July Intro: Upsy-Daisy!

[lifeaftr_mods]

INTRO LOG: JULY

Who: New arrivals, your lif᷆t̕i͗n᷅ģ f̧̞ͅr̡̦̃ḭ̅ͭe̩᷅̂n̟̣̤d̨̬̏, and you!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr, and everyone makes a new friend!
When: July 5th and onward
Where: All over Ensō
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Like a Bat Out of Hell
At this stage, the appearance of new arrivals to Ensō's shores is hardly a surprise to anyone but the arrivals themselves. Whatever mysterious force is responsible seems to have taken a vaguely nostalgic route this month, depositing the new and unconscious across the shoreline of the beach closest to the tumbled stone bastion of the Storyteller's temple. At first, that seems to be all there is to it. The arrivals stir to the smell of salt and the summer sea air, and the cycle of questions, searching, and settling begins.

For about five minutes. Perhaps ten.

Almost like an afterthought, something else shows up, plummeting straight out of the sky and landing with a veritable explosion of water some hundred feet from the shore. A large, rectangular shape breaches the surface after a few moments, bobbing, cork-like, in the foam-crested waves before ever so slowly beginning to sink into those aquamarine depths. For those familiar with such objects, it makes for a rather odd sight. That most certainly was an elevator, or you can be...fairly sure it was?

Give it another minute, and you'll be certain. The elevator streaks out from the ocean like a creature possessed. Maybe, in those split seconds prior to its approach, you'll be able to note the elevator's distinct features: a disturbingly smiling face on its doors, and a set of teeth framing a very organic mouth.

Meet Upsy, your lifting friend. In case it wasn't obvious by now, Upsy is far from a conventional elevator by any standards. What's more, Upsy has not taken to LifeAftr as well as some others. Armed with the ability to move in any direction, the rogue contraption takes no prisoners - by which we mean, they take as many prisoners as possible. Upsy proceeds to swoop across the shoreline, combing the beach in the most haphazard and patternless path possible, scooping up anyone slow enough to be caught in their maw. Once you're caught up in their jaws, it comes down to the winds of fortune, in regards to wherever Upsy proceeds to spit out their cargo. While the journey itself will be rough and...sticky, it is not inherently dangerous.

Hopefully, the same can be said for wherever you end up Ensō hosts a great deal of predators, environmental hazards, and worse. Though you could always end up belched into the ocean. Hope you can swim!

When the Metal is Hot and the Engine is Hungry
Upsy’s reign of terror isn't restricted to mere adventurers. Those with livestock or animal companions may be in for a small shock or, perhaps more likely, a very large one, when flying elevator sucks up those cuddly critters with a grin and spirits them off into the great unknown.

Though your phoenix, chocobo, or tigerlily may not be where you saw them last, you can at least be assured that they are still on Ensō. All you need to do is round them up. And if this isn't good enough news, well...at least you don't keep bludrocs.

Whether you're out searching for an animal or not, be careful traversing Ensō for the next three days. If Upsy is empty, they'll most certainly snap you up. And if they aren't? You may find anything from birds to horses spat out at you.

The velocity of these organic projectiles tends to vary. Dramatically. Upsy's reign of terror will end on the evening of July 9th. At that point, the elevator will fly off to greener pastures...and our RNG spreadsheet for potential encounters in future. Sweet dreams.

---

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

[lightlessfuture]

[ The sudden flurry and sound of violent movement is enough to evoke the frantic, clumsy slashes of the Hollow Knight, and it's -- too much. Too much, assaulting their senses all at once, in a mind that has faced all manner of thing but is unused to this nonsensical and vivid blurring of real and memory.

Rather than seize their weapon and try to fight an invisible enemy, or try to cut the source of this perceived infection out, they cover their face and curl up defensively. Making themselves even smaller, for what little good that will do against their hallucinatory enemies.

It is undeniably a child's response. But this disorienting series of visions is something that they cannot seem to get rid of, and they don't understand where it's coming from (something about plants, some part of them remembers dimly, but it's so far away now). ]

[hyperlit]

[Judgment does not waver. It does not so much as dissipate, even momentarily. They were capable of fending it back, briefly, before. Even if it reformed easily, swelling into something larger, something they could not even begin to hope to fight. They were at least able to cut it down, for half of a moment.]

[It will swallow them whole. It will consume the Knight alive and refuse to spit them out and the Drifter's breath is rancid in their throat, a rasp of wheezing that doubles them over and down.]

[Their heart strains.]

[They vomit a thick stream of bright pink, dropping halfway to their knees.]

[Perhaps that is the worst part. The part that is real.]

[lightlessfuture]

[ That sound of distress, that visible reminder of the Drifter's sickness, shakes the Knight back to some semblance of coherence.

The light burns. It pierces them with swords. They roll over, grabbing their weapon and taking shaky steps away, into the light. Pain crawls over them like a plague, weighs them down like chains, but they endure it. They have to.

What was it the Drifter had said? Plants. Through the haze, they slash maniacally, advancing forward. A spray of projectiles bursts forth from their unseen assailant, and they flail their weapon with little regard for finesse; it's enough to hit some away - though one catches them in the side, making them stumble, wounding them.

That, too, is fine. The enemy is a plant. It shoots at anything that comes near. They are familiar with such things, at least - and their enemy is helping them, unwittingly, by attacking them as they come close.

They keep going. ]

[hyperlit]

[The Immortal Cell is unrelenting. The Knight has begun to fight, the Drifter realizes fuzzily, but they cannot see the source of the conflict. They can see nothing, nothing at all but the swimming shades of Judgment’s looming, the leaching tendrils of its inexorable grasp.]

[It’s worsening. The sting in their chest and the tang of iron in their throat, poisoned blood leaking out their throat.]

[Spit it out. Stand. Try again.]

[There is no Guardian to scrape them off the ground. There is only the Knight, fighting alone, and the hum of the Drifter igniting their hard light blade.]

[They slash at empty air - at Judgment, thick and toxic.]

[lightlessfuture]

[ The Drifter is sick - has always been sick, of course - but this is worse. They are straining to breathe, coughing up blood.

It is unlike and yet too much like the siblings they had to turn their sword upon. And their friend - no, the Drifter had agreed to it. To be called family.

They cannot fail this sibling too.

The Knight continues to advance with that thought foremost in their mind, and their sweeping blade finally finds purchase in a lungblossom. The plants can move, yes, but even in their fugue state they're able to catch up to one.

Once the blade bites in, they stab with frenzied purpose, ignoring the sounds of projectiles being launched and sudden movement as the others start edging away, as fast as plants can go. Anything to get this fog to stop. ]

[hyperlit]

[Hear it: the scream of discord in the soul of the very planet as Judgment scours it clean. The high-pitched shrill of the world coming to pieces. You caused it - you caused it because you could not stop it.]

[They're gagging liquid copper, hot and unrelenting. It fills in their lungs, sloshing and thick and tack and soaking the red fabric of their mantle. The rolling yellow-green mist clogs their vision, scrapes the back of their throat.]

[Aches.]

[One hand knots over the pain, heavy in their chest, fist drawn tight and shoulders bowed. One pained, slow step forward. Another. And another.]

[Judgment lashes itself around their ankles. They drag their feet forward regardless.]

[The silhouette is like some massive bulb, like the Plant Beasts that thrived in the watery easy.]

[They will cut it apart.]

[lightlessfuture]

[ Struggling for survival - effectively blinded, at a disadvantage against larger opponents, armed with little more than a sharp blade. This is a familiar situation.

But it is one they have come up against, and won, because they must. Time and time again. This, too, is a fight they must win.

They are not entirely sure when the foe they have so fiercely fought against stops moving, but it...feels like things are less hazy. Though they're not sure how they could tell.

They continue to sweep their sword in wide arcs. If these plants have senses, which they seem to, maybe they'll have the sense to find somewhere else to be before the Knight punctures another one. ]

[hyperlit]

[Remember it: Judgment seething on the floor, immobile, like a gobbet of saliva spat into the very chamber of the world. Dragging oneself closer, blade spritzing to life with a glare of cyan, and slamming the point of it through the center of the thing, impaling it directly in whatever could be passed for its skull.]

[Perhaps that is the worst part. The part where they can no sooner venture to know if that is real than they can this.]

[Their sword might be more direct, but it is also slower. They reach into the folds of their cloak, their breath slow and harsh beneath their mantle. Their HUD picks out the Knight in green. Everything else is lit up in hostile-scarlet.]

[The Roly Poly sails out across the battlefield with a throw that is, as everything is with them, pinpoint accurate.]

[It detonates with a crackle of electric brisance. Out of instinct, the Drifter drops to their knees, cloak sweeping up to keep the debris from pelting the Knight in the resultant blast.]

[lightlessfuture]

[ The detonation - hurts, in a way. Not physically (though they can feel the wound at their side, still aching, still troubling them) but in the grip of the hallucinations, Radiance screams. Her light burns, phantom pain crawling over their body.

The gas has brought out their memories. Not all of them are good. They stagger, drop their sword, expecting to startle awake from yet another dying dream--

The flash of sunlight, the piercing sword, does not come. And the bomb's explosion has cleared the air, chased away the lingering gases as well as the plants that produce them. If they were able to express breathing more easily, they would, but...

They're so tired. Their head hurts in a way that usually only happened when the Dreamers intruded into their mind. It makes them want to just lie on the ground and not get up for a while. To sleep.

Sleeping here might be bad, they're dimly aware. They fumble with their sword, sheathing it, and manage a few steps towards the Drifter before a more familiar fog starts to cloud their mind, and they have to sit.

This exhaustion is familiar. Their head keeps tilting downwards, despite their best efforts to keep it up.

For once, they are very tired. ]

[hyperlit]

[What is not real can still hurt you. What is not real can still scald you alive, tear away your skins, rip you open at the spine, and it will still hurt when you stir alive once more. Judgment does not fade immediately; it recedes slowly, a pulsing, dragging tide that does not relinquish its hold readily.]

[Their breath rasps. The Drifter breathes.]

[Wake, the way you did when the jackal first touched your soul. Rise, and endure, and continue, because the only choice besides is giving up, and when has that ever been a choice for you?]

[They have to check, before anything else - a hand to the top of the Knight’s head. Are they alive? Unhurt?]

[lightlessfuture]

[ That gesture again. It breaks through the sleepy haze that their mind is rapidly being overtaken by--

(for a moment they expect to look up and see a cracked mask, a ragged cloak; their broken, chained sibling, resurrected at last)

--and they put a small hand on the Drifter's own. They don't have the energy to do much else, but they can at least signal they're alive and conscious.

Unhurt is another thing entirely; they can still feel their side stinging painfully. But they have no way to really communicate it, so they just sort of...raise their head, as much as they can, leaning into that touch. ]

[hyperlit]

[It's all right. It's...perhaps not all right? It is, perhaps, salvageable. The plant curls like some massive, dying spider, shriveling in its center, wheezing a choking cloud of greenish smoke that settles like pollen across withering leaves.]

[It's dead.]

[It's dead.]

[It's dead.]

[The Drifter breathes, short and ragged. Ticks up a fresh message, with some difficulty:]

hurt?

[lightlessfuture]

[ They nod, slowly, shifting their cloak aside to reveal the wound on their side that still sluggishly 'bleeds' shadow. ]

WOUND-WILL-HEAL

TIRED

[ They need time to rest and recover. If they need to, they'll walk all the way, but for once pushing themselves is looking supremely unattractive.

(They'll do it, of course. But they won't really be happy about it, and that in itself is something new.) ]

ARE-YOU-OK

[hyperlit]

[They remember, from their days spent sparring - the wound gradually came to mend itself over time, a trait that the Drifter would envy were that a flaw they to which they were predisposed.]

will live
cannot walk?

[That's the next course of action - getting them out of here. Perhaps the danger has passed, but it would be a very poor idea indeed, to risk their friend's safety on a wager. So if they cannot walk...]

[If they cannot walk, the Drifter will carry them. As their Guardian once did.]

[lightlessfuture]

[ The Knight has been thankful, time and time again in their travels, for the ability to heal this way. That healing was simply a matter of focus rather than time, and bandages, and loss of fluid.

It's something they wish they could pass on to others, sometimes. But they do not think that would go well.

To answer the Drifter, they attempt to stand, to take a few steps more. They don't get further than one or two wobbling attempts before they abruptly go down again.

From their position face-down on the ground, they shake their head, pushing themselves back into a sitting position and scrubbing at their face a bit. It appears like walking is out of the question. ]

CANNOT

SORRY

[hyperlit]

[The apology feels both unwarranted and unnecessary, but they lack the vocabulary or general understanding to relay the concept. So instead, they let it lie, and rise, shakily. Their blade digs into the earth, torn in furrows from the struggle, to support them as they straighten, and then crouch.]

will carry

[They can walk. The Knight cannot. The Knight is small, and can be carried.]

[The arithmetic is simple, and the solution presented easily.]

[lightlessfuture]

[ Oh. The Knight seems a bit hesitant at first, watching the Drifter's shaky movements, but --

They're not much better themselves. In other times, they have painstakingly crawled to a hiding spot until they were able to recover, shivering in some dark, damp place.

But this is...different. They could refuse, still, but -- no. They are no longer a lone traveler, with only their blade and what little else they had to carry them through the wild. If someone offers, they should accept.

After a moment, they push themselves to a sitting position, holding their arms up in a clear signal, despite their weariness. They are Ready for Up. ]

[hyperlit]

[it’s easier to see it, now that they know - the Knight truly is a child, and was never allowed to be grow in any conventional way. The Drifter is nonetheless careful as hey lift their friend, position them atop the knapsack at their back. There are plenty of loops and buckles for the Knight to cling to if they must.]

[Progess will not be as fast as they like, but the Drifter sets off regardless. They’ll locate the nearest mana pool, if possible.]

[Their breath is still static in their lungs, a mosquito-buzz of blood and phlegm. They swallow it down.]

[Keep moving.]