SEPTEMBER TDM + SETTING UPDATES

[beleos]

BEARING FRUIT (NEW CHARACTERS ONLY)

It starts out as a pleasant dream. You’re in your favorite place, with your favorite people. It’s a moment of idyllic comfort.

And then, it goes wrong.

The sky turns dark above, and as you look up, you see the black expanse of space spotted with faraway pinprick lights of stars. Yet, they’re not stars. You’re certain. They’re watching you. A billion eyes all looking down, and they spill forth as if sky itself was a dam holding back those dark waters. You reach back to the people you’re with, but they’re frozen in place. Their eyes are black, reflecting only the expanse of dark eyes.

So you run, even though you know you won’t escape it. You glance back and see it not overtaking, but consuming. The landscape around you is being devoured, and you can see it cracking apart. The world itself is breaking, and it cracks under your feet. You fall, and the billion eyes chase after you until the darkness swallows you whole. There’s agony as if you’re being ripped apart, and then—

You cannot see. You cannot feel. You simply are. Yet even so, impossibly, a woman’s voice speaks gently.

I’m sorry it couldn’t be saved. But, come, it’s time to wake.

You wake with a start, cradled by soft, velvety plants, and sticky with a sap that smells faintly of honey and iron. You can see the veins of the leaves that hold you, lit warmly and gently by what looks like a crystal embedded above you. Yet, it’s odd, because that crystal calls to you. When you reach out to touch it, it’s warm. Familiar. Important. You don’t know why, but you know you must hold onto this, because now it feels wrong for it to be suspended in these leaves. So, you pull it out.

The light starts to fade, but only in time to see as the leaves cradling you immediately start to soften and crumble, and with it comes a torrent of dirt. Soft, loamy soil starts to fill the space around you in the dark as you’re buried. Or, rather, you already were. You reach out through the dirt desperately, and your hands finds a root, so you pull while you clutch that precious crystal so close that it almost feels like it sinks into you (in your panic, you don’t notice that it does). You reach out again, and this time, your hand hits open air and plenty of sturdy roots around to grab.

From a seed you’re born, and like a sprout, you make your way out of the ground.

And once you’ve clawed your way out of the soft earth and the roots, nearby, you see the soil shift. Another hand comes up to grasp desperately for something, anything, just as you had been.

TWO CITIES, ALIKE IN DIGNITY

With the new Shard-Bearers present or en route, it is Kathova and Cetina that approach the established ones, requesting that they form mentorships with the new souls to assist them with the integration process. To this end, they have both provided a centralized zone in both Highstorm and Springstar for a small, casual meet-and-greet to be held before the new Shard-Bearers are unleashed upon Kenos as a whole.

Additionally, as Springstar and Highstorm are holding their events on different days, it is possible for the knowledge-hungry to participate in both informational sessions -- the tones and opinions held by both cities are doubtless to differ, and some Shard-Bearers who have chosen to harmonize with either faction may even find their way to the opposing faction's session as well.

However, for those who have attended such events in the past, they'll note a marked difference—Only newly arrived Shard-Bearers and members of the faction are welcome. If you're a member of the opposite faction, you'll be questioned and ultimately turned away. If you want to join the party, you'll have to be a little sneakier, it seems.

SPRINGSTAR, αιώνιος ήλιος

In Springstar, the seat of the Tribune becomes available for such a forum. While a section of the building itself has been reserved for the meeting between fresh faces and experienced Shard-Bearers alike, the hustle and bustle of Heliopolis continues around them -- acolytes still gather their robes and tomes, hurrying from their quarters to lessons. A score of young militants march in step across the yard to the training grounds.

The welcoming party is in the Seat of the Tribune, with tables draped in white-and-gold-trimmed fabrics fare filled with fare typical to Springstar's slowly fading winter -- fruits and wines, savory smoked meats and roasted vegetables, and large bowls of soups like youvarlakia and fasoalda have been lain out to encourage forum participants to snack as they speak. There are plenty of grains and other dishes that elude to an abundant harvest from Alenroux. The atmosphere is ambient with informality and friendliness, though topics will inevitably stray towards philosophic or political, Springstar's meeting grounds are decorated with handsome chaise lounges and slouching klismos chairs in small, intimate groupings. This is a forum in the classical sense, where people are encouraged to speak freely, no matter the topic. Though excitement charges the air, the gathering at the Seat is much more muted than what transpires outside the center of the city.

The mood in Springstar as a whole is jubilant, with not just a party at the seat of the tribune, but elsewhere, including the Psychagogía district. Parties line the streets, establishments that overflow with bodies, drink, and libations of all sorts. There is a sense of excitement in capturing the latest oracle, and the people seem to treat the shard-bearers of Meridian somewhat reverently, and new ones, they will pull aside and explain with excitement about how the Shard-Bearers captured the oracle (with varying degrees of accuracy) and how it is because of them that they will be seen to victory. Cyrus’s name, however, still comes with notes of disdain. It’s clear that the Tribune has not bought much good favor by their victory, and instead, if any ask, or follow the threads, they will hear the names Desmond Ó Ruadháin and Agapitos Voreen as likely successors to the Tribune. However if one asks how that happens… details become a bit more muddy. Apparently, the role of the Tribune is for life. And apparently, the denizens of Springstar trust the Shard-Bearers to see the oracles through, and still see Cyrus as a weak link in their chain.

HIGHSTORM, луны-близнецы

Eternally in opposition, Highstorm provides the Manor's courtyard as the setting for their informational meeting. Formality is of utmost importance here, with attending Zenith loyalists and residents dressed in beautiful, albeit austere attire -- they are, after all, standing before Lady Yima's home. A buffet-style luncheon is spread alongside one of the largest reflecting pools, wherein you may gaze and find your memories revealed in retrospect upon the water's surface. Soft tunes filter over the courtyard, and if the sounds of them sound familiar – perhaps remind one of home? That’s because they are! Yima’s musicians seem to be able to pilfer strings and strands of music, and weave it all together expertly, to give both new arrivals and old friends reminders of their home.

There are few places to be seated in the Manor's courtyard, resulting in a milling of bodies as they flow and ebb between smaller gatherings, clustering in small-to-large groups with small platters and shimmering flutes of drink held in their hands. Yet, as you look, you’ll see that the selection is also quite interesting. The foods and drinks on offer are from a multitude of worlds, and so you may find a new favorite! Or something not suited to your palate at all. It’s at least a chance to be adventurous. If you try something and don’t like it, might not want to say that out loud, lest you insult someone who’s from that world.

The city itself is more muted than usual. The last dregs of Highstorm’s chill summer are coming to an end, and the cold is an opportunity for Highstorm’s denizens to batter in more frequently, and the chill may have something to do with the lost oracle. Though, if asked, they’ll say nothing of the sort, of course! In opposition to Springstar’s mixed jubilation and doubt, Highstorm’s denizens seem determined that lady Yima will see them through, and that one loss is no reason to fall into despair. Though they are still disappointed, and will say so. Though blame does not seem to have a target, mere disappointment filters through the city, as they start preparing for winter. The prices seem higher, whether one is looking for potions, supplies, or even small trinkets from the The Antiques & Baubles Market. Things seem… leaner in a sense. There’s nobody starving on the streets in Highstorm, but the control of Alenroux continues to lead to tense relations, even though a compromise seems to have been recently reached between the two factions.

SETTING UPDATES

In both locations, information passes between all in a forum, spread and disseminated among the masses - it's a good opportunity for city residents, faction loyalists and interested new parties to share and share alike. Once the meet-and-greet has concluded, twin missives from both faction leads are read out -- invitations for all present to explore the cities to their heart's content, and warnings about stumbling ill-prepared ( or at all ) into the Below, or worse yet, the Beyond. As Shard-Bearers new and old take in their cities, they'll all see it change throughout the month...

OOC, these are all updates to the setting at large that players both new and old are free to interact with as little or as much as they wish! Feel free to use them as prompts on this post, in your characters on-going lives and arcs, or just let them go "that's none of my business" and ignore it. The world of Kenos is shaped by our playerbase, and these are some of the wider reaching effects of various player plots and actions.

THE BLIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

Since the Blight’s conclusion, both cities have undergone a fair bit of effort to reconstruct the districts and buildings that were destroyed in the Blight, though Springstar seems a touch further along than Highstorm, due to Shard-bearer efforts. The unusual weather pockets present previously have very nearly all disappeared, though there are some patches still present, lingering in the areas still somewhat ravaged by the Blight. The pockets seem to be losing their effects now, and if one finds themself within, will experience a mild slowing down or speeding up of time. Visions still appear within the small bubbles, reflections of dear ones or important events, though they seem to be only memory, though anyone within the bubble can bear witness.

FURTHER DETAILS

OOCly, characters can still stumble into small bubbles of time, though they are fewer and far between than they were 3 months ago! These time bubbles still have some time-warping energy, and will continue to allow characters to either speed up or slow down, depending on player preference! In addition, the time bubbles are no longer bringing back remnants of Kenosians past, but there is still the chance of some memory reflections to briefly manifest in the bubble. They will come from player characters as a whole, and are purely up to whatever is fun for you! Think of it as brief flickers of memory sharing, they can be as brief or as distorted as you like! Think of this as the last gasp of the Blight, as it withers away thanks to the concentrated efforts of all shard bearers!

CHECKS AND BALANCES

Alenroux continues to improve, and with the new balance between both Springstar and Highstorm, the separate island is safer than ever! The tensions between both factions seem to have reduced over the island, thanks to the efforts of several shard bearers, and the populace seems to be warming to both factions once again.

FURTHER DETAILS

After the resolution of the first Kenos Ambassador agreement, the balance of power in Alenroux is already starting to shift. The island already has a much more evenly-matched number of military forces from both Springstar and Highstorm, the number of troops in the area has reduced significantly. The number of monsters does not seem to have increased at this time, which bodes well for the area. The uptick of Highstorm locals has certainly led to more food flowing into Highstorm than had before, and the people seem pleased with the arrangement – for the moment! The small murmurs of discontent and unrest seem to have alleviated at this time. Though some still seem uncomfortable with the amount of troops, they seem less willing to say that out loud. Though nights in Alenroux will possibly never be wholly safe, the threats seem more manageable, though nobody will ever turn down Shard-Bearer assistance in a pinch!

TO INFINITY – AND BEYOND

Rumbling about temples being erected in the Beyond, which lies outside of Highstorm’s city limits, close to another that had been erected previously. Not one shrine out there, but two it seems. It shines like the sun when the moonlight catches it just right, and it’s visible over the line of trees that marks the edge of the Beyond. The more brave and curious of Highstorm’s denizens have started making more treks into the Beyond for both shrines, and the fact that most come back unharmed seems to encourage others to follow. And for those that may not be able to make the trek safely, there's an opportunity to make a bit of money by leading the way to the shrines and offering the curious pilgrims protection from the Beyond's dangers. There’s rumbling amongst them – Quetzalcoatl – Set – the names of gods of worlds long past, and though there are not many that will stray from Highstorm’s resident deified figure – Lady Yima – there are enough that it’s easy to catch pilgrimages out to the temple, and to visit them yourselves, as well!

FURTHER DETAILS

Quetzalcoatl erected a bright and gigantic temple right next to Set's in the Beyond! Right next to Highstorm! I'm sure that's fine and will not have any diplomatic consequences in the future! Both gods have been drawing in new curious individuals – some who may be worshippers with time – and it's drawn the curiosity of many.

SMALLER CHANGES

GRAND LARCENY

An uptick in crime between both Springstar and Highstorm has both the Legion and Yima’s own private guard scrambling as they struggle to find rhyme or reason behind the latest crime spree taken up in both cities. Though there doesn’t seem to be a specific source, local chatter suggests that it might be coming from a mysterious underground, though most can’t say where... there’s vague gestures, and remarks about Below, without any concrete details. Those who are familiar with – or find out about – Kowloon, may find plenty of stolen items within Kowloon’s markets, though if asked, the keeper will simply shrug and say they retrieved it from a reputable source. Who? Well, they don’t know, they don’t remember their face. I’m sure this is fine and won’t lead to trouble later down the line!

Completely unrelated, those who are known to be or obviously affiliated with Springstar continue to encounter difficulty in Kowloon. It’s become a touch more brazen – more pickpocketing, even higher prices, or even some outright derisiveness from some businesses, although they seem to be centered more around Draumahol, and the further one gets from the business in the underground city (or as far as one can get) the more willing businesses seem to engage with those from Springstar, and the more… apologetic they are about higher prices, though they do still seem to be across the board.

FAE MISCHEIF

It’s not just the underground that seems to be reeling from a spike of theft, though this one seems more obvious – and innocuous! Faeries from the Greenwood Yard seem to still be reeling from recent Shard-Bearer intrusions, so bearers new and old may find small items of varying importance are missing. They’ll generally come with a calling card; a small note that is part threat and part invitation for a game, to come find them within the Greenwood Yards. After hearing about the issue, a certain potion shop owner sets up a small stall by the yards, and will offer to help the shard bearer with their predicament – for a price, of course! Better have a few gold coins on you!

The owner will offer bearers a round-trip to tiny town yet again, to retrieve whatever was stolen, though this time it comes with no visions, and generally the fairies will consider things to be even, if bearers come to retrieve it with politeness and a request for it to be returned. If a bearer threatens them… well. Let’s hope you brought a friend along to help with this fae threat, then!

OOC NOTES

Welcome to Kenos! As a reminder, all new players need an invite to apply to the game, which are now open.

This log is Game Canon. Any characters who are not apped to the game will disappear. If Cyrus or Yima are asked, they’ll explain that this sometimes happens since not every soul has a strong tether to Kenos and sometimes return to the Timestream. They may return to Kenos one day, but for now, weren’t able to make the full journey.

As a note primarily for current players, closed toplevels/prompts are not allowed in this log. If you would like to interact with the setting changes in a way that isn't open to all characters (new and old), we ask that you instead make a log in kenoslogs.

FOR NEW PLAYERS:

When characters emerge from their cocoon/the ground, they may be wearing their normal clothes or nude. Up to you!

At some point in the days after leaving the Tree of Life, new Shard-Bearers will have a dream, even if they're usually not capable of sleeping. All new players should read this post since this details how they'll learn about both factions and their goals and should help them make a decision about which Faction they'd be drawn to.

As a reminder, your character has a Shard somewhere on their body that encompasses their soul, so keep note of where you're sticking it on their person for reference! Additionally, they have a tattoo of their Aspect somewhere on their body. Please be mindful this Aspect will be assigned to you upon approval and whatever you choose for the TDM may be temporary (for new characters)!

For the Highstorm and Springstar prompts, both cities will be fully open and accessible to all characters once they are freed from their rather harrowing ordeal at the Tree of Life. For prompt ideas and any general information about the cities and what you can find there, please see the Navigation page and check out the locations!

New characters will not have access to any canon abilities on the TDM until they Harmonize, AKA make a choice of which faction they choose to support. For some characters, this may be an easy decision, but it make take others time. We just ask you keep this in mind!

CODING

Comments

drizzt do'urden ( the forgotten realms )

[twohand]

— BEARING FRUIT.

[ — at the end of all things, there was a song. ( Don't forget me, he sighed into Guenhwyvar's dark fur, her low groan of mourning fading into the bite, the cold, as the world had faded away. ) In the last dregs of life, he thought he felt her hands upon him. The rough, broad-palmed sweep of her warm hands and it had been so long, he thought he had forgotten what she felt like, smelled like. The exact color of her hair and the drawl of her voice, gathered from so many years spent with her family. And then, there was the end.

A. ( NEW CHARACTERS ) It isn't the first time he's felt this way. Breaking out, to the surface, feels like being reborn — again and again, each time, to find the sky again. He drags himself out from below a sizable root, struggling to push aside dirt and widen the gap below the titanic curve of the greatest tree he's ever seen in his entire life. The effort is exhausting, his muscles weak from exertion and his mind still stuttering on the vision of rampant destruction, of the end and the End. A certain soul-deep exhaustion leaves him flopping boneless ( thankfully dressed, in a dark tunic and soft, worn-leather pants ) across the ground.

Heedless of anyone who might have already emerged, he gasps for breath and screws his eyes shut against the world above. Vast and starry and unknown. ]

— I thought, [ he gulps, a little pained, ] you were going to let me rest — ?

[ B. ( ESTABLISHED CHARACTERS ) Someone must come by, eventually. A helpful hand, a curious soul, someone fixated on the health and well-being of the Tree of Life — someone. Anyone. Perhaps it is a little alarming, to find a new face seated at the edge of the island. The very edge, where the Tree's roots tip off the earth and spread out into the astral seas, at the very edge of the great, broken island that houses it. With his legs swinging over the dangerous, unstable edge and his expression smoothed out, he might seem someone prepared to take the leap, the plunge.

A dark figure, pushing white hair behind long, tapered ears as he leans himself forward a little more... just a little more, to catch a glimpse of what the End looks like. ]

— TWO CITIES.

[ It is such a small world, and in its strangeness, its newness, he finds himself filled against his better judgement with tired wonder. His hands easily finding food, his greetings met with easy acceptance and a strange, abruptly-given respect. It takes him little time to realize that the reason for all of that is not because he comes Known, but because of the pretty, pale stone that sits under the messy fringe of his wild hair, nestled like a four-pointed star that drips down between his eyes.

( It's very Last Unicorn inspired. Blame the Unicorn -> Lady Amalthea -> Mielikki pipeline for this one. )

He brushes his hair down a little more, to hide it. Unwarranted and unearned attention disquiets him, after all.

A. SPRINGSTAR. The sunlit streets of Springstar are a different kind of brilliance, that even his adapted vision aches under. He spends most of his time with one hand perched across his brow, sheltering his squinting, violet eyes from the rays of those twin stars. It's a beautiful city, rife with passionate people and a youthful atmosphere; he finds himself a little in love with it, as easy as breathing. The cobblestone streets are musical, playing the sound of hundreds upon hundreds of footsteps that weave in and out of the city, and at times

he has to,

just stop, and breathe. Finding himself slipping into a narrow space to press his hands to the cool, shadowed walls ( the only shadows in Springstar are in places like that, cast by those that live and the structures that exist — ) and gasp for air. The rising feeling he cannot place seizing at his lungs and battering him into momentary submission, because there is so much. A trail of gentle carnage leads to him, discarded food and one or two disgruntled and/or concerned individuals who try to check on him as he sags in the little alley and tucks his head between his knees. ]

I'm okay. [ He murmurs, voice thin and smile barely-there. It's a flash-in-the-pain thing, on a severe face. ] Don't be scared.

[ B. HIGHSTORM. And in contrast, the city of night is quiet. Eerie and still, with prim-proper figures that raise the hackles on the back of his neck and drive his hands to his hips — where nothing is. Nothing will be. ( The dead do not have mortal possessions; Guen and Icingdeath and Taulmaril cannot follow him, where he has gone. ) Even amidst the quiet affair of the informational meeting, his eyes weave and dart sharply, observing faces and hands with experience and attentiveness born of training, trauma and necessity. Though he slips food past his teeth, it is with delicate precision, his focus upon someone in particular — pale and arched and laughing richly at someone's expense.

Stiffly, his hand slips down to the table alongside him, dark fingers closing around silver cutlery ( a knife, sharp and gleaming ) to draw it back to his side. A fluid gesture, but not one that would be impossible to spot. The dark elf slides his food plate onto the table in place of the blade, abandoning it for the moment as he slips across the Manor's grounds towards the creature whom touches the shoulder of the wide-eyed, guileless company it is attempting to keep for the evening.

( If nobody stops him, and soon, he'll be slipping right up alongside the vampire to drive that knife right up through its wagging chin. ) ]

— WILDCARD.

[ Drizzt isn't being apped this round, but might be in the future. Sometimes you want to play with a time-treasured blorbo in a new space, though. One can assume that he slipped away like the feral creature he is, following TDM end, since that's kind of his Style! Wildcard away, bc I'll roll with anything ( it's pax, btw!! ). ]

bearing fruit (a) 😈

[narsinssist]

[ In contrast, this... rebirth of sorts is no struggle. It merely is. Without powers, of course, he cannot hold a glamor, or hide his nature (and have you tried to dig yourself out sporting all the extra pieces and parts that Raphael has?) but by the time that Drizzt has started clawing out of the ground, Raphael is already freed, disentangled, and (mostly) cleaned the muck from his rosy complexion.

Currently, he was admiring the odd, unfamiliar night sky. He looked up at it, his black and flame eyes staring upward, as the struggle continued nearby (Faerûn folk probably grow together or something) as he looked upward. None of the stars made sense — an oddity given the expanse of worlds and realms he had thus far been to. That the sky was unfamiliar was... odd.

Disconcerting, of all things.

The drow burst from his own cage, mumbling something in the air, and Raphael, already settled onto a root cropping nearby, some feet up from the ground, looked down upon him, and smiled. ]

Hm, and what rest is there, for those of us whom traipse the unknown? [ He asks, his tone musical, musing, certainly pleasant, though he doesn't look it. Not with his wings stretching after his convalescence, that tail swinging idly beneath him, and a crown of horns on his head.

No, he does not look as innocent as his words suggests. ]

BITES,

[twohand]

[ lmfao faerûn folks grow in bunches

The moment he hears that voice ( that voice, unfamiliar in tone but quite specific in cadence and loveliness — ) he rolls, to belly, to toes, and onto his feet. The precise and fluid motion of someone with extensive training and even more application, the lightning-quick speed of someone perpetually on alert; driven by instinct, more than sentient thought, in that moment. Because all he knows, is a voice like that means be on your toes and so, he simply is. ]

The rest one prays for, at the end of a fair life.

[ Roseate skin, curling horns and wings and tail — he is reminded, briefly and very distantly, of Errtu. Very distantly, though. The rank and file of demons is not exactly his central focus, but he has laid tooth and blade upon them before. Even now, his fingers curl as if ready to reach for something ( a weapon, trusted and familiar and gone ) before he clenches them tightly and begins to straighten his posture. ]

Hello, demon. I suppose it right that the End would not discriminate.

[narsinssist]

Is any life fair?

[ He asks, but his eyes are perceptive, knowing. Raphael has been to too many realms, spoken to too many individuals, and heard too many descriptions in random taverns and from bards who wanted to laud the praises of he whom had escaped the Fleshcarver's grasp. ]

Do you truly believe this is the end? [ Raphael did not believe so. Power, perhaps, sang in these lands, in this ground, that they had grown forth, like bunched grapes, that they all ended up so close. It's not surprising, but what is surprising is that he is alone. There are no other devils, cambions, or anything of the like. He feels a shudder of delight and excitement, at the thought of moving, negotiating, navigating through this world in this way.

No eyes watching him, no... distractions. (( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

He swept his hands in a grand, wide gesture. ]

Or could this merely be yet another adventure for the bards to sing of, when Drizzt Do'Urden returns to Faerûn, the victor?

[twohand]

Mine was.

[ Drizzt Do'Urden might be the most boring type of person possessed of a soul, to any creature that coveted such a thing. For he knows in his heart what is fair to him is not the same for someone else; where he will forge a path full of acceptance, others will wail and anguish and ask for more time.

( Why not now? Why not like this? ) ]

I think, instead of looking back and wondering if I took a wrong turn — I should keep going.

[ His tired heart was always going to keep going, right to the end; the only thing that would cause him to drop his blades was death itself, and he had died. He had died and maybe countless centuries later, his soul had seen the End. It was very like a demon to not want that, though. What was a demon, without ambition and momentum? ( He wonders if this one felt fear at all, or if he feared peace for himself. )

And then he sighs, small and tight. Even here, someone knows his name. It feels like stealing, to hear song and ballad, it feels wrong to be recognized. Politely, he shakes his head and demurs with soft humility. ]

Please, don't.

[narsinssist]

No? For a man who received such accolades, you wish for so little?

[ It's true. Raphael was all ambition — a Cambion with his sights to be as high, if not higher, than his own father was truly ambition of the highest order — but this man, this small, humble man, wanted none of that. Now, Raphael did not mind the want to keep his name hidden, for how did one work in the shadows if his name was not known?

But this?

This was anathema to him. ]

Even Elminster is more driven.

[ He mutters, but it's wiped to another smile. He cannot glamor for now so Drizzt must have only his full, Cambion glory, which really says all it must, about the nature of this man devil. ]

And where shall you go, in this new, strange world of ours? We cannot stay idle, but should we blindly stumble in the dark?

f r u i t

[gliblie]

[There is only so much sitting and waiting that Nyskie can stomach, even when obliged to by the trembling of her newborn limbs and the untamed chaos of a mind woken fresh from a nightmare. She gives a little while, to take stock of herself and her strange new circumstances. Then, she gets up to wander the world of dirt and root and moss that she now finds herself in.

She cannot go far. When she spies the dark form lying on the ground ahead, she decides that this is as good a chance as any to rest her limbs again. She trudges nearer and plops herself down with a small ’oof’, a small, slim woman dressed all in motley, the bright colours dulled by their coating of dirt. With her pale skin and dark hair, she is like an inverse of the stranger on the ground, save for mismatched eyes that stare down at him, black-and-violet, as motley as her garb.

This poor man looks so bedraggled. Probably about as badly as she did, maybe twenty minutes ago. Truthfully she still feels a little harrowed, and she’s glad for the chance for company given she’d thought there might be no one else left anywhere.]

Don’t get up on my account, [she tells him, then flops onto her back with a sigh.] If there’s anything or anyone else around here, I haven’t seen them yet. But maybe if we wait long enough, they’ll sprout up.

[twohand]

[ Weary and woozy as he is, the way his head spins and lungs ache for oxygen is offset by the way the woman appears — her footsteps in the mossy terrain the only thing to herald her arrival. He opens one eye squinting it against the rays of light that beam down through the eternally-sprawling branches high, high above.

It doesn't help, and he eventually has to turn over on his stomach and slip to his knees. Drawing himself into a scrap of shade to better be able to orient his vision, even if he continues to tip his head up toward the warmth above. He doesn't go far, but staying sprawled out on the ground around a stranger is both too much, and not enough. Dead as he has recently become, it hasn't robbed him of his instincts.

He works some sap out of the ends of his hair, but knows he'll have to take to it to keep it from tangling and snarling too badly. ]

'Sprout up'. That sounds kinder, that more will come. Sad, but kind.

[gliblie]

[If Nyskie usually possesses any instincts that would preclude her from lying around next to perfect strangers, her weariness and near-death (or just death?) experience have robbed her of them. Stretched out on her back with her hands lying placidly over her chest, long claws idly tapping, she looks like a cat ready to savage anyone foolhardy enough to go in for a belly rub.]

That’s what you did, isn’t it?

[Judging by the dirt and the sap still clinging to his person, to his hair, to his clothes. She knows she doesn’t look much better; her face paint is probably smudged from the scrubbing she’d done to wipe away the damp soil, and her clothes are a disgrace. If she wasn’t so tired, both physically and mentally, she’d try to marshal her focus at least enough for a prestidigitation spell to clean herself up, but even that seems like too much effort at the moment.

She continues to watch the man as he rolls over and tucks himself out of the warm light cascading down from somewhere within the giant tree’s canopy. Now that his eyes aren’t screwed shut, she can see that they are brilliant violet. Wow, Drizzt, how come your mom let you have two violet eyes…]

What I did, too. After I heard that voice. But I’m no one’s favoured daughter, [— no one with a voice like that, anyway —] so there’s got to be more than just me. And more than just you, I’d think.

[Though perhaps this man is someone’s favoured son.]

[twohand]

[ Old habits die hard, but he does take in the way she seems so carefree about her surroundings. The timbre of her voice, or at least — the way she does not seem to take anything too seriously. If anything, she reminds him of Guenhwyvar, at ease on the ground and prone to rolling her dark, starry spine across the dirt with all of her paws stuck straight up. Waiting for him to come to her side and push his face against her belly, blowing raspberries as he scratched around her ribs. Anyone else who tried that with a panther of her size would have met a very brutal end, lest they were friendly enough.

Guen had always been a wonderful judge of character, he'd found. Better than him. ]

Perhaps not as a daughter, but surely you are someone's favorite. If not now, then one day.

[ A small, brief smile takes him at the corners of his dark mouth, before flickering away. ]

I thought I was going to be able to rest. To move on, and meet my friends again. Instead, my death brings me to this strange place — reborn from the dirt of this grove, and I wonder... am I to rest separate from them? Am I not to rest at all?

[ bit depressing, this guy ]

Do you want to seek the woman who spoke to us?

[gliblie]

[This man has a big case of the post-death gloomies, if Nyskie is any judge. Admittedly, she’s trying not to think too hard about all the things and people and people in the world that met their sudden ends before she was brought here, but she is perhaps fortunate in that she was already far from home when the end came, and putting it out of her mind had already become common practice for her.

Not that she hadn’t met people she liked during her travels, too. On some level, however, she’s confident she’ll also be able to meet people she likes here.]

Mm… Maybe! I haven’t explored this place too much. I don’t know what’s around here.

[Finally she moves, propping herself up on her elbows and then on her hands, before coming to rest curled up with her arms folded over her knees. Maybe there’s something other than moss and roots and impossibly huge branches. She hopes there is, given that she doesn’t seem to have been reborn with any of her belongings aside from her clothes. She’s always been terrible at woodcraft.]

Were you with your friends, before? Maybe you’ll see them again. I don’t think we’re dead; I’m much too sticky.

bearing fruit (a)

[infernalcombustionengine]

[ Another sprout, fresh from Faerûn is struggling up through the earth near to Drizzt. Her rebirth is fraught and violent, as befits the poor woman. She struggles upwards through the earth, first one hand and then the other bursting free to claw and scrabble until her great, single-horned head can burst forth. She gasps for breath, stares up at unfamiliar sky.

She was alive. Alive, amazingly and beautifully alive. How? Where? She grasp her chest for a moment and there's a startled yell that turns into a whoop. ]

OH FUCK! FUCK YES! FUCK!

[ She's wriggling out onto the earth now, laughing fit to burst. It takes her a moment to notice the Drow nearby and she squints. ]

You alright over there?

[twohand]

[ He moves when he is called to, a fluid tangle of lean muscle and sap-heavy hair that rolls to his knees and braces the splay of his fingers against the dirt. A crouched position, perched on his toes like someone ready to take off — but, it is also a position that allows him to rock onto his toes and balance his elbows across his knees. More casual, than instinctively ready to slip into a battle dance.

The woman who alerted him with her strong thrashing, her jubilant cussing, has bright eyes and one horn and his heart constricts around a name — Effron — before slipping it aside to regard her. Violet eyes and a fleeting, quiet smile that flitted away like fae fire but never truly left his gaze. ]

None the worst for wear and surrounded by a beautiful sight. I'm awfully sticky, though.

[ What can he say? Joy was an infection not to be medicated against. ]

[infernalcombustionengine]

Yeah, sticky's the right fuckin' word for it.

[ Karlach says, shaking her head and peering off into distance for a moment, then flicks at some of the still sticky sap that's sticking to her skin and hair. Ugh. ]

...You got an idea where we are? Doesn't look like the Coast.

[ Obviously the Drow is from Faerûn. ]

[twohand]

[ Does he know where they are? ]

Not in the slightest.

[ There's a very large tree. There was a dream, a song, a voice. He tips his head back and looks up, far up into the branches of the wondrous tree above and recollects. The wilderness lessons, the beauty and splendor of the natural world of the surface, all fold together in the briefest of silent prayers. He doesn't know if Mielikki survived the End of Faerûn that he had seen, in his mind's eye; maybe the End wasn't real, either.

It feels real, though. His own death certainly was. ]

Mm, I don't remember anything like this in Icewind Dale or Baldur's Gate, certainly.

[ He slips onto his toes, and finds it in himself to offer a distant, patient hand to her — an offering to help her to her feet. It's comedic that he's absolutely MUCH smaller than her!! ]

I dreamt of a song, and a voice. The end of worlds, which is far more common than most might think. Nobody was able to stave it off, it seems. What's your name, and are you going to be looking for anyone in particular among the roots?

[infernalcombustionengine]

Definitely not the Gate. Grew up there and I'd have remembered a tree this size.

[ Karlach actually laughs, because what else can you do. She takes the offered hand and shoves herself up to her feet with a grunt, then starts brushing off soil and sap as best she can. It's not much good, but it makes her feel like she's doing something at least. ]

Karlach. Karlach Cliffgate. Got some friends I might be on the look out for. Human named Gale, tiefling named Wyll. Half-elf that goes by Shadowheart. Oh, and uh... a Githyanki. Lae'zel.

[ An awkward pause. She didn't leave Astarion off on purpose, it's just harder to explain a vampire spawn, okay? ]

How about you, soldier?

a;

[reviven]

[ The labored breaths are what find Joshua, the sound of them rasped out and rough like the wheezing fits that often caused Joshua to wake in the middle of the night. Joshua immediately wonders if the stranger has a similar constitution or if he had just simply been running too much lately. The heat could also be a contributing factor, and rather than ignore it, Joshua immediately goes to crouch down to check on the man, his own expression radiating concern. ]

Here, I brought some water with me from one of the festivities.

[ It's in a metal flask that they'd gifted him, one that Joshua hastily uncorks and holds out. ]

Drink some before you faint. This is no ideal place to drop your guard. Though this land appears safe and orderly at first glance, even the most prosperous of cities in my homeworld had not been immune to theft and murder.

[ Had he access to his healing magic, he could have aided the stranger further, but this world has seen fit to strip him of even that. ]

[twohand]

[ The kindness of a perfect stranger continues to astound him. It makes him remember why he loves the world, though some would point out that he has been weighed down by more than his fair share of the suffering. There is innate beauty in the way someone can come across another in their time of need and look upon them with compassion; he has to remind himself that Kenos is a land where many different people have come together at the End of all things. That few will know of Faerûn, and fewer still wear knowledge of dark elves upon their brows.

Drizzt reaches a hand up, to take the opened flask into his fingers and sink over it. A long pull of cool water from the depths, and he holds it in his mouth, lets the chill trickle slowly down his throat to attempt to freeze out the stuttering in his chest. His brows knit together, the pale line of a long, four-pointed Shard just barely visible where the southern point begins to thin across the bridge of his nose. It's hard to emote around it, which isn't a total loss. ]

Thank you.

[ Before all else: gratitude. ]

What does it say, then, that instead of being robbed or murdered, I find myself helped by someone with a kind heart?

[reviven]

[ His fingers move on their accord to wipe some of the water away from the stranger's chin before he catches himself. Such a flagrant invasion of this man's personal space may be met with a few lost fingers, and Joshua knows better than to risk it, no matter how cooperative the stranger is being at the moment.

Instead, he waits patiently for the man to have his fill of water, uncaring if he drains the flask completely. Joshua can refill it later if need be. ]

You are fortunate then that I have neither a predisposition for theft nor murder. Some would call it a stroke of luck, but I prefer to think even large cities have their fair share of charitable strangers.

To that end, what happened to leave you in this state?

[ There are no visible injuries Joshua can detect anywhere, but that doesn't mean there aren't any either hidden beneath his clothes or internally. A potion would be just as helpful as having his magic accessible at the moment, but Joshua may just have to see if he can at least help carry this man to a healer. ]

[twohand]

Nor do I. Have a predisposition to harm.

[ He assures, in case this young man were to begin to grow concerned that he had aided someone who might turn about and take advantage of the situation. Someone who might have been acting — lying — to entice him to letting his guard down, abusing his kindness. The mere thought of it sends steel and ice down his spine, emboldens his pleasantries and manners, drives him to be the paragon of his race he has always had to be. Any missteps or mishaps would result in someone, somewhere, crying 'aha, I told you so!' about their long-held faithlessness.

Elves like him remain difficult topics, for the common folk.

He folds the metal flask between his hands, giving it a little tip to test the slosh of the remaining water. Unwilling to give it back, until he has properly refilled it. ]

I am not very good with crowds. [ He admits it, slowly. ] Especially city crowds. It was fine, and then —

[ He touches the tip of a long, tapered ear. A dark point that pierces through the waves and coils of his white hair. ]

Bit too much, all at once.

[reviven]

[ Was he feared in his own world for the peculiar ears? Joshua has trouble believing it would be that shocking to the locals here, considering a lot of them don't look particularly human, but it would also be naive to think there isn't some level of discrimination. He'd be hard-pressed to find a single corner in his own world that hadn't been riddled with negative opinions of a perceived "other." In his own case, that "other" was anyone who could wield magic without crystals. ]

You need not be tense in my presence. That which separates us only ignites my curiosity rather than any fear or contempt.

[ It helps that the stranger has such a striking appearance, one that almost reminds him of Shiva. That association alone is enough to pull at his heart strings. ]

If you would prefer it, I can help you to somewhere a little more private and calming. There were offers for free room and board, albeit temporary.

[ And that probably will come with a caveat at some point, but it is better than abandoning the stranger in an alley where he may be vulnerable to attack. ]

highstorm

[baltimores]

Hey.

[ The soft-spoken voice is accompanied by a hand placed on his shoulder; gentle but with an underlying strength to it that clearly indicates stop. Amos had been eating his own fill at a table not too far away; he had also seen that blade grasped, the intent with which Drizzt stalks across the grounds. A childhood spent in dangerous environments has taught him how to recognize predatory actions, and this seems to be one of those — and from someone who seems to be new, no less.

(He is unaware as to the situation that provoked this; actions speak louder than words, after all. Actions are easier for the trained eye to spot than social intricacies are to hear.)

But there's no judgment in Amos' voice, merely a soft-spoken inquiry now that he surely has his attention, has stopped him from proceeding any further. He is comparatively lacking in formality compared to virtually everyone else here; wear just skirting on the edge of proper (all black counts, right) and a distinct blue collar-ness rounding out his words. ]

Any particular reason you look like you're trying to shank someone?

[ Surely there's a reason, but... time and place, man. This ain't it. ]

[twohand]

Familiarity.

[ He breathes the word on a faint exhale, as the steady hand wraps around him; for as slight and spry a creature he is, there is steel in his lean muscle and just enough to hint that he might be quite able to slip free of that stopping hand to finish his jaunt across the Manor grounds. The violet of his eyes slides away from the laughing vampire, jaw working as he observes the way they stroke the backs of their fingers along the cheek of — someone must be their evening's meal.

He tenses again, and his eyes move to Amos's. ] They'll hurt someone, if they're not stopped.

[ Certainly, he can allow for outliers. After all, he is one of the rare escapees of his own people's dark natures and darker devotions, but he also cannot abide to sit around on his thumbs and wait for someone to be harmed to justify stepping in. He would rather plead for forgiveness, than require a reason to defend someone. A muscle in his jaw jumps, as he lightly presses his free hand to the man's, to slide it off his shoulder. ]

Look.

[ And instead, he points — leaving his hand low at his hip so as not to be viewed overtly beckoning to the figure who leans over the other. The flash of fang and the besotted eyes of the young adult who gazes up at the vampire, enamored. Bespelled? ]

[baltimores]

[ Amos watches Drizzt's body under his hand, noting the coil and sleekness of muscle, before he follows his gaze across the grounds. To the vampire. And yeah, this all looks very horny, Amos doesn't really have many affairs with vampires, but—

His gaze clicks back to him when he speaks up, at the idea of someone getting hurt — here, in front of Yima's manor; here, where this is a place meant to welcome, not just now but throughout the year, important grounds...

His brow furrows. Drizzt slides his hand off of him with no resistance, and Amos looks back out at the vampire and what is now, obviously, prey. Technically it could be consensual, but even if it is... ]

Put the knife away. [ It's a command for Drizzt, though his eyes don't leave the vampire. Amos is quickly evaluating the situation, and... yeah, no. Drizzt's intentions are very likely good, here. He also has no reputation to back him up, so, maybe he shouldn't have something that's going to be used like a weapon out in the open like this.

And then he's the one stalking across the courtyard, blind as to whether Drizzt is following him or not. When he gets within earshot of the pair, Amos calls out to them, voice much louder than it actually needs to be. ]

You think this is the appropriate place to be doing that?

[ Whether it's seeking out a meal or bizarre PDA, it doesn't really matter. Attention is on the three of them now, and Amos carries a threat in his stiffened posture, with his flat voice — time to pack it up and for one of you to go. ]

[twohand]

[ Oh.

It feels pleasant, to be heard. To not be looked upon as someone looking to incite a disturbance, or second-guessed for his intentions. The man who stops him simply tells him to put the knife down ( he does, leaving it stark and shining against the plate of food, so that Amos can see he has willingly disarmed — ) and moves to handle the situation. A command in his voice, a reputation that carries him.

While he does follow, it is at a polite and watchful distance, if only to ensure that the two necking individuals go their separate ways. The vampire one way, their potential prey another — looking chagrined and thoroughly kinkshamed. Better that, Drizzt feels, than dead. Some might think that a vampire was only working in its nature, but in his experience... they oft killed, rather than spared. At the least, he could not function on "what ifs" and "could be's" when someone was in need.

The two part, and for now, it is enough. They may meet later. They may continue where they left off, but he cannot stand by and observe a threat without meeting it. Quietly, he waits for the man's attention to come back his way — to the small, violet-eyed elf with strong forearms and old, pale scars crossing his skin. His knuckles and fingers, his bare arms, the line of his throat and collarbones through the open-necked tunic. ]

Thank you, for stopping them.

[ For doing something. ]