March Event: De L'autre Côté de L'eau

[lifeaftr_mods]

MARCH EVENT: DE L'AUTRE CÔTÉ DE L'EAU

Who: Everyone condemned to the Water, and those who see fit to rescue them
What: A rescue is implemented!
When:Predominantly on March 19th
Where: Ai'tuoh, and the small islet just off its coast
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Just Sing For Me All Night

It's time for your captured comrades to be recovered, and by none other than your fine selves! While the Storyteller will detail the elements of said rescue below, they very notably don't say anything about how they plan for you make it through Ai'tuoh, and then to the islet off its coast.

You have their tacit blessing to make your way there however you would like. Through stealth, through diplomacy, by salting and burning the earth...whichever you prefer. It is, as it turns out, awfully difficult to discern the innocent from the perpetrators when they all look alike.

Whatever course of action you choose, bear in mind that there will be consequences. The Storyteller will be sealing off Ai'tuoh's mana pool once everyone who has been retrieved has come through, but that doesn't mean that the island will be gone forever.

And If I Shout For You, Never Doubt

While the details of the rescue's mechanics can be found in the Storyteller's explanation below, we ask that, if your character was captured and needs to be rescued, please let us know HERE. This will make it easier for other players to account for who might be their focus, and why!

A few guidelines for each of the groups:

[ ♆ ] Group One will be predominantly busy fending away militia, who you can assume will be pouring forth to protect the Water from these intruders at a fairly concentrated rate. Most of the fighting will likely be grouped around the Water itself, leading to a risk of being forced into the Water or slipping in yourself. The militia largely fight with spears, swords, and shields, but are not above attempting to sedate you if they can get close enough, to make it easier to tip you into the Water.

[ ♆ ] Group Two will be serving as the tether, meaning they will be holding onto the thread the Storyteller has provided. This means physically remaining on our side of the abyss and holding onto the thread very tightly, as well as mentally focusing incredibly hard on the Water itself. When the thread is deposited into the Water, it will open a dark tunnel into the surface itself, leading all the way through to the other side. The Water will not take kindly to this; it will attempt to close, and exert a tremendous mental pressure upon your mind to do so. In order for this portal to remain open, your focus must be wholly devoted to keeping it open. It may feel very much like a mental game of tug-of-war, and you may very well feel a very physical tug on the thread itself as well; you must be actively concentrating on bringing everyone home.

[ ♆ ] Group Three will then have to grab hold of the thread in some way or another and not let go as they're swept into the dimension and through to the other side. As long as they remain in contact with the thread, they will be able to make their way back and be immune to the soporific effects of the strange void, as well as detect the opening the thread makes in the landscape of the netherworld on the other side of the Water. If they let go, they will lose their way and be vulnerable to the somnolent effects, and must be drawn back by someone who is still tethered.

Just remember: once you've found who needs recovering, you cannot, under any circumstances, look back at them while you guide the home.

You simply have to trust that they will follow, and that will be what leads them back to you.

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] March 19th: Characters are taken to the Standing Water, and the rescue is facilitated
[ ♆ ] March 20th: Monthly Storytelling occurs as usual
[ ♆ ] March 31st: Ai'tuoh disappears, and anyone left on it or in the Water will suffer a death

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[hellawrath]

This isn't Lup's first trip down to bullshit Waterworld, but it hasn't gotten any less horrifying yet. The endless fall like slipping down something's throat, the motionless bodies everywhere. Stopping at each of them, trying to rouse them because maybe they're, they could be one of the prisoners who'd only just fallen? And every time, having to decide when to give up on them and move on. Lup hates it to the core.

But finally she spots something familiar, a flash of blue and pink in this washed out place and she rushes over to them with a surge of hope. They look, fuck, they look awful, brittle and injured and way worse off than she'd expect the prisoners to be after just one week. Her heart twists with renewed worry and she sets a gentle hand on their shoulder.

"Shit, can you-- Drifter? It's me, Lup. Can you hear me? I'm gonna get you out, buddy."

[hyperlit]

The dark is liquid and beckoning, and when they stir, it is to the dark sprawl of a hand gripping their shoulder. It cannot possibly be so - they’d not seen her among them when they’d been led into those depths, though their perceptions were not the greatest at that point. And now...

Now she is trapped below with them. A faint, strained little noise curls in the back of their throat. They’re doing their best to shuffle upright, for whatever it is worth, though it certainly isn’t worth much. They hardly manage to prop themself up halfway before their arms begin to tremble with the strain of it.

[hellawrath]

They stir and a relieved grin flashes across Lup's face, despite everything. They're incredibly weak, probably in pain, their sprite thing is missing so they can't communicate properly, and who knows what else they rely on it for. But they're gonna fight, and she's gonna help them win.

"Slow-- slowly, okay? You're gonna need all your strength for what we're about to do." She moves her hand to the side of their arm to help prop them up. Her other hand, only recently free of the sling and still weak, wrapped tightly with the crimson threat trailing off down the road, covers theirs comfortingly. And in her voice, there's a note of anticipation.

"I've got a way out. I'm gonna lead you, all you have to do is follow me and you'll be back up in the real world in no time. But, you need to walk on your own? Once we're on the move, I can't turn back to help you. It's like, some godly shenanigans, the rules of this place. But I know you can make it out of here. Do you understand?"

[hyperlit]

What they're...what?

The words are indistinct, and they're only catching fragments. Perhaps this is how she felt, when they'd encountered her in the dark. Their injuries are purely internal, and no health pack will ease the worst of those aches. They peer at her blearily as she swims in and out of focus, a violent blot of color in this muted void.

...is follow me...

...walk on your own?

...can't turn back...

It takes them several moments to process it as it comes, and eventually - eventually they manage it, a vague, weak little bob of their head. It's like dragging a broken body, heavy with labored breath, from out the inside of a mountain as it crumbled, as Judgment's wet, dying strands of ink-black clung to the walls, clung to the interior of their lungs, squeezing around their chest.

It's the same principle.

One hand braced flat against the ground. Pressing themself up, up, up.

And slowly, but inevitably, they stand.

[hellawrath]

It's not lost on her, how this is a bit of a role reversal from a couple weeks ago, but that's hell island life for you. Boy it sure would be nice if she had some kinda healing magic or potion for them in return, too. What even happened, did the militia, did they fuck them up this bad? She shoulda burned more than their library and ships, those bastards.

Whatever, maybe she'll find out what happened some time, no point fretting about it now. It takes them long enough to understand that she almost thinks they didn't get what she said, but then they nod, and they heave themself up. Lup helps as much as she can, nudges her shoulder under their arm and presses up. They're so-- thin. You don't see that with their usual layers of clothing, and that's not just from a week in jail. She bites her lip, but once they're standing, she's smiling at them again.

"See? Knew you could do it. Now listen, we're gonna take it slow and steady. It's not far," she repeats their reassurance, hoping it'll comfort them as much as it did her. "If you need a break, grab my shoulder and I'll stop. And-- actually, hang on." She unclasps her umbrella from her belt and offers it to them, tip resting on the ground. "How about a magical walking stick?"

[hyperlit]

Their pride would ordinarily be enough for them to refuse, but they are indebted to her, they know full well...or she to them? It's difficult to say. There are too many overlapping instances, too many indiscernible intricacies, to how their relationship with the elves has progressed for them to have any hope in sorting them out now.

A magical walking stick. An umbrella. If they'd their sword, they could perhaps use that, but for now...this will have to do.

Their head ducks in a nod, and one hand wraps around the curved handle as they lean against it. A fresh trickle of vibrant pink spatters wetly across the dark ground. They no longer bother to wipe at their mouth to clean it away.

There is little point in it.

They're ready.

[hellawrath]

That's, yeah that's not great, like this whole place could use some color but maybe not blood. Fuck. She has to get them out asap, they need to rest, they need a heal. She tries not to let her worry show as her gaze lingers on the drops for a moment. But she's not about to lose any time fretting about some shit she can't change anyway, and instead focuses on what she can do, which is to look them in the eyes and nod decisively before turning to lead the way back.

She walks ahead slowly, gathering up the thread and spooling it around her arm with measured, repetitive motions. The rough texture is comforting, like something real in this faded out, itchingly muted place. A connection to the outside, to somebody on the other side of the veil who knows her, who's not gonna let go of her. This place has nothing on the umbrella, turns out.

"Sorry we didn't bust you out sooner, by the way? There was no getting into that jail, it was impenetrable as hell. Had to wait until those assholes moved y'all, steal a boat and follow you, it was pretty badass. Oh yeah, guess what I did!" Can they even really follow what she's saying? Who knows, but she can't stand the silence for sure. The sound of her voice at least should offer some connection. Her ears are tilted all the way back, listening for the sounds of their shuffling steps, ready to pick up on any stumbling or halting. "Cha girl set their whole fucking fleet on fire! Betcha the sun bird saw that blaze from space."

[hyperlit]

It would be nice if they could answer. If they could...if they could communicate something, anything beyond the soft huffs of exertion as they run fingertips along the soft red yarn. Conversation with them, by its nature, requires the other party to be watching them in some fashion, and that isn't tenable at this stage. So they must merely walk, and continue walking.

They can do that.

They can drag, haul, scale their way to an objective, no matter how it claws at them.

Set their whole fucking fleet on fire.

This is not surprising to them. There's a chuff of air, like the rasp of a cough without the sound of liquid spattering the ground - the closest they can get to a hum of approval, or perhaps a chuckle. The umbrella taps softly against the ground with a dull echo. At least then, she can hear them following. The rhythm is irregular, but persistent.

They've always been persistent.

[hellawrath]

It sure would be nice if Lup didn't feel like she was talking to herself, yeah. She's not really in the habit of doing that, there's always been somebody around to bounce off of. She's always fought to be acknowledged, to put herself in the center of everyone's attention. The only time that wasn't enough, the only time there was nobody who could hear her, was in the umbrella. So. She's not loving it.

But she isn't talking to herself. She hears the Drifter make some sort of raspy huffing sound and both her ears twitch, belying the absolute tension that she's purposefully keeping out of her voice.

"You good?" They can't fucking answer, dummy. "Just, just tap twice with the umbrella if you need me to slow down or something." God this fucking sucks. But not as much as their week has, by the looks of it.

"I'm glad I found you. This place stinks! I can’t-- most of the people down here, they’ve been here too long, I can’t even get them to wake up. It’s-- I’m glad I wasn’t too late, for you.”

[hyperlit]

They take care to set the umbrella down slowly, as evenly as possible, without double-tapping. If she looks back, the entire endeavor is forfeit. This is not the worst and most perilous upward climb they've ever needed to make. This is not the worst they've ever endured. This is not the hardest thing they've ever done.

It's just that, at this particular moment, it feels it - it always feels it, in the moment. It feels it, even if it shouldn't, because the only company they've ever had in these sorts of moments was the thin, shadow-slip of a jackal, leading them out from the hollow in the center of Buried Time as the rest of the world crumbled, and Judgment left oily smears on the violet-stained rock.

They do not stop, and they do not slow.

They have one free hand.

It falls upon her shoulder, briefly, and squeezes - just once - before it falls back to their side.

They hear you, and they are in your debt.