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Event #1: The Big One
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| 🜙 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: It is within your grasp now. You need only to claim what is yours. Hold strong and show no fear. -Epithymetikon Devotion: Your sacrifices will not be forgotten. Your efforts will not be in vain. Your soul will follow where your heart leads it. -Thymoeides Reason: 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. | ||
| 🜙 Top | ⤛ Sources: 1 2 3 4 & 5 6 7 |
city under siege
Not, of course, that there's much time to be annoyed. Orcs are attacking, buildings are burning, people are screaming, and there's a sour taste in James' mouth that could either be deja vu or the breakfast he'd had that morning. Instinct and training keep him moving without a second thought: this time, he thinks grimly, he's ready. This time he's better armed. This time he will know the families that come running from their ransacked houses are running to help and safety and not into a potentially deadly unknown. ]
Carpe Retractum! [ James flings out his wand hand, and a coil of rope bursts from the tip of the wand itself to wrap around the orc—too far for James to reach in time—and yank it back towards him. Howling, the orc turns furious eyes and a sharp blade on James as it hurtles his direction; but James darts nimbly out of the way just in time. ] Deprimo!
[ He makes as though to throw his wand into the ground with all his might, but the wand stays in his hand and the orc is slammed instead. Slammed—and then crushed, as though a giant invisible hand has tossed it over and smashed its skull beneath its palm. The orc twitches once on the ground, its head a bloody mess, and then lies still.
James stares at it, breathing heavily, and then tears his gaze away to look back at Strange. ]
All right? [ He glances briefly at the earthen hand. ]
no subject
So he turns to look at James, eyes briefly darting to the supremely dead orc, before he gives James a nod. ]
Perfectly fine! [ Strange responds, giving James a wild grin. ] Is that a focus for your magic? When we get a moment to breathe, I've got plenty of questions about how that works.
[ The incantations make sense: after all, he does something close to the same. But a focus like that? That's something Strange hasn't ever thought of trying and would love to pick James's brain about the specifics of use. ]
Mind helping me out until then?
no subject
Think I'll have a few answers. [ He puts out the stream with another flick of his wrist and turns back in the direction of the nearest smoke plume still rising dark and thick above the rooftops. ] What have you got in the meantime? I think the orcs are dwindling in number, I see fewer with each corner I turn, but the fires are still spreading. They'll be waiting for anyone who comes running.
[ He brushes an arm across his face and leaves a streak of soot on his cheek. James' elfin features are stark and pale beneath the remains of battle. ]
If you're planning on going for the fires, think that hand could give us a ride?
no subject
As for James's question...Strange frowns a little, but he thinks he's picking up on the question. ]
I'll need to concentrate to hold the spell, but I believe so. Hopefully that jet of water you can conjure has a good range.
[ Lift them up, have James put out some fires from on high, move to a different place, lather rinse repeat. It's a solid strategy. ]
no subject
Brilliant. Just keep an eye out for any stray arrows. [ He grins again, then looks over his shoulder at a sudden thought. ] I wonder if....
[ The purpose of his turn in attention makes itself clear as a small (but no less stately) stag steps around the corner, movements careful and its flanks dark with sweat. It lifts its antlered head and stares solemnly at Strange. ]
I don't know if he'd rather stay above or below. Do we need to make a running jump onto it, or...?
[ James turns back and considers the hand. ]
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She's coming above with us, [ Strange says, as he gestures towards the hare. ] As for the hand...
[ Strange frowns a little. Murmuring something under his breath, he gestures to the earth hand. It wobbles a little bit before moving down towards the ground. There's still a two foot gap between the hand and the ground, but it should be easy enough for them to step up on. ]
no subject
[ It really is. It's with a sort of glee that feels ill-placed among the smoke and the sounds of fighting that James clambers up onto the hand. That itself could be the reason for the strange, twisted feeling that sits suddenly in his stomach, but he manages to take a breath and find a steady foothold in the earth. ]
Is this sustained magic you're performing to keep its shape, then? Not a conjuration that you just need to manipulate to where you want it to go at the right moments?
[ He makes brief eye contact with Prongs as he leans down to offer a hand to Strange if he needs it to step up with him. Prongs stands still, then lowers his head and moves forward to circle the hand slowly. He makes no effort to leap onto it. ]
no subject
It is sustained magic, [ Strange explains, as the hand makes a crunching, whirring sound as it moves across the earth. ] I talk with the earth, coax it into this form, and use my magic to help it stay in this shape. Unfortunately, it requires a lot of magic. You've got to be the one to check for fires.
no subject
He gives a low whistle at Strange's confirmation of the amount of magic required—though it's only at his reminder of James' responsibility for the fires does James remember he ought to be doing more than marveling. Quickly James repeats his spell— ] Aguamenti— [ and takes careful aim with the water that jettisons once more from his wand. ]
Talk with the earth. Sounds like something that could have plenty to share. Keep up with the latest worm drama.
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The trees are the ones you need to worry about. They're always gossiping about who sits underneath them, happily chatting about secrets spilled underneath their branches. There's nothing more judgemental than a tree.
[ the trees throw shade.
Strange got this tone of voice where it's hard to tell if he's joking or serious. On the one hand, talking to earth does legitimately sound a bit crazy. On the other hand, Strange did come off a bender of madness before he died so who the heck knows. There's a wry smile on his face as he focuses on the magic and shittalks trees. ]
no subject
About six or seven down below, watch out!
[ There's a loud bang as he crouches and aims at the street below. Two of the orcs begin to howl. ]
I'll cover you. Take us closer or higher, it's up to you. I think they're trying to keep the fires spreading, they can't do much else when they're low in number like this throughout the city now, it'll be the quickest way to destruction.
no subject
He keeps the magic going but crouches down as well, to better dodge any projectiles. Closer or higher, neither of those options are all that good. But if they get closer to the ground then perhaps Strange could use other magic... ]
Closer it is! [ Strange responds. He digs his hands into the dirt of their earthen hand elevator and it slowly lowers towards the ground. And then, in a fit of impulsiveness and not thinking things through, he also yells, ] When I say jump off, then jump off of the hand!
[ After all, he can always recast the magic. And sorry houses, keeping himself alive matters more than keeping the structure of the town not on fire. Smacking some orcs with a giant earth hand it is. ]