lifeaftr | March Event: De L'autre Côté de L'eau

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March Event: De L'autre Côté de L'eau

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

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( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

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[And they abruptly lose steam.]

[The Storyteller's ramrod posture drops. Something about the whuff of air that escapes that soft little pink nose and the drop to their fuzzy shoulders communicates...exhaustion.]

Truthfully?

I am terrified.

[A soft, understand expression crosses Ignis' face.]

It's all right. Truthfully, I'm terrified as well, but I faced impossible tasks before I came here. Quests with too little information and odds stacked far too high against us. We move forward one step at a time and trust in each other. It's the only way to get through.

Don't worry. I think no less of you knowing this. In truth, only those who don't understand the risks they face escape feeling fear.

The narrator is not meant to second-guess themself.

[The words are almost rueful, and certainly - bitter.]

...but I suppose we have all learned that I am not much for the infallible commentary. Yes. Yes, I...am not fond of water; I am fond of Water even less.

Let the Narrator decide what they can and cannot do. Let no other do that for them.

[Ignis holds out a hand. Were this someone else, he would hug them or at least put his hand on their arm or shoulder to comfort them. With the Storyteller, he has no idea how such an action would be accepted.]

Then, for both the sake of this Story and the one who records it, we will part ourselves from the Water and all who worship it in the most explosive way we can. Perhaps, it will show them that not all are willing to stand by and allow their foolishness to hurt those around them.

[They are just a rabbit; a god of multitudes and unfurling vastness, compressed into one physical shape. Nonetheless, there is something distinctly rabbitlike in how they tip up on their haunches to sniff at the proffered hand, ears laying flat along their narrow skull.]

...there are innocents among them. Those who have never known any other life.

There are innocents among us too.

[And just as he sounded so determined before, Ignis' voice is now full of infinite sorrow.]

It's always the innocent who suffer in times like this. I wish I knew a way to avoid it, but I do not. Not when the choice is their innocents or ours.

[He gives the Storyteller several moments to sniff his hand before gently speaking.]

May I touch you?

And therein lies the grayness of the matter. I will not pretend I know the correct course of action. I have learned that it is not my place to make it in your stead.

[One ear twitches, and then they sit back, lolloping closer by one, two incremental hops.]

If you wish.

I don't believe there is a truly correct course of action. Either way, people hurt and people suffer. How we go about it is a choice only we can make. You shouldn't be expected to make any choice but your own, even if you are a god.

[With permission given, once the Storyteller falls still, Ignis gently runs his hand over their head and ears.]

I don't know if touch is comforting to you, but I wanted to offer anyway. You deserve comfort as much as we do.

It is not my true shape. It is a projection I have assumed for the sake of...

[They fall silent, all the same, when he strokes them. The soft skittering thud of their rabbit heart slows, ever so slightly.]

I had thought you did not think fondly of me.

[For just a moment, Ignis' hand stills. Oops, called out. Still, that moment passes quickly and he returns to his previous gentle actions.]

I think I've been unfair to you recently. After remembering what happened and what I saw in Altissia...

[He pauses, shaking his head.]

No, even before that. I was so very angry at the games the Astrals were playing with Noctis' life, and I allowed that to color my views of any deity I ran into. Unfortunately, you were the one who popped up the most and so it was simple for me to turn that wrath toward you even though you didn't deserve it. For that I'm sorry. It was a reflection of my own weakness and nothing to do with you.

[A small part of his mind--the angry part--whispers that he shouldn't allow it to be so simple. He shouldn't forgive because this all might be an act just to get him to do so, but the bigger part of his mind wants to believe that the Storyteller is true, that the fear he shows is real.

Ignis is tired of being angry so much of the time.]

I cannot fault you for that. You provided me a role, and I did what I could to fulfill it, for better or for worse. And I am...not the most grandiose of deities.

[They're tired, Ignis. Can you tell?]

My role is to preserve stories as they come to me, and then to tell them in turn. To keep the lives of others alive, long after their bodies have become dust. This...fight, this struggle for survival and all else besides, it is not my way.

[And so, yes. They are terrified.]

[So very, very terrified.]

Humans are creatures of habit, and perhaps, some gods are too. It's easier that way. To follow the paths we know and fill the roles we are used to.

[He's quiet a moment, just feeling the soft fur under his hand as he continues to gently pet the Storyteller. Bone-deep tiredness is a sign they are still alive and still fighting, but it's not one anyone welcomes and it's one that only grows stronger as the fight drags on.]

Easy, isn't always right. Nothing changes if you just take the easy path. It's comfortable, but we cannot grow on that path. The hard path, as terrifying as it maybe be and as exhausted as it leaves us, is the only one we can grow on. Your stories, our friends and family, it may be that the only way we can continue to protect them is to become more than we are now.

[A king pushes onward always...and so must all who live lest they leave unprotected the things they love the most.]

[A moment of hesitation plagues the silence until at last they lift their head to regard Ignis directly, dark eyes glittering in the firelight. They think that perhaps they have never looked or felt so very lost as they do in this moment - with the exception of the aftermath of the crystalline things that nearly ate everyone alive.]

How do you find it in yourself to continue, despite all the mistakes you have made?

[When the Storyteller raises their head, Ignis lets his hand finally fall away, coming to rest in his lap as he thinks of the best way to answer the question.]

It's hard sometimes. Right now, for example. Actions hang over my head, things I don't regret, but things I wish went differently. If I refuse to move forward and let the mistakes win...

[He pauses a moment to shake his head, then raises it to look in the Storyteller's direction.]

Mistakes become regrets when you stop trying to correct them, when you refuse to learn from them. It's true that a story is complete as long as it has some kind of ending, but why leave it with an unsatisfactory ending when you can make it so much more?

Is there such a thing as a mistake too great to be fixable? One you cannot move past from?

[It is possibly unseemly, to be begging this sort of advice from a mere mortal. But who is here to witness, and thus to judge? He...does he mind?]

[He has answered their questions thus far.]

[He doesn't mind; he will never mind aiding another in their search of knowledge and understanding.]

A mistake only becomes too large to fix if you allowed it to become so, if you refuse to move forward from it. You speak of allowing us freedom to make our own decisions and drive our own stories. You give us freedom from outside forces of control, but in the same vein we mustn't allow internal forces to control us either. Mistakes. Fears. They can either give us a spark to grow from or bury us so deep in the dirt that no light will ever reach us again.

[So a line does not exist, as long as one does not allow it to?]

[Perhaps there is something in that - some worth to that lesson. They are only a deity; they have had infinitary stretches of time to contemplate and reconsider, but lacking a mortal perspective, perhaps they would always be doomed to never reach the sorts of conclusions they can now.]

I suppose I should thank you. Your insight is...it is appreciated.

[Precisely.]

You're welcome, though the thanks is not necessary. One cannot learn if another is not there to teach. Should you ever have more questions, I will do my best to answer them.

[He gives the Storyteller a kind smile before his face grows more serious and his attention turns back to the rescue mission before them.]

Watch over us the best you can and we will do our best to bring everyone home.

I will do my best.

[It is said gravely, and earnestly, and they mean it.]

To lead you into danger was far from my intention. [This will be far from adequate, they know, in setting things right - not when it is fraught with risk and loss is almost inevitable, when both hazards would have been prevented, had they not ventured this option.]

The least I can do is assist you in getting out of it.

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March Event: De L'autre Côté de L'eau

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