lifeaftr | June Aftermath: Magic Lantern Strange

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June Aftermath: Magic Lantern Strange

JUNE AFTERMATH: MAGIC LANTERN STRANGE

Who: Everyone!
What: A celebration!
When: Evening of June 21st, and well into morning
Where: Ensō, E3 and E4
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Slide the Light Off You
As promised, the evening of the 21st finds the Jormun hosting a party on Ensō's largest beachfront. Near immediately, it should be clear that they've spared absolutely no expense when it comes to showing their story-walker brethren a good time.

Of course, they may also be...showing off a little.

The stalls and comfortable seating supplied around multiple firepits appears to be a mishmash of Jormun built contraptions and items requested from the Storyteller- many may be delighted to see the variety of beach cushions and blankets, items the Jormun will be happy to let their story-walker friends take home at the end of the festivities. A veritable smorgasbord of food and drink is also readily available, from the kid-friendly options of brrshavak (a spicy drink with a taste akin to liquified chili pepper) and molkavarr (a rich chocolaty broth) to the alcoholic rakvrhak (a rich wine that tastes oddly plumlike). Do be warned, however, that the last is incredibly potent.

Large slabs of driftwood have been laid out to form impromptu tables, bristling with the Jormun's culinary expertise: fried squid, seaweed wraps, spicy pickled kelp, kebabs of roasted eel, hard-boiled snapling eggs, and so on. The vegetables and meats of the sea have been laid out for all to enjoy, so tuck in!

Throughout the evening the air will be filled with the sound of music, with multiple Jormun eager to show off their skill in instrumentation. Conch-shell horns, carved driftwood flutes, urchin-needle harps, and countless more contraptions engineered by a deep sea-dwelling people fill the air with the most peculiar but nonetheless not unpleasant sound. Most of the bands will be set up in the shallow waters, however, as their instruments are not made to be used in open air - try playing them above the surface of the water at your own risk.

Of course, there's plenty more to entertain even the most difficult of people.

You're Living the Strobe Light
Those interested in proving their strength and skill will be encouraged to enter one of the many tournaments across the shoreline. The tournaments vary, featuring such challenges as play fights with the schlacknorkcvic to prove who is the greatest warrior, timed events to see who can stay on a bucking tigershark for the longest, and even a tourney of brovonkosshk, a board game somewhat similar to chess. Don't see anything you're interested in? Make your own. If you can think it, the Jormun will happily accommodate it - impromptu challenges are the highlight of such evenings, after all, though the Jormun won't be taking any responsibility for the first poor soul that decides to usher in a drinking contest.

A small variety of walker games are also available. Jormun children are more than eager to play such games as hide-and-seek or red light, green light, while Connor Murphy will be bringing his Cards Against Humanity deck, for those ready to completely screw with the idea of a fourth wall. There's even a game of Spin the Bottle... except the bottle is being spun overhead like a mace. Being hit by said bottle requires you to do a stupidly ridiculous task, so perhaps it's best to avoid that particular adaptation...

And of course, there's the lightshow.

As mentioned previously, the main show of the evening is the show of brssticca: bursts of magical light beneath the water that will put any fireworks show to shame. The lights are safe to wade and swim through, do keep in mind that the phosphorescent algae tends to cling to the skin. And should you reach into those spiraling, fluorescent nebulae of patterns beneath the surface, some of the configurations of light may abruptly shatter like broken glass.

Additionally, skilled Jormun will be happy to assist those who care to dress up for the event with intricate applications of shellivthiss - a style of waterproof body paint that is not only bright, but luminescent. Something the Jormun may forget to mention, however, is how similar shellivthiss is to henna; should you decide to get all dolled up, except to shine bright light a diamond for weeks to come.

Lastly, those who wanted to bring their own adventures are welcome to as well! Supplying some dope roast? Bringing those sweet, sweet greens? Have some alcohol to supply? All is welcomed by the Jormun - and undoubtedly, your fellow adventurers as well.

You May Find Some Peace
Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the OOC Event Post, which has details regarding the event timeline!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ They watch the Drifter's reaction. Sweeping away the words in the sand is the work of a moment.

There is no undoing the past; they know that. Hallownest succumbed because of the King's desperation to hold onto what he had; its preservation built on sacrifice. There is only looking forward into the future, day after day. Securing a better world for those who come after, for those who endured.

But in their friend's face, their sorrow for a long-ago tragedy, they see the kindness of others they have met. Be brave. Be safe. Be strong. For this burden, we are sorry.

They wait a moment before reaching out, gently lifting the Drifter's hand from their face with a delicate touch. Signing the words with one hand, clumsy but clear, bowing their head. ]

THANK-YOU

[ For your sorrow, for your kindness, for your understanding. The Knight lacks a voice to express their long grief, lacks the ability to cry for all they've seen. It means something that someone can learn of all they've lost, and mourn in their place. ]

[Thank you.]

[For what? What could they have possibly done that would merit thanks? What could they have done that would indicate deserving being thanked? They are too late for any of it - to understand, to truly grasp the extent of a tragedy that has robbed innumerable children of their lives, that has robbed the Knight of the ability to grow, because they are, in essence, a child themself.]

[They are not the sort of creature that...expresses such things. Drifters are warriors, are nomads, cannot afford to communicate their emotional unease, even in the face of children. They must remain rigid. They must remain a fixed point. To behave in this way is...]

[They have no right to be thanked for it.]

[If they were speaking the words aloud, they would come haltingly. As it is, they simply...take some time to be issued forth.]

you are young
to carry so much

YES

BUT-STRONG-ENOUGH

BURDEN-MUST-BE-CARRIED

TASK-MUST-BE-DONE

[ It is what it is; they are what they were made to be, though they have transcended it, become more than what was intended of them. They want to help. Always, they want to help. They found the strength inside them from long experience.

They study the Drifter's muted expression, attempting to find sense in it. They don't clearly understand what their friend is thinking, why they seem - ashamed? of their reaction. In the tilt of their head, in the shifts of their body language, the Knight reads as confused.

Well. They might as well ask, use the language the Drifter has taught them. They gesture at their friend with another inquisitive headtilt. ]

YOU-ARE

OK?

[ They radiate concern. ]

[That's the thing.]

[They can understand that.]

[They can understand the need to carry such a burden. If there is no one else, then someone must. And the Knight is - determined, so very, very determined, simply by nature. In body and in soul. If the task had to be done, then it would be done. And they would do it.]

[Regardless of their youth.]

[Regardless of their loss.]

it is not my health that concerns me

[There is no mechanical means to emphasize it - it is not my health. Because their health is a failing variable, and it will always be failing.]

it is
yours

[ That gives the Knight pause; it's not something they had ever considered. By their nature, they were designed to shrug off injury. The Drifter has already seen that. They don't know exactly why they would be asking about it.

Still, they must give an answer, even if the answer is- ]

DON'T-UNDERSTAND

[ They tilt their head, waiting for some kind of elaboration, some kind of explanation. (They have carried the weight of their burdens for so long that it has ceased to register as a burden at all. The task must be completed. Everything else is secondary. Even here, even now, always more to do.)

"To think such a small creature would bear this kingdom's fate." Their friend had spoken those words, and they had not understood it then either.

It is a bleak fact that they simply don't know how to articulate their grief and pain, the injuries they have accumulated through their long journey that are not physical and cannot be healed away. ]

HEALTH-OK

UNLESS

SOMETHING-ELSE?

else

[They have been arrested by the unforeseen predicament, the inability to quantify something as intangible as this: the weight of every sibling you have lost, of fighting an entire island's battles when you are little more than a child.]

[How does one articulate that when it is not their way? Drifters do not complain at the emotional weight of solitude. They are nomadic by choice. They wander because that is what they have elected to do with themselves, for some reason or another. A drifter does not ever ask another: are you all right?]

[That is simply not their way.]

[So they try for the Knight's own words.]

you are lonely?

[ For a while, they'd almost forgotten the ache of knowing. But it's not something they can really forget, just...put aside, for a while.

A pause, and then they sign, more slowly. ]

LESS-NOW

[ Not a yes, but not a no, either. The people here are nice. They have made many friends. But still, they are sad, in a way they are unable to quantify.

(And still, they listen and fuss over others. Always taking on more. Because they care, because caring is all they have. Because care is a defiance against their intended purpose.)

They remember - the caves, a desperate flight. The Drifter's hand on their head, attempting reassurance. ]

ARE-YOU?

[ Don't think you're getting out of this without questions!! The Knight wants to know more about the Drifter, too. They want their friend to talk to them, as best they can, because they are close by virtue of sharing some things about their existences. Because the Drifter too is a wanderer, and because they are holding something heavy inside.

They know so little about them. They're starting to realise that. ]

all drifters work alone

[The answer is immediate and automatic and uncommitted. Drifters are solitary creatures by nature. They would not have settled into that lifestyle if it did not, in some fashion, suit them.]

[Was it by choice? Nominally. Mostly, it had been secondary. Secondary to the drive, the need to find a cure above all else. Secondary to a drifter's obligation to scour the world in search of broken pieces of history to reclaim, to which they might assign a narrative with enough context.]

[They were not, however, always lonely.]

[For a brief time, they were not.]

[Now?]

[Now, it is...complicated.]

YOU-ARE-NOT-ALL

[ The response is just as quick.

If the Knight had the requisite facial features, they might have frowned. As it is, they seem...not annoyed, but sulky almost, in the manner of a child being given an answer they're not satisfied with.

Perhaps offering up more information about themselves will give the Drifter more comfort, make it easier for them to speak about themselves; it's what their friend wants, after all. Perhaps they can satisfy two things at once this way. ]

I-AM-DIFFERENT-FROM-SIBLINGS

MORE-FEELINGS

MORE-STRENGTH

[ They pause, and then decide to elaborate on why this is so important. Because it is, because there's no way for others to know unless they tell them. (It has never been important for them to tell anyone, until now.) ]

FEELINGS-IMPORTANT

MADE-WITHOUT-- [ They pause, abruptly. No, they can't 'speak' the words. It wouldn't come out right. They'll write them down.

What the Knight writes next is more precise. Quoting someone else's words, something they had heard a long time ago, and more recently remembered.

No cost too great.
No mind to think.
No will to break.
No voice to cry suffering.
Born of God and Void.

You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams.
You are the Vessel.
You are the Hollow Knight.

They stare, somewhat sadly, at the words in the sand, before sort of just, gesturing. ]

OLDER-SIBLING-WAS-CHOSEN [ they sign, after a moment, to try and provide some kind of context for the words. Their sibling was consigned to a terrible fate. It still pains them to think of, even now. ]

[They're not really alone anymore, no. It had seemed...pertinent to define themself as such, but this limitation of land and the pool of people who seem to both understand and accept them, to an extent - it is new. New, and uncertain.]

[The Drifter watches the words unfurl, sketched out into the sand; a solemn, grim sort of poetry.]

[Their older sibling. The Hollow Knight.]

[They were chosen. Chosen seems a cruel word for it.]

chosen
or doomed?

[ The words flow quickly. The Knight remembers -- the statue in the square. The room with the cradle and the strange, soothing music. The King, leading them into the light. Their sibling, small and untouched, and then so much taller, seething with infection and rage-- ]

BOTH

THEY-WERE-LOVED

BUT-DID-NOT-HELP

SACRIFICE-DID-NOT-WORK

[ They lower their hands, bowing their head. One hand goes to their face for a moment, like they're waiting for a reaction they can't have. Their shoulders are slumped. Everything about their body language suggests sadness. ]

CHOSEN-VESSEL-PRISON

FOR-LIGHT-GOD

SHE [ the Knight would wince, if they could, but they just sort of shudder, as if it's only now that they can comprehend the full horror of what they'd witnessed. Their fingers curl, they momentarily stop - and then they complete the words they'd meant to say. ] BROKE-FREE

NOT-WHOLE-WAY

BUT-CLOSE

[ They hadn't really thought about it. Everything had happened very quickly.

Well, now they're thinking about it. They don't appear to find this a pleasant experience. ]

[They are missing too much context. There are words that flutter by quickly, clear in meaning but utterly lacking cohesion without context. Sacrifice. Chosen vessel prison.]

[Light god.]

[Gods are meant to be...creatures one trusts. They are meant to be creatures that one worships. They are not meant to be things that exact chaos, and yet - the Immortal Cell had been a sort of god in the eyes of some. A being of light and of liquid shadow, flaring out in spiraling trails, thickening the blood of the world with its poison.]

what does that mean for you

[What does that mean now.]

[ What does it mean? That's an alien question. Again, they have to stop and think about it. It gives them a welcome reprieve from the rush of thoughts that are suddenly happening, like a barrier has fallen in their head.

Maybe it's their new form, maybe it's just - thinking about it. They've never thought so much.

What does it mean to be a vessel...ah, they can answer this one. ]

JUST-MEMORIES

BUT

ALSO-A-VESSEL

LIKE-SIBLING

CAN-HOLD-SOMETHING-ELSE [ An infection, or magic, or something destructive. They could take it into themselves, imperfect for the purpose though they are.

They can become a living prison. That is what it means to fulfill their purpose, to be what they were made to be. ]

GOD-MADE-SICKNESS

SIBLING-HELD-GOD-INSIDE

STOPPED-SICKNESS-BUT

SIBLING-BECAME-VERY-SICK

[ They're struggling to convey the concept in the limited words they have. But they have to speak like this, if they want to get better. It's becoming a little frustrating, but they continue.

They want to convey this information -- because someone asked. Because nobody has ever asked, or wanted to know before.

(It's not inaccurate to say that by teaching them how to sign, the Drifter gave them a voice.) ]

[An Immortal Cell. A perfect cell. Capable of creating life. Capable of so much, and yet primarily used to wreak utter destruction on a world that did not need to be shattered further. The husks of fallen Titans, molded into the landscape, stood testament to the legacy of that havoc and the echoes it left behind.]

[An Immortal Cell could never be contained in a vessel, no matter how perfect. It swallowed everything it touched whole and clawed hungrily for more.]

not a vessel now

[It is both a question and a concern given words - a first, for them, in many ways.]

[It seems the day is one for many firsts.]

not sick

[Now, it seems, the Knight's concern for the Drifter's illness has crystalized into something far greater than simple worry for someone's failing health. They'd not thought it anything more than that.]

[They'd simply assumed.]

[ Different worlds, different gods. But in a strange way even that is similar. The Radiance had consumed her worshippers in vengeance, had controlled the vessel meant to hold her. A parasitic light seeking more minds, more dreams.

The Hollow Knight was doomed from the start. Countless dead children litter the floor of the Abyss for a futile plan that could never have worked. An ultimately pointless cruelty.

At the question, the Knight shakes their head, elaborating with words. ]

BORN-VESSEL

ALWAYS-WILL-BE

BUT

DO-NOT-HAVE-TO-BE

OK

[ It was their whole reason for being. They could imprison something inside, if they so chose. They are quick to reassure, at least, that the choice would be their own.

Though perhaps that's not much comfort, considering what the Drifter knows about them.

But sickness...well. Perhaps they could tell a story there, but even deep in this conversation, they don't want to speak of it in much detail. They raise their hands to speak again, and then shake their head. Writing is easier to understand, for this. They wipe away the words they had written and replace them with new ones.

i was never sick

other bugs became sick/ siblings were sick/ friend became sick

sickness = became empty, trapped inside self, god controlled them

i = made from void

god = made from light

light + void = enemies

everything that was sick = tried to kill me

god = wanted to kill me

A pause. They stare down at the words, and then force themselves to admit that scared thought, deep inside, that they had never found courage to voice. It had preyed on them for a long time, as long as they knew the Drifter.

afraid

that your sickness = same as theirs

that you would be empty too

in time ]

[Ah.]

[The Drifter reads the words swiftly, beetle-black eyes darting back and forth. Then they go back and read them again. They straighten, eyes slitting half-shut.]

[They had never thought to ask. They never think to...who are they to impose? Who are they to venture questions such as that? They are merely some ghost, some fragment of another species, passing through like some zephyr and then gone, just as quickly; ephemeral, unimportant, and unneeded.]

[Not for the first time, they must question the wisdom of this: of being placed in a realm where they cannot wander to the fullest extent of their occupation. It is almost as though they have no choice but to grow...attached.]

not empty

[They can assure that much, at least. Their sickness is not the same as the Knight's sort of sickness. And the Knight...the Knight need not be a vessel. That is preferable. Preferable by far.]

simply a sickness that kills

[ The Knight just -- nods, shoulders slumping again. That is an inevitability they already knew; the Storyteller had told them, and this just reinforces that.

They can't do much, if anything at all, to ease the Drifter's pain. It makes them feel helpless, but then - that is not their burden to carry. They had thought about it, more than once, attempting to carry sickness inside them, but they know now it would make the Drifter - upset. Would do more harm than good.

If they had known the thoughts going through their friend's head at that moment, they would have rebuked it instantly. Though people are often transient - the Knight has kept their own company for years, has grown used to passing by others - it just means they should hold on tightly, all the more. Treasure what little contact there is, preserve it, savor it.

None of this is something they can express, of course. Instead, they clear the sand again, writing more words. It feels quieter.

your friend

can you tell me?

They are asking about the Guardian, now. Someone who was important to the Drifter, who they never got to see. Whose existence was pivotal to that dream.

can tell you

about mine too

in return

if it helps ]

[They don't...do this.]

[They don't speak of those who they've lost - the single, single person they have lost who had the audacity to matter in a capacity they could not fully comprehend until long after their passing. It would be pointless to be angry over a thing like that, to be bitter over a thing like that, to feel cheated or - it would make little sense, and so they disregard it.]

[Their friend.]

[The sole person they could call friend, in Buried Time.]

[The Drifter kneels on the sand. Retrieves a stick of driftwood, and begins to sketch out a silhouette: a helm concealing all features but the twin points of peering eyes, a cloak with a thick ruff of fur about the neck and shoulders, a broad-shouldered shape with a powerful stance.]

did not know them long

[That is a sorry admission to make, but a true one. They didn't know them long, really.]

[Just long enough to miss them.]

[ The Knight watches the Drifter's expressions, and then looks down at the picture in the sand, and draws around it. Framing it with lines in the sand that become patterns, that promise of preservation they had seen many times in Hallownest.

It hadn't worked for its inhabitants. But the seals, the words of long ago, still stood. Still spoke.

time does not matter

still precious

They had known Hornet, Quirrel, the old stag, those others they had met - very little time at all, it seemed. The space of an adventure, their final journey. It was still - important.

They pause, and then:

made you happy ?

Why else would that dream have fallen apart when the Knight admitted they could not remember the Guardian? Why else would the Drifter be so sad about them, reflected in their pained expressions? ]

they were kind

[That had been the crux of it.]

[They had not known them. They could not have known who this drifter was, who stumbled, blue-skinned and wheezing, and collapsed upon the ground with their blood pooling underneath their mantle. They could only have known their occupation and their illness - and their race, evident by their cobalt tint.]

[Any individual one of those things would have been, had been, more than enough for entire villages to turn them aside.]

[But not this one. Not this one.]

few were

[ Ah.

The simple fact that such kindness is a rarity to their brave friend, struggling with their own burdens, quiet and fragile and wishing only for peace--

Well. It does make them sad, true. But there is a certain sharpness to it, the same feeling that dwells in them if they think too long about certain injustices.

A bitter, angry flame.

kind is good

but others not fair

you deserve kindness always

Has the Knight ever expressed anger? Not particularly. But in the set of their body now there is a certain tension. ]

[Others react with far more concern than the Drifter is accustomed to - the fact that their kind was not welcome in most circles. It was not something worth being upset over, or even pointing out in any great capacity. It simply was.]

[It is not something they are certain they know how to explain - how to contextualize to a creature who does not have skin to speak of, let alone one of a unique, easily-recognizable shade.]

that is how it was
they did not seem to care

[And that, in and of itself, had been extraordinary.]

[ The Knight doesn't clearly understand it, no. They might never really be able to; the closest they could possibly get was the idea of a natural enemy, something that by opposing natures were anathema to each other. Light and void, at odds because that was how they were made. That was simply how it was.

Bugs had their own ideas about outsiders, of course. But it was...more visceral, often to do with diets and hunting habits, and so not the same at all.

They are not sure how to respond. That brief flare of anger is already cooling. The past is the past; the Drifter has their own situation that they find normal, acceptable, where the Knight is at odds with it.

They don't want to move past this part of the conversation quite yet, but it takes a while for a response to come.

can make something for them

memorial

if you want

Grief is important. Acknowledging the dead is important, especially if they were precious to you. ]

[For a moment, they are tempted.]

[Only for a moment.]

[No one here has really met them. Even those who stepped into the perfect reality their mind had created hadn't really met them. There was little more than the mere ghost of their presence, the echo of what they had meant - a house, as solemn and bereft as it had been that final day they had advanced into the southern wastes.]

[As though the Guardian had known that they would not be returning to it.]

they have people to remember them
at home

[The Drifter is the one that would sooner be forgotten.]

[ The Knight makes a little frustrated shake of their head, as if some meaning isn't getting across. They remember - the ghosts of warriors past. A lonely, plaintive performance from an abandoned stage. The cries of the dead transformed into power - hear me, avenge me, free me. The solemn air of the resting grounds.

It had meant something. All of that had meant something. The dead needed little; graves, memorials, those elaborate things, were meant for the living. To remember.

you can honor them here

as well

remembering for yourself

as well as another

Sometimes they wonder if the Drifter knows just how much of a mark they have left on the Knight already. Perhaps not; they don't seem to ascribe much presence to themselves at all. ]

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