calderaevents: (Default)
calderaevents ([personal profile] calderaevents) wrote in [community profile] calderamemes2025-09-30 11:55 pm
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TDM #9



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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calderanpcs: (tavernkeeper)

ASK THE TAVERNKEEPER (IC Questions)

[personal profile] calderanpcs 2025-10-01 03:57 am (UTC)(link)
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.
calderamods: (Default)

QUESTIONS

[personal profile] calderamods 2025-10-01 03:57 am (UTC)(link)
calderamods: (Default)

NEW CHARACTER TOPLEVELS

[personal profile] calderamods 2025-10-01 03:58 am (UTC)(link)
Link your toplevels here!
goethbeforethefall: (Default)

[personal profile] goethbeforethefall 2025-10-01 04:21 am (UTC)(link)
Because Beleth and Solas won as a team, do they share the prize, or does each character get their own prize?
calderamods: (Default)

[personal profile] calderamods 2025-10-01 04:23 am (UTC)(link)
They are each given their own prize!
makingmyway: (pic#17338469)

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

[personal profile] makingmyway 2025-10-01 10:31 am (UTC)(link)
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! ))
gonnafixthings: (Default)

John Murdoch | Dark City (1998) | Undine

[personal profile] gonnafixthings 2025-10-01 11:52 am (UTC)(link)
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.))
Edited 2025-10-01 11:53 (UTC)
gonnafixthings: (Default)

John Murdoch | Dark City (1998)

[personal profile] gonnafixthings 2025-10-01 11:54 am (UTC)(link)
murky: (Default)

Rosemary • original • undine

[personal profile] murky 2025-10-01 12:39 pm (UTC)(link)
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.
Edited 2025-10-01 12:41 (UTC)
vliste_staba: (26 Wait what)

[personal profile] vliste_staba 2025-10-01 12:58 pm (UTC)(link)
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."
wildwarden: (pic#17109085)

C

[personal profile] wildwarden 2025-10-01 12:59 pm (UTC)(link)
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?"
murky: (pic#18075179)

[personal profile] murky 2025-10-01 01:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh. Deet. She liked Deet. Rosemary slipped into the open window in the most horrific way a woman could — hands first, fingers clawing the sill as if she were dragging her body from a grave. Her slender frame followed in a slow, boneless crawl, pausing crouched on her hands and knees before she rose to her full height.

"He is friend. You are friend, too." So, like. This was also fine. "Did not know you stayed here."
not_scrap: (pic#18088598)

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

[personal profile] not_scrap 2025-10-01 01:40 pm (UTC)(link)
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))
not_scrap: (pic#18088634)

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

[personal profile] not_scrap 2025-10-01 02:05 pm (UTC)(link)
vliste_staba: (Default)

[personal profile] vliste_staba 2025-10-01 02:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Well, this is excellent news as far as Deet is concerned! Another potential friend, perhaps? She beams, although her brows do crease a little at the peculiar way Rosemary chooses to enter the room. It's... spooky, but it also reminds her of how big nurlocs move. Huh.

"I'm looking for a cave I can live in, in the ocean," she explains. "But the tides have been a little wild lately. I had a friend who stayed here with me for a little while, but they left."

Dru was such fun...she hopes they're happy wherever they are. "Do you want anything to drink, or should we just go up the hall and knock on doors?"

Oh, this will go over well.
murky: (pic#18075168)

[personal profile] murky 2025-10-01 02:30 pm (UTC)(link)
"Sorry." Rosemary never had a lot of friends to begin with, but she was used to the ones she did have leaving often. Like Corvin — but at least he always came back every few weeks.

She looked toward the door. "Drink?" Like what? Blood? They have that on tap here? "We can knock. Eli is..." her brows furrowed. "Pretty. Small. He has ears like mine. Have you not met?"
twice_cursed: (dark-termined)

Veilwalkers

[personal profile] twice_cursed 2025-10-01 02:51 pm (UTC)(link)
"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."
coldsong: (wary)

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

[personal profile] coldsong 2025-10-01 03:06 pm (UTC)(link)
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.
sidhean: (3)

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

[personal profile] sidhean 2025-10-01 03:50 pm (UTC)(link)
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!
Edited 2025-10-01 15:51 (UTC)
lost_and_foundry: (grimace)

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

[personal profile] lost_and_foundry 2025-10-01 04:09 pm (UTC)(link)
((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.
thecodexabides: (tousled)

Gadriel

[personal profile] thecodexabides 2025-10-01 04:45 pm (UTC)(link)
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!)
arlathvhen: (52)

[personal profile] arlathvhen 2025-10-01 05:36 pm (UTC)(link)
For people who can understand animals, what kind of stuff will they be hearing from the moon touched animals invading the tavern?
halfling_dad: (Default)

C

[personal profile] halfling_dad 2025-10-01 05:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Oyrm was right behind Dorian and just managed to stop before running into him. He reaches out to gently touch his boyfriend's shoulder.

"Dor...what's wrong?"
halfling_dad: (Default)

[personal profile] halfling_dad 2025-10-01 05:53 pm (UTC)(link)
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?"
wildwarden: (pic#16740421)

[personal profile] wildwarden 2025-10-01 06:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Night Sky’s mask was still firmly on her face — a wooden wolf face framed with gold and red leaves — because she sure as fuck wasn't going to risk possession or death amongst the Veilwalkers. Her fingers were stained with red ink that smeared across Barcus's cheek when she approached him, crouched down and holding his face in her hands.

"Barcus? What happened, sweetness? Talk to me."

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