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

[ About themselves - that, too, is a question the Knight has never bothered to ask. They are a ghost, a vessel, someone's friend, someone's rival. A student, someone who has proved their worth. A small creature with the weight of a kingdom's past on their shoulders. Always defined by others.

The answer takes a while to come, because they are not sure what it means, to talk about themselves. The Drifter knows they are a vessel already, a little of their past; they need not repeat it. But they are mostly...accomplishments.

have fought many others

have helped many

have seen many things . fought in dreams . seen many ghosts

no name

They are slow to write. This isn't someone used to actually being asked about themselves.

...

good

listener ? It's almost comical how hard they're clearly having to think about this. ]

[They speak in vague terms. Fought many. Helped many. Seen many. It's possible they simply don't have the vocabulary to describe them at length. Good listener, they write - probably because, without a means of responding, no one could reprimand them for attempting to interject.]

[One thing arrests their attention. They tilt their head to one side, considering the words. Considering their earlier pronouncement, as though the dead are concerned over how the living might perceive them.]

[The dead have never been accessible to the Drifter. There was no afterlife they were aware of, nor was it particularly a topic they concerned themself over. It was simply...life, and then the absence of it.]

ghosts?

[ At this point the Knight is simply too - impatient, in a way, to explain. They could give names, but those names wouldn't hold the same meaning. They would all require context. And some are--heavier, than others.

They are finding that there is much to think about, and they need time to do it in. So later, they think. Later, they will be better. Later, they will find the words, because suddenly they have that perception, that desire to share.

They will tell more stories, about the place they came from. Someday.

But for now, they'll speak of ghosts.

yes

dreams maybe

some died long ago

others infected that i killed

all wanted something

want to be worthy

to not be sick

or lonely

Some had been - accepting, of what they represented. Others were almost fearful. (Some they had left alone.) Some had...

some of them

did not know they died

i put them to rest

helped them sleep

They were the void in miniature. A place where no light could reach. An escape from a sickness that burned them from inside and plagued their dreams.

They had taken those ghosts into themselves, let them sleep at last. ]

you said the dead like it when they are remembered

[Does putting them to rest...does that help, then? It sounds like it would be the opposite. But that's not what truly gives them pause, because then they add, a moment later:]

why did you

[The pros of communicating almost purely via text: a complete neutrality of tone, which is precisely what they intend to express. No judgment. No fear. No uncertainty. Simply an even-keeled curiosity.]

[Why would someone, who already carries the weight of death siblings and an unceasing infection and a tired kingdom, seek to give the due to the dead - the dead who already seemed to be mere echoes of who they were?]

[ The Knight nods in immediate response to that first bit.

want to be heard, they scratch into the sand.

As for why, that answer takes a little longer. Because they were curious, perhaps. Or because they were seeking a challenge. Or simply because they stumbled into it, on accident, and kept doing so, because Hallownest is filled with the dead and their dreams. None of those things are strictly wrong.

But the answer that is closest to them, the most honest, is...

wanted to listen

must be lonely

with nobody there for so long

without help = do the same things over and over

hurt forever

sick forever

It comes back to loneliness, something that the Knight themselves feels keenly. Being trapped in an endless pattern, unable to be free. Like their broken siblings, like the Nailsmith endlessly forging, like Sly and Bretta trapped in their own memories. Even the living were not immune to it. ]

[It was not, strictly speaking, their job - perhaps in the same way that curing the world of a seeping, ancient illness was not either of their jobs. They had their reasons to pursue that plague and cut it out at the roots, and so they did so. Not merely because they saw the pain and injustice in it, but because there was a reason to attempt to mend it.]

[Perhaps the Knight is a little like the Guardian, in that regard.]

[One who sees those who suffer like them, and cannot help but...do something about it. Perhaps, given their hesitation, it did not occur to them not to.]

you are like them
you see others and help them

[They don't...necessarily specify who "they" might be.]

[Perhaps they think it obvious, or perhaps they wish to say it more indirectly.]

[ It would be accurate to say the Knight doesn't really understand the concept of not doing. There is only action, and what comes after that. Seek out memories, seek out charms, seek out things hidden or long-abandoned. Seek those who are lost, rescue those who are found. Survive, and complete that task long-buried.

They think they understand what the Drifter is trying to say, but...

like you
too

The Drifter has indulged them, time and time again. Has risked themselves when they easily could not. In many respects, they have much more to lose than the Knight does - have already lost more (the Knight cannot lose what they never had, only what could have been).

They see no reason why they should not take the opportunity to acknowledge that kind of bravery. ]

no
not like me

[They are not good enough at their job for that. They do not seek to mend the world because of some fundamental intent to make things right. They are not righteous enough for that. Their motives were selfish and self-serving, to the point where they understand full well, that if their roles were reversed - if the Guardian had needed their aid instead - they would not have been so kind.]

[It would not have occurred to them to try.]

[ The Knight tilts their head in clear confusion, not sure whether to ask. Not sure how, or where to find the words.

don't understand

but

even though different, still good

That...works. Probably. They watch their friend carefully, attempting to glean something from it.

(The Drifter is brittle and sharp, sometimes, but in the way Hornet is. In the course of their life, something had erased what little soft edges there were, had worn them down into points.

They are surprised at the realisation, then -- sad. Hornet had lost much, though they're not so quick as to assign all her traits to such things - it was simply how she was. The Drifter, too, must have lost much.

And perhaps that was how they were. And that was all right.) ]

[Not like the Drifter, who is still learning how to be kind the way the Guardian was kind - with unreserved and unashamed impulse and the seamless ability to look at what needs doing and then do it. Their means of help is the swing of a blade in battle, the height of too many debts stacking into each other, and little else.]

[It is not really help. Is doing what they always do, to a different end.]

[They trace one slightly pointed finger along the edge of their mantle, worrying the worn fabric.]

it is what i am trying to be

[And so that is how the Guardian is remembered.]

[ The Knight is...somewhat unfamiliar with this sort of thing. Everyone they had met had already been defined in some way - though, some had chosen something different for their lives, tiring of their previous task. Perhaps it was like that. A different mask, or a different shell.

Changing was always difficult. So instead they nod, and just sort of. Place a hand on the Drifter's helm again, an imitation of a previous gesture (because they feel the need to be more careful with hugging someone when they could definitely knock them over now).

Headpat.

This is...reassuring, right?? They follow it up with some clumsy signing. ]

DOING-GOOD

[ The Knight may not know much beyond combat, but they do know that many thrive on being heard, having their efforts acknowledged. This is just...more of that, to them.

They have never really needed it, but they have no problems giving it to the Drifter. ]

[It does not feel very much like they are, really. But then, they haven't gotten very far. They haven't had much time to learn to be...better. Be the way that they were once treated.]

[The Knight is, perhaps, merely attempting to be polite. Or their threshold for what counts as "kind" is so very low that it does not terribly matter to them, if one is not very good at it. The Drifter does not have a home, and resources, and a bed to share.]

[The most they have is the language of hands. A packet of candy. A story about a dying, ancient world.]

perhaps

[That is all they can do - because better implies that they have a future that they can visualize, that they can trust will last for longer than a day.]

[The most they can be, the absolute most, is to be...kind, in one moment, and hope that will be enough.]

[ In a dead world, it is the trying that matters. That is what the Knight might say, perhaps, if they knew the Drifter's internal thoughts. A flower delivered to a grave for the peace of those long dead. A moment of reflection in a ruined kingdom. A request to be left alone at another's bedside.

But they don't know such thoughts, and so it's something that goes unspoken. They tilt their head again at the Drifter's noncommittal answer, clearly puzzled by it, but they don't ask for clarification.

They glance over to something that had clearly interested them earlier, and then, with a little motion for the Drifter to stay and wait, they get up and leave. They're back soon enough, with a brush and a pot of glowing paint, and they put it down to sign. ]

CAN-PAINT

IF-YOU-WANT

[ Whether they mean the Drifter can paint them, or that they want to paint their friend, is ambiguous. Possibly on purpose. It's fine to them, either way. It's the sharing of the activity that matters. ]

[Paint.]

[It is bright, luminous, like the spray of pink out across the grass; a blaze of colors that assures them more than anything else that the world is dangerous, that something is wrong, that something is...askew.]

[It is not the same, here. It's just paint. Luminescent patterns to be drawn on the skin, or on the clothing.]

[Not the Drifter's skin, at least.]

what do you like to paint

MANY-THINGS

[ That's a little too vague, they know. They sort of struggle visibly with attempting to sign the words, and then they resort to writing again.

paint in own language

symbols that tell stories

A declaration of accomplishment, of memory. Always about memory, with this one. But more importantly, they are keeping their language here, symbols and sigils that nobody understands but them. Patterns they have drawn time and time again.

It is about sharing what they know with another, too. ]

show me?

[You thought you were going to get out of talking about yourself? Oh, no. No, no. Just because there's no actual talking doesn't mean it's not going to happen, and it is going to happen.]

[The Drifter wants to know the Knight's language. Even if it is just sketching on the dirt, or symbols that tell stories - it's better than meeting halfway. Perhaps it is a leftover instinct they do not have nearly enough times to act upon: the desire, the innate curiosity, to regard other histories and glean what they can.]

[They'd like to know.]

[ They seem - surprised. Again, that hesitation that comes from acknowledging a question that they've never been asked before.

But the hesitation only lasts a moment. They take the brush, and instead of using it to paint they turn it so they can draw with the handle.

They draw symbols in the sand; a small cluster of domed structures is 'home', or 'town', or simply 'others'. An oval with two lines is a representative of currency. A symbol of a horned creature is the sign for 'stag station' (they stop to explain what a stag is - some kind of transport, bugs who make their living traveling tunnels and carrying passengers, apparently). A four pronged crown is the sign for 'king'. Or possibly 'wyrm'. Possibly both.

Then they arrange them into what appear to be actual sentences, or as close as it gets. The language the Knight writes in goes in circles, curved patterns of symbols and designs with no clear beginning or end. Designs that are both decorative and informative.

They translate it into something the Drifter can understand as best they can, but it explains a little of why the Knight themselves has a somewhat patchy vocabulary. Symbols change their meaning and importance based on what they are juxtaposed with, and where their position is on the design. It's something they struggle to translate. ]

[Their language travels in circles, symbols orbiting one another, while the Drifter's sprawls in blocky columns. It's far more pictographic than what the Drifter is accustomed to, but there is a sort of ease to transposing the hieroglyphic meaning into something more abstract.]

[If the symbol is not literal, then it is representative of something greater.]

[The Drifter does not take notes. That is not particularly their nature, nor is it their instinct. But they do watch, and they do listen.]

[They are good at remembering.]

[ Eventually, the Knight wipes the sand clean, and they study the Drifter for a little while before working busily at a more complicated set of symbols.

Long before they're finished, the Drifter will easily be able to tell that it involves them - that they are the subject of this particular sigil.

For their friend's benefit, they indicate where it represents something. An interlocking pattern to symbolise sickness, pointing-upwards swords to represent a fighter. Hands circling one another, for language. ]

MAKE-THESE

FOR-RECORDS

WILL-CARVE-IN-STONE

FOR-MEMORY

[ This is how the Knight stores information that is important to them. Preserves it, for the future. Even lacking comprehension of the symbols, it still indicates that the individual depicted was important to them.

Paper is fragile. Stone, they have discovered, is better for such things. The journals they'd picked up in their wanderings had proven that. ]

[A hand ghosts up to the Drifter's chest, almost as if in shock, to rest over their heart - as if to say Me?]

[But it is. It is, without question, a representation of them. There are no other drifters here this could be misconstrued as. No others wear a drifter's garb, and the sickness...]

[It would make sense, on recollection. It would make sense that this would be something that defines them. Truth be told, they can no longer recall a time when it did not. Sickness strips away all else, consumes you in more ways than one; institutionalizes your life until you have reconstructed all that you are around it.]

afraid to forget?

[ It may perhaps be a surprise when the Knight shakes their head, slowly. No, that is not exactly the purpose - they won't forget (except, perhaps, if they are returned to darkness once again. And even then - when you mask something, when you give it shape, it does not easily forget it...) ]

RECORD-IMPORTANT-THINGS

FOR-OTHERS-AFTER

IT-WILL-LAST

[ To engrave something in stone is to give it a kind of immortality. The statues and structures and the glowing remnants of Hallownest proved that; though the king had gone, the echoes of his presence were all around. The architecture of his city had outlasted him, had outlasted all its inhabitants, save a precious few. ]

MEMORY-OUTSIDE-SELF

WILL-LAST

EVEN-WHEN-SELF-GONE

[ Forever is a word they are hesitant to use. Nothing lasts forever. But even if - or when - they are gone, the words they've made will live on.

(They have already died, after all, as much as something like them can die.) ]

[They do not imagine they will grow. They do not imagine they will last. They project their existence o be a fleeting thing, vague and terminating sometime soon enough to plan for it.]

[There is no call to grieve that; that is how the sick must function. Knowing that one will die limits what one elects to do with the time they have left. Perhaps the Knight is presumptuous. Perhaps they are merely cautious. Perhaps they expect to die soon. Whatever it is, the Drifter does not say anything in regards to that impulse. They have never felt the need to preserve any part of themself. Other drifters would find their remains and take up their arms, carry their equipment, and that would be the only scar the Drifter leaves upon the world, but for their work done under the jackal god’s name.]

[Anyone who may have wished to properly mourn them is already dead.]

keep them safe

[ This world is - a dream, almost. A place filled with people of types they have never seen before. This place has a future, a past, a history weighted and a history yet to be made. The Knight's past and future have already been determined; this is merely an unexpected continuation.

They do not expect an afterlife or a reward for their long struggle; this is not what they view it as. It is what it is. They will take what comes. ]

YES

[ They pause for a moment, thinking, and then they offer the Drifter the brush, handle first. Gesturing with their other hand over their shoulder.

Their meaning is as clear as they can make it, without further words. If their friend would like to paint them, they would be happy to accept. ]

[It's not much consolation, in the end. We are all doomed, and we all walk ever closer to the end. There is not much else to say to that - to the inevitability of death, and the ephemeral nature of existence, particularly for ones such as they.]

[Perhaps the Knight is not sick in the way the Drifter is, but they are not a creature that anticipates a long and healthy life. Hence why they must fabricate the act of growing, instead of being allowed to flourish naturally.]

[It is not fair, but life has never been.]

[The Drifter accepts the brush with a single, startled blink, turning the brush over and over in their hands.]

what would you like

[They're trying this new thing where they ask people about themselves instead, and they're trying to get better at it.]

[ It is hard to grow when you were never meant to. Hard to picture a healthy, long life when you are not really a living being.

But the Knight cannot change their nature, born of void, bound into a mask and given form. Just like the Drifter is racked by illness which suffuses their entire life, reshapes them around it.

The Knight did not ask to be born. The Drifter did not ask to be sick, or chosen. But that is how it is.

Life has never been fair, indeed.

"What would you like?" Hmm. They think about it. Perhaps if they were somehow able to paint where they are asking the Drifter to, they would draw the dream sigils that they have grown familiar with. But... ]

WINGS-ARE-NICE

OTHER-PATTERNS-NICE-TOO

[ (Wings often are a sign of maturity, for many bugs. Except mantises, who lose them as they grow old, apparently. But they have wings themselves, albeit occasionally, so it makes sense to them.)

They shuffle around so they're not facing their friend, indicating where they'd like to be painted - on their back. There is an odd mark there; at the back of their neck, a four-pronged pointed, glowing brand that looks eerily similar to the symbol they'd indicated for 'king'.

But it's fine, probably?? ]

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