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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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."

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.

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."

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.

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."

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.

"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."

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...

The hand creeps up to the back of their head, as if that might shield them from it - from the sickening surge of their own panic and dread and whatever the hell else populates their brain in the cocktail of fading adrenaline.

"It's okay." That much, at least, isn't a lie, and it isn't a lie because the spindlank is smoking and dying and he might be bruised beneath his shirt, might ache anew, but it's not the worst that's been done to him and it's not the worst that he's had to forgive.

"Shh. It's okay, kiddo. I'm fine. You're fine, okay? You're not hurt?" It's one part assurance and two parts a question - making sure of it, that they haven't damaged something in their insistence to see the spindlank dead.

Silent tears start to spill into quiet sobs, Chip's grip on Tim tightening even as they flinch inward. Too scared and confused to really process who is holding them, what it means, even where they are.

"I-I'm sorry..." They suck in shaky breaths, trying and failing to calm themself before they set themself off again. "I-I didn't mean to, I didn't want to, I'm sorry--!"

"It's okay. I'm fine, okay?" He's had worse. They've seen him with worse. He's had a knifepoint thrust into the warm red glow of his soul and he got up and walked away from that, albeit months after the fact, so this - this is almost nothing, right?

He's been bruised by worse.

And more important is the fact that they're still crying.

"Are you okay?"

"I-I'm--"

Are they okay? Why would that matter? Why would that matter, it's not them that's hurt, that was threatened or attack or God knows what else. Why would that matter?

Chip hiccups and looks up at Tim, their vision blurry from tears but they can still see him and there's no angry scowl, no fearful gaze, no disappointment or judgement. Just...

They swallow hard, and nod once.

"Okay."

Physically, they seem...fine. That's the important bit. In times of crisis, you take care of the quiet ones first, and they're only just now quieting.

"That thing was gonna grab me if you hadn't made sure it wouldn't."

He's not certain it would have killed him, but he would rather take bruises over whatever kind of punishment the spindlank was prepared to mete out. He prefers a form of injury he can understand - one that was unwillingly and unintentionally given.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

April Intro: The Flower Ripens in its Place

LORD

welcome to stabkids r us how can i help you today

why does this keep HAPPENING

I WARNED YOU DOG

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