EIFSTIDE

[abraxasmods]

EIFSTIDE

As much as the changing of the seasons differs across Abraxas, so too do the traditions that herald in the coming holiday. While some view this time of year as a joyous and silly affair, others consider it a time of extreme caution and scorn others who mock its gravity. The days have started to chill and nights are spent by a warm hearth as the leaves change to their autumnal hues. Winter approaches, much as it always does, but not all is as it seems. Something has shifted in Abraxas’s very being, whether by the large influx of outsiders or to something deeper and darker, no one can say for sure. With all good things, there must also be a balance.

THORNE/NOTT

In the whole of the kingdom of Thorne, autumn has taken on a distinctly festive flair. Decorations in rich oranges, yellows and reds adorn homes and businesses alike. Lining the streets are gourds, painted or carved into intricate designs and often hollowed to make room for flickering balls of flame. For the whole of the week of Eifstide, everyone seems to be a bright, cheerful mood, taking time out of their schedules to sip mugs of warm cider or eat any number of seasonal treats that seem to be available for almost nothing. Children run around in cobbled-together costumes of old clothing and hats, mimicking the university students of Hayle or the scarecrows that now stand as decor throughout the town. Neighborhoods smell of bread and pastries throughout the season, and most families have a few morsels to spare to anyone who expresses interest. Eifstide is a holiday of gratitude and fun, of honoring the gods for the bounty they have given over the summer and fall, but mostly an excuse to have a good time.

Come Eifstide Night in the city of Thorne, a massive street fair opens in the center of town. Booths sell pastries and sugared nuts, jars of preserves and pickled vegetables, crafts made from any variety of natural materials. As the sun sets, the whole town shares in a feast, with every family offering something to share with the others. Once the plates have been licked clean, the townspeople send lanterns into the sky, giving the last of their summer to the gods in exchange for a safe and short winter.

As the lanterns fade in the distance, the children begin to Roam. Holding burlap sacks, they run door to door, asking everyone they come across for "blessings" to be put in their bags. Blessings are little treats or trinkets, and even people walking down the street seem to have some spare items in their pockets for those who stop them. Anyone who visited the fair earlier will have been advised to stock up, lest they set themselves up for a haunt from the unblessed — or maybe just a jape from an empty-handed child.

In Nott, the festivities are nearly the same, if with a more nautical flair. There's far more seafood available, and popular costumes include sailors and mermaids. They send their lanterns over the sea, and it's common to give little strands of unsellable pearls as a blessing.

As the town clocks strike midnight, there's a sudden chill in the air. A screaming wind tears through the kingdom and fires both inside and out extinguish themselves. Whole streets are suddenly plunged into darkness, with only the moonlight filtering down to cast terrifying shadows on the cobblestones. With eerie crrrreeeeaaaaaks, the iron gates of the kingdom's graveyards swing open, and ghostly figures flood neighborhoods with anguished screams and furious groans. They make their way toward the homes and taverns, where they begin to bang on the doors and windows.

FREE CITIES

In the Free Cities, the celebrations are in full spring. Citizens are gathered together for parties and get-togethers in every city. Some of the festivities have spilled out onto the streets, revelers parading in fancy clothes or face masks or clustered together outside of taverns and cafes. Music and light spill out from private residences.

It all starts off as expected. Spirit boards are brought out to be asked silly questions, tables are set for no one, bands and phonographs wail out songs about ghosts and spirits and graveyards. People dance and eat and drink and tell stories by the fire. Maybe you've wandered into one of the many open parties thrown, either in some wealthy citizen's home or a public house. Maybe you've even joined in on some of the party games. It's all just for fun, you've been assured.

And everyone is having fun! Despite the grim and macabre nature of the holiday, the Free Cities are full of laughter and merriment. Drinks (and whatnot) are flowing freely. It seems as though the celebrations may well go on right until dawn!

It starts at midnight. Here there's a group gathered around a spirit board, giggling and trying to think of the most ridiculous questions to ask. There, a handful of revelers are drinking in one of the cemeteries, sharing stories by the graves. In the streets clusters of people are swinging crystals to hunt out ghosts. Something in the air suddenly changes. The wind turns sour. The air grows thicker. In houses and taverns and on the streets the laughter begins to die away. Spirit boards start to move on their own. A thick mist drifts in from parts unknown to blanket the ground.

Then the screams begin.

SOLVUNN

Contrary to how the other settlements have chosen to pay tribute to the coming holiday, the mood in Solvunn is a somber affair. The lighthearted attitude about getting the work done before noon is almost gone, its residents working harder and longer hours as if a fire was being lit under their feet. In the days leading into Eifstide, wreaths of branches and bone are hung upon the doors, and lines of salt or soot are placed in front of the door and the hearth. The daylight hours are spent reverently in harvest and small groups of mages make their way around the perimeters of farms and communal areas performing rituals of warding to confuse the angry gods while volunteers follow behind to smudge with sage and cedar.

As the sun begins to set, citizens don homemade masks of varying degrees of complexity. Animal skulls or taxidermied skins decorated with veils and dried fauna or branches cover the faces of many of the older members, while children wear handcrafted masks depicting various animals or unnerving faces not their own.

On the night of Eifstide, despite how everyone has stayed indoors as night falls in the week leading to this, large bonfires are lit in the center of the Primary Settlement. Sacrifices are made by the Council members, each doing their own ritual for the safety and prosperity of their own settlement as well as for those who reside there. No one’s face is unconcealed by both mask or headdress and smudges of warpaint upon their face in large, disorienting swipes. Mages stand in the background chanting incantations from worn, leather books by the light of the bonfire.

As midnight strikes, something shifts.

The wind howls, though it seems not to have a true point of origin. The bonfire continues to roar, but its light flickers, seeming not to travel as far. Shadows twist along the periphery and a chilled fog starts to dance across the ground. A hushed murmur sweeps over the gathered crowd as mothers gather their children closer. Along the edge of the gathered crowd, a man screams, and a woman next to him lets out a mournful wail. The spectral figure of a child appears out of the fog. Closely followed by countless more of the same, gaunt and angry expression. Those long-dead have come back- and they’re out for blood.

Make haste in your actions and do not dwell in unrest- those who have brought you into their fold are in danger of being consumed. Fight off these spectral creatures large and small before Eifstide’s end, or the season’s change will not be the only thing that grows colder. Just as things will seem at their most dire, the spell that caused the dearly departed visitors will right itself and they will vanish with the morning dew. Until the spell can be reversed, ask yourself this most important question:

If there’s something strange and it doesn’t look good… who are you going to call upon?

Comments

QUESTIONS

[abraxasmods]

The mages of Solvunn have accidentally raised the dead. How did this happen? Who knows — their rituals are intricate, and it takes only a single mispronounced word to have calamitous consequences. While the mages will reverse the spell by daybreak, it's up to your characters to protect their new homes and countrymen. Helping will bring reward to your characters, via both influence with their hosts, and with a gain of either one physical alteration, or one new magical spell/ability (limited to level 1 ability or the equivalent thereof).

Re: QUESTIONS

[gynvael]

This is more peripherally related to the event but to clarify:

If a reward is a magic spell/ability, does that actually mean that no spells can be learned by any characters until an event such as this occurs, or is gaining a spell/ability through an event different from characters ICly learning magic on their own?

[aquaveiled]

This is so exciting! I do have a couple of questions.

1.) (General) Since the dead are coming back, they will doubtlessly be past friends, family, etc. of the local NPCs, correct? Will there be any unrest in the disposal of these dead? Or would it be generally accepted that because they're out for blood they need to be dealt with? Are all methods of "dealing" created equal in the eyes of the powers that be?

2.) (General) Are the dead all spectre/ghost-like creatures? Do they have any sort of physical form? Just trying to gauge how characters may interact with them.

3.) (Solvunn) What sort of sacrifices here are being made? (Animal?)

4.) (Himeka, specifically) While she would be the type to jump into the chaos and fight, would she also be able to work with the mages to try and reverse the spell? She's not familiar with their magics but she is a mage herself.

[wiedzminka]

wow, way to go solvunn mages!! just a couple questiones.

1. Are the ghosties incorporeal, or do they have physical forms? like are they just spirits or literal zombies?

2. Has anything like this happened before? If one were to ask the locals "wtf man, does this always happen on Eifstide?" what would the general reaction be?

[cryptsleeper]

Are there any particular differences in cemetary styles between the regions? (Ex. Large Victorian style cemetaries that are meant to be similar to parks with a heavy emphasis on monuments and landscaping, a pref for headstones over mausoleums, catacombs, and so on?) Or burial types themselves?

Hector | Castlevania | Free Cities

[petcromancer]

Before Midnight

[Spirit boards and crystals? Hector snorted quietly to himself. He didn't mind the macabre, but the trappings were juvenile, and so obviously not being wielded by anyone who knew what they were doing.

But the alcohol was flowing freely enough and Hector thought he looked pretty dashing in his half mask, so he was sticking around. He wasn't exactly good at 'fun', but he could at least make an attempt.

Watching the planchette move and providing quiet, judgemental commentary on the partygoers' amature technique was 'fun', right?]

This is painful to watch. I can't decide if I should walk away, or join in and convince them they're being haunted...

Midnight and After

[At first, the screams don't register as out of the ordinary. With the spooky games the revelers have been playing all evening, there have been plenty of screeches from drunken, startled guests. But they go on, not punctuated by raucous laughter, and the mood shifts.

Hector's always had a sense for death, and when he actually looks up and gives his head a shake to clear away the haze of alcohol, he feels a tell-tale chill.]

Oh fuck, someone knows what they are doing.

[Well, either that or someone thought they did and fucked up momentously. Either/or. In any case, Hector rushes outside to check it out.]

After midnight

[cryptsleeper]

[At some point, Alucard had wandered off from observing what silliness was happening in the city's graveyards. In truth, he was using this entire night as an excuse to look into graves to make into his own. There were options here, although a lack of a catacomb structure underneath was slightly disappointing. Still, there were statues that could make fair cover for equipment, and if need be, he could always dig a little ways down himself and structure was was needed.

He had been pointedly avoiding anyone else. But leave it to fate for paths to cross when the tone of screams shifted from delight at spookiness to something bigger.

The necromancer's running. That's...not good.]

--Someone attempting to usurp your skills?

Alucard | Castlevania | Free Cities

[cryptsleeper]

Lead up to celebrations
[The second half of the month has seen Alucard restless and irritable, the reasons for it something he'd prefer not to discuss. Being tightly wound (well, tighter than usual) has given him precious little patience, and in a city full of people, that's not a good thing.

Work comes in fits and starts, never lasting. It's one of the reasons he's loitering in one of the general stores at the moment. There are always leads for work there, and he's found more than a little bit of coin that way.

But for now, his eyes stare down at a display scroll featuring Soul Feast Instructions, scanning it all. One needs this much instruction for a party?

His fingers brush over the display setting for the trendiest table this season, assessing the craftsmanship.] Mm. Seems too fine for a singular occasion.

Graveyard exploration
[Early in the evening, Alucard takes to the tombs. He has found himself here several times before, assessing and reassessing his needs to build a crypt. Tonight represents a chance to see how others move about the space, and how he might need plan security features, lest his intended nap become disrupted.

So he moves quietly past the great statues that line the paths, headstones with elaborate scroll work, eyes ever alert. In doing so, Alucard fails to acknowledge how strange his own presence must be here. In trying to give himself something to do, he's taken a simple black coat and embroidered it, taking advantage of layers to create slightly oversized ribs in silver and ivory colored thread, outlined in gold. They wrap around both sides of his coat and meet with a spine done in the same fashion. Sypha called him a salmon for the look, but in the dark of night, pared with black trousers and his pale skin, he probably doesn't look too different from some of the decorations that have lined city streets.

There's a spot far from the entrance that Alucard's found himself fond of. A slight incline that overlooks the northeastern half of the graveyard, as well as the city beyond. It's there he settles for now, watching the flickering flames of revelers trickle in.

He doesn't move, not even as the parties come closer. Of course, he's less inclined to help summon spirits. His aura? Total buzzkill.]


And some Draculas and Frankensteins too
--Concerning.

[As far as reactions to screams of this is suddenly a really bad time go, it is muted. From where Alucard stands (or sits, he's found another spot), there's every reason to think that one of the spirit boards that are popular this evening has simply gone wrong. Alucard knows spirits and demons and everything else happens to be real. He also knows that a board is probably an invitation for something to go wrong.

The actual concerning part is the mist that encircles his ankles, sudden and concerning. Alucard reaches towards his coat once, pats at it, then frowns.]

Of all the times to not have salt.

[Salt, after all, is hospitality in Wallachia, just as it is an effective repellant for many a supernatural thing.]

Goro | Mortal Kombat | Free Cities

[fourarmedandangerous]

Before Midnight

Foolish games mean little to Goro, but the festivities promise food and drink, and that very much does appeal. Though not up to his tastes, and fare is passable, and at least promises to be more varied and interesting than what he can find in the mess hall of the outpost.

He will need to think on new living arrangements soon. But tonight, Goro feasts.

People are celebrating, and playing games in a park near to one of the cemeteries, Goro sits at the end of a table. He has moved a decorative boulder to serve as his seat while he helps himself to the table's delicacies. Surprisingly for someone that looks so brutish, he has rather exquisite table manners, though it's clear his appetite is voracious, and his thirst equally so; he's drinking by the pitcher, not the glass. As in Earthrealm, Abraxian liquor is proving to weak to make much of an impact on the massive Shokan.

He holds the pitcher up in one of his upper arms while taking a bite out of a hock of meat. He wait till he's finished chewing before he speaks. "Another pitcher." He calls out. Perhaps if he drinks all night, by morning he might at the least be buzzed.

Midnight

When the screaming starts, Goro does not immediately leap into action; he assumes it's part of the so-called festivities. Besides, it's not a proper Outworld party if there isn't at least some screaming in terror involved. But it carries on far longer than is proper, and by the time Goro thinks to look up from his feast, the fog has come in thick and sour, the screaming all around him. He tosses the table to the side, spilling food and drink on the ground, needing to give himself space. They are under attack. He knew it was only a matter of time.

The first ghosts emerge from the fog, drawn by the sounds of Goro knocking the table over. He throws a punch, not sure if it will do anything to something that appears incorporeal or not, but there's a pleasant connecting of withered flesh with his fist, and the ghost is blown over by the force of the strike. Goro grins toothily and cracks his knuckles, all four of them as more ghosts gather around him.

"My kind of celebrations after all."

He will happily fight, and it's quick to spill out from the park, onto the streets. He could conceivably be found anywhere in Cadens once the ghosts appear, and seems to rather be enjoying himself as he tears into the undead.

Before Midnight

[petcromancer]

[Obviously inhuman, ravenous, and indulging his hunger to the fullest. This four-armed creature is giving Hector a flashback to a certain vampire general he'd known. At least this guy has manners, though.

Hector raises an eyebrow as he passes over a pitcher.]

Let me commend your restraint in not calling for the whole damned barrel.

[At the rate he's going, it honestly might save the servers time and effort to simply roll a keg over, honestly.]

Phoenix Wright | Ace Attorney | Solvunn

[iobject]

Festivities - (Open)

Phoenix is transparently uncomfortable with all of this. He's just... not exactly a spiritual guy, and this is definitely a big spiritual holiday. For a religion he has little understanding of, no less.

But these people have given him and Kay a home, and this holiday does seem important to them, so he does his best to play along. He volunteers for smudging, doing his best not to make a face at the smell and coughing occasionally when the smoke gets in his face. He even makes his own mask in the library, frowning at his own poor craftsmanship and getting advice from the librarian for how to get it to stay together. Throughout the festivities, he mostly hangs to the edges of the crowd, but he is present, trying his best to show respect for his hosts.

Past Midnight - (Closed to Kay)

Phoenix is starting to sorely wish he had literally any skills besides 'lawyer'.

As soon as he a body fall, it's like a switch has flipped in his head. He grabs the closest people by the arms, pulling them closer to the fire, away from the edges of the fog as undead emerge. But they're surrounded. What weapons do they have?

And then a cold feeling grips him. Where's Kay?

"Kay? Kay!" He looks around wildly, looking for her wild hairstyle in the sea of masks.

Past Midnight - (Open)

Things are getting desperate, and someone has started tying balls of animal fat to twine, setting them on fire in the bonfire, and throwing them into the crowd of undead. One lands near Phoenix's feet, and he jumps back with a yelp.

"Stop! Stop, you can't throw them far enough, you'll--" He pauses for a moment, gears turning in his head. "...I can turn into a bird!"

The people around him start looking at him funny as he faces in the direction of the person making balls of fat. "Make some small enough for a bluejay to carry from string, and I'll drop them from above. Maybe I'll be able to make a path for people to escape from."

[coerthantorment]

Despite Estinien's reclusive nature, he makes himself present for the official rituals of the season. Back in his homeland, he'd spurned most religious services, but he was also aware of how important they are. Here, where he's trying to make a good impression, he realizes that participation is necessary.

It's novel, almost. Similar reverence in such different trappings. It almost feels like something a beast tribe would do... which is a comparison he has no strong feelings about. Their beliefs are as sensible as anyone else's.

As such, Estinien is wearing one of the animal skulls as a mask - presumably from some manner of large hooved animal, with long multiple sets of curling horns. Given his already looming figure, it strikes quite the image, a long, embroidered cloak shrouding him.

He appears behind Phoenix at a slow portion of the ceremony, grunting a vague greeting.

Louis | Beastars | Free Cities

[productid4]

Festivities

Louis stands out no matter where he goes, but tonight he leans into it. He pops into different parties across the city, making appearances at each with a glass of champagne in his hand and a charming smile and compliment to the host. He always quickly gains a crowd of people attracted by the novelty of a deer in the party, and then they stick around to chat as he reveals his charm and charisma. Louis is making a lot of friends, and he's remembering each and every one of their names, all grace and class and somehow he's always holding a glass of champagne but he never seems tipsy.

He's chatting with a group much like this when someone approaches with a spirit board, declaring their intention to play.

"Oh? You'd like to contact spirits tonight? I wonder what they would have to say." He says it with a nonchalant air that makes it clear he doesn't take this seriously without sucking the fun out of it. He looks at the nearest person, his mouth quirked into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Do you think the dead have something to say to you?"

Midnight

"Damn it."

Louis only has a moment to pause and marvel at the horror he's witnessing, the dead rising and attacking the living, before he springs into action. A lion in glasses and an unusually large spectral wolf appear at his side, heads cocked and ears twitching.

"Wolf," Louis says, avoiding the name he knows the wolf has. The wolf stands at attention, ears swiveling and tail tense. "Herd the noncombatants into the buildings. They're safer there."

The wolf runs to do as asked, lips drawn back in a snarl as he barks, the sound cutting low through the screams. The wolf goes to bump against people who don't look ready to face the undead, herding them towards the nearest open building.

"Lion," Louis says. The lion's ears swivel, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. "Re-kill anything that gets within ten feet of the wolf's work."

The lion leaps into action next, roaring as it tackles a spectral man that gets too close, tearing out his throat.

Festivies

[petcromancer]

Hector is equally skeptical. There are ways to commune with the dead, but this is a child's game in the hands of amateurs. So to Louis' question comes the sarcastic answer:

"'Oh god, let me out of this box,' I'd assume."

Martin Blackwood | The Magnus Archives | Solvunn

[antichristsplusone]

Before Eifstide

A lot of Martin's work has been reduced to nearly nothing, as the date draws closer to Eifstide itself and people's jobs turns to the ritualistic labour of the wreaths and hearth tidying. And with the kids helping harvest his morning routine has been entirely thrown out.

Which is why most of his mornings are now spent building wreaths on a bench out the front of the library. There's a small shrine beneath the bench (that he put there himself some days prior) but mostly the side not occupied by him is filled with branches, boughs of ferns and hay, cleaned bones and strips of leather. They're a bit wonky at first, but he's intently focused; so much so that his tongue ends up sticking out a little sometimes.

Before Midnight

Martin's mask is leather and bone, and horribly uncomfortable even through the well-worn fabric tying it to his face. The family he's living with had assured him it was fine, that it practically made him part of the family and wasn't he already, with how much he kept helping out! But it was uncomfortable, and stiff, and pressed into his nose in a way that made it hard to see properly, and despite their insistence he wanders away from their group quickly, hoping for the anonymity of it to hide him a bit better.

And honestly it works pretty well; he's good at keeping his head down and being lowkey, from a lifetime spent trying not to be noticed, and his thick form seems oddly small as he lingers on the edge of the streets, watching the processions with an uncomfortable level of scrutiny. But his blondish curls still stick out from under the mask, his ruddy cheeks are still visible under the edges of the leather, and his hands work the edge of the deep grey greatkilt he's wearing with a habitual, obvious nervousness.

A Furry Friend

And sometimes, there's a strange visitor to all the events: a pine marten, thick with brown and gold fur (or perhaps just thick) scrambling in a particularly ungainly manner up the wooden pillars of buildings, or perched on barrels or under benches to watch the processions. And it seems to have a knack for spotting the summoned guests, masks or no - because it'll often come up beside whoever might be lingering, climbing onto the nearest object if necessary, to give them a remarkably intelligent, somehow awkward look of trepidation.

As pine martens always do, of course. Surely. Not that there's any others around to compare; the smaller children seem delighted by it, even with the somber attitude the settlement has, and sometimes it needs a rescue from quick little tugging hands.

After Midnight

Everything's horrifying enough, what with the rituals and the bloody sacrifices - then there's bloody ghosts and it's suddenly mass hysteria, as everyone starts running. But he recognises poor Tiffany's desperate voice, the poor little girl hysterical as one of the things gets near her and she starts screaming, and Martin's moving before he fully realises, racing towards her and scooping her up in his arms as something takes a swipe at her; deep marks are sliced open on his upper arm instead, and he yelps in pain and swipes out blindly - he feels it knock something back as he grabs Tiffany and runs, but he looks back in surprise as one of the zombie-ghost-things stumbles.

He hands off the little girl to her panic-stricken mother quickly, and almost goes to follow her, but the throbbing in his arm makes him pause and look back. And he suddenly feels acutely aware of the weight of the gun on his hip. These people are terrified, but he's... weirdly calm, actually. This still isn't as bad as worms, or secret bloody spiral tunnels. It's just ghosts. Ones he can hit. And-- well, he's only got one real weapon. Fists and a corkscrew don't count, really.

"Oh, bugger me," he moans, and his face might be wan as he yanks off the horned mask, but he's still pulling out the dull, clunky revolver and darting through the chaos towards the monsters.

And when he fires, the whip-crack bang of gunpowder only adds to the chaos. But at least he's easy to spot now.

before midnight -> after midnight?

[aquaveiled]

Despite the somber mood of the event, Himeka is finding it all a bit of fun--a bit of excitement sorely needed since they arrived in Solvunn. Well, maybe not immediately after they arrived as even she appreciated not waking up wondering if Thorne would decide that day was their last, but she is ever wanting for something to capture her attention, and a festival like this certainly does that.

With some help from locals and one of the twins they are staying with, she is likewise properly attired for the affair. That's part of what makes this fun--it's not as easy to tell who is who beneath all the masks, but there is something that one can't ignore. And that's body language.

Himeka tilts her head as she believes she's picked Martin out of the crowd as she watches the man rub his hands together. So she just walks right on up and gives him a couple of pokes in the shoulder.

"Blessed Eifstide!"

Jon Snow | Game of Thrones | Free Cities

[song_of_ice]

Festivities

Jon is a bit stiff to start with. While the Free Cities had been welcoming and warm, something about the laughter and glee surrounding a holiday to reflect on the dead unsettled him. Not everyone mourned the same way Northerners did, which was, like all things for them, stoic and shared with the Gods. After all the loss he suffered, it was difficult to even try to move past painful memories and questions. One of the revelers, when seeing his features urged him to try a spirit board, but he brushed it aside with a sheepish smile.

This wasn't a time where he could hide in the corner, as he had during all the festivities at Winterfell. So instead, he could only drink and hope something strong would help shift his mind away from the past. It wasn't long until there was a warmer feeling in him, an easiness that finally spread. Eventually, he could release his stiff shoulders and simply relax.

He watched the others with the spirit board, still skeptical. "Do they think they can speak to the dead? Truly?"

Midnight

He was near ready to sleep, prepared for the inevitable hangover the next morning. Jon had wandered from the crowd, stumbling a little through the city as he took in the last of the celebrations. There were some gathering in a graveyard, which didn't mean that much to Jon. The crypts were a place he often went to reflect once Winterfell was reclaimed. He wasn't quite sure what the natives of this city might do, but he hoped it was something similar and not disrespectful.

Halfway back to his residence, the feeling in the air began to shift. He didn't notice it at first, but the sudden heaviness, the sour atmosphere, it was as if everything suddenly turned to frost. That sensation wasn't new and for a brief moment, his heart seized, ready to turn and see the Others appearing through the storm.

There was a thick fog rolling in, something that could herald the dead, but perhaps not as he knew them. That was when the screams started. Without a weapon and slightly drunk, he wasn't much help, but he still started towards the sounds. More and more though, it filled the city. He stopped, staring around him, dazed and helpless at what to do immediately. "Gods, what's coming?"

Midnight

[fourarmedandangerous]

Something goes flying past Jon, ethereal and withered, a ghostly shroud trailing past as it disappears into the mist. That's when the thudding of heavy steps heralds Goro's appearance out of the mists.

"Netherrealm spawn." He spits in disgust in the direction he apparently just threw the ghost. Like Quan Chi's revenant army, unnatural and twisted by death and fell sorcery.

He glances down at the panicking human child. "The dead walk in the fog." He says briefly. "Defend yourself or join them."

Majima Goro | RGG/Yakuza | Free Cities

[sunshinehan]

I. Celebrations for the Living and the Dead

[Majima didn't really know what Halloween was except that it was popular in America and a few other countries so he had no comparison to that holiday. However, some of the beliefs did actually match up with Obon and he was quite familiar with that special time of the year. It was solemn for some but in the less savory parts of town they mostly focused on the celebration part of the festivities and welcoming the dead became a party instead of a solemn aspect. He was okay with that.

So when Eifstide made its way into the season here Majima just went with the flow. He didn't see any harm in it and the locals seemed to really enjoy it. It made for a perfect excuse to decorate the new establishment Majima and Kiryu had recently opened up, too. And if there was one thing Majima loved to do it was decorate and make up a place, person, or object to fit a theme or otherwise pretty it up. What? A man had to have hobbies. Didn't hurt that he was actually kind of good at it.

So he spent his time decorating the newly established Cabaret Club. It was growing in popularity as he and Kiryu advertised it and the locals realized it was a need they hadn't realized could be fulfilled. Spicing it up with the local legends and throwing parties for the season was a great way to amp up its popularity even more and Majima made sure to go all-out. In the days leading up to the holiday the one-eyed man could be found going around the various bars and entertainment businesses to scope out the competition ways people celebrated the holiday. Then on the main day of Eifstide he stayed inside his club to host the big party they threw there. He was very efficient and prim and proper, and yet just silly enough to go with the holiday and make everyone feel at ease. While he was busy most of the night working, he could also spare some moments with those that came in to check on him or ask questions about the club or just to celebrate in general.]

II. Cinderella Leaves the Ball, Miracle Johnson Begins His Thriller

[Then the first screams began. They were hard to hear inside the club but eventually one extremely loud blood-curdling scream penetrated the music and-- that's when Majima realized they weren't alone in the club. The scream that pierced through the happy-spooky music had come from within the establishment itself. One of the girls had seen the first ghost to enter the building. It hovered angrily in the air as it surveyed the groups of people previously celebrating without a care in the world, looking around at the living people as if trying to make up its mind which group to attack first.

The club went quiet as the band realized what was going on and their instruments stilled, and then the guests fell silent as all attention focused on the interruption. A flicker of movement as another spectral entity appeared inside the building and another and yet another. Like a group of coordinated thugs they slowly took position to surround the patrons and block the exits. Majima's one good eye narrowed in anger.

One did not simply stroll into his club and upset his guests. He moved out onto the floor and gestured at the musicians on stage, urging them to start up a lively piece. Hesitant at first, they reluctantly complied--making the scene awkwardly loud for a moment while everything else stood stalk still and silent. They weren't used to this yet but Majima knew the routine well. This was familiar to him and that familiarity bred courage. The spectral entities moved like thugs and that was something Majima knew damn well how to take care of.]

Normally there's a no hands rule in this establishment. That goes for violence as well. But in your case I'm going to make an exception. You've upset my guests and you clearly don't belong here. If you don't leave prepare for the conse-

[Well now that was rude! He didn't even get to finish his grand speech!

Majima reacted instantly to the first attack made by the ghosts. His heart beat fast but his feet were quicker as he rushed towards his opponent to block it from its intended target: one of his guests. He took the blow and with a spin of his heel he repositioned to counter with a blow of his own. To his surprise the spectral form had a substance that his fist plowed into. That was all the encouragement he needed to continue as he normally would with any street fight.

Soon the music was background setting to his quick foot work and powerful punches. He took out one of the ghosts with a vicious spin-kick and was rewarded with a cheer from the crowd as it dissipated into a swirl of mist. He was grinning by then, enjoying the fight more than he probably should have. But with the spirit of the guests on his side he couldn't help the elation spreading through him. He loved a show almost as much as he loved a good fight and this was quickly becoming both in one.

Some of the patrons joined in the fight as it continued, finding their bravery as Majima took out ghosts with his prowess. Eventually he found himself organizing the guests into securing the building so that it was a safe haven against the invading dead. While it was impossible to keep out the spectral entities entirely they established a system that kept them alert and safe and quickly destroyed any foes that found their way into the club. It made Majima quite proud of the group in his club that they made it into a haven for others to flee towards for safety. It also gave him time to take a look outside and see how things were faring for the city as a whole.

Outside, Majima urged frightened citizens and strong-abled bodies alike to take refuge in his club. The scared individuals got a safe place to hide and the fighting capable helped keep it safe. Win-win all around.]

Cinderella Leaves the Ball, Miracle Johnson Begins His Thriller

[lone_horse]

[ ...man, is this all bringing ridiculous memories up for him. The fact that Majima is hustling and organizing and setting up a stronghold out of their club is both different and very helpful, as it frees him up to go out and retrieve people.

Also he knows this isn't some very elaborate joke. What, Majima's done it before!

He makes sure to find the other man before he heads out-]

I'm heading into the streets to try and help more people.

[ No doubt in his mind that Majima can hold and defend this place, that he can take care of this. ]

Jordan Hennessy | The Dreamer Trilogy | Thorne

[impressionism]

Festivities

Never let it be said that Hennessy doesn't know how to have a good time.

The moment she realized that there was to be some sort of Halloween-esque celebration, she'd taken it upon herself to dream a small collection of accessories that can best be described as eclectic, most of which she's currently wearing as she investigates the festival. An incomplete list: devil horns atop a headband made of living flowers in overly saturated deep shades that oughtn’t exist in nature, several layers of mardi-gras beads shaped like tiny pumpkins, a small set of sequined bat wings, terribly realistic spider rings with glittering jewels in their eyes, and, as always, heeled boots that make her no less than three inches taller.

She can be found stuffing an almond pastry into her mouth with what actually seems like genuine enjoyment. This place is still highly questionable, and she still kind of sucks at magic, but she's alive and willing to be entertained. It's a start. She turns to the nearest passerby who seems like they might possibly share a sense of humor about this entire thing.

"Have you tried the cider? Please tell me they've spiked it."

Haunting

Some hours later, Hennessy can be found swinging her sword FROM CHAOS at the aggressive spectres that have appeared -- because of course this place has real ghosts now, why wouldn’t it, with all the magic they’ve been practicing? -- and cursing colorfully when she nearly trips in pursuit of one.

She pauses for a moment to take stock of the situation and catch her breath. This is decidedly not how she’d planned upon spending the evening.

“Can someone call the damn Ghostbusters already; this is getting repetitive.”

[ Want something else? PM or hit me up at speaksincolor ]

haunting.

[usilivat]

Hennessy has a sword, which is one up on Mal. The strip of heavy wood in his hand has been decent enough, but comparatively—

"Ghostbusters?" is a little questioning, before Mal visibly shakes off the curiosity as he looks around them, one hand at Hennessy's elbow to steady her. "Do we think they vanish at sunrise, or that we need to plan on doing this until someone comes up with a more permanent solution?"

Mal's out of breath. And they won't be able to stand here for long, though they're in shadow and more or less easy to miss for the moment. Or until Mal straightens up to his full height.

Dr. Jonathan Emmet Reid | Vampyr | Solvunn

[transfundere]

smudge smudge smudge

[ There is a part of Dr. Reid that is glad for the more somber tone to be found around the holiday in this place, as his own mind is full of mourning. He has been worrying for his mother, worrying for Elisabeth, worrying what nonsense that Edgar might be getting up to while he's been gone. He can't help but think of the last funeral he watched from the shadows, and the truth of the situation drains what peace it could have given him as he remembers Mary's anguished, bloody-mouthed howling. So when there is a call for volunteers to act in the observances, he decides to handle two birds with one stone.

He's both glad to find that none of the religious observance by itself does any harm by him... and that the rituals are beautiful and fulfilling in their own right. He may be new to them, but he pursues his part in them with respect and appreciation that the others can feel. ]

champion of the shadows (battle)

[ When the screams begin, when the danger presents itself, there is no question of what he does, no thought that even registers in his mind. Instead, he leaps with supernatural speed and force, unnatural claws extended as he dives into the fighting with ferocity and intensity. Sometimes, a lance of blood rises beneath his fingers to plunge through one of the ghosts. Sometimes the shadows billow up from the ground and seem to attack the spectres. And sometimes, it's just Reid, eyes alight with ferocity, eyeteeth just a bit longer than one might expect, as his puts himself between the people of Solvunn and the danger, as he fights with all he has to protect those who had welcomed him to their home. ]

wildcard

[ feel free to put him anywhere (at night) that you'd like him or ping me at yarnzipan to figure out a scenario I can add for you. Thanks!]

Battle

[skitter]

More than a little, the tall, broad-shouldered figure made of insects looks like one of the attacking spectres, if larger than the ghost of any human could be. But it moves into place alongside Reid, between the phantasms and the citizens. There isn't much it can do to attack them, but it lunges at the shades, solid enough to slam into them and drive them back. But when the shadows attack it in return, there's nothing but handfuls of locust-moths for them to grasp or rend.

Kiryu Kazuma | Yakuza/Ryu Ga Gotoku | Free Cities

[lone_horse]

at least it's not christmas? (out and about)

[ If there's one thing he can appreciate about whatever celebration they're going for now, it's the fact that it has people celebrating. For a new venture like their club, there's nothing finer: it has people out looking for extra spending money and other people out hungry to try new and fun things. Which is why Kiryu does his usual, which is getting involved in sub stories random situations in town and learning about the various festivities that way. The end result is a little more money to invest in the venture, some fun new clothes picked up for himself, Majima-san, Jon, and Coraline, and more than a few fascinating ghost stories added to his repertoire. All in all? Not a bad time. But if you're in the Free Cities, well, you might find Kiryu helping some local to hang up decorations, breaking up a dumb fight between drunk people, or getting dragged into someone's problems. It's... what he does, really. ]

club preparations

[ Majima-san has really taken the lead on a lot of the work with the club, mostly because he can admit that the other man is the one with the right sense of style. Most of his focus has been working with the staff, the hosts and hostesses themselves as well as the support staff. He's the one who'd actually been a host before, after all. So if you happen to come to the Cabaret Club that they've opened up, you might catch Kiryu offering instruction, support, or just serving up whatever it happens that you've ordered.

Their offerings go from juices to champagne to hard alcohol, their food everything from candy to crunchy snacks to street food that's easy to eat with your hands. They provide both hosts and hostesses for anyone who'd like strictly non-sexual company for the evening to listen to them, chat with them, or otherwise provide companionship (while also encouraging them to order things) and the place is definitely happy to keep you around as long as you're ordering more stuff.

Kiryu'd thought the city would take well to this kind of business and honestly? He was absolutely right. They're packed pretty consistently. But he'll probably make an exception for imports on full nights if you ask him nicely. Just don't start trouble!]

not enough bikes for this shit (battle)

[ Majima makes a home base of the Club, a stronghold to protect and keep people together, keep them safe. Kiryu, however, is the one who heads out into the streets to go and help people.

He's the one who's fought ghosts before, after all. And Majima is definitely better at dealing with calming crowds than he is. The only crowd he's good at controlling is an army trying to bring him down (or in his way) and that kind of 'control' involves knocking the shit out of all of them, which wouldn't be helpful here.

So he's out on the streets, heading for where he hears screaming, attacking the ghouls with ferocity and a complete lack of fear. If you see bright spectral flames and hear someone roaring as he smashes ghosts and spectres into various walls, poles, and the detritus out on the streets? Well, it's probably him.

...and yes, he just broke a spirit board over one of the ghost's heads. The irony is completely lost on him, but you couldn't ask for a better guy to fight beside. The man is a spectral-ass-beating machine. ]

wildcard

[ feel free to put him anywhere that you'd like him or ping me at yarnzipan to figure out a scenario I can add for you. Thanks!]

Club prep

[not_caroline]

[Coraline, in what is probably contrary to popular opinion, is actually quite good as a waitress. She can handle a heavy, lopsided tray, is remarkably good at weaving in and out of the thickets of customers unnoticed or while overladen, and has a knack for showing up just when a customer wants something.

It certainly helps being able to feel when someone's Desire shifts; but it's also a heady emotion, in such a limited space so full of people all wanting and having fun, and she often takes refuge by the bar for the space.

When she takes her next break she makes a point of stopping by Kiryu with her empty tray in hand so she can drop it on the nearest table and starts fixing her hair, still loose, into something of a braid.]

How's everything going? It's been really busy here even with all the rich fancy parties outside.

Rinwell 🦋 Tales of Arise 🦋 Free Cities

[rinwell]

• Fireside Chatting • (Before Midnight)

[ It could be argued that Rinwell looks younger dressed in the donated cadet garb from the Cadens outpost, or perhaps closer to her actual age. She's none too thrilled to find herself being addressed as a child time and again, and directed to festivities she can't see the appeal of -- though free candy? Well, maybe she won't turn THAT part down.

The so-called 'magics' that the locals gleefully indulge in for the holiday are anything but, and she can't help feeling a little disappointed when the word boards and empty place settings are only for show. But she also can't help but perk up when there's mentions of "scary" story tellings. She manages to sidle her way in between a few adults, and wedge herself into a seat, giving an only slightly apologetic but very excited smile to the person she nudges with an elbow by mistake when doing so. ]

Sorry! [it's a stage whisper, but that's okay - the rest of the crowd's attention is fixed on the current storyteller] Did I miss any important details?


• A New Terror Street Nightmare • (After Midnight)

i. [ Once she's lost interest in tales that didn't truly hold that much terror, Rinwell wanders off back to the market, and finally spends a few of her preciously hoarded coins on a thick book of stories; 'SHIVERS: THE TERROR STREET MYSTERIES' proclaims the cover, with "Pumpkin Jack and The Big Fat Sack (of Candy)" and "House of Whispering Eaves" mentioned in bold type on the back. It's something that isn't the dry histories of Cadens and the Free Cities, so she'll take it, and perhaps she'd even learn something new.

But when the bustling 'midnight market' quiets, and then the screaming starts, she soon finds herself caught up in the surging crowd, and there's a cry as she gets shoved down a side alley in the midst of all that haste. The downside of being short means that she can't SEE what people are fleeing from, but the fear in the mob is plain.

As is the fear in other children, both lost and those orphaned, who soon seem to find the same alleyway she does. And Rinwell's eyes open wide as, shambling at a distance, coin-eyed shrouded figures lurch their way forwards into the fomerly packed out streets. ]

We can't stay, they'll find us! [Whatever "they" are. Her grip adjusts on her new book, the spine pressing into her palm] Follow me! We're getting out of here!

[ And maybe, just maybe, someone else may step in to help them along the way.. ]


ii. [ After some point in the dark of the long night, her gaggle of kids with attitudes and snotty tears are delivered to safety, and Rinwell will then do her best to stay out of sight as she looks for others in distress. She's surprisingly slippery when it comes to attempts to direct her to shelter, as it happens.

And if there were reports of strange elemental magics randomly striking back against the undead in the streets, well. She certainly wouldn't know anything about that... ]

• Wildcard •
[ PM me here or on plurk/discord, and let's see what we can come up with! ]

a new terror; i.

[gynvael]

[ In retrospect, Geralt should be nowhere surprised to step out of the Horizon and find fucking chaos in the city. (Is it too much? Is it too much to ask for one relatively pleasant night to stay that way until at least sunrise? Apparently.)

He doesn't even know what in the hell is happening. The air hums with magic. With the crackle of wraiths spilling onto the streets, more than he's ever seen in one place at one time. There's usually one. Perhaps two. Not entire cemeteries' worth. He knows of precisely one method of getting rid of a specter. It involves burning the corpse. So. The problem with this tried and true solution is obvious when multiplied by the dozens. And as tempting as it is to let the military organize their own efforts—Geralt has no desire to get in their way nor have them get in his way—it's clear they haven't got any control of the situation.

Which is how he's moving through the crowd despite himself, sword in hand. He ducks into the side streets, partly searching for Ciri (she can handle herself, he knows, and yet—) and partly keeping one eye out for anyone lagging behind outside. He finds the latter first: crowded into a narrow alleyway, specters at their tail.

The impact against his blade is startlingly weighted. Solid. The shadowy figures dissipate—dissolving into the night air. For a split second, he's distracted by what it means, why they don't behave precisely as a wraith should, but his gaze quickly falls on the straggling children. One girl clutches a book in her hands.

He shifts his grip on his sword. His eyes glint yellow in the dim light. ] Do you know where you're going?

[ The question is genuine. Some of those children in that huddled group—he recognizes street orphans when he sees them; if there's one thing they know better than anyone else, it's every secret nook in the city. ]

Aerith Gainsborough | Final Fantasy VII (Remake) | Solvunn

[bloomly]

I. BONE WEARY.

( everything has suddenly, abruptly, gotten harder in this place.

is it the weather? it's possible that there's simply not enough warmer hours to get things done, early in the day; it feels as though all the work stretches until night, now, as though harvesting takes up far more hours than it had before, and it's not done with the same cheer, the same excitement, as before. something strange hangs over the entire town like a cloud; she wants to ask, full of curious questions, but finds it impossible to muster up the courage to bother those around town when their faces look so weary and their worries seem to hang like wet laundry in their eyes. so she continues on, hard-working and determined, and simply watches: there's salt and soot here and there, sage and cedar burned, smudged across doors and floors and perimeters.

and for what? it's mid-morning one day, and she's just returned back to the small cottage where she's been sleeping to wash up before making lunch. peculiarly, hanging on the door, is a wreath--she's made them before herself, out of twine and flowers and other pretty plants, clovers and dandelions and silly things that made the children at the orphanage smile, but this is something different. stuttering, her boots scuff up the steps leading to the door: are those bones?

her hands move automatically, pulling the wreath right off the door to get a closer look--and startled, she doesn't realize she's dropping it until it's too late. the wreath clatters to the ground, rolling, and aerith skids after it, catching it only once she realizes it's crumpled to a stop at someone else's feet.

oops. she didn't mean it, really--her eyes round up at the stranger, and she breaks into a helpless smile. )

Well, since you're an accessory to the crime... Maybe you can help me check it over for damages?


II. SPARKS FLY.

( the bonfire is huge: and it's not the only one. in the center of the primary settlement there are many of them, giant bundles of fire that send their flames tall and high, as though trying to overtake the darkness of the night sky. it's cold, but with the heat of the fires, really, it's not that bad--she's got a cloak on over her dress, something long and dark that she's borrowed from one of the women around the settlement; and because they demanded it, gently persuading her that it must be a necessity, she also has one of their masks on--it's got sharp, pointy ears, a curved chin and narrowed eyes, the sneaky face of a fox, painted white and gold.

maybe it's better to be covered. like this, no one can really see the horror that's on her face, or the way that her mouth twists, as though desperate to shout for things to stop but not knowing how to get anyone's attention. it's like watching a movie, in a way--there's nothing that she can do to interrupt, nothing that she's capable of would keep the story from unfolding around her, and yet she wants it so badly that she rocks forward on her heels, wandering closer to some of the commotion.

a goat cries out, a soft, pleading rumble of its voice--and the knife that gouges across its throat leaves no room for interpretation. startled, she's the only person that seems to jerk back in reflex; a bit of blood flicks onto her mask, and frustrated, she turns away, bowing her head down and sinking into a crouch. she doesn't care, then--her hands rip the mask off her face, turning it around to start scrubbing at it with the edge of her cloak, trying to wipe the blood off of it to no avail. and if anyone is watching her--she'll jerk her chin up, cross, and narrow her eyes at them-- ) What do you want?


III. HIDE YOUR CHILDREN.

( and this is it, isn't it? the reason for all the somber melancholy, the permeated fear. the fog rolls in, and the screams begin, and for a moment, she's dumbfounded, and for a moment, she doesn't know precisely what she's seeing. there are too many of them to fight, she figures, and too many to try to outrun--and among the chaos, what should she really do? her instinct is to help--and that's what has her gathering up the women and children around her, moving together with them towards one of the houses in the settlement. it's better not to be out in the open, she figures: better for them to hide, to stay clustered together with more of a chance to fight off the rogue stragglers that might come tearing at the doors and windows.

but how is she supposed to do anything about it? even once all of those that she's managed to gather, with help from a few other women, have rushed inside one of the houses, there's no bar to slam down over the door, nothing to cover the windows with, either. she pulls the door shut with a resounding thunk: she won't be waiting inside with them, but instead decides to do what she can to barricade the door from the outside. what else can she do, really? so she's moving around the house for some firewood; there are the larger logs there, surely meant to help feed the large bonfires in the middle of town, and a few of those should be heavy enough to stack on the door, right?

so she's dragging one, stubborn, pulling it along with a groan--and then she sees the gaunt, angry expression seem to materialize out of the fog. )

A little help! ( she shouts, over the cacophony of the chaos around her; perhaps no one will hear her at all. her hands, reluctant to drop away entirely, continue--she digs her heels into the ground and continues dragging the log towards the door, but it's likely she's not going to make it before the spectral nuisance gets to her first. ) Please, please...


OOC/WILDCARD.

(( want to do something else? absolutely hit me with a starter, i'm happy to follow your lead, or we can talk something out via PM or whitemagics! ))

hide your children

[coerthantorment]

[From overhead, it's easy to see where the worst of the chaos is - the direst of situations. Though it can be hard to choose between them, in the moment, ultimately Estinien makes the call. This one lone woman, dragging a log in some attempt to perhaps barricade a door, as specters lurch towards her... there's nothing else to do.

At first, his arrival may seem like just another ghoulish entity come to feed, with wide, jagged wings and a lashing tail. He hits the ground with a snarl, fire licking at his lips and burning in his eyes. He sets upon the spirit with fang and claw, and despite his ethereal form, it reacts to his assault as something real. After a moment of rapid violence, the creatures retreat, and Estinien pauses long enough to turn a red eye in Aerith's direction.

He stands on taloned feet, moving in her direction. His claws dig into the log she's carrying, almost as if to pull it away from her.]

oberon | fate/grand order | solvunn

[mullerian]

i. it will not last the night.

Please! Please, save my child!

( screams a mother with painted face and dirtied hands, true to herself as she runs in the opposite direction of a blackened forest on the outskirts of the ritual grounds. oberon can see the primal lie in her eyes amidst the chaos, the sinking feeling of her rotting spirit as she silently casts aside her little loved one in an attempt to save her own skin. she must not think anyone perceptive enough to notice, and oberon sincerely wishes he were as he swallows his disgust to start sprinting through the throng of people flailing about in panic from the dead. i can make it before the others, he thinks, tendrils of radiant color spilling from each and every hasty, but dainty step. this much, i'm surely capable of, he reasons, a stubborn branch tearing lightly through one of his bright, black wingtips.

oberon follows a low wail deeper into the woods, overgrown with thorny vines, only to scoop the lost little boy with unkempt hair into his arms once discovered. some would die to have this done for them, clearly, but now wasn't the time to brood on such matters. time is of the essence... or was, but with the fog as its aide, a chilly hand lunges from the darkness to swipe him across the face. he drops the boy promptly, shouting at him to climb once his own momentary alarm dissipates: )

Higher!

( the child scrambles up branches awkwardly while oberon hugs the side of a black oak, the sudden unhearable sound of insects shifting beneath rotting earth almost more distracting than the hurried approach of a moving corpse dragging its feet. their presence brings no comfort, but they've gone into the woods after him, skittering through soil and root as he stands in tired anticipation, chest heaving and palms flat against damp bark. )

ii. but it gives a lovely light.

And while this dream may have come to an end, desires still lapping at its edge, this is only the start of a new journey. May your next life be just as rewarding, and even more so.

( it's no actual prayer given the fae—let alone a spirit like himself, who simply toted his facade around in front of him like it were an insect framed in glass—didn't believe in any gods, but it's soothing just the same.

oberon sits amongst the laid out fallen as day breaks, dried blood caking his cheek and jaw in a beautiful portraiture of the horrors committed overnight. as he sweeps a hand over a woman's eyes, he looks up to an approaching off-worlder with a weak smile: )

Oh, don't mind me. I'll recover in due time. What's truly worrying is whether their spirits will hold, and... what the consequences of such an unfortunate mishap will be. Really. Truly unfortunate...

( his tone suddenly spiritless, as if dragging out the utterance, gaze shifting to the bodies hunched and crying over their loved ones. )

iii. wildcard.

( i'm all ears for any other scenarios, especially if they're violent. if you want to hit me up, here or at deathcap is fine. )

mal oretsev / that bone show / thorne

[usilivat]

[ hit me up @ pogonophile on plurk if you'd like a custom starter! ]

ota.

[usilivat]

i. street fair

All Mal's misgivings and confusion and frustration aren't completely dispelled by the festivities, but he's given a little breathing room from all of the uncertainties of his situation in the face of something as straightforward as a celebration, regardless of how unfamiliar the holiday.

There are children playing and shared food, and it is a little like home in the ways that matter: people coming together and enjoying each other's company. Yes, he stands outside of it all, but it is easy to move through and enjoy the passing sense of being welcomed into it. He doesn't necessarily want to be part of this, but it is nice to be drawn in regardless.

He's bought candy earlier, to fill his empty pockets. At the moment he's flipping one piece over and over his fingers, flipping it up then catching in his palm, in the space between coming across one demanding child and having yet to meet another.

"Are all the holidays like this here?" he questions, meaning less the activities and more the sense of community. It's strange, unexpected, when set against what he's been able to piece together so far.

ii. party crashers

Unsurprisingly, the night doesn't remain simple for long.

It's fortunate Mal had been nearby when a stall had been smashed apart by approaching ghouls. Without any weapon but his own bare hands, he'd already been at a disadvantage. He won't pretend a simple plank is going to be of much use, but it's better than nothing, considering they're out on the street with ghostly problems to deal with.

"We can go around back," Mal is saying in a rush, a little breathless. "If you come at them from behind we can draw them away from here."

And do what? Do these things die? Can they die? Mal isn't certain, but he knows that the more focus they pull from scrambling townspeople the better it is for their chances of getting into their homes.

Kylo Ren & his Goth Pals in Castle Thorne

[photophobic]

( Intended to develop into a broad group thread for ghost-busting as a team in Castle Thorne, a bit more like a relay than a back-and-forth conversation. There's no defined tag order, feel free to tag your character in any time it makes sense, and if you have any questions you can chime in on the castle thorne plotting channel of the game discord, or ping me specifically on cryloren#2195 / starktech! )

---

[Not being particularly interested in festivals (especially ones where he might be confronted by children demanding he give them things) Kylo is indulging in personal rituals this Eifstide night— soaking his oversized self in the sinful luxury of Castle Thorne's baths. With Ronan, of course, who's proven himself more than willing to scrub the broad expanse of Kylo's back or help him make sure he's washed all the richly lathering shampoos and conditioners out of his hair. Tomorrow, Ronan has been explaining, is his birthday, or as near to it as it's possible to calculate, and Kylo is about to ask how he would like to celebrate it here... when he's hit with a sudden sense of wrongness. Fear. Terror. Hunger for vengeance.

He sits forward abruptly, water sloshing over the edge of the bath with the motion.]

Ronan. Something is happening.

[A bellowing commotion begins somewhere in the castle beyond the door. Kylo grips the edge of the bath, hauls himself out and summons a thick robe to hand, wrapping it around himself swiftly.]

An attack. [He turns, offering Ronan an arm up. Whatever's happening, he has to go and take care of it— but he wants Ronan where he can see him. Where he can protect him. And that also means...] Quickly. Do you know where Hennessey is?

[nightwash]

[ Of course something's happening. Heaven forbid Ronan's birthday pass without incident. He'd been working his way up to a warning, even, though he'd been hoping it would slide by as a joke. No such luck. ]

She said she was gonna check out the not-Halloween thing.

[ So... She's right in the center of the action, he's guessing — if she herself isn't the cause. Fuck. With Kylo's help, Ronan scrambles out of the bath and snatches up his own robe. Why couldn't whatever-it-is wait until he was wearing pants? ]

All my fucking shit is in the room.

Nadine Cross | The Stand | Nott

[nadine_he_loves]

][Despite partaking in Julie's party, Halloween has never held much special meaning to Nadine. She'd been in bed, tossing and turning in restless sleep, when she heard the commotion. Screams and the sounds of something breaking somewhere not that far away pull her out of her sleep and she bolts upright.

Half-asleep still and confused, she understands enough to start focusing what magic she has as she stumbles out the door into the inn's hallway. She's barefoot and in a white lace night dress, hair unbound and horns not hidden. There's no time for any of that. Whatever's happening is happening fast.]

Julie? Lloyd? Damn it...Susan?

[She calls for them from the hallway, eyes searching up and down for any hint of just what's causing the screams of terror.]

[girl_at_the_window]

[Susan is having a bad time. Obviously. All she really wants to do - and to be fair, this isn't like her at all - is to stay in bed, with the blankets over her head, and ignore everything that's going on around her.]

[But there are limits, and screams cross them. Especially when she's already on edge. Especially when every time she closes her eyes, she thinks of Reaping-charms and blazing fires.]

[She stumbles out into the hallway, her hair loose and her feet bare, but otherwise fully-dressed and with gun in hand. She's still a little unsteady on her feet, but quick nonetheless.]

What is it? What's happenin'?

Solvunn Communal Hot Springs Episode

[hylife]

I. Post-battle!

[ How long have they fought off these endless hoardes of ghouls before dawn finally breaks - five hours? Six? Link hasn't spent a single minute of them idle. He long since ran out of arrows; the rusted longsword he'd acquired for free from the blacksmith snapped in half hours ago. At his side, gripped in shaking, numb fingers, is a heavy claymore that looks like it might be somebody's family heirloom.

For the first time in hours, he can rest.

He turns to the closest friendly face instead, asking between his ragged pants for breath: ]

Did... you know... there's a hot spring... to the north of here?

II. Cleaning Up

[ This is Link in his natural state: muscles screaming, lungs burning, disheveled hair matted with blood that may or may not be his own. The old scars that stripe his skin are on full display as he peels off his sweat-soaked tunic, alongside the fresh wounds and bruises he earned tonight.

Despite his calm exterior (and exhausted interior), he is buzzing with an energy that is almost palpable.

The otherworlders may be eager to discuss what happened at midnight. Why Eifstide this year was different, and what implications it should for them that such a disaster coincided with their arrival. What horrible magics the natives might be dabbling in to invite the undead into the realm of the living.

Link isn't really one of those people. His concerns are more simple: ]

I wonder if this will happen again.

III. Cleaning YOU Up

[ It's only polite to rinse off before entering a hot spring bath. That's why - provided you first kneel down or otherwise position yourself so that he can reach you - Link has helpfully volunteered to dump a bucket of water over your head! Why would he ask first, everyone knows to do this. ]

IV. Wildcards

OTA Solvunns!! Feel free to use this post for whatever. Make up scenarios, threadjack as needed, you don't even have to be replying to Link specifically!

II

[aquaveiled]

[ As soon as Link mentioned hot springs, Himeka was in. Of course she felt most at home in the water given that she grew up in the sea, but there is really something special about the hot water from a natural spring and what it could do for sore muscles or scales in need of shed.

Luckily right now it was more the former than the latter.

If there's any concern for impropriety in bathing, she doesn't have it. Himeka is perfectly content to start undoing the clasps and ties on her own apron dress. ]

I'm not sure. Though from what I heard of the mages, it wasn't intentional.

Himeka Sui | Final Fantasy XIV | Solvunn

[aquaveiled]

[ ooc; Just a reference of Himeka's look for the festival. ]

i. ritual cleansing

[ Wanting to get a better understanding of local customs and worship, Himeka had been one of those who volunteered to assist the mages in walking the town, burning sage in hand. She had done something like this once before, back when she had been training to become a priestess. Even without fully knowing it, different herbs and scents could be used to disrupt the aether flow, hopefully with the intended positive effects, but not always so. She found it much easier to tackle the problem directly.

But this is not the Ruby Sea and she claims no such mastery over the spirits here. Instead she follows dutifully as she makes the proper sigils with the bundle of sage and cedar in her hand. When she sees a familiar face, she smiles.

With a glance to the group, she steps away for a moment to hand out a small linen package, tied with a small strip of red leather strands. The front is inked with a rune and the crunching sound of leaves, mayhaps flowers and some animal bone instead can be felt if the package is rolled about. ]

I'm told it will bring you luck. Or at least keep a lesser god or ornery spirit at bay.

ii. ash himeka vs. evil dead

[ All that cleansing feels for naught.

The air around them had begun to feel strange but Himeka had written it off as the somber mood of the hour and the very particular scents in the air. She would have to wait to kick herself for not heeding those initial inclinations later when the cool night wind came with a new bite. When fog rolled in and unearthly figures rose up from the mists.

Screaming starts--both from the assailants and from the locals. Her typically jovial expression shifts in an instant. ]

Shite.

[ Chaos, unsurprisingly, ensues.

A woman grabs her child as a ghostly figure lunges forward, misshapen limbs stretching far beyond what would have been their living means. Himeka raises both her hands, floating off the ground as a light collects in either palm. In a manner of seconds she tosses heavy balls of light at the specter, whose arms disintegrate the instant her spells find their target.

Her fit hit the ground with a gentle thud as the woman and child stare. ]

Go, quickly!

[ The pair rush off as the now limbless specter turns around. ]

Well, you can't say it's just a flesh wound, can you?

[ It is a funny joke (although only the fourth wall knows why) until the limbless ghost is joined by about six of its friends.

Back-up would be nice. ]

himeka vs evil dead

[coerthantorment]

It should be no surprise to Himeka that after the chaos breaks out, Estinien is swiftly at her side. What may be slightly surprising, though, is that when he does it's in the draconic form he once wore in the Horizon.

The reasons are simple. When the chaos broke out, Estinien had the misfortune of being somewhere separate from her, not directly taking part in the ritual outside of the standard participation. If he'd been able to find her in the crowd, he loses sight of her then - and Kay, and Relena, and everyone else he would have hoped to keep watch over.

He feels the shift coming, rising with the fear and the anger. This time, however, there is a semblance of control. He's familiar with this beast, and how it takes hold. If it's going to happen, he may as well make use of it.

He descends on darkened wings, his sudden appearance enough to frighten some of the panicked locals about as much as the ghosts do. Spirits are far from his specialty, but he sees the frayed edges of the ghost, wounded from Himeka's light - and he expects he'll have some success.

Partially in instinct, his throat glows - moments later he spits a fireball into the center of the gaggle of specters.

for kay

[coerthantorment]

After taking stock of the situation with Himeka, it's not long before the two of them spread out. They are both fully capable of acting independently, after all, and the specters are bothersome but no more potent than their living counterparts would have been. Their main problem is the fact that they keep coming back, and that not everyone is as battle-hardened as the Azure Dragoon and the Warrior of Light.

It's with that in mind that Estinien takes to the sky, his dark wings casting a silhouette above the settlement. His eyes shine red through the darkness, and it's almost as if he's hunting for prey - when in reality, he's searching for the vulnerable and trapped, so that he might clear their path. Even more than that, he's looking for his handful of friends.

Though Kay may not fully see it coming, finding her is his first success. He spots her form down below, assaulting the spirits with a stick - well, he can't say that she's learned nothing. He feels his heart clenching in a familiar way, all the same. Not good enough.

Kay may notice his form approaching mere moments before scaled arms are suddenly curling around her, hefting her off of the ground and into the air.

[stealsthetruth]

Kay's a little bit too preoccupied with attempting to whoop ass to notice, actually! Which makes it all the more surprising when she does get scooped. It's so surprising, she yelps! And drops her stick, which tumbles from her hands at enough of a height that it poofs at least one ghost by clonking it on the head.

"Hey, what the heck--!" She squirms a bit and manages to twist her view enough to get a look at his face, verifying that she is, at least, being carried off by a friend, and not some random gargoyle or something. Which is a relief, but.

"Maaaan, not you too, Esti!" she complains, putting on her best disgruntled scowl, which regrettably only succeeds in making her look like an adorable angry chipmunk. "I totally had those guys on the run!"