lifeaftr | August Intro: These Days Are Feeling Dark

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August Intro: These Days Are Feeling Dark

INTRO LOG: AUGUST

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

Our lucky new adventurers join the archipelago on a new chapter of our journey, with the new island of Nastrandir playing host to their arrival. With the events of last month leaving many questions in those more settled in LifeAftr, all will find they soon have…other things to think about.

New arrivals may awake at either of the locations listed below. Or they may wander!

A4: Show Me Distraction
In comparison to the warm welcome characters experienced on Io, the land of Nastrindir is not at all promising. The strip of coast hosting the mana pool is a scoop of rock and cliff, and rather unforgiving. To the east, however, it looks as though nearby wetlands leave the horizon lost in a foggy haze. The mana pool is generally a comforting, reliable constant on any island...generally. There looks to be something wrong with this one. The rocks surrounding it are blackened, various spots across their surface almost glass-like under the summer sun. After a brief inspection, most will probably gather that the pool has been set on fire in times past.

More annoying still is the tampering that's occured within the pool. The pool is partially obstructed, due to a blockage of tumbled rocks and boulders that seem to have fallen from the surrounding rocky landscape and toppled into the raised plinth. The choking of the mana water will make return trips to Ensō…inconvenient, to say the least. The rocks are an annoyance that will need to be removed before anyone will be travelling anywhere.

Also of note are the old statues that stand at opposing sides of the mana pool. In their prime, they may have towered a good fifteen or twenty feet tall. Now, however, one has been tipped onto its side, and there are large, crumbled chunks taken out of the other. Both look blackened, much like the mana pool, as though they were also set on fire at some point in their history. Whatever they may have meant to depict has been lost to time...but the parts of them that have survived look to represent smooth, rounded coils of something or another.

It might feel, to the particularly wary or those prone to paranoia, like these statues are watching you. Like they're representative of something else that might have its eye on you, even now.

Or they might not! It could be all in your head. What's way more important is the local flora in the vicinity. The parts of the land that have soil are currently host to some delightful plants that are known, colloquially, as candyplants. And, yes - they're exactly what they sound like.

Candyplants are odd plants that are not unlike a melon vine, except that their fruits take the form of giant candies. The candyfruit is quite edible, though much higher in sugar content than your more bog standard varieties of fruits and vegetables. The variation in the shapes and sizes and flavors is tremendous - some are shaped like fruit, and will have a very similar taste to the fruit they represent. The only exceptions are the ones that look rather like overgrown candy corn, which taste like...marshmallows, for some reason. But they still taste sweet, and they're still full of some of the nutrients you'd expect to find in ordinary fruit!

While candyplants are somewhat less sugary than their real candy equivalents, it's still not recommended that you gorge on them overmuch. They're probably pretty bad for your teeth, if you have any. Candyplants do keep for quite some time, though - particularly if dried, packed in jars, or otherwise preserved.

Candyplants grow in temperate areas near quantities of fresh water - which Nastrandir has in abundance. Most of them grow in shaded, open areas along the ground, like melons; plants that bear smaller candyfruits may instead behave like grapes and other climbing vines, especially when they would be otherwise crowded out by other ground plants. The plants and fruits are quite harmless, though the sweet, sugary smell that tends to linger around areas of rampant growth during hot weather can cause one hell of migraine.

B4: Snakes Are Biting at My Heels
Those who arrive a little ways away from the mana pool or find themselves daring enough to start exploring will end up on the B4 square, which is closer to the swampy environment more characteristic of Nastrandir's inland. The further east one progresses, the wetter and softer the ground underfoot will get, until you're slogging thigh-deep in freshwater algae and muck. It's pretty dirty work, but it's probably more advisable that you go roaming into the wetlands rather than sticking around in the rockier regions. - especially because those regions happen to be occupied.

That feeling of paranoia that may or may not have settled on the back of your neck on A4 will turn out to be justified. Flickers of motion in the corner of your eye, the sensation of something watching you, the clattering of pebbles and rocks sliding down the sloping inclines on Nastrandir's craggy landscape - all signs indicative that something else frequents this region.

And something does. Something large, scaly, and very hungry.

Rocobra have now been unlocked in the bestiary!

The spiny protrusions on this creature's long, sinuous body will make it quite difficult to distinguish from its surroundings; these beasts tend to disguise themselves as the surrounding mountain rock where they live. Mild chameleonic properties allow this predator to blend almost seamlessly in with a rocky environment of almost any texture and color. And, given the size of them, it's very possible you won't realize that you're stuck in one's coils until it's too late.

With thick, scaly hides, large jaws, and venomous teeth, the rocobra is deadly fast despite its significant bulk. Even at their smallest, the rocobra is often as thick as a tree trunk in girth, and can range from thirty to sixty feet in length. Rocobra specialize in draping themselves in a circle, concealing themselves among their surroundings, and waiting for unsuspecting prey to wander somewhere in their coils before drawing tight around them to constrict them into a slow and painful death, so they might be devoured.

The good news is that rocobra only ever hunt and live in solitude; it is highly unlikely you'll find more than one in any one area. Most cannot spit venom, but can deal a paralyzing strike with massive fangs that are just as likely to impale you as they are to poison you. The good news is that they do have a weakness, and that weakness is numbers - when there is more than one target for the rocobra to focus on, it can get hopelessly confused over who it should be striking first, and can be easily distracted and led along by a well-coordinated team or pair. It's advised that you strike it at the mouth, if possible, as those scales can be awfully hard to penetrate.

While the danger rocobra present is very real, that doesn't mean they're completely useless. Rocobra can potentially be harvested for venom, meat, or their tough, scaly hides.

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 )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Aziraphale is waiting on the steps of the library.

His logic had been sound: If Crowley was here — which is a belief he swore to, clung to, refused to shake off despite numerous people telling him that may not be the case, despite the worried looks and pitiful tongue-clicks (as if Aziraphale were simply just in denial, as if he didn't know the truth, as if he couldn't sense it) — he'd head this way, first thing, as soon as he found out it existed. A library. Of course.

All Aziraphale would have to do was wait.

So, he did.

And he was right, thank God.

He looks up at the sound of Crowley's footsteps, knowing those just as well, and the entirety of him slumps just so. All the tension in him, all he's been holding since waking up, vanishes. It leaves behind a version of Aziraphale Crowley's never seen before: muddied, messy, sunburned. But his eyes sparkle just the same, and his grin is just as bright, and he still does the look-once-look-away-look-again thing he's perfected over their many, many years of meetings.]

Long story. Don't know if you'll believe it.

[Concern flickers across Crowley's face, only half-hidden by the sunglasses, which he finds himself almost itching to take off, a sensation that hasn't really crossed his mind in many, many years. He quells it, focuses on the sight in front of him.

Probably safer to do this with his eyes hidden, especially with the way Aziraphale is looking at him.]

Might do, I've got a few stories of my own. Not sure you'd believe them either.

[Without needing to be asked, Crowley snaps his fingers, planning to completely clean off Aziraphale's clothes, but only ends up getting the coat. He frowns, snaps again, and nothing happens.]

Well. Shit.

Might do.

[Aziraphale watches Crowley's hand come up, even more relief hitting him in that moment. Good. Good.

One snap, and it feels like home again.

— but then Crowley says shit, and Aziraphale looks down. Frowns. He can't help it. At least his expression is understanding when he looks back up?]

We've limits, I'm afraid. Think you just hit yours.

Right, of course I have.

[For the first time, something like frustration hits him. Oh, he'd been grumpy and annoyed in the swamp, miserable and damp and pissed off that he couldn't just miracle his way out of it, but this twists deeper, sharper. Crowley has never in his life been limited, there are always solutions to whatever problem he comes up against, everything is solvable with the right application of cleverness and magic.

He feels, suddenly, as old as he really is.

Crowley walks over to Aziraphale, drops down onto the steps where he'd just been sitting, sprawling out there.]

What're we gonna do about this, Aziraphale?

[Up until this point, he's managed to stay mostly calm, having shoved all his concerns down and marked them for later.

Except that later had meant finding Aziraphale, and now he's here, and it's all a bit much.]

[Aziraphale watches Crowley approach and has to — what feels like physically — subdue the urge to throw his arms around the demon in a grateful, scared, sad-but-happy hug. They may be together again, and he may have been right, but he can't help remembering and dwelling even now on the fact that for some length of time, they were apart. Truly apart. Separated by —

Well, entire planes, he supposes.

It may have only been seconds. He'll never know. But the knowledge is there anyway, sharp and solid enough to hurt.

He reclaims his spot, close enough for their shoulders to almost touch.]

I don't know. I... I think we'll be alright, though. Barring any further incidents with gigantic snakes. [It's not the most welcome topic change, but it's more concrete a thing to discuss.] You didn't run into one of those, did you?

[It would be so easy to lean in, but Crowley's spent centuries maintaining a careful distance and the last few decades perfecting it, having being told in no uncertain terms to slow down.

It's enough, that Aziraphale is here. That will always be enough.]

Sorry, what? [He tips his head to look at Azirapahle, blinks a few times for good measure.] Are we — you know — present company excluded?

[He's a giant snake. Sort of. Depending on the definition of giant. Much bigger than a regular snake, at least.]

Far bigger than you, my dear.

[But like.

No offense.

Aziraphale looks rather grim as he says it, the memory hardly even a memory at all for how recent it is.]

[If he were less distracted by everything else, Crowley might take the time to feel some wounded pride about that, but mostly he's just concerned.

And... guilty.]

I — [What's he going to say? That he tried to find him and failed? That he's sorry he wasn't there sooner? That's all admitting far too much, never mind the way Crowley's throat feels tight at the prospect he could've lost Aziraphale again, so soon after finding him.] You think it'd be a waste of a miracle to get us a bottle of Talisker?

...not entirely.

[If you can manage it, is the thing Aziraphale doesn't say.]

But — [He hesitates, frowns again, thinks of how drunk he'd been earlier and how briefly wretched he'd felt.] Maybe not right now. We could probably use some time to... adjust.

[Crowley makes a face, but it's more habit than anything, he knows that Aziraphale is right. It just feels like it'd help take the edge off everything.

He can't believe they were at the Ritz less than twelve hours ago, toasting the fact they'd survived, that the Earth had survived. That they were free, for the first time in... ever, maybe. It wasn't going to last forever, but it was supposed to last for more than an afternoon.]

This whole... human body business, isn't it? You're sunburnt. Don't think I've ever seen you sunburnt. [It's a strange look on him.] Can't believe I'm going to have to eat. Oh — that reminds me. [He nudges the knapsack where he'd dropped it.] There's nuts in there if you want 'em, you know I can't stand the things.

[They're............ bad.]

Oh!

[Nuts! Aziraphale reaches for his bag, eager to show off his own loot — which is the same as Crowley's, save for a map Michael had drawn him and a small sack of rice. As he rummages through it, he says:] I hope they're walnuts, you know how I —

[His fingers brush the device he'd been given.

His face falls.]

...good Lord.

[Hold on. Just give him a second. He needs to put his head in his hands.]

Get the alcohol. [This is spoken in a muffled mumble.] I can't deal with this.

Huh? What?

[Concern spikes again, Crowley leaning over to see what's going on, but all he can see is Aziraphale's hand in the bag, and he frowns, trying to read the angel's expression where it's hidden behind his hands. His manicure isn't in very good shape. Tragic.

But Crowley can pick up on tone, at least.

It's not something is terrible. It's I'm a complete idiot.]

What've you done?

[He pulls out the Stone of Farspeech, which, if you ask him, looks a lot like a mobile phone.

And he just holds it there, in front of Crowley's face.

And then he yells.]

I could have called you! All that worrying! All that thinking I'd lost you! And I could've just — just bloody rung you like we're in the middle of London!

[ARE YOU KIDDING!]

[Crowley was already half-way to leaning back at the mobile, when Aziraphale starts yelling, and he slinks back just a little further, watching the angel carefully.

Wait.

What.

Aziraphale was worried about him?

No, focus.]

On what number! [Why is he also yelling, why are they like this.] My phone's carked it, not that I bet you knew my number anyway and sure, I've got one of those outdated things but it's not as if it's going to have our numbers programmed in it.

[Has he even looked? No.]

Yes, but — !

[But it's the principle of the thing, or whatever. It's the fact that —

It's —

Aziraphale looks at the device. He doesn't even know how to activate it. BUT STILL.

His eyes have gone glassy. Teary? Must be the exhaustion. The stress. Or allergies, those might be new.]

— never mind, never mind. You're right. Of course.

[He sighs. His shoulders slump. He tries to deflect all of this with humor:] Is this why humans tell each other "you need a nap"?

[It runs through him like an uncomfortable fluttering of wings, the uncertainty of how to handle this, handle Aziraphale. Crowley wants to help, more than anything, but this is so outside their familiar back and forth that he's not sure what's wanted, what's acceptable.

And the harsh words from Azirapahle not two days ago are fresh in his mind, adding an extra dimension of discomfort to this.]

Might be. [His voice has gone soft in that way he pretends it isn't capable of doing.] You want to find somewhere to take a nap? I can keep an eye out.

[This island might be better than the last one, but Crowley doesn't know if it's safe. And while that wouldn't have previously been a concern, they're much more vulnerable now.]

[And again:] I don't know.

[But he does, and the answer is no. Not now, not yet. It feels too much like asking to be alone again. He puts the device back, rubs at his eyes, composes himself in a way that leads to him sitting up a bit straighter. There. Fine. Somewhat back to normal.]

Why don't we review what we've learned so far? Compare notes.

[Just like old times.]

[In a moment of bravery and something like compassion, Crowley closes that tiny bit of distance, just enough to press his shoulder against Aziraphale's.

They sat like this on a bus for Oxford that went to London, and it was fine.]

We're cut off, seems like we both got that memo. Humans aren't the only sentient mortals in the — whatever it's called. Multiverse? [That's what Michael called it, he thinks.] There's only one place here that has alcohol and it's blackberry whiskey, so I'll just go right ahead and discorporate us both now, shall I?

[There's no wine. Anywhere!]

[It is fine. It's grounding.

More than that, it's welcome.

He leans, just a fraction, and listens.]

But blackberry whiskey sounds lovely.

[Physical contact. Right. Fine. He can do this. Crowley almost tells himself not to breathe, before he realizes that's a function he has to do, now. That's unfortunate.]

Oh, sure, at first. Wait until we're a week in and you're thinking about a nice refreshing Riesling but all you've got is blackberry whiskey.

[He could go for a Riesling right now. Or anything.]

Haven't seen a sign of hot water anywhere, we might as well have gone back to the real old days. Think I could get away with spending most of my time as a serpent? Serpents don't have to take cold baths.

[Crowley doesn't care about this as much as he's pretending to, but he figures the familiarity of this — him grumbling about something, will be familiar and reassuring.]

[He doesn't have to wait until they're a week in; thanks to Crowley, Aziraphale's thinking about it now. Halfheartedly, he glares. But it's not at Crowley — it's at... some unidentified point in the far distance. It might be at the forces of the Universe.

But then he sneaks a sideways look at the demon, brow furrowed.]

I suppose you could. You'd make a fashionable accessory.

[This is Aziraphale, assuming that Crowley will just have to be.

Carried.

Everywhere.

By him, specifically.

Um.]

...you know, lest you scare the children. Can't have you slithering around unsupervised, someone might assume you're related to one of those swamp-things and try to kill you.

[There go his eyebrows again, jerking up towards his hairline. It's been years since he's even taken that form, though he has a faint memory of sunning himself in the window of the bookshop sometime in the 1950s, which might've been the last time Aziraphale saw him as the serpent.

He makes a sound that could be amused, before rolling his eyes.]

I'm not some pet. [He won't be carried around. The indignity.] Anyway, I'd like to see someone try to kill me.

[He might be more squishy and vulnerable in human form, but a big snake is still a big snake.]

There aren't just humans here, Crowley.

[A big snake is a big snake, yes, but a big snake without scales like the one he encountered earlier is still an extremely vulnerable snake.]

I've encountered beings who use magic different from ours. Creatures with... weapons. I even met another demon. We must be very careful.

[He knows, he knows.

This would be so much nicer if they were going over information in the bookshop, or at a nice little cafe somewhere. Crowley sighs, finally gives in to the urge to take off his glasses so he can rub at his eyes. Rather than put them back on, he folds them up and hooks them in the front of his shirt.]

Michael, was it? Or is there another demon running around I've got to worry about?

[I's not we, because Crowley's already decided if there's a demon around that isn't willing to play nice, he's going to have to kill them. He isn't fond of violence, but he won't risk anyone hurting Aziraphale.]

[The last reaction anyone would expect from Aziraphale upon the discussion of a demon who isn't Crowley is a smile, but there's a smile.

He's pleased about the glasses, too. Or the now-lack-of.]

Michael, yes! You met him? Did you two hit it off as I expected?

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