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wildestlogs2021-11-09 09:35 pm
wildestmods) wrote in wildestlogs2021-11-09 09:35 pm
HEARTSTONE TROLLMARKET ※ CAMP
HEARTSTONE TROLLMARKET
The Nightrenders and the Sisters stop following their prey once they get some distance into the woods. The protective aura coming from the shelter up north is full of deep protective magic.
It is a strange place. It looks like a massive cavern underground was somehow thrust up through earth and stone, until the roof and one wall cracked and fell in many places, creating a sort of canyon with rounded inner walls. If they look up they'll see a starry band of the night sky through the cracked roof. The rocks clearly crushed some houses and businesses but seem to have finally settled, so it's safe to wander around.
The way the ceiling opened was a source of far more tragedy than the falling rocks, though. When day breaks, they'll see the band of sunlight that cut through this community. Scattered through this band of light are large figures wrapped in sheets and blankets, tied in place with pieces of bright cloth. Little trinkets lay scattered at their feet. If anyone takes one of the blankets off, they'll see the petrified figure of a troll, their stone face forever etched in fear and surprise. It's clear from the cloth coverings and the trinkets that this is a people that cared for their dead, and that had community and family life. Among some of the trinkets are the drawings of children and dolls left for their lost loved one.
Market stalls have been ransacked, house doors are open, with larders of whatever this people ate empty, like the people here left very suddenly. Perhaps they felt the need to leave because of their sudden exposure - their community not thrust on the surface, the walls and ceiling holding back the sun crumbling.
Or perhaps the were nervous because of what was happening to the great crystal at the center of their world: the Heartstone. This great glowing crystal that got folded into the Wilderlands, was the nexus of magical energy of a world, its lifeblood, the beating heart of all magic. It sustained and protected the trolls.
It is cracked and dying. Dimming to a deeper color, occasionally flickering in a way that shows that someday it will dim completely. But not tonight. Tonight its nourishing, protective magic will keep the monsters away and give them some light in the dark. Even without the torches of the trolls, the Heartstone's light causes gems and crystals in the cavern - now a canyon - to glimmer with its protective light.
❧ Quest magic: Players can handwave that the quest bond magic ultimately tugged the group to the Heartstone, eventually teleporting any stragglers to it. Once the group is gathered there, no one can go far without getting teleported back.
❧ Time Period: The mods will set up a top-level for the night they all arrived, and a top-level for players to post their ongoing threads set over the ensuing days. Unless the group decides to leave faster, they will likely stay there for several IC days. (And the mods will probably allow this rest stop to run 1-2 OOC weeks, but will touch base with the playerbase on their preferences.)
❧ NPCing: No npcs are left in Trollmarket - the trolls have abandoned their now unsafe home. However, gnomes can be found wandering the canyon. The gnomes seem sentient, as they clearly speak a squeaky language that just can't be translated, but they're near feral, once the pests of the trolls. They're small, extremely fast, massively strong for their tiny sizes, and love to steal the belongings of bigger people. Groups of them sometimes gang up to carry larger items. They're also aggressive: prone to biting with their pointy teeth, and taking off their pointy caps and leaping at people to stab them with the pointy horns on the tops of their heads.
❧ Supplies: There is no human food in Trollmarket and the remains of any stalls advertising food make that clear. The trollish writing on the signs is translated by translation magic to Sylvaen, the language they've all gained knowledge of. Apparently the trolls liked to eat rocks and various minerals, socks stolen from humans, and cats. Fortunately, the cages from the stalls advertising the last one are empty, and the feral cat colony around Trollmarket makes it clear they weren't taken as emergency rations. (Occasionally there is a great racket as the gnomes and cats go to war.) However, there are resources like course cloth, woolen blankets, and sewing and cobbling materials. There are also leather goods like satchels, packs, and belts. There is rope. And waxy paper that can be used to wrap food supplies.
❧ Weapons: There are weapons that can be found in places, but not many. The trolls were not a peaceful people but they settled most of their problems with simple, non-fatal brawling, rather than anything crueler, only fighting against outside attackers. The few weapons that can be found are very large and heavy, clearly meant for war. They're built for a people that averages 8-10 feet tall and only the strongest and largest among the squad will find them anything but unwieldy. However, there are a few "small" knives of crude metal that can be used as short swords, and metal shields probably used as bucklers, that would work as full shields for normal-sized people.
❧ Forest resources: The woods around Trollmarket are safe, especially if traversed during the day. They're full of potential food, for those that know what to look for. There are wild blueberries, raspberries, and huckleberries, and enough flat, dark rocks to dry fruit in the sun. At the edge of a nearby pond are cattails, with edible roots, and reeds and grasses that can be used for basket-making. Dandelions grow everywhere, with edible flowers and roots, and there are edible marigold flowers. There's ample firewood, pieces of flint (though it takes time to find them), and wild game like deer and rabbits. The trolls' cookware, cutlery, and knives can be used to cook and dress animals, but might be heavy to take along. Water can be found in the pond (though it'd need boiling), or in small, cleaner springs in the woods.
❧ Spells: Archivists will find that there are little springs in the woods that they can draw spells from. The mods will make up random spells for Archivist players that request one.
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"Why would they trust him?" is Dean's response.
Dean knows that Crawly, or whatever, isn't even what he's really upset about. It's that Dean, once again, couldn't do his damn job. That everyone seems to have a set of rules they're working off of that Dean doesn't understand. That Dean, as always, is wrong.
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"Why would they trust you or me? Or the vampire kids? Or all the werewolves? Or the rabbit guy? Or that fella with the shoulders so big you could eat off 'em?"
Cayde starts some slapdash finger counting.
"I think we're all stuck with one another, and it's making some things different."
He taps his chin thoughtfully.
"As for him, I might just be falling for a lie, that's true. But I feel like he's not cut from the same stuff as your other demons. I met him while he was sitting on the ground jabbing himself with a needle and cursing up a storm because he can't hem an edge. I'd expect a little more menace and style, you know?"
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"But those other things-- most of them are kids. I can't blame them for that, y'know?"
His dad could, but Dean's spent his life trying and failing to be John Winchester. What's one more, in the grand scheme of things?
"He's got yellow eyes," he says like that's supposed to mean something. "How am I supposed to let him go?"
He's not supposed to. That's the point. Dean's managed to fuck up the one thing that matters above all else because of, what, a crisis of conscience? Dean's had them before, and he's pushed through it because that's what Dad needed him to do. Who gives a shit if he feels bad or conflicted? He needs to man the fuck up and realize that sometimes you gotta do things you don't like.
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This isn't a secret, really. Crowley was public with that information. But Cayde gets a feeling Dean may not have it.
"Now, I'm not saying you need to be best pals with him. I wouldn't be lining up to shake all his hands if this place decided to drop a Fallen Kell on me, either."
That's a terrible image. He shouldn't have even spoke that into existence. Awful.
"But I don't think it's all over for you with everybody if you wanna come back with the rest of us and keep an eye on him, but more civil-like. We could use all hands on deck in this place."
He kind of wishes they'd talk. He likes both of these guys well enough so far. Winchester's a bit of a hothead, but he's got spirit. Crowley's resignation to the hand he's been dealt makes Cayde feel like a sense of kinship. There's a big mess some communication might help with. But Cayde, an outsider, absolutely cannot resolve this. He won't ask that, he knows better.
If he can help at least make Dean feel like he's still part of the group, that will have been the most he could hope for here.
no subject
He has no idea what the hell that means, but he imagines it's something terrible that Cayde has had to fight before.
"I just don't know what to do. It's like-- my whole life, I've been taught one thing. It's not even a thought anymore, it's just instinct. See a demon, you gotta send his ass to hell. Without hesitation. Every second you delay is someone's life on the line."
Another family torn apart.
"If a demon ain't evil, what the hell is?"
'If a demon ain't evil, what does that make me?' is what he doesn't say. What does it make Dad? Dad can't be wrong, though. Dad's never wrong, not about hunting and demons and the thing that killed mom. So demons have to be evil, all of them.
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Cayde looks him over thoughtfully, this unfortunate son who's only... what, 25? He's young. Cayde can't remember what it's like to be that young, it was six lifetimes ago. Something happened to this young man to make him into this, and he believes in it. If they're going to make a space for him in this misfit band, they're going to have to find a way to work with this.
"I got two things for you here." Cayde holds up two fingers.
"The first one: here's the thing about instincts. You can learn to control 'em instead of letting them control you. It's not fun, mind, 'specially if you went to all the trouble of building one up for yourself in the first place, but you can do it."
He's not suggesting the impossible. He folds down one finger.
"Second: Look. I've been around a few blocks and think I know a thing or two about evil. Where I come from, we got all kinds of evil monsters crawling out of cracks in the moon and other weird places nobody should ever have to deal with. We got people out in the wilds that'll sell your soul up any river you please just to fill their belly another night. It doesn't matter what you are. Evil's what you do."
They're bold words from Cayde-6. He falls too easily into his own pit traps, painting with broad brushes when he needs to give the world a quick onceover. But if he's actually going to try to give advice to this young man, he's going to make it the same he'd leave behind for himself.
"I know it doesn't feel good to leave your back open. But sometimes, it's a choice between doing that and waking up the next day to find you're not somebody you like being anymore. I don't recommend that experience."
When did this get earnest? He doesn't like it. Maybe this is a side effect of how he had to bottle things up for a bit and find a journal. Ugh.
no subject
Dean's lived a life based on what is and isn't. On what something is and isn't. He's a Winchester before anything else, and there's a certain way Winchesters walk and talk and fight and fuck. Winchester men don't cry; Winchesters don't turn their back on family; Winchesters want to avenge Mary. But if being a Winchester doesn't define him-- who the hell is he? What is he, if not a grunt in Dad's grief-stricken war on the world? What is he if not cannon-fodder to protect those he cares about?
Dean's the good son, the good soldier, the brother, the replacement mother, the stand-in father, the mindless follower, the fuck up... Isn't he?
And Dad... Dad's the general, the superhero, the martyr. He's supposed to be the one who's always right, the one who makes the rules and breaks them. He can't be wrong. If he's wrong, then...
Dean can't even go down that road right now. He's been on this precipice before, after leaving Sonny's; after Sam announced he was going to Stanford. Dean's always made the call to step back, but that doesn't mean he hasn't looked over the edge. He has an idea of what's down there, he just doesn't think he'd survive the fall.
"I don't-- I can't--" his brain can't formulate a response that isn't just screaming as loud as he can at the unfairness of it all.
"Not for me," Dean finally says, stepping back from the edge of the cliff once again.
It's true. Other people get to choose who and what they are, and what they do with it. Dad, Sam, Bobby, Cassie-- they all get to make that choice. They all get to make choices.
Dean never has.
no subject
He's not making the connection, though he is starting to ask himself 'oh shit, what did I break?'
He's been appreciating the freedom of this place. There's no Tower, no Guardians he's responsible for, no Zavala to listen to. (Though he's coming to miss them. All of them. He especially hopes the big Z is alright without him there to lose at chess and win at cards from time to time.)
The only rules holding Cayde down are the limitations on their movement, and the principles he brought with him.
Maybe that's what's got Winchester, too.
no subject
"I can't-- I don't get to choose," he finally spits out. The words are both bitter and resigned. Dean's known since he was four years old that things that other people get-- things that people get, period-- aren't for him.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and ducks his head into his jacket collar, as if he can hide in it.
"It just ain't an option for me," he says, much quieter and defeated.
no subject
"Pssshh, of course you get to choose!"
He claps Dean on the shoulder, even giving him a little shake. It's a friendly, bolstering gesture he'd make toward one of his own Hunters back home.
"Everybody gets to make choices. It's what makes us human. Even the bad decisions. Especially the bad decisions, actually. Who's gonna come in here and step on your neck and stop you, huh? I'll have a real nice conversation with 'em."
It's a joke, but also really. He doesn't like seeing this done to a person. He's not a guy who dwells on inevitability, doesn't believe in it. There's always a trick you can pull somewhere, a card you can tuck in your sleeve. To see someone so young so sure he's in a corner is sad.
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Cayde's jovial tone cuts through Dean's sad bullshit. He pulls away, upset with himself for being so goddamn needy all the time.
"No one," he says way too quickly. It's obvious he's lying. "It's just not somethin' that's for me, that's all."
His tone is defensive, but still vulnerable.
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"Then it's just you," he says. It's obvious that there's a lie here, Cayde's not a therapist but he is one hell of a poker player. Still, it doesn't do to demand a man's secrets. He'll work with what he has.
"Keeping a boot on your own neck's a hard road. Makes it pretty tough to walk. I don't think you're giving yourself such a short leash for a bad reason, Winchester, but you're gonna strangle yourself on it if you think everything you do is just a matter of course. It's okay to have doubts, you know?"
Goddammit, we're still earnest.
"I make calls every day that I don't know whether they're good or bad until they land. And I'm old. There's no list of rules you can follow to the letter for the rest of your life and always come out the right way up."
no subject
"Yeah," he says quietly. His head is filled with all of the things Cayde's been saying, unsure of how to process them. His instinct is to shove them aside and stuff them in a box far, far away from the light of day. But he can't seem to make himself do it. Something about his words are sticking to Dean's chest and buzzing in his ears.
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This is pure Hunter talk, the kind of thing you have to remind a group that tends to have a big share of loners.
"Come back to camp. I promise nobody's gonna kick you out. It might be awkward for a day or two, sure, but I think you can handle that."
C'mon, Dean. Can you be a bad enough dude to deal with things being a little weird? Cayde thinks so.
no subject
He's handled a hell of a lot worse.
"I'll head back in a bit, I think I wanna stay here for a little while."
Alone, he implies.
Then, after a moment of quiet, "thanks, man."
It's all he can get out, but he hopes Cayde understands.
no subject
"Good. I'll see you back there when you do," he says.
He doesn't say "you're welcome," but he does thump Dean's shoulder on his way past.
He thinks he'll be alright, for now.