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

[postictal]

[He starts to cough.]

[It's probably the smoke, he knows. Maybe it's just the smoke. Maybe there's nothing wrong at all. But his lungs cramp and seize and his throat hitches like static caught in his chest, and he can't help but remember - ]

[He stops remembering.]

Yeah.

[It's time to go.]

[It's time to peel out and away from the conflagration, and leave the dead to burn.]

[thisisourfuture]

[He can feel exhaustion starting to creep in like icy fingers. Luckily they hadn't ventured far. He walks on, putting one foot ahead of the other. He'll need to check on patients when he gets in. Patch people up before he crashes.]

I have a whole jug of that stuff if you want to stock back up. I'm not using it. Be better in hands that can use it.

[He almost regrets offering. There's some history in that staring not seeing anything gaze he'd caught. But, if giving Tim his jug he hasn't used at all is something that could keep him alive.

Well. Everyone has their demons and he's sure Tim can ward off his own.]

[postictal]

...

[That kind of offer is due for an answer. There's an itch there - fire. Gasoline. It's good to be prepared.]

[It's good to be prepared, in case you need to set something else on fire.]

I've got...flare guns. If you need one. [He doesn't have much else to trade. Not on hand. He has weapons, but he can't willingly give up something that might save his life in a fight. That's too important.]

[thisisourfuture]

I'll take one.

[He's not the really joky sort. But he has a brief immature mental image of a flying nightmare getting a surprising flare in the gut. ]

If I need to, could use it to really upset one of those flying things day. Night? I'm losing track of time here.

[It's just been an endless flow of people coming in and out of his little clinic. That's what this week has been and what it will brand itself as in his memory.]

[postictal]

It's for emergencies. If you need to call for help.

[He's speaking normally. He's speaking regularly. It's all right. He'll live. It'll be fine. The fire is burning, and it's shielding them from the worst. The heat's still at his back. His skin prickles.]

[Or maybe that's just the chill.]

We don't have phones here, so we gotta make do.

[thisisourfuture]

I know. If they get as far as where I've been helping out things are bad.

[It doesn't mean there's no hope. Just things would be bad. To spare any questions he taps his chest and laughs, but there's no humor in it.] I'm our medic.

[As they get closer to the lights and to the defenses he wonders if he should say something. Tim's face, as he watched things burn, is stuck in his head. He...can't let it go. It would bother him to see him out there with that familiar look. He'd know it anywhere and he'd put fire back into his hands yet hadn't said something to help him. That feels wrong.]

...hey, make sure you have someone with you next time you need to burn another pack like that. [There isn't a shred of judgment in his tone, just a faint concern, and too much wisdom. He keeps staring straight ahead. He doesn't want questions asked. This is just about silent support.]

[postictal]

[He's a doctor. There's a spurt something like that old rabbit-kick of paranoia to the heart, a solemn shiver down his spine. Maybe if he weren't already numbed to everything else, it would coalesce in his gut with a little more weight.]

...yeah. [He doesn't imply anything more. It's an acknowledgment; neither a confirmation nor a denial. He knows he's...it's a sure sign, isn't it, that he's still not all the way there. Not screwed on all the way tight. Still a little loose, still rattling in his cage. Still straining against a boundary he can't cross.]

[Still unstable.]

I'm not hurt. [He's singed, actually, but nothing too noteworthy.] I just - there's people I need to find.

[thisisourfuture]

If you need to rest any time I keep a fire going back behind the lines. [He needs it warm for people bringing in the wounded and the wounded themselves. He doesn't ask or push. He never will. Too many of his class have their own scars and no one brings them up.

They all just close ranks and walk together.]

Want the jug now or do you not have time to grab it? [He's giving Tim an out to escape if that's what he needs.]

[postictal]

[No. That's right. He needs...he needs more flames. That's the only weapon he has. He doesn't have anything else.]

Yeah. Yeah, I do. Gonna need all the - all the firepower I can get. [He didn't mean for that to be a joke. But it sure sounded like one regardless.]

[thisisourfuture]

[They pass the boundary. The pricky sense of danger is a breath away eases up until all that's left is the sounds of battle and the shifting all around him. He moves through it, not entirely with it.

Sometimes his head isn't on quite right either.] Back here.

[There's the jug tucked beside the bedroll he doesn't get to use much. Hinata circles the fire that's kept burning. Some helpful soul has set sea water to boiling while he was gone. He rolls up his sleeves. Someone probably needs his hands. He grabs the jug of rubbing alcohol and holds it out.]

Take care out there. I hope you find them. [Those people he wants to find.]

[postictal]

[He fishes a flare gun out from his pack and offers it out in turn, handle-first.]

Comes with four flares in two colors. Red's if you're warning people away; blue's if you need help.

[It's the least he can do in return, in exchange for the ammunition, which he swiftly tucks away with a deftness and certainty that indicates a sense of grounding to the movement.]

[It's something he knows how to do.]

[thisisourfuture]

Thanks. [He takes the gun, holding it like he knows what to do with firearms. It disappears into his own pack. If he needs it, he knows where it is.]

If you see anyone who needs patching up, send them my way. I'll do what I can. [There's nothing left to say. All he can do is hope for the best.]

Good luck.

[postictal]

I will.

[He means that. He's just going to have to hope that he'll be able to get ahold of him, if he really needs to. In the chaos of this kind of battle, it's going to be nigh impossible to predict where anyone might end up.]

You too.

[His vocabulary seems to have been exhausted, but at least he can do this.]

[At least he can be useful.]