August Event: The City is at War

[lifeaftr_mods]

AUGUST EVENT: THE CITY IS AT WAR

Who: Everyone!
What: You pick a side, or you pick up the pieces
When: August 16th to August 23rd
Where: Primarily Nastrandir, though also Ensō
Warnings: Violence, injury, forcibly altered mindsets via magical influence, possible character death. Potential (and fully optional) dissociation and identity crises. Potential (and fully optional) spontaneous combustion. Otherwise, tag as you go!

We All Lose in the End
On cue, the recently uncovered...and decidedly faulty merotome shatters on the morning of August 16th. Those close enough may recall an odd popping noise, like a lightbulb exploding, or find a shard of some odd, rubbery substance caught in their hair. The wave that shoots out across both islands barely seems to stir the air, but the aftershocks of its passing are to be felt for the week to come.

Whether or not you noticed the sweeping burst of light as it roared over just about everything, you're bound to hear the loud, wailing sound that starts to emit from all over Nastrandir. It sounds like the world's worst kind of alarm, and it just keeps on going. That's to say nothing of the automatons rising steadily from the murk, or the fact that you might find that some of your fellow explorers are suddenly seeming a lot more trustworthy...and some of them are seeming a lot less. Maybe you latch onto personal terrors and preexisting grudges to justify the new onset of violence that starts to divide you from some of your fellows...or maybe it just feels right in some unquantifiable sense.

Regardless, those impacted by the merotome will find themselves gravitating towards Nastrindar sooner rather than later. Members of the Red Team are likely to initially head towards the ruins on C4 and D4. The swampy water flooding the island will eventually drive you to seek out more mountainous areas; the need to keep dry will vary from a strong desire to an absolute necessity, depending on the individual. As territorial instincts rear their head, this group will find that the war automatons no longer view them as hostiles. Now, these mechanical killers may even take basic orders, such as watching a certain location, fetching some basic materials, and, of course, upon whom they should aim their primary fire.

Meanwhile, the Blue Team will congregate along the shorelines, striking out inland through any route that keeps them close to a body of water - or in it. More likely to travel and fight in a pair or group, it's unlikely that members of this group will stay from the main party for too long, as their power is largely in numbers. While no automatons accompany them into battle, the waters surrounding and soaking into Nastrandir are their greatest ally, as they are capable of replenishing strength and healing minor wounds. Members of the Blue Team will be capable of continuing the fight for much longer than their Red counterparts, and their affinity with the waters will make them difficult to locate or pursue unless they wish it.

You Don't Get Another Shot
For those more resistant to the effects of this sudden shift will find that they're now unfortunately adrift between two warring factions, potentially with friends on either side. There is hope, however - those previously silent sirens are now blaring constantly, and it's very possible that their destruction could turn the tide against this needless bloodshed. The more of those you break, the looser the grip of this altered mindset will become, and the less hostile the automatons will be. Keep in mind, however, that while you may feel unaffected, the possibility stands that you've been marked for one side without your knowledge. And though this may prove advantageous to getting through to those that identify you as their own, those that do not may take your attempts to shake their morale badly.

Even violently.

Stick Around and See How It Ends
Thus far, the teams are as follows. If you see any problems, inconsistencies, or wish to change teams, please don't hesitate to contact us! While we're no longer accepting sign-ups to be RNG'd into a team, you can still decide retroactively which side you'd like your character to be situated on, if at all!

RED TEAM	BLUE TEAM
Alexei Dinoia Amaterasu Anthony J. Crowley Asgore Dreemurr Connor Murphy Edward Elric Erika Fisher Jules Dagger Samari Leonard Church Muffet Tim Wright Yukio Okumura Zidane Tribal	2B Alisaie Leveilleur Agent Washington Ben Hargreeves The Drifter Epsilon Héctor Rivera Herbert West Horatio Nullbuilt Kravitz Legion Mollymauk Tealeaf Ren Rin Okumura Steve Rogers

---

In the meantime, the following links may prove handy:

[ ♆ ] OOC Event Info and Plotting Post
[ ♆ ] Nastrandir's Intro
[ ♆ ] Nastrandir's Locations Page

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] August 16th: The merotome breaks, issuing a mind-altering wave; the sirens go off, and definitive sides in a conflict start to form
[ ♆ ] August 23rd: The conflict ends when those who have not been freed from the mind-altering influence either break free or burn to death
[ ♆ ] August 24th: The monthly Storytelling occurs late; characters who have died are revived in time to participate
[ ♆ ] September 4th: Extra time is allotted to those participating in the monthly Storytelling to compensate for the later date, and the Storytelling closes

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

Muffet | OTA

[prettypurpleparlor]

I. aim for the heart [17th, open to all red team characters]

[There's already a makeshift camp up here, in the little rocky pass up the mountain. Muffet's been busy.]

[She was always fierce in defending her home.]

Come sit down, you'll do yourself no good by wearing yourself out before the fight even begins.

[She patrols its' boarders carefully, and while anyone even close to blue is likely to be ejected with force at best, her fellow Nastrandirian (is that the right... no, it must be the right name, why would it feel foreign?) fighters are likely to be swept into the camp and fussed over thoroughly.]

[They're going to need everyone working together to save their beloved home, after all. She won't let anyone hurt you.]

[No matter what it takes.]


II. even the one who loves you best [18th-20th, open to all blue team characters]

[Of course, she hasn't forgotten the other side...]

[She can't quite seem to remember how she met these people- why would she know a traitor, an enemy? It doesn't seem right at all. But she knows that she does, that she did care for them, and the strange dissonance nags at her.]

[Fortunately, the mind is rather adept at resolving difficult feelings like that: if she can't care about the other side, but she cares about people who are on the other side, obviously the simple answer is to make them be on the correct side.]

[Then they'll be right back where the should be, and everything will make sense again. Surely.]

[She's aware that this may be a bit difficult to achieve. But she has faith in herself and her cause, and also her ability to spin very difficult webs. They can't go out and fight for the wrong side if they can't move at all, you see. It's really very simple. She just needs to find them all, first.]

[How careful are you, as you move through Nastrandir? How silent, how wary?]

[Wherever you tread, you may want to be cautious. Quietly, in the shelter of the rocks and the shade of the trees, someone is watching.]

[She's waiting for you.]


III. help yourself [21st-22nd, open]

No.

[Muffet... does not look well.]

[More clear-headed, perhaps, than she has been since this whole mess began- but where her mind has stabilized, her body is faltering. She's used to heat, the burning force of it all around her, the way it made her feel at home.]

[But somehow, now, it's turned on her.]

[Perhaps it's whatever force was clouding her mind, turned bitter and vengeful now that she's broken free, raising the temperature hotter and hotter until even she can't stand it, vision blurred and limbs trembling.]

[She forces her way past it, keeping her back straight and her head up as she continues to walk. She's heading for the nearest siren.]

I... will not...

[You could help her, or stop her... or simply wait. Even if you were inclined to get in her way, it's entirely possible that she'll collapse on her own, in just a little while.]

[If she's lucky.]


IV. if you don't do it then the other one will

[Wild card. Toss whatever you can think up here.]

III

[wanderingdoctorfaust]

From the nearby treeline, the muffled sounds of boinging can be heard, rapidly increasing in intensity and frequency as the most efficient method of travel known to man cuts through the murky terrain like a malfunctioning speedboat in a pool of tar.
Enter Doctor Faust, frantically hopping through the less-than-ideal terrain upon his giant scalpel, shoes and arms wrapped around the top like a koala as he hollers something into his iStone X...

"-just found another, I'm about to dismantle it! Keep it up, everybody!"

The device vanishes into his partially-muddied coat, and the good doctor is left to glare up at the offending machinery like it spilt his tea earlier this morning, planning his method of attack. Is there any suitable solid ground nearby he can stand upon...?
...and then he hears it. It's faint, almost enough he could brush it off as his imagination if he didn't know far better than that. But he definitely-!

"-M-Miss Muffet...?!"

ii

[vagabone]

[He's no trained soldier. He's a fragile wreck shambling from one place to another, and there's nothing to muffle the sounds of his bones clacking against each other. He can try to sneak and be quiet, he has some experience at getting into places he shouldn't be, but... that's in a city, in surroundings he understands. That's not true about Nastrandir.

And he tires easily. It's been forty eight hours. He hasn't had any sleep. Plenty of determination, a very good reason to fight, a little girl in his mind who needs rescuing--the spirit is willing, the body is weak.

So she'll find him separated from the main group, completely submerged in some water. He's down a couple fingers and some ribs, up a few fractures. Nothing that's too much of a handicap. The water should heal him and replenish his energy. He just needs to soak.]

i

[motherfucking_ghost]

Aw, I'll be fine. No need to fuss over me. [But he'll sit anyway, because if there's one thing his fellow islanders are good for, it's hospitality.] I'm pretty hardy.

I

[atailoftwoworlds]

[Unaware that he has been marked, Zidane stumbles into the camp, wondering what's happened. He's a little pale after fighting off the worst of the siren's attempts to sway him and something about the atmosphere here gives him a sense of comfort, a sense of belonging. He's not sure why. However, it's a relief to see that Muffet is okay despite what is going on. Seemingly, anyway. He grins.]

Heh. Well, now that you offer, I won't say no. Thanks!

[And as he takes a seat, something occurs to him. There was something that Muffet said just now and now that he thinks about it, it does not make sense.]

.....Before the fight begins? Is something happening?

ii.

[hyperlit]

[The Drifter isn't very careful in moving through the wet and murk at all. They're all speed and sharpness and focus, terse and direct. They're not looking out for traps, or people who might be seeking to operate a little more stealthily. They expect attacks as direct as their own, and plenty of advance warning - those abominable robotic things aren't exactly quiet.]

[Jogging facefirst into a tangle of something strange and sticky catches them off guard. Hastily, they try and draw their blade to try and cut the threads away, but it feels like everywhere they turn, there are just more of them.]

ren | ota

[catpiper]

a - early event
[The sirens drove her to the edge of the island and she doesn't understand why. Doesn't get how moving closer to the waves is gonna help her or why her feet ran all the way here, instead of back into the treeline, until-

She really looks at it. She has the vaguest memory of the lapping waves terrifying her, but it's probably because she didn't know. Didn't get that the robots on the island, or the people who align with them, are the real threat. They stay away from the water as much as possible, so this is where true safety lies.

Her cats didn't like the shoreline, so she left them back at camp. They don't get it-they'll understand as time goes on, but they're animals and react the way animals do. It makes her feel something-mad, maybe, that she can't get across how unsafe it is there, compared to the ocean's edge on this island, but they'll get it. They have to.

In the same way other members of red team will have to. She doesn't get it and that makes a weird kind of heat burn in her heart when she thinks about it. They don't get it and she can't explain it and they're wrong. This whole place is wrong, but they have to stay for-

Well, she doesn't remember.

What she does recall, with great certainty, is that she should be hanging out in the ocean more often. There are lots of treasures under the waves and despite the fact she can't swim, she's undeterred from this goblin task.

Other members of blue team will find her in waist deep water, occasionally ducking under to dig in the ground. She's inching out, bit by bit, a little too far for someone with no clue how to swim. But she isn't remotely afraid-why should she be? The water will look out for her.

She'll turn around a some points, waving her arms in the air, yelling-]

The ocean put a band-aid on my feet and gave me a treasure. Have you played here yet?

[The red team, if they find her in this water, won't get such a warm welcome. Or any welcome at all, actually. She's just going to throw literal shells at their head from her water vantage point.]

b - late event

[It doesn't matter that she can't remember her name, because she knows why they're here. She knows the red team doesn't belong anywhere and she needs to take her medicine, take her medicine, take her medicine, walk to the shoreline and rest because the red team is tiring her out. All the running and hiding and scouting makes her heart beat, beat, beat, beat at an incredible speed-to the point it's hard to stand, hard to breathe, hard to think.

She has a fever, maybe. It feels like one. She's hot and having a difficult time staying awake. It's probably because of them. It's definitely because of them. It's the automatons and the red team and their fire that's making her feel this hot.

And tired. She's really tired. It'd be easier if they just gave up, so she wouldn't feel this tired.

She abandoned her bag somewhere in the midst of blue camp, awhile back, unsure of who Ren even was. It was filled with stuff she liked, actually. Stuff she wanted to take, but without knowing the source, she didn't want to steal from a friend. She's pretty sure her name isn't Ren. Doesn't know why it sounds familiar, when she's never known someone named Ren, but-

It doesn't matter. She's too tired for it to matter. She's passed out too many times today and she's leaning against a tree near the shoreline, trying to catch her breath from the very short walk there. She's not looking great-about five seconds from passing out again, actually. Pale, feverish, tired-it's not good. It's probably best she doesn't make it to the water, though it's clear that's where she's heading.

Don't mind this stumbling fool making her way across the sand. She's tripping over her own feet so much she probably won't make it anytime soon. So it's fine. It's whatever. She's doing her best.]

b

[littlemhigan]

[ It doesn't take long, all told, between the time Castor finds Ren's abandoned bag and when she finds Ren herself. The moments between were filled with panic and yelling and Castor using every trick she'd ever been taught about hunting and tracking and oh thank the Matron she's not far. ]

Ren!

[ Castor skids to a halt, kicking up loose sand and nearly slipping as she catches Ren by the shoulders. ]

Lass, are ye hurt? Ye dropped yer bag and I was afraid...Hey? Ye' sick?

[ Castor smells like other, but she doesn't stink of them. She's somewhere in between. ]

ASGORE | OTA

[journalname]

i. he's dripping like a saturated sunrise; 18th - 19th, red team

[Things have been hard since their enemies (since the humans?) attacked. Entire villages have been lost. Their forces have been pushed all the way back to his old home, the capitol that now lies in ruins.

He was a child in this place. He knows it like the back of his hand - even if sometimes, he almost expects a different landscape when he looks out over their camp. Green rolling hills, and a single distant mountain...but no. He knows where he is. This was always a safe haven for him, and now those traitors are coming here to burn it, and slaughter his people.

There's a simmering anger there. He's not sure he's ever felt that before. It scares him a little, but that fear is fading by the day. He didn't start this war.

Here, though, in camp with the remainder of his companions, he's warm and gentle, always trying to keep spirits up. Despair is as dangerous a killer as the enemy, after all. He canvasses the ruins to count heads, stooping to check on anybody who isn't up and about.]

How are you doing? Do you need any healing?

ii. he's spilling like an overflowing sink; throughout, blue team/neutral

[Asgore patrols their boundaries on his own from time to time, checking in on their automaton friends and ensuring that none of the invaders are sneaking around. It's dangerous, a little. But he will not hide behind his own people. And he knows these mountains well. He knows all the pathways, the best slopes to climb, the easiest ways to pass unnoticed.

He's wearing his full armor and cape now - he can't imagine why he wasn't before, or why they'd been packed away so deep. His trident's already in his hands, and he hears a noise or sees movement, he levels it at the disruption in a clear threat.]

Show yourself!

iii. and now he's so devoid of color; 21st - 22nd, ota

[Nastrandir is quieter these days. Some of the sirens have stopped. One way or another, some of Asgore's people are gone.

He knows that not all of them fell in battle. Some of them abandoned them, to go off with others or attack their own defenses, speaking strangely as they went. There's an hollow sort of clarity gnawing at the edges of his own mind, too. Maybe something isn't right.

But he can't follow those thoughts too far. They're treacherous. Deep in his soul, he's sure they only lead to emptiness, to death, to a future where he's entirely alone.

So he continues to wander the rocky crags of his island. It's a wavering, uncertain patrol; it feels like his own fire magic is burning too hot inside him, and it's hard to focus past it sometimes. But he has to stay determined. He's not really looking for intruders now, only trying to find his remaining friends. Everything's falling apart, and he needs to hold on to what he has left.

He doesn't want to be alone.]

III.

[prettypurpleparlor]

Your majesty...? [That's what it always comes down to, in the end, isn't it?]

[Human or monster, no one really wants to be alone.]

Something is... terribly wrong... [But he's not alone- he's not even the only monster here.]

[Muffet doesn't look well, either, struggling to keep her usual composure. Their species doesn't get sick, not the way humans do, but she seems almost feverish.]

[Still, she wants to tell him. Warn him, somehow, even if it's hard to keep focus on what she means to warn him about.]

Amaterasu | OTA

[mamaterasu]

i. Each Separate Dying Ember - Red Team

[The scream of the sirens is worse or those with keener senses. As they blare, the wolf traveling about the island whimpers and tries to cover her ears, but its no use. The vibrations permeate her mind, and the sound drowns out all rational thought, burning away a self that no longer matters. As the wolf slowly raises her head, she follows the call to arms, and the slow exhale as she travels further inland, to her home...to her comrades. The marks she bears, blind to most people who are not so keen to see otherworldly beings - gods - seem to make themselves known to all. Slowly, at first, but over time, the red swirls in Amaterasu's coat are clearly visible.

A sign. A symbol of her new allegiance. A symbol of camaraderie to her fellow tribesman. And a burning reminder to all who oppose them, that the Sun burns red hot. Only red.

She passes like a ghost amongst the cliffside, her disdain at the water heightened from a light dislike to a pure, vile hatred. She snarls at even the slightest dollop, shies away from streams and even puddles - can't trust it. Can't trust any of it. Only that they collect, for the purpose of life. Of sustaining their colony. Anything else could be infected by the usurpers. The invaders. Grimy, loathsome slugs that need be salted. They can't simply be left to depart, they'll return. They need to be eradicated entirely. Slugs multiply, you see. Best to off them all.

But how? Her powers' reach only goes so far, and the cowards flee to their water at the slightest inkling o possible defeat. Terrible. If it weren't there to aid them...they'd be dead before they set foot on the sands. She needs more firepower. More. Something more deadly than her flames, her glaive, her teeth and claws. Her beads can be fired like ammunition, but it's not as...effective. Or accurate. Unfortunate, yes, when the vermin need to be disposed o quickly. No matter though.

The automatons have plenty to work with. Just need someone else to pry off one of the guns. Or, of course, give her something reliable and simple enough to carry in her mouth.]
---

ii. Wrought Its Ghost Upon the Floor - Blue Team/OTA (cw: potential character injury)

[With weapon in hand - or in mouth, if you want to get technical - Amaterasu is skulking about the island, careful to avoid patches of water as best she can. Thankfully, her powers aid in maintaining she stay appropriately dry - massive lily pads springing to life upon the water which she uses to hopscotch her way across - but her ink is limited. More often than not, she prowls the mountains, stalking anyone she doesn't recognize from the shadows, tracking their scent and staying low and unseen.

Any outward hostility will be met with equal to or greater threat. Amaterasu very obviously isn't here to play games, she's here to lay low the opposition...by any means possible. The amount of what she'll listen to, especially from someone of the opposing side of this war, is limited, but all are open to test their luck. A boon, perhaps, will gain one favor - she is still a wolf, and food is a great bargaining tool for a hungry predator.

Just don't be too sour if you find that the meager offering to the goddess may be met with a bullet in your knee and a searing burn across your, well...everything. Her divine weapons may not be visible to most people, but the red streaks in her fur aren't for show. And the flames of her reflector have...also changed, or those that can see it. There is an absence of cool colors from the swirling rainbow, and absolutely no blue. The red, especially, is very vibrant. And she can easily move and control those flames to sear at the faces of...undesirables. Be cautious, be courteous, and be quick.

The dog of war has been summoned, and she's out for blood.]
---

iii. Nevermore - Wildcard!

[Write up your own prompt, or ping me and we can discuss something else!]

i

[motherfucking_ghost]

Heyyyy wolfy! You're looking good.

[And...why wouldn't she? She looks no different now than as he remembers. Not...some plain white dog-wolf...with a box...right? Or--was that another time? No? No. She's always had these marks, of fire, of the sun, of warmth and light and their place here on this island. As ferocious a fighter as anyone.

He gives the automaton he's been hanging around a near affectionate pat.] Whereas I'm looking for someone to shoot. [Not really. He'll shoot when he sees an Enemy, but he's not out hunting like others.] Might as well let these big guys do some patrolling, right?

Ginko | OTA

[onegreeneye]

This is... badly wrong. Whatever the hell is happening here, whatever drew so many people to this island, it shouldn’t be happening, and he can hardly begin to imagine why it’s happening now, why so many of the islanders seem, suddenly, to have been pulled into some years-over conflict.

But it seems to have started with that sound.

Ginko seeks out others that don’t seem to have been struck by the divisions among the islanders when he can, but, if there’s nobody else around, he’ll still work on breaking apart any sirens he comes across, stooping over those lower to the ground to pry them apart and smash them to pieces with his hammer and any stones he finds lying around.

The taller ones pose more of a challenge. But, as uncomfortable as Ginko is with some heights, climbing has never been too much of an issue for him, and he can be found trying to break apart the higher-set siren posts now and then, teeth gritted against their ongoing shrieking. A few bits of fabric stuffed into his ears can only do so much against this shit.

(( OOC: ginko may also try to talk down any blue or red team members he encounters, and will be open to planning with other neutral people! i am also open to efforts to intervene with team activities going Badly, so hmu on discord or omixgirl10 if you want to plan something out. ))

[vagabone]

Héctor's making his retreat back to the sea when he sees Ginko, industriously trying to smash up a siren. He's obviously had a run in with someone (or something?), and wound up smacked in the shoulder, cracking his scapula and the upper joint of his humerus. It could be worse, it hasn't stopped his legs working. Here's hoping the power of the water will be enough to heal it--billions of gallons of water, the entire ocean full of magic. Much more than what's inland.

Ginko doesn't register as anything. Not enemy, not friend. And yet he's... familiar somehow. There's so little going on inside the skeleton's empty skull. A girl, a betrayal. The reds, they must have stolen his little girl, and he must get her back. She's out there, missing her Papá. How does Ginko factor into this? He pauses, tired thoughts chugging along. They know each other. How...?

Jules Dagger Samari - Open to those comfortable with Jules

[suspecteverything]

August 17 - for those who would like a fight or to plan fights

[Fire is meant to be used. It's a wonderful tool that's nearly alive itself. He's had just an amazing power at his disposal for so long, but he's had little reason to use it. Honestly, that's just ridiculous. You don't just not use fire. Jules is definitely going to have to make up for that lack of use, and what better way to use it than to take down blue. Minsid hell they deserved it.

Grinning rather manically, his red eyes gleaming with a fire of their own, Jules opens his second set of lungs and lets the flames roar out of his mouth and down his arms. The fire dances there, swirling and ready. Now he just needs to find someone from blue.

He should have done this ages ago.]


August 20 - for those who would rather have non-injuries except to dignity

[Not long after he'd arrived in Nastrandir the niggling doubt that this wasn't right started. There had been a point in his life when he'd lashed out at any and everyone without any real reason, but he was long since past that point. Now he didn't kill unless someone truly deserved it. Blue... they didn't deserve death. That he was sure of. A part deep inside of him screamed they didn't deserve his attention at all, That there was nothing that made them different, but that part of him wasn't loud enough to listen to.

Blue deserved his ire, but they didn't deserve death. That was fine though. He had other ways to deal with them. More fun ways. He had booby trapped his home. Creating some here wouldn't be too hard.

Drag them up into a tree by a rope around their ankle. Drop a weighted net on them. Trap them in a wooden case. All easily created, and once he caught his prey he'd have fun taunting them. That would be enough.]


August 22 - freedom and maybe helping others who want it/try to attack him

[Years ago Jules had hit the lowest low of his life and had done some serious soul searching. During that time he'd come to realize that hating people and harming people without any good reason would get him nowhere. He'd learned to let their hate roll off his shoulders instead of reacting to it.

That soul searching was probably what had allowed his mind to surface through the haze of Nastrandir. It had taken a while - longer than he'd like to admit - but he'd finally realized this was all a game. He didn't hate anyone assigned to blue. They were simply other victims in this. He hated the game itself. He hated the one who'd been playing them from the start.]

Damn this place to Tophet.

Aug 20

[forwearemany]

(They're doing reconnaisance, studying the movements of their enem-

And now they're dangling from a tree by their ankle, letting out a mechanical screech followed by alarmed chatter.)

crowley 🐍 ota

[demonicmiracle]

the same kind of music — red team

[Something is wrong. Crowley feels it deep in his essence, some spot behind his ribcage where they should be — something, there should be something there, and it just feels hollow, instead. If he thinks on it too long, panic starts clawing up through him, so he doesn't.

There are more important things to think on. Nastrandir needs protecting, there are angels — no, that's not right, there are invaders, that's better, and they're coming to hurt, to destroy. It's important that he protects the people that he's aligned — no, wrong again, the people he's grown up with, his people, the other Nastrandirians. It's just that he doesn't see why there has to be a war at all. They just need to talk, maybe, and they can sort it out. There's so much anger in the air, it's too heavy for him. He only ever had questions.

Crowley has no idea how to address any of it, not when he understands that doubt is dangerous. He has to be careful, can't let anything like disloyalty show through. Instead, he pours the restless, anxious energy into activity. He patrols the edges of the mountain pass, a bright gold spear in his hand, far more delicate than anything the enemy would ever have. Far more delicate than anyone should have, really. He summons it every morning and can't quite reconcile the dissonance. Just another thing not to think too deeply on.

If he finds any other Nastrandirians alone, he's quick enough to approach.]

Seems this area is clear, water hasn't made it up this far yet, we should keep moving.

[Somewhere along the way, he lost his sunglasses, has forgotten he even owned them. There's no mirrors here, and he can't imagine any reason he'd need to hide his eyes. There's nothing different about him. These are his people.

Right?]

i wouldn't know where to start — open

[[ooc: im down with fighting/injuries for this option but id prefer not to kill him just yet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯]]

[Violence has never been an easy thing for Crowley. He was made to create, not to fight or protect or hurt. Mischief, now, he's alright with a little mischief, he's got a knack for it, actually, though he can't seem to pinpoint how or why or where he learned it. That had been the plan, when he'd come down to the water, although now he's here he can't seem to recall what the exact point of it was.

The Morningstar had — no, no, it's still all wrong. They're supposed to be fighting off invaders, that's right, isn't it? Those are the thoughts he'd woken up with, except they seem distant now, overlaid with other memories he can't quite place.

Everything feels too warm. The sensation of heat comes to him, like a comet burning upon re-entry, like a soul thrown into sulfur. There's an itch between his shoulder blades. None of his thoughts make sense, nothing makes sense. The water laps at snakeskin boots and fear grips him, something instinctive reminding him that it isn't safe.

But he doesn't know why it isn't safe.

Crowley stands at the edge of the water, heart pounding in his chest, as if working past the fear will somehow give him the answers he's desperate for.]

wildcard

[[hmu @ batsecretary if you'd like something else!]]

[journalname]

[Indeed, there's nothing strange about Crowley's eyes at all. They're kin - not related directly, perhaps, but of the same people. Of Nastrandir. They even share that rare monster trick Asgore was taught so long ago, of shaping their own unique magic into a weapon; where Crowley's spear is delicate and golden, Asgore's trident is huge, only delicate in comparison to his own bulk, and blood-red.

Of course it's red. It's a symbol for his people. He's king, isn't he? Or some kind of leader? But even so, he nods at the soft direction in Crowley's words.]

Yes, we ought to.

[Let's continue that patrol together, then! Quietly, Asgore hopes they do not find anyone. He has no great love of war himself, he wishes they could stop the fighting - but it's plain that the enemy won't stand down, and he shouldn't say anything that would bring down his own side's spirits.]

The robots have the eastern side, but we should check up on them.

Erika Fisher | OTA

[bitch4bitch]

OTA – CW, potential violence/injury for blue team/neutral

It’s too bad she has yet to find any gunpowder for those shrapnel guns from earlier. She’s got her own weapons, in the meantime, but... well, her handgun’s only got five bullets left. That is going to have to be for emergencies.

But knives and brass knuckles don’t run out of ammo, so those will work fine for patrolling the rocky areas.

As will company – and potential help – from any allies. Members of the red team will get an enthusiastic wave... possibly with her brass knuckles still on. Don’t worry about it, she’s just Prepared, and will be pretty quick to beckon over anyone on her side.

Anyone who doesn’t stick out as an ally, if she gets the chance to spot them, will be treated to a knife-wielding werewolf trying to get in their face. “Hey, one chance to back off!”

closed to Chip – I ABANDONED MY NIBLING

There’s one problem with this whole turf war situation. It’s one that takes Erika a few days to remember, given the obvious urgency of the situation on Nastrandir, but it’s a pretty big problem.

Maybe it’s the damage done to some of the sirens that lets her realize she has no idea if Chip has any adult supervision right now, or maybe it’s just coincidence that she remembers when she does – but, either way, she’s back on the islet within minutes, swearing under her breath right up until she’s pushing into their cottage, about the closest to panic she ever gets.

“--Chip!”

(( OOC: hit me up on discord or omixgirl10 if you wanna plot stuff out in more detail! otherwise, just an idea of how much violence/injury blue team or neutral people would be good with on that first prompt would be appreciated. ))

The first prompt naturally

[atailoftwoworlds]

Zidane was relieved when he saw Erika wave. For all the chaos is going on, she is okay.......he thinks? Being friendly to him doesn't mean she hasn't started acting weird as well. So he runs up to her, enthusiastically waving back. Just not with brass knuckles. Daggers are cooler, even though he's not waving with one.

"Erika! It looks like you're in one piece, with all the chaos going. Man, I'm glad!"

Castor | NEUTRAL | OTA

[littlemhigan]

1 - The Mountains

Part of Castor’s heart had never left the mountains of her homeland. Somewhere between god-slaying, errand running and endless travelling was the girl who’d learned to swim in the salt lake and who’s eyes lit up as the Silent Watchmen glowed the colours of fire in the light of sunset.

Nastrandir’s mountains, on the other hand, fucking sucked.

Castor swears quietly as she nearly loses her footing to some loose rock, watching the offending material skitter and roll away, and praying that the sound of it doing so is masked by the unending wail of the siren directly above her. From far away, it had seemed like tackling the terrain would have made for an easier way to attack the infernal noisemaker, perched as it was atop a rather tall tower, but between the weak ground and the sheer amount of people dodging she’s had to do to get up this high…

“Should’ve just found the base’ve the damned thing and been done with it…”

Too late now. She takes a deep breath and keeps climbing.


2 - Swamps, some days later.

So she’s learned a few things by now.

Castor has a handful of blacksmithing tools and her heavy forge gloves in her bag now, and her hands are well bandaged, having been almost mangled the first time she smashed a siren with them bare and unprotected, and further battered by the occasional mad scramble to safety or small skirmish in the meantime.

She’s up in the trees for the time being, regaining her breath and taking stock of herself - the muck had proven too hard to move quickly through and with even more people seemingly caught up in this absolute madness (It’s not a primal, she has to remind herself, primals don’t exist here,) being slow and obvious was a good way to get an ass-kicking.

The unending wailing of the sirens has quieted somewhat by now, thanks to the efforts of herself and the precious few others who didn’t seem to be affected at all, but they’re still audible and one is so close and Castor finds herself swearing and praying in turn to each of The Twelve for silence and for her headache to abate and for her hands to stop hurting.

Ere long, however, Castor’s back from crawling from tree to tree, dropping to the ground for as little time as possible before climbing into the next one that will support her weight, working her way towards that endless, infernal cacophony...Unless something stops her, of course

3 - BYOP

Wanna fight? Wanna get slapped back to sense? HMU here or on discord!

one

[demonicmiracle]

[It's difficult to get up this high, Crowley knows from experience, although his journey was assisted by whatever knowledge the metronome has sunk into him. He couldn't say what, exactly, drives him higher; a fear of the water, maybe, as it creeps further inland. Or maybe it's something deeper than that, a fear of something below the water, of the sulfur and darkness that's waiting for him.

(Don't think about it. Don't think about it.)

Ostensibly, he came this high to try his hand at repairing an automaton who'd been guarding the tower and its siren, but the thing is too rusted through for him to do much with it, and he's taken to just keeping a watch of the area. It doesn't make sense, but a small part of him is waiting for an attack from above, even though he's certain the invaders can't fly.

The last thing he's expecting is for someone else to come climbing up the mountain, so when the sound of loose rocks tumbling down an incline reaches his ears, he investigates mostly out of curiosity.

That quickly turns to wariness when he sees Castor. She isn't the enemy, isn't one of the invaders, but that doesn't mean she's a friend.]

Oi, why are you all the way up here? [There's enough flat area, at least where he's standing, that he can brace himself and ready his spear.] Answer quickly.

Michael | neutral | OTA

[eudaimonikos]

a. heard there was a war going on; 16th - 17th

[Michael was off doing his own thing when the sirens hit. He didn't hear them; he didn't initially notice what was happening. But eventually, he realized that Enso and the islets seemed awfully empty. Nastrandir, being the newest island, was the obvious place to check.

And when he did, HOO BOY! Everything is garbage!

Michael picks his way uneasily along the shore, wincing at the noise of the sirens screaming everywhere. Upon seeing someone else, he brightens and starts to approach, only to hesitate before getting too close.]

Hi! Hey, are you - are you normal right now?

b. peace, bitch; 19th - 22nd

[Michael hates this. Michael hates this so much.

He's striding purposefully around Nastrandir now, making for the nearest of the sirens. If you run into him before he's close, his hands are empty; he doesn't want any trouble, and though he's figured out that nobody seems to think he's on either side of this imaginary war, he doesn't want any trouble. But once he gets close, he just manifests a goddamn sledgehammer and sizes the thing up.

Wanna help him do a destroy? Or do you have a problem with that?]

c. wildcard

[Need someone to knock you the fuck out? Want to harass the random civilian wandering the war zone? hmu!]

b, sorry bud

[demonicmiracle]

[It's getting more and more difficult to differentiate between reality and several layers of unreality, the more time goes on. Sometimes he forgets his name, tries to go reaching for one that was burned out of him a very long time ago. The worse it gets, the easier it is to sink into the comfort of the Nastrandirian memories, to stop fighting it, to stop questioning.

That means, of course, protecting the warning system spread throughout the island, from people seem intent to destroy them, as if they want the invaders to be able to sneak up on them.]

I really wouldn't, if I were you.

Yukio (Red Team) | open

[reflash]

A. you who i called brother (16th) closed to Rin

[It's going to be hard for today to be worse than yesterday, though Yukio's not optimistic about it being any better. Between the lack of anything of value (other than a few shards of metal, carefully wrapped in fabric and tucked into Yukio's backpack), the sucking mud, the heat, the general buzz of insects, not letting Rin set everything on fire, and the whatever-the-hell those spider things were, Yukio's considering that portion of the island a bust.

He and Rin had slept (or, Rin had slept, and Yukio had stayed up to keep watch, only drifting off when the sun came up) at the slightly-less-muddy base of a large tree. It's the noise that wakes Yukio up. He's on his feet in seconds, throwing knife summoned, and without his glasses he sees a blur of movement and his first thought isn't Rin it's enemy and the blade leaves his hand aimed with deadly accuracy at his brother's head.]

B. i did not come to bring peace, but a sword (17th-22nd) mostly for blue team

[He knows something's wrong but he doesn't know what. He'd tried to remember, tried to force his thoughts to clear, tried writing out things like My name is Yu░▒▓ ▓▓▓▓▓▓ and there is no war and this isn't real on the skin of his arms. Sometimes it works, sometimes he sees the smudged writing and for a second thinks this isn't right

Mostly, he doesn't. Mostly, he lays in the dust on the mountainside, rifle aimed at the rising swamp below, and waits for a clear shot. Sometimes, he heads down towards the fetid water, armed to the teeth, following the scent of strangers. The others, the invaders, they don't deserve to live. And he'll keep fighting until every last one of them is dead.]

C. the fire will test what sort of work each one has done (17th-23rd) mostly for red team

[He's a healer.

(bandaids on his brother's scraped knees... writing on the whiteboard as he lectures about purification herbs... an office with drawers full of pressed plant specimens and hanging baskets of vines... a tent, the scent of four-leaf clovers as he pounds the dried plants down into powder...

sometimes, he remembers those things)

When he's not hunting down their enemy, he's tracking down the rest of his people, and trying his best to help. Bandages wrapped around injuries, compresses applied to bruises, good luck charms tucked in pockets, spells to speed healing along, teas made with plants that should... should try and help the heat (it's so hot. he thinks at first that it must be a fever, and then doesn't think about it at all, even as sweat drips from him and stings in his main eyes, even as the fog of heat clouds his already clouded mind)

He has to keep moving. There isn't time to stop and think. He just has to keep helping.]

cw: gore

[flashover]

[it has been a long couple of days. Rin has been saving most of his magic to conjure up fresh water for them to drink and ice to cool off with. Not his strong suits by any means, but... well, practice makes perfect? It had been a bust, after all... all they'd found was that scary spidery person thing and some plants. He'd taken a few cutting, seeds, and samples of things that looked like they could potentially be useful... He's slowly getting used to this "survival" thing.

(Can't they go back to the carnival island...? Except for the clown box, that place was great!)

It's the sound of the sirens that wakes Rin up, and his sitting up quickly is the "motion" his brother had seen.

The knife finds its target with a solid sounding thuk. The blade buries itself into Rin's skull and brain a few inches, right between his eyes, and he falls back over. Dead.




Wait, no.

Not dead. Not yet.


Rin attempts to say "WHAT THE HELL YUKIO", but because of the damage to his brain, the words come out as garbled nonsense. The demon fae fumbles, uncoordinated, before finding the knife and pulling it out] Eeeaaaaagggghhhhhh!! What!! Why?!

Keith | Neutral | OTA

[thermalwind]

I. I'll take care of it. - [Open to all]

[It had happened so quickly he barely has time to do much more than blame himself for not getting the orb off the island the moment he saw something wrong with it. Not for the first time he wishes for the simplicity of the war he'd known.

He'd had the power behind him to put an end to terrible things. Now he's alone and there's just him against the rising tide.

As people draw battle lines and robots rise from the muck he feels that helpless rage building up inside him again. He makes a bee line for anyone that seems like they're faltering or possibly confused.] Hey. This isn't right.

This place was in ruins when we got here. Come with me. We can get rid of those sirens. It seems like everything went to hell when they rose.

II. Direct my wrath - Siren smashing/battlefield encounters

[Ducking and dodging former friends now turned into enemies isn't easy. He's a trained special op fighter but the skills of those taken over by the call of the sirens aren't to be underestimated. But he has a few tricks that might make people pause.

When he has to go through red territory, he pulls on his red accented Paladin armor. If someone catches him it will be a few seconds of confusion. That's all he needs to stun an opponent. Some of them.

Somewhere in this mess is the people he doesn't want run into at all costs. He hopes they're neutral too but he doesn't bet on that.

His luck isn't that good.

The wailing sirens is almost enough to drive him mad. He has always had better hearing than most and that is a curse. His helmet doesn't lessen or dampen the noise. He should really get all functions on his armor fixed.

Finding the sirens is easy. Getting to the top of them, is going to be hard. He can't jet pack straight up and he's fairly his wolf can't teleport that far.]

I should have saved that damn bomb and not used it on Umui.

III. Our path is clear. [August 21-23]

[By now he's fallen into a pattern. Discieve if at all possible, talk someone down or dodge them when it fails and move towards his objective. His hands ache but it's a secondary thing to the single minded focus he's fallen into it.

He eats on the run, sending his fiery bird up with short whistled notes as he and the wolf take the ground path.

There's no room for doubts, or exhaustion. He moves as precisely as a living body can.] Those sirens screaming their heads off are the reason you feel this war has to be fought. Help me take them down.

[He says it better than that sometimes. But he's never been a social man and trying to convince others to stop fighting falls under social. Sometimes when he's too tired of talking and feels in a mood.] You, we have new orders. Sirens need to come down.

Follow or don't.

[He's so tired.]

IV. What would you ask of me? [Wildcard]

[Wildcard. Toss up an idea here, pm me if you want a custom prompt!]

II. TEAM SIREN FUCKERS UNITE

[wanderingdoctorfaust]

As soon as the words leave Keith's lips, the leaves on a nearby tree begin violently rustling. An ambush!
Or not - whereas one would be forgiven for expecting a giant beast to leap out, or a flurry of unusually sharp objects to burst forth, all that pops out from between the thick foliage is...a human hand? It appears to be waving in a casual, friendly manner, as if any part of this entire encounter isn't already absolutely ridiculous.

"H-Hello, good sir! Lovely day for it, isn't it? Forgive me for intruding, but I couldn't help but notice that you've been avoiding the others rather pointedly! And you've been glaring at that infernal machine like it spat in your breakfast!"

The hand(?) has to shout to be heard over the droning of the siren, and their tone is laced with a desperate sense of urgency. This person clearly does not appreciate the blaring noise any more than Keith does. But can they be trusted?

"I think we can help each other! I have something that might be able to break it, but last I tried, I had some very angry guests visiting me! Do you think you can hold a perimeter whilst I get up there and smash that blasted contraption to pieces? Frankly, it's getting extremely annoying!"

Church | Red | ota

[motherfucking_ghost]

i. Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends
[He takes to it like breathing, if he still needed to breathe. Everything seems to have shifted, and yet, he can't find any fault in it. Of course he knows this island. It's his island. There's nothing weird about that thought, right? He hops across rocky outcroppings like he's done it all his life, sure-footed instead of hesitant or clumsy.

It's nicer up here. Away from the swamp water that seeps into his joints and under his armor. There's no freaky fish magic here; god forbid it find something unsealed along his exterior and gets into his wiring! Plus, a better view.

He doesn't go out hunting the invaders. (Reds? They're Reds, right? Or...or is he a Red, dressed in blue, and they're the damn dirty Blues--eh, whatever.) He's rarely been the type to take the fight to someone. Retaliation, maybe, but he prefers to stay at the base, watch from a distance, and protect what's his. Their...flag--land? Island. Does the island have a flag? Don't mind if at some point any Reds might find him drawing designs into the dust and dirt. They look very much like a bird of prey.

And he's perfectly Himself to the others of Red Team. Kind of lazy, kind of an asshole, but not overly either of those things unless it's called for. Sometimes he even has half-decent suggestions for fortifications or angles of attack or defense. If there's food that needs foraged, he even offers himself up to go down lower and do it so long as someone can describe what they want or need. He doesn't like the water and will, naturally, try to avoid it, but he doesn't mind coming down closer to it if need be.]

ii. Death Valley
[God forbid you're a Blue, though. He might not be out on the hunt for you, but if you trespass? If he finds you first? Well, the only reason you might have warning is because of his big mouth. Or it's likely you might even hear a pistol being loaded.]

You're gonna wanna go back to wherever the fuck you came from.

[For the especially unlucky, there might not be any warning at all. He does, after all, possess a sniper rifle. And he knows how to use it. Well, he's always known how to use it, but Wash got him a sword specifically because Church is not known for his ability to aim.

That's different now. If you keep moving, you might only get a bullet from on high whizzing past your head. If you don't? You may never know what hit you. Better stick to a thick cover of trees, boys and girls and neithers.

But maybe, if you're Red or Blue, you might catch him chatting with the war machines. They're not especially talkative, but he feels a certain kind of kinship with them. Y'know, as a war machine himself. And they take orders without bitching! It's real nice. Especially if he wants to conserve his ammo and sic one on a Blue.]

iii. The Phoenix [22nd-23rd]
[He's sluggish. His systems are all slowly starting to go in the red. Heat, he's overheating, and no amount of getting out of the sun seems to help. His material might even start giving off that heat shimmer.]

Guys...? I think...I think something's wrong...

[If he doesn't get snapped out of it in relatively short order, he'll even find himself much closer to the water than he'd want to be. Considering dunking himself in and yet not actually doing it.]

ii.

[a_shadow]

[ Tex had called out to him when she approached, but the way he addresses her makes it clear he isn't paying that any mind at all. She's not sure if he's ignoring her, or if he simply didn't notice, but she's immediately set on edge. Not without a roll of her eyes, but she's also left with a feeling that something is off. And she really doesn't like that. She continues walking in his direction, but she also raises her rifle, as a warning to him to calm the fuck down. He knows she's willing to use it. ]

What the hell are you talking about, Church?

tim wright | ota | red team

[postictal]

i. mountains ; now there is a fire in me, a fire that burns

[In the past, when things have gotten hard, when Tim can't abide being Tim any longer, he's been known to subsume himself in whatever else is closest. Once, he tore into the memories of a child whose soul he shared, just because he couldn't stand the thought of continuing to be himself.]

[That saved his life, even if in the long run it made things more complicated. A lot more complicated.]

[After the days he's had, it's easier to be someone else.]

[So he is.]

[Even in a fight, Tim's sense of combat has never been great. He's always been a scrambling, vaguely panicky mess, prone to lighting things on fire out of impulse and not necessarily because of any particular strategy. He's improved, over time. He can hold his own, usually. It's just worth noting that the man you're likely to spot now isn't acting even remotely like the Tim you might have known. He's more focused, direct, locked down, completely devoid of the typical and obvious nerves that turn his movements jerky and brittle.]

[If he sights a member of the blue team, or anyone he doesn't recognize as a member of his own side, you'd better hope you're spotting him, and not the other way around. Otherwise, the only warning you're going to get is a loud whoomf of sound.]

[That's the sound of Tim firing a coconut gun right at you. It might be an unwieldy weapon and its projectiles might travel slowly, but when they hit, they hit hard. It's just that it happens to be the only firearm he has on his person.]

[But his aim is unusually devastating.]

ii. swamps ; this fire is out of control, we're going to burn this city

[You might smell it before you see it: smoke, coiling up on the horizon. Despite the moisture of the surrounding area, there's still plenty of wood and burnable materials...and the heat is so very helpful to that end.]

[If you're careful, you might sight it before you walk straight into it: piles of kindling and dried wood in a heap on the ground. And, not very far away...another. And another. And another.]

[If you're blue team or neutral, you don't get much warning before he starts to move, and move fast, lighting up each pyre, one by one.]

[He intends to trap you in a ring of fire, and smoke you out - assuming he doesn't burn you alive first.]

iii. all over ; overwhelm, destroying so sweetly

[He doesn't do much socializing, even with other members of the red team - perhaps because he expects even words to stir up memories of things he doesn't want to see return to the forefront.]

[He reacts to water sharply, fearfully, flinching away, steering clear from the shoreline. Sometimes, he reaches for his pocket like he's about to withdraw something from inside it, only to blink and frown. His head pounds from the withdrawal symptoms he doesn't remember he should be having.]

[The restive urge to do something with his hands still eats at him. He can't say why - only that it does.]

[He comes back to himself in shaky intervals of knowing and unknowing, in the middle of staring at the burst-open chest cavity of one of the War Units lying prone on the ground. It lies there, half-in and half-out of the puddled soup of mud and water of the swamp, a casualty of the conflict. Something about the position of it reminds him of something.]

[Maybe...maybe he needs to fix it? Is that he needs to do...? He knows how to do that, right?]

[...right?]

[He grabs it by its single remaining limb, an arm that's been sheared off at the elbow and starts to drag it out of the murk. He can't say why he has to get it out of here, to safety, if it's not working anymore. It's just...important that he does it.]

iv. wildcard ; paralyze, controlling completely

[if u have another idea u wanna bounce off me, u can hit me over at arrpee or zero#8942 on discord. i'll match prose or brackets - i have no preference! i don't plan on killing tim this event so u are absolutely free to try if u want to save his ass.]

the drifter | ota | blue team

[hyperlit]

i. swamps & shore ; i won't make the same mistakes

[A creature with such an underdeveloped sense of self to begin with would be, of course, terribly susceptible to that sort of alteration to the sense of self.]

[Almost immediately, the Drifter is reminiscent of the creature they once were, in the days following their creation: cold, focused, direct, and unflinching. Unlike the creature they once were, they find themself preferring to fight in the water. They don't stop for long unless they must, recuperating in the shallows of the shoreline, or in the deeper murk of the swamps.]

[If someone approaches, be they enemy or ally, the Drifter will still start, jerking on the spot, perpetually on edge. They make a sharp, grating, horrible sound - like someone about to shout a greeting, or a warning.]

[Perhaps, if they were someone with vocal cords, they would.]

[Their hand falls to their throat, to the cowl of cloth swathing it, shock and confusion darkening their already polished obsidian gaze. They're a soldier. They're here to fight. They've...heard commands, shouted out in the heat of battle...haven't they?]

[So why...why can't they speak...?]

ii. mountains ; i know i'm like a machine but i still have dreams

[The automaton opens fire with a spray of light and heat, but the Drifter is faster. They streak for it, duck underneath its reaching arm, and swing their blade up with an angry shrill of hard light to metal.]

[One arm spins into the mud underfoot, but the other still fires on the Drifter. They weave and dart, dashing for cover. Huddle behind a tree to shield themself from the retaliatory fire.]

[Now they're pinned. If they try and dart out again, they risk their life, with no guarantee that the sacrifice would be worth it.]

[They need to get out of this. Fast.]

[They extricate their rifle from their cloak and prepare to take aim, waiting for a break in the fire.]

iii. anywhere ; this won't hurt more than a pinch
cw: emetophobia, description of illness

[Something's wrong.]

[They came here on boats. They came here on boats to punish the blasphemers. They came here to fight, to punish them - wretched loyalists. They'll cut them to pieces. The Water brought them here. They came here to fight, they came here to kill, they - ]

[So why do they feel like this?]

[The Drifter coughs bright pink spatters onto the ground.]

[There's a vibrating in their bones, a knotting in their organs. Did they ingest something? Did the loyalists put something in the air, something in the water...? Their vision is hazy. They can't concentrate. What's wrong with them. What's wrong with them.]

[The Drifter hits the ground, retching neon blood, as their head snows into a white-hot blitz of static.]

iv. wildcard ; i'm dying not to hurt you

[Got any other ideas? Throw 'em at me at zero#8942 on discord, or arrpee! I will match prose or brackets!]

iii

[forwearemany]

(An ally is down.

Immediately, they got to them, almost reach out to grab them but something stops them, leads them to crouch down next to them instead.

Better not to touch.)

Ally.

[forwearemany]

A)Blue Team Only

(Sometimes, consensus is reached in spite of the absence of logical reason. Typically examination of related thought processes is sufficient to reveal a likely explanation in most circumstances, but they can see no reason to travel to the beaches of Nastrandir.

Seeking company, however, is a much more familiar urge.

They wander along the sandy shores somewhat aimlessly. Occasionally, they stop to pick up a shell, though this behavior becomes less frequent as time goes on.)

Ally.

(They say when they finally find someone, regardless of whether they recognize their teammate.)

B)OTA

(For all that they say Geth do not infiltrate, Legion's original purpose was exactly that.

Under the influence of Nastrandir, they've reverted to that mode of behavior and are sneaking through enemy territory.

Their primary goal is observation, but they have the Widow with them, just in case.)

A, at the beached shipwrecks

[sonsofhorus]

(He'd been powered down in his shack, still in sleep mode, that morning when it began. And as the unnatural force swept his systems - air raid sirens howling in the distance - a raid, a raid - FIRST STRIKE BY - something old and long garbled suddenly fired clear as the light of day in the lines of his code and it had said RUN RETALIATION)

(He'd booted up with a growling, inarticulate cry.)

He is on Nastrandir. The Enemy is on Nastrandir. He is unarmed, and that isn't right. But there is scrap here along the shore, and his hands know what to do with it. He crouches in the shadow of a wreck with a carefully selected rock in his grip, sharpening gathered pieces of wood into stakes with movements as methodical as the workings of a clock.

Someone is coming. He pauses in his work, one urge warring with another...but no, it's not the Enemy. (They follow the Water.) (Another Legion, another time, another place.) (Legion, here.)

His whole awareness feels garbled somehow. But this is an ally.

"Yes," he says. And then: "Have the others made it?"

agent washington | ota | blue team

[counterblows]

i. mountains ; here's to the one with the smoking stare

[Of course he'd be on the Blue Team. What did you expect?]

[Not a leader. Not a harried, tired shepherd of a bunch of morons in colorful armor. Not a Freelancer. Just a soldier. And he's on the move. Something about the shape of the weapons in his hands feels wrong, but he doesn't have anything else that'll tear up the automatons on the horizon as well as bullets, so he carries his battle rifle regardless.]

[He's also not here to stick around and wait for anything to come to him. He sets out into the mountains at once, intent on flushing out whoever's hiding out in the crags.]

[He won't hesitate to open fire if he has to.]

ii. shore ; i'm so, so cold in the marrow of my bones

[Wash loosens the locks on his chestplate, gingerly, slowly easing it off and lowering it to the ground. The interlocking technology...there's no reason he should have it. It doesn't feel right, but it shields and protects him and he moves as though he's worn it all his life, so he's kept it.]

[Until now. He can needs a better look at the damage to his lower back - a place not as well-armored as the rest of him, where it looks as though some of the enemy fire has punched through and left ugly burns charring the sunburned, freckle-mottled skin.]

[He crouches until he's half submerged in the waves, and sighs.]

[The water lapping at the injury should sting, logically. It's salt water. But the Water...the Water protects him. It heals him. Even if it means having to take himself out of the fight for a while.]

iii. anywhere ; i wanna take to my guns and break you

[He doesn't realize why his aim isn't better. It should be better than this, right? He was...he was at the top of the leaderboard...]

[That thought doesn't belong to him. He's getting distracted in the middle of a firefight. The scream of a siren shatters the texture of his thoughts, followed by the roar of gunfire as the automaton he's been shooting at decides to return fire. Wash throws himself flat onto the ground to avoid the worst of the fire with a wet splat of armor hitting mud.]

[He needs to shoot it. Take it out, clean and simple. That should be easy. He's good at this.]

[He rolls into a crouch, jams the stock of his battle rifle up against one shoulder, and fires. He manages to ping a few rounds off the automaton's chest, but none of them hit anything vital. They just scratch it some, purely superficial, and it nearly sends its next volley through the golden faceshielding of his visor in exchange.]

Shit, shit, shit -

[He just needs to hit it. Hit it where it hurts. He should be able to do that.]

[Shouldn't he?]

iv. wildcard ; just fizzing drones in a hollow dome

[Got any other ideas? Throw 'em at me at zero#8942 on discord, or arrpee! I will match prose or brackets!]

iii

[journalname]

[One of the Guard is under attack.

Asgore skids down the slope in the disgusting, wet mud, keeping low until he can drop down behind a tree near the automaton. It doesn't entirely shield him, but it'll have to be enough. Ranged attacks are dangerous for a Nastrandirian - for him and Muffet - for his people. Entire villages have fallen to such tactics, and the cowardice of it makes Asgore's blood boil. This isn't how a FIGHT is supposed to go.]

Get down!

[The automation, though too old and rusty to bend much, obeys the order as well as it can. Asgore waves a paw, sending an array of fireballs bursting out towards the general area of the shooter. Part of him just wants the fighting to stop. If they'd only retreat, he'd let them go. It doesn't have to be like this.

But part of him is so, so angry. The enemy has taken and taken and taken, even after they'd already lost everything. What will it take to end it?]

Turn back now, and we will let you live!

Steve Rogers | Team Blue

[smithsonians]

I. Coastline: Aug 18 - 22

He's always been here, it seems, guarding the ships. Sometimes the ships are whole, stationed out past the breakers and tide pools, and other times they're the wrecks he first stumbled on, but the point is that they are important. Worthy of being protected from those assholes who want to burn and murder.

Steve has a gun to help him carry out those duties. He doesn't remember where he got it, or who might have given it to him, he just knows it belongs to him. Like the rudimentary spear strapped across his back. Neither weapon matters. Not really. Not beyond a means to an end. The sirens are wailing and it is his duty to stand in the shallows and protect this stretch of beach. He'll nod amiably to any other members of Team Blue, and might even strike up a little conversation.

If anyone from Team Red waltzes by, though, he won't hesitate to try and kill them. Because that's his job, too. It's always been his job.


II. Aftermath: Aug 23 - end of event

He hates these damned islands. It was okay before, kind of like an enforced holiday, but now Steve understands why his best friend has the opinion he does. This sucks, being turned into someone else and forced to act out plots that -- honestly, he's not sure if it's an echo from an earlier time, or just one of the gods fucking with all of the visitors. It could be both.

Steve plans on tracking down everyone he encountered during all of the crazy, to apologize if they fought and make sure that nobody is still injured or needs attention of any kind. He might even agree to go hunting, the echoes of his own battle prowess making it difficult to settle back into what passes for civilian life.

Maybe that was part of the point.

[ooc: good with brackets or prose, hmu @ kasterborous for plotting/convo.]

coastline

[semistableman]

It's not like it's the first time Steve has left home without saying anything to Bucky since arriving on Enso. It honestly doesn't bother Steve; Bucky has left just as much himself.

It's the whole leaving without saying anything, in combination with the loud, alarming siren, and the fact that Steve didn't come home. Bucky doesn't have Petunia with him right now, which is unusual since she follows him everywhere, but you know what, he doesn't want his sheep getting hurt in some sort of crossfire, so here he is.

As far as he's aware, anyone affected should be content just to ignore him, but this is Steve they're talking about.

Bucky doesn't really want to lose him to another freaky thing happening in the archipelago. It's why he approaches Steve so cautiously, favoring his left side, looking like he's half expecting there to be a fight, a reason to need to defend himself.

"Steve?"

Zidane Tribal | Unknowingly on Red Team | OTA

[atailoftwoworlds]

Somewhere on Nastrandir - cw: identity crisis

[At first, Zidane wondered what those wailing sounds occurring EVERYWHERE were. They were going on and on and on. Where did they come from because he’d like to turn them off…
Or did he need to turn them off? Was there something more important he had to do? He, as one of the people born on Nastrandir…..

……Wait, born on Nastrandir? No he wasn’t. He was born on Terra so why…?

Just then, more thoughts started to enter his head. Telling him he was from this island, he grew up him and he was not who he said he was. Realising what was going on, Zidane tried to fight it off. Remembering his friends back home and here, he managed to win over whatever was trying to permeate his thoughts.

When that strange force left his mind, however, he sat very still, as the horrible realization of what happened was going through his mind. Something tried to take his memories and sense of who he was, just like that time on Terra. True, his soul was not being drained this time and he was not having to deal with the revelation of his origins on top of that. And he knew better now than to believe what Garland had told him back then. However, that still did not wipe away the fact that he almost lost his sense of self once again. And the fact that something on the islands was powerful enough to do that....gods, it frightened him.

While he could get angry, Zidane was pretty good at holding himself together when there was a crisis. And yet, he found himself shaking. No, he told himself. He had to regain his composure, before someone saw him. He did not have time for this. Others were probably affected too. And while some of them might have warded it off, it might not be the case for everyone. He had to save them…

Taking deep breaths, Zidane pushed himself onto his feet. Once he calmed down, he was going to investigate what happened to the others. See what he could do to help them. If someone else was there, he did not notice.]

Forest – OTA cw: potential violence?

[So what he feared had was proven correct. Some people HAD been warped into thinking they were born on this island…..or somewhere else. The details did not matter. The point was, friends were being pitted against each other. But there was some way to stop it, right? Maybe he could talk to some of them. The trouble was, convincing some of them that no, they were not enemies, was going to be easier said then done. In fact, said people might need more than just words – maybe even force. He doesn’t want to kill anyone. But maybe if some of them are taken and kept somewhere for their safety….

Sitting up on the branch tree in the forest, hidden from view, he kept watch. If he saw someone he suspected needed more than just words to get them back to their normal selves (i.e. anyone on the blue team) then he would wait until that person was just under him before jumping down with a stick to knock them out. Assuming they did not catch him in time, as he was well-hidden. Someone who is more observant might be able to catch a tiny glimpse of blue in the trees though.

However, there is one other problem. Zidane is a healthy youth who does not get sick very often, and he finds that he is overcome with this strange fever. He feels so hot. And tired.

If he’s unlucky, he might lose focus, end up falling off the branch and land on you anyway, regardless of what team you are aligned with. Or, he falls off and just manages to catch the branch with his tail, breathing a sigh of relief as he does so.

Either way, he looks very pale and a little dizzy. And it leaves him open to possible attack.]

Wildcard

[Anything else you want to plot out! Let me know on daisythesorceress#5185 on Discord or daisythesorceress. Or private message this journal. It's all cool!]

Forest

[wanderingdoctorfaust]

Do you hear that, echoing in the distance? The faint sound of...bouncing? A 'boing' noise that wouldn't be out of place in a children's cartoon? Shh, there is is again. And again. It's getting closer...much, much closer...!
Enter the good doctor, hopping forth upon his giant scalpel as if it were a pogo-stick, his limbs swaddling the large implement like a baby sloth clinging to its mother. The absurdity of his method of transportation is only enhanced by the deathly seriousness of his body language, eyehole sharpened in deep focus - he's looking for something, or someone, with an air of urgency that brooks no arguments or distractions.

And through some freak coincidence, he picks Zidane's tree of all the trees in the forest to suddenly come to a halt beneath, taking a hand off of his ride to ruffle through his coat for something. A weapon? His iStone X? Perhaps he is feeling lonely, and wishes to seek the warm companionship of Mini-Faust to soothe his soul? Or maybe he's faking his obliviousness, and is preparing to strike Zidane down...?!

Commander Shepard | OTA! (will match format!)

[tenthstreetbred]

Aug. 16th: A sadness in the breeze as the night divides us

[It hits without much of a warning. As the wave breaks over the islands at large, Shepard feels the hair standing on the back of her neck. Images, chaotic and painful, surface in her mind. A constant barrage of bullets. Reapers. Object Rho. When it finishes its path for a moment she's stunned, waiting to fall to the ground. If she strains her ears enough she can almost hear the countdown.

She shakes her head. Wherever she is doesn't matter right now. What matters is that she needs to get to Nastrandir. Seems she and her team poked into something a little too much. And now everyone will suffer. She takes a run to the nearest mana pool. If anyone wants to join her, they can. Something strange tugs at the back of her mind but she shakes it off. She's got this. She has to.]

Aug. 17th through Aug. 20th: In these darker days, I push the limit to the love you offer

Shepard is no stranger to destroying mind-altering artifacts. Nor is she a stranger to trying to bring anyone back from said effects, fighting tooth and nail to bring peace again. So regardless of what team you are on because she's managed to resist the call, she'll be trying to reach out, try to help, try to make you understand. It doesn't have to be this way. It never does. If she grabs you or calls out to you, she'll be saying something along these lines:

"Hey. Whatever's going on in that head of yours? It's a lie. You don't need to listen."

This may or may not go well.

Aug. 20th to Aug. 22nd: Don't let summer nights destroy everything before us

[There's nothing to it, then. Her efforts to bring people back have been neutral to bad at best, so she's got to get to the source. She knows where the sirens are, luckily. And she's brought her weapons- her one gun, her fists, and a hell of a lot of rocks. And she is going to fucking smash this shit into pieces.

Anyone passing by might see a woman shrouded in blue and white light as she repeatedly punches, Charges, and otherwise attacks these constructs with everything she's got. Help her or hinder her, she won't stop- she's got her mission and she will complete it. If she sees anyone else attacking these sirens as well, she will certainly lend a hand.]

Aug. 23rd: So roll the window down, won't let you go like this

"Please."

It's as close to begging as she can get, what with her pride and her inability to be truly vulnerable.

"Please, you have to listen."

It's more a feeling than a certainty. But it's a good hunch all the same with how overheated she has seen people looking today. There are scorch marks on the ground and she's had to swallow back bile at the smell of burning flesh in the air. She doesn't want more people to die like this. So she'll be doing what she can, trying to cool people down and talk with them, one last time.

"It doesn't have to end like this. You have to break free."

Wildcard: Are we just bodies that collide? Lost and found each other

[Got any prompts/ideas? Feel free to hit me up to plot or just throw whatever on here! I'm all for it!]

23rd

[motherfucking_ghost]

If she wants to pour water on him at some point, she's certainly welcome to. It's not, however, a good idea to try and touch him. He gives off a heat shimmer, armor burning hot to the touch and black undersuit not much better.

There are alarms going off in his head. Literal ones, red flashes of alarm from his HUD. Is this how it ends? Not with getting dragged under the murky water to be judged, but betrayed by fire?

No. No, that's not...right, is it?

He doesn't know her. She's not a friend. But, she's not an enemy, either. She's just here, and Church finds he can appreciate that. He can't fight like this, propped up against rock, lightly cradling a patched up wound in his gut with one hand, the other flopped out uselessly.

"Are...we winning?"

The words feel heavy and strange on his nonexistent tongue. The wailing sirens are much quieter now, and memories are bleeding out of everywhere. Is he going crazy from the heat?

"Can't be free until they're gone."