lifeaftr | April Intro: The Flower Ripens in its Place

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April Intro: The Flower Ripens in its Place

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 )

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[He almost misses as the first blow hits, the person in front of him moving lightning fast. But the distraction from the beast gives Kravitz the chance to get to his feet, steadying his scythe in his hand, eyes looking back to meet with the… person, who’s come to his rescue.

Something is off about him. But with the threat, he can’t focus on the other form right now. He’ll consult his book later.

Kravitz nods towards them, and looks back at the beast, struggling to right it’s movements as it lumbers still, looking between them. Deciding Kravitz is the weaker link, it teeters his direction, trying to fall and crush him. He moves to sidestep, sweeping his scythe towards another injured leg, trying to push it towards falling the other way.]

[Maybe it's the blue skin. Maybe it's the mutism, and the fact that they can only communicate via text.]

[Or maybe it's their many hundreds of deaths, wracked up to nearly one thousand. That could be it too.]

[The spindlank starts to wobble in the direction of the man with the scythe, and the Drifter reacts immediately. The zaliska is ripped from where it's concealed somewhere beneath the voluminous red of their cloak and they fire one crackling ball of energy of a bullet. The force of the shot, paired with the swipe of the scythe's crescent-shaped blade, is enough to alter the thing's trajectory enough and send it crashing harmlessly into the grass instead.]

[Oh, he’s rather used to things looking nonhuman; he serves a goddess that’s mostly raven, after all. But he doesn’t have the moment to look into it like he wants, not when action must be taken. The other person fires some sort of missile and the creature crashes to the ground, Kravitz waiting with his weapon steadied on it until he’s certain it’s not making the attempt to get back up. Only then does he right himself, moving to dispel his scythe before remembering, right, that isn’t working either. Instead, he simply moves to tuck it in the crook of his arm, focusing his eyes back over on the Drifter.]

Thank you for the assist. I suppose I was taken rather by surprise by, erm… whatever that thing was.

[Part of him is also glad he hasn’t put his scythe away, still studying the other person’s form. Something is wrong, and typically when it’s this wrong, he’s stumbled across another bounty. Even if he hasn’t the slightest how to get back to the Astral Plane at this point, his duty is his duty, and he’s going to uphold it until he can’t.]

[The Drifter inclines their head politely. The strange thing bobbing at their shoulder is what issues text in lieu of speech - projecting a translucent pink HUD that projects a line of words.]

[He'll have to forgive them. They rather lack the ability to speak.]

many dangers here
must watch each other's backs

[Oh. That's interesting. He blinks once or twice, looking towards the little line of displayed text.]

Oh, well, thank you. Is it inconvenient for me to speak?

[As he's talking, he's sliding his backpack off a shoulder, pulling a rather ornate looking and large book out. Despite it's size, Kravitz doesn't seem to be affected by a weight it probably should possess. He has to figure this out.]

Also, what is your name?

[And then give him just a minute to research your Death Crimes.]

[That’s some particular phraseology. The Drifter shakes their head. No, it is not inconvenient - they can hear just fine. It is not their ears that are broken.]

[This question, this one is more familiar. Their name. Their title. That is all they have, really.]

just a drifter

[One of many; it is not a common occupation, but it is one nonetheless. That is the only title they have needed.]

[Well, he doesn't want to be rude... on that front, anyway. He makes an attempt to be quite polite when he's not speaking to criminals.

He looks up to the display, and then seems to flick through his book. It's not an identifier, exactly, but he doesn't quite need it, not when the person in question is right in front of him. They look innocent enough, but who knows what--

All of his thoughts immediately stop like a seventeen car pileup on a busy highway when the number appears on the page.

Kravitz' eyes flick between the pages and the being standing in front of him, mouth looking like it's trying to make words and utterly failing. This is... this is absolute treason. This is the biggest bounty he's ever seen. This makes the previous record, at fifty seven, look like child's play. He's never seen someone with a death count in triple digits, let alone whatever the fuck this is.

He's struggling not to look like he's gaping. He's absolutely doing so.]

You... you.

[The book disappears as instantly as he was holding it, taking the scythe from where it was rested near his body.]

You know, one of the last times I was sent out on a job, I met a man who had died fifty seven times. And I thought, you know, that's terribly high, fifty seven and not one visit to the proper plane. But this, this is just excessive. This has blown directly past the 'maybe you've made some errors' faze and into 'this is absolutely and properly ridiculous'. Four digits? Over a thousand deaths? You can't just do that, y-- you're spitting in the face of the natural order!!

[He hasn't made a move to, like, attack them yet, at least. But he's certainly gesturing with his hands and that scythe is very present.]

Edited (i know my numbers and canon) 2018-04-17 00:34 (UTC)

[He seems angry.]

[That would be an understatement. There's a weapon in hand, and he's gesticulating wildly, and the Drifter tenses, an automatic straightening of their spine in preparation for what may be a potentially catastrophic engagement. It takes several moments to catch onto what he is insinuating.]

[The absurdity of his outrage over such a thing is perhaps the most striking, but it makes about as much sense as the rest of this outburst - which is to say, not at all.]

[...perhaps he isn't aware of the context?]

i didn't
not my doing

[He isn't, because most of the context he runs across is utter crap. Oh, I had to see my mom again, oh, it was before my son's time. No, it wasn't. That's why people die. Sometimes it's untimely, and most of the time they don't deserve it. No one really deserves most things. But it happens, and Kravitz is here to enforce it. Someone has to. What kind of world would exist if no one ever died?

He plants the end of his scythe in the ground, also angry he isn't cutting the imposing figure he really should be here. Give him back his skeleton face, Storyteller.]

Not your doing? Then whose was it? I'm sorry you may have made some unsavory choices in your company, but if you have died you must pass on to the Astral Plane. Then, if we determine it was truly without your consent, a case can be made to release your Soul from the Stockade.

[He probably should have explained a little first. He usually has a spiel. This just got him a little off guard.]

[It’s sad, but true: his form is far from intimidating, even with the scythe. Their prevailing instinct already has them mentally charting a strategy of attacking, should it come to that. The reach of his weapon is not so unlike that of the Reaper’s even if they were physically larger. Until they know for certain that their speed can make up for the scythe’s expansive radius, ranged weapons will have to suffice.]

[Hypothetically. The hope is that it will not come to that.]

[The Drifter bows their head in a gesture of solemn reverence - not to him, but to the god for which their many lives they owe.]

a god of death assigned me a task
she would see it completed despite the danger

Edited 2018-04-19 19:49 (UTC)

[A god of death. She.

Damnit, if they're one of the Raven Queen's agents, he really needs to put in a mental note to get a list or something. There aren't many other Reapers in her employ- or well, there aren't many he ever sees. But this person doesn't look like a Reaper. Doesn't behave like one either. But if he's under the divine protection of his Lady, he can't do anything about that. His face softens from his previous burst of anger, lips parted just slightly like he's trying to think of something to say. Really, it's a bit like hope. That he's not so alone out here.

He reaches into an inner breast pocket of his jacket and retrieves a single raven feather, seemingly undisturbed after being shoved in a pocket for goodness knows how long. It would be most convenient just to call her, but that wasn't working even before he came here. So perhaps this will be enough of a calling card.]

Are you... another agent of the Raven Queen?

[A feather, dark and shining like a streak of oil in the sunlight. Like the birds of the northernmost regions, speckled with white and black as they were, bolts of greenish energy shooting out from their wings as they shrilled their arcane words. The Hierophant, tottering on a pair of yellow sticks for stilts, impressive and massive and fluttering until they sheared it all away with the cut of a blade, and exposed the charade for what it was.]

[The Raven Queen. An unfamiliar moniker. The Drifter shakes their head.]

black dog
a jackal

[Some worlds have one god and some, they have learned, have several. This does not disarm the validity of each deity's power.]

[He doesn't know any other gods of death, aside from her. It's possible she has acolytes, of course- lesser gods in tandem, operating under more specific circumstances than him. He is a bounty hunter and warden; he hunts down those who have already made mistakes, stops the world from ending as a result. Maybe this other god is in charge of stopping them before it gets to that point- or well, he'd like to hope as much.]

I see.

[He tucks the feather back into his pocket protectively. Maybe he can try to contact her again later. Maybe she'll know.]

Well. I suppose that doesn't technically fall under my jurisdiction. Though I really should have received some kind of briefing about you. It's not good to just have people running around that have died so many times without notifying me.

[Death bureaucracy, right?]

[“Lesser”? Excuse you.]

[The Drifter lifts their chin in quiet, firm defiance. Perhaps he has a job, but they had theirs, and their god saw to it that it would be carried out, no matter the cost. He has no right to assume jurisdiction over such a thing. They take their directions from deities - not over-glorified underlings.]

it was not your world
so it was not your business

[There, you see? Very simple.]

[Over glorified underlings, please. He is an aspect of her, a piece of her will shaped from a previously dead man. He knows his mission. It matters not where he is.]

It is becoming my business, if I am stuck here. Just because I may be far from my home doesn't mean I won't uphold the laws of the world.

[The tennants of life and death are important. But in certain situations, he is willing to be flexible. Regardless, he isn't swinging a weapon in their vicinity anymore, so that's an improvement.]

Regardless. Thank you for upholding an undoubtedly dangerous mission, if it lead to such strife.

laws of your world
not this one

[Death is as impermanent here as it was in the land of Buried Time. He has no jurisdiction here, as far as the Drifter is concerned; until a god on par with the jackal and the glittering white rhombus that haloed her pointed snout arrives to dictate otherwise, this is how it shall be.]

[The Drifter bows their head in acknowledgment regardless, however. There is no excuse to not be polite.]

[He rolls his eyes a little, but he's not going to continue fighting this. Not when he doesn't have any power here, either. But he truly doesn't have time to continue this, not when he needs to find a way out.]

Well I'm guessing there isn't a way to just conveniently leave this world to it's devices? Or at the very least, communicate with someone about the way this place works? There are plenty good reasons why people need to be able to die.

[They incline their head slightly; less in acquiescence than it is out of necessity. This person, whoever he is - they are not quite sure they like him. The baseline wariness with which they'd learned to regard most everyone in the vicinity has proven to be equal parts useless and outright rude, here...barring this instance.]

[They point, one dark-gloved hand, and extend one slightly claw-hooked finger in the direction of the mana pool.]

that is no longer your decision
ask the god

[Not his decision. Mm. We'll see. It may not be his direct choice, but he must have some sway, some influence. He can't see this keep happening and just stand by, not when people could die, not when they could suffer. It's not fair. It's not right.]

Well. I suppose I will. Thank you for your... assistance.

[He thinks about leaving it there, letting his stubbornness win, but he also stops and relents--]

Also, uhm, sorry for yelling at you. I was previously unaware of your connections and, uhm. Surprised.

[That is something the Batter admitted to difficulty with - understanding when to apologize, and how. Perhaps, like him, this man too struggles with locking himself behind a veil instead of allowing who he is to seep through in earnest. It would not surprise them, if that were the case. Those on holy missions quickly grow restrained by nature, if they were not already.]

[The Drifter was and still is among them. They incline their head, a respectful bow.]

it was not clear why i was selected
she passed me on when the task was done

[...until, then, they awoke here.]

[Who he is is a title and a mission. That's who he's been, at least. He has very few connections to the mortal world, and only one that has a true impact on him, so far. There's going to be a lot of learning to be a person again, in more respect than just the mortality.]

... I see. Well, uhm.

[... What does he say to this? His conversations with the dead have always been businesslike. He's a warden, not a leader. A judge, not just... some guy.

He looks at the Drifter for a few moments, like the gears are turning for what proper social interaction is in this day and age. Eventually, he resolves to just thrust his hand out to shake. That's... that's good protocol, right? Yes. Sure.]

I suppose introductions are in order all the same. I forget if I gave you my name, ah-- it's Kravitz.

[Kravitz. They make a note of that, because it seems polite to do so, and not necessarily because they they wish to. What initially promised to be a rocky meeting has subsided, somewhat, if only because they could essentially call his attention to the nature of another deity of death, who guided them on their mission.]

[If they'd not had that, would he pay them any mind at all? Or would they be an insignificant dot on his radar?]

[It's not clear to them which they would prefer, but it is clear that only one option exists in this narrative, and so they do not bother pursuing hypotheticals. They nod again.]

ok

[There are probably kinder and more graceful ways to accept an introduction. But they will admit it to themself, here and now: they have grown too used to the treatment of the people of these islands, who do not quail at the color of their skin. They have grown too accustomed to a polite or otherwise neutral treatment, where scorn and avoidance had once been the default.]

[Thus, they have grown complacent. They have no right to interpret this poorly when it is far from the most turbulent greeting they've received.]

new here

[This is not a question. It is obvious.]

[It's debatable. Kravitz does regret that he was wrong- he does strive to be right in his actions, whatever they may be. But he isn't sorry he was afraid. He isn't sorry for the conflict. It comes with his job. It has little to do with who this person is at all. There is him and precious few other Reapers, there are gods, and there are mortals. That's just how it works.

He nods, straightening up, answering it like a question whether it was or not.]

Uhm-- yes. I didn't wake up here very long ago. It's been... a bit of a surprise.

[To say the least. Most people who are undead for a thousand years don't just wake up alive. It's not that simple.]

It's been a bit turbulent recently. At first I thought this may have been a reaction to that, uhm, invasion, for lack of a better word. But now it seems I'm somewhere else entirely.

invasion

[The first victim of the invasion.]

[...no. He’s talking about something else. He must be. He is from a different world entirely, and the Immortal Cell never permeated other universes outside of its own. To their knowledge. Either way, they’re lacking context here.]

[It pays to make sure.]

what invasion

[He furrows his brow, the questions suddenly turning more serious. Honestly, he's happier to talk about it, if only because he doesn't have any idea what it was, exactly.]

I'm... I'm not sure what it was, exactly. One minute everything was fine, the next it simply... swept through. Like a flood of tar. It consumed everything in it's path, and it took all of my power not to be pulled under. I managed to barricade myself in the Stockade, but I cannot say how long that would hold, and I had no communication outside. It was just this... all consuming blackness, interspursed with bits of color.

[It was so recent, now, it still leaves him to shudder.]

That was... just before I came here. Truthfully, I thought at first this was simply what lay below it's surface. But this seems too... unlike it, whatever it was, for that.

April Intro: The Flower Ripens in its Place

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