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

[journalname]

[Asgore has no idea if that was supposed to be some kind of consent or not. He doesn't really know how to get it either, or if waiting around trying to make sure he's not terrifying this human will allow whatever's wrong with him to get worse. Humans can take such drastic turns so quickly.

Well, if he gets better enough to be angry at him, at least he will be better.]

...okay. Easy now, here we go...

[He touches the human's chest lightly, so that the flickering green light is really the only thing visible of the flames. It is, if anything, rather pleasantly warm.

They'll have to see, of course, if it actually works.]

[ungrieved]

[If he could brace himself for the impact, he would, a reflexive tightening of the muscles in his chest, the constriction of lungs and the stopping of breath. It's going to hurt. He - he knows it's going to. It's going to because dying always hurts.]




[Instead, the bizarre sensation of the numbness easing its clenched fingers around the center of him.]

[Gabe gasps, a rasping, juddering breath. He can't...he can't move, really, but he can work his jaw slightly, enough to form creaking, whispered words.]

Are you... [A wince. It hurts.]

[The sensation oozing back into his muscles is apparently going to start with pain, and work its way up from there.]

Are you gonna kill me?

[journalname]

[Oh...well, it worked, but not nearly as well as he'd hoped it might. Asgore sits back on his haunches, brow furrowing.]

Of course not. I'm very sorry if I frightened you.

[He's not dying, so they should resolve this now. Especially since it's starting to look like he may just have to carry the human back.]

[ungrieved]

[It hurts. Oh god. He knows what hurt is, he knows how it feels, he knows how it feels because it's seeped through every inch of him before, through every tiny bone in his infant body as he squalled and screamed and Mom cooed and sung him lullabies and rocked him and cried, and she still couldn't figure out what was wrong. The doctors missed it. Everyone missed it.]

[No one's missing it now.]

[Tears spring to his eyes. He bites his tongue. He's not going to cry. He's not going to - ]

Why'd you do that?

[journalname]

Do - what?

[Heal him? It was barely even a healing, he still looks like he's in pain and he can barely even move. Asgore frowns.]

Come, we should return to the temple. Someone there may be able to help you better. Is it alright if I carry you?

[ungrieved]

Any of it.

[Scaring that thing away, or doing - whatever it is evdid to it. Dismembering it, maybe. Helping him. He can see him. And he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows everyone can they just can now he’s alibe and they can hear him and see him because he’s real but sometimes]

[Sometimes he forgets.]

[He needs to get up. He can move, but it’s stiff and slow and he can’t even get himself up into a sitting position. The panic creeps back into his voice at once as he lies there, straining to stand.]

I - I can’t move.

[journalname]

You looked like you were in trouble.

[He was definitely about to die, if someone hadn't done something, but Asgore can understate a lot when he wants to! And that's answer enough, isn't it?

As Gabriel starts to move, Asgore puts a big paw flat on his back, helping push him up into a sitting position.]

Please, don't strain yourself. Monster magic cannot always work on things like poisons - it may be that you just need time to recover. Or a human healer.

[ungrieved]

[He’s touching him. He’s real, and Gabe is still real, still tangible. Not a fragment. Not a dream. Not a memory. He’s alive. He’s still here, and now there’s this - this goat trying to help him.]

[As much as he’d like to petulantly insist that he can do it himself, thanks, it’s clear that he can’t so much as sit up without support. His legs quiver the entire time. This - it’s like howbhe was. How he remembers being. Fragile, vulnerable. An infant’s desperation wrapped in the skin of a seventeen-year-old.]

You’re a monster too. Why aren’t you like - like them, then?

[journalname]

[Frankly, Asgore would prefer the name "monster" not be given to those things at all. But he knows how it is - how humans are, or how his species doesn't exist in most worlds anyway. And far be in from him to get offended at a sick young human, so instead he just says in a mild tone of voice:]

They and I are not actually of the same species. [He knows that, none of them have even turned to dust.] Another of my kind has been here for some time - perhaps you know Muffet?

[And Asriel, but let's not get into that. They look alike enough anyway, the human probably would have known them to be of a kind, if not related. Asgore considers for a moment, then unclasps his cape from his shoulders to drape it around the human like a blanket. It will be more comfortable than being carried against armor, and he looks cold.]

Are you ready to go? [He's not actually going to pick him up without permission, but they can talk while they walk.]

[ungrieved]

[Gabe cringes, though not against the drape of heavy cloth across his shoulders. His expression, when the goat mentions Muffet, looks nothing short of utterly horrified.]

She was - that was her. She stung me. She tried to kill me!

[None of it makes much sense. But what else is he meant to think? It was her. It has to be. It looked like her and - and everything.]

[journalname]

That?

[Asgore sits back on his heels to glance at the creature's body again, but it hasn't changed from what he saw. It hasn't even turned to dust.]

No, see, that is some shadow thing. [He lifts Gabe up more, trying to angle him so that he can see the shape of it lying there. Nothing much like Muffet at all, but Asgore knows plenty about illusion magic, used to hurt people.]

[ungrieved]

It looked like her.

[It...it doesn't look like her now. So how's he supposed to trust that it won't be her again? What if this is a trick too? He can't run. He can't hide. He can't do anything but wait helplessly, and hope that it isn't.]

Why'd it look like her?

[journalname]

To gain your trust, I imagine. Illusory magic can be used in some...rather devastating ways.

[He's not going to let Gabe sit and stare at the thing's body for too long; he shifts his grip and lifts him properly into his arms. Well, mostly one arm, really. He is not a terribly heavy human, and Asgore will need a hand free if anything else attacks them on the way.]

[ungrieved]

[There's something disorienting about being lifted and carried by someone so much larger, and even worse is the awful familiarity of it all. Dad picked him up the same way. Carried him, bounced him, rubbed his back, murmured gently when he cried and cried and neither of them could sleep.]

[It should be a reassurance. On some level, maybe it is.]

[Too bad he still sounds terrified.]

Where are you taking me? [Said with the tone of voice that fully implies that he expects to be hauled to an evil lair of some sort, and promptly devoured.]

[journalname]

Back to the Storyteller's Temple.

[He says patiently; though he'd explained this before, he understands that Gabe is probably too hurt and scared to process much easily.]

It is safe there. And I hope that someone a little more familiar with human physiology might be able to help you.

[ungrieved]

[Did he say that already? He hasn’t been paying attention to - to much, really, besides that which he can see. And what he can see is a goat thing that keeps acting far too nice and far too polite and he’s - he can’t understand, because he isn’t Dad and even if he was, Dad wouldn’t be picking him up off the ground anyway. He’d be too busy trying to abandon him and forget.]

H-human. [It’s paired with a pained sort of laugh, nervous and uncertain.]. They can’t help me.

[journalname]

...oh, my apologies. Are you not a human?

[Asgore casts a quick, surprised second look over him. He looks human - but then, plenty of people do.]

[ungrieved]

I’m memory.

[He’s, like, super dead!!!! Ha ha god please why is this his un-life]

I’m something everyone wants to forget, and that no one wants to remember. I’m nothing worth grieving. [Hi Asgore did you want a two year old’s existential crisis dumped on your shoulders because that’s kind of what’s happening]

[journalname]

[Uh. Well. This took a weird and abrupt turn.

On the other hand:]

You sound very much like some friends of mine.

Come now - everybody is worth grieving. [except for him lol] You are here with us now, and while you are still here, there is hope.

[ungrieved]

Then why was I forgotten?

[It's a whisper, a whimper, and this isn't the right time or place to confess your relative state of non-being, to some...colossal goat person who's just saved you from being eaten alive, but that's just kind of where he's at right now.]

I'll just go back. I'll go back and I'll be dead, and none of it will matter.

[journalname]

...oh, dear. You remind me of some good friends of mine.

[Who might not appreciate that appellation from him, but they aren't here. It's an unfortunate comparison - only in that their situation is unfortunate, of course, Asgore likes them perfectly well.]

You are alive here. And while you are still alive, there is still hope. Perhaps you will not have to go back at all.

[ungrieved]

[You are alive here.]

[He...is, isn't he? He'd made such a show of it, too, gamboling happily about, cheerfully pronouncing his newfound mortality. He'd been so proud to say it, but he'd not really believed it was the same sort of living that anyone else did. It was his former existence made tangible, transient and dependent on the belief of those that try not to acknowledge him.]

[But the dead can't die. The dead can't be placed in the peril he was just pulled out of.]

...you don't know that.

[journalname]

...no. I do not.

[It's a slow admission, but it's true; he can't promise anything about...well, anything like that. Not even his own help, because who knows if there will be any he can give in the end?]

But the Storyteller has not brought us here for no reason at all. Perhaps, when it is all over, they will grant you a boon. Or, if nothing else, some of us might come to your world after to help. I had my own means of ah, interdimensional travel before I came here.

[Oh, he's just promised help anyway. But with so many people and worlds, there must be some way to do it. He's already seen a lot of human ghosts to new bodies, what's one more?]

[ungrieved]

What’s that supposed to mean?

[Shit. He’s just derailed his own “impossibly eloquent and proud” masquerade - though honestly, he’d pretty much lost that the moment he succumbed to the Thelesh and its powers of shifting. He doesn’t like it, the asking of questions, the peppering of uncertainties, the implying that he doesn’t know what he’s always insisted he must know without question.]

[But when your world has just been upended without so much as a second thought, you maybe owe yourself a little self-reflection.]

...interdimensional. You’ve been to other - other worlds?

[journalname]

I have. A few, before this.

[And there's a lot more to it than that, but here's the point.]

That was where I met my friends, the Risen. They were humans who had...passed away some time ago.