I’ll take my throne, lay it on a mountain

[achievementhunter]

Who: Our volunteer mountaineers
What: Two parties split up to scale the mountain from two sides, planning to meet at it’s peak. Shenanigans occur along the way.
When: September 13th to 16th
Where: Group 1: G3, H2, G2 || Group 2: F3, F2, G2
Warnings: Please note any warnings in your subject headers!


Word spreads quickly in a small community such as this. What was originally intended to be a small party turned into something much larger- and on the day Chara planned to leave for the mountain, it’s not one, but two parties that make off for it’s peak.

Group 1, led by Chara, moves off during the early hours of the morning, seeking to search the furthest part of the mountain by following the river upwards. The path is longer and more winding- however, they are unhampered in when they can travel.

Group 2, led by Ardyn, takes off after the sun has set- due to the needs of multiple members to avoid the sun’s harsh glare. Their route takes them up the closest side of the mountain, which provides an easier path- however, they may only travel whilst the sun is set.

---

OOC: Welcome to the mountaineering open post! Keep in mind the following;

♆ RNG was happily done blind by our wonderful Guzma mun, with our animals RNG'd by Wade Wilson's! Thank them both for all your misfortune.

♆ Prompts have been provided for each group below! Simply toplevel wherever you wish and treat this like a normal open post!

♆ Since each group will generally be in close contact with one another, consider asking others if you can threadjack here and there; nothing says team-building like being a nosy parker.

Comments

ota aka getting Newt a pet l o l

[ohnehalfte]

Newt's not really one for sleeping during the day, so he's taken to wandering around the area and doing a thorough search without straying too far. Honestly, it's hard not to notice the sudden increase in these creatures. They're practically real-life dinosaurs so they would've caught Newt's interest anyway, but the increase in numbers is more than enough to not only catch his attention but hold it. The creatures themselves aren't hard to spot and he follows them rather easily. It's not until he spots a small cluster of eggs a yard or two off the ground that he really feels the need to try and get any closer to them. In fact, he's rolling up his sleeves at the moment, skirting about around the outside of where they're most concentrated, as if trying to look for an opening to wiggle in without being detected. He's also muttering to himself.

"...maybe if I go around...Or come from above?" Newt's frowning, shielding his eyes a bit from the sun as he glances up the outcropping of rock, gauging the distance to one of the nests.

[scourgingstars]

Turned out Newt wasn't the only one awake. Ardyn seemed to be watching these events unfold in intrigued silence; he looked from Newt to the nest and back again before actually approaching.

And holding out a grappling hook.

[ohnehalfte]

Newt starts a little at the sudden presence at his side, hand automatically starting go towards his switchblade. Fortunately he realizes it's just another person just as his fingers close around it, he blinks, glancing down at the proffered grappling hook. Oh. Oh, that's useful. That's Very useful. Newt grins widely, reaching out to take it from Ardyn. Except....he has no idea how to use one of these l o l.

"Um. Not that I don't, ah...appreciate this--" He waves the grappling hook a little, speaking in a low voice. "--but I, uh...this isn't a thing we really use in my world. Or I use. I dunno, maybe some people use them, but I mostly don't need to. I mean--" Yep, more waving the grappling hook. "--I know the basic principle--throw it at something and it sticks and you can climb things, but like...I also don't want to fall on my ass? Because that would not be fun. And the death rules here are wonky so I'd rather, like, avoid that too." Just saying.

[scourgingstars]

"Well, it was worth a try. I've not used one of these in some time myself." Ardyn shrugged, looking back up again. "So how do you plan to get up there?"

[ohnehalfte]

That, er...well..."Um. Good question?" Newt eyes the nests from where he's crouched. "They're pretty guarded, honestly, so that makes it a little difficult. But if there was a way to distract some of them, I could get over there and maybe get some of the lower ones with just a foothold or two?"

[hyperlit]

The Drifter draws even with him. They're generally not adherent to any particular schedule when it comes to circadian rhythms; they sleep when they're at the absolute edge of exhaustion, or when their illness overtakes them, and seldom do they sleep any more.

For now, they're not precisely tired enough to join those that prefer to travel under the cover of night. And so they follow Newt's eye until they settle upon the heap of eggs nestled in the crags.

Still - best to be sure.

eggs?

[ohnehalfte]

Newt startles a bit as the Drifter draws even, hands twitching slightly towards his pocket, mostly out of habit. He relaxes, though, once he realizes who it is--and grins in greeting. His expression, though, lights up when the question is asked. "Yeah! I was hoping I could get my hands on at least one--more if I can manage it. See if I can hatch one."

[hyperlit]

So not merely for sustenance, but rather for...domestication? They will not pretend that the goal does not surprise them, but that does not mean they are wholly opposed to it. A more immediate goal will not always be better, or even preferable, to a long-term one.

can distract adults

And by "distract" they mean that they can probably end up killing them for meat, orphaning the eggs and making Newt their honorary mom. Hooray?

[ohnehalfte]

That definitely has Newt's attention, and he blinks. "Yeah? That would definitely be helpful--" He tilts his head to the side slightly. "What are you thinking?"

[hyperlit]

kill them

I mean, that's one way to do it?

use the meat

[ohnehalfte]

....um. Newt's first reaction to that is to frown, but...yeah, when he thinks about it, that's really not a bad idea. They could easily take the meat for later and cook it up. Besides, it's not the first time he's had to deal with killing a cute animal.

"Y'know, yeah, that's a pretty good idea. We'll have some food for tonight, at least." He glances back towards the nests. "How do you want to do this?"

[hyperlit]

A moment of consideration, and then they slide their Zaliska from within the folds of their cloak.

shoot them
get eggs

They are nothing if not, uh...direct.

[ohnehalfte]

For a moment, Newt just...stares, blinking. Because of course. Why did he think immediately that it was going to be a super convoluted plan??? So instead, he shrugs. "Yeah, okay, that's pretty much the most straightforward method of doing that. I mean, it'll definitely get their attention. Do you think we should split up so I can get in there quick while you're distracting them?"

[hyperlit]

The Drifter nods. They have this covered, they're sure. Up the incline they go without so much as a warning, apparently believing Newt to be fully capable of delivering on his plan mere minutes after he stated its inception. They dart directly up to the pair of creatures crouched over their unhatched brood, their blade humming. The strikes miss them both, but both pterax start to shriek and flap their wings at once as they prepare to take off after the aggressor.

Hold tight, Newt; you're up next.

[ohnehalfte]

Newt sucks in a breath as the Drifter takes off towards the pair of birds, swinging at them and missing. He can't help but frown for a moment, because weren't they going to--wait, oh, oh that's what they're doing, duh--and he crouches down, starting to dart closer. He watches as the two pterax crouch down and, flapping their wings, take off after the Drifter. Newt jolts forward, then, eyes going to the eggs in the nest instead of on the birds--he'll let the Drifter take care of them, reaching out to carefully take the eggs as carefully as possible from the nest, glancing around as he does so to see if either of the birds are coming back.

[hyperlit]

One of them looks as though it plans to wing around to protect its hatchling, but the Drifter fires the Zaliska with a heated burst of globular energy. The ball strikes the reptilian bird square in the breast, charring its feathers, and it screeches as it goes down in a trail of singed down.

The second swoops low - quarry forgotten when its hatchlings are at risk. Its talons extend, reaching desperately for the man seeking to steal their unhatched offspring, with a vengeful shrill. The next bolt sails over the pterax's head as it ducks.

So the Drifter takes the only path left to them, and launches themself forward. Gloved hands wrap firmly around the scaly talon, and the additional weight stops it dead in mid-flight.

[ohnehalfte]

Newt catches the shot at the first bird, but quickly the second swings around, going for Newt with its talons. There's a moment where Newt has the deja vu sensation of seeing a surgical saw being swung at his face and he jerks, adrenaline hitting him hard and fast as a vision of that blade flickers before his eyes and causes him to jerk his hand with the butterfly knife up to meet the attack with more force than finesse. The Drifter's extra weight is more than enough to stop its talons from moving forward, but between the sudden stop and Newt's panic-fueled action, the butterfly knife is going to get buried right into feathers, slicing easily through bone and flesh alike and sticking hard into the chest cavity of the Pterax.

For a moment, Newt's absolutely frozen, face turning a sickly grey even under his sunburn, the whites of his eyes huge as the bird twitches and gives some sort of warbling death cry before going limp.

[hyperlit]

They did not anticipate his willingness to strike out at the thing. It seems, now, that their question as to whether Newt could truly defend himself or not was poorly founded, because the pterax folds over easily once the knife buries itself into its feathered breast.

The Drifter drags the corpse back, picking around the feathers to tear the knife free where they can offer it out to Newt, handle first.

...only he does not look precisely as though he is in the position to accept it. His chest is heaving, his pallor waxy in the way that one would look when an illness weighs heavily atop their shoulders.

?

tw: facial gore whoops

[ohnehalfte]

Yeah, Newt doesn't look great. He's sweating pretty profusely, which might not be too much of an indicator because it's hot out, but when it's accompanied by the panted breaths he's taking and the way his chest feels tight, something is definitely wrong. The way his brain keeps wanting to bring up the glint of light off that sharp, clean surgical saw is really not helping and Newt swallows hard, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment, his fingers trembling as he tries to banish the phantom feeling of his own jaw falling into his lap. Of Kite's wide eyed insanity; of his fingers pushing into the ruin of Newt's face--

--yeah, nope, there go his knees right out from under him without any warning at all, and Newt jerks with a gasp as he drops, hands falling to his sides as he crumples, the greenery swimming around him as he leans back unsteadily against the rock, his breath a strangled, desperate sound through his throat, and Newt's hands are pressing to his face, feeling the curve of his own jaw because it's there, it's there, it's not real, Kite's dead, he's not here, he's fine, he's fine, he's fine--

[hyperlit]

He's definitely not all right.

Afflictions of the psychological nature somewhat escape them, but the physical signs of distress are easy enough to determine. He drops against the rock, hands running over the contours of his own face.

The Drifter lets the corpse fall where it is and flips the knife back away, tucking it in the folds of their cloak for the time being. The sight of the blade made slick and shiny with pterax blood, they should think, will not help for the time being.

They will not pretend to be better at easing this than others might be. The Drifter's hands hover uncertainly before they move forward to place one gently against his shoulder, tightening their grip in what they hope will be a sufficiently reassuring manner.

[ohnehalfte]

Perhaps at any other time with another person, the Drifter's gesture would've absolutely been taken as comfort. Hell, at any other time with Newt himself the gesture would've been taken as comfort. At this specific moment, though, with this specific issue rearing its ugly head, the pressure does nothing but bring Newt back to that perfectly white room and the pressure of the restraints that held him strapped to a chair, unable to run or defend himself when Newt finally provoked Kite into losing the tenuous hold he had on sanity and took a surgical saw to Newt's face.

At the pressure on his shoulder, Newt jerks away, making a choked distressed noise as his hands flail, warding off the touch, head jolting up to stare at them with abject terror. "Don't--!" The sound is more a wheeze than a word, and he's shaking pretty badly as he stares at the Drifter. Their face swims a bit before him, and Newt feels dizzy and sick and it's not Kite, it's just them, Kite is dead, it's just them, Newt's alive, he's alive and Kite is dead and it's just his friend that's near him, it's not Kite--and Newt sucks in another breath, rattling and whistling still, but trying to make this one slower. "Just--one sec, just--" He can't articulate and he feels like he can't breathe but he's not dead. He's alive and Kite is dead and Newt dissected his heart just to prove it to himself Kite is dead.

One hand keeps up, shaking, to ward off any help as the other clutches at the rock, trying to ground himself, to slow his breathing. He needs to get himself under control. Breathe. He needs to focus on that. He starts making an attempt, though it feels like breathing is already impossible, but just...slower. Slow it down. Counting. Kite is dead.

Newt is alive.

Kite is dead.

He just needs to tell himself that twenty more times and maybe he can calm down.

[hyperlit]

Wrong choice.

Newt flinches away powerfully enough to leave a pang in their chest - quickly smoothed over, as they take a silent, internal moment to scold themself for believing that he would welcome such a thing, from a creature such as they. Even if he does not have the same sorts of standards that anyone from Central did, he is still quite obviously far from a moment where he can feel as though he might welcome this manner of touch.

There's nothing else they can do. When a demon arises in the center of your head, all you can do is fight it off on your own. There is no saving anyone from the hallucinations that plague their own minds.

The Drifter kneels slowly.

Their HUD flickers up once more.

1

The number ticks away. A beat or so passes before another takes its place.

2

Again, it fades. Again, another takes its place.

3

Slow, metronomic, and regular, the Drifter begins to count.

[ohnehalfte]

Newt jolts a bit as the Drifter kneels in front of them, and he blinks, breath still coming way too fast as numbers start to flash across their HUD slowly, ticking upwards. It's easier to focus on than anything else, and Newt struggles to match his breathing to the slow regularity of the numbers. It feels like a brick sitting on his chest, and he wants to gasp and claw at it as if that would lessen the weight he feels--but the slow, steady count in front of his eyes provides much needed focus, and Newt does his best to zero in on it, at first just trying to match his breathing, but then starting to count along with them under his breath--in, out, in, out, slow and regular. It's thirty seconds--a minute--honestly Newt doesn't know how long before he starts to feel that tightness in his chest loosen, his counting slowly becoming more regular and less strained and wheezing. By eighty, the world has mostly stopped swimming. By 90, he feels a lot less like he's going to be sick. By 110, his breathing is regular, and Newt slumps back against the stone, feeling absolutely exhausted and drained, like he's just run a marathon.

Finally, feeling the tension in his shoulders and his fingers and his legs start to ease, he moves his attention from the HUD to the Drifter's face. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "U-um--" His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "...I'm...I'm good now."

...that might be a bit of an overestimation, but he is, at least, better.

[hyperlit]

It takes time. They are not necessarily the most patient of people, but...with the way things have gone here, and the people they have known, patience has come to be a skill that they must assimilate into their mindset. They reach the low hundreds before Newt starts to speak once more.

I'm good now is an inaccuracy, but they will not contest it. He would know better than they.

ok?

[ohnehalfte]

...that's a loaded question. "Ok" is entirely relative, and hardly anyone is really okay here--so the question makes him laugh once, mostly just a high-pitched giggle, edging a little bit thin. "Yeah. I'm okay." Yep, okay, slowly going to try to push to his feet now, with legs that are still like jello. "Nothing like a panic attack mid-day to get you going, right?" The corner of his mouth quirks slightly--look, he's hilarious! Or, at least, he's trying.