usir | Event #1: The Big One

Entry tags:

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

Strange gives Alucard a look like he's just sprouted three heads. Farce? And what's with that disapproval that's just radiating off of him? How exactly is this a bad thing? It's wonderful! The dragons are still alive (so Strange thinks), this is the best news he's heard all day.

The confusion only lasts for a moment before his excitement returns. Strange moves to sit next to Alucard, not really caring if Alucard wants him to or not.

"This thing you call a 'farce' is hardly even that. It's wonderful. Our whole...business was unexpected but this? The message? It's perhaps the best thing that's happened to me in a while." Sure, dying and being raised from the dead absolutely sucked. And he still doesn't know what this hare that appeared out of nowhere is or what it's doing (aside from patiently sitting at Strange's feet and looking up at the man). But a message from a dragon? Directed at him? It's like it's his birthday and he won the lottery at the same time.

There is a moment of total disdain not for anything being said, but for the fact that Alucard did not ask to be sat next to, and he would presume his entire demeanor would make it clear. He carries himself a little too haughtily sometimes, he knows that (he has been, as the kids say, roasted for it more than once.) But the ability to read a room is...not a skill known here, clearly.

"Yes," he says with a voice as dry as an ancient wine. "Because being raised by necromantic related powers should be of no concern of anyone to begin with, and anything that begs for history to turn in on itself ought to be embraced with open arms."

Why read a room when you can just expect the room to revolve around you and accommodate your wants?

To his credit, Strange is lowering his voice when he talks, so as not to be heard by prying ears. "If you'd rather be back in the ground, I'm certain that can be arranged. As for your second point, how would we know if it's history turning in on itself? Perhaps what's happening was always meant to happen."

Though admittedly, most people wouldn't classify a shitton of necromancy and possibly dead, possibly alive dragons as something that's meant to happen. Still, this isn't tempering Strange's enthusiasm about the whole thing.

Alucard's intensity remains, and the next words out of his mouth are a very simple observation. "Perhaps. But not by you."

If Alucard was to be proven wrong, he might be genuinely surprised. As it is, the statement is delivered with all confidence in the world. Killing him takes effort and skill. That is the basic truth of it.

"Forbidden magic has it's reasons for being classified as such, the so-called art of raising the dead among them for the basic reason that it is unnatural. There is no reason for such a thing to happen. When the world moves on, it values the objects of it's past, venerates bones, but there is never a demand for a second coming of flesh and blood."

Never a demand for a second coming of flesh and blood? Oh, Strange doubts that. There's a demand if you care about the person enough, if they were taken from you too soon. Strange can't help but give Alucard a look like he's a bit of an idiot before he laughs a little. It's a short, slightly bitter laugh.

"There is always a demand. If the person is important enough, if they mean something to someone, if they're the only ones who can do something...what we need to do is which demand has been met."

Strange thought he knew the answer at the start: because they're important enough. But the more once-dead people he meets, the less he's sure of that answer.

The way Alucard whips his head up to stare Strange in the eye with a quiet fury really translates into the fuck did you just say? and all the attendant anger and desire to throw a man across a room that goes with it. He wants to. He wants to give into the little mad moment not because it's cruel but because it has hit a massive nerve.

As it is, his response is clipped and there is anger threaded in every word.

"Because it's right and fair to demand the dead now be bound to your will even though they would never let it be otherwise in life. Because it's right and fair that your sadness rules over any wishes they had. Because it's right and fair that their death is about you."

Gods, what an asshole. "None of the compulsions that we have been forced through even remotely alarms you, nor does the fact that we may all be manipulated by some darker force, I take it."

Strange is sensible enough to realize the intent of the the fuck did you just say fury in Alucard's eyes and realize that the other man has a very different opinion of necromancy than he does. Unfortunately, he's too stubborn and arrogant to really care about Alucard's opinion.

"Bringing someone back can mean more than the good of an individual," said in a 'duh, moron' sort of tone. Strange keeps his voice low, to prevent others from overhearing. "Obviously the dragons had something to do with this. If they were the ones who brought us back, then surely it was for the good of the nations, not for themselves."

It's speculation. But man is this speculation that Strange desperately hopes to be true.

That fury doesn't fade, not in full. The nerve has been struck and struck well, and after this is said and done, someone is going to take a very, very long walk.

"Because that ended in such a good place for the world a century before," he intones, dripping with sarcasm and disapproval. This man, he's shortsighted and self-centered. That much is clear.

"The world has moved on and grown used to it's new order. It's cruel to the living to suddenly force all the old ways. Dragons and all."

With that, Alucard rises to his feet. He did not asked to be sat next to, and he knows that there is at least one fool in this group of the reliving dead that has precious few qualms with necromancy.

"If the forbidden things is where your interest lies, I advise you tread very carefully. Necromancy can lead to other things like magic of the blood, and if you became a vampir, you'd doubtlessly invite attacks."

And now he's just being a dick.

"Going straight to vampirism? How paranoid," Strange laughs, completely unaware that he's talking to a dhampir himself. In his mind, this is just Alucard going straight to the worst case scenario, going straight to the literal worst thing in an attempt to shame Strange into different choices. Well it's not going to work. Plenty of things can happen that weren't vampirism.

"Besides, look at our circumstances," said as he points to himself, then gestures to Alucard. "Forbidden things are where our interests have to lie. Don't tell me you're going to just accept this, that you won't pry and ask questions yourself."

They were dead. And now they're not. If they want answers, then of course they'll have to delve into some darker magic.

That laugh is met with a very peculiar smile, the sort of I know something you don't that doubtlessly invites a punch or two. As it is, the smile fades, and he folds his arms across his chest. It's much nicer having parting words when you're the one standing up and over someone.

"Don't think me ignorant," he intones, all gravity. "But I consider myself prudent enough to know when to only read of these things, and moreover, to know where to begin the work."

He's going home. The library, Gods willing, will still have a thing or two on this topic.

Urgh, that laugh is annoying. As soon as Alucard laughs, Strange glares at him, fists clenched, as he resists the urge just to fight this guy here and now or do something equally rash.

"In that case, shall we see who finds answers first? I suspect it will be me but you never know: you might put up a fight."

Though he doubts that will happen. Strange believes the most in his own ability to get shit done and figure things out.

Fight him, Strange. Fight the dhampir who flies for the Drama Of It All. Great life choice.

"Don't mistake my confidence for interest in a pissing contest."

Which is a no. A very overly-confident no.

Considering that Strange himself is a total drama queen, he will 100% fight Alucard. He gives the dhampir a little shrug before continuing.

"If you have such little faith in yourself, then fine: be that way." You big chicken. "I was simply suggesting we liven up things a little."

What a couple of disasters. Liable to end in hair pulling.

Alucard can see where this is meant to lead to. And so he smiles thinly, showing just a little too much teeth (way too much), and turns his back to Strange entirely.

"I suggest you begin you work."

He's done here.

"May the best man win," Strange responds. (What do you mean this isn't a competition, this is totally a competition.) He'll let Alucard leave: after all, he needs to get to work himself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Event #1: The Big One

message LET'S START THIS OFF RIGHT SHALL WE

who's ready for the fastest torpedo of cr dwrp has ever seen

RAISES BOTH HANDS AND WAVES THEM WILDLY

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annnd that's the moment this cr went to hell i'm so proud

six seconds, we did it y'all

handhakes round of champange for everyone excellent work

golf claps all around

i almost hope that there is vampirism in the future for the worst "I told you so."

there would be sooooo much whining

and SO MUCH ugly laughing

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