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

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( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[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.