lifeaftr | April Intro: Better Get to Digging

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April Intro: Better Get to Digging

INTRO LOG: APRIL

Who: New arrivals, and you!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: April 4th and onward
Where: Cahypdo
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Waking up to the gentle proddings of what appears to be very curious, sentient trees isn't the worst wake up call LifeAftr has to offer. For our newest arrivals, however, it may be a tad…odd.

Situated in the valley between two mountains, Elower is a scenic village filled with the friendly Roaka, tree-like beings that are rather peaceable and happy to assist those who have just arrived. I'’s a peaceful location for one to start their adventures - though, unfortunately, it doesn't stay peaceful for long.

Cahypdo: You'll Bury Me Low
Those who have explored the new island of Cahypdo in the last month will undoubtedly recall the series of quakes that shook the island throughout March. With the arrival of LifeAftr's newest adventurers comes Cahypdo's largest tremor to date, striking without warning and more than enough force to throw even the steadiest and sturdiest of your number to the ground. With a low rumble, the mountains heaped on either side of the island will start to shed an abundance of slag and debris, pouring down their slopes. Anyone who's scaling those peaks risks being flung bodily off them when the outpouring of shale comes roaring down those mountains, and anyone at the mountain bases risks being crushed beneath.

As one might expect, unsuspecting newcomers aren't all that have been shaken up. Though protected by netting and retaining walls, the cliffs around and above the village of Elower can only take so much pressure before giving way - a threshold that has been crossed entirely. With a sound like thunder, rocks fall.

Everyone dies?

Only if you don't act quickly. Roaka housing is sturdy in build, enough to protect a decidedly less sturdy body from all but the heaviest of boulders. Hiding inside any of their village constructs built into the sides of the mountains will certainly save you from taking a new weight onto your shoulders. They will not, however, save you from being buried alive.

For those who become trapped inside any of those abodes, your options appear limited. Work to free yourself, or wait for help to arrive. Though, speaking of help, those outside may think to offer the Roaka a helping hand in getting their trapped people - and yours, at that - a few breaths of fresh air.

Before you suffocate.

Cahypdo: Stay Acting Brave
Such seismic activity will also stir up the local wildlife, of course. Those unfortunate enough to come across them will recognize the restless shark-dragon hybrids, hydrac, now prowling across the shorelines, while the wickedly fanged wabbits will also be far more frequent, traveling in larger numbers in the jungle and at the bases of the mountains. Taking care to avoid them would be wise - though another creature may make that venture much more difficult.

Lorbies have been unlocked in the bestiary!

A strange mix between owl and serpent, the recent quake has clearly startled these usually reclusive creatures into the open. Alone, a lorby is a rather skittish animal, prone to hiding from most perceived threats. Useless for food due to the toxicity of their flesh, lorbies do have the potential to be tamed...but this comes with its own risks.

A lorby may be prone to flight rather than fight when encountered solo, but in groups, these feathery critters are far more hostile. A defensive lorby emits a piercing cry alone, but a group is an almost ear-piercing experience, capable of rendering the unfortunate unstable on their feet at best, and unconscious at worst. For the days that follow the severe earthquake that so rocked everyone's foundations, any hope for silence is lost in the infrequent bursts of almighty screeching by colonies of lorbies who have so rudely had their homes overturned and disturbed.

While the lorby is omnivorous, it may not think to take a bite at anything so much larger than them. That doesn't mean that conflict with these fluffy creatures won't attract something much more willing to take advantage of the fact that you may or may not have been reduced to a prone sack of meat. If something else does arrive, you best hope that it's a friendly face.

If you're interested in keeping a lorby for your own, bear LifeAftr's companion limit in mind - two per character, and no more. The lorby is omnivorous and can survive off of most odds and ends: insects, fruits, berries, critters it can dig up in the sand, and more. However, the process of trying to tame a lorby is not always successful. We recommend use of a d10, with the following guidelines:

Rolling a 10: Critical success! This lorby will love and adore you, and may even feel comfortable enough to drape itself along your neck like a beautiful, furry scarf, churring softly all the way.
Rolling 7-9: This lorby will prove high-strung and timid, even if safely befriended, and will take several weeks to warm up to you. But once it does, it's yours!
Rolling 2-6: Failure. The lorby enters a state of distress and starts screaming. Hope you brought earplugs, or you'll be snoozing for several long hours for your efforts.
Rolling a 1: Critical failure. Not only does the lorby start screaming, but its panic attracts a colony of its friends, and they all start screaming too.

Bear in mind that these are only guidelines; you are free to predetermine successes or failures as you'd like, presuming your character can sustain the companion! Our discord channel has a room for dice-rolls, if you prefer.

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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She nods, also speaking quietly. "I figured as much." And, jokingly, she adds, "They have said good things, I would hope."

She can almost feel the awkwardness, the discomfort, in the air. She tries her best to be gentle, to be soothing, resting her massive paws near Tim's.

"As I said, I wish you no trouble," she continues. "You are not my enemy. My first and foremost wish is merely... to thank you. You have taken care of my children in this strange, foreign land. You have watched over them. You have kept them safe. I owe you an immense gratitude for this."

Immediately, his shoulders start to hunch, curling up until they're almost to his ears. Hyper-aware of her proximity, of her size, of the fact that she could incinerate him with a thought, of the nearness of her paws to his hands.

Breathe.

"They look after me, more than anything else," he says, forcing his tone to even out. "We keep an eye out for each other."

Now that she is surprised by. She frowns, unsure what to think of what she's just heard. She wants her children to be safe, after all, above all else... even if that means she's not entirely confident in their ability to be independent.

And Tim's body language, his hunched shoulders, reveal his fear of her. It's not a good omen, in her book, of his abilities as a guardian, if he is so easily cowed.

"They look after you?" she repeats. "I know Frisk and Chara well. Chara may think of themself as like an adult, and Frisk may often take care of others, it is true. But the two of them are mere children. I sincerely hope you are not suggesting that they are fending for themselves."

That manages to draw his attention, flicking his eyes up and crimping his brow downward in a frown. It's not fair to call it protectiveness, but he feels compelled, regardless, to step forward in their defense.

They don't really need him speaking for them, but they've both proven themselves time and time again - to him, and to plenty of others.

"Yeah, well, they're smart kids. More capable than most adults I've met." Himself included. "We take care of each other. We owe each other that much."

At Tim's defensiveness, she becomes a bit annoyed, her expression becoming firmer.

"I know they are smart children," she says, her tone calm. "I know very well that Frisk can take care of themself, and I trust that Chara can as well. Of that, I have no doubt.

"But, they are children nonetheless. They are not adults, for all that they may act like them. It is our job as adults to protect them, to keep them safe, to watch over them. It is good that they take care of you, but you must take care of them."

She tries to relax, to not become frustrated.

"You understand that, do you not?" she says, her voice quieter.

"Yeah. I understand that." He packs as much obviously into the words as possible.

It's also our job not to hurt them.

He doesn't say it. He's just as guilty of hurting them as anyone else in their lives, because no one in their lives has ever been completely one hundred percent safe, not really. He'd never suggest as much, given the lives they've lived.

"But they're not helpless. They've never been helpless. I'm not gonna treat them like they are."

This conversation is not going how she expected it to go. They seem to be talking around each other, and both of them seem to be becoming increasingly impatient about it. But knowing that doesn't stop her mounting frustration.

"I never claimed they are helpless," she says, because she would never admit the truth, which is that she treats them as if they are. They are her children, and she is nothing if not protective. "I know that they have been through so much - surely, you must understand some of the realities of what they have been through. Surely, they have indicated to you what they have faced in their short lives.

"I only said they were children. And children, especially children who have seen what they have seen, deserve peace, and safety, and warmth. A loving home. They do not deserve to be exposed to the dangers, the harshness of the world, merely because you think they are capable of it."

She sighs, frowning deeper.

"You must understand why I feel this way," she says. "I have lost so many children. I have lost Chara. I almost lost Frisk. But there are six others I have lost. And it was all because I foolishly believed those children, Frisk included, were capable, that they were strong enough to survive. That they were not 'helpless.'

"It is a burden I carry every day. And it is why I only desire their safety."

His hand bunches into a fist on the counter top and he turns away - turns away from her because he has to, because he knows that the anger coiling up in his guts doesn't belong to him and he has no right to carry it in his heart. Wrestle it back, try and breathe through it. But he can't. He can't. He can't put fires out, only stoke them and set them.

Children you lost, he doesn't say, or children you burned?

He can't sit here and listen to this. Not to this. Not to this sanctimonious bullshit. He's never been a good person, not a good anything, christ, he knows that but at least he's never pretended otherwise. He has never pretended otherwise.

"There is no escaping that. Not here, and not anywhere." He busies himself, forces himself to occupy his hands. Picking up dirtied utensils and cutlery and moving them to their designated basket with the clinks and clicks of wood on wood.

At Tim's increasingly obvious anger, his struggle to stay calm, she struggles to stay calm in return. She takes a deep breath, willing herself to stay focused, in the present.

It's not working.

"An escape from what?" she says, glaring now. "The realities of this world? The dangers that are outside this very doorstep?

"You think I do not know that? You think I have not tried, over and over, to protect children from the truth of the world, only to fail? Yet, nonetheless, I must try. I must try, because to not try means that my children will perish. Just like they always have. Just like they always do."

"You can't protect them," he says bluntly. "You can't. No matter how much you want to, you can't. The sooner you accept that, the better. You have to prepare them to face that shit or they'll never know what to do with it when it happens."

What's he doing - talking about this like he has any idea what he's saying? Like he has any basis in reality? He's not a parent. He's just some asshole who's trying his best with what little he has to offer.

"...doesn't matter, anyway. I think we both know they've seen more than their fair share already."

Still testily, she says, "I know what I would choose between being too overprotective and making them face a world that would only continue to hurt them."

But she sighs. Tim is right, on some level, as much as she doesn't want to admit it. For all her protectiveness, she can't protect Chara and Frisk from their own pasts. She can't protect them forever from their own futures. She must, eventually, let go.

The thought frightens her. But it is the truth.

"But you are right. They have indeed faced too much in their lives already, as all my children have. Nothing I can do will change that."

"All right, well...other than that, I'm not sure what else I can say to you." If she wants to take over, pick up his generous slack? That's her choice. But it's not only her choice, and there's nothing he can do about whatever happens next.

(Don't think about what might happen if the choice comes down to it, because he already knows the outcome. It's an obvious outcome. Why wouldn't they choose to live with the woman that raised them?)

"I'm not a parent. I've literally never done this before in my life, so if you want to tell me I'm doing a shitty job of it, fine."

"That is fine with me," she says. "I only wished to thank you and to meet you."

She considers his words. The truth is, she's beginning to suspect that this Tim isn't the best caretaker for her children - he claims that they care for him more than vice versa. He's angry and argumentative. He challenges her, their mother, on the best way to raise a child, and fails to understand why children need protecting.

But Frisk and Chara trust him. Frisk and Chara trust him, and he takes care of them to at least some degree, and they are safe. Isn't that enough?

"I am not going to tell you that you are a 'shitty parent,'" she says carefully. "Whatever I may think, whatever our disagreements might be, they must trust in you. You clearly have not hurt them. You have watched over them and cared for them. That is enough, for now."

Hasn't hurt them. That feels like a fucking lie, when it's apparent that he has, in some ways. He's hurt them the way people hurt each other, just by existing, and he has no idea how to explain that so he doesn't.

There's an entire history that isn't his to disclose.

"Sorry to be a disappointment," he says, the words low and muttered. There's no robbing them of the deprecating edge. However poorly he's done, he's not sure how to do much better, either, except to do what he's started doing more often, and keep trying.

Toriel doesn't have much of a reaction to that. She has no desire to try to comfort him further - it's become clear that he wouldn't listen, and he is not a child. He is an adult. She has little patience to continue this conversation further.

She only says, under her own breath, "Hmm."

Then she stands up from her chair. "As I said, I trust my children's judgment. If that is all, then I will take my leave."

Tim opens a hand by way of resignation.

"Go, stay. Whatever you want." It's a public establishment. He hasn't gotten to a point where he's needed to throw anyone out for anything, which is probably best. He kind of doesn't want shit to come to that at any point, particularly since driving a wedge between himself and the people he's stuck on an island with indefinitely is a habit he's trying to train himself out of.

Easier said than done.

"Very well."

And she starts to leave. Halfway to the door, she pauses. She briefly considers saying "thank you" again - a note of gratitude for watching over her children, or perhaps just for his time.

But she decides against it and walks through the door without another word.

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April Intro: Better Get to Digging

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