TDM #7

[calderaevents]

ARRIVAL

It happens in an instant. A heavy weight in your gut, a trembling of your limbs, the world spins and you barely have time to register that you're falling before you lose consciousness. And when you awaken, it's not where you were last. Dark, unadorned oak walls surround you in a tiny room, the only furniture the bed you are currently resting upon, and the bedside table with a folded piece of parchment resting atop it that simply reads:

"The Tavernkeeper is awaiting your arrival downstairs."

As you exit you find others like yourself emerging from the surrounding rooms. You are indeed in a tavern, but there is no hustle and bustle one might think to hear in such a place. The only person down on the main floor is a humanoid figure wiping down the bar, who smiles when they see you. They're familiar, but not, and you can't quite place their face. For some reason, however, their presence is comforting and warm.

"Welcome, Visitor. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

And you most certainly do.

Due to popular demand, the starter tavern and the drinks provided are available to in game characters via a portal accessible only to those with a faction gem.

DRINK MENU

BLOSSOM BLUSH A radiant pink wine that releases floating cherry blossoms with each laugh.

FIREFLY MEAD Pale gold and gently glowing, it makes you shine softly in the dark

MORNING MINT Icy mint liqueur that makes everything you touch cold for a brief period of time.

BARDS ENCOURE Sweet spiced wine that compels you to sing everything for an hour.

MIMIC MULE Ginger drink that changes flavor every time you guess it wrong.

BUTTERFLY EFFECT Lavender liqueur that summons a trail of glowing butterflies as you walk.

CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY

As the effects of your drink wear off, the Tavernkeeper speaks once more:

"It is time, my friends, for you to find your new homes."

You are compelled to walk through the only door leading out of the tavern, finding yourself not outside, but in a deep black, seemingly endless room with five portals arranged in a circle. As the last of you leave and the door closes behind you, gone when you look back again and replaced with nothing but that black void, three of the portals illuminate:

The first portal is surrounded by an almost blinding light, prismatic rainbows shining brightly in the dewy air outside of the tavern. A soft breeze may gently caress you, pulling you toward it. The portal seems to lead to a city in the clouds, airships and winged beings of all sorts soaring through the skies. Of the little bits of visible land, much of it boasts giant waterfalls that look like clouds melting into the land below. The portal calls to those who crave independence and freedom; and especially to anyone that wishes to find the strong bond of a family not forged in blood.

The second portal is encircled by a fairy ring of spotted white capped mushrooms, the faint scent of damp stone and rich earth wafting from within the faint green glow. Peering inside, one can see a sprawling harbor city of gray hewn stone, a melting pot of humanoid beings going about their day, and beyond, rolling green farmland and cottages clustered in small villages. This portal is destined for those who crave stability and solid ground beneath their feet. A simple life, an adventurous one, and everything in between can be found within.

The last portal is adorned with shells and seaweed, the glow of blue around it catching on droplets cascading down the circular opening. Beyond it you see a city housed inside a massive bubble deep under the ocean, spiraling towers encrusted with coral, and a variety of different creatures mingling about the streets. Outside of that bubble, merfolk swim, a massive squid engulfs the view from the portal as it smoothly glides through the water, and schools of fish disperse as it passes. A sanctuary in the sea that calls to those with a hunger for knowledge and a desire to aid those in need. Or perhaps it is the mystery that beckons you - the lure of the unknown in the depths that bids you explore it.

---

Upon following the pull of the breeze through the first portal, you are thrust into the beauty of a lively city that goes by the name of Heaven's Bow. Much of this main city feels exactly as you would expect on a city below, but there are clouds surrounding every direction you look. The walls of buildings are made with light-colored limestone, and buildings are generally built up to heights made even more grandiose by their position in the sky.

The Skyfall Docks are the first thing you notice, boasting hundreds of airships sailing in and out across the clouds with shouts that accompany a typical port city. Just outside is a fantastic market with goods not only from the other regions of Caldera, but from what some shopkeepers claim are other worlds--items sold or left behind by Visitors. Almost anything can be found in the markets if one is willing to look hard enough. Transport to other locations throughout the sky and even to the land or sea can be found here.

If the docks are too lively for you, you may instead find yourself roaming the underbelly of Heaven's Bow and finding brothels and gambling parlors filled with the promise of pleasure and fortune. The guild house for the Sylphs can be found here as well, giving out quests and training to prospective adventurers and guards alike--though none of them seem concerned with the illicit activities that surround them. Perhaps the freedom the Sylphs boast of extends to what others may deem an undesirable activity.

But most curious of all, you find a shimmering opal gemstone in your hand. When placed anywhere on the body, it will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If it was the second portal that called to you, you will find yourself in the busy city of Grey Ward, with its cobblestone streets and sturdy grey stone buildings. You are in the heart of the city, the Glass Market, so named for the colorful stained glass windows of the surrounding buildings. The scent of cooking food and the sound of barkers fills the air; watchful guards keep an eye out for pickpockets and thieves, and citizens go about their day. From here, one can investigate the rest of the city: the Sundown Docks, where both sea and sky faring skips transport people and goods. The Soot Spire, home of inventors and engineers. The Hearthstill, the main residential area. The Downs, a smaller residential area for those with less means.

Outside the city walls, one can explore acres of farmlands to the east and west, or follow Terra's Pass to the less settled areas, but take care. Past the Skyward Range, out in the smaller burrows and villages, the influence of the city guard diminishes quickly, and you'll have to keep your wits about you. Bandits along the road are always a risk, and the wildlife are less controlled by regimented hunting.

In your hand is a gemstone, a brilliantly green emerald that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If the last portal beckoned you through it, you find yourself within that bubble covered city beneath the sea, the city of Salt Spire. Your ears pop with the change in pressure, and the smell of the salty sea fills your nostrils. All around you buildings made of dark stone encrusted with coral and seagrass tower high above your head, the backdrop outside the dome a deep blue, seemingly endless sea filled with fish and merfolk and all other manner of creature swimming through the water. You stand in the heart of it all, surrounded by people with gils on their necks and scales upon their vibrantly colored skin, all of whom seem intrigued by your arrival. You have many options of where to visit in the city under the sea, but where oh where will you go first?

The Salt Spire Library is right before you, an impossibly large building housing thousands upon thousands of books of all genres. Fiction, non-fiction, romance and mystery and all between. You may even find books from your world and others! Oddly enough though, no Calderan history books are to be found, and if you ask for them, the librarians and locals all choose to ignore your questions.

If scholarly pursuits aren't to your interest currently, perhaps a trip to Bluetide Market would be more your style? The marketplace is host to every manner of shop one might ever need: artisans of all varieties, apothecaries and healers in the Shimmer Quarter, the most in fashion undersea clothing shops, food stalls, and all between can be found in Bluetide. There are also the Tideshore and Fogbottom docks on either end of the city. The former allows transport to the surface via large, magical bubbles for those that cannot hold their breath or make the swim themselves yet. The latter allows people to venture further into the sea. Those without their underwater abilities are offered rebreathers for travel that last for four hours before needing to be replaced.

In your hand is a gemstone, a shining sapphire that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

WHISPERS TO THE TIDE

The message spreads quietly, without fanfare: a shoreline gathering, open to all. No formal invitation, no declarations from the leaders, just a time and place passed from mouth to mouth, realm to realm. At a quiet stretch of coast where the cliffs slope into tide-washed stone, someone has set out low tables bearing shell shaped lanterns. They glow softly: blue for the sea, orange for fire, green for forest, white for sky. No one claims credit for organizing it, but it's clear this is meant for those who fought. For those who died. For those who came back different.

But no one stops you if your grief is older, quieter, or comes from another place entirely. Some are new to Caldera, and for them, the name whispered might belong to someone from home.

You're told you can take a lantern, whisper a name into it—someone you lost, someone you failed, someone who isn't who they were before—Then set it in the water. The ocean carries the lanterns gently out with the tide, until the horizon flickers like a constellation fallen to the sea.

There's no stage. No speeches. Just space. Space to remember. To grieve. To speak or stay silent. To stand beside someone who understands, or to leave the lantern untouched.

BEGIN AGAIN

As the last lanterns drift out across the water, their glow swallowed by the sea, a hush falls over the shore. Cordelia, Aella, and Terra step forward. Triton stands just behind them, silent, watching. Vesper, for now, is nowhere to be seen. Waiting, recovering, enjoying time to himself.

Cordelia speaks first. Her voice is steady, her gaze lingers on the crowd. "That you stand here now is a blessing not all can claim. Caldera's own gave their lives for this moment. And you—the ones we pulled from other worlds—stood with them, gave your own lives just as readily. We do not look away from that. And we do not call this victory. Not yet."

Terra's voice follows, low and grounded. "The land remembers their names. Yours, too. This future was shaped by every hand that reached for it, whether it knew Caldera or not." She pauses. "And though not all is settled... we have the chance to begin."

Aella steps forward, her voice gentler but firm. "We know the cost. And we know we weren't always honest with you. You deserved more—answers, choices, time. But still, you gave us hope. You gave us a chance."

Then Triton speaks. There's hesitation in his voice, but he sounds sincere nonetheless. "I caused much pain. More than I can undo. I fell long before you arrived. But the world you walked into still carried my shadow. You were asked to survive what I helped create. I brought darkness where there should have been light. And for that, I am sorry."

He lets the silence stretch before continuing. "None of us can erase what was lost. But you deserve to be met with honesty. With fairness. With kindness. Not as strangers—never again as tools—but as people who mattered, and still do. Tonight is not an ending. It's the first step. One we hope leads somewhere better."

He looks out across the gathering. "So tonight, if you can—rest. Sit beside someone you fought with. Laugh, if it comes. Let the world be yours. Even if it's only for a night."

A BREATH OF SPRING

With a wave of his radiant hand, Triton breathes new life into the shores of Caldera. The once-quiet beach stirs as soft, cool waves ripple gently beneath a crisp spring sky, reflecting the golden shimmer of his light. Far below, Salt Spire's bubble glows faintly beneath the water, like a jewel set in the depths. Along the sandy shores, fires flicker to life, and colorful banners unfurl in the gentle breeze.

The air fills with the fresh scent of salt mingled with blooming wildflowers, as Triton's touch awakens the herbs and blossoms that carpet the nearby meadows. You notice stalls nestled between weathered wood and smooth stones, where roasting fish and sweet honey cakes invite you to pause and savor the moment. Near the water's edge, you see others carving tokens from volcanic glass and pieces of smoothed wood—symbols of strength and hope. You are welcome to join them, shaping your own keepsake to carry with you. Nearby, hands weave colorful reeds into bracelets and anklets, imbuing their craft with the calm energy of the sea. Perhaps you will try your hand at weaving, or chase shimmering fish darting through tide pools, or search for rare shells hidden beneath seaweed.

Further inland, beneath Triton's watchful gaze, storytellers beckon listeners near, spinning vivid tales of courage and redemption that stir the heart. You can gather with them in the warm sand and grass, share your own stories, or simply listen and let the warmth of their voices settle around you. Not far off, groups play a lively game where players toss a smooth, polished wooden ball back and forth, aiming to catch it without dropping while weaving between makeshift goals marked by sticks in the sand. The game is simple but fun, testing your reflexes and teamwork, and laughter rises with each playful challenge. Feel free to join in or cheer on the players. Along quieter paths, herbalists offer to teach you how to identify and gather spring blooms for healing poultices or charms, inviting you to take a piece of renewal with you.

As the afternoon deepens, Triton's golden light mingles with music—a haunting blend of sea shanties and lively dances—drawing visitors into circles beneath blossoming trees. Barefoot on the soft grass, you may find yourself swept up in a dance, moving with the rhythm of wind and tide.

Though Triton's radiant presence fills the beach with warmth and light, your gaze may catch subtle glances toward the rising moon—its silver face unusually bright, stirring a quiet unease deep beneath the surface. Yet tonight, under his revitalizing glow, the beach breathes easy, wrapped in a promise of healing, connection, and peace—if only for a little while.

QUESTBOARD (NEW QUESTS ADDED)

Settled in? Good. It's time to make your way to the Questboard located in every city in numerous, easy to access locations. That is, if you want to make any kind of impact on the world or just get some Bones for anything you might wish to purchase. Visitors are given a very small stipend in which to survive every month, but all it does is keep you fed and housed. These quests will assure you greater wealth, and they're the main reason you're here: each finished quest helps the Calderans fix their shattering world.

Quests can be accepted at the questboard via magically signed parchment upon the board. Just sign your name to accept and the paper will be whisked away... somewhere. You're not actually sure. Probably nothing to concern yourself with.

Once quests are completed, earned Bones will be dropped off at the character's residence by Bonita, the mysterious artisan who has supposedly handcrafted every Bone circulating in Caldera. Please do not speak to her, she startles easily.

OOC NOTES

Welcome to Caldera's seventh TDM! All characters awaken in a strange tavern with nothing save the clothes on their backs, all of their powers stripped, and a piece of parchment directing them downstairs to the Tavernkeeper. There is a thread of all questions answered by the Tavernkeeper here, and if you have more, feel free to ask there for what would be offered ICly.

◾For OOC questions, please direct themhere.

◾The Bestiary page has been renamed to Flora and Fauna, and has been updated with new beasts and information on local Calderan plants and herbs here.

Have fun, Visitors!

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ASK THE TAVERNKEEPER (IC Questions)

[calderanpcs]

Standard questions and answers:

Q: Where am I?
A: Caldera, a world split by Land, Sea and Sky.

Q: Why have I been brought here?
A: The world is dying and the leaders have requested outside aid from Visitors like you to help revive it.

Q: Where's all my stuff?
A: Not here. You may get whatever you wish returned if you put forth the effort.

Q: Who are you?
A: The keeper of the tavern.

Q: What if I don't leave the tavern?
A: You have no choice.

Q: What happens if we fail?
A: Caldera falls.

Q: What's in it for us?
A: Power. Glory. The thanks of the rulers.

Q: Can we die here?
A: Yes, but Visitors that make an effort to prove themselves to the rulers will be revived. Those who work against them may not be so lucky.

OOC QUESTIONS

[calderamods]

NEW CHARACTER TOPLEVELS

[calderamods]

Link your toplevels here!

the hunter ¤ marvel midnight suns ¤ undine

[huntersfolly]

gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

The Lone Wanderer || Fallout 3

[wasteland_101]

The Wanderer returns

August | Age of Umbra | Undine

[sixeyesofaugust]

A Good Gentleman Spider.

Balthiel | Warhammer |

[twice_cursed]

*arrival*
He'd woken up worse ways and in worse places, if he were going to be honest, at least with himself.  At least this time, he didn't have the thick wax of his mucranoid sealing his mouth and nose.  Nothing like waking up suffocating in your own skin.

Nothing was sized quite right, which was a crucial piece of information. He must be around baselines.  Which, well, he'd done it before, but he'd had the chance to make preparations. Both physically and,

well

Otherwise. 

That could be a problem. 

Still, Balthiel wasn't a sit around and be sad type.  Passivity ill-suited the Flesh Tearers.  But, it would be bad if anyone recognized him here. Not him, per se, but the armor.  Flesh Tearers were not particularly beloved off of Cretacia (and even then it was...iffy).  So he took a few minutes to strip off his armor, and peel out of the bodyglove. Which left him to improvise....

It's fine. It'll be fine.  No one would recognize the garments he was wearing as the bedspread and curtains.

He made his way down to the tavern, where he took a corner table, better to observe. Not the best corner table, with the greater vantage--that would be too obvious. In fact, Balthiel was curious to see who would sit in that more tactically-advantaged position.  After a while, the Tavernkeeper came a plopped a drink down in front of him. Which he didn't order.

"Do I look stupid?" he mused to himself, but loud enough to be overheard.  And maybe you think he's asking an honest question.  What drink do you think the Tavernkeeper nonconsensually ordered for him? 

Or maybe a bit later, you catch him staring at you, doing...something weird with his face, like he's trying to set your face on fire with his mind or something.  And after a few moments he'll frown, shaking his head. "I hate this place." 


((ooc: Feel free to clock Balthiel as a Space Marine--he has the same armor ports on his skin as Gadriel and despite his fashion attempt, they are visible on his arms.))

A Breath of Spring
He'd been home once or twice, to Cretacia, and once they'd thrown a parade or something for them and it had been...just about as awkward as this.  It was hard to be happy that your bloodthirsty Astartes were back home.  Gratitude only went so far, and they had heard of the Blood Drinkers, dark murmurs about the Rite of Holos, and they could not help but wonder....

Extra discomfiting was the acute awareness of all the blood around him.  Not spilling out on the ground, or on his armor, but walking around in bodies that were doing things like dancing and singing  and otherwise just being...weird. He found his gaze lingering a little too long on the bared throats, or even the soft skin of the wrists of people moving around him. He could almost sense the throbbing of the hearts beneath the skin. 

Sooner or later, he would need blood.  Sooner rather than, he thought, dourly, if everyone was going to walk around in skimpy clothing being so...full of the stuff.  RUDE. 

The only time he paused was at the storytellers, listening for some time, looking incredibly judgmental.  Stories of redemption. "False hope," he muttered. "I don't like peddlers of falsity."  
 

((ooc: is he staring at your delicious veins a little too long?  (he's a space vampire) or are you enjoying the stories?))

Random
It had gotten too much, after all, and he had, despite his size, managed to slip away unseen (or had he?) into the wilds.  Maybe you followed him, and caught him before, during or after him taking down a creature.  Balthiel had no weapons and no sorcery, but that had never stopped his kind before, when they needed a kill. 

It wasn't pretty. That blood was NEVER coming out of those stolen bedsheets. 

"What?" The word was muffled, his mouth still buried in the creature's throat.  He was just going to try to play it off. See? Just. uh.... not feeding like a freak on an innocent animal.  That would be weird.  For now he would try to play it off. If it failed badly, well the Flesh Tearers have an unfortunately well-earned reputation for making witnesses disappear.

Quests
Listen. He needed at the very least his sorcery back. It was half the way he controlled the Thirst and the Rage, and muttering litanies to Sanguinius wasn't going to work forever.  So, fine. 'Quests'.  He's not stupid (don't you remember?)  "Errands," he corrected. Quests involved honors. Quests were things stupid people like Imperial Fists or the sons of Dorn believed in, because they believed in honor and glory. Still. Somehow.  

There was one that caught his eye. A termination mission.  He didn't bother to read anything about children or mines.  There was someone who was obviously a cultist. Obviously, in need of termination before spreading his heresy and poison to others. "That one."  Hey you. You busy tonight? "Do you know the way?"  

((ooc: feel free to talk him out of that one and suggest another or go along and try to murder someone (just don't watch him do it, ok?))


 

arrival

[holdshisown]

"You'd be surprised how many people take the drinks offered here without much thought, friend." Maedhros says with a friendly smile. "It's good to see another take a more sensible approach to it for once. They are, however, safe enough to ingest it seems. If prone to causing rather... unexpected side-effects. Ones that may be unwelcome if one is not aware of them."

He eyes the other man curiously, he does seem to have a familiar enough look about him to another certain space marine here but he does not want to jump to conclusions quite yet.

"Rather disconcerting to be snatched away from home like this, is it not? I hope it has not caused you too much trouble and discomfort?"

Solas 🐺 Dragon Age 🐺 OTA

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas wakes from light into darkness.

i. Fresh Looks & Fresh Eyes
The interior of Caldera's first tavern is incongruous. A dim, alive-smelling place of wood and drink and magic— he had been expecting magic, of course, but not this. He had been expecting the Fade, the overwhelming, ancient tides of power and subconscious meaning, the ever-shifting sea of dreams and emotion. It was not that he had forgotten this place, only that... it had become as a dream itself, wispy and unimportant, eager to be forgotten.

But he had not forgotten. And when it had all come to pass as promised, he had... he had turned to look at her, in that last moment and—

Solas steps out into the meager crowd, with new purpose. His face is marked, bruised and bloodied, his armor shining, but stripped of all enchantments. One eye is cut and swollen, a bright red blaze down one cheek: he is not entirely sure that any eye remains, underneath the injury. But he is alive, and here again.

Caldera.

"Excuse me," He says to the first stranger he meets. If they cannot answer his question, he will rest a moment and then go on; eventually, he will try the house, or the inn, or simply wander the streets, but to begin with a question harms nothing, "Do you know where I can find Beleth Lavellan?"


ii. Old Places & Familiar Faces
...Or perhaps you are someone who knows him well, and he is returning to you from a recent absence. In that case, Solas will simple approach you with a bow and a smile, despite the fineness of his armor and the time that has passed.

"Hello, my friend," He says, blood on his face, though his smile is fond, almost nostalgic— how long has it been? It feels like years, and yet weeks, and yet no time at all, "What have I missed?"

He is happy to see you.

iii. Whispers to the Tide
Solas stands on the beach and watches the lanterns loft themselves against the prevailing sea-winds, a cloud of flickering lights, like wisps in the Fade. His face is calm, at peace, and if one were to join him he would incline his head in greet, and then say nothing at all for a long, long time.

"Strange," He says, eventually, his voice quiet enough that Solas might even be speaking only to himself, "I feel no call to mourn. I have not felt so unmoved in... for most of my life. But now, for once, I am at peace. A novel experience, indeed."

He has set free no lantern, flown no light, whispered no name. His dead are gone, or they are at his side, and the time of grief is well and done. Or so he is told. Tomorrow, perhaps, or in another moon, he will feel it again. Perhaps he will wish he had set a light, then.

But for now, let the dead sleep, and Solas' heart lies bare and whole within him.

Closed Prompt: Returned Alive 🐺 Beleth & Felassan

[goethbeforethefall]

...And then he sees them. Solas' spine straightens, and he crosses the room in several long strides, uncaring who he has to bull past or rudely ignore.

"Vhenan," He gasps, hands already reaching, his voice trailing into a broken sigh as he gathers her close. He does not doubt that she is upset, he can see— but it cannot matter. All the matters is that he pulls her into his arms and press a kiss against her face, her hair, her brow, "Vhenan... I am here. I have found you—"

Ah, but there is someone else to think of. Solas raises his head, and one hand, holding it out towards Felassan. Come here, you idiot.

"I have found you both. Felassan, ma'nehn. Felassan."

lioriley | original | undine | in game character

[invigorates]

tavern;

It had been nearly a year since her arrival in Caldera, and while much had changed about the realm — apparently the tavern housing new arrivals did not. The drinks were still questionable, the Tavernkeeper was still an ominous yet comforting figure wearing a face she could not quite place, and people were still confused. As they rightfully should be unless they were veteran world hoppers.

Do you have something odd happening to you because of a drink? Do you look lost, angry, or confused? Rest assured, Lioriley would be glad to help you with any and all of these issues! She would approach calmly (potentially dodging cherry blossoms and butterflies if necessary), and smile.

"Hello. You likely will not get many answers from them," a gesture to the Tavernkeeper. "But I am happy to help. I have been here quite some time. Also... do you require medical assistance?" Just in case.

whispers to the tide/begin again;

"They have ceremonies similar to this in many worlds, it seems." she whispered softly as she cradled a shell shaped lantern gently in her palms, fell silent for a moment, and then knelt down along the shore to send it out onto the water. There were countless more she could send for each individual she thought she failed, those she lost, and even those that had been lost here in Caldera that she did not know by name — natives that had given their lives for the reclamation of their world.

She did not say anything more, but if someone near her seemed like they needed comfort or wanted to talk, she would slide up next to them and either sit or stand (whatever they were doing) at the water's edge alongside them.

And she was there, still, when the leaders arrived and began to speak. Vesper's absence did not go unnoticed, of course. Nor did the claims those present were making. Lioriley remained as neutral as she could during the speeches.

"I am going to remain cautiously optimistic that they hold true to those claims."

a breath of spring;

Determined not to be bogged down by the lingering misery of the past several months, Lioriley took up the chance to embrace the offered moments of solace. In her spring attire, she sat on the flowering grass, diligently weaving flowers together into crowns of various colors that she handed to whoever passed her. "Here. I have always enjoyed making these, and I fear I have far too many already." Her stack was... huge, because she might have just zoned out and made them without thinking.

If not weaving flowers into crowns, she was collecting herbs for those healing poultices and listening diligently to the instructions on how to make them, a notebook in hand to write down the steps. She was not actively participating in the game being played, but at some point, the ball went wide and bonked her right on the head — was that your doing? She shook her head and picked the ball up. "That is... heavier than I thought it was."

quests/wildcard;

I'm open to all SFW quests!! hmu if you have something in mind or just throw a starter at me.

the roots remember (quest) starting off strong with the cw for space racism.

[twice_cursed]

Was. Was everyone around here a weird color? First the short grey person, then the tall blue person and now a short blue person. And everyone had pointy ears. Really, it was too much. All he knew is that it wasn't Commorragh because the amount of torture he had seen so far was hovering around a suspiciously low nearly zero.

And it wasn't like Druhkari to waste time and effort in creating fantastic illusions, not even to rope one Librarian.

Still, the sooner he got his gifts back, the better, and that was why he had agreed (it certainly wasn't with joy in his hearts and a spring in his step) to do this errand. Quest. Whatever they wanted to call it. Monkeywork.

He'd make them pay for it. Later.

But right now, he had to be, ugh. Good. Nice, even. It was almost physically painful.

He leaned on a tree outside Oak Run, observing his quest partner arrive, being all blue and tiny. And he really, really hoped the blue pulsations on her skin were not timed to her heartbeat.

Dorian Storm | Critical Role | Sylph | OTA

[makingmyway]

A. Tavern

With everything that had happened the past month, Dorian was sure that no one could blame him for dropping by the tavern for a drink on occasion. It was also a good opportunity to drop by and see if anyone new had arrived, with possibly the slight hope that it might be someone he recognized.

Regardless, as he carefully looks over the menu, he keeps an eye out for anyone who might be getting a drink themselves, especially someone who he doesn't recognize. "I'd be careful with the drinks," he advises someone he suspects is a newcomer. "They often have.. interesting effects."

B. Whispers to the Tide

While Dorian couldn't help feeling a bit suspicious by the invitation, he decided to check it out anyway. The fact that there hadn't been an announcement about it from the leaders was actually a reassurance, and made him more inclined to drop by than if they had.

But what he sees when he arrives isn't what he expected. There are no instructions, though he does pick up what to do from some of the locals. And there are plenty of names he could offer, and no one stops him from taking more than one lantern.

And of course he offers names of people he knows here, people he knew who had fought and fallen, even if they had returned. But there was one lantern that he holds a bit longer, as if debating whether or not to send it. Eventually he whispers a name into the lantern, and anyone close enough to him might catch the name - Cyrus - before he releases the lantern into the sea.

Sitting beside him, Cyrus the dragon trills a soft, sympathetic sound, curling up around Dorian's feet.

C. A Breath of Spring

The words offered by the leaders are barely a comfort, but Dorian can't deny the beauty that Triton creates. Even though it feels like the healing is only surface deep, maybe it could at least be the start of something deeper.

Dorian takes the time to explore; listening to the storytellers weave their tales and learning from the herbalists what flowers could be used for healing (a good skill to have in case he runs out of magic for healing spells, he decides). But as always it's the music that draws him in, joining the circles under the trees and watching people dance. After listening for a while, he even joins, playing his mandolin to take part providing music for the dancers.

D. Quests/Wildcard

(( Feel free to catch Dorian somewhere, or make your own prompt. I'm also open to doing quests - any SFW quest for general/new CR, and NSFW ones for his romantic partners/close CR ))

breath of spring

[huntersfolly]

Hunter would never say no to a good bardsong, and so it was no wonder she was sat nearby, boots off, enjoying the feeling of warm grass under her feet, while she listened to the musicians play. Dorian was an interesting looking man — but by far not the oddest she had ever met, and his appearance did not really catch her attention so much as his playing did.

When there was a break, she clapped. "You are very talented!"

John Rambo | RAMBO Franchise | OTA

[theydrewfirstblood]

Arrival

John has been through hell. He’s tired, battered, broken—and yet he’s calm in a way he hasn’t felt in years. The memory of losing Co is old, a scar instead of a wound, and the memories of a distant place where he had…

…he can’t let himself think about that now. Not ever.

But, as he rubs his face in the Afghani desert, a familiar sense of vertigo sweeps over him.

When he lowers his hands, blinking away the dark haze over his vision and the disorientation…

…he doesn’t bother with the parchment. He knows…and he’s resigned to the reality that he’s likely alone again. God knows how long he’s been gone.

Maybe it’s the time spent in the desert. Maybe it’s the memory of waking up to a lively, fuzzy seal in his bed—or maybe it’s the memories of sharing war stories and knowing smiles with a messed up fellow soldier who needed help and healing, who gave it to him in turn. Or the jewel red eyes and cool blue skin of a frost giant with a voice like silk…

Regardless, this time John ends up with a bracelet of heavy woven silver strands simulating rope, and the knot is formed around a glittering sapphire as his Undine token.

And when he emerges from his portal…he can’t bring himself to go home, knowing it’s probably not there anymore.

Whispers To The Tide/A Breath Of Spring

John’s…still a bit off kilter a few days in, but improving. And the strange, somber ceremony is one he takes ready part in. He’s easy to find, releasing more than one name in remembrance and mourning.

Later, he’s a bit of a ghost, wandering the renewed landscape. It takes time, basking in the heat and the fresh air, the quiet yet vibrant joy of the activities and shops on the coast, but eventually he can even be found taking part in the new game, adorned in tokens crafted by his hands and others.

Gradually, John is starting to remember, not just in his mind but in his body…he’s home.

Quest: THE TEENIEST TEMPEST

“…okay. Let’s try again.”

John wanted to earn some easy bones to start, and so he decided to pick up one of these Zephyrlings. Now, he’s seated near one that has been testing his patience for hours now, once again with a hand outstretched to wait for the tiny creature to draw near.

…only, despite the frustration, hes finding he likes this little lady (at least he’s fairly sure it’s female). She’s bold and shy at turns, fearful and the two times he's touched her it was because she poked him with her soft little nose.

She reminds him just a bit of the boy in Afghanistan.

So, anyone in the Sylph lands, either wandering or pursuing their own Zephyrling, can easily stumble across a seated John Rambo with his eye focused, his hand outstretched and trembling with thr effort to keep still, waiting for his quarry to show her cute little face again.

Jooooohhhhnnnnnn

[pokeabear]

Halsin doesn’t mean to find him.

He’s been walking slowly, savoring the hush of the forest, the light breeze, and the warmth on his shoulders. After the storm Caldera weathered, after blood, shadow, and grieving silence, there is a kind of sacred peace in these woods that calls to him like home.

He hasn't been looking for others, as his focus has been on finding the zephyrling again. The same one, he thinks. The silvery one with sharp, clever eyes and a dancer’s steps. She has given him nothing so far but a flick of her tail and the brush of magic in the air before she vanishes into the undergrowth, leaving him grinning and gently chastened.

The trees shift ahead, light caught in the leaves, and that’s when he sees the man. Slowing, he stares until he realizes the figure is unmistakable, even from behind. The broad shoulders, the coiled tension in stillness. John sits on a low stone, half-sunk into a patch of soft grass and blooming wildflowers, with one arm extended. Motionless, his hand trembling slightly, not from fear, but sheer effort. Halsin knows what it takes to hold that kind of stillness. That patience. That reverence.

And just in front of him, beneath the roots of an old tree, a flicker of white. Realizing what John is focused on, the large Druid smiles faintly to himself, unable to help himself even as he feels a rush of warmth and relief. He doesn't say anything at first despite the words bubbling to the surface; he merely draws closer, silently, not wanting to disturb but ready to offer help or encouragement.

Maedhros | the Silmarillion | OTA

[holdshisown]

Whispers to the tide

With all the terrible memories that had been dredged up for him during the event he'll spend quite some time at the shore, whispering name after name to the lanterns before he pushes them out to sea.

Amrod. Amras. Curufin. Caranthir. Celegorm. Maglor. Fingon. Fingolfin... the list he has is rather long and he does not seem to be on the verge of running out of either names or lanterns any time soon. But then there's quite a few people in his life that he feels he's failed in one way or another.

A breath of spring

He's not really in the mood for festivities right now, but he does wander among the fields of flowers Triton's called up. Trying to set his mind at ease by taking in their simple beauty. When he finds it nothing but an effort in futility he wanders off to the people carving out tokens out of the volcanic glass.

That, it turns out, serves him better to turn his mind away from the dark memories that still plauge him. With the prostethic that Barcus gave him he can even do some carving himself. He hums absentmindedly to himself as he starts to carve the beginnings of a minature eagle from a piece of wood.

Altan Hawke | Dragon Age | OTA

[altanhawke]

Whispers to the Tide

Tired but braced by the recent conflict, Altan makes his way to the gathering, quiet and slightly uncomfortable with the solemnity of the occasion. He accepts his lantern, whispers Bethany’s name to it, and sets it on the water.

He sits and wishes that Bethany had been whisked off to Caldera, not him.

Begin Again

Altan listens to Triton’s brief speech with a sour, slightly disbelieving expression, but doesn’t attempt to interrupt him.

Begin Again *torturing Altan with Space Marines 5 evah*

[twice_cursed]

Someone else who looks like they have a brain in their head. "Does this self pity pass as a motivational speech here?" Color him unimpressed.

Hugo Vlad | Zenless Zone Zero | Undecided

[symphonyofthefight]

[I. Streetside Encounter]

He's a tall, slim-built fellow dressed in a manner that even had the nobility that looked over everyone spare a glance. It wasn't out of any personal interest, however. Not entirely. But he seemed to fit right in among the crowds of busybody, gossiping elities that moved about on their daily routines, flanked by their attendants or chaperones.

He was rather pale beneath his hat, worn to keep the bothersome sun from his eyes. But the bigger issue, to Hugo's life long dismay, was that he was feeling the small shakes coming on. He could feel the small and dizzying whirl. He thought he could go longer without his vice, and yet... well. That's why vices were vices.

Best to focus on something else. When he lifted his gaze, he spied someone walking alone. Now, how peculiar... did this person slip their chaperone? Were they a social pariah?

Well. That didn't matter. It was time to get started on quelling his own curiosity.

"Rgh..." He brought a hand to his temple. His gait wobbled. The blond pitched, stumbling himself right into this lone individual, and if he were honest it took more than usual to keep himself from truly fainting then and there.

"Oh-!" He gasped, righted himself, but took a moment to look this stranger over. "Forgive me, I'm... not feeling my best. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Once all is said and done, Hugo will go on his merry way with extra apologies. But the funny thing about all that: Wasn't there... something... in your pocket a few minutes ago? Where has it gone?


[ooc: Keeping dice on hand to determine relative success! His goal isn't something deeply valuable... not today, but something to suss out whoever he bumped into. What that is is entirely up to you! Otherwise, he'll just nab a few paltry Bones if you're not up for that. I'm flexible.]


[II. The Alibi]

You're enjoying the ample lovely weather granted to the lot of you by the very strange star gods. Or, you're just heading home after an errand and looking forward to a little well-earned R&R. But that's when there's some surprised shouting, a bit of hubbub from the next street over and a few voices of command telling them to 'check that way' or 'search the shops'.

From your left you hear the tsk-tsk-tsk of a tongue. Walking alongside you seemed to materialize this odd man who was looking over some sort of parchment before he turned and flashed you a good-natured smile.

"Really... it's too early for such commotion, isn't it? I wish the guards could keep it to a dull roar some days." But in his eyes- one gray and one bright red- there danced a spark of amusement.

"My apologies. You looked like you needed company, and it's such a beautiful day."


[III. A Good Day's Work (Any quest is fine!)]

Hugo pursed his lips curiously as he read over countless requests, the smell of magic ink fresh upon the pages on this dusty old board that had endured countless stretches of terrible weather.

"They certainly like to keep us busy." His arms slid across his chest, gloved fingers drumming upon an arm.

"...I'd heard you sign one of these and lay some sort of claim to the job. Do I have that right? That's efficient, if true."


[IV. Wildcard!]

[Babies I'm up for everything and anything. You know how to contact me~]

II. The Alibi

[itsabardknocklife]

"Aw, you flatterer," Dru coos as they glance Hugo over. Their gaze shifts to the commotion behind them with a knowing smirk, but they do nothing besides loop an arm around Hugo's and lean in to peek at the parchment he's looking over. "It is a beautiful day, isn't it? I heard Triton triggered a whole explosion of flowers down by the beach, we should go check it out."

Yeah, they see right through the ruse. Luckily for Hugo, it's no skin off their nose to play along, and it's not like they has any valuables to speak of. Or pockets.

"Maybe you can buy me somethin' pretty with all that coin you just acquired, hmmm?" Dru adds with an innocent smile, bumping their hip playfully against Hugo's. "I'd even settle for lunch."

Kion 'Rook' Aldwir | Dragon Age | OTA

[makingitupashegoes]

I - Whispers To The Tide

Kion almost hadn't come. He'd caught wind of the ceremony in conversation, had dwelled on the idea. If not for the memories and grief stirred before, he might have just inwardly assured himself that he was fine, had done his grieving.

But that wasn't true was it? His response to the manipulations made that plain, at least to him. So he found himself on the shoreline, uncaring of damp sand as he knelt, gently nudging lanterns of varying colors out on the back and forth pull of waves, murmuring each name quietly to himself.

"Velas. Thana. Belen. Mindendis. Mamae. Babae. Yara..."

He trailed off, as he took the last green lantern into his hands, unable to help the faint tremor to fingers as the surf continued it's in and out rhythm, swirling around him. Barely noticed at the moment even with the evening air chilling the water. Taking a deep, steadying breath as he gently set the lantern into the water, watching it twirl in the eddies as the surf pulled away from him.

"Dareth shiral, Idrilla."

Sitting back against his heels, Kion watched the little trail of lights drifting out to join the others, wishing that the quiet ritual had given the closure he'd been hoping for.


II - A Breath Of Spring

It's a bit of emotional whiplash the shift from remembrance to the almost festival-like atmosphere that follows. But Kion finds it somewhat of a relief to have something other than the grief he hadn't been ready to handle to focus on. Was it just shoving that away to properly deal with later? Absolutely. Would later effectively be never, if he got his way? More than likely.

He drifts along the paths, considering the games, the dances, the storytelling. All good ways to dispel grief, with laughter, activity, companionship. But he found himself uncharacteristically loathe to wade in. The urge drew him to the quieter areas where the herbalists and craftsfolk had set up, and soon enough he'd settled in with a little chunk of volcanic glass of his own, gently chipping away flakes to shape it. Not entirely unlike making an arrowhead, a familiar enough activity, if it might be odd to anyone who'd known him for any length of time to see him sitting still for this activity.


III - Wildcard

I'm up for whatever sfw quests you might want to run with him! Hit me up if you've got an idea or just plunk in a starter for whatever you've got in mind.

whispers to the tide

[thecodexabides]

Gadriel had been walking along the shore, eyes out to the horizon, as if expecting a return of the shatterfish. Safety did not last long where he was from.

But that's just him and he's been here long enough to not share thoughts like that with others. People here needed these moments of safety. And besides, it wasn't that long ago he had sat over the water, christening a blade for his fallen squad. So he understood the younger man's intent, even if he didn't follow the method.

He waited, politely, at a good distance, so that private words between Kion and the dead could remain private, before speaking. "It is said that the dead stay alive, as long as someone here still holds their memories in their hearts."

the hunter ¤ marvel midnight suns ¤ undine

[huntersfolly]

arrival;

Wake up confused in a world you did not know? Tuesday for Hunter. The problem was she didn't have any weapons on her, she was dizzy, and she felt... weak. Very, very weak. It was a feeling she did not enjoy, and her immediate thought was that Lilith and her minions had once again done something to her.

She walked down the stairs, gently brushing her fingers along the collar on her neck, and headed to the bar to get... the same generic answers as everyone else got. Fantastic. Oh well, at least she got a drink, too.

She took a sip, and anyone nearby would hear her talking aloud. "What is this — peach?" She licked her lips. "No. Apple — oh. Lavender?" What the hell was happening? "Odd. I cannot seem to pin the flavor profile down. Would you have a taste and tell me what you think it is?" That was one way to share a drink with someone. Literally.

begin again;

Hunter stood at the back of the crowd, brows furrowed, listening to the leaders speak. She leaned to one side, voice lowered as she spoke to another Visitor. "Do we believe their claims? I am wholly unfamiliar with the rulers of this realm, but they speak as many leaders once did to quell the masses and keep them from hysterics or rebellion."

breath of spring;

Hunter was no stranger to gathering reagents and concocting potions and poultices from them, so it would be easy to come across her while she picked flowers and herbs and whatever else the local healers requested, crouched down at one point and inspecting a mushroom in hand. "I am fairly certain this is an oyster mushroom... either that or Pleurocybella porrigens, which I fear is very much poisonous." Help?

Alternatively, she will absolutely be participating in that ye Olde football game or whatever it is — dexterously keeping the ball in the air while she weaved toward the goal posts. Are you on her team? Are you on the enemy team? Are there rules against body checking? Because she will absolutely hip bump you out of her way!

quests;

i. The little mermaid
"How good are you at negotiating?" She spoke to her quest partner as they headed into the merchant quarter of Grey Ward, searching for their quarry and the supposed ribbon they had on hand. "And how inclined to part with this ribbon do you think they will be?" Are the merchants here assholes? Look, she just got here.

ii. body painting
Honestly? Hunter didn't even see the board announcing the place and time for this event. She just sort of... happened across it and was now sitting, naked save for the collar on her neck, on a blanket with paint beside her. She looked confused, but not entirely put out by the situation.

"Hello. Would you care to join me in... painting? I am afraid I am no master artist, but I will try my best."

iii. a third, secret quest! Aka wildcard.
Down for whatever!

quest i

[twice_cursed]

"How do you define 'negotiating'?" He had managed to acquire a knife since his arrival, and he rolled it meaningfully over his knuckles. "Because depending on the definition I range from excellent to not great."

Druregard Murlistrasza | D&D OC | Undine

[itsabardknocklife]

Tavern
To Dru, waking up in the Tavern again felt a bit strange as they were almost certain they'd gone to bed in a room at Finn's Inn, but it wasn't the strangest thing that had ever happened to them. Besides, maybe they just got confused. They'd gone to bed late, after all, and they didn't really know Caldera very well. So with a shrug of acceptance, Dru headed downstairs, waved to the Tavernkeeper, and ordered a drink.

Well, multiple drinks. They had to, okay? The drinks on tap this morning called to their bardic heart, and it wasn't long before Druregard was waltzing across the tavern, their skin glowing as a trail of butterflies danced in their wake and their laughter filled the air with cherry blossoms.

"Oh, I just need to have a few bottles of these to take with me!" they sing, rising on to the point of their tow as they spin. "What a wonderful way to start the morning!"

Whispers to the Tide
Dru is still glowing and trailing butterflies, but there are no cherry blossoms in sight as they stand on the beach. There's something haunted about their expression as they stare into a lantern, their eyes wide and full of confusion. If you put your ear against their head, you might hear the gears turning as they try to figure out what could have happened to cause such a somber gathering.

Even worse was the encouragement to speak of those they'd failed to the lantern, and by Hells did they have a list of names. It was the exact same list as those they'd lost, and it was painful, relieving the moment that cost them everything; friends, family, their future...

By the time they let their lantern go, Dru's hands are shaking. Grief wasn't really an emotion they'd ever let themself feel; the Hells weren't exactly the best environment for it, and they'd spent the last few years just trying to stay afloat. Here, kneeling at the water's edge as waves lapped at their knees? It was feeling harder and harder to keep it together.

[vliste_staba]

There's a faint, excited squeal behind Dru as they wrap up their lantern speaking, and only the somber occasion prevents it from continuing on in an illustration of the Doppler effect as Deet scurries up the beach towards them.

She is wearing gloves routinely now, and that means it seems safe enough to latch onto her friend in a hug. It mostly encompasses Dru's arm and shoulder, but there's an additional flare of filmy, rose-colored wings spread as if to shelter them from non-existent rain or starlight.

"Dru! You're back! I missed you!" Is this comforting? Maybe a little? If nothing else, it's exuberant affection and welcome.

Raleigh Becket | Pacific Rim | Undecided

[youcanwin]

ARRIVAL
Raleigh Becket sat with his back to the wall and a mug of pale gold mead resting in his hand, fingers curled around it like it might vanish if he let go. The table was scarred, worn smooth by time and boots and too many elbows. Honest furniture in a place that didn’t feel quite real.

He still didn't know how he had come to be here, as he didn’t remember much, really, except a sense of motion. Falling, maybe. Drifting sideways through some crack in the world, but there was no panic in him. The fight-or-flight reflex had long since burned out and settled into something steadier: the discipline of someone who’d seen too much to flinch at the surreal.

So he watched instead, noting the tavern was warm and dim, full of low laughter and the occasional thud of a tankard hitting wood. No familiar faces. No Jaeger pilots. No threat he could name. Just people who were ordinary or pretending to be. One man near the fire had feathers braided into his hair. A woman passed his table carrying a tray of glowing blue bottles like it was nothing unusual.

Raleigh took another slow sip. The mead was cool and sweet, with the faint bite of something herbal at the back. It tasted like summer caught in a glass, and he let it settle in his chest, steadying, anchoring. Wherever he was, he’d figure it out. Or he wouldn’t. But the ceiling hadn’t collapsed yet, no one had tried to punch him, and the drink was good.

For now, that was enough.

WHISPERS TO THE TIDE
Raleigh Becket stood at the edge of the stones, the tide creeping up around his boots like it wanted to pull him in. Lanterns bobbed on the surface, trailing light like sea-glow across the dark water. Blue, green, orange, white—each a quiet promise, a grief too deep for banners or battle hymns. No one asked names. No one asked why he was there.

He held a lantern, shaped like a nautilus shell, its blue light soft against his fingers. He hadn't planned to take one. Hadn't planned to come, really. The message had found him like fog finds the coast...gently, without asking. He almost laughed at himself now, standing there with the thing cupped in his palms like it might crack if he breathed too hard. A part of him still expected Yancy to step up beside him, bump his shoulder, and say something dumb to cut the weight in the air.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He kept expecting. Kept waiting for the second voice in the drift, for the instinctive rhythm of thought and breath that had been his brother’s. All these years later and his mind still left space for Yancy, like a missing limb you keep reaching for. He didn’t whisper a name into the lantern. He just let his breath touch it. That was enough. Yancy would know.

He set it gently on the water, and the tide took it. No ceremony. No final note. Just a faint glow sliding out into the vast dark, until it joined the rest—stars unanchored, carried out to where the sky meets the sea and everything else gets quiet.

THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE
The tunnels were hot enough to sting the back of Raleigh’s throat, even through the cloth he’d tied over his face. The obsidian golem beside him moved with slow, seismic purpose—its molten core pulsing faintly through the cracks in its black glass skin. It said nothing, but Raleigh didn’t mind the silence. What got under his skin was the stink of greed. Not just the sharp, chemical tang of the fumes, but the way someone had looked at these crystals—these raw, dangerous veins of fire—and thought mine. He understood desperation. He did. But understanding didn’t make it right. If anything, it made it worse. People were trying to build something here. A city, a life. And these smugglers were gutting it from beneath.

He ducked under a collapsed beam, motioning the golem forward with a sharp nod. The light from his shoulder lamp flickered off jagged crystal walls, illuminating crude mining gear left half-buried in ash. Not even trying to be careful. Not even pretending. The crystals thrummed faintly under his boots—unstable, volatile, alive in a way that made his skin crawl.

"Skyships don’t fly without a crew," he muttered to himself, bitter. "You can’t steal power without stealing from people too."

He heard footsteps up ahead, hurried, too many for comfort. Let them run if they wanted. He wasn’t here to lecture. He was here to shut them down. The golem, wordless and towering, followed in his wake like judgment itself.

If someone wanted to join in, they were welcome to.

WILDCARD
[ Open to any other quests or scenes, let me know where and what. ]

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

[theydrewfirstblood]

“They’ll do it again.”

When John heard about the trouble in Ignacia’s Cradle so soon after he got back, he knew he had to help. He was Dryad once, the Grey Ward had been good to him…and once he has enough bones, he’s staying.

He’s never leaving Finnick again.

The problem is, the more he learned the angrier he got, and the more he sees…

The blonde kid has that spark in his eye. John saw it the moment he joined the party, and seeing him stalk after the fleeing smugglers he knows he gets it. Hell, he’s probably a soldier in his own right.

So he moves to his side, lays a hand on his shoulder—not to stop or restrain him, but to look him in the eye. Make sure he’s ready.

“This kinda profit and power…they’ll do it again, man.” He echoes.

And the only way to stop them may be to send a message in blood.

He leaves that part unspoken…and lets his hand drop to see if the kid will take a step back, or keep moving forward.

Either way, John is on the path that takes him towards those footsteps—and he’s not afraid to bring back a body or two to show the rest of Caldera that someone is there to keep the realm honest.

Crowley | Good Omens | OTA/Undecided (Probably Dryad)

[duckshaveears]

Arrival/Drinks Menu

Crowley has been bombarding the Tavernkeeper (and anyone else handy) with questions, punctuated liberally by sardonic commentary. He's run through all the basics plus some extras, and the unavoidable facts of his new existence are starting to sink in. He does not look at all pleased about this.

"Right. Great. Fantastic." Crowley rubs his forehead. Here comes the new boss, much too much like the old boss... "One more extremely, vitally important question: which of these is going to get me the most drunk as quickly as possible?"


Whispers to the Tide

Crowley stands back, watching, his brows furrowed. They often are; no one here has yet seen him look happy or relaxed. But for once it's an air of anger or frustration around him. Instead, he just looks...tired. When offered a lantern he simply says "No. Thanks." His hands are in his pockets as though keeping them hidden will prevent someone from putting one of the lanterns into his keeping and forcing him to say a name.

He stands far back, apart from the crowd, watching, and something about his stance speaks of immense age and experience beyond his seeming years.


A Breath of Spring

Crowley wanders, and to his own surprise finds himself almost...not at ease, no, but...interested. Comforted, maybe, not that an old demon like himself needs comforting, not for any reason. Obviously not. But it's...nice, to see that people here are the same as people everywhere. Telling stories. Making art. Interacting. Playing games, making music, all that stuff. Even when they've come from unfathomable other places through unimaginable means, they're ultimately still just...people, being people, adapting and continuing to exist whatever gets thrown their way.

He's always liked people. It's a real weakness in a demon. But he didn't want the world to end back home, and now...now, he's finding he doesn't want it to end here either.

Maybe it won't be so bad, working to keep that from happening, even if he doesn't have a choice. It's not like he's got anything better to do.

"Hey," Crowley says, tapping someone nearby on the shoulder. "Know if any of those stalls over there have anything good to drink in stock?"


Quests

Quests. Right. It sounds ridiculous. He's the bloody Serpent of Eden, not some knight errant or wandering samurai. But he's also lost all his ability to do miracles since arriving here, and that's Bad. Crowley knows better than to let himself be (or seem) vulnerable. That's a surefire way to get yourself chewed up and spat out by someone more powerful than he is.

He'd prefer to just stay under the radar, but since he can't...well, he needs some tricks up his sleeve. And if he has to do a few 'quests' to make that happen, fine. He's spent most of his existence working for Hell, surely nothing this place can offer can be worse.

And from the looks of the quest board it isn't worse. But it's definitely weird.

"Body painting?" he says quietly to himself. "Can't say that's my thing, but it seems harmless enough, so long as none of it's permanent. Trial of Temptation, heh, there's a laugh..." He keeps browsing. "Shadowvault, there's a name that's a bit on the nose, no doubt...huh, light travel, minimal difficulty, that's got possibilities, wouldn't mind seeing more of this place...turnips?!?"


Wildcard

[ooc: It's a long time since I apped for a game and I'm out of practice at TDMs, if there's a scenario you'd like to try out with Crowley, lmk! Happy to experiment and get into hijinks, sorry he's being a grumpy twit atm. ;)]

Breath of Spring

[hellrider]

Congratulations, saer, you have found someone who looks way more demon than you do! At least, he looks that way on the surface, with coral-red skin, long spiky horns, and a spade-tipped tail. His eyes, too, flicker with the reflection of infernal flames, but at the moment he seems to be helping some children thread flowers together into daisy crowns, so make of that what you will. He looks up at the stranger and smiles easily. "Depends what you're into," he says.

"If you're looking to start tomorrow morning with a hangover, you might have to wait for one of the taverns to open, or sneak away to the winery. But there's a food cart selling what they call Irish coffee not far from here, which I can enthusiastically recommend."

"Failing that, the ginger limeade is good, especially if you pair it with something salty, like a pretzel or a cheese fritter."

...look, he's really gotten into junk food since arriving here, so sue him.

The Lone Wanderer || Fallout 3 || Sylph

[wasteland_101]

Arrival - Wasteland Butterfly

[Getting cleaned up felt amazing. Getting rid of the grime of the wasteland was always nice. Clean clothes, her Pip-Boy back in place. She was ready to take on the world again. Or at least the strange place she had found herself in again. She headed down to the tavern with a friendly smile.

She looked over the drinks and decided to try one of the special ones this time. She took a sip of her drink before heading towards a back table, blinking as the movement caught her eye, making her do a little half-turn.]

Not something I've really seen before....

Whispers to the Tide - A Daughter's Loss

[She's a bit confused as she sees the lanterns on the tables. Loss. She's had a lot of it in her short time outside of Vault 101. She stands back for a few minutes, just watching and listening.

Eventually she stepped up to a table full of white lanterns. She carefully picked one up and held it close for a moment before saying one name.]

James.

[The name of her father. A man she had lost twice. She hoped that he was proud of what she became. What she did with Project Purity to help the wasteland. She did a lot of things that she wasn't exactly proud of after his death, but she still did what she could to help.

She stepped to the water and knelt down, allowing the lantern to float off with others.]

I hope I've made you proud.


A Breath of Spring - Healing Old Wounds

[Angel listened intently to the herbalist as they pointed out flowers and things that could help with healing wounds. She could always use something like that, especially with the way that she tended to fight. Not caring about small wounds or scars. She didn't have the supply of Stimpaks that she used to have.

She carefully gathered the herbs and flowers. She would need to take the time to actually make the poultice, but she would eventually have a few made just in case. She had a couple of Stimpaks on her, but she wanted to save those for extreme circumstances.]

Don't really have flowers like this back home. Too much radiation.

[She wasn't really talking to anyone in specific, more to herself.]

o/ Arrival

[twice_cursed]

[Balthiel was still sitting in the Tavern, because it involved a hobby of his: people judging. Without his gifts, he had to rely on more mundane ways of reading people, and he figured he might as well get practice in now, before he headed outside. ]

The sorceries here seem harmless enough. So far.

You must be the trusting sort. [Not him: in front of him is a plain straight glass of tapwater. ]

August | Age of Umbra | Undine

[sixeyesofaugust]

🕸Arrival & Drinks

This place was incredibly odd for August, not so sure about all the chatter around the...tavern they called it? It was an odd notion to August but then he had grown up in a place ruled by shadow and darkness, he didn't know if they had taverns like this still in other places but they definitely hadn't back in Desperloche let alone the Hive. Though that just means when he slips into a seat and looks at the menu he suffers from slight decision paralysis. Most alcohol where he's from is either coveted or is some sort of vinegar-y wine.

But after minute or so the young man settles on something that sounds rather simple. A mead. Well a Firefly Mead, sure that's just the brand name after all right? Or maybe it's made with fireflies? Either way he gets it and the color reminds him a bit too much of the sticky sweet nectar of the Hive. Still he swallows it down and is pleased to find it's not too terribly sweet. Maybe still a tad too much like honey than he'd like but then he didn't realize that mead was made from honey.

It's only belatedly that he notices the gentle pulse of a glow that is emanating from him and he looks shocked, all six eyes darting around as he sits up and looks at himself mildly panicked.

"Blast, ballocks...I hope this doesn't last." So much for keeping a lower profile.

🕸Whispers to the Tide

It's such a quiet solemn occasion and August doesn't even know why, still he visits and respectfully steps along the stove dappled shore. The ocean is so different than the dark foreboding thing he remembered seeing from the gates of the Monastery. Lit by the little dots of light from the various lanterns it's unlike anything August has seen. A sad beauty that inspires him on some level.

Without realizing it he finds himself at table and being handed a lantern after it's explained to him what they are for. At first he wanted to turn the gesture down, who does he have to mourn? He was the one missing from home. But as he looks at thing he begins to realize there is someone that it reminds him of, it's delicate and simple but to August the light means more than it might to others. It reminds him of the pyre back home, the home he had found with Misty. Taken in by a kind old dwarf and his daughter. A night that changed everything. Sacred pyre protecting them...until it couldn't Until it was doused by the blood of it's keepers, and the face of a familiar sweet girl twisted by the Umbra.

Eryn, sweet young Ryn who he had meant to keep from danger...only to fail her. His eyes burn a bit with a feeling his not quite sure how to name as he kneels next to the water.

"I'm sorry Eryn, you deserved so much better...if only we had been stronger for you." He muttered, letting the lantern float from his hands he pulled his knees close to his chest as he sat on the stone staring out at the little lights dotting the darkening ocean.


🕸A Breath of Spring

The sun, bright and shining and warm. Flowers dotting the meadows and everything is alive. It's unlike anything August has ever known. For a thousand years or more his world has been thrown into shadow and darkness, there is no shining sun where he's from. He has to shield his eyes from the bright rays, pulling his top hat down further as he finds himself wandering busy stalls, entranced by the different stalls. He decidedly avoids the honey sweet things but the fish is definitely something he samples, happily tucking in while hiding his mouth and mandibles with his scarf.

He finds himself eventually back down by the shore, a place slowly becoming one of his favorites, and finds himself fascinated by the various bits and bobs people are making. Finding himself a little perch he pulls silk from his mouth, weaving it between deft fingers as one set of arms starts and from under his coat a second and then third set come up to help. He gets lost in the warm comfort of his work that for a moment the hesitation of his own appearance is lost in the salty sea air.

Finally as the evening wares on August can't help but explore this new and lively place, he finds himself gathered with others under the blossoming trees and finds himself happily clapping along with the beat of a song he's never heard as others dance. He keeps to the shadows and watches, not used to seeing such happiness but for now at least letting it warm his bones. August can't fight the smile as tucks himself against one of the trees enjoying the scene from his quiet "corner".

🕸Wild Card or Quests
If you have an idea you want to do or a quest feel free to toss one up!

Breath of Spring

[lost_and_foundry]

Let it never be said that Barcus can't learn from previous experiences, especially since he has made a conscious effort to grow out of and away from the xenophobia that marked his youth. He has learned that people other than gnomes can be kin, can be friends. That drow are just people, and some are more than worthy of love and trust. He's even learned that driders aren't necessarily psychotic, goddess-cursed monsters. Not here, anyway.

It still gives him a start when he sees the stranger with multiple limbs, clearly spinning silk. For a moment his heart leaps into his mouth, because that's not Olivine, and he has to take a few deliberate, slow breaths to collect himself.

After all, the man is just sitting there minding his own business. If he were dangerous, he wouldn't be working away so peacefully. After a moment, he takes note, curiously, that the silk is spun from the stranger's mouth, which is not how Ollie's works, and honestly he has no idea how driders at home spin silk, he wasn't about to ask Kar'niss. Not the same species, then.

At last he approaches, looking like he's fighting nerves, but he deliberately sits in the space across from the newcomer, on a large piece of driftwood, and folds his hands in his lap. "Um. Hello. You're new, I think? What are you making?"

Courtney Crumrin | The Crumrin Chronicles | Sylph

[sidhean]

Arrival

"Nope." She shakes her head at the Tavernkeeper's offer of a drink. "You're not getting me that easily. If I want something I'll get my own."

She peppers him with questions, and while her initial tone is hostile, it seems to slowly dissolve into resigned annoyance as she goes on. Finally, running out of questions, she stalks over to a booth and sits there, arms folded across her chest, dark eyes glaring murderously out the nearest window. She's still not touching any food or drink, she knows the rules, but she's got to think about her next move before she makes it.

Whispers on the Tide

The young woman stands on the shore, short blond hair already mussed by the wind. The coat she has on is really far too heavy for this weather, but her only concession to the heat is letting the material slide off her shoulders to expose the distressed black t-shirt beneath. When she crouches to let the lantern go, it turns her silhouette into a nest of dark fabric with pale skin and hair peeping out.

"Hey, Uncle A," she says in a soft voice as the lantern starts to drift on the tide, but then her tone shifts: "You have a lot of nerve leaving us like you did. What the fuck, man? Wil has no idea what he's doing, and I don't know what to tell him, I never knew how to handle people. I can kill anything that threatens him, but anything else I try to do to help will just fuck him up worse."

"Now Calpurnia shows back up and she's missing like fifty years of memory which is a LOT considering she looks about thirty. I think the fucking vampire's gone for good, but the goddamn FBI is on her ass for whatever reason and I'm gonna have to murder Mulder and Scully."

Pause. "Not literally. Not actually Mulder and Scully, but...you never even watched that show, never mind. Fuck."

"We're cleaning up your messes. You know that, right? I just want you to know that. I love you, but you were always an asshole, and I feel like I have to do everything on my own all over again. Fuck you. I miss you."

...oof. That was a lot. She rocks back onto her heels, then sits in the sand, curled up in an angry knot with a look on her face like she's trying not to leak any tears while her brain studiously converts grief into anger like the little meat-machine it is.

Begin Again

The gathering and the speeches are moving, in a way, but Courtney finds herself scowling skeptically at all of it, as is her wont, anyway.

"I feel like I missed something big here," she mutters, half to herself, half to the nearest person. "Kind of a weird start. What happened with Mr. Sparkles and the Powerpuff Girls?"

...she's been debriefed on who they are, that's not what she's asking, but that was a very solemn speech based on the bare-bones information she has, which is basically there was a big battle. Good luck getting her to refer to the leaders by name, though. Who knows what nickname she'll come up with for Vesper.

Wildcard
((Want a quest? I'm open to any SFW quests. PM me if you want, or find me on discord at WugglyUmp.))

arrival

[miss_filed]

Evie's on her usual sweep for newcomers, and to be honest, the frowny aura this woman gives off is, well, noticeable. She couldn't help overhearing the words.

"It's only the drinks that are bewitched. The food is fine." Maybe not Michelin star quality, but it won't make one burp flowers or anything awkward.

sun spear ☆ original ☆ sylph

[lygophobic]

tavern/arrival;

It's been over half a year in Caldera since the elven woman was last spotted. It had been even longer for her back home — damn near five years of endless trudging across the continent (and to another over the treacherous sea), forging contracts with numerous leaders — a handful of successes, even more that nearly killed her and her company for even requesting an audience — almost losing the only family she had left. Actually losing too many companions to count. A war she didn't want any part of, but shit — you can't turn down good money when you're a merc. And god damn did they make bank once the Phoenix Company was being endorsed by the king himself.

And now, here she was, for some fucking reason, in... Caldera? Is that what it was called? Her memory was fuzzy. Jumbled. This whole world felt like a dream before. Had to be.

Catch her at the tavern with a glass of butterfly blush which, as far as she was concerned, was just a decent drink. She had yet to find something worth laughing about that might hint to the side effects...

breath of spring;

"Weren't there only three leaders before? Who the hell is that?" Sun Spear nodded toward Triton, following his gaze to the moon. Shit. It was getting kind of dark, wasn't it? She shifted on her heels uncomfortably, arms crossed. "And is that a volcano?"

surprise delivery (quest);

"This is why we need to press harder when we take these quests." Sun Spear rolled her eyes. "They're all vague, give no detail, and this is what we get — easy delivery job turns into hunting a — what was it called? A leshyn? Do we even know what that is? Or how to fight one? Does no one negotiate these contracts?"

wildcard;

down to clown w/whatever if none of these prompts do it for you.

surprise delivery ig?

[thecodexabides]

"The civilians here are incapable of direct speech. Much like their leaders." Gadriel, miss an opportunity to diss the faction leaders? Not on your life. Or this stupid merchant's life, for that matter.

Unfortunately for her, Gadriel was pleasantly surprised. What had seemed like an absolute waste of his time which he only took because he got stir crazy, suddenly had potential to be interesting. Maybe even fun.

"I have no idea but I am confident that it can be done." He looked down at her. "You can stay back if you have concerns for your safety." He'd totally understand.

Lilith Morningstar || Hazbin Hotel

[firstlily]

.ARRIVAL.

A darkness seemed to take hold, squeezing it's grip around her waste until suddenly...nothing. However, isn't that how it's always been? Heaven was never the sunshine and rainbows kind of place that it was made out to be, or at least not to the Queen of Hell. Seven years and all she knew was the sound of waves crashing against the shore line along with the faint rustle of leaves whenever she ventured into the garden. No one dared speak to her while she dreamed of days filled with the warm embrace of her family. After all, she was a disgusting creature who should've been down in Pride suffering for all eternity. Of course, she never did view her home as such a place because it was...home.

Regardless, it felt like Lilith was falling all over again but this time there was no angel there to wrap his arms around her. She had to save herself, to will herself awake before it was too late. Teeth clenched and she swore her hands were balled up into two tight fists, but that alone had taken all her energy. Eyes refused to open and muscles move.

I won't let it end like this... I won't.

Those words echoed inside her head over and over again until suddenly she was in a strange bed that was located in neither Heaven nor Hell. For someone with her magical abilities, that was easy enough for Lilith to deduce once her eyes finally fluttered open. Instead of taking in all her surroundings, however, she immediately left the bed and made her way straight towards the door. If there's one thing she's always detested it was being locked away, her freedom denied. Oddly enough, the door swung open with very little force.

Perhaps this was earth? Another dimension? It could very well be their Creator toying with her emotions. Whatever it was, she made her way down the stairs, black stilettos clicking against the wooden floors while long golden locks trailed behind her. One second later and she already understood that she was in a tavern. It was fine. There was no reason to lose her composure over that. In fact, she was certain that this little game would be over fairly soon once whomever in charge realized who they were fucking with.

With her head held high, she slowly walked to the bartender with all the grace and elegance of a woman of her stature and took a seat. No one else seemed to be dressed like her, a queen. Although, she was lacking a crown but her purple dress, long and hugging every curve was certainly formal. It had a somewhat mystical shimmer to it as did those piercing eyes of hers that matched her dress perfectly.

"I suppose, but then again the real question is do you intend on answering any of my questions or will you merely smile?" she asked calmly and glanced at the drink in front of her. Lilith certainly knew better than to ever take candy (or drinks) from strangers, and so she stared at it for a moment before returning her gaze to the bartender. "Well, what will it be?" There was neither malice nor disdain present in her voice. She was merely the first woman plotting her escape from her newest prison.

.WILD CARD.
If there's a scenario you would like to try out, then I'm more than happy to discuss with you!!

Not who you wanted, but who you get: space wizard

[twice_cursed]

Don't ask why Balthiel is still in the newcomer's tavern. He has developed what the young kids call 'beef' with the Tavernkeeper. Someone needs to keep an eye on that shady sharri, and Balthiel has time on his hands, and also eyes. Also this metaphor is stupid.

"His answers are about as trustworthy as his drinks, but you look like you've already figured that out." Oh, sorry, Tavernkeeper, are you glaring at him? TOO BAD.

Fenris | Dragon Age 2 | Sylph

[magehater]

Arrival:

Fenris did not appreciate waking up in strange places, especially since the last time he laid down to sleep he had been in his rundown mansion in High Town. Now he was in an unknown place without his sword. His sword that was a gift from Hawke. And to top it all off...he couldn't seem to tap into his lyrium brands.

Stalking down the stairs Fenris grumbled under his breath, hunched like he typically was even without the weight of his Blade of Mercy on his back. He'd talked with the tavernkeeper, or rather demanded answers from her, and soon found out exactly why he was there. He wasn't happy about it but it was at least better than some weird magister bullshit or more backlash from the idiot mage blowing up the fucking Chantry like a moron. He was still fuming about that but partially because he had seen the strain it had put on his friend...his friend who as far as he knew was not here.

Sitting at the bar Fenris ordered something light and minty, not realizing when the gauntleted hand touching the table started to spread frost from it's fingertips as they tapped irritably on the wooden counter.


Whispers to the Tide:

Standing on the shore Fenris watched as others set out lanterns, watching their lights flicker and float off as the tide pulled them out to sea. He stares for a good long while thinking of what had happened in the past nine years he had been with Hawke and his crew, the people they had lost.

There was one person he thought to light a lantern for. A kind woman he hadn't got to really know but had been incredibly important to his friends. He takes a lantern in a pretty forest green and writes a name: Leandra Amell. He barely knows how to write it but thanks to his own lessons in reading and writing he manages to scrawl it out before walking to the waters edge and placing the lantern in the water.

It wasn't much but he couldn't think of anyone he might place one out for more deserving than the woman who lost so much. He stood silently, arms crossed as his feet sunk into the wet sand.


Breath of Spring:

Now this was a little more familiar, Fenris finds himself weaving through stalls in a small market. Stopping to sample various foods and eventually taking a portion of grilled fish and a sweet honey cake that is forced into his hands. This was something he wasn't as familiar with. The people of Caldera were so...giving. This would never have happened in Minrathos or Kirkwall, but it was nice. It almost brought a rueful sort of smile to the sour elf's face.

Almost.

When he finds himself once more on the beach it's bright and livelier than it had been before. The blooming flowers and the artisan's working Fenris can't help but be intrigued as he pokes around silently. Not actively engaging unless he's spoken to he finds himself curious. He's not one for crafts and the only real skill he has is killing...something that right now is not needed. So instead he keeps to the shadows, how little there are, and watches as he walks. It's easier that way and he's out of peoples way.


Wildcard/Quests:

[ ooc;; feel free to come up with something else all together or poke me over on discord @ purpleone to talk about quests or other ideas you might have!!

Whispers to the Tide

[altanhawke]

At this level of soft dark twilight, so much looking like a charcoal sketch and the sea like gilded ceramic picked out here and there by the lanterns, the man who stands not far from Fenris may not be immediately obvious. He’s not trying to make himself obvious, not knowing that he should.

He’d still be recognizable - at second glance. His beard is much shorter. He hasn’t quite acquired the fine lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth that seven years of Kirkwall will come to etch on even a man still in his prime. He’s not wearing the particular heavily enchanted finery that will come to be the Champion’s costume. He’s missing a few scars (not as many as one might think). He carries himself much differently than he’ll come to under the weight of his future title.

But it’s still Hawke, the same raven-black hair, the same oddly light agate-green eyes, the same broad shoulders.

His eyes catch on the name ‘Leandra Amell’. He doesn’t really parse the words, although something about the shape of the text bothers him, and Fenris likely catches an inexplicably present, astonishingly young Hawke staring at his lantern before Hawke can read the words.