april event, phase one: seeds of unrest 🌱

[beleos]

THE BEGINNING

Summertime in Springstar has been on its way out, heralding the arrival of fall; winter has likewise given way to spring in Highstorm - at least, according to the calendar. Yet there is an unseasonable bite on the breeze - one growing as frigid as the mood among Meris and Zenites in their cities. Between Alenroux’s occupation and talk of ‘the Blight,’ worries have been on the lips of the citizens with increasing frequency - and with good reason. The reports of plant life dying, of objects crumbling, of people whose bodies are deteriorating are dominating the rumor mills and local papers.

Everything comes to a head early in the second half of Pelu.

After an unusual pocket of commotion in the Seat of the Tribune and the courtyard of Yima’s manor, an urgent announcement is made on behalf of both cities: both Great Trees have been quarantined, and no one is permitted in either location without clearance. New rumors spread of an ‘incident’ that saw those in the immediate vicinity of the Trees rapidly demonstrating symptoms of an illness that was becoming all too easy to identify. It had stricken with frightening speed; not long afterward…

The unrest had spread into the streets, and it wasn’t just about the Blight anymore.

Cetina and Kathova wasted no time in reaching out to the Bearers via Communion to offer them guidance from their leaders and incite them to action.

SPRINGSTAR: THE ROOT OF THE ISSUE

Day by day, changes unfold that render the city increasingly dangerous...

ROOTS:

Vine-like roots have begun to thread the streets, creeping upon and over buildings, spreading outward from the Tree in Heliopolis. Over the next two weeks, they will continue to grow in size and become more troublesome, slowly blooming ice-like leaves that radiate a sickly glow.

• GROWTH: Contrary to the Blight’s normal behaviors, some people and things around clusters of vines or leaves can experience a burst of vitality, growth, and splendor as if transforming to beyond peak condition. In a normal citizen, this may result in an almost manic level of energy, reckless behaviors, and aggression. In objects, they become more durable and efficient, but dangerously so - for example, a stovetop cooks faster but burns uncontrollably hot. In plant life, this results in overgrowth that can overwhelm and choke nearby flora, objects, or even people. Then, they burn out an hour after exposure and immediately succumb to a dire state of Blighted.


• CHILL: The temperatures will continue to drop throughout the next two weeks. It will be coldest where vines have clustered and outright dangerously so near where flowers have budded or bloomed in great numbers. This will force some people from their homes.

TIME POCKETS:

In seemingly random parts of the city, areas referred to as ‘time pockets’ have populated. There is no way to identify a time pocket but to stumble into one.

• REGRESSION: NPC’s in these areas will appear to freeze in time once a Bearer has breached the pocket’s radius but appear normal from the outside. Time within has halted at the point the pocket manifested ( typically covering an area like a city street or inside a single large building that sees regular use ). Objects can be freely manipulated but will not fall if thrown, etc.
  • The pocket cannot be left until the Bearer has achieved their objective. Attempting to exit the way they entered, they’ll run into an unseen barrier that is painful to the touch, a sensation of frigidity that travels to their Shard.
  • Their goal will be to locate a past version of themselves hidden from immediate view. This past version of themselves can be from any point in their lives but must be from a moment when they felt extremely vulnerable, isolated, wounded, or fearful.
  • Once finding this past version, they will feel the compulsion to either find a way to reassure their past selves somehow or kill them. Whether it is the Bearer themselves who performs these acts or another Bearer in their company does it for them, as long as their past selves are pacified enough ( to player satisfaction ) or dead, they will gain immunity to the pocket and may leave. The immediate area will remain frozen, however, and the past version will be revealed to be made of roots that will shrivel and die.
  • Note: Bearers will be able to see other Bearer’s past selves, even after they have been freed. Whether the past reflections are capable of speech while functional is up to player discretion.

HIGHSTORM: THE ROOTS OF CHANGE

The snows continue to fall over the city, feeling brittle against your skin...

ROOTS:

Vine-like roots have begun to thread the streets, creeping upon and over buildings, spreading outward from the Great Tree in Yima’s manor. Over the next two weeks, they will continue to grow in size and become more troublesome, slowly blooming ice-like leaves that radiate a sickly glow.

• SACRIFICIAL: [ CW: self-harm ] Where the roots snake and gather throughout the city, NPC’s in several locations are falling victim to the quiet, slow pulse of the flowers and their buds. They will sit and stare at the flowers for hours, unblinkingly, as their body begins to succumb to the Blight. If they are disturbed in any way - a loud noise, an attempt to move their person, etc - they will calmly look up from their worship and crack off a piece of their brittle body before returning to their reverie.
• In order to save them, a pair (or more) of Bearers must sneak up on the NPC - one using a pacifying spell given by one of the faction leaders while the other crushes the flower. If the NPC is not pacified before the flower is crushed, they will become hysterical and the Blight will rapidly consume them, causing them to perish. If they are pacified and the flower is not crushed, the spell will wear off within ten seconds with the same result.

• CHILL: The temperatures will continue to drop throughout the next two weeks. It will be coldest where vines have clustered and outright dangerously so near where flowers have budded or bloomed in great numbers. This will force some people from their homes.

TIME POCKETS:

In seemingly random parts of the city, areas referred to as ‘time pockets’ have populated. There is no way to identify a time pocket but to stumble into one.

• REFLECTIONS: NPC’s in these pockets are moving in surreal blurs, pieces of them moving forward as others move backward, some changing as if time were rapidly passing as others remain frozen still. The Bearers’ surroundings are distorted as if reflecting multiple realities simultaneously.
  • Their goal will be to locate a tall standing mirror situated alone in the center of the time pocket’s radius. The Bearer who first touches their reflection ( henceforth called “mirror-Bearer” ) will cause the world inside the pocket to suddenly stop, reflecting a comforting environment they have fond or pleasant associations with. The mirror will be gone.
• Something or someone the mirror-Bearer highly values, deeply misses, or sees as imperative to their character, goals, or desires will be present. If they make contact with this object or person, the Time Pocket loops and sends them back to searching for the mirror - but they will have no memory of this occurring. Their partner, however, will recall everything.
• Both Bearers will be released if five loops occur without the mirror-Bearer being stopped from causing the loop or if the mirror-Bearer is stopped from reaching their goal for five minutes ( willingly or otherwise ). The longer they refuse to make contact with this object or person, the more tempting and dire the need becomes inside of them.
• Once the Bearers are released, the Time Pocket disappears. If they manage to avoid contact with the temptation inside the Pocket, the roots and flowers in this area will be withered and dying, buying the NPC’s and buildings in this location some time. Otherwise, they will be thriving and dangerously blooming.
• Note: the mirror will not respond to the non-mirror-Bearer once it has been touched the first time.

ENTREE-TING HELP

The Tree of Life is in danger, and you know it. Both Yima and Cyrus have directed all Bearers who might listen to increase visitation to the Tree and monitor it for signs of the Blight - of its leaves changing color, of any frostbitten bark, of its roots withering.

And then, during a moment in which you find your mind at ease, at rest... you dream, even if dreaming is unnatural for you. You dream of yourself sitting beneath the massive bows of the Tree's breadth, at peace. The perpetual dawn's glow warms your skin in a way that seeps into your bones, leaving you certain you are safe from harm. The Tree reaches out, and though it cannot speak to you in words, you feel it is trying to convey a message: one of urgency. One of plea.

But you cannot understand...

Soon, the branches of the Tree are reaching out to others. You cannot see them, but you know they're there; a spiritual tether connects your Shards together, bringing you all into a place of wordless unity. And once your fellows have been summoned, you know what you are here for.

You feel it rather than see it: some meager, barely-there brush of something cold in the warmth of the island's comfort. The Tree is already infected, and the clock is running down for all of you.

When you wake to yourself, a feeling of dread not entirely your own will chase you, and you will find a single violet leaf in your hand.

MISC NOTES

• Bearers start with immunity to the Blight. They will not succumb to the effects of the Blight even if they handle the vines and flowers directly without precautions or care.
• The above effects will occur in small clusters and are not yet spread city-wide during phase one. The escalation of frequency characters will come across problematic clusters or Time Pockets will be slow building.
• For context, it takes about a month from infection to death or dissolution for the average person or object to succumb to the Blight. By the 21st, it will be three days to a week.
• Bearers will be directed by Cetina or Kathova to make efforts to protect the civilians and investigate the manifesting changes around both cities. Both factions are working on their own methods to attempt to counteract the Blight, but neither has produced a failsafe solution.
• The roots will remain mostly outdoors, for the most part, these first two weeks.
• Tensions will slowly ramp up in Alenroux, and there are checkpoints for any non-PC visitors to screen for signs of infection.
• Player characters who die inside the Time Pockets are dead and need their Shards brought to the Tree of Life for revival.
• HAVE FUN!! ♥

CODING

Comments

[hyperpotamous]

Unfortunately.

[ that answer is half a sigh and thick with exhaustion. there is no way any of this ends in a good way. it's impossible. even if john manages to get through this without revealing too much, it's already more exposure than he would like.

he's been in kenos long enough that the stillness of a space station already feels strange. it's so silent that it's loud, the mechanical hum of the life support and the electric lights a roar without anything else to break it up. he very badly would like something to break it up, so he answers the question more thoroughly for lack of a better option. ]

This is the Mithraeum. It was home for—… a very long time. If we have to locate the mirror again, the good news is that there are only so many places it could be. [ it's a large station but ultimately a limited space. ] The bad news is not knowing what else it wants when we do.

[wolof]

[ It is eerie. Akua doesn't know what to make of the stillness, the humming, the way it felt... different, almost dead in a way that she cannot describe or explain. She has walked other realms -- the Twilight Way and Arcadia -- but neither of them were like this. She tipped her head to look around, look at the lights, take it all in with a curiosity that said that she was entirely new to something like this. Her eyes watched it all, and John will be left with the distinct impression that she is taking notes, mentally.

She can't help it, really, she can't. ]

Well, in the Scorching Isles, we were haunted by Doppelgangers. It's quite possible there will be another version of you alive and well in this scenario. It may even be aggressive.

[ She... didn't sound worried. Akua certainly never lacked for confidence. ]

[hyperpotamous]

[ john had praised her thoroughness not long ago, and now he wishes he hadn't — as if that would make a difference — but being here brings out the pettiness more than ever.

this is his place, for his people. his hands and his fingers and everyone who suffered through it all together; just a bunch of sinners at the end of the universe waiting for it to all be over. they earned that, so it feels wrong that anyone else should get to be here uninvited. ]

Well, that would be just fine.

[ with his tone this statement is questionable. plus it hangs for a moment, all prickly hesitation, before john resigns himself to the fact that his Just A Guy, Average Necromancer routine has been a terrible cover for a while anyway, but this particularly sucks. ]

Unless Other Me plays by Normal Me rules, which means even if we managed to kill me, you would have about thirty seconds before I came back and turned us both into dust for trying.

Which, honestly, is being really fucking generous because that assumes we managed to vaporise Other Me completely. Otherwise—...

[ he spreads his hands and just laughs, because of course he knows what he's capable of when feeling aggressive. also, if you're going to drop immortality, why be modest? ]

Nobody needs that.

[wolof]

[ Akua blinked once, twice, and then laughed. There's something a little sad, a touch ironic in the laugh, like John had just said something funny, but that ache of bitterness that threaded through her laugh, clear as a hot sun on a summer day. ]

Dear, you would not be the first immortal, living-dead god that I have helped kill. Though we have no Band...

[ Neshamah had taken a lot from them, and Akua had even had the effects of it. Corruption across her entire side, the Dead King had tried to kill her -- and almost succeeded -- though she had thrown such things right back, too. ]

I'm sure you would know best, though, how to "deal" with him. Perhaps perpetual torment in his own dimension? [ She tapped her chin with a lacquered finger, thinking out loud. ]

I suppose vaporizing would do, though it sounds like you can come back from nearly that. No, displacement would work better, don't you think? I could create a pocket dimension unless you -- other you -- has a seed of godhood we can merely steal? Unless you have a better way?

[ She did not sound...unimpressed. In fact, her tone said, very clearly, that this was a challenge, and she was trying to work the way around it, even if just as a thought exercise. ]

[hyperpotamous]

[ john's knee-jerk reaction is to take offence. it's written on his face in the way his expression goes cold, and what little light manages to survive in his eyes dies off all at once. offence is easy when there isn't anything to unpack about being angry like there is with everything else wrapped up in this, but ultimately it's a hollow and pointless feeling. ]

Well. I can't say I'm not a little relieved; I was running out of ways to frame it neatly.

[ he doesn't expect her to continue apparently encouraged by the challenge, and he huffs a breath that might've been a laugh a long time ago. ]

Glad to know our working relationship hasn't put you off of the idea of banishing me to a realm of perpetual torment, although displacement would work. A pocket dimension works just fine, I think. [ perpetual torment optional; he's sure any version of himself supplies plenty of that. ] I'm guessing. Do I get to cheat in this scenario? An interesting time for an experiment.

[ he's given over to pacing at this time, anxious energy settling in that he can't pick apart messing with biology. this place hums with thanergy, given all the bones set into the walls and making up the tiles in the floor, and he almost feels like himself, aside from the rock in his chest. and the fact that this station is not where he left it. ]

There's nothing you can steal, although if there were, that would've been an excellent way to get someone to give up their special weakness, huh?

[ which is really funny since he is dreading the possibility of exactly that in particular. ]

[wolof]

You cannot blame a woman for trying, can you?

[ She asked, with a smile that was a touch too sharp, a touch too knowing. ] Do not worry, I have no interest in obtaining godhood these days anyway.

[ When she'd been younger, perhaps?

She turned her head, to look up and around this place, as if the scale, the chill, the silence were all things that she should hope that she could figure out. Her golden eyes danced from one bone construction to another. She wondered what it said about the man, that he decorated so brazenly. If this was his place, then it reflected his style, right?

Mind, Akua was also obvious in her decor, but she did not admit to it right now. ]

Though I suppose if you don't think eternal torture is necessary... [ She shrugged. ] Then perhaps no eternal torture. I prefer a little panaché with my punishments, personally, but perhaps that is the Praesi in me.

[ The Tower of Praes had a room of eternally screaming souls. It's just how they do. ]

Though it does require us to find him, does it not?

[hyperpotamous]

Figured out it was overrated, didn't you?

[ a curious part of him wonders how it must look to an outsider. someone without all the backstory and therefore none of the judgement. an awful little thought he knows he's only having because, standing here, he feels the loss acutely. they were all gone, all his fingers and his gestures. forever. for all his anger and the bitter betrayal, he aches to know he will never even have a chance to mourn them. there would be no bodies and no funerals, and no eulogies. the sudden weight of it all is oppressive, and john rubs idly at the Shard in his chest as if it might ease the pressure and the warmth in it.

john had managed to stave off one apocalypse just for another to happen anyway, and then he ended up in kenos. he'd barely thought of it since then, given everything else he had on his mind. it takes him too long to realise he's drifted so severely that he hadn't registered akua's words and even longer to remember that he can't filter anything out.

he smiles, his expression and the evenness of his voice settling in with perfect muscle memory. it might be believable if it hadn't been for the rest betraying it as the well-rehearsed mask it is. ]

You should dole out whatever punishment you see fit. I wouldn't ask you to go easy on me.

[ he proceeds forward — better to avoid eye contact — leading the way toward where he assumes they will find their goal with a sense of dread he is making an effort to will away. he sounds like he's joking, and there is a not-insignificant part of him that isn't, but by now, that's probably at least somewhat evident. he doesn't need to wonder if she's perceptive. ]

[wolof]

It was... not a part of my story.

[ She said, though there's a look there, golden eyes that flick to him, that say, very clearly, that there is a Story there, more than just her story. Akua Sahelian a few years ago would have jumped at the chance of godhood, the possibility so rife with potential that she would not have been able to resist. It's merely a shift in perspective, Masego had characterized it once. She had built the Twin Goddesses of Night, and then -- well, Masego should have achieved it too, but... Well.

Who knew? ]

Oh, but don't worry. I would never go easy on you, or anyone. Though I am no... Warden of the lost and beleaguered souls, it is not my Role to dole out a punishment. Merely a... hobby.

[ Which said a lot about her, didn't it?

She followed him, her steps not uncertain, but slow. This was wholly different than Calernia, or any world on Horos or Kenos. It was... so quiet. So dead. Unlike anything she had ever experienced before in her life. She had been to the kingdom of the dead, and it was nothing like This. ]

Would you be... the type to ambush us?

[ She asked, as they proceeded, but her tensed hand said, very clearly, that she was already prepped with a spell. ]

[hyperpotamous]

[ john looks aside at her for a moment or two, a small tug at his lips indicative of some measure of understanding. it's a world away from a real smile, but it's something. if he hadn't seen that look, he might've questioned how she could be so certain, but he knows very well that, like it or not, some chapters simply end. ]

That does explain the disappointment earlier. I would hate to be a tease.

[ he says it with half a sigh, and his jokes are not likely to improve as humour as an attempt to sidestep whatever he's really avoiding becomes more evident as the patch job that it is. he would like it not to be, but john is also a man stretched too thin by too much time and there's little to be done about that deep-set weariness.

he clasps his hands behind his back, keeping the repetitive worrying of the cuff of his shirt sleeve contained. the closer they get, the more the discomfort builds, and it's difficult to know if it's dread or something else about this place beyond its impossible wrongness. probably more of column A than B, but john has always preferred his version of the truth to reality. ]

Yeah... no, if I'm going to kill you, I like knowing that you knew it was me. [ it's an honest answer. ] More importantly, anything that can walk into that room wouldn't be a threat, so there wouldn't be any reason to bother with something like an ambush.

[ and maybe she was expecting the grandeur of the place to persist to its heart, the actual seat of its resident God, but instead it seems less in every way. as it's been described by another, it looks more like the entrance to a broom closet than the personal quarters of the Emperor Undying.

the door leading inside is suspiciously ajar, which is weird when ordinarily no one would dare, and john takes one more breath and then lets it out slowly. whatever is in there can't be so bad, he supposes. what could be worse than what's already happened? ]

Last chance to change your mind.

[ again, it's said as a shaky attempt to be funny. he knows there are no other options and has a sinking feeling akua will be curious to know what lies ahead anyway. ]

[wolof]

Please, I've changed my mind once in my entire life.

[ She says it, and it's fact. It had taken years of Catherine's careful, cautious manipulations to guide Akua to the place she was now. Even then, she had betrayed her, and even then it had taken that guilt that settled into her heart, seeing the spoilage at the heart of Praes, to convince her to finally give it up.

It was a long path, to where she was, but... it was not that long of a path. Akua looked young, after all. Perhaps not ageless, like John, but she was young -- eternally so, in fact, if they achieved their goals with Meridian. ]

I am not...unwise to the power of Necromancy, you know. I think I will prove quite the surprise.

[ A smile. ]

And if worse comes to worse, I'm sure you will bring me back, won't you? Reconstruct my body for me?

[ That's said with a bat of her eyelashes, not flirty, but... certainly with a little panache, as if she were asking for a car. ]

[hyperpotamous]

Oh, I have no doubt you're full of surprises.

[ stalling, that's what this is, and he's sure that's obvious. he starts to say something, then hesitates, worrying his right temple with his right thumb like he always does. finally, john musters up a smile in return — which affects the matte void of his eyes no more than usual — and answers with perfect certainty. her confidence isn't exactly rubbing off on him, but it is forcing him onward in his stubborn refusal to show any more weakness than he already has. ]

Yes, of course. I am the Necrolord Prime.

[ no shade on whoever made her last body, but he's sure he can do better somehow, especially without having to mind a soul that's trying to rush off to the River.

like it was the affirmation he needed all along, john finally pushes the door open and steps inside, where he expects to find himself, perhaps some strange alternate version that he'd find unsettling in some way.

instead, there is a woman tied to a chair. this ordinarily would probably evoke a sense that this person needs help or rescue, but there is clearly nothing helpless about this particular woman. seeing john in the doorway, she smiles in the sort of way someone might call venomous, without a hint of kindness. if the commander had ever managed to defeat him, this is how she might've looked in the end, yet she somehow has the audacity to be at his mercy and still gloat like she's won something.

which is why witnessing it now, in this empty place, his vision goes red at the edges, and he forgets he has company. ]

I charge you with acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, the human race—

Heard that one.

[ if john had been making a conscious effort to filter his emotions before, that's gone out the window now; he's freely bleeding unadulterated rage honed over a myriad into that connection now. it's like an underground fire that has simmered steadily without end for so long getting suddenly exposed to oxygen — it's a dramatic flashover.

in this one person, he embodies all of his hatred for her and her faction and her ancestors, every last traitorous piece of shit that lied and stole and forced his hand. she turned cytherea against him. mercymorn. augustine. oh, they're all dead to me now, he tells himself at night because it's easier, but seeing the smug look on her face makes john contemplate the most excruciating way to peel it off.

he takes a breath slowly, and for a moment, it seems like he might come around. oh, he's still livid, but it almost seems like he might exercise the control of an immortal ten thousand years old and stop to think this through. that's long enough to have learned to school yourself into something more... presentable?

wake starts listing off charges again — repeated murders, destruction of languages, politics, culture, etc., etc. — and he starts to make his way across the room towards the woman backlit by the light of undead stars, having decided that death via necromancy is too kind. she hadn't just offended him as God, but as a man, so he would need to kill her the old-fashioned way — with his bare hands. ]

[wolof]

[ She wondered, when he called himself Necrolord Prime, how he would stack up against the Hidden Horror himself. Given that they are in some strange space separated from a planet entirely, and perhaps in the Stars themselves, she wonders if Neshamah for all of his power, would hold a candle to John Gaius. He had been powerful enough that her continent's armies had gathered en masse to fight him, suffered heavy losses, and very barely came out from the skin of their teeth. Then again, the rest of Creation (her world) had not been concerned with stopping him.

Neshamah was selfish. He had pursued surviving the Last Dawn, and nothing else. He had no ambitions beyond that, or perhaps...ambitions such as that would have burned him out in the same way they had Dread Empress Triumphant — may she never return — And that had been enough for him.

This man, this John Gaius, she thought, may be Better, and wasn't that an incredible thought? They had given so much, sacrificed too many lives to simply take on the Hidden Horror, and were left with destruction in the end anyway? Well, Akua assumed the destruction, but how could she do anything else?

Her thoughts are cut short, as they enter, and this person -- red hair, fury, she lists crime, after crime, after Crime. She lists them off as if they are insurmountable, and while Akua knows that if this were her world, she would have been forced to eliminate John -- if the winds of Providence did not already -- it was not out of the fact that this man -- this Necrolord Prime -- was a Villain.

Which meant it was her purview to guide, not this...angry, slobbering milksop, who kept going, and going, and going. ]

Oh, do shut up.

[ she said, and it is directed to Wake, before there's the ring of an audible, airy slap as a thick wave of it slapped her on the mouth. ]

I do detest prattling.

This doesn't quite look like you, John. Have you been using a glamor? [ It could have been him, for all she knew, at one time. ]