April Intro: The Flower Ripens in its Place

[lifeaftr_mods]

INTRO LOG: APRIL

Who: Everyone!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: April 3rd and onward
Where: Ziziphus
Warnings: Mark as needed!

A9: Sow the Seed
Unbeknownst to new arrivals, the archipelago of LifeAftr has recently seen the appearance of a new island, as chosen via voting - and they have been unceremoniously placed there instead of upon Ensō, where most newcomers would typically appear. It's probably for the best that the island of Ziziphus is so outwardly peaceful. There are worse places to find yourself, all things considered. The mana pool glimmers with a greenish light, the stone ring containing that peculiar fluid set firmly into the earth. The surrounding land fits neatly into that general aesthetic: rippling fields stirred by the occasional crisp breeze alternate between amber-golden and rich, verdant green in coloration, and irregular patches of color signify the presence of a great deal of flowers of all sorts.

It's a peaceful scene.

We're sure you're all about to make it go horribly wrong.

B9: Reap the Harvest
For the unluckier, or the more adventurous, something far less tranquil awaits. Perhaps you woke up on this particular map square instead, or you saw fit to journey a little farther, just to see what might happen. In any case, you'll quickly discover that this may not have been the best idea, when an ordinary grassy mound abruptly detaches itself from the ground, hauls itself upright on bristling legs, and starts scuttling near.

SPINDLANKS have now been unlocked in the bestiary.
What might initially appear to be a leafy hillock will very quickly prove to be something far more...mobile, if you get close enough. That clump of grass and red ferns will abruptly hoist itself up on six vine-like tendrils, crawling for its prey like a very large, mossy spider. While it's fully capable of swiping at its foes with its massive, leafy arms, the spindlank's favored method of dispatching its prey is simply to scuttle forth until it's positioned directly above you and drop down. If its weight does not crush you and choking on the clods of earth doesn't smother you, don't worry; the spindlank intends to eat you alive with a set of fleshy jaws set deep in its center, buried somewhere in its underbelly.

For despite their appearance, spindlanks are very much carnivorous. Their size can vary from anywhere between six and ten feet tall when their appendages unfurl entirely. They are, in essence, very large plants, and thus can be easily dealt with, if you can burn them.

Just try not to get overwhelmed.

---

All new arrivals will awake with knapsacks, their names stitched to the front. The contents of said knapsacks can all be found in your acceptance notices!

As a final note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme, bear in mind that those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

---

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

tim wright | b9 | ota | i'll match your formatting

[postictal]

It takes about thirty seconds of contact with a spindlank for Tim to decide he doesn't like it, and wants it gone.

He's gotten better at fighting with fire, since January. Not actively, not out of any genuine desire to go back to his roots in arson, because the scent of smoke curling away from brick, peeling paint and warming glass, is too fixed in his mind for the splash of rubbing alcohol to be anything but another reminder of what he is and what he's not.

There's a hatchet hanging from one of the loops of his knapsack, but he doesn't wrench it out just yet. Instead, there's the spatter of liquid across the grass, the sharp, acidic tang of alcohol.

And then the undeniable click and hiss of a sparking lighter.

Right before one of the spindlank's legs goes up in a curtain of flame.

It's not February's fireworks, but it's effective; the fire chews through the spindlank easily, withering the red-and-green foliage into clusters of blackened husks in a matter of moments. He slips the lighter into his pocket, deftly unhooking the hatchet from its loop as he circles the smoldering , dying thing in preparation to deal a few final blows in case it feels like trying to snag him in its death throes.

Each motion is precise enough to suggest it to be practiced, even familiar on some level.

He'll never be the best in a fight, particularly here. But he's learned to hold his own.

[savedbyasong]

It had taken him a little while to build up the confidence to go very far. His leg was still stiff and sore but he had rested enough and there was a new island to explore. He hadn't wanted to stay home any longer. At first he had stayed in sight of the mana pool but curiosity had taken him further and further away.

Of course he had known it would be dangerous. No place was actually safe and he wasn't even surprised when a mound of grass stood up and began walking. Weird giant grass spiders.

He has his knife, he's not stupid enough to go anywhere unarmed and fighting monsters is something he is trained in. Trained in but of course, he forgot again, he is in his old body, weak and useless, injured as well. He should probably run.

But he is not alone, he sees Tim and instead moves towards him. Because you don't leave friends to fight monsters alone. There's a click and a spark and the grass spider thing goes up in flames. Turns out Tim is a talented monster fighter.

"Are you alright, Tim?"

[postictal]

"Talented" might not be the right word for it. He's learned, since being besieged by shadows while trapped in cages, to do more than simply sit and wait for someone stronger and more adept at fending things off to happen along. Maybe once, he would have laid down and let it wash over him.

He's got too many people who would, apparently, give too much of a shit if he died again for that to be an option now.

His breath is shallow, and his gaze is too distant. The flames are chewing through the spindlank like it's nothing.

It's what fire does.

"...are you?" he manages at last, gaze drifting across to fix onto the only other person in the vicinity.

[savedbyasong]

When he had approached it was to see if the spider plant had hurt Tim. But now he had gotten close he saw that Tim was not okay. He looked distant, like he was lost in his own mind, in memories and thoughts that clawed at his mind and wouldn't let go.

Shion understood that, he had seen that look before. Many times on residents of the Tower, shallow breath, distant look. Not okay. Shion closed the distance quickly and reached out for Tim's hands, to hold them if Tim didn't pull away.

"Tim. Match my breathing." He concentrated on breathing, slowly and steadily. He's aware that really he has no idea what he's doing, not really. He's just copying what Reno did, what Dia did whenever Shion panicked. What he did for Aster when everything got too much.

[postictal]

He flinches under the contact, pulls back despite himself. Maybe it would've been wiser for him to accept that contact instead, but the sensation of hands on any part of him still tenses him up, still clenches his jaw, still sends his heart hammering.

"...it's fine," he whispers, even if it's not. "Just...gimme..."

Gimme a minute, is what he intends to say, but it never materializes. Instead, the spindlank has begun thrashing, trying to lash out at the pair of them with its dying convulsions. Tim lurches back, one hand abruptly snapping out to try and shepherd Shion away from the flaming, flailing tentacle-like appendages.

He's always been a hypocrite.

[savedbyasong]

He lets Tim pull away, even if it feel wrong to let him go. He sort of understands that some people don't find touch as grounding as he does, that for some people it does the opposite of calm them.

Tim mutters about being fine and Shion thinks that of all the lies he's ever been told by all the people he's ever known it's fine is the most prevalent. It's fine, I'm fine, It's going to be okay. He knows it's a lie, he figures Tim knows he's lying. Shion has uttered the lie before. He doesn't call Tim on it. Because he knows that sometimes a lie such as that is necessary.

The spider plant lashes out and Shion skitters backwards even as Tim reaches out to grab him. Shion's hand closed round Tim's and he tried to pull him away from the burning plant monster.

[postictal]

The thing won't die, or it's determined to raise as much of a fuss as possible before it does. One side of his mouth twists downward, tightening his expression into something at least slightly more cohesive. He can't risk hurling his axe into that flaming wreck when it's the most useful weapon he has - the spear, too, has the kind of reach that his axe doesn't, and thrusting it into the mess to finish the job would reduce it to a torch.

He is a liar.

Always has been.

"You got anything you can..." He has to shake his head as if to clear it, and remember who he's talking to. No. Of course he wouldn't. "No, no - never mind. Just - we gotta let it burn out."

[savedbyasong]

"I have a knife." Which wasn't very useful, Shion wasn't very useful. Not in a fight. Not at the moment. He really needed to train again, be more useful. They needed something long, but anything they hit it with would just set on fire.

"We need to get further away." He blinked at Tim, "But keep an eye on it, incase it finds anyone else before it's down."

Someone that couldn't get away as quickly, someone who couldn't fight.

[postictal]

"I'm more worried that it'll set the rest of the place on fire," he mutters. The collateral's hardly worth the effort he went to, now, huh? Not if the entire damn island goes up in flames. Nice one, Tim.

Some fraction of himself seems to finally snap back into place as he rakes a hand through his hair.

"You don't have...fuck, you don't have any water, do you?"

[savedbyasong]

He looked around, it did look like it would be a risk, the fire spreading. But he just squeezes Tim's hand in an attempt to be reassuring. They will figure a way to stop that happening.

"No." He shook his head, "But we could try and draw it to the ocean." He waved, there was lots of water he just didn't have any way to transport it.

[postictal]

A faint pressure around his hand. Kid's trying to help, he'll give him that, but touch is seldom a good thing as far as Tim's concerned. Still, he can't just rip himself free and expect that to go over well. Not considering what that might do.

And placing the burden of Tim's errors on the shoulders of someone else has never been a wise decision.

It's his mistake. The least he can do is own it.

He nods, shaking his head once more.

"Yeah. Okay." He unlatches his spear from its loop on his pack and offers it out. "I can...it's just in case it tries to take a swing - pole weapons are good for keeping distance."

[savedbyasong]

Shion takes the spear, letting go of Tim's hand. He has used a spear before, been trained in it and so it only takes a moment for him to find the balance points, a moment to once again re-orientate his mind to the fact he is smaller, his arms shorter.

"Okay." He glanced at the burning plant. "You draw it's attention, I'll make sure it doesn't get too close to you and we will get it to the ocean."

They could do this. Breathing, focus. He wouldn't let anything happen to Tim.

[demonpuppy]

Chip had been frozen at first, seeing the grassy creature rise up out of the meadow. They'd had an uneasy feeling ever since setting foot on this island, and now they know exactly why--it's green. Not truly, not the way they're sure the Wild would be, but this island is probably the closest to it they'll ever see.

And for a child that grew up on the worst tales of the fae, it's utterly terrifying.

It's not until the flames spark up that they can think again, and seeing Tim at the feet of this monstrosity--they run forward without thinking, fumbling to pull out their hatchet. Iron, iron, if only they had real iron--!

"TIM!!"

[postictal]

He's on the verge of something that would be far from wise, the rancid stink of the alcohol he's been using as discount gasoline thick in his nostrils, the thick smoke curdling out from beneath the blackening edges of greenery.

A shout rips him out of it. A familiar yelp of his name, and there's a child bumping ever closer to the conflagration. He opens his mouth to warn them away, which is roughly when the thick, viney rope of an appendage whips out and snaps around his ankle and yanks.

He twists as he falls and manages to end up on his back instead of on his stomach, but the angle's too awkward for him to make any headway with a hatchet.

"Get back," he chokes out between coughs. The smoke's in his lungs, watering his eyes. "Don't let it g-get you!"

This Is Fine

[demonpuppy]

Tim goes down, and something in Chip flips like a switch. They shriek in rage and charge with renewed vigor, both hands gripped tight around their hatchet and eyes gone pitch black with the power coiling in their gut. They don't even think about the smoke and flame, don't care at all, rushing in and slamming the weapon down on the tendril seized around Tim's leg.

In that same moment Chip's power flares and lashes out, weak but driven by their spite and fury. A spark of energy forces through into the creature, a push of rot and weakness and death that weakens it's hold, if only for a moment. They hate it, they hate it hate it hate it, they'll kill it, how dare it try to hurt him, HOW DARE IT--!!

LORD

[postictal]

They don't listen.

Of course they don't listen. Was there any part of him that expected them to genuinely turn around and head back, and trust that he'd claw himself out of this mess of his own making - particularly considering how badly he'd been burned by his own incompetence the last time. An emphasis on burned.

Whatever it is they're doing, it works. The spindlank recoils, tendrils drawing back, its grip loosening for a fraction of a second. Tim wrenches around, chopping fiercely down until the vine inching its way up his calf is writhing loose from the leg of his jeans, the freshly severed stump spraying some thick, glutinous liquid he doesn't want to put a name to.

"Chip, we gotta - we gotta move," he rasps out. "It's gonna burn out."

welcome to stabkids r us how can i help you today

[demonpuppy]

If they hear Tim, they show no sign of it. Flailing their hatchet into the thing wildly, as soon as the tendril is fully severed Chip rushes at the main body with an unholy shriek--a descriptor that for once isn't hyperbole. There's something wrong with their voice, something that sounds both more and less, something that shouldn't be able to physically be possible to come from them at all.

They slash and hack wildly into the writhing spindlank, ignoring anything but the death of their target, their victim, their prey. Completely oblivious to flame and vine and voice--all that matters right now is the kill, and whatever dares to stand between them.

why does this keep HAPPENING

[postictal]

The spindlank starts to shriek, like a kettle of boiling water. Chip is lashing out, and it's lashing out right back, thorny, smoking vines whipping in uncoordinated arcs. They're certainly killing it faster, but that's not good enough. It'll die one way or another.

The risk to them isn't worth it.

His leg's shaky, trembling with the strain of holding himself up, but he can still lurch forward, and, regardless of the wisdom of such an act, loop arms around Chip's middle to try to haul them back.

"Sorry, kid," he hisses, his voice taut. "But it's not worth it."

I WARNED YOU DOG

[demonpuppy]

Well-intentioned as Tim's efforts are...it's not a desired one in the slightest. Chip shrieks in rage and flails against this new foe, lashing out with fist and foot and hatchet alike to try and force him to release them. It's not accurate, thankfully, but Tim might be sporting a few nasty cuts if he doesn't get that weapon out of their hands.

[postictal]

The flat of the blade smacks him across the cheek, tiny fists and feet thudding up against the wall of his gut and hammering against his ribs. He grunts, flinches back, digs one knee into the ground, and locks one elbow around their hatchet hand to limit their field of movement.

He knows. He knows from bitter experience that if they end up doing something they'll regret even more than what they're doing now, it won't do them any favors in the long run.

He hisses out between clenched teeth, straining to keep them in place.

"Chip. Chip. It's me. It's okay. It's dying, it's okay."

[demonpuppy]

They don't calm down right away. Tim's arm locked around their own keeps the blade from being a danger, but the rest of them still fights back fiercely. There are even a few moments they try to bite his arm, but it's too awkward and angle--

--and they can't keep this up. The magic burning in their veins, pushing and urging them on, even moreso than at home it drains and seeps away, sputtering out into nothing until Chip hangs limply in Tim's arms, panting heavily and shivering as they come to themself again. The burning hulk in front of them, Tim's secure hold and heavy breathing...

They did it again. They did it...

Gasps for breath start to give way to quiet hiccups, and they shiver in his hold.

[postictal]

"Hey. Hey. It's okay."

Anger's an easy one. He knows it entirely too well - learned to lock it down the way Frisk has, learned to seal it all behind a careful mask and lie his way through his teeth. Yes, doctor. No, miss. I'm fine. I'm feeling better today. Really.

The spindlank is still twitching feebly, but it's mostly smoldering, blackened husks of plant matter crisped and curled up like the legs of a dying spider, belching greasy pillars of smoke that sting his eyes and make his nose run. His ribs and arms ache; the receipts of this whole mess will be painted in yellow and green in the morning.

He doesn't care.

He squeezes their shoulder with one hand, rubs up and down.

"I gotcha, Chip. I gotcha."

[demonpuppy]

They should run. It's the first thing that comes to them, a driving panic to just get away as fast as possible before--anything. They know what comes next, anger and shouting and the burn of a chain on their neck, but they just...can't. They're too weak, too drained and shaky to even attempt to push away.

So instead they curl up on themself, shivering and whimpering as tears flow down their cheeks. Just like before, just like every time before, why can't they just keep themself in check, why can't they listen, why can't they be the good kid he wants them to be...?!

Their hands latch onto Tim's shirt blindly, reaching for support, for steadiness, for...something. Anything. Even if they don't deserve it, they just...

[thejaw]

[Tim seems to have it all under control.

Brian could easily just stay where he is, remain an observer. But where that once would have been acceptable, it now only takes a moment for it to feel wrong to him. Uncomfortable, an itch under his skin.

He hurries over, knife drawn, and circles around to the other side of the spindlank- it is pretty fucking big after all.]

[postictal]

[It's pretty fucking big, and it's taking its sweet time going down. The only thing worse than a pissed-off spindlank is, apparently, a pissed-off spindlank that's very on fire and fully aware that it won't last long. It seems to be determined to ensure it at least takes him down with it.]

[He's just stumbling back, trying to keep a wide berth and failing, when he glimpses a familiar beige blur on the other side of the flaming mass.]

[Shit.]

[There's no way to communicate with who he suspects is advancing upon the thing's six, other than to shoot a frantic, desperate look in his direction. What the hell are you doing?]