January Event: Setting Fire to the Sky

[lifeaftr_mods]

JANUARY EVENT: SETTING FIRE TO THE SKY

Who: Everyone!
What: The sun dies, and the creatures of the night emerge from the depths
When: January 21st - January 28th
Where: Everywhere! Ensō, Monsun, Chol, and the Islets
Warnings: Character death, possible body horror and violence. Please mark any additional warnings as needed!

So We Can Take the World Back From the Heart-Attacked

The night of the 21st, the sun begins to dim. It dips in the horizon, sinks to nestle itself in the center of Chol like a star falling in slow motion, where it begins to smolder quietly - massive, smoking, and hot, like a massive egg. The night grows colder, the sky reduced to an inky black. The surface of the surrounding water is still but for the occasional ripple, the odd, strangely subdued wave, with not even the hollow lights of distant stars to glint off its reflective waves.

The Jormun gather around the sunken, dying sun with their scaled hands on their weapons, their expressions grim. They fan out across the island of Chol with arms in hand. Their fortifications have settled around the island's center in a dense ball of bristling weapons. They have been preparing for this. They are ready to fight.

Are you? No island is safe. From the well-trodden mainland of Ensō and its islets to the stark dichotomy of Monsun to the craggy shores of Chol, all manner of strange things have begun to haul themselves, dripping, from the watery dark.

No more preparation. No more running.

From here on out, it is fight or die.

One Maniac At a Time, We Will Take It Back

As the Storyteller has promised, there is sanctuary in their temple on Ensō, which will keep out the worst of the creatures. It will not, however, protect characters from the cold and dark, and so they will have to keep themselves warm some other way.

The Jormun fight fiercely, but they do not fight alone. Aside from the help that the willing of your number have offered, you may glimpse the Storyteller battling alongside the rest in a flurry of strange, shifting animal shapes: a heavy-antlered reindeer, a shrieking owl with outstretched talons, a slavering grizzly bear with the Storyteller's signature tome strapped across a broad, furry back, to name but a few. Those creatures that the Storyteller defeats will burst into a flurry of paper and dark, spattering ink, rather than being felled in the conventional manner. How odd.

As this is an event with a high risk of death, the Storyteller will impose death penalties for one week only. However, deaths succumbed during the event will count towards the character's total.

Then I'll Raise You Like a Phoenix

Come the sunrise on the 28th, the sun will launch itself into the air with a victorious shriek, its wings trailing plumes of fire behind it. The phoenix takes flight, reborn from the ashes. The shores of Chol are littered with corpses, both shadowy and scaled, along with an even smattering of crumpled paper and splotched inkstains. Despite the triumph of the fight, it did not come without its costs. The Jormun gather their dead and prepare to mourn them quietly. Those who perished in the fight will not see the sunrise from this unique perspective, watching the murk of the night tint to soft, milky yellow and pink, and then to a glorious new day.

Munin will greet the survivors with a mixture of solemnity and relief, thanking them profusely for their help. There is not much more that her people can offer you, at this point - they must grieve their dead, and she must return to the sea to prove that she has cemented her worth as a leader in the eyes of the other Jormun - but that does not mean that your stories will part forever.

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] January 20th: Monthly Storytelling occurs as usual
[ ♆ ] January 21st: The dark arrives, the temperature drops further, and the first hostile creatures begin their assault
[ ♆ ] January 28th: The dark ends and the sun rises
[ ♆ ] January 30th: Those who perished are revived, suffering from a reduced death penalty

Event Specifics

[ ♆ ] If you have any questions, feel free to look over our OOC Info Post.
[ ♆ ] Feel free to make your own logs if necessary!
[ ♆ ] If your character perishes in this event, please let us know!
[ ♆ ] Item trades with the Jormun can be found on the OOC plotting post here! Even if you were only recently accepted, you are free to participate!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

Ardyn Izunia | monsun, desert camp/mana pool | ffxv spoilers

[scourgingstars]

[a; 1/21; but I come to life, come to life]

[Ardyn watched the sun fade and sink without a word, staring distantly at the sky. This felt too familiar in a way he would have liked had the desert's effects not kept a solid grip on his mind and tied him to sanity. As it was...objectively, he knew the ink-black sky was a terrible omen. But instinctively, Ardyn felt completely calm and at ease.]

[He remembered the blighted sky above Insomnia; the darkness that crawled and clawed under his skin ran with a restless excitement to at last be fully in their element away from the light of sun, moon, and stars once more. But this was different, he told himself. This time it hadn't been brought about by his hand, and with sanity intact he reached out for a sword that flickered into his hand out of thin air.]

Well, then. Let's see what horrors the night brings us this time.

[b; 21st-24th; some princes don't become kings]

[There was no real point in measuring hours or days to Ardyn; he simply patrolled the area around camp endlessly and fought off the monsters that came too close. A handful of Grimlings met with a small burst of fire magic, or maybe a Rathm driven berserk and Ardyn meeting its wild clawing with that long and thin greatsword one-handed.]

[Whatever he was doing and whatever kind of creature he was fighting, now as ever Ardyn was never seen to sleep or so much as rest as he did. After all...he really wasn't that different from the monsters they were all struggling to drive back. This was just as much his element as it was theirs, no matter how he hated to acknowledge it now.

[c; 25th-27th; even at the best of times I'm out of my mind]

[The good news was that fire magic proved stunningly effective, both at burning away the pseudo-daemons and at keeping the campsite illuminated. The bad news that Ardyn remembered just a little too late was that magic use proved exhausting in this twisted world. It was proving a real problem as the long night wore on and on; he'd ceased throwing fire spells around save only to keep the campfire going if resources ran low. His movements in combat turned slower and breath sounding ragged--occasionally he'd press the hand not holding a sword to a too-pale face as if he was hiding something.]

[If he was worn down enough for his true face to come out even in the desert...Ardyn ventured a guess that even a sleepless immortal wasn't going to be able to keep this up for too much longer, in his element or not. But the others were sure to be just as exhausted, so what else could he do but keep going?]

[c; you only get what you grieve]

[wildcard! ardyn is going to be on the desert side of monsun defending the mana pool for the duration of the event, so he'll try to make the camp there a relatively secure location!]

22nd

[encircling]

[ It's been only a day, and she's already tired. The monsters she's run into... they're horrible things, nightmarish things. She knew things would be bad, but this is more than she had expected. She hasn't slept; she's too keyed up, too anxious.

She needs to check on the people she's grown fond of. Karin, Xion, Ignis (he has to be here, he can't have just left--), just to name a few, and-- ]

Ardyn!

[ ... how funny. Well, they have had a few good conversations, and he'd helped her by talking to her a while back, so. ]

Are you alright?

tim wright | all over chol + ensō | ota unless otherwise noted | i'll match your formatting!

[postictal]

21st ; rathm ; i know i should walk away

[It's hard to walk away when he hears it - the cry of a child in obvious pain, in need of help, and he finds the source of it easily: a stooped-over shape, huddled with bony arms curled around knees cupped up to its chin.]

[He stops dead. Lets his knapsack slide to the ground with a bump, and slowly draws Lup's bone knife, holding it steadily in front of him. The curtain of straggling hair makes it hard to discern any immediate features, but...]

Hello? Kid?

[That's roughly the point where the thing comes streaking toward him with an earsplitting shriek.]

22nd ; mr. skittles ; but i just want to let you break my brain

Anyone who's known Tim would know that he isn't susceptible to ploys like this; to an overly charismatic gentleman who comes striding into his life, especially when the guy looks the way he does, all spindly and well-dressed and ragged, like every horrible nightmare he's had gone through a meat grinder.

Tim hunkers beside a merry blaze, the man in question seated across from him. And, here's the difficult part - Tim looks like he might even be smiling.

"I wasn't gonna tell you this," passersby will hear him confessing in an undertone, "but I kinda thought I'd have to kill you when we first...I mean, I'm glad I didn't, though, y'know?"

The man with the too-bony shoulders, sharing the warmth of that campfire, laughs. It sounds awful, like the whisper of enormous spider legs scuttling across bare eggshell, entirely too whispery and snake-hissed to be human.

23rd - 24th ; murk ; make no mistake, this is my pity party

[At this point, he isn't falling for any more tricks.]

[No matter how human-like these things might look, he's not falling prey to it. Whether it's with spear or knife or sling, Tim Wright wades his way through the mistlike carnage of the fallen Murk with his mouth set in a firm, grim line. He can't afford second thoughts, concern over whose knowledge of combat he might be borrowing from, over whether this is the right thing, over how much his gut turns every time he stares one of these things in their not-faces and winces, unable, unwilling to look away.]

[He'll do what he has to.]

[He'll do what he's always done.]

[He'll]

[He'll do what he can.]

25th ; CLOSED to EPSILON ; i'm sifting through the sand, looking through pieces of broken hourglass

Prowling through the chill of the dark with a thoughtful gift of a jacket and an improvised torch made of alcohol-soaked rag wound around a chunk of driftwood and lit aflame might not imply very much for Tim's chances of survival, but he's making do. He's lasted this long, albeit with his fair share of injuries, his fair share of heart-stopping close misses, his fair share of mishaps and damn near stupid decisions.

The kids. He has to find the kids. They can handle themselves, but he doesn't want to risk it. He never can, with them.

Then he sees it.

He sees it, and stops dead.

It's unmistakable. Thin, sticklike limbs, preternaturally slender, practically indistinguishable from the woodland. It looks like a tree peeled itself away from its surroundings and sprouted legs, scuttering along with an uncanny, unholy familiarity. Or - unfamiliarity. For as long as he can remember, It's never moved.

Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter.

Slowly, he slips the lighter from his pocket. Just in case the lit torch wasn't enough.

He's not letting it escape his sight. He won't even blink. If It's here, there's only one thing left to do.

Make sure It doesn't touch anyone else. Not Chara. Not Frisk. Not Gobbet. Not any of the damn kids here.

He'll do whatever it takes.

26th - 28th ; i got a feeling inside that i can't domesticate

[One way or another, it happened.]

[He lost track of time. In the wake of the trees and the fire and the whirlwind of night, he lost track of time, and he was scrambling for the bottle in his pocket by the time the chills started, by the time his eyelids started to prickle and his shoulders began to quake.]

[Too late.]

[Too late, too late, too late.]

[A choked gasp, half a broken sob and half a desperate cry, erupts from his throat as it starts to happen, as fingers numbed with cold can't scrape the bottle open quickly enough, stupid, stupid, Muffet was right, as his back begins to tense in powerful, painful contractures of muscle, as he's arched back and into the leaf-mulch with his mouth parted in a silent howl.]

[His last coherent thought falls something along the lines of a frantic gibber, as useless as it is desperate:]

[The masks. The masks. Did they remember - ]

[And then he's gone.]



[The thing that stirs awake shakes themself off like a dog shedding water from its glossy coat. Slowly, carefully, climb to their feet, as though they've not had use of their body in some time. From the outside observer, it looks as though Tim Wright has just stood very shakily upright, wobbling with newborn-deer imprecision, as though he's not quite sure how his body is meant to operate. Each step is precise, uncertain, and one leg always trembles beneath the strain, as though injured. They flex Tim's fingers, one by one. They draw their hands into fists. They tip their head back to peer at the dark, moonless sky. Every muscle in Tim's face is curiously slack, devoid of all expression.]

[As though a switch was flipped, they abruptly drop to their knees and plunge into Tim's knapsack with a feverish abandon, tearing out several of his belongings to discard them, one by one, until they find the thing they're looking for, nestled at the very bottom.]

[A mask.]

[A mask carved of pale wood, almost bleached white, worn around the edges, its hard angles and corners painstakingly sanded into smoothness.]

[They don it immediately.]

[They stand.]

[They set off at a wary limp across the dark nightmarescape, silent, almost feral. If they think you're interesting enough, they might even attack you on sight.]

wildcard ; i'm struggling to exist with you and without you

[Want a closed prompt? Hit me over at arrpee or over PM!]

[Those of you who need more information about the masked figure sporting Tim's skin, you can read up on them here. The tl;dr version is that they're this funky dissociative state that lives in Tim's head, doesn't speak, and tends to have two settings when it comes to being confronted with something they don't recognize, which is most things. Those two settings are either 'tackle the thing' or 'run away from the thing' so uh feel free to whoop their ass. Tim probably won't mind, even if he'll definitely be the one feeling it in the morning.]

27th because hands on is the best way to learn

[ratsinadaze]

[She shouldn't be out again so soon. The bandages around her legs, arms, and neck are fresh and clean, but the wounds still ache and throb beneath the wrappings. But she has to know. She has to know who's winning out there.]

[Gobbet tenses at the sight of the limping figure. She crouches low against the cliffside, hiding the torchlight as best she can and hoping it hasn't seen her yet. But the closer it comes the more she recognizes the shape.]

Tim?

[He's limping. And he has something on his face, she realizes, holding the torch up. The light plays off the bleached wood and illuminates a ghostly face.]

Shit, man, are you alright? What happened to your leg?

Muffet | All over the place

[prettypurpleparlor]

I. waiting for the song to start, 1/21
[In front of her house on the islets, Muffet stands, leaning calmly against the wall as she sips a cup of tea. Her eyes narrow as she watches the sun sink, waiting until the dark comes down, but she doesn't allow her composure to fail.]

[Instead she very calmly, methodically steps back inside her house and rinses out the teacup, putting it away neatly. Then she picks up her bag, shrugs on a wrap of warm cloth against the chill of the night, and steps outside, the door shutting behind her.]

[Anyone who wants to stay on the islets can let her know now, and she'll seal the door to her house behind you with enough supplies inside to last. Anyone who wants to follow her to the Storyteller's temple, she's leaving soonest.]

[There's work to be done.]

II. strike a match, 1/21-1/22
[Did you make it to the temple in one piece?]

[If you're hurt, she'll offer healing. If you're hungry, she'll offer food. If you're cold, she'll offer clothing. Whatever it is you need, Muffet has been preparing for this like a six-armed conspiracy theorist prepping their basement for the inevitable nuclear war, and she's got every intention of sharing her supplies with you.]

[Anyone arriving to the temple in the first couple days can expect to be greeted by a spider lady and briskly seen to, trying to take care of as much as she can before she sets out to join the fighting.]

III. bring home the boys, 1/22-1/24
[Of course, not everyone makes it to the temple.]

[Maybe you got lost, turned around in the darkness. Maybe something chased you off the path. Maybe you just thought where you were was safer than it turned out to be.]

[Whatever the reason, if you see a faint purple glow ahead, then you may just have found a way back to safety. Her night vision is good and she's still got people to find, so Muffet is out there looking for anyone who needs a guide to the temple.]

[Hopefully, the two of you can avoid running into anything too unfriendly on the way there...]

IV. to the beat of your heart, 1/25-1/28
[Dark as it is, the sudden line of purple light cutting through the shadows is easy to notice.]

[Normally, this isn't how she uses her threads, holding one end in her hand and lashing out with the other like a whip- but against an enemy weak to light, why not take advantage of the fact that they glow, and use the light to push them back?]

[It took her a while to get here, to the heart of the fighting, but she's made it. Muffet has come to Chol, and she intends to stay here for the remainder of the night.]

[One way or another.]

V. like a remix
[Wild card, feel free to come up with your own prompts.]

i.

[ichininyaanshi]

Hey.

[His voice is brusque; a bit rough from lack of recent use. But not intentionally rude. He's standing near the mana pool on Islet One. Maybe waiting for someone he recognized. Maybe just waiting. Whatever his plans were, he calls out to Muffet when he sees her, turning to look at her under the hood of fading sunlight.]

[He's wearing his knapsack and his hood is pulled up. Bundled up snugly in his arms is a little calico kitten, mewling softly.]

You leaving?

Gobbet | OTA | Will Match Formats

[ratsinadaze]

21st | Chol; Rathm | rage, brutal, without mercy

[In hindsight, it was fucking stupid.]

[They'd been on a scouting mission. On their way up a rocky cliffside path to a vantage point where they could strike from above as the beasts funneled in towards the camp. She'd heard the wailing and...and thought of that kid. Kidwun, they'd called themselves. Gobbet almost ignored it. Almost managed to drown it out.]

[Almost.]

[You can find her now barely holding back a wiry figure, snarling and screeching with rage, with the broad side of her spear. It has her pinned down and it's clear her strength is waning. In between labored grunts, Gobbet laughs. What a way to go. This is what she gets for caring. A whole lot of death.]

22nd | Chol; Uskal | but you will be worse

[Gobbet is crouched low on the ridge overlooking the beach and mana pool. She holds a torch in one hand and a wicked-looking spear, grown by the Jormun themselves, in the other. It's a simple mission she has in mind: wait for the next surge of enemies, use the cliff as cover to reach camp and warn of their approach.]

[After the Rathm incident she's wary of any strange sounds she hears. The eerie singing from the water's edge is an annoyance at first. She's certain it's a trap. It has to be. Isn't it? The louder it grows and the longer she listens, the more she finds herself scooting down the steep path to the beach, torch flickering wildly as she stumbles along. Until finally, she sees it. A...horse. It's singing, that eerie anthem of the night, and she can't resist. She can't stop herself from dropping the torch in the snowy sand where it quickly sputters and dims. Can't stop herself from reaching...]

[Reaching out...]

23rd | Chol; Grimlings | rip and tear

[It's a swarm, plain and simple.]

[The Grimlings surround her and the Jormun with her. Before she knows what's going on, she's alone, separated in the darkness and surrounded.]

[This is how she dies. She can feel it in her chest. Where's Shepard when you need her?]

[She drives her spear deep into one's flank, whips around to rake it across the snout of another one. They bite at her legs and claw at her arms. They fall, one after another, but...They're endless, a shifting mass of inky black fur and gnashing teeth, howling and snarling and-]

[And she slips. Down into the roiling sea of shadows.]

24th-26th | Chol; Back at Camp | until it is done

[Gobbet has injuries to tend to.]

[She sits by the fire side, rats curled up in her lap, a cup of hot liquid in her hands. She looks bedraggled and exhausted, drained of her usual spry energy. Her face is set in a firm frown, eyes half-lidded as if she's going to fall asleep on the spot.]

[Bandages adorn her arms and legs, even one around her neck where a Grimling vied for dominance. She doesn't acknowledge anyone who approaches. Doesn't protest if they sit by the fire with her.]

27th-28th | Anywhere; Anything | wildcard

[Hit me.]

21st

[lightlessfuture]

[ The Rathm is entirely preoccupied with Gobbet, and that allows the Knight plenty of time to leap onto its back and climb it swiftly.

(It reminds them of Nosk, this one; all limbs and crying voices, luring bugs to their deaths.

Perhaps it's the memory of those lifeless bodies, strung up carelessly - the bodies of their siblings, lured by their own faces - that makes their attacks...different, this time.)

Instead of slashing, the Knight grips the handle of their nail tightly with one hand and drives it hard into the Rathm's neck, holding on with their other three limbs. (Perks of being buglike - feet and hands were a flexible definition.) Again. And again. And again.

When the Rathm stops struggling, the knight's mask is splattered with gore. They don't seem to care or notice, but they do hurry over to Gobbet, looking her over. Is she hurt? ]

Tataru | Storyteller's Temple

[alittleditty]

I. Heart of a lion, this one...

[Logically she knows she's safe. Knows that the Storyteller has garuanteed that this place will keep the monsters out, that the only dangers here are the dark and the cold. But her instincts are not so easily swayed. And she's never had an adventurer's heart for danger.

She starts out in the corners, near the walls, though that doesn't last long. Next it's behind stacks of supplies, and ultimately near the campfires they make. But she spends much of the first day or two not actively doing some task (often with trembling fingers even then) curled up and shaking. She has no heart for this. None at all.

She'll often squeak and jump when addressed, too. Especially if surprised.]

II. What we Must

[Eventually she starts adjusting, and devoting herself more to the mundane tasks. Tending the fires, helping cook the food. Making clothes for anyone that might be looking cold (she's brought most of her house's here, actually, as far as supplies go).

That also might include fussing over anyone injured or ill a great deal more than is strictly necessary. This is how she deals.]

i.

[ichininyaanshi]

[Staying in the corners, where it feels safer but isn't, Ichimatsu can relate to. It's why, the first couple times his gaze passes over the girl, he leaves her be. What else should he do? he's a weird stranger; pretty much useless. There's nothing he can do for her except maybe make her feel even more uncomfortable. People who shrink away don't want to be seen. He can at least pretend.]

[But then he keeps seeing her, in all the shadowed places his own eyes keep drawing to. It makes his insides twist in unwanted sympathy. Doesn't she have any friends or something? Why isn't anyone looking out for her? He's -- definitely not the one for the job, but he finds himself watching her, eventually; seeing her attempt some task or another with shaking hands, quietly withdraw to herself when she can.]

[By the end of the first day, when everything is still quiet (but for how long), Ichimatsu decides that enough is enough.]

[He tries not to sneak up on her; if she's anything like him, being startled oftentimes leads to violence.]

... hey, you.

the knight | traveling all over

[lightlessfuture]

1. deep darkness (1/21-1/26)

[ Darkness is the Knight's element, in its own way. Though the sun here isn't the same as the light they had faced once before - something to protect, something that nurtures instead of burns - it's still a strange comfort to see no sun at all.

At first they might look like just another monster, with a bone-white mask and a pinprick weapon (does their unusual circumstances make them one? that's a discussion for another time), but they prove their allegiance quickly. Their sword makes quick work of smaller enemies, and proves to be a deadly nuisance that can't be ignored on larger ones.

They dash into combat without pause, cloak flying like a tattered grey banner, searching out those in need of aid. The Knight is a big enough distraction that anyone in danger has plenty of time to run. ]

2. injury (1/27)

[ Though the Knight doesn't tire like something made of flesh and blood would, little wounds add up to big ones - especially when they haven't had proper rest or food for a while. They can be encountered en route to the temple, still 'bleeding' shadow profusely and moving sluggishly (though still quick enough to defend themselves at need), or lying on the temple floor out of the way somewhere, motionless.

They need time to rest, to eat, and to heal. Over the course of their time at the temple, they'll eventually stop looking like they're going to dissolve into thin air, but it's a close thing.

They eat sluggishly, but with determined purpose. Nothing is going to stop them from eating this, ok!! ]

3. sunrise - chol (1/28)

[ When the sun returns to its proper place, the Knight is there - sleepy though they are - to watch the sunrise.

It's a strange feeling. They sit motionless on the shore for a time, before they move, a tiny shadow, to help the Jormun gather their dead.

When that task is done, they return to their mute vigil. What they're looking for, in the water, is unknown. ]

4. wildcard

[ got another idea or prompt? GO FOR IT ]

2.

[souldeterminant]

[This little guy has to be a monster. Their kind of monster. Right?]

[At least they think so, because in the few glimpses Frisk has gotten of the little bug-like person resting around the temple, they've seemed very placid. Not violent, in any case. If they're not a monster from Frisk's world, then they seem close to one, and that's what has Frisk eventually wandering close without a lick of caution.]

[They stare down at the Knight for a few potentially rude seconds, tilting their head. Then they crouch down, rustle through their pocket, and offer out a hard candy in a twisted little wax wrapper.]

[Want one?]

the drifter | ota | mostly on chol | i'll match your format!

[hyperlit]

tursa ; feel like i'm bulletproof

At least they don't have guns.

There's a reason they engage them so quickly, so easily - they have tools. Tools, albeit of a crude variant, not as sophisticated as those of the Jormun, but it is the great, ropy nets that catch the Drifter's interest, that has them streaking for the mess of be-tusked warriors with their thick, leathery hides, their blade humming a continuous melody of blazing cyan.

For the most part, they can make short work of the creatures. This is familiar. This is combat, and combat is what they know. They lob the round ball of a Roly-Poly bomb into the fray, ducking as it makes its electric collusion with one of the unfortunate beasts with a loud, crackling boom.

They just need to get close enough to get one of the nets. They just need to get close enough, without getting entangled.

grimlings ; petulant but irreverent

[Like the crystal wolves of the vast and eerily still West, the beasts look strangely canid, even if their favoring of the dark and the water has warped their shapes into something strange and asymmetrical.

Something about them is unsettling to look at.

The Drifter does not let that sway them. They flit in and out of the pack of the things, their blade flashing. They're quick to learn the weakness of the lot of them - that, when one of their own becomes injured, they will quickly set upon the weakling with much baying and flashing of teeth.

They quickly become adept at darting in and injuring a choice few of the pack before darting free again to witness the carnage, picking carefully over the survivors to dispatch each in turn.]

lufkin ; closed to THE BATTER and THE KNIGHT ; take all your possibilities and take away the limits

It's possible that they might have miscalculated.

The creatures were...small, they'd assumed. Small, and easily dealt with, right up until the point where a great deal of them turned to look at the interloper with a near-silent rustle, like sheaves of paper or the rasp of dried leaves underfoot, and began to swarm at one another, gathering into something...

Something far larger.

The Drifter moves swiftly back to re-evaluate their position.

It's possible they may have overstepped.

Unfortunately, they are unlikely to call for help, due to both the technical impossibilities of it and the fact that the only help they have ever required is of the divine variant - that, and the generosity of a kind soul who no longer exists.

The lufkin colossus reforms, pale eyes gleaming like searchlights, larger than even the crystal brutes of the West or the leapers of the South, regarding them with something almost akin to malice.

wild card ; and it's going through my head, a public meltdown

[If you want a closed prompt or anything else, feel free to hit me over here or at arrpee!]

lufkin ; TIME TO FIGHT A COLOSSUS

[lightlessfuture]

[ Despite the Drifter not being really able to call for help, the knight is fortuitously passing by (or perhaps it's more than fortune - they follow some people, more than others) when the Drifter gets in over their head.

The first notice the Drifter gets of having assistance is when a white streak flashes out of the trees, using their nail as an anchor to dig into the lufkins and find purchase. The tiny bug is barely visible behind the bulk of the seething mass, but they raise their nail in what scant light there is, flashing it once or twice in a clear signal.

You're not alone.

Then they have to cling to avoid being thrown off by the monster shaking itself in an attempt to rid itself of its attacker, but it's the thought that counts. ]

Sonje Forstner | OTA | Will match your format

[quietknight]

Enso, The 21st

She'd heard a child weeping and, like an idiot, had gone off to help without telling anyone. It was only dumb luck she wasn't dead right now.

When Sonje staggered out of the darkness, her face was streaked with red from a scalp wound that looked black in the dim light. Her sword was equally black from whatever ichor the Rathm had instead of blood. With her disheveled appearance, the only thing that marked her as not being a monster herself was the little point of light from a glowing amulet she wore around her neck.

Once she was within the safety of the Storyteller's temple, Sonje sat down and fished out her first aid kit from her backpack with shaky hands. If this was going to go on for days on end, she was going to have to be a LOT more careful.

Chol, the 23rd

"All I wanted was to find a dragon's hoard!"

"Careful" is, of course, a relative thing. She'd been suspicious of the Jormun at first, but compared to the things in the darkness, the fishmen now looked positively neighborly. In fact, Sonje was currently in the middle of one of their lines in a pitched battle against a swarm of Lufkin trying to break through the defensive lines around the sleeping sun. Her shield was locked side by side with the Jormuns' shields, forming a wall that the tiny creatures constantly tried to scrabble over, only to get impaled by spears and swords every time they did.

Human and Jormun were both starting to look tired though, and they just kept coming. Sonje kept yelling at no one in particular as she fought. "Then retire rich, maybe settle down with a beautiful princess!"

Sonje batted one down that had been climbing over the top of her shield with the pommel of her sword, then took the split second of peace she got from that to wipe sweat out of her eyes before more piled into her. "Was that too much to ask!?"

Somewhere or other, the 26th

Sonje kept spinning to face the closest of three Oolicks that had cut her off from everyone else. She kept swiping at them when they got close, but it was three against one. She thought she heard someone coming, and called for help. "Over here! Hurry!"

But that brief lack of focus was all they needed. One of the Oolicks got her sword arm, and start enveloping her whole. She started bashing at its head in a panic with her shield, since that arm was still free, but if no one got here soon, she was in a lot of trouble.

Her voice was starting to rise in panic. "Help!"

[Wildcard for any of those other days]

Or we can just make something up! Hit me with ideas! I'm overbringer on plurk!

26th

[lightlessfuture]

By this point, injury and cold, with little rest in between, is starting to take a toll on the knight. But they keep searching regardless, and when Sonje calls for help, they're fortunately close at hand to provide assistance.

They've had enough experience with Oolicks now to try not to touch them too much, and they land on Sonje's arm to strike away the clinging mass and free her from being absorbed.

A few more slashes gets the Oolick to back up a little, and the knight jumps from her arm to the ground, sword drawn. Though they're small, their intent is clear; they're standing in harm's way, blocking the Oolicks from getting to her. And fierce though they are, they're a much smaller - and easier - potential morsel for monsters big enough to swallow someone as tall as Sonje whole. The little bug is buying time for her to recollect her thoughts, and figure out what she wants to do next.

gabe goodman | mostly on ensō | ota unless otherwise noted

[ungrieved]

nighthook ; we've gone way too fast for way too long

"Go away!"

Gabe huddles around his necklace, practically half-curled around his jug of cider for warmth, his teeth chattering wildly as he trembles. A horrible claw keeps reaching for the single light he has on his person, and no amount of slashing frantically with his stupid little knife will make it go away for good.

It's cold. It's so, so cold. He should've known better. He should've known that the cold wouldn't be ideal. He doesn't like the cold, he's rapidly deciding. It feels too much like how it felt to die.

A pity he doesn't have anything but a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and a jug of cider that can't keep him warm forever.

The shadowy claw keeps reaching with an inexorable steadiness, no matter how he shouts and demands in an ever-increasingly loud, petulant tone for it to go away.

thelesh ; CLOSED to ASGORE ; and we were never supposed to make it half this far

[He was relieved to see her, at first. Muffet means warmth and food and a sense of humor that reminds him a little of Mom, with her ability to respond with deft counterpoint and a smiling sardonicism that he can't help but appreciate.]

[He was relieved to see her, right up until the point where it stopped being her at all.]

[It's not clear what happens, next. He can't recall. It moved so fast. Something stung, like a hornet on his arm, and he clasped at the thing with a pointed cry at the same moment that "Muffet" began to...ripple. Her skin stopped being skin, and the number of arms was all wrong, and something was peering at him hungrily with pale eyes and his shivering - stopped.]

[It happened slowly, muscles cramping, locking into absolute stillness until he keeled onto his side. The thing tipped him onto his back, prowling on thin, bony limbs that would make him shudder, if he had the capacity to do so.]

[He can't move.]

[He can't move.]

[He can't move.]

[He's...there's snow, he thinks, beneath him. Snow and ice chilling him steadily to the bone as he lies there, trying to force his lips to part enough for him to call out for help, for something, for anything.]

[He doesn't want to die.]

[He can't die. You can't - you can't kill him. He's alive. He's alive. He's alive. He's alive. He's alive.]

[Oh god.]
[He's alive.]
[Oh, god.]
[But he's alive.]
[If you try to deny him, he'll never die.]
[But oh, god, it's getting closer, it - ]

[He doesn't want to die.]

storyteller's temple ; i forgot what i was losing my mind about

He's not dying anymore, even if he's still cold. But the bone-chill of the perpetual night is impossible to shake, really. Maybe he'll never warm at all. Maybe some part of him will always be shivering, having never recovered from the pathological stillness that took its painful hold over a set of tiny lungs. Maybe he just arrived that way, as cold and curled as he was the day he...

He rubs at his arms, as if that might rub feeling back into the phantom cling of the dreadful paralysis that froze him to the ground earlier. He tries pacing, but his legs are still too shaky. He has to sit, curled up against the stone walls, pulling tighter and tighter into himself.

Fighting back the stupid, babyish urge to cry.

wildcard ; i only wrote this down to make you press rewind

[As always, let me know if you want a closed prompt, or hit me over at arrpee!]

Temple

[prettypurpleparlor]

Gabriel?

[Muffet's voice is gentle and full of concern as she approaches him, expression clearly worried.]

Are you hurt, dearie?

Ignis Scientia | Islet 1, Monsun desert camp (Episode Ignis Spoilers)

[shatteredlenses]

Jan 20th & 21st: Apocalypsis Magnatus (Islet 1/Monsun)

20th, Late:

Stare too long into the Abyss and the Abyss will stare back.

Whatever author first came up with that Ignis wants to have words with because right now--in whatever this is--he would very much like the Abyss to stare back. It would be better than the nothing that currently meets his gaze. Glassy. Watery. Reflective. It should show something.

And, yet, there is nothing. Nothing but the terror that grows in his heart until it's all he can feel. It's suffocating, filling his mouth and throat with every breath he struggles to take.

Why is there nothing? Why? There has to be something. There should be something. The past. The present. The future. It's not all blank. It's not all beyond control. All can't be lo--


Ignis bolts upright a strangled scream of panic blocking his throat. It's the cold that breaks through the panic and terror first, followed closely by
darkness, an embrace he never thought he would yearn for so much. But, it's familiar to this place. It's the way things are suppose to be even when nothing else is as it's suppose to be.

His hand reaches out from the ball he's pulls himself into. It shakes as it unconsciously feels for something to ground him, something that will tell him where he is while the pounding of his heart in his ears makes it too hard to hear anything that might answer that question. Eventually, it lands on a knapsack he wastes no time dragging toward himself, fingers unsteadily tracing out his name stitched onto the flap.

The cottage. The things not needed on Monsun he'd left for safekeeping here. Ignis tears the knapsack open with a desperation most would find unsettling in him, breath once more coming in tight, shallow, panicked gasps that don't still until he finally finds the small plush hidden in the bottom corner of the bag. He drags it free, not even noticing the mess he makes of the other things that were on top of it in the bag. Instead, he wraps his arms around it, holding it tightly to his chest, face pressed against it, allowing himself for just right now to believe he can still smell home on its worn surface.

"I'm so sorry, Noct," Ignis voice is a broken, teary whisper. "Please. Forgive me."

*********

21st:

Ignis can't make himself return to Monsun until the next morning when he appears at the mana pool, knapsack slung over his shoulder, as if he had not been missing for however many days. The sun still lives, he can feel the warmth, so preparations must continue for its death and the darkness that will come. He knows he far from lucky enough to have missed that.

Aside from the fact that he was likely noticed missing and he's picked up a very nice jacket somewhere along the way, should one see him among the supplies, it looks as if everything is the same as it always was.

And that is exactly what he wants everyone to continue thinking...

Jan 23rd: Ardyn IV (Monsun) (Closed to Ardyn)

If he had the energy to be bitter, Ignis would be considering it feels as if he was brought back from one nightmare just in time to face another. Still, the darkness has given him ample distraction so that his mind doesn't have to deal with all he's remembered of Altissia and what came after. The camp on Monsun is one of the safe points and they intend to keep it that way. The fires can only do so much and it's up to them to drive back the creatures who dare creep to close despite the light. It's a familiar feeling--fighting back the daemons to protect the light--even if some of those who he fights with he would never have considered the idea of fighting alongside before.

Ignis knows he's skirting the very edge of the camp, but he can smell the acidic, oily slicks that one of the types of creatures leave in its wake. He's been smelling it for what seems like hours slowly growing closer to camp as if they are testing just how close they can come. He's knows he's probably giving them more credit than he should, but it's better to give too much than too little.

It's almost overwhelming when he comes up to the freshest trail. Ignis lifts one arm to cover his mouth and nose, spear clenched tightly in his other hand. His flamebound daggers would be more useful here if it wasn't so dangerous to get near the creatures. He really doesn't want to imagine what that acidic ooze would do to skin should it come in contact.

His head whips up when he hears the sound of something slithering far too close to comfort and despite years of training forcing him into a position to attack, he hesitates just a second, almost overwhelmed again by the smell of the ooze. Immediately, he moves backward, toward what should be the camp, to get himself distance.

It's only when he hears a similar slithering slide behind him that he realizes just how far he must have allowed himself to wander from the safety of the light. For a while, he'd judged his distance not by the light he couldn't see, but by the warmth the fires put off. However, as the weather had grown colder he'd had to adjust.

Not for the first time lately, he can't help but think to himself, his adjustments have failed him. As a third slithering joins the first two, he pushes aside those thoughts. He can berate himself later. For now, there is work to be done. Bracing himself for the smell, Ignis makes for the nearest creature taking advantage of the reach of his spear to keep him as far away from the caustic blood and ooze as possible.

A few slashes and stabs later, the first of the creatures fall, one last spray of it's blood managing to strike his right cheek. Ignis scoffs, not even bothering to wipe it away. What are a few more scars on an already ruined face anyway?

His attention focuses on the two remaining creatures and he's concerned when he can't immediately place where the second is. He dashes toward the one he can hear only to have it lunge at him as well, closing the distance between them much more quickly than he wants it to. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he's backing off, only realizing the mistake in this when a slimy hand wraps itself around his throat, yanking him off balance and backward. He doesn't even have a chance to curse before another hand slaps itself over his mouth and nose pulling him that much harder backward.

One hand comes off his spear, and Ignis reaches backward, trying to find something solid to use as leverage. All he finds is more slimy hands that wrap around his, locking onto it and dragging it backward even as the corrosive ooze starts to eat through the thin leather of his gloves.

Burning. In the back of his mind, Ignis knows he should be feeling it, but after the fires that burned through him as a result of putting on the Ring, this feels like nothing, a distant tickle, even as his legs finally buckle, no longer able to hold up against the force dragging him backward. He feels his spear fly out of his hand and then he is enveloped by suffocating ooze so much like the terror he'd felt in that dream not long ago. The suffocating feeling lasts far less time than it did in the dream, though, and then it--along with everything else--ceases.

If only the whirling of Ignis' mind could be quieted as quickly.

Jan 24th & 25th: Fate of the Chosen (Monsun, Camp)

Ignis spent his whole life putting distant between himself and the world, but this is something very different than that. He is vaguely aware of things going on around him, but it is all distant. Barely heard. Barely felt. A fire's warmth. Voices somewhere he can't pinpoint. How long had it taken for his mind to finally stop working once he'd fallen? He doesn't know, but now it's like it doesn't want to take back anything resembling control. It's enough to breathe, yes? It's enough to listen, though he doesn't process what he hears.

It's enough...

January 25th On: A Retainer's Resolve (Monsun, Camp)

It's slow going once his brain starts processing again. Deep down, there is part of Ignis that still wishes for the stillness and silence so he doesn't have to return to the whirlwind that is his mind's normal state. He doesn't want to deal with the pain, the failure, the decisions even. That part of him doesn't want to make anymore mistakes, doesn't want to hurt anyone else, doesn't want to fail.

It's a small part. A part that grows quieter and smaller each time he runs a hand over the bludrocs that follow on his heels like ducklings. It grows smaller each time someone takes time to sit near him and to talk, just so he can listen and remember that he can do that. It all but vanishes with people touch him, be it an arm around his shoulders or a squeeze on his hand.

It's slow going, but not all oaths are completed in one day. Some take decades or more to fulfill.

(OOC: Will match format. Pick your poison!)

1/21

[scourgingstars]

[Ardyn's own patrolling hadn't yet taken him out quite this far away from the camp, but those damnable giant ticks were starting to prove a little too bold for his liking. And when he'd finally tracked one down...he could see a discarded spear and the vaguest edges of something in the monster's distended figure, which made the realization click like the hammer of a revolver pulled back into place.]

[Last time had been a matter of annoyance; if the adviser died, he'd have to deal with Noctis and Prompto and Nyx presuming Ardyn was responsible, because Ardyn was behind just about every misery and misfortune that befell Lucis and its people. So he'd done the stupidly careless thing and given up his life purely on accident by underestimating his regenerative abilities.]

[Death meant nothing here. Everyone else operated under the same hellish existence of dying and resurrecting over and over and over and over-]

['What good is a world that only lets you down?']

[None had the surgical precision with blades that the Lucis Caelum line possessed. Even if the monster's victim was injured in the process, that was a problem that could be fixed once the immediate danger passed. Maybe even something only Ardyn could repair, in his own stupid and self-sacrificing way.]

[Ignis had been kind to him. Knowing what he was, what he would return to being, and so much of what he had done. The man who risked immolating himself for the power to merely drive the Accursed back had still been h̸͈̃i̷̇ͅs̸̺̲̒ ̵̖̄̏f̴̝̯͋́r̸̯͎̓i̵̺̦͐e̴̘̟͋̀n̶̢͇̾̈́d̸̨̐ kind to him, for reasons Ardyn still couldn't comprehend. The monster he was would have turned right around and laughed as he walked off, thinking serves you right and you should never have trusted me. But the Ardyn that stood in the desert couldn't have been further from that; he wasn't going to prove his own deep-seated fears right. If a betrayal was to take place, it was not going to be by his own hand, not with his own voice echoing mocking laughter in his head.]

['Your appeals to hope and loyalty will all come to naught in the end.']

[Ardyn was moving before he'd even had the time to consider any of that. His thought processes cut off like the hammer slamming down to fire the first shot, the would-be king throwing himself forward in a streak of magenta sparks that lit the night. Both hands gripped the hilt of the Blade of the Mystic, and the sword of kings was swung through the air in a crushing silver arc aiming to cut into the creature without doing the same to its captive. Corrosive blood splashed over Ardyn's right eye and set his skin burning in a snarl of agony and flash of black miasma; later after that wound regenerated he'd think it was ironic. As it was, he only held his sword tighter and wound up for a second strike.]

['If you're so keen on keeping him safe, I'd like to see you try.']

laurent | ota

[crosslaced]

([please understand I may be having RL difficulties if I am slow or can't continue a thread!])

[ 23rd chol ] i wonder if your therapist knows everything about me

[He stands on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. Chol’s craggy shores are below, sunken in darkness, but he doesn't need light to know that things are pulling themselves out of the water in droves. Laurent raises the flare gun at his side into a firing position, stares down the barrel into the night.

This side calls them monsters, but the other side is always called that. Prey, hunted down, are called beasts. Are they really? Does it matter? Laurent hasn't had the jurisdiction to have fun like this in awhile.

He fires downwards (click- pssshheewww) and reloads as the shrieking starts, as the rocks light up in blue.]

[21st - 23rd ST ] i am a collapsing star with tunnel vision

[Sometimes the blonde can be found in the Storyteller’s Temple, where he's stashed his horse- he tends to her with quiet, brisk movements, occasionally pausing to lean against her neck or flank.

Just taking time to breathe.]

[ TBC, closed to damen ] but only for you, but only for you

[ it was supposed to be an ordinary fight. ]

[wildcard] cus’ you're the last of a dying breed

[hmu]

when I think of you i will shield you from the waves

[dedamastai]

[In most senses, it's nothing that Damen hasn't done before. War is war, whether or not the other side is human, and he knows that like he knows nothing else. It's all he has known, really, since he was maybe too young to be commanding armies. The utter blackness that's settled over the islands is a new kind of difficulty, to be sure, but he's always been comfortable fighting. There are those that cannot, though, which is why he's been on Chol the entire time, fighting to the limits of his exhaustion.

That's probably why he doesn't see it - it's something like what could have been in Marlas, maybe. Too focused on something else to notice the Gahar descending. Not sharp enough to be paying attention to everything in the air as well as what was in front of him.]

Chara || OTA

[achievementhunter]

20th || i. You tell a joke

[They've prepared, in their own way. Last out of their shack, they board up the door behind them, not expecting to return to it any time soon. Meander their way to the mana pool, join the throngs of Jormun and people standing on Chol's shores as the sun gets closer, as the sun begins to die, as the light fades--

And as it does, they hold a knife in one hand. And the other remains clasped tightly about two necklaces. One of gold, and one of leather.

Their expression can only be described, as Determined.]



21st-23rd || About a child

After it all begins, Chara is everywhere.

On the fields of Chol, they dart between Jormun and shadows- a small, slip of a thing using the distraction of larger allies to get in deadly blows to critical points of the body. With a flaming blade, they assist in lighting new fires- and for those who may require it, will more than readily offer their services in lighting a new torch.

Then it's back to Enso, to scour the island for those foolish enough to take on the dark jungles there alone. A child with a flaming knife probably doesn't make for a very inspiring figure, but they are quick to respond to the situations they come across; a fight, a person in need... a short word of encouragement. Whatever it takes, to assist someone back to the temple.

At other times, they can be found slinking off to a corner; away from the fighting. Away from the people. Hunching over a new wound, or simply sluggish from exhaustion-- it's the actions of an animal hiding away when hurt, constantly looking over their shoulder to ensure they aren't followed.

And when they're absolutely certain no one can see them, Chara's body briefly- glitches. Soundlessly flickering as the air about them is filled with the scent of ozone, Chara straightens, like they haven't been fighting for hours on end. Like they haven't taken on any wounds at all.

Because they haven't.


??? || Insert Cool FOB Lyrics Here

[Wildcard me scrub I'm ripped.]

23rd

[ratsinadaze]

[Gobbet looks like hell.]

[She's covered in scratches and bruises and bandages for the worst of the wounds sustained by the Grimlings. Had the Jormun not insisted she stay and rest before going back out into the fray, she wouldn't be limping towards an isolated fire at the edge of the camp. But she's grateful to have an excuse. Just some time to gather herself.]

[God those things out there.]

[She's seen worse, objectively, but nothing as...disturbing. While they weren't gore-slick demons from another plane, they were terrifying and proportioned all wrong and-]

[And the fire is not as isolated as she initially thought. By it's edge sits Chara - Kidwun, she reminds herself, no need to go making enemies by using dead names in high tension times.]

Kiddo. [She nods a weary greeting, approaching slowly in case she gets told to fuck off. She wouldn't even mind at this point. Find a different fire. Sleep there.] Mind if I sit?

LUNA | OTA

[holdmyhand]

( a. )

[ ....it's dark. The sun disappears, and Luna's pack is filled with items of sentimental value that Guzma may or may not have picked up on his way out the door. It's cold, and the groaning and hissing sounds materializing from the darkness around her assure that they have only just begun. A hard swallow-- how long would it be this way? Munin was unclear, and no one...really seems to know.

At her side, Chiffon and Nina are cautious. The sounds around them are vast, and their ears point in several directions to try and track where the noise is coming from to no avail. It's... it's everywhere. But that changes not their destination-- the Storyteller's temple, to keep these precious belongings safe. To make sure that people are getting there okay, and maybe to protect the entrance if necessary.

But the island is full of people who might need help, and the faster she gets to the temple, the faster her racing heart will settle down. The Team Skull chain around her neck is tucked into her shirt for protection. She moves as quickly as she can through the darkness, eyes adjusting as best they can, pokemon on high alert. ]

( b. )

[ you might also catch Luna inside the compound, under a blanket and surrounded by her companions. They haven't left this entire time. Nina, despite being a source of ice, lays snuggly against Luna, and the young trainer wouldn't dare to separate her.

Everyone is coming in, and Chiffon stares at them all, tail wagging softly for people who she recognizes, and analyzing those that she doesn't. They aren't moving though. Luna looks somewhat on edge. She should be out there helping-- there could be people in danger, and...and resting is important, too. Her companions need to rest and sitting helps her legs warm up enough to be able to go back out there. The warm leggings that she got from Guzma make a world of difference. She'd have to thank him again later....whens he comes back. Or when she sees him again...whenever that is.

Not knowing where everyone is puts her on edge just a little, and she brings the blanker up to her shoulders to try and warm up a bit faster. ]

( c. CW: blood, panic and anxiety )

[ things are going fairly well!

Luna doesn't venture too far from the safety of the temple, but certainly after letting her companions rest does she pull herself onto her dirty, tired knees and head back out to see if anyone is having a hard time getting in. At any time, she can see shadows circling the temple, wanting to get in. Kept out because of reasons Luna doesn't understand. They're loud the further you look into the darkness of the surrounding environment.

A shadowy wolf growls at her while she's outside the compound, and Nina and Chiffon take their places, ready to battle. They're growling, fur and stone lifted toward the sky aggressively. Defeat is not an option here. Between them, slowing down the shadow-pack is the best they can do, forced back toward the temple a little but trying to keep their ground as best they can. Each attack is quick and to the point, without expending too much energy, but she can see after battling for a few minutes that both pokemon are starting to feel that now-familiar curse of fatigue. They've gotta fall back for a minute-- but she's bought a little bit more time if there are stragglers.

A sound from behind her draws Chiffon's attention, and the rock pokemon bounds toward her quickly-- startling Luna a small amount. Unexpected. That's what that is. Unexpected.

She feels something like nails prick the skin in her upper arm, and the world shifts lower until she's dragged on the ground and on her back with this black creature on her arm. It's cold at first, and then hot, it's hot, it's burning and even the sound of her agonized screaming takes a second to reach her own ears. The sensation doubles, the nails sink in further and then move, and she tries to do the first available option-- run Pull her arm away. Clench her teeth so tightly that the metallic taste of blood from her cheek is an afterthought. The world is blurry and dark, and it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Nina howls her frigid, icy breath against the Grimsling, and with more effort and power than she had planned. The shadow wolves disperse for the moment, and Nina collapses in a heap before Luna, who reaches out with a hard-shaking hand and her pokeball. Return. Return, return.

Her arm is mangled-- the evidence of something wanting to take it off in the giant teeth marks, the torn skin, the streaming blood down her arm. Chiffon practically stands over Luna, circling around the stunned, silenced trainer. With immediate danger out of sight, Chiffon pulls on Luna's shirt toward the entrance of the Temple. Please. This way. Please.

It hurts, though. It burns, though. She can't even look at it yet. She can't feel her fingers against the ground, or the wind chill on her face. Only pain, only the agony of her arm moving slightly as it's lifted when she breathes.

The only thing she can think to do is scream, and Chiffon howls, unsure of how to help her. ]

( d. CW: blood )

[ After her episode with the Grimslings, Luna can be found in the same place in the temple, under a blanket, bandaged and...passed out. The heat coming off of her arm radiates like a furnace, and you might find getting close somewhat tricky, unless you've met Chiffon before, who is curled into Luna's side like a teddy bear, licking her cheek and nipping her chin like she's trying to wake the small trainer.

Her cheeks are pale, and glisten with cold trails of tears and sweat. The blankets (and a warm pupper) will keep her cozy and locked down. Chiffon presses her head on Luna's stomach and whines quietly. Let's go training. Let's eat dinner. Let's play.

Let's wake up.]

( e. )

[ W I L D C A R D!! Let me know if you'd like to do something with Luna at squishv4 or on Discord at Squish#5866, and we can plot something out! OR IF WE HAVE ALREADY PLOTTED SOMETHING OUT, I WILL FOLLOW YOUR LEAD YES ♥ ]

C

[ishotyouuu]

[With a grunt, Wade yanks his throwing knife free from the sagging body of an Oolick, peering through the darkness for anything else eager to get the drop on him. All around him he can hear the chaotic sounds of battle-- the shouts of the inhabitants as well as the horrible cries of the shadow creatures. And then another sound, a sound that pierces through his very soul.

A child's screaming, immediately followed by the howl of an unknown creature.

It's as if his entire body is on autopilot. Wade doesn't realize he's moved from his spot before he's running toward the source of the screams, his heart pounding against his throat in a way that has very little to do with his exertion. Now the screaming is punctuated by the low growls of beasts like some sort of hellish orchestra, and Wade prays to the Powers that Be that he won't be coming upon the leftovers of some gruesome feast.]

Kid! Kid? Just hold tight, I'm comin'!

[souris_keteer]

A - Chol

[As expected, Mickey is in battle, determined to help as much as he can. He does have skill with the blade, surprisingly enough, so his aide is welcome. But in-between the horrors, Mickey takes notice of what happens when the Storyteller fights. Paper and ink? It brings back the memory of when he and Maridian chased down that... thing and found the blank piece of paper that once belonged to the Storyteller.

During a brief cool-down period, Mickey kneels down to pick up a piece of paper, inspecting it, before tucking it under his hat.]

I think we're all gunna have a lot of questions again, when all's said and done.

B - Storyteller's Temple

[Mickey has, more or less, resigned to the fact that he can't fight 24/7. When his muscles are screaming for rest, he eventually goes back to the Storyteller's temple to rest and refuel. But he's not going to stay there forever - he does plan to go back out, once he can manage it. He holds his hands out, summoning his small fire magic to keep everyone warm.

But he keeps eyeing the entrance, not saying a word. Any second now, he's leaving... even though, judging by how clearly exhausted he is, he really shouldn't.]

C - Wildcard
[Make your own prompt around Chol, Temple, or in-between!]

ichimatsu | ota | will match formatting

[ichininyaanshi]

i. lost our patience; we want floating cars

[The dark doesn't bother him. All the people huddled in it, gathered cold between the walls -- does.]

[Hilariously, it reminds him of some of the cats he used to take care of back home. Mothers and their kittens, mostly, nesting in fruit crates made up with newspaper bits and whatever old clothing they deigned to accept from Ichimatsu. Always huddling in the winter, surrounded on all sides with the cold and the frightening uncertainty of human beings. Something about that relation scratches out more empathy from Ichimatsu than he thinks he'd have otherwise.]

[At least there's nothing uncertain about what's out there now.]

[Between the six of them, Ichimatsu and his brothers had maybe half a person's worth of brain cells. Now it's just him. But even alone, Ichimatsu has enough sense to realize that knowing a few wrestling moves and how to use a knife isn't gonna get him far against a bunch of monsters. So, for the most part, he stays in the temple: picking across supplies, working to keep fires going, digging up his rudimentary cooking skills when the situation calls for it. Rice and vegetables and anything that doesn't take more than some boiling or roasting. Occasionally, to pass the time, he pares shapes into food: cat ears, paws, sardine shapes. He's a bit of a one-trick pony.]

[Nevertheless, he's easy to pick out: he's probably the only full-grown man around here perpetually in a purple cat hoodie, with a tiny calico kitten tucked into its front pouch as he works away at whatever menial task he's chosen to occupy himself with.]

ii. no grace for doves
(>>locked to kitten owners)

[If there's one thing Ichimatsu is glad for, it's that he started talking to Karamatsu more before he vanished.]

[He'd never admit it out loud, of course, but he thinks his brother did well. Not only in stepping up as the eldest after Osomatsu left, but in getting through to Ichimatsu -- something he's never made easy for him. There was once a time when Ichimatsu would have rejoiced at having Karamatsu off of his back. Now it's a lonely reminder that six same faces aren't a whole lot when the world is this huge.]

[In either case, he warmed up a lot to Karamatsu ever since his brother got those kittens for him. And of course he demanded to know about the people they all went off to. That's why, if any of those said people should cross Ichimatsu's vision within or nearby the Storyteller's Temple, he will absolutely and immediately stop whatever he's doing and start towards them, reaching into his knapsack with a dark and determined look.]

[You know, kind of like a door-to-door salesman's.]

[What he pulls out a few moments later probably doesn't do much to disprove this.]

((ooc; threading not necessary; feel free to handwave this! but do please let me know at throesofangels if your character picked one of these up, otherwise I'll assume that ichi never came across them.))

iii. no god for us

[It's nearly the dead of night when Ichimatsu startles awake, covered in a sheen of sweat, and snatches at the glowing necklace around his neck. His breathing evens over a course of several seconds; he almost relaxes, his face glistening blue in the pale light. Then a stillness falls over him. He looks down, pats his front as if looking for a lost set of keys. Then he frantically sits up and jams both hands into the pouch on his stomach.]

P-pachi...

Pachinko?

[Lost animals don't answer back, obviously. No matter his location or his company, Ichimatsu hauls himself to his feet, stepping haphazardly through his fellow survivors -- if he happens to trample a hand or arm or two, well, he's not stopping to say sorry. As time goes on and he's unable to locate his kitten, even his voice begins rising from a harsh stage whisper to a trembling call.]

Chi -- Pachinko!

[Maybe he'll get lucky and find her, nestled up into someone else warm, or just around the corner. Maybe he won't.]

[If he doesn't, Ichimatsu steels himself, snatches his flare gun noisily out of his knapsack, and runs at a full tilt out into the dark of night.]

iv. and so let it be

(>>wildcard! hit me up with any prompt of your own or at throesofangels for a custom prompt.)

iii.

[mamaterasu]

[Thankfully, Ichimatsu won't have to run far. At the entrance of the temple, a shining, white figure lays with something small and fluffy squirming between her front paws. She's quietly grooming the teensy kitten as it tries to grab and bite her nose and face in protest, though Ammy doesn't seem at all bothered, and keeps ding as she's doing. Of course she found the tiny, mewling baby wandering all alone in the cold - little ones do tend to wander, especially when there's danger - and snatched her up gently. Now, as she curls around the little thing, keeping her warm with her body and tongue, Ammy lifts her head when she hears someone coming.

Blinking, her tail begins to swish for a moment when she recognizes the scent. Ah, yes...it's that bizarre man-cat she met so long ago. Her smile seems to vanish, however, as she begins to put things into perspective.

Could...could this little one her be his--.......

How though? I mean... Ammy slowly looks down at the kitten, then at Itchimatsu, then back to the kit, and then at Itchimatsu again. Her eyes narrow, ears folding back against her skull as her nose wrinkles a bit. She really won't judge, but maybe man-cats have different ways to feed their young than normal cats do.

Don't think too much on that, Angel, you filth.]

Ren | temple | ota

[catpiper]

[It's eerily similar to her own world-the looming thread of creepy crawlies hiding in the dark, appearing at random to attack and hurt and lure you towards them. There's safety in the temple and she quickly finds herself there. She's surprisingly okay and quick to fall back into an old routine of doodling her problems away. Thanks for the permission, storyteller. Hope they like cats.

Aside from the freezing cold that makes her shake, causing the lines to stray on the wall, she's pretty content. Colorful pieces of chalk are scattered across the ground and she grabs, drops and bundles many together to make rainbows, houses, stars, suns, terrible renditions of people that bear a vague resemblance to some island residents-it's fine.

Yeah, this is fine.

If she's not caught in her drawing fervor, she can be found looking for new and special places to draw, which might include her a) piss poor attempt to reach as high up as she can by piling all the rocks from her bag to stand on and b) rubbing some chalk on her cat's paw and holding him up so he can mark the temple walls too.

Nice. Stop her. ]

closed to batter

[catpiper]

[The long night starts to wear on her after awhile. The yellow chalk had run out first, followed by blue and-

It gets to a point where her eyes are on the temple entrance, hoping familiar faces appear, instead of filling their absence by drawing them on the walls. The fighting gets a bit louder, her stomach aches a little more, and even the presence of her cat does little to stop it all when he starts poofing at various sounds.

She's not sure what caused it, but she remembers feeling terrified. The sound of a rock clattering two seconds too long, maybe a cough that didn't sound like one of the residents-it caused her to panic. She couldn't see her cat-didn't know where he had wandered off to and that made the area dangerous.

And so she ran. Until she found the safety of a leftover fire, a wandering man joining her soon after. A man she can't recalling seeing on the island before, but she's quickly won over by his kind words. It doesn't take long for her to start smiling, asking him about his hat and whatever else her eye catches-what a good nugget. Please come ruin this nice moment, Batterbean.]

Asch | primarily Monsun camp | OTA

[bloodyashes]

21; sky don't let the sun go

[There's always some last-minute prep to be done. For Asch, that comes in the form of dropping the huge flaps of the tent at Monsun's camp, and herding everything he can inside. At least the cold seems to have calmed the cabbages into a placid state, as they don't attempt to run around when he moves them out of the meager sunlight. The whole tent itself has been moved a good bit, so that the mana pool is practically on the doorstep.

Inside the tent, everything warm has been piled up near the middle, and the massive floor rug split in two to accommodate a fire pit in the center. Blocks of compressed snow have been piled up at the edges, both to form walls more solid than those of the tent's fabric and to provide a ready source of drinking water without needing to venture out.

It's perhaps not as safe as the temple, but it's as safe as he can make it, with the limited time he had, and the sudden disappearance of half his usual help in the days immediately before.

Finally, Asch himself can be found, perched on top of a wall of blocked snow, watching the sun set through the last of the open tent flaps. He watches until the sun is gone and all color drained from the black sky, before finally pulling the ropes to secure the last section of tent closed.]

21-23; i'm not ready for the darkness

[Unlike perhaps many of the fighters, Asch knows how to pace himself. Normally the energy for artes, the focus, can be regained in a few swings of the sword; that's not the case, now, but it's easier to adjust for that. The slow decrease in the amount of Sixth fonons for the artes he can use, however, is worse.

Still, for those of you lurking in the darkness about Monsun's camp and the faint light of fire within the tent - the bright white of a blade or a glyph upon the ground briefly marks Asch's location, whenever something lurking draws close enough, dangerous enough, that he can't dispose of it with bladework alone.]

23-25 [Chol]; swear upon a heartless soul

[And when he has stamina to spare - when he feels secure enough to leave the fight on Monsun to Ardyn and the others, which becomes increasingly rare as time goes on -

Then he's right there in the thick of it, where in some ways, he belongs. And it quickly becomes clear that the few times people have seen him fight, in sparring matches or in memories, haven't quite been the same.

Here on Chol, where the fighting is thickest, Asch shows why he earned the appellation 'the Bloody.' It would be a dance if it were elegant, but instead it is simply relentless, blade coming down again and again without pause, pushing forward, almost without regard for his own life, certainly without regard for anyone who might follow in his wake -

And he's smiling.]

25 and on [ELSEWHERE PROMPT]; and i don't want to cry, when you go

[It isn't exclusively the camp. Even now, Asch doesn't much do staying in one place, and so he figures he may as well make use of the wanderlust.

So, those of you at the temple or Chol or any other of the mana pools might suddenly find a redhead in your midst, still tellingly bundled against the cold in a certain borrowed coat, the clothing underneath bulked up to the point that it almost fits him properly.]

How are things holding up out here?

stay a little longer, you know

[Wildcard? Wildcard! In spite of my choice of lyrics here, Asch is not dying this time, so feel free to hit him up for anything else around Camp Solheim in particular.]

25th, Chol

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Here and there, Asch may catch a glimpse of something bright white against the darkness, hitting creatures with pinpoint accuracy and staggering them briefly. They aren't enough to kill them outright, but each shot clearly does a bit of damage.]

[Muffet neither smiles nor asks for his regard as she follows in his wake, simply aiming her bullet patterns where they can do the most damage and letting the magic fly. This fight is not a performance, a dialogue, an attempt to intimidate or communicate the way it was in the Underground. It is simply a duty to be done, to protect her people, and she will not fail in it now.]

[She moves like the dancer she was in her youth, light and graceful, taking care to keep herself well out of reach of anything that means her harm, and nods to him as she draws nearer. If Asch can cut down anything that gets too close, she can harry anything coming in from further away so that it's on its' last legs by the time it gets in reach of his sword.]

[The only question is how long they can keep going.]

Guzma || All over Enso - OTA (unless specified) || Will match format!

[yallstupid]

Waiting for the Song to Start

[He doesn't know what's coming - no one really does, do they? Regardless, Guzma is bulked up against the awful cold as best he can, exhaling a puff of breath as he gazes skyward and watches the last flickers of sunlight sink into the horizon from the islets of Enso. He's packed up a lot of things - food, water, basic supplies for both himself and his pokemon, who stand on either side of him. They, too, seem on edge and anxious, like their basic instinct know that something is horribly, terribly wrong. Something is indeed coming
and they can feel it, and it's making them deeply uncomfortable.

He whistles to them to get their attention, rubbing both Ariados and Golisopod reassuringly. He has the utmost confidence in the two tough insects to beat back anything that comes at them. Hell, he's worked hard to make this place actually resemble a home, and whatever menace is about to show up isn't taking that away from him. He's been ready to brawl since he caught wind of what they have to do, so he's going all in. It's not just his hide that's on he line, after all.

He just...has to wait. Wait for whatever it is to come. Breathing out, Guzma tucks his golden necklace that he wears into his jacket, instead keeping the necklace that blazes with magical light out on his chest, to illuminate his immediate area, along with two small fires a few yards from his little shack for more light. He's not exactly into being caught off guard or ambushed, though his two pokemon are very attune to hearing and smell, and Ariados can see clearly even in the darkness. So.

Come at him, scrublords.]

Put on Your War Paint: cw for blood, violent animal death, and mentions of poison/seizure-like symptoms.

The first note of creatures are the shifts in the darkness, and the loud clicking and hissing from the spidery Ariados. She raises up on her legs, pointing her back stingers to shapes that move and growl in the inky blackness, warning them that if they get closer,
they'll be attacked. Golisopod is just the same - his antennae twitch and he he shifts to stand before his trainer, a loud, gurgling bellow rumbling in his chest as he flexes his long, pointed claws. Eventually, the creatures make themselves known - a circling of grotesque, black dogs with pointed teeth, snarling and lurking just outside the circle of light and fire. Only after a few more minutes does one lunge forward--

And gets speared on Golisopod's sharp claws as he moves at terrifying speeds, meeting the Grimling as it was moving, striking first and striking hard. That sure is a First Impression to make, hm? Sadly, the other dogs don't back down as their own is flung back toward them. They snarl and begin to converge on the trainer and his pokemon, teeth snapping and frothing with their saliva as they utter crazed, guttural noises as they coordinate their attacks with barks, yips, and howls. But fighting creatures like this is easier for Guzma,
and he commands both pokemon exquisitely. They fight marvelously, Ariados testing out her newest move - Venoshock.

She spits poisonous barbs of her thread at a few of the dogs, scoring a hit on two.
One gets the full brunt, three barbs to the face, and the poison is so volatile that it goes down quickly, but the other only gets one barb in its shoulder. Not enough to fell it immediately, but the poison still seeps into its blood. It's enough. As it moves toward the huge spider, snapping at her spindly legs, she screeches and shoots a misty stream of venom from her abdomen - Ariados are dangerous from both sides, not just the front. The venom strikes the Grimling and mixes with the Poison Thread, and immediately the dog's legs seems to seize up and and it goes down, convulsing and jerking wildly as a foul-smelling foam bubbles from its mouth as its eyes roll back into its skull. Three down, how many more?

Guzma doesn't have enough time to think about that, because he feels a weight slam into him suddenly from the side and he goes down. He barely has time to get his bearings before he feels pressure on his arm, and a hot, searing pain, like getting it caught in a bear trap. He cries out in pain, and perhaps anger - how did one of these things get past him and his pokemon?
It thrashes its head and Guzma grits his teeth from the pain, rolling with the beast as he tries to wrestle his arm free from its jaws.

He uh...might need a bit of help. At the least he's got his knife in his back pocket to lodge into this damn creature's skull if he really has to, but it's a matter or getting to it that's the issue. The Grimling is determined to pin Guzma down on his back, and others are starting to skulk closer to their downed prey.

Bring Home the Boys

[After his first (among many) mishaps with the shadow creatures,
Guzma has taken to the Storyteller's temple at last to recuperate a bit. It's almost definitely at the beckons of others and not his own choice, but there he sits, by one of the many made fires, bandaged up and looking like he got into yet another fight.
Which, uh...isn't too far from the truth. Let's be honest here, ya boy isn't one to easily back down from a fight, but he's going to be smarter about trying to fight the ones that can pick him up into the goddamn sky. That was, mmm...that was a very eventuful time, yeah.
Nearly hitting the ground from several dozen feet up isn't exactly optimal, nope. Will that keep him in the temple forever?

Absolutely not.

In fact, he's pretty surly about having to be tended to like this, but he'll allow for some to patch him up, at least for a while. When he can't tolerate anymore, he'll wave off the makeshift nurse and doctors or snap at them to back off. His pokemon are, of course,
tended to by himself and himself only, and anyone who gives them weird or dirty looks s getting the absolute coldest glare from Guzma. Both Ariados and Golisopod alike are suffering damage and fatigue from battles they fought alongside their trainer, and he lets them rest with and beside him. They're never out of his sight for more than a minute or two, if he can help it.

Aside from that, he's checking up on others held up in the temple, and maybe taking a mental roll call as well. Anyone that needs food, water, or supplies - like blankets - will be provided with their needed items and foodstuffs by the big, gruff, surly zebra before he goes back to warm up by the fire and probably get shouted at by someone for moving too much when he himself is injured.

Bleh, he's fine. Bleeding again, and sore, but fine. Yeah.]

To the Beat of Your Heart (Wildcard)

[Nothing here catches your eye? Then PM this journal or reach me on plurk at MelonFlavored or at Discord Stardoodles#7274 and we can work something out!]

War Paint

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Guzma might see something bright white and crescent-shaped streak past him, hitting the grimling on top of him with an impact that makes it yelp in pain... and then again an instant later as it curves back around and hits the unfortunate creature a second time, taking advantage of it being off its' guard to deal just a little more damage before it vanishes like all magic.]

[For all their cutesy croissant-shapes, Muffet's bullets have a few nasty tricks to them. Judging by her cold expression as she steps forward and takes aim at a couple of the grimlings trying to close in on Guzma, she intends to put that to good use.]

Xion | All over the Place | OTA unless noted otherwise

[attheclocktower]

A. 1/21-1/23 (Chol) - Don't play with fire, be afraid of the dark, but most importantly...

[Most of the monsters hate fire. Magic is limited. That means that any lit fires near the edge of where the Jormun are dug in? Are incredibly important, and worth protecting. Unfortunately, it also means they're worth targeting.

The first time she thought she saw a shadow hand creeping across the ground, it seemed... almost comical? But then it had utterly decimated a small roaring bonefire she had to rebuild, and ever since then, she's been keeping a sharp eye out for more. The next one she spots one, she manages to scare it off with a cry and a keyblade swipe at it; if only things were so simple though. Two more shadowy hands spawned, then three, all of them trying to get to the rebuilding campfire that Xion's protecting.

Someone help her get rid of them, before the noise attracts something worse?]

B. 1/21-1/26 The Mana Pools - The Courier Run

[Every now and then, she takes a break from her fighting on Chol. Sometimes to rest, but also sometimes to take a quick tour of the mana pools, to check on the other locations and anyone who's stationed themselves there.]

How are you holding up here? Need any supplies?

[She'll also do her best to exchange any news, keep everyone abreast of what's going on at the other islands and bases there.]

C. 1/27 Chol (Closed to Asgore) - Promises to Keep

[Try as she might, it's impossible to tell the passage of time, and thus almost as difficult to really pace herself. The endless days of fighting are just so wearing, and they still don't know how many are left. There've been times like this in the Tower, but it never made it any easier. Ever. Not to mentioned that despite trying to ration her magic, she's worn down from that too.

But she couldn't give up. Couldn't.

It seems like any other fight when the oozing, ticklike monsters edge towards the patch of ground where she's made her stand. She forgoes range for this fight - the thing is slow, and she can't afford the magic. Which proves to be a mistake.

One of the closest ones begins to rear up, and she slashes at it, attempting to knock it back. Instead, however, the resulting spurt of the creature's blood splashes at her, and where it hits skin, it burns. Belatedly she lifts a hand to try to protect her face, and that's when the Oolick falls on her.

For a moment she feels tendrils wrapping around her struggling limbs, pulling her towards something and then... nothing. Nothing. She can't see where she is. Can't hear anything around her. Can't feel the ground beneath her, or the burns on her skin... Can't tell if she's fighting, or even breathing.

"Let's make a promise then. Let's make a promise that, no matter what happens, we won't die from now on. Okay?" "Okay... a promise. No more dying, either of us."

No. This could not be happening. Could not. While she'd been more worried about his end, she didn't want to break her half of the promise she made to Shion. Did not. She couldn't die, couldn't be dead, couldn't. Even if she can't tell if she's doing it, her brain sends out signals to her limbs to move, to struggle. Hoping that those signals are reaching their intended destination.

In the time that follows, the particular Oolick continues moving towards the center of the island. But to the casual observer, it's slower, and much more bloated. You can even see distended edges of... something inside it. Someone. Someone that's still struggling, weakly.]

D. Prompt C onward (Enso) - False Dawn to True Dawn

[After her run-in with an Oolick, she's in no state to keep fighting. And one way or another, eventually ends up at the Storyteller's Temple at Enso. Excalibur is there too, curled up by her side and occasionally moving to lick her hand. She's got a few burn spots on her face and arm, and a variety of minor cuts, scrapes and bruises, but other than that, she's not one of the most hurt.

That's not to say she's okay though.]

C

[journalname]

[Ordinarily, Asgore would probably be inclined not to bother with that particular Oolick. It isn't attacking anyone at the moment, and it looks wounded or something - no great threat. Someone else would be able to easily finish it off, and he could focus on helping with more difficult opponents on the outer edges of the fight.

But...just what is going on with it?

He hasn't gotten very close to any of them before, not enough to know what they try to do, but he does so now. Is it...has it eaten someone? His trident glows with a faint red aura of its own, and he reaches out towards the beast with it, trying to see if he can make anything out through its skin.]

Yuka Ichijou | Initially Ensō but eventually anywhere | I'll match format

[shineinside]

-1- Sunset (1/21, Kyouko, Muffet, The Knight)

[ When the sun begean to fall, Yuka was on Ensō. It being a cold winter night already, she put together what was happening a bit too late.

It was just her and Kyouko, east of the temple, when her danger instincts kicked in. ]

Kyouko, we have to get back... to...

[ But the creatures of the depths wasted no time in seeking out prey. Already, pairs of eyes shined from the dark in all directions - grimlings, a massive pack of them, were closing in from all directions... ]


-2- Midnight (1/22~1/27, OTA)

[ Once she's made it back to safety, and made sure Kyouko was okay, Yuka's mindset begins to shift. As the days of darkness continue, she fixates more and more heavily on the idea that she has to be of some use to the community. She'll save everyone. No matter what it takes.

But... after a while, that attitude starts to take its toll on her body. Every day, she's out there, fighting monsters whenever it's needed. Her limited magic powers are completely burnt out within a couple hours of each time she gets them recharged. Whenever she's back, she's stretching her healing abilities to their absolute limit, draining any stamina she has left to try and save a few more injured people. And each day the sun doesn't rise, she's a little more worn down. By the last couple 'days', she's so exhausted she can barely stand, but she still keeps trying to squeeze one more fight, one more heal out of her powers whenever she can manage it.

If someone doesn't stop her, she's going to get herself killed before the sun rises. ]

[[ OOC: For easier tagging purposes, here's some subprompts for prompt 2:

A: Under attack by monsters? Yuka arrives to help you fight or escape, either via super-strength melee combat or magic to enhance other people's physical attributes.
B: Got injured? Once you're back to safety, Yuka may come to try to magically heal your injuries.
C: Downtime at a safe place? Yuka's resting, but looks like she hasn't slept in weeks.

The closer to the end of the event, the worse her condition - more limited healing, more sluggish movements, more likely to make a mistake if she's fighting. By the last day, she's too tired to go out and fight at all, but is still burning her stamina to try and heal people. ]]

2

[deranged_practicality]

[Isabella is staying in the temple, as she knows she has no ability to fight, but the confinement is wearing on her. Especially knowing that others are in danger. So she's been doing what she can as cook and medic, and what have you.]

[And she is going to try to stop Yuka from staggering outside before she's properly rested.]

You look terrible.

Amaterasu || Enso + Chol || OTA - will match formats

[mamaterasu]

Ominous Presence - Chol

[The sun sleeps, waiting for its time to shine again, and Amaterasu feels the burden of the dead sun weigh heavily on her back. Her energy is but a single speck of water in a deep and bone-dry well. She expected this, it's not new - her powers and godly form were sapped from her back in Nippon as well. It's ironic, almost, the similarities between this event and the Day of Darkness back in her homeland. But she faced one enemy, not hundreds. This is a war between monsters, men, and gods alike. Even her sibling god joins the fray, and...despite her heavy limbs and tired bones, Amaterasu is proud and honored to fight alongside everyone here.

It's what gives her strength.

Sadly, the strength she gains is so mediocre in the span of things. The creatures come, and they come in droves. The tinier ones, she thought, would be ample for her to dispose of without much difficulty in her weakened state, but things never appear as they truly are. The Lufkins may indeed be small, and easily taken down by a shot from her rosary beads, but their numbers are staggering. It feels almost like, the more Ammy fells one, three more take its place. In no time, a genuine hoard surrounds her and begins closing in, like a sea of black dotted with perilous, gleaming, unfeeling eyes. She lashes out with tooth, nail, and her heavenly weapons, but it's not enough. She really isn't in a state to fight the creatures. Not when they swarm like this.

Trapped, Ammy can only think to retreat back to safety. She huffs, and draws a line of ink from her reflector, upon switching it out, which ignites like oil and blazes a fiery path through the Lufkins. She takes the opportunity of their distress and chaos, bumping into one another and setting their partners alight as she they try to escape the heat and light, to surge forward through the mass, back to safety. Or, at least, for a place to hide a while. Heaven knows how long she can keep this up, already the wolf's head is hanging low, her chest rising and falling rapidly. One attack from her celestial brush, followed by a burst of speed, felt like it was tearing her lungs and legs apart. Her muscles ache to relief, and yet she pads forward, wheezing out puffs of air.

It's going to be a long week.]

True Strength - Enso

For but a single day, Ammy returns to Enso, prowling around the entrance to the Storyteller's temple, or near to the mana pool. She appears almost like a ghost in the darkness, her brilliant white coat shining like a soft light in the gloom. Anything that gets too near will be met with a very unhappy watchdog, baring her teeth and brandishing weapons at all manner of shadow creatures. Of course, all this takes its toll on her as well, and once the bigger threats are chased off or killed, Ammy also limps back inside to rest and have her wounds treated.

Still, she doesn't rest for more than a few hours at most, and will be back on the patrol no matter how much she's told not to move or to stay. Nothing will keep her from going back out, eventually. It's something she must do - her sworn duty to protect the precious people inside or at the islets. No matter how tired she is, no matter how many injuries she sustains, no matter if she may very well die...she marches forward for them. Without hesitation, and unquestioningly. This is who she is, what she is meant to do. If she can beat back the darkness for even a short while, give these people hope and faith in a tomorrow filled with light and warmth...then she has fulfilled her role.

She can be proud, and happy. She can let herself rest. But for now?

Amaterasu gathers what little strength she has and continues fighting.

White Light Majesty - Chol, Final Day

[This war of Darkness and Light has dragged on for so long. Ammy is at the very last reserves of her strength, keeping back the hellish beasts as they try to desperately close in on the sleeping sun. She's so tired. Her body aches for relief, for rest, for an end to this awful struggle. She prays for it to be over, for the light to return, for everyone to be safe. Day by day she has prayed, retained her hope, but it's...been hard. The darkness has lasted for so long already, and she's feeling a bit selfish in wanting it to end. The feeling never lasts long, before she shakes herself off and plods forward, but it is difficult, when everything is against you.

When wickedness whispers sweetly its promises of respite, if one surrender their hope.

But today, not her, but everyone's prayers are answered. The smoldering orb nestled in the center of Chol bursts into flame with a song that is heard through the whole of this dark world. The heat of the sun as the great beast takes to the sky is empowering and magnificent, and Ammy basks in it as she soaks in the warmth of the phoenix's dazzling glow. The Sun has risen, at last. And she, too, rises with it.

Like a second sun, the wolf's coat begins to shimmer and sparkle, casting her in a gleam of white light. Ammy tucks her head down, inhales, and lifts her head to the sky as her brethren sun soars overhead, crying with them in unison - a duet of two suns. A wolf's howl and phoenix's screech, mingling together in unison as flames burn brightly from the wolf's back from her reflector, blazing in all seven colors of the rainbow. Tendrils of light, like sunbeams, flutter behind her, and the marks on her white fur spin and twirl in ornate patterns of vibrant red.

Behold, everyone, the Great Goddess...Amaterasu.

Revived with the rebirth of the sun, Ammy begins her assault. Power flows through her body as the energy from her brethren sun courses through her veins, and she flings herself into battle once more, beautiful flowers bursting to life in the wake of her swift paws. This surge of energy will not last long, nor will this overflowering power, bursting from her like a broken dam, so she must make the most of it. There are still shadow bests to round up and destroy, people to protect. And with her ink flowing freely, she is more than up to the task at hand.


Anyone in need of assistance will get it tenfold. Amaterasu is ready to show her colors, and with her ink spilling, limitless, from her Celestial Brush in excess for the time, she can devastate a good amount of the creatures as they try to flee, or make their final stand against the people of this world. Beasts in the sky will be dragged down by the great god's rosary beads as she cracks it like a whip, bludgeons others with her reflector, or sets fire to more. The options are limitless as Amaterasu, rejuvenated, cleaves her way forward. Of course, she does not take the lead in battle, nor the glory. Only those that seek or need her help as granted it. Even those that do not wish to fight will find themselves shielded by the goddess, beckoned back towards safety while she deals with the threat.

Come, beasts born of blackness, born of the evils that dwell with the heart of darkness. She awaits you now, with teeth bared. Come, greet the dawn as she was meant to be seen.

In all her splendor.]

White Light

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Muffet is squinting slightly against the light of the rising sun, smiling in weary relief, when she sees the second light flare up. Between the surprise and her bone deep exhaustion she staggers and nearly loses her footing, her smile slowly widening as she regains her balance and recognizes the source.]

[It reminds her oddly and undeniably of that day she stepped outside the mountain for the very first time, seeing the sun after a lifetime beneath the earth.]

[Her steady, stubborn efforts over this week-long night have taken a lot out of her, but as she watches Amaterasu's passage she feels some of that exhaustion begin to simply melt away, and she throws back her head to let out an unbridled, delighted laugh.]

Isabella

[deranged_practicality]

[Jan 21st, Storyteller's temple]

[Isabella was curious enough to watch the Sun 'die', but sensible enough to do it from just outside the Storyteller's temple, rather than from Chol. Bundled up in every article of clothing she owns, of course. She knows she'd be a hindrance more than a help, even if it fascinates her.]

I feel like we should be lighting a candle for the Festival of Lights. The weather is certainly appropriate.

[Shortly before dawn, Jan 28st, Storyteller's temple]

[The Sun is supposed to return today, and Isabella wants a look at it. So watch her watching the temple's entrance, considering the darkness.]

I wonder if I could run to a tree and climb it.

ASGORE | Chol + Enso | ota

[journalname]

A: 1/21 - 1/24 (Chol); I can't keep you from harm

[His children are here, and Asgore is not with them when night falls.

He has not found Asriel. It took a day or so to even start searching, after that conversation he had with Chara. When he had, it was just that there was so much ground to cover, and no one to point him in the right direction.

Now...well. It's been made clear that neither of them really needs him. He still hopes they will stay safe.

For lack of any more direction than that, he sets himself about helping with the fight. He has been in war before, and he doesn't seem so out of place on the front lines. With his trident and his fire magic, he prefers to keep his distance from the shadow creatures, dodging and relying on his ranged attacks to drive threats away. He could probably make quite a dent in their numbers, but his focus is on support rather than a full offense. His fire can ward an area, for a little while, and he can heal those who need it. In the end, his magic is a finite resource. Better to use it to keep as many others on their feet as possible than to burn himself out, destroying enemies whose numbers seem endless.

He'll make himself as useful as possible, to whoever will take it.]

B: 1/24 (Chol); but I'm set on fire to keep you warm

Hello? Is someone there?

[Asgore has followed the sound of a crying child into the darkness, alone. He knows that sound well.

He is a frightening figure, more so in the dark, so when he finds the little cowering shape he dismisses his trident and all but one of his little floating flames. Crouching down as small as he can make himself, he holds up both paws in a gesture of surrender.]

Little one? I will not hurt you. Come, I can take you back to -

[That's about when the thing flings itself at right at his face.]

C: 1/24 - 1/27 (Chol and Enso); I can't go on and on

[By now, Asgore's magic is beginning to run very low. If he'd had time to learn his new limits better, he might have been able to better ration it - but, well, it is too late for that now. Holding his trident's form is easier than creating new bullets, and far easier than healing, so he's begun to fight solely hand-to-hand. He spends much of his time now moving between Chol and Enso, trying to get the wounded off the battlefield and back to safety. If nothing else, he is still big and strong enough to carry most anybody who needs it.

Sometimes, he will stop to sit in the Temple himself, off to the side alone now that he is too exhausted to use healing magic for anything but the most urgent of needs. He looks entirely unhurt himself, and though he's moving slower than usual, it could just be weariness. That armor must be heavy.

(The secret, really, is that it's nearly impossible to distinguish streaks of pale dust against white fur. And there are so few here who would know what it meant to begin with. He brushes himself clean when he's alone, checking over his wounds.

He has always had high HP. It will be fine.)

Carefully, he lets his cape drape around his shoulders like a blanket. He'll go back out in a few minutes.]

WILDCARD; setting fires to keep you warm

(( hmu if you wanna do something different! lluosogrwydd ))

24th, the temple

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Asgore has always had high HP, as befitting a boss monster... unfortunately, he's also got very bad luck, because there are maybe five people on this island who'd recognize the dust he's brushing off right now for what it is, and one of them just walked around the corner.]

[Muffet hisses, a sharp little intake of breath, at the sight of his wounds. For all her disagreement with his choices, he's still a fellow monster and more or less her king, and she has absolutely no desire to see him hurt. She steps forward briskly, looking him over with a practiced eye.]

Your majesty, when was the last time you healed yourself?

Crow | ota

[tomodachi]

[A]

[If there is a benefit to being a robot, it's that Crow cannot feel the cold, save for the slight creak of his metal joints at the sudden drop in temperature. Even so, the cold is not what inspires a feeling of something close to concern.

It's the dark.

He's used to all manner of rabid animals that lurk when the sun disappears at night back home, but he had always had the advantage of his robotic eyesight to see, and the light of the moon. The latter of which is missing, however, and the humans don't have eyes like his.

Which is why, even if you think you are safe and that there's nothing coming toward you, you might suddenly get Crow here grabbing your arm and pulling you roughly in a direction back toward safety.]

What the heck are you doing? Move already before they catch up to you.

[B]

[Once back in the temple, Crow gets... well, bored is not quite the word for it. Restless, maybe? There's no books to read and looking at the contents of his pockets gets dull after the third time of organizing his loot, so he starts doing handstands and the like to try to keep entertained enough to not do something stupid. Like say, running out there into the fight.

If he catches someone staring, he does glare a little.]

What are you looking at?

[C]

[Of course, there are some people that he may be a little fond of that are dumb enough to get involved in fighting anyway, so eventually he will leave the safety of the temple to at least check and make sure that they're not dying like complete idiots.

This mostly involves trying to stay hidden so that both the creatures and the ones fighting don't notice him, and simply observing. If someone appears to be doing okay, then he'll go back to the temple.

... If not, maybe he'll feel charitable enough to throw a rock, or even a punch at one of the creatures if it looks like someone's in trouble?]

a.

[hyperlit]

[They remember the boy from the texture of their dreams, though they do not quite understand why he seizes at their wrist, trying to tug them along. The initial shock of being grabbed so easily, as though they are not something to be reviled, jars them into being led along by several steps before the Drifter jolts to a halt and issues a query.]

????????

[A very literal query, it turns out.]

Ingway | Enso Sanctuary, various

[darkova]

A- 1/21

[He wakes up to his corner of the shrine dotted with little glass bottles, and grins. The Storyteller was a being of it's word after all. And when Keith comes through with the baskets of Mandragorias, he knows he has a busy day ahead of him.

And he spends it, oh he spends it. Anyone coming to the shrine to take shelter might see the alchemist in a corner, chopping up large strange vegetables and dropping the chunks into bottles. In a flash of magic each bottle of fluid changes colors: some are bright glowing yellow, some warm orange, others lime green. By the time the dark comes he has nearly 40 bottles tucked away, and has started passing them out]

Now listen, each is only one use so do not waste them. The orange will keep you warm for the night, and the yellow will cast some light when thrown- for mayhaps an hour tops. So save it for an attack. If anyone is injured, the green will heal them. This is all I have, so make it last.

1/22-28 (Wildcard)

[He would love to stay at the temple, and he does return through out the siege to restock the potions he takes with him and to use his magic to heal those he can. And rest, as fitful as it might be.

But otherwise he is on the move. His dagger flashing against foes, dropping by camps to offer his wares (for free, don't worry. But he wouldn't say no to offerings of supplies as well) and aid in battle. Basically if you are in battle or hurt, he might show up as a battle medic.]

A

[unholy_rebirth]

[The tauren warrior looks surprised for a moment, before a warm smile spreads across her face. Alchemy? It's like a sudden reminder of home, where she and her dear friend Duibhin would gather herbs, traveling together across large swaths of land, and bring them all home to mix into different concoctions.

She takes the green and yellow potions, but offers Ingway the orange back.]

I do not feel the cold. But I will most certainly need the others. Thank you, friend.

[A pause while she examines him amicably. He's got quite a few bottles on him, and she thought she saw him tinkering with them in a corner earlier...]

Did you find the ingredients here? What are they?