit me up!]

iii

[listentoreyeson]

[The half-goblin is the first person Jaime has even heard consider a non-violent course of action and he jumps at the change, eager to help push things in a direction that doesn't just end in more bloodshed.]

Maybe if we knew what they wanted we could make some kind of deal with them. Put an end to all of this senseless destruction. [He doesn't say death even though it's on the tip of his tongue. These battles remind him of the war, and remembering the war reminds him that whether his sacrifice saved his family or not he will never see them again. Necromancy is one thing, a terrible thing he never wanted to be a part of but something he had always known had existed. Time travel was another beast entirely and not one he was aware of having any possibility of happening. It just wasn't possible. Magic could do a great many things but it couldn't change the past and it couldn't take him back to it.

He has a shield now, slung against his back like a protective shell, but Jaime has avoided picking up any weapons he didn't need and hadn't been forced to use. Even when he had fought the orcs they had killed themselves after he had injured or attempted to restrain them, and each time he had watched with horror.]

But even if you could speak to them, how do we get them to listen?

billie lurk, ota; will match prose or brackets

[redwhaling]

divided we fall.

With the fighting cleared out for now and the city already pulling itself together, Billie finds her way back to the one spot she knows she has a bed to pass out on for the night, even if it does have a morning's worth of chores attached. She isn't heading back there right away, though, having instead taken a seat on a bench just outside the front windows of the inn, X Marks the Spot. From there she can listen to the chatter, gossip, and loud drunken arguing of the townsfolk who made their way out here from the window itself and watch the falling snow all at once.

Well, that and smoke and drink all on her lonesome (with the exception of the black-and-white feathered tern huddled up on her shoulder, pressed against her hair). Smoke what? One of the nice cigars she pocketed off a stiff. Drink what? A bottle she helped herself to from one of the places the orcs got to, naturally. Better than begging beer off of Gilly, in her opinion.

Cozy enough in a coat as thick as hers, even with the bite in the air and the snow drifting everywhere. She does look up from where she's lounging at anyone even faintly familiar — someone else she's seen doing chores around here, maybe from the marsh, even if they just happen to have a suspect animal at their side — to give them a curious look.

"Having a nice night?"

it bites, it burns; locked to tam.

Picking up a random partner at the X isn't her usual style but, as of now, the Sea Wolves are all long gone and Billie Lurk isn't feeling like dragging the old man out for a hunt. So she's settled for another of the "dearly returned" (rather than the dearly departed, considering they're up and walking again) to go off on this wild orc chase.

"I'm not even going to consider going for their base camp," she states outright as she and Tam linger on the city limits, working out which way to head first. "Too risky and too much snow, it'll all crunch underfoot. We can probably pick up a scout, though."

divided we fall

[apilot]

Poe leans against the wall not far from the bench, a small beagle that had been trailing him seemingly content to lie back down at his feet and go back to sleep. The chill on the air is a pleasant change from the crowded heat of the inn. It reminds him of the frigid nights in Krimnos. He crosses his arms, watching his breath escape upwards, before glancing over to the woman beside him with a smile.

"As nice as can be expected, given the state of things." Poe leaves his response vague enough he could just be referring to the orc attacks. He has a jacket provided to him by a grateful citizen, it's fur-lined and warm enough to keep the chill from biting unpleasantly at his limbs.

"At least it's snowing now." Preferable to the rain in his opinion, though it had helped some with the fires. "And you?"

David Haller | Legion - December 9th onward

[starwords]

Awakening the Heart

[The cold is a definite threat and one that David should be hastening away toward warmth to escape. He had removed his tunic and wrapped it around his upper arms like a blanket, only to lie back down in the patch of green grass he had awoken on. The snow is falling, collecting in his hair and melting on the new warmth of his skin as he lies on his back, staring up at the cloudy sky, mentally mapping out where the stars would be above him this time of year. The winter constellations.

He exhales a long, slow breath, watching the cloud of steam rise into the air above his face and closes his eyes. The dangerous thought that this is a dream, a machination of his mind, has occurred to him but David does not see the current events as a nightmare. There is something distantly almost familiar about this feeling of returning to his body. His spirit settling back into chilling limbs and his lungs seizing and spasming with the memory of breathing.

It feels a bit like coming home.

To anyone passing by David might almost appear as if he has died or succumbed to the cold, but for this brief moment, he is only savoring the bite of winter and the return of anything resembling feeling once more.]

X Marks the Spot

[The music and friendly welcome of the inn catches David like an infectious disease, bringing a warmth food and fire could not back to his very spirit. He borrows an instrument from a somewhat bewildered musician, watching and listening to the rhythm before joining in and even joining some of the heavier drinkers in belting out the lyrics to the song in a warm and pleasant vocal key, letting the atmosphere scrub the icy fingers of death and winter from him.

When the song ends he returns the instrument, gratefully taking food from the boy who offers it and digging into it with a voracious appetite. Every ounce of his body feels like it is singing with the enthusiasm of being alive. This could all be in his head, but if it was David was going to enjoy it for a while. He smiles when he catches his neighbor at the table watching him eat, offering a nod before leaning over closer to them.]

Do you think there's a chance we could talk her into making a pie?

It bites, it burns, it yearns and yearns

[It's a moment of unexpected instinct. David doesn't even realize what he has done until it happens. One minute an orc with a spear is charging someone a few feet in front of David and the next moment that same Orc is impaled to the upper part of the roof of a nearby building on its own spear.

David looks almost terrified, his hands still outstretched but shaking now as he slowly pulls them back and stares at them, almost as if he's never seen them before. Concerned, the golden retriever at his side tilts his head up at David and offers a whine, tail wagging uncertainly.

David is still staring at his shaking hands when the dog wanders toward the person who was previously being charged, tail wagging more enthusiastically and nose sniffing rapidly, circling them to check for injuries.]

Room 6 - Closed to Strange
[David doesn't make it to the room the key goes to his first night, distracted by the atmosphere and the revelry of being alive again. How could he sleep when he could barely believe he was alive? He was living a dream or a miracle and either way sleep had held no appeal or attraction. He had just 'slept' for 100 years. He wanted to live.

It's the second night that the key in his pocket calls to him. Half-frozen and partially singed he fumbles with numb fingers to fit the key in the lock, letting the door swing inward once the lock clicks open. Waffles pads in ahead of him, hopping up onto a bed and rolling his golden snow-covered fur all over the linens. David makes no move to stop him, retrieving his key and following to sit on the edge of the surface.

He drags both hands down his face after with a groan. Having old wounds literally opened to force him to follow that thread tugging at him had been overkill in his opinion. He keeps his hands over his face, talking to the dog, unaware of his surroundings beyond the thump thump thump of a heavy tail he doesn't even think is really there.]

I thought we finished with these games when they kicked you out of my head the last time. Shouldn't you be tormenting someone else with unwanted tagalongs?

it bites

[fuga]

[ She had been prepared to bear her teeth, to snap, to drown herself in the violence of it, lifting herself up to greet the orc with whatever power she has left. Lauralae does not feel as strong as she might have once and there's a certainty in her about that - something that prickles at her senses and makes her want to tear the cloth from her arms and do something that would betray her entirely.

But then the orc is gone, and her eyes are wide as she follows the trace of it, eyes wide and unsure as she breathes out sharply, hand pressed to her stomach and a flash of red on her eyes.

Slowly, she pushes herself up to the ground, turning her body to look at the stranger behind her, breathing hard and fast, as if she had run a marathon. ]

You. What did you do?

shura | ota

[exaomori]

x marks the spot

It's hard to miss a woman like Shura, sitting at a table and playing dice with some strange men. She laughs loudly and flirts shamelessly, but the men don't stay long at her table. Perhaps they ran out of money, maybe it's because they knew she wasn't planning on going anywhere else with them, does it matter? Maybe it does, since she's beckoning towards you with a wink.

"C'mon, you wouldn't leave me all by my lonesome, would ya?"

By the way, there's a lion under the table. Good luck not kicking him on accident.


under siege - a

In some ways, Shura's impressed at this particular orc's tenacity and cleverness. He knew she couldn't beat Shura one-on-one, so he fled before she could do any more damage to her. Shura pursued, but she was good, hiding in the shadows and alleys, turning her attention to small fry, civilians trying to flee. And he almost got one, too. But again, as soon as Shura appeared, he fled.

So she was going to just have to best her at her own game, which meant setting a trap, and traps needed bait. The civilian is injured and unconscious, but he'll survive. As the orc hasn't left and doesn't seem to be moving in to finish the civilian off, he probably assumes he's as good as dead. So she just needed someone to draw him out, and there's someone who looks like they might be useful coming round the corner towards her! Time to turn on the waterworks and pretend she's in a panic as she reaches out to grab at a sleeve, touch a shoulder, whatever is easiest.

"Ah, you! You, do you know how to heal people? I--I don't know how to help him, and he's bleeding!" Shura's managing to pull off a pretty decent helpless act.

under siege - b

A broke girl who just woke up unemployed and with no relations can get desperate real quick. Shura might not be at her wits end, but she's perfectly willing to resort to robbing the dead. It wasn't like the city was going to be returning the orc corpses to their families, so it was fine if she swiped a few things for herself.

These orcs meet a gristly fate, dismembered and hacked to pieces, possibly the target of a few unhappy civilians taking out their anger and fear on an easy target. The smell of the corpses makes Shura's stomach turn, but better them than her at this point. Best to get to business and see if anything valuable was left on them.

It takes a moment for Shura to realize that the lion that has kept so close to her has ventured from her side. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, that fight or flight instinct kicking in--but no. The stupid thing has the orc's arm in his mouth, and doesn't he look pleased as punch?

"Gross! Shishi, drop that!"

Under Siege a

[specialinquisitor]

And just like that, two polar opposites met.

Mòrag twitched slightly at the unexpected touch, a sign of the adrenaline coursing through her veins in the middle of all this. At the same time she reversed the sword in her left hand so that it lay flat against her forearm, the safest precaution to avoid accidental wounds.

"I have no skill in healing magic, but I know first aid," she said, businesslike and calm. "Let me see."

tam hashford ( ota )

[wylds]

( a ) - Ｘ  ＭＡＲＫＳ  ＴＨＥ  ＳＰＯＴ

( she stumbles through the darkness, unsure of how much she doesn't recognize for... it could be any reason. maybe her eyes don't quite work right, is coming back to life an exact science to where her anatomy is functioning perfectly? maybe she's never been here before? but she remembers being her when she dies.

when she died.

who thinks these things?

the passage of time never crosses her mind. or at least not fully. after all, who wants to think about everyone they know and love having died in war or died in time.

before.
the inn is a gamble. she stumbles in, muddy and drenched. she's dazed as the woman speaks to her, words drifting in one ear and out the other. the halfling boy gets no better luck. she makes her way next to the fire, bringing the bowl to her lips to sip at the stew. she scoops a couple mouthfuls and lets the mud caked on her dry into a hard dirt as she watches and listens. )

Rough day?

( after.
the blind shuffle has given away to some of her own familiar vigor again. Tam is beginning to feel more herself, even with a snow leopard flanking at her side. she comes down from her room, having properly washed herself of the grime and muck. there's still spots here and there, but they'll all clean off eventually.

she sits beside a woman singing while Monody drapes herself along a bench. ) Do you mind? ( she asks, gesturing to her lute. when the lute is passed to her, Tam sings a song telling tells of an adventuring group. of the little connections between bandmates, something only a bard might see when they think no one is listening.

she smiles sadly as she passes the lute back to the other woman. ) Thanks. ( then she's off to help with chores. )

( b ) - ＵＮＤＥＲ  ＳＩＥＧＥ

( it feels a little early after such a recent death to be fighting, but the orcs have wonderful timing it seems.

it's impossible to ignore the smell of smoke, and on the streets the panic is clear in the air. people fight in the streets to save their homes from orcs and fire alike. there's little tam can do for the fire, but the orc cornering a woman in the street grabs her attention.

she runs at the orc, jumping on it's back without a second thought. Monody is hot on her heels, but rushes past to the woman and her children to try to herd them away. ) Go! ( Tam urges as she tries to strangle the orc from behind. even with it's rather... thick... neck. she doesn't get very far in her strangling endeavors.

she clings for dear life as the creature keeps trying to grab her, even going so far as to bite a band that manages to latch her arm. she sees someone rush by and calls out ) A little help please?

( c ) - ＷＩＬＤＣＡＲＤ

( ooc; open to any and all prompts! ping me at magickal or pm me if you have any questions! )

B

[specialinquisitor]

[Mòrag practically slides to a halt, boots skidding on the cobblestones slick with various liquids spilled there by the ongoing battles. What a terrible position! Using swords or magic is a vast risk to the girl grabbing the orc, as most things she can do would endanger her life as well.]

[Most things, but... Mòrag lets a sword fall from her hand as she grabs for power, tapping into the wild magic that she's worked so hard to master. She makes a gesture like throwing, and a bolt of earth erupts from beneath the pavement to hammer the orc in the stomach. Flat, it isn't lethal, but neither will it penetrate through the beast and impale the woman as well.]

Jon Snow ✥ OTA ✥ will match format!

[northerndragon]

[Oh god, I am so, so late. Prompts in comments as I write them. Grab me at detectivefiction or on discord at detectivefiction#1669 or via PM to this journal, if you need me.]

AWAKENING THE HEART => X MARKS THE SPOT

[northerndragon]

I. Awakening the Heart [CLOSED]

I shouldn't be here.

It's the thought in his mind like the beat of a drum. He doesn't know who woke him, or where the figure went. And as he makes his freezing way to the nearest city -- Atromitos, he thinks -- he has nothing but time and solitude to think it over. He shivers with the cold; he shivers with the horror of being alive.

The last thing he remembers before all of this is blades cutting through his armor and entering his body, and the heads and shafts of arrows, enough that he stopped feeling them before they were finished. He had been trying to save -- well, any number of people, but Logistykon, and Thalassa with him, and Daenerys, most especially her. He'd borne little real hatred for the other cities and their dragons, not like some others did; he had only wanted to protect what he could of what he had loved all his life and what he had come to love later on, and eventually, he'd also wished to avenge his family.

But in the end, he had fallen. Everyone and everything had seemed like they were dead or falling or on the edge of something, like the end of the world, and he had been carried away with it.

The world has gone on.

It had been cold that day, but not as cold as it is this evening. Although the sky is darkening, the weather makes him think it must not really be late, only a short chill day. And it would be easier to run through the marsh flats in his wolf form, but shifting... he's never been as comfortable in that second skin. The idea barely comes to him now, and when it does, it's dismissed almost the same moment. He isn't used to being a man again yet; growing used to being a wolf can wait.

Does she live? Does she remember me? Did she find someone else? That gnaws at him too. It's like he had seen her yesterday, kissed her yesterday, and a lifetime ago. The thought that she might be lost to him is what makes him decide to try to set his mind on finding a place to stay, because briefly, it makes him want to lie down in the mud again. At the same time, it's less troubling than the fact of his existence.

There are still dead men all around, all skeletons now. I was like that. His new stomach twists to reject the thought, but he knows it to be true. Still, when he sees a faint flash of silver in the dying light, he reaches down into the muck and fishes out what he sees -- a blade a little shorter and lighter than he's used to, and what he thought was mud was rust, and the length of the sword has gone through the rib cage of what might once have been a goblin.

It makes him understand that the dead in this field have been dead for a long, long time. Not a month, not a year. Keep moving, he knows, or he'll be one of them again.

He does not die before he reaches the brightly-lit inn.

II. X Marks the Spot [OTA]

a. He sits by the fire, weary and wary, but grateful for the soup and the mead and the kindness. The last people he saw before his death were the ones who were killing him, and before that, the world had been turning more and more cruel every day.

This -- this is the world he remembers, the one worth protecting. The mead in his mouth is golden and warm and sweet, like the mead had been at home. The mushroom stew is the first hot meal he's had in a lifetime. The halfling woman had treated him more like a mother in the first minute he knew her than his father's wife had treated him her whole life. In a small way, he's beginning to feel like a person again, not a pile of cold meat and dead bones.

It would be easy to sit by the fire and stare into the flames, and a great part of him wants to -- What am I alive for? Who wanted me back? -- though every time the door of the Inn opens, his head twists around to look at it.

With the sense that time has passed, he decides it would be better to talk to people. The surcoat-like tunics they all wear suggest that they're in the same state as him, but maybe not... maybe they're travelers, maybe he was given the tunic to help him fit in. Either way, they might know something.

He turns his head to someone nearby, asks a quiet question.

"Just come today from the marsh flats?" His voice is rough and soft. If they're like him, they'll know what he means.

b. Gilly, the woman's name is Gilly. He'd had a friend who'd married a girl named Gilly once, and had adopted her child as his own. Jon thinks that maybe Sam and Gilly and her child are all dead now, but it is sweet to remember them, even if it comes with a cold sinking feeling, like every other memory, the bitter with the sweet.

She wants chores done, and there seems to be strength in his arms, thanks in no small part to her generosity. So he throws himself into the work.

He doesn't need help with the floors he's sweeping for her -- unless he has to tell someone to shift their feet, or they track snow and mud in when he's nearly finished, in which case he'll turn and give them a dark, exasperated look.

He does need help shifting hay in the barn. "You take this side, I'll take that side."

It's not exactly a command, but the way he says it shows that he's used to being able to issue them, that in a group, he's been a leader. That doesn't mean that everyone wants to be led, though.

[ closed to billie : sticky fingers ]

[forswore]

In the aftermath of the attacks, an extra pair or two of hands to move bodies receives little scrutiny. Even less if said hands also happened to take up arms to defend the city and potentially add to those bodies in the first place. Right now, they’re engaged in a distinctly less noble enterprise: rifling through the pockets of the dead.

Daud feels few compunctions about patting the bodies down before hefting them on the cart. The dead are the dead, and neither their coins norther weapons avail them in whatever afterlife they believe in. A largely impoverished, newly resurrected former assassin, now, that’s someone who could stand to benefit a lot indeed.

Or he would, if...

“Hm. Looks like grave robbers work fast here.”

[redwhaling]

"Maybe we should be finding and looting them instead," Billie suggests airily, although she suspects there'd be more profit in it than checking the pockets of the dead. There's nothing of value on the dead orc between them currently, either, meaning all that's left to do is heft them up and sling them into the cart with the rest.