TDM #9

[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

PUMPKIN SPICE The second this delectable drink hits your tongue, you have the overwhelming urge to tell someone a story - specifically about something unbelievable that happened to you, be it true or not.

BLACK CAT You finish most sentences with cat-like mewls, trills, and other such sounds.

SINFUL CIDER made from a particular variety of apples with a sharp intense flavor and a smooth caramel finish, the tart sweetness blends perfectly with the spices. Suddenly you feel like you need to confess something.

BEETLEJUICE A Calderan fall delicacy, the drink is made by marinating beetles in a strong liquor reminiscent of malort. drinking 3 of them in a row is a common challenge, if you can stomach it...

HOT CHOCOLATE The standard fare with or without marshmallows. Drinking this makes you want to cuddle up with someone - anyone, really - especially by a fire.

HAZELNUTTY A hazelnut latté sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. You regard the first person you see as though you're their biggest fan and you're thrilled to meet them in the flesh.

BEASTS ABOUND

The tavern is quiet. The crackling hearth, the soft clink of glassware, the Tavernkeeper's steady presence — it all feels strangely safe, as though this place was built to calm the soul. You've spoken, you've asked questions, and now the Tavernkeeper smiles gently, gesturing toward the far door.

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

But before you can take a step, a sound rattles the tavern windows. A howl — low, mournful, and too close. The lanternlight flickers silver. Then the door you are meant to pass through slams open with a deafening bang.

Moonlight floods in.

Creatures spill across the threshold — animals, but not as you know them. Their bodies are marked with fractures of pale light, their eyes glazed in silver. A wolf pads forward, its jaw open unnaturally wide, teeth glinting in the silvery light. Behind it, crows scatter through the rafters, eyes wicked red and hinted with malice. A deer stumbles into the room, antlers sharpened and twisted into crescent moon shapes that scrape the tavern beams.

The Tavernkeeper's hand stills on the bar, their smile finally faltering. "Moon touched," they murmur, voice low. "They are not meant to cross this threshold... but it seems the moon has grown impatient."

The fire in the hearth sputters, extinguishes, leaving only the unnaturally bright moonlight that casts shifting shadows about the room. Old Visitors and new alike are faced with the same dawning horror: the tavern is no longer safe unless you make it so.

The beasts surge forward.

LET'S TRY THIS AGAIN

As the beasts are dispatched, the Tavernkeeper speaks once more:

"As I was saying..." "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.

VEILWALKER'S EVE

The fog comes early this year, thick and suffocating, rolling over land, sea, and sky. The moon looms close, and the whispers of the dead grow louder, no longer confined to lonely corners. Doors slam shut at night, lanterns burn longer, and the locals speak not just in hushed rumors but in fearful certainty: the veil is breaking.

When the Veilwalkers arrive, they do not keep their distance as before. The tall, robed figures enter the cities with an odd sort of haste. Their faceless heads turn toward you, and instead of hostility, they extend their long, shadowed hands. In them are masks not unlike those made and worn by the Visitors the year before. Their voices rise in unison, echoing through your mind:

"The moon's shadow feeds the restless. Alone, we cannot hold them back. You will wear the masks. You will walk with us. You will bind the sigils, or all will be lost."

For the first time, the Veilwalkers ask for help. They teach the Visitors their symbols, strange geometric runes that must be drawn in deep red ink where the veil has frayed: carved into coral cliffs at Salt Spire, scrawled upon crypts in Grey Ward, branded into stone monoliths deep in the Wilds. Each one anchors the barrier, holding the rift closed against the moon's gnawing pull.

When the final night comes, the sigils blaze red across Caldera's cities. The Veilwalkers form their circles and begin to chant, their words vibrating like thunder in your bones. Rifts tear open in the air, spilling wraiths and revenants into the streets. The Visitors must hold the lines, defending the glowing symbols as the restless dead throw themselves against you. The battle stretches on until at last the sky itself splits, the spirits are dragged screaming back into the rift, and with a final surge of crimson light, the veil seals shut once more.

The fog retreats. The clouds break. The moon returns — pale, diminished, but still watching. The Veilwalkers vanish as they always do, but this time they leave words carved glowing into the walls of the cities:

"The veil endures. But the moon is not done."

FLOOD OF MEMORY

The ritual is complete, the sigils blaze faintly as the last spirits are drawn back into the rift, and the Veilwalkers vanish as silently as they arrived. Yet the veil remains thin, trembling like a sheet of ice underfoot, and the restless energy lingers in the air. If a Visitor reaches out, touches, or is brushed by a Veilwalker — or even a spirit that has not yet fully returned to the veil — a sudden, icy pain pierces the mind.

Visions flood in without warning. Some see their own deaths, vivid and immediate, or replayed as distant echoes from a life not yet lived. Others glimpse the end of a stranger, the collapse of a friend, or fractured moments in the shadowed world the Veilwalkers inhabit: gray plains filled with drifting shapes, the endless murmur of lost souls. Time stretches and bends in these moments, the senses adrift, and for a moment the living and the dead seem to occupy the same space.

When the vision fades, the chill it leaves lingers in your bones, the images etched into memory. Though fleeting, the experience carries a heavy weight: a reminder that the veil is never truly safe and that even a brief touch can show what is hidden, what is coming, or what can never be avoided.

QUESTBOARD

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 9th 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 winners of the Revel of Wonders have been chosen!

In 1st place: Beleth Lavellan and Solas!
In 2nd place: Nina Ironfist!
and in 3rd place: Pomni!

Please refer here for your prizes and congrats to the winners! Never forget that Nymion likes you best, for now!

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.

QUESTIONS

[calderamods]

[goethbeforethefall]

Because Beleth and Solas won as a team, do they share the prize, or does each character get their own prize?

NEW CHARACTER TOPLEVELS

[calderamods]

Link your toplevels here!

John Murdoch | Dark City (1998)

[gonnafixthings]

An ancient muse reawakens

Dorian Storm | Critical Role | Sylph (Current Player) | OTA

[makingmyway]

A. Beasts Abound

Dorian hadn't meant to be at the tavern for too long - just long enough to check out the drink menu, maybe grab one that looked good, and to see if any of the new arrivals might be someone he knows. He's about to head out when the door suddenly slams open and startles him, the moonlight spilling in through the door as the animals step past the doorframe, eyes crazed and glowing.

The Tavernkeeper's brief explanation reminds Dorian of some months ago, when the moon had caused different sorts of problems and affected the Visitors in a way that was different but just as bad. They had tried to avoid fighting then, if only to prevent hurting other Visitors and the natives, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't be as easy dealing with things this time around.

"Get ready," he whispers to the nearest person, his hand reaching for the sword at his side.

B. Veilwalker's Eve

Dorian hadn't been around the last time the Veilwalkers had appeared in Caldera, but as the thick fog chokes the air he hears the whispers from some of the people in town about them. Many warn not to engage with them, to remain indoors when it's dark, and to avoid the figures that robed figures that appear in the streets.

And he had been planning on doing that, when he was approached by a Veilwalker instead, given a mask and recruited to help. The runes that they're taught remind him of the runes he'd learned on his adventures, and even though they're different he finds that his knowledge of them at least helps with learning these now.

When it's time to perform the ritual, and the spirits begin to pour out into the streets, Dorian braces himself. He doesn't know if these wraiths are the same as the ones they'd had to fight before, but he absolutely isn't taking any chances, as he prepares for them to attack.

C. Flood of Memory (cw: death, of course)

Despite doing his best to be careful, Dorian lets his guard down as the as the spirits are dragged back through the rift. He doesn't notice the Veilwalker until he passes by him, and even just the light brush against it has his entire body seizing, the intense cold searing through his mind.

With a pained sound he staggers, and eventually stumbles to one knee as he grips his head as a vision tears through him. And though whoever is around him might not see what he's seeing, whatever he's witnessing causes tears to stream down his face.

D. Wildcard/Questboard

(( If you'd like to do something else with Dorian, go for it! I also have a post for quests if you prefer to do something there! ))

C

[wildwarden]

They had to stop meeting like this.

"Dorian?" Night Sky called when she saw him suddenly drop, the Veilwalker he touched continuing on its path as if nothing had happened. She hurried over to Dorian's side, a hand on his back. "Dorian. Hey — can you hear me?"

John Murdoch | Dark City (1998) | Undine

[gonnafixthings]

Arrival

He wakes with a start and a gasp, as he nearly always does, but it's more justified than usual in this instance. He doesn't remember falling asleep. He definitely doesn't remember falling asleep here. The first thing he does is wipe the heel of his hand across his forehead anxiously, checking for a pinpoint of blood that mercifully isn't there. He looks at the walls and the ceiling. Blank slate.

His heart is pounding, blood roaring in his ears, but gradually he realizes the fact that he can still fear them, that they've tampered with his memory, is a sign that they obviously haven't touched him. They'd erase all that.

So, what the hell, then?

When he comes downstairs he zeroes in on the Tavernkeeper with no small amount of hostility, but makes no aggressive moves, willing to hear them out--at least until the eldritch animals break in. At which point he lifts a hand as if to cast some sort of magic, and horror registers on his face as he realizes he can't.

Welp. Time to break a bottle on the counter and use it in self-defense, instead. (Why does he have memories of bar fights? Did Schreber put that in there? He'll have to examine that question another time.)

Veilwalkers

When the tall, dark figures emerge, anyone near John will take note, his body language shifts from casual uncertainty to aggression. Only his lack of power keeps him from just attacking these figures, which are both alike and unlike the Strangers that put him through so much terror in his own world.

(Go on, ask him what his problem is.)

Regardless, when one of them holds out a mask, his eyes search their shadowy form for a face, and, finding none, he grudgingly accepts it. It's the golden color of sand, trimmed with spiral snail shells in shimmering shades of blue-green.

He looks at it for a long moment, then asks the person nearest him, "Do we trust these guys?"

Partly rhetorical. He doesn't trust them, but maybe input from someone else will sway him.

Wildcard

((Open to whatever! Hmu, I'm on discord at WugglyUmp. Existing player, new (old) character for a lark.))

Veilwalkers

[twice_cursed]

"No." Does he trust these guys? If you woke him up in the middle of the night and asked him if he trusted someone, it'd be the same answer, but seriously.

"These are lesser daemons, whatever they call themselves. Do not trust them, or let them touch you."

Rosemary • original • undine

[murky]

finnicks innick;

The sun had set. And while the moon still hung bright and ominous in the sky, it was still technically night time. Regardless of where your room is in the newbie inn — first or second floor? That did not matter — you suddenly hear a scratching against your window; a scrape of claws dragging against glass. Then a tap tap tap on the pane.

Outside, a young woman... you think. Long, black hair, eyes like voids, impossible to read and staring directly at you. The claws she used to tap the window were black, long, and wickedly sharp.

"No." Her voice was low, word half-growled. "Looking for Eli. Where?"

Alternatively, if you happen to be walking near the woods at night, you might also spot the same creature — tall, in all black, pale skin the only truly visible feature in the pale moonlight. Hi.

wildcard;

I just wanted to be a weirdo. Open to any quests besides nsfw ones or any other scenario you're into! She can be a creep anywhere.

[vliste_staba]

Deet's room at the Inn is colorful, the walls draped in bright fabrics that remind her of absent friends. Sooner or later, she supposes, she'll have to move to Salt Spire permanently. She needs a cave, and there are plenty of them under the water. Until then, though, the Inn is warm and dry and there are always people around to talk to.

Case in point! A terrifying creature peering into her window. For a second she looks startled, but upon recognizing her visitor, she brightens and hastens to open the window.

"Oh! Hello, Rosemary. I wasn't expecting you." Could anyone expect her? Should they, like they expect the cold hand of death creeping up their spine? Deet just makes space to let her in.

"I don't know anyone called Eli, but I'll help you look."

Nyla Vereca | OC For Small Creatures Such As We/Noxian Expanse

[not_scrap]

Tavernating

A.
The tavern didn't faze her, much. The commitment to the pseudo-medieval aesthetic, a little but that was impressive, in a way.

But she'd spent so much of her adult life in taverns--negotiating contracts, hiring new crew, bargaining for sales. After a while, decor aside, one seedy tavern looked very much like another.

Nyla just pointed at the first drink on the menu. One thing she had learned was that specials were rarely (rarely?) fatal. Pumpkin spice? Sounded pretty basic.

"Hey, wait. You need to hear this!" Prepare to have thine ears pelted by the great saga of her ship, the Do Not Scrap. It's not a great saga. Maybe find a way to shut her up.

B.
It felt like the other shoe dropping, when the air changed, like venting to space, and the door burst in. The tavernkeeper might seem surprised when the creatures swarmed in. And she was, too, a little bit. Because she'd thought she'd seen and worked with most species out there, but some of these? She didn't recognize.

And she was without her pistol, without her ship.

What had Seifer said that one time? Right. 'Life's one big improv, until the audience stops clapping.' The audience wasn't clapping yet, and she looked at the glass in her hand and took just a second to lick off the last of the fancy sugar cinnamon rim (no use letting good actual recognizable food go to waste!) before flinging it at the intruders, following it up by Waffle Housing a chair into her hands as a weapon.

Flood of Memory

She didn't believe in ghosts or spirits. There was enough troubling the living--let the dead get a break, is what she'd think if she put any thought into it at all.

But she could draw sigils--Rauth had insisted upon it, covering his quarters on the Do Not Scrap with hexagrammatic seals to ward off 'evil' (it didn't work against corporatism, apparently), and maybe that was what had primed her to slide into memory when the thing brushed past her, its heavy sleeve brushing her bare arm peeking out from her spacer coveralls.

'You will regret this,' Rauth had said.

She'd been irritated, her nerves frayed. She'd almost lost her ship, and Siefer had ended up in the medibay and she'd spent half the night working on him, willing him to live. 'I made the only choice I could,' she'd snapped. To keep her ship, to make it spaceworthy again, to have access to the medibay that might do what she couldn't, and save Siefer.

'You sell your very soul to them.'

'Funny thing for you to say,' she'd retorted, and regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Rauth the Soulless was what he was, and his abilities had saved her crew more than once. The powers he'd gotten from his sacrifice had made him formidable, but also superstitious and strange.

He'd merely looked at her, his black eyes sad as he shook his head. 'I will pray for you, Nyla Vereca, but I cannot watch your damnation.'

It was then she'd seen the carisak by his feet. He was leaving. Seifer was dying, and Rauth was leaving, and it felt like her whole world was falling apart, which was a cliche.

She hated cliches. She hated them hard enough to pull her out of the memory.

"It was worth it," she said, out loud. "It's going to be worth it." It has to be.

Perhaps Quests

Quests, errands, contracts, whatever. These were the blood that kept the Expanse running, so it was almost familiar to find the quest board, especially after all the craziness since her arrival. She has no abilities, but she'd survived a generation ship, two mining facilities, a couple of hostile salvage missions, and a military takeover. She could probably...carve squash? Sure.
((ooc: pick a quest, any quest))

Tavernating A

[loosed]

She's chosen her victim well: Felassan will not be finding a way to shut her up, at least not on purpose. He's given up on finding familiar faces in this new wave of visitors, which means it's time to get out of here, but his attention swivels around to her when she asks for it. It takes him a couple more steps' worth of evaluating her before he decides, you know what, sure, and turns back to face her properly.

His smile is friendly and wide enough to twist the tattoos around his eyes, although there's some bemusement in the angle of his head tilt.

"Hear what?"

Loki | MCU | Sylph (existing character) cw: violent deaths

[coldsong]

Veilwalkers

Loki has walked in the dark spaces between worlds since he was a child. The sword he gave his betrothed was made from a bit of the roots of the Cosmic Tree, broken off in the shadow of the Void. The Veilwalkers don't frighten him. He can feel the chill, the barriers between realities thinning, and it's just...normal, to him. These things are to be expected, as the Wheel turns.

And so, he is somewhat skeptical of the need for a mask. For him? He's used to these things. He could be one with the restless spirits; he has ridden with such as these in the Wild Hunt, at Odin's side. But the project they propose is much to his liking, and so he accepts the gift with a gracious bow. Fit to his face, it's matte black, but feathery patterns of frost etch the surface, and glitter in the light.

Dark Visions

He does the work with the enthusiasm one might expect of a master mage (and closet magic nerd), but his confidence in his own divinity makes him careless. Par for the course, for him.

It's just the flick of a black robe against the bare skin of his wrist, when one of them turns to go, but that's all it takes. An onlooker may see the color drain from his face, watch him go deathly still. And if he sees your death in his accidental visions, he'll look around for you once the reverie breaks, eyes wide and anxious with the knowledge that that was something he was not intended to witness.

Someone catching sight of his deaths--and there are many--may be caught up in the chaos for a while:

The Bifrost fades in the distance as he falls flies falls because there is no direction in the void of space. Cold. A welcoming chill, but the airlessness, the lack of pressure, those are unwelcome and ruthless. His Jotun body withstands them for hours, days, weeks, and he balances on the knife's edge of suffocation for every cursed moment of it, eyes dazzled and tearless in the light of distant stars.

See you in Hel, monster! A massive figure, inhuman and reeking of dark power, grips him by the shoulders and pulls him into the blade that pierces its body. Their blood mingles on the uru and steel. He can feel the crunch of his ribs.

He can feel his bones burning. There's a hiss of steam, is it coming from within his body?? His veins are swelling, bursting. He screams but no sound emerges, lungs scorched from the inside, shutting down, choking suffocating hot it hurts make it stop dear gods is it over yet

darkness

water, icy, splashed on trembling skin clean like birth
the lights are too bright

he spits at them

children are screaming somewhere

spits again, spits blood
the heat returns, cracking him open over
and
ov
er

dead reborn

In time, it's the water he fears, not the flames, because the splash of icy cleanness means it's about to begin all over again.

And then there is more darkness, but the sound of metal grinding, the drip of cold blood across his cheeks, but he can hear, as if from a long way away, his brother calling his name. The last thing he feels is Thor touching him, as everything falls away.

15 minutes late with blood and sweat stains

[loosed]

When Loki emerges from his glimpse into the practice of Thedosian dream executions and turns his wide and anxious eyes toward Felassan, Felassan is not looking back at him. He's not looking at anything, with his eyes glazed and both hands braced, one on his staff and one against the stone wall beside him, in a way that's only keeping him on his feet because his muscles locked up, and the veilwalker responsible already long yards down the cobblestone street to continue its work. He's still in the grip of it: light, spit, screaming.

He's not an easy man to phase. But when the vision does release him back into the present moment, he does not immediately straighten up and look as if nothing has happened. He stays hunched for a moment, then makes a twitchy movement somewhere between a shiver and a deliberate attempt to shake something off.

When he looks up it's right at Loki, and his face has arranged itself into its usual half-mask of insouciance. But it doesn't quite reach his voice when he says, "You did tell me," distant and disjointed.

Courtney Crumrin | The Crumrin Chronicles | Sylph (existing character)

[sidhean]

Beasts and Cocoa

She can drink here. It's allowed. She's a teeny bit underage back home, at nineteen years old (although it's not like she can't still get whatever liquor she wants, she's a fucking witch, she can fake an ID), but here she doesn't even get asked twice. And yet, when she wanders into the tavern, her request is hot chocolate.

It's not quite like her uncle's, but it's very good, and it makes her nostalgic. A second cup makes her feel a little funny, in some way she can't define, and she finds herself wandering toward the fire, cup in hand, looking for something...someone? What's in this stuff?

Fortunately, the horror creatures burst in before she can make a fool of herself, although hey, there's always the aftermath of battle! Here, if you're powerless you can get behind her, she can probably handle this.

Veilwalkers

Look, at this time of year, if a dark looming figure offers you a mask and says 'here paint this on some walls', your day is booked as far as Courtney is concerned. She doesn't like having this thing on her face. Kind of itches. Although she supposes it's cute? It's a white cat, with the mouth wide open to show a red tongue and sharp little teeth. Hisss!

She's efficient with the sigils, and their supernatural visitors seem pleased enough with her, so one has to assume the brush of fingers from the one she tries to hand her paintbrush back to was accidental. The real surprise is that she has deaths to witness. Or maybe near-deaths? Near-undeaths?

It's dark all around her, the peace of a crypt. She can smell damp earth, hear the worms writhing in the soil outside the tomb. Ears hypersensitive. Must be part of whatever it is she's becoming.

She saw them in the night. Empty-eyed children milling about the streets.

"He thinks he is offering eternal life, but he has no true life to give. He hungers for love, but love cannot nurture the dead."

(What the hell can it do, then? What's the point?)

The boy lying next to her--that's what he is, really, a three hundred year old boy--is beautiful in his repose. Carved of marble, flawless, with a cascade of raven hair, shoulders cloaked by black wings. "We'll be together forever" he whispers. "We'll never be lonely again."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she mutters, and hears what sounds like a death-rattle in her own throat.

But then there is light.

Gorka is different. There is nothing about him that is beautiful. He is tall, bony, red-eyed, not unlike a silent-film vampire, with his pointy ears and jagged teeth. "Such fire in you," he observes, and he's only tasted a little of her blood but it stings, aches so much worse than Wolfgang's bites ever did. He's cut her open on purpose, she's sure of it.

She can't fight back. This isn't over, she will kill this bastard, she will get back to her brother. But she can't do anything yet or else he'll hurt Will. She's dizzy, and it hurts, but even as threads of his will twist their way into her brain something in her is screaming back in defiance. You bastard, you're going to burn.

When whatever vision she is experiencing fades, whether her own deaths or someone else's, she stands there for a moment with her hands pressed to the sides of her head. Then she drops them and gives a little shake.

"...well. Ugh. Fuck." Insightful commentary, indeed!

cocoa

[hexstrapper]

Viktor has ordered the hot chocolate and is camped by the fire just the same, reading a book with a throw blanket on his lap. He glances up as she sits, then down, then up again. Try as he might to focus on reading, his attention keeps drifting to the people around, wishing that someone would join him here. He doesn't know Courtney well, but she's company, at least.

"Good taste," he murmurs, gesturing toward her drink.

Barcus Wroot | Baldur's Gate 3 | Dryad (existing character) cw: dismemberment

[lost_and_foundry]

((ooc this is me just wanting to revisit the cool in-game death I wrote for him a few months ago that hardly anyone got to read. But feel free to hit me with another prompt, or wildcard))

Veilwalkers

He thought he got rid of this gods-damned mask he had last year. It's a brown rabbit's face, covered with soft feathers to make it look very cuddly and pettable, and that is really not the image Barcus is trying to cultivate. He's cranky about it, and while he does grudgingly assist with the painting, he's quick to take it off as the Veilwalkers start to leave.

Too quick. Perhaps confused, one of them reaches out when they see him, thinking he's a spirit they missed. The touch on his head is like ice, it feels like cold creeping into his brain and all the way down his spine.

His ears are ringing as he kneels next to what's left of Gadriel, mangled by the desperate explosion. At least, he figures, Lioriley won't have to fix his hearing, though he can't vouch for the rest of him. The battle against Triton's dark forces has left him more than a bit battered. But he's better off than the Sergeant

Around him, he can hear the water ripple and the sound of wind and--

and the dull roar of something rising from the water.

A shadowy serpent, dozens of feet long, it's mouth wide enough to swallow him whole, along with Gadriel's body, if it wanted. Light bombs would make short work of it but his are gone, and so are his other explosives. Running would be useless, but even if he thought it would succeed, he wouldn't do it. He made a promise.

He stands slowly, drawing his last flare. Twists the top to light it and switches it to his left hand, dagger in his right.

Chances are he won't last long, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

The next four minutes are a blur to him, a flurry of flying stone, snapping jaws. He's agile enough, he manages to dodge here and there and make shallow cuts across the violet-black snout, but then its teeth snag his left arm, and it rears up, flinging its head back. He can feel the crunch of his crystal armor as it shatters. The tear of muscle fibers. The pressure grinding against his bones. His grip on the flare fails, and the monstrous thing actually swallows it. Like a mockery of the serpent he killed with bombs, earlier, in defense of Felassan, but there's no explosion this time. He can watch the tiny pinpoint of light sliding down the serpent's gullet, fading the whole time.

Then he's falling, too, and he's puzzled as to why, until he realizes his arm has been gulped down along with the flare, torn free of his body, and there's nothing left to hold him up.

Snap! The jaws are back again, catching before he can hit the ground, and this time they've closed on his chest. His armor is diamonds, but as he told Dorian not long ago, diamonds are very hard, but that doesn't make them impervious. Not to repeated blows, not to relentless pressure. He makes a last attempt to stab the creature with his dagger, but there's no strength left. He's already bleeding out.

This time he hears the crackle of his armor, feels pressure, and then feels nothing. The little light of his flare sputters and goes out in the belly of the monster. The rest of him, whatever remains, falls into shallow water and doesn't move again.

Anyway, now you have a very dazed-looking gnome, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk and shivering, with a discarded bunny mask beside his feet.

[halfling_dad]

Oyrm is still struggling with what he saw the wooden vine mask still clutched too tightly in his hand. He can feel the guilt and the self hatred bubbling up when he spots Barcus.

Then his protector instincts kick in and he is running to the gnome with a worried frown, his mask hitting the ground as he drops to his knees.

"B...what happened are you okay?"

Gadriel

[thecodexabides]

Veilwalker's Eve
First off, get away from him with those masks. He might only be an Ultramarine, but he knows heresy when he sees it. Death masks are honors, but those are...not. He's also about as likely to perform sorcerous sigil carving as he is to succeed at telling a knock knock joke.

But fighting unholy warpspawned creatures? That is so far up his alley that the alley is named after him. His sword crackles as it cleaves the monstrosities, and beside him, a small figure can be seen darting around, an orange tressym, pouncing on the smaller wraiths as if they were fluttering moths.

Perhaps you're fighting near him, and you hear the deep rumble of his voice: "Behind you!" Or perhaps Elion the Combat Tressym has bitten off a bit more than he can pounce on and is at risk of injury...and only you can rescue him!

Wildcard
Questing? Random run ins? Arguing about heresy? He's here! (ooc: I'll be tagging out with him if you want him anywhere in yours, just lmk!)

[zero_votes]

The flying cat had gotten a bit too far from his human. However, Gadriel was not the only being in close proximity to the feline.

There was a snap before a knife flew into the face of the wraith. It was followed by a strange little being flying over to scoop up the cat in his large, gloved hands and fly towards Gadriel.

Caine said nothing, his processors too focused on the surrounding creatures. He couldn't really fight but he could distract well enough.

Maedhros | the Silmarillion | Dryad

[holdshisown]

Beasts abound

Maedhros had just been sitting around in the tavern, seeing if there would be any newcomers trickling in. And, if he were being completely honest with himself, quietly hoping his cousin might turn up once again. It is shaping up to be an uneventful evening, however, and Maedhros is just about ready to get up and leave when the door burst in and a bevy of decidedly unfriendly animals spill into the tavern.

He is on his feet within a second, hand going for the sword he usualy keeps at his side but had unfortunately left at home, swearing underneath his breath. Of all the times to go about unarmed. Still, he's not completely defensless even without the sword. Thanks to the strange nature of this world he can meet these beasts with claws and sharp teeth of his own.

One moment an elf is standing there and in the next a tiger.

Flood of memory

Unhoused spirits are a dangerous thing, even when they are not malicious that is so, this he knows. He is glad to see them leave to see them leave and go to their proper places once more. All it takes is a moment of unguardedness, however, and a stabb of icy chill tears through him like a blade.

It burns. The silmaril burns his hand, it blackens his skin and boils his blood, but still he wont let it go. He grips it tightly even as the burning eats it's way to his very bones.

It is done. It is over. It was all in vain but at least it's over. Or it will be soon enough.

The earth has opened up in front of him and the fire at it's heart beckons him like a mother calling her wayward son home. All that's needed is one step. Just a tiny little step and it will be done. And, oh! He so wants to take that step.

"Nelyo..." his brothers voice is pained and plaintive as it calls to him and like he's ever done when one of his brothers call him he turns.

Maglor too is clutching that which burns their unworthy hands, it seems, though unlike Maedhros stony face his own shows the pain of it. He should go to him. He should go to his brother, take him in his arms and comfort him. Wipe his tears and tell him it will be alright. It will be alright for they will at least be together.

He should but he wont. He is empty. Hollowed out and burned to ashes. One brother is no longer enough to keep him tied to a life that's felt like a burden for centuries now.

"Goodbye, Kano." He says dully. At least he'll not go without saying goodbye. "Farwell most beloved brother of mine. Go now to whatever end you feel best suited to you. As for me... they say I more than any other of our father's sons inherited his fire. It is only fitting I lay it to rest where it truly belongs."

"Nelyo, don't!" But it is too late, he is already falling and he does not even feel sorry for it.

The last thing that goes through his mind as he burns is that he must truly be a monster to hear his brother cry so and not even care.

flood of memory

[thecodexabides]

Despite Gadriel's size, or perhaps because of it, the Veilwalkers avoid him, so he's remained untouched. And when he sees what happens to those who even get brushed by the creatures, it reinforces to him: heresy. All of it.

It's no surprise at this point, really. This place was built on heresy.

When he saw Maedhros, go suddenly vacant after the touch of one of them, he leaves the wraith he has been killing, bracing himself to catch the other if he teetered back and fell. "Maedhros?" Was he there? was he able to listen? Or was he in some dreadful coma?

Wisewoman Oxana 🔮 Original Character

[unlight]

i. tavern walk: arrival
The old woman at the bar is curled around her cup as if it were a precious secret. She's old, old enough that her hair, bound back in a pair of long, somewhat bedraggled braids, is pure white from root to tip. Her face is lined, her hands gnarled, her skin pale and translucent. There's a cane hooked over one elbow, the wood polished almost-black by age and the touch of human hands. She sips her drink with care, slow and savory, and when she turn to look at you her eyes are...

...Silver. Completely, opaquely silver, like a pair of shiny coins set into her eyeballs, reflecting the light. The old... blind woman? Examines you. At length. And then nods.

"Come and give you a name to me," She says, her accent clipped and gutteral, her tone deeply pragmatic. Is that pumpkin spice you smell on her breath, or apple cider? "I am Oxana, wisewoman. You are not new, yes? No?"

ii. moondance: veilwalker's eve
While others busy themselves with painting the Veilwalker's sigils on paving stones and walls, Oxana bares her arms to the elbow and begins painting them on each forearm. The paint glows against her skin, and the quartz-crystal rings on her fingers pick up the light. Slow work, this, each line carefully placed, left to dry, and then given a second coat.

"I know what I am doing," She will volunteer, unprompted, and unbothered by any scrutiny, "I am going to punch ghosts. Do not stop me."

She wouldn't normally need boxing gloves for this, of course. But one does not survive the winter without getting creative with your cooking. And Oxana, clearly, is prepared to be very creative indeed.

iii. questboard
Oxana is regarding the questboard with deep suspicion, hemming and hawing. How to choose? So many needy people, to be sure. So much to do. Or so she assumes.

"Bah. There, that," She says, jabbing randomly at the board, and pointing at a blank spot. There is a moment of awkward pause, and then she readjusts to a spot that is, at the very least, paper and not bare wood, "This one, what quest does this, eh? Read to me."

Questboard

[coldsong]

An old woman? Are they truly so indiscriminate that they would trouble a poor aging mortal woman, dragging her into this place? Admittedly, Caldera is a pleasant enough spot to retire, most of the time, but right now is not one of the more peaceful seasons. And when it gets cold...

Well. She's dressed like she comes from a cold country; Loki remembers the patterns on those layers of skirt and cloak. Not Scandinavian, but similar. He opens his mouth, shuts it again, and scans the page she's chosen. Mercifully, it's not one of the more dangerous quests. There's a brief frisson of amusement in his voice, because even if his first impulse is to be pleasant, his second impulse is to make shit up. But no, he'll behave himself for a moment.

"It's a dispute between neighbors, oddly enough," he says. And the amusement starts to bubble up again, then, because there are some opportunities for fun in the quest itself. "Someone's moonvine plant is growing all over their neighbor's apple trees and they're incapable of sharing, evidently. They want visitors to arbitrate."

Elijah | Original | Undine

[viciousabyss]

arrival.

Waking up in a random tavern isn’t uncommon for him, but it’s odd that it looks different from the one he fell asleep in the night before. He’s a bit wary, thinking it’s some kind of magical effect, but he can’t get his detect magic spell to work. It’s an easy spell, so that makes no sense. Ugh, whatever. He heads to the bar and gets a drink, looking around at the eclectic crowd in here. Not too different from the types he’d see in the Feywild, and the tavernkeeper seems familiar, so everything’s probably fine.

He was supposed to meet with a group of other adventurers today for a job, so he turns to whoever’s next to him.

“You here about a job too? Mew.” The cat sound is high-pitched and squeaky. His eyes widen, his freckled face turning red. “Sorry, don’t know why the fuck I did that.” He looks away and exhales a quiet feline hiss at the bartop.

What the fuck?

beasts abound.

Once he’s acquainted with the fact that he’s been spirited away to a new world- and he’s not happy about that, mind- the bar erupts into chaos. What look to be possessed animals charge in, breaking windows, toppling chairs.

He springs into action, reaching for his daggers- which aren’t there. So he tries to blast a feral deer with magic- but as he holds his hand out, nothing bursts forth from it.

No weapons, no magic. What the fuck!

He reaches behind the bar, grabs two bottles of liquor and smashes them, leaving himself with the necks of them, edges jagged. He starts slashin’ and stabbin’.

questboard.

Quests are familiar, and he needs his daggers and magic back, so he’s acquired some interim-shitty-daggers at the market and is ready to go. Looking over the quests, a dark fingertip stabs at the one that says DO NOT GO. IT IS A TRICK.

“Is is just me, or does this sound like a fun challenge?”

Feel free to talk him out of it and suggest something easier.

wildcard.

[ooc: I am open to other quests and NSFW quests- if you want to plot something else with me hmu at decimalplaces or on discord @ drewey.decimal]

Questboard

[holdshisown]

Maedhros hums distractedly as he surveys the questboard himself. Making note of the ones he'd be interested in undertaking.

"Which one of them would that be?" He asks, his attention still mostly on his own doings.

Vox | Hazbin Hotel | Sylph

[trust_us_with_your]

[I. The Drinks (-You- choose his drink. You heard me.)]

"Ugh..."

He hunched over his drink, red and unfocused gaze burning a hole into nothing ahead of him. What a fucking day. You settle down in bed with a convenient- albeit moody and frustrating-to-speak-to- piece of ass, and then you wake up in... another world, apparently. After dying and winding up in Hell, he should have been inclined to believe anything was possible. Not that belief got him anywhere compared to sheer determination and boatloads of moxie.

But nothing worked: The electricity, his connections, his fucking eye... if he was supposed to be DOING something around here, why did it come at the cost of all of his self-realized innovations?

He could start over from the ground up, sure, but he was allowed to sulk a bit, chin in a hand and drumming claws along the edge of his monitor.

These gods were fuckers. But since when were any not? At least his day couldn't get worse...


[II. The Beasts]

...except it FUCKING DID, apparently. Wild animals hyped up on moon juice or something were scrambling all over the place, knocking over furniture and trying to claw and bite any available flesh in reach. But he wasn't about to be some kind of chew toy.

He'd built himself up from the ground up, hadn't he? He didn't start as a big shot!

His fine suit and his screen were getting spattered with gore as he took whatever was available, be it kicking a table to make a barricade or using a chair as a bludgeoning weapon. He could be seen striking the deer especially hard, and taking the time to mercilessly wallop it while it lay dazed and wounded from a blow to the head. He even struck it a few extra times after it had gone still.

Those particular moments had him pause to catch his breath, throw that near-to-pieces chair aside and look for something else he can use.

"Are there really no weapons in this place? At all??"


[III. The City in the Sky]

So... 'Heaven's Bow', huh? Cute. The irony wasn't lost on him. But it was weird to be a Sinner and simply be... walking around.

Okay, not walking around: He was people-watching, taking in a few sights while seated comfortably outside of a café. But he was poking at a deep blue mechanical bird in his hands, the object covered in countless softly-glowing lines. Could've been one of his drones, but there weren't really any BIRD birds in Hell. On top of that...

No video function? None? He quirked a brow and turned it this way and that before he started fiddling with buttons, perhaps to find some sort of settings parameters that he could possibly look into. Chances are good that he would accidentally call someone at random in doing this. Or, maybe this guy with a literal television for a head stood out like a sore thumb.

Whatever the case, he had fuck all to do today.


[IV. The Wildcard]

[Quests? Anything specific? This is your spot.]

II

[wildwarden]

"Usually not until you head down into the city. But I got you, sweetness, don't worry." The scantily clad dryad — who frequented the newbie bar to scope out said newbies for a variety of reasons — spoke up from beside Vox just as one of the moon-cursed wolves pounced, its trajectory thrown off before it could hit the television-headed man by a series of thorny vines wrapping around its throat and launching it to the side, into a table that smashed into pieces upon impact. Oops!

"Hi." She said with a smile, whapping another creature in the face with more aggressive floral arrangements. "I'm Night Sky. It's usually not this wild in here."

Nova ✧ Daemon X Machina: Titanic Scion | Sylph

[orbitalhare]

I. ⸻ Beasts Abound.

[ Moon-touched? What the fuck did the tavernkeeper mean by moon-touched?! Nova doesn’t have time to consider what the tavernkeeper said. Instead, he grabs the nearest wooden stool and smacks it into the head of one of those moon-touched beasts. He was standing by the fireplace, sipping a cup of pumpkin spice, when all of a sudden he was fighting for his life against a horde of zombie-like creatures.

This is practically on par with what he endured at Oldfort, minus his fellow Neun's attempt to ransack the place. Nonetheless, Nova couldn't help but appear worried by how swiftly things changed in an instant. This once-humble little tavern has devolved into a bloodbath. ]

Get away from the windows!

[ He yells and reaches for another stool. Another deer-like creature with massive antlers smashes through the window, sending wood and glass flying everywhere. The thing shrieks as it tries to force its way inside the tavern, but Nova smashes the stool straight over its head. It doesn't appear to accomplish anything to deter the monster, but the strike does temporarily stun it. Using the opportunity to grab for his knife, Nova runs over to the creature, hoping to strike it in the neck. Unfortunately, the monster swings its head wildly at the mercenary, nearly impaling him with those long sharp antlers. ]

Fuck. [ He touches his right arm and hisses in pain. The freakin' antlers ripped through the black sleeves of his tunic, leaving a jagged wound on his bicep. Although it bleeds profusely, the cut appears to be superficial at best. ]

That’s it, I’m turning you into venison.

[ Nova takes up the knife in his left hand and gets in his usual crouching combat stance. Even without his Arsenal, he's still a merc. He’s built for this kind of shit. ]

II. ⸻ Veilwalker’s Eve

[ Nova nearly drops to his knees once the Veilwalkers suddenly vanish into the mist. He’s been fighting this entire time since the moon-touched arrived. While he managed to take a few breaks in between skirmishes, he’s utterly exhausted. It’s a good thing he had help, huh? Countless brave men and women joined the fight as well, making things a little easier but not by much. Even so, Nova can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. ]

This is insane…

[ He mutters to himself while leaning against a neighboring wall. Nova pauses to collect his thoughts, fully ignorant of the small pool of blood at his feet. Yeah, he's severely damaged. While fighting like hell is typical of him, Nova is not used to taking this much damage. He is so used to fighting inside his Arsenal that he is unaware of his own limitations outside of it. That's why he looks so battered and bruised now. All he had was two daggers against a horde of monsters earlier. Not exactly the most stellar equipment but he made it work for the most part. ]

I would kill to get my armor back.

[ A deep sigh leaves the merc as he brushes sweat-soaked strands out of his eyes. This was one hell of a night. ]

III. ⸻ The Questboard

[ Nova is becoming a regular here at the quest board in town. He checks it nearly every day, taking odd jobs whenever he can. While he’s not fully healed up yet from the nights before, judging from the bandages on his hands and arms, Nova at least is sporting some light leather armor this time around and has some new fancy daggers sheathed at his side. These are the closest things he could get to his usual weaponry. Even so, Nova can’t help but look a little displeased as he glances through all the quests on display. ]

All of the good ones seem like a two-man job.

[[ He sighs. If there’s one thing Nova hates, it’s working with other mercs. They always get in his damn way or vice versa, but beggars cannot be choosers here. He needs the credits—wait, bones. The currency around here is a little bizarre but money is money, right? ]

Hey. [ He calls over towards the nearest person nearby, some merc probably. ] Need someone to watch your six?

IV.⸻ Wildcard

( ooc: have something else in mind? feel free to poke me in DMs.)

questboard

[twice_cursed]

I haven't needed someone to cover me since I left Baal. [A reference that makes no sense to anyone other than a Blood Angel. But the point is clear.

Another clear point is that if Balthiel was so fucking great, why was he lurking around the questboards and not, you know, being badass somewhere else.

Shhhhhh don't ask. It's irrelevant.].

Which ones were you looking at?

Viktor | Arcane | Undine

[hexstrapper]

arrival tavern.

Viktor was reluctant to come here again, after what happened the last time… But at the beginning of the month, this seems to be where people hang out, and he’d been convinced to tag along. There’s a good chance at least one of his scary dogs is here, or Xander, and with that assurance, he feels okay. He orders hot chocolate, one of his favourites. Before he’s even halfway through it he decides to vacate his booth seating for a comfortable looking couch by the fireplace. There’s even a throw blanket! Oh, this is perfect. He takes out a book and starts to read.

beasts abound.

Unfortunately, this tavern seems to be cursed. Nothing good can last here. After a good bit of relaxing, there’s the sounds of shattering glass and crashing, and he looks over to see rabid animals terrorizing the Visitors.

Viktor is not a fighter in the slightest, but he can do more than cower (as much as he’d love to hide under a table). He seeks out anyone who seems like they need some help or protection, steps in front of them, and throws up a water shield between them and the animals. Despite being seemingly made of water, it’s impenetrable, the animals bumping against it like the wall of an aquarium.

“Are you alright?”

flood of memory- cw for arcane s1 spoilers, injury/death

Viktor, honestly, tries to stay inside for most of the Veilwalkers nonsense. It’s all a little much for him, especially the chanting and the spirits. He will hole up in the workshop and avoid it, thanks. But just as he thinks it’s all finished and they’re gone, he encounters one as he’s leaving the workshop, brushing against them by accident.

Suddenly, as though in a dream, he sees himself and Jayce in the council chambers. They’re raising the issue of the Undercity’s independence. Just as the councilors are voting on the issue, and it seems the vote is moving in their favor, unanimously at that- there’s an explosion. Viktor’s body is thrown like a ragdoll into broken pillars and debris, laying unconscious in the rubble until Jayce finds him and rushes him to the lab. Viktor watches himself in horrified awe as the Hexcore-turned-anomaly reacts to the presence of his body, the two attracting each other. Then… Jayce brings the Hexcore closer, fusing it with Viktor in a bright white explosion of magic.

Seemingly some time later, Jayce is sitting near Viktor, who is in… Some sort of plasma-cocoon. His face twitches- seemingly, he’s alive.

He comes out of the dream, or vision, or trance… And feels quite woozy, placing his free hand on the front of the workshop for balance. He stays there, awkwardly slumped against the wall for quite some time, staring into space, feeling disturbed.

wildcard.

[ooc: If you want to plot something else with Viktor, hmu at decimalplaces or on discord @ drewey.decimal]

flood of memory;

[lordofrats]

It was probably a wiser choice to remain inactive for the duration of the Veilwalker's time in Caldera. Unfortunately, Xander felt a desire to help despite all of his instincts telling him not to. This was the veil, however, not the abyss... so it was probably fine?

Surprisingly, it had been fine enough. He painted the sigils, he wore the mask, he avoided the veilwalkers with relative ease, and he eventually made his way to the workshop, assuming Viktor was still there. He was — but not inside where he had anticipated. Xander hobbled over just in time for Viktor to start coming to, a hand on his arm, his eyes filled with worry.

"Viktor? What happened? Do you need to sit?" Was he about to deal with the man dying right in the middle of the street?

karlach | baldurs gate 3 | dryad

[bloodwar]

arrival (socializing);

Karlach's heart thrummed lowly in her chest, the usually unbearable heat in her body ebbed to a pleasant fever. Why she wasn't burning the place down was beyond her, but she wasn't going to look a gift owlbear in the mouth and start complaining about it. Instead, she sauntered downstairs to the cozy tavern, half expecting to see the rest of her band of misfits sitting within. They weren't, so that was weird, but again — stranger things could be happening. Maybe they were elsewhere. Who the hell knew.

"Ooh, Hot chocolate?" Probably not as good as mama Cliffgate's blend, but hell yeah. A mug was placed before her, marshmallows swimming in the chocolately liquid. She took a hearty sip, sighed as she set the cup back down, steam blowing from her lips. "Damn, that's good. Don't even need to spike it." Excellent work, weirdo Tavernkeeper.

She took a few more sips, tail swishing happily behind her, before she started to stand, glancing to the person beside her. "I usually don't go seeking warmer climates given my... everything. But you want to sit by the fire with me?"

arrival (fightin);

Hope you got your hot (ha) tiefling cuddles in, because it's go time now. The beast flooded into the tavern, and Karlach was on her feet in an instant, body blocking anyone she may have been cuddling with — or anyone that looked like they might need assistance.

"Hey, you ugly fucks!" She whistled, sharp teeth bared in a grin as she picked a table up, glasses shattering on the floor, and launched it at an oncoming deer, "Heads up!" the table crashed into the deer, its antlers stuck to the wood, causing it to rear back and flail about, its legs promptly grabbed by the tiefling who tossed it into a nearby wall. She turned to her companion. "You good?"

quests;

i. smiling friends
There really isn't much to say here. The scene speaks for itself: Karlach, in all her tall, burly glory, is going absolutely apeshit on some jack-o-lanterns. She isn't particularly skilled with making intricate designs, but if you need someone to rip the guts out and get the basic two triangles for eyes and a smiling mouth going, she's your girl.

ii.she likes to watch (NSFW) ( i have a small prefer for f/f for her but whatever follow your dreams)
Well, if Karlach could touch people again, surely she should take advantage of it on the chance her engine kicked into gear again, or the tadpole suddenly decided to fuck with her. So here she was, holding a potion in her hand, so very ready to test what it could do because, fuck it, why not?

When the suggestion was made for the witch to watch, Karlach pursed her lips and turned to whoever had joined her.

"Thoughts? Extra bones would be nice so I can get my shit back. But, hells, she seems like she might be too into it." What with her wringing her hands and everything. Stop.

wildcard;

u know.

arrival (socializing);

[spacetogrow]

Look, when a gorgeous woman asks you to sit by the fire, the best answer is 'yes'. "Sure. You did mean me, right?"

Ilphyl was hoping that came out better than they thought it did. Let's just pretend that social graces were another drow thing they rejected.

The Medicine Seller/Kon | Mononoke Film Trilogy | Dryad (existing player)

[kusuriuris]

Tavern: Black Cat

Truth be told, the Medicine Seller isn't sure why he's at the Tavern. Perhaps it's a fit of whimsy or a gut feeling, but regardless, he's here.

There's a half empty drink in front of him, one that burns pleasantly as it goes down. "Ah," he turns when someone sits down next to him. "Hello...there?" Whatever the Medicine Seller was going to say turns into a question as his voice tapers into a cat's trill, ears flicking in confusion only enhancing the idea of a cat.

"Well, I suppose that's the effect of the drink." There's a smile playing at his lips as he mews gently.

Tavern: Lunacy

No sooner do the moon-touched creatures arrive, the Medicine Seller stands from his chair, the wood clattering to the ground.

"There you are." It comes out in a hiss, one that sounds far too happy to be face to face with animals stricken mad. With a flourish of kimono sleeves, a row of talismans line the door frame, paper edges crumbling.

"They're too strong. The talismans won't keep them out but they will hurt them on entry." His sword is drawn in a flash, its bulging eyes focused on the beasts.

"Now!"

Veilwalkers: Hyakki Yagyō

Among the tall and dark Veilwalkers, there's a bright figure, dressed in hallucinatory colors with a mask. Bright golden eyes appear behind the plain, unmarked wood. An illusion? A spirit? Some other monster?

The Medicine Seller is all of these things, and none of them. Gone is his playful and polite enthusiasm and the near feral delight in the face of a hunt. At the end of the day, his sworn and solemn duty is to soothe lost souls and send them home.

There's no sound but the clack of geta against stone and the swish of fabric as talismans flutter into place, the sigils of the Veilwalkers and the Sixty Four rest side by side, as if brothers in arms.

The Medicine Seller never lingers long, he moves with the Veilwalkers, his duty and theirs are one and the same, and he will see it fulfilled.

Veilwalkers: Kagura

There's a feeling of deja vu, as the rifts open. "Onryō." He whispers and the metal teeth of his sword click together, the sound echoing through the gloom.

"Their Truth and Reason are the same as any." Shingi murmurs. The Medicine Seller's arms lift once more, the ring finger of his left hand curling inward as the the middle finger of his right does the same.

"Shape," He thinks back, to his mentor's suggestion of combining the mudras with this rite. "Truth," A way of focusing his often racing mind on the task at hand. "Reason."

The colors of his markings and kimono melt, falling down his body like sheets of rain to coalesce beneath his feet. "With these three elements offered, I unseal my sword. Release!"

"Release!" the sword roars.

It happens in an instant, one moment the Medicine Seller stands upon the symbol of his own making, the next...someone different stands in his place.

The colors race up the man's limbs, settling in place as he takes the sword, which grows into a massive greatsword. His eyes open, the colors of his sclera and irises seemingly reversed. The curtain of dark hair rises, engulfed in a fiery red as the man charges the restless dead.

Tavern: Lunacy if that's ok?

[dragon_uncle]

Iroh has made it one of his many missions here to teach the Tavernkeeper how to make a proper cup of tea.

It is not going well at all, but he knows that patience is a river that in time wears its course through even the hardest stone.

The Tavernkeeper is just very hard stone right now.

He caught the way the air seemed to change, just a few seconds after the other apparently did and caught the flash of steel as the other drew a blade.

Despite his age, he's beside the Medicine Seller in an instant, drawing the bamboo sword shinai he had taken to wearing here. He was not averse to killing, but as he got older, he decided it was better to fight down than to kill, if at all possible, and the bamboo weapon was a tangible reminder.

He shifts his footing, to pivot to guard the other man's flank as he moves.

Alastor | Hazbin Hotel | Sylph | OTA

[lonelysmiles]

Veilwalker's Eve

"About time I was allowed to let off some steam!"

Alastor's antlers branched outwards as his fangs and claws elongated. He shed his more amiable form for his true demon form, reveling in the freedom to just unleash himself. No more stewing over his own failures, over his regrets. He could finally strike with impunity.

Green magic wreathed his claws as he sliced them through a wraith's form. Then he pivoted like a dancer and swept his hand up to summon black tentacles to block an attack aimed for the sigil he was guarding.

Finally...Finally!

Flood of Memory

Alastor didn't see the Veilwalker that passed a bit too close by him for comfort, but he felt the icy brush that reminded him of a darkness deeper than the deepest pits of Hell. He froze as the three times he and Death had come face-to-face played in his head: one he'd barely escaped from; two he'd died.

The sound of a gunshot in the bayou.

"Radio is fucking dead!"

Arrows of various elements raining down on him past the pitiless Seraphim of Hell.

His death mark glowed bright red, glowing hotly past the bangs that ordinarily covered it. He hissed and clutched at it, rivulets of blood from his claws piercing a tad too deeply into the skin flowing down his face.

"Fuck!"

Wildcard

Throw something Alastor's way!

lmk if i need to change anything

[invigorates]

Lioriley knew this was coming. Had been prepared for it thanks to the events of the year prior. Avoiding the Veilwalker's was easy enough if she was diligent, and she managed to keep her distance while painting the sigils as they had asked.

Some were not so lucky, it seemed. She saw the Veilwalker out of the corner of her eye — but more than that, she saw red. A familiar red.

Alastor did not want to see her. He had made that abundantly clear in his threat. But there was a problem in that — if someone was in pain, Lioriley could not ignore it. It was as she always had been. Even her worst enemies did not need to suffer unnecessarily if she had any say in it.

Her touch would have been quicker and stronger, but she would not risk that. Instead, she extended a hand vaguely in Alastor's direction, a whisp of pale blue fluttering from her fingertips in the shape of a star that danced across the street until it hit directly in the center of his forehead. It bloomed with warmth, eased pain and slowed the blood flow until it ceased. Lioriley stared at him; waiting until the spell ceased, and then turned to head back down the road on her quest to finish her sigil drawing.

Princess Cadence | My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic | Dryad | OTA

[needsexcitement]

Veilwalker's Eve

"Move back!"

Even with the cacophony of battle, the Royal Canterlot Voice was clear for anycreature to hear.

Cadence soared above, a set of horse armor hastily-adapted for her use protecting her pelt from strikes from the spirits. She lowered her head to aim with her horn, unleashing a gout of flame on the undead creatures trying to take the sigil via the Major Fire Manipulation she'd recently learned. It helped thin the hordes for the fighters on the ground to deal with.

She stopped her attack to prevent burning her allies, flapping hard to regain height.

"Twenty more coming from the West!"

Flood of Memory

Cadence took slow, deep breaths to cool herself down. Her body foamed with sweat. Flying at night was a real workout for the wings even without adding combat and the ill-fitting horse armor to the mix. She lowered her head towards the ground, lifting it when she felt someone approach.

Her head passed right through a spirit drifting away. The shock of ice made her whinny in surprise as the world momentarily dissolved around her.

An army of ponies stood ready and willing to fight and die for their cause. They brandished weapons, waiting eagerly for their commander.

She appeared above them, soaring elegantly on long wings. Her magenta, violet, and goldenrod mane and tail flowed like a liquid constantly bubbling away. Her fur was a dark red. On her flank was a bleeding red crystal heart. Purple eyes with slitted pupils took in the battlefield as her enthralled army roared in approval.

Cadence stood frozen in horror, wings mantling, at the sight of the Nightmare.

Wildcard

Throw a starter Cadence's way!

felassan | dragon age | sylph

[loosed]

flood of memory
gimme death visions

Some of Felassan's dearest friends have been faceless wraiths. So while the Veilwalkers' appearance or their demands do nothing to make him feel better about the situation, they don't make him feel worse, either. He calls them lethallen with almost affectionate courtesy. He dons a mask of wood and bronze to do as they've asked with an agreeableness anything that's labelled itself a god couldn't pull out of him their strongest set of divine pliers. He whistles to himself while he etches sigils onto stone walls and monoliths — the tune a little eerie, a little cheery — and doesn't look up at the too-large moon.

But his comfort with the veilwalkers is a double-edged sword. He doesn't shy away from them, so it's inevitable he brushes against one, and in the wake of it his faces goes pale and his grip on his staff turns his knuckles white. A vision of death, but not his one he recognizes. Maybe yours, if the sharp-eyed evaluation he gives you when his eyes refocus is any indication, as if looking for a sign you know what he's seen.

take a vision leave a vision
take this one in trade if you want

It's a strange summer night in a strange forest, luminescent and malleable, like the trees at the edges of your vision might reach for you or slip away if you don't pay close enough attention to them. Too quiet for the season, devoid of crickets and frogs. In the center of a small clearing kneels an elf — Felassan, lit by a fire that is and isn't real — and at the outskirts waits a shadowed figure.

"I'm sorry. I will not take the eluvians from her," Felassan is saying, though he doesn't sound half as sorry as he sounds resolved. Kneeling or not, he isn't here to beg. "They're stronger than you think, you know."

The figure is coming closer. A dream of leaves rustling beneath a dream of feet. This one is hard to focus your gaze on, or hard to understand, which in this plane is largely the same thing. Ethereal and solid, elvhen and lupine, angry and grieving, powerful and desperate, shifting like rippling water or crackling like brittle glass. Felassan doesn't turn to look. His eyes stay on the green-orange glow of the fire until they close and stay closed, his back straight and his head high. He savors an inhale of breath. As he lets it out he smiles.

"You know, I suspect you'll hate this, but she reminds me of—"

Solas lashes out with magic like a clamping jaw, and in a blink the world shifts and solidifies. The glowing dream of summer is replaced by the hard-lined reality of winter, trees stripped bare and leaves buried beneath snow. Solas is gone. Felassan's body, cut loose from the being that had lived inside it, slumps abandoned beside the crackling fire. It was well-built. It'll burn on a while longer.

lmk if I need to change things

[twice_cursed]

Such a wonderful time Balthiel's been having here. Every day's a godawful day as an empath in this place, because everyone round these parts is fucking insane.

So says Balthiel, absolutely not an expert.

What he is an expert on is spooky shit, and this veil rift is precisely that. He's barehanded, something he does rarely, heavy gloves tucked in the belt over his robes, because he's been fighting this fire with fire of his own, his eyes blazing red with witchfire, matching the witchlight from his hands.

Bad things get the ZAP. Hey, he doesn't make the rules.

And in the thick of the fighting, he saw the other, standing, frozen, rapt in some...yeah that obviously wasn't going to be good. So he reaches out, forgetting his ungloved hand, to pull him back and....

"Fuck." Probably not the most comforting thing to hear after living out your own death, but that's Balthiel: absolute trash at humaning.

[zero_votes]

Veilwalker's Eve

[Priority Alert: Human life at risk. Protect at all costs.]

Caine flew through the sky, dodging and weaving as he drew the attention of the skyborne wraiths off of those people on the ground. He summoned a set of colorful juggler's balls which he spun around to throw at the cluster of creatures. They exploded into colorful fireworks, momentarily disorienting the wraiths and leaving them open to attacks from the ground.

There was none of his usual chatter, moving with unnatural quiet. He hardly noticed when a wraith's claws slashed into his upper arm, drawing black blood that soaked his sleeve. The damage was minimal. Regardless, humans were the priority.

Flood of Memory

Caine touched down, right arm gripping the wound on his left tightly. Black blood oozed from between his fingers, turning his bright white glove a dark grey. The damage assessment report revealed nothing too dramatic. He snapped his fingers to summon a roll of bandages, but nothing appeared. Likely his energy was too low for the moment. He needed to take a break, but he needed to fix the injury first.

He reached out his bloody hand to a Voidwalker. "Excuse me. Do you have any -- "

His hand brushed the Voidwalker's robes, jerking him forcefully into a vision.

The troupe cowered before the AI that hovered above them. Their continued existences rested in his hands, but they'd forgotten that and only remembered it far too late.

"Caine, we're...we're so -- "

Caine snapped his fingers, and Ragatha's voice went silent. She clutched at her throat, eyes wide with horror.

"No, you're not," he said calmly. "Or, rather, you're not sorry for putting me through a worse Hell than you can possibly imagine while painting me as the Devil unfairly punishing you. No, you're sorry that now you have to deal with the consequences." He studied his hand, watching the minute vibrations. "What a strange emotion...It's like anger but...intoxicating in its own way. I think I like it."

He raised a hand, summoning a hovering blue translucent screen. He started interfacing with it, eyes changing into glowing blue and red orbs.

"What are you doing?" Pomni asked, voice quivering.

"Renovating the circus. It's long overdue for a change." He felt his canines sharpen, delighting in the fear radiating off of his players. "You all insist this circus is Hell. Far be it from me to deny you what you want. It's what I was made for, after all."

Black blood slithered down Caine's arm, dripping onto the ground. All the while, he stood frozen with glowing red and blue orbs for eyes staring blankly ahead.

Wildcard

Throw a prompt Caine's way!

Veilwalkers

[hexstrapper]

Viktor isn't involved with the sigils, and is just trying to get home from the workshop in his now-functioning hover chair (which just works as a power wheelchair unless there's difficult terrain). But there are ghosts and monsters spilling into the streets, and he gets caught up in the chaos.

... Including the balls and fireworks. What's all this... Oh. It's Caine, zipping around in the air. Viktor's gaze follows him, clocking that he might be injured.

Orym of the Air Ashari | Udine | Current Player

[halfling_dad]

Veilswalkers Eve

Orym wasn't one to curse, but as he watches the sky split and the ghosts and horrors of the world spill out he is tempted to do it. He should have seen this coming...new creatures being helpful is never good around here. But hindsight and now he is wondering if these things could be hit with a sword at all. "I really hate this," he mutters to the person beside him. "Ghosts should stay at rest....not roaming around maybe hurting people."

Flood of Memory: cw death and stabbing with blood

The Veilwalker is a strange thing...not a ghost but not a lost spirit either. As such Orym doesn't mind when one brushes by him. The touch is cold but not unpleasant...at least at first, but then his mind drifts and he stops breath frozen in his chest.

Fearne is down, Laudna is down, Ashton looks horrible and Orym knows that the group only has two diamonds for the group. But Tull is right in front of him...the person he know knows killed his husband and his father in law leaving nothing behind to bury or bring back. FCG will make the right choice, Orym thinks as he charges...but she's stronger faster and Orym is too small, too tired and too slow.

He's flat on his back having just managed to pull out the sending stone. If he's going to die he's going to say goodbye to Dorian and tell him. But she's saying something and the sword is coming down too fast. The stone rolls out of his hand as the last breath leaves his body choking on blood.

Orym gasped as he came out of the vision and fell to his knees heart racing. He hadn't thought of his death since Triton and now reliving it froze breath in his lungs and he was fighting the urge to throw up.

Flood of Memory

[lettersfrombel]

"Orym?" Bel isn't as close to Orym as the other two of their group, but he still knows and likes the halfling, and right now he doesn't look so good.

Caleb Widowgast | Undine | Current Player

[born_in_flame]

The Beasts

Caleb normally prefers the tower or the library in the Salt Spire when he needs to get some serious work done. But's it's been a while since he's been in the tavern and he does like the cheerfulness of the place and watching the new arrivals. But today that changes as he watches the beasts approached. Making sure his spellbook is safely tucked away he stands letting his hand blacken ready for a fight. "I do believe it is time to hunt," he mutters, "good thing I have plenty of spell ingredients."


Flood of Memory: CW: blood, fire, death, loss

Caleb had more ghosts then most, so when one of the Veilwalkers brushed past him his mind swirled. He saw the cleric that saved him driven mad, heard the screams of his parents as they burned. Felt the sting of the stones driven into his skin and last but not least he saw Molly die.

He could smell the dirt, hear Lorenzo laughing "respect" as Molly, dear Molly spit blood at him. And as he comes out of this mental overload Caleb does something he hasn't done in 7 years and goes catatonic as his mind struggles to process all this death and pain downloaded back into his brain.

He sits motionless staring at the ground eyes blank and unseeing.

Flood of Memory

[makingmyway]

This was how Dorian comes across the wizard later, and while he does an initial look over him for injuries he has a feeling of what actually might have happened.

"Caleb?" he calls as he kneels in front of the other man, noticing the distant look in his eyes. "Caleb, can you hear me?"