INTO THE WOODS ※ GAME EVENT

[wildestmods]

INTO THE WOODS

The faerie faire goes on into the evening, the faire filled with the sounds of revelry. For those who've spent the day there, the cool evening air is welcome respite from the bright sun that's shined all day. Those who still have some faerie gold might even want to invest in a cloak if they haven't gotten one yet, because it may get chillier as night falls.

As evening descends and various floating flowers start to glow to provide light, the spring faeries start to bring out night-time merchandise and amusements, like brightly-colored phosphorescent flower jewelry. Fireflies are charmed to blink in different colors and magical fireworks paint the sky in vibrant light. They're quieter than normal fireworks, but there are still satisfying snaps and hisses.

It seems like it'll be a pleasant night at the fair and those only just arriving in the evening will find a charming scene opening up before them.

But one thing that isn't noticed as evening begins to fall is the way the winter faeries suddenly slink away into the rising dark. Or at least it isn't noticed until it's too late. Some of the summer faeries start to react to it with alarm.

"Where did they go? The winter faeries are supposed to provide security, they signed an agreement. Go tell Ponto and get some faeries with warding magic to shore up the wards." Faeries start flying with purpose to speak to others that need to be put on security. "We can handle it ourselves but we need to get enough people out to the borders."

"Should we disperse the faire?"

"No, there's no sign of any threats and if we re-ward it, they'll be safer here than people scattering in the woods at night. Even if we had the bad luck to be attacked before the wards are re-done we can defend them with our magic - and we're contracted to."

Unfortunately that bad luck hits too soon. While the faeries scramble to re-do the defense wards, an unearthly fog rolls in. Terrible screeches start to rend the air, sounding similar to the screams of foxes. Warning bells ring from warning wards placed in certain areas of the woods.

"Nightrenders!" someone calls out and people in the crowd start screaming, gathering their loved ones closer. Horrifying beings start to pour into the faire and the hand stamps of all the people who bought tickets ahead of time start to glow. Faeries rally around those people, casting powerful defensive spells. Due to the panic, several stalls start to go up in flames due to knocked over cooking fires. Fortunately the stalls are small enough for people to escape them easily and spread far enough apart that they can be avoided, but smoke joins the fog in the air.

If a faerie sees one of the squad of otherworlders, and their lack of glowing hand stamp they're quick to offer a warning. "You have to run! The people who bought tickets ahead of time entered into a magical agreement of protection. The warding takes time to charge. We can do nothing for you, without slow-charge wards we're not powerful enough to protect you. The Nightrenders will devour your brain, or your soul."

Apparently that little disclaimer about not being fully protected that some of them read while coming in (for those that had arrived earlier in the day) was more important than it seemed.

The faeries always point the same way, still trying to help the people without tickets. "To the north! There's a place in a canyon with a large, glowing crystal. It looks like an abandoned market and dwellings. You'll be safe there, the magic of the Heartstone will protect you."

USEFUL LINKS

Setting Background/FAQ | Major NPCs


NIGHTRENDERS

The beings known as Nightrenders start amassing on the faire. Their movements are quick but clumsy, as if every one of their movements is made up of a hundred janky, smaller fits and starts, like they're made of clockwork. The faerie magic summer faeries use seems to do no more than stagger them back or temporarily knock them over, but at least makes it clear to the squad that they at least can be knocked over and slowed down. At the very least it seems to take them some time to get off the ground and back to their feet.

Attacks

They attack anyone they see in different ways. Some they wound with massive claws. Or they squeeze someone's torso and nearly suffocate them to give them a chance at possibly chomping into the heads of their victims to get at the brains. Most dangerously of all, they breathe in with a loud sucking noise, clawed hands guiding the magic that lets them drawn out someone's soul to devour it. It looks like a small delicate thing, sometimes in the form of a glittering star or a flower, as its drawn out of the victim's mouth.

This process can fortunately be interrupted if the Nightrender is attacked. As long as the soul hasn't been sucked into their mouths, it goes back into the victim.

Cursed Aura

But the whole thing is complicated by the magical aura caused by the Nightrenders. When they draw close, everyone around them is choked with fear, grief, and dread. Some succumb to visions of their worse memories playing out in their heads over and over. Some might be able to still stagger away in this state, trying to see through the visions, especially if someone helps them along, but others will find it nearly impossible to do anything other than curl on the ground. It is unknown why some don't have the flashbacks or can power through them more than others, though it's thought that those that repress their bad memories or negative emotions struggle more.

Anyone that helps someone who's having visions may get a glimpse of their memories - and empathically feel a flash of the pain, fear, rage, or grief they felt during the memory. If two people try to help each other move forward when both are having visions, they may transmit glimpses back and forth.

Weaknesses

The Nightrenders cannot be destroyed, only knocked down, or slowed down. However, those with "holy" weapons, spells, or powers, or those who have weapons, spells, or powers that can hurt "ethereal" beings or evil spirits will find they can cause them enough pain that sometimes they run away. Spells and abilities that create magical manifestations of good will and happiness, as well as spells of light, or purification can also harm them and drive them away.

THE SISTERS

The Nightrenders don't speak, but some have the misfortune of hearing two voices echo out of the fog. The come in stereo, only just slightly out of sync.

"Chosen Ones, you must be so confused. You've become lost in the forest, and the Dark Lord's nightmares already pursue you. Fortunately for you, our mistress desires your company. You'll adore obeying her will. Don't run, embrace a better destiny."

Two woman in white masks and straw hats, with cloaks made from the feathers of ravens, come out of the fog, body language almost identical. No eyes can be seen through the eyeholes of their masks, just darkness.

They start attacking, and when they beset their victims they stop speaking, refusing to talk or answer questions, instead filling the air with wild, mocking laughter. One wields twin katanas, the other a kusarigama with a painful claw at the end of the chain that closes down when it hits something.

Nets

While they're extremely willing to injure the squad they seem to be trying to capture them instead of killing (albeit capturing them after they're maimed), occasionally tossing out nets of glowing silver of moonlight. Being caught in the nets renders someone paralyzed and weak, a deep cold settling into the marrow of their bones. Some may even hear the shrieks of dying loved ones, whether they've actually died in reality or not. The Sisters apparently have the strength to carry even the largest of the squad in the air and will attempt to fly away when someone is ensnared.

The nets are difficult to destroy, but can be with great force of some kind. It has to be aimed at the part closest to the Sisters' hands, because the force required to break the nets would also injure those trapped inside them. The cold and paralysis fades when the victims are free, but some of the rescued may feel weak and need help staying on their feet. Unfortunately, even when they're broken, the nets of moonlight seem to be something they can recreate within several minutes.

Smoke Monsters

For some, they don't attack directly. Instead, one of the sisters pulls out a pipe and smoke monsters pour out of it. They try to drag their victims closer to the sisters so they can be caught in their nets. Fortunately, they can be destroyed with enough force.

While the Sisters seem impossible to injure, they can at least be caused pain with extreme enough attacks, something that makes them teleport away before risking any further injury.

PROMPTS

a) RENT
Uh oh, a Nightrender has you. Either it's squeezing you so hard you're suffocating and about to chomp into some juicy brains, or it's in the process of sucking your soul out through your mouth. In either case, you're likely broadcasting visions of your worst memories in small flashes to whoever is near. You're in desperate need of rescue and the summer faeries can't help - their magic is all but useless on the Nightrenders if it didn't have time to build by a covenant. Only others that fell into the Wilderlands like you did can save you.

(Feel free to provide multiple memory options ala a memshare, but keep in mind they'd only be flashes instead of a full memory!)

b) NABBED
The Sisters have got you, their smoke monsters are trying to drag you away, or you're still trying to fight them to avoid being caught. It'll be a lot easier if you have help - otherwise you're outnumbered and possibly outclassed. The only way to stop them is fight back hard enough that they feel you're not worth the effort and teleport off.

c) RESCUE
Perhaps you're not affected by the Nightrenders or are just good at powering through the haze of painful magic they're inflicting on the area. Either way, you're out to help the people around you. Perhaps you run into another member of the otherworlder squad that needs saving - or maybe they join you to protect a third otherworlder, or a denizen of the Wilderlands that also forewent a ticket and is therefore at risk. Unlike many of the people from other universes, many of the denizens of the Wilderlands are powerless and thought they were in for a day and night of safe fun.

There are also other hazards to rescue people from. Maybe a small child has been separated from their parents and is disoriented by smoke, in need of rescued from some flaming tents. Or maybe an elderly person has fallen and is at risk of being trampled. There are lots of reasons people might need help, due to fires, panicked horses, collapsing tents, and panicking crowds.

d) RUN
It's time to run! Perhaps, after some screaming and confusion - and teleportation - you finally grab a buddy and bolt through the woods. You better run fast because the Nightrenders and the Sisters may give up chase at some point but it may take time and moving through difficult terrain in the fog to lose them. Perhaps you and a partner have to help a third, injured otherworlder because they're having trouble walking.

Better head north like the faeries said. The faeries were right that this Heartstone to the north may be your only hope - and you'll have to reach it despite the fading evening light, skies overcast with dark clouds, and fog.

It may be easier navigating in the dark with a partner or two.

e) WILDCARD
Maybe you decide to do none of the above. Go nuts!

OOC DETAILS
❧ Quest magic: Players can handwave that the quest bond magic is tugging the group northward to the safe place, with the mysterious Heartstone. They can also use the quest magic as an excuse for many different threads. As the group tries to run, their scattering movements will affect the magic and cause people to teleport at random, allowing for many different encounters with many other characters. This can explain why two characters that might otherwise stay together through the whole thing might get separated.

❧ Network: The network can now be used. Mirrors can and do float if someone is trying to talk through one and running, and can follow someone as they move, allowing people to communicate on the go or during action. Feel free to start using the network in parallel with the log events.

❧ NPCing: The mods won't be npcing but players are free to npc the actions of bystanders, the Nightrenders, and the Sisters. The Sisters won't speak, just continue laughing, and players can npc their specific attacks, capture attempts, and teleportation. Please just don't have them talk or godmode them dying - they're currently a little too sturdy for that. If you have a question about whether/how something will affect them feel free to ask the mods in the first comment below.

❧ Environment: Feel free to manipulate the environment. There are things left over from the faire people can work with like bow and arrow sets from the competition, horses (which can be temporarily stolen, though we'd like to limit any that are permanently stolen to the (1) horse another player already requested), and even explosive faerie fireworks (they're quieter than the normal thing but still create a big bang). Abandoned stalls also have weapons and supplies to grab as people run for it. If they didn't think to steal or buy useful things during the day, please limit this to only grabbing one or two items as they run, like a cloak or sword. They won't have time to loot for more.

❧ Experimentation: We'd like to encourage people to experiment! Obviously ask other players if they're down first, but it could be fun to do something other than 2 person threads, like maybe 2 PCs banding to rescuing a 3rd. Players are also encouraged to set limitations if they think it'd be more interesting, like locking their final escape prompt from the faire grounds to a single thread partner and playing out the drama of a full escape.

[OOC: Plot is visible so people can see and start plotting together but not open until Nov. 1. The mods will enable comments then.]

Comments

[hourglasshalfempty]

Need's reaches Raistlin like a firm hand on his shoulder, cutting through the sick haze. He snarls, lashing out, and his tormentors tear apart like cobwebs. She is right, and he is acting like a child. He is not a child, not any longer. Not helpless. A mage grown and Tested, forged in the fire of magic.

:Yes. he thinks to her, through gritted teeth. :I can move.:

And he stands, despite the wailing terror that wants to turn his legs to jelly. The Staff of Magius bears his weight, as it always has. The smoke from the fire tickles his lungs, and he barely suppresses a cough.

[headcheerbleeder]

Caroline winces again, surprised that she isn't feeling the injury start to heal up already. It's just continuing to ooze blood into her dress. She can still taste the nauseating thick black goo of the nightrender's blood in the back of her mouth. Awful.

"We've got to move." Preferably as a duo, as they're both probably too beat up to go it alone. "Quick. I'm Caroline. Thank me later."

As if Caroline didn't get saved by Cammie seconds ago.

[hourglasshalfempty]

Raistlin almost shouts a warning, then bitterly decides to let the young hero choose his (stupid, wasteful, pointless) fate. So he's incredibly surprised to find the his bonds loosening as the smoke-monster contorts, trying to avoid the blade's wild swings. Never one to sleep on an opportunity, Raistlin yanks himself free and crawls off a ways before rising.

"Sederai donitan," he whispers. See me as I wish to be seen. And tries to hold in his mind the clearest image he can of the white masks, the black feather robes...

When he looks at his hands, they're delicate, graceful, and white as a corpse.

"Begone!" he snaps at the smoke monster, his voice coming out high and echoed. It's not a very good imitation; he hasn't heard them speak except at the beginning. But it seems to confuse the monster, one part of it flowing away from the young hero and attending to Raistlin.

"This one is no prey of ours," he insists. "I command you to depart."

[tr1xx]

"Cammie, and you don't need to tell me twice." And y'know what, someone saves her from having some piece of her ripped away? Yeah, she'll happily owe her another thank you for that. That shit's one of her worst goddamn nightmares.

For now, though, Caroline's right, it's time to run.

She could sheathe the sword, make running a bit less unwieldy, but for now, she keeps it in hand. Who knows if another one of these things will come at them before they get clear?

[wheyoftheadept]

"No, he can't," Saturday agrees. "And if he was here, I would kick his fucking ass. Guaranteed."

She slings Cammie's arms around her shoulder, hauling her to her feet. "Left foot first, then right, keep repeating. We'll get outta this. It's just some kind of fucking - despair aura. Hurts like a bitch but if we just clear the radius, we'll be fine."

She hopes they'll be fine. But her own memories are starting to hammer with her pulse at the cracks in her self-control. Maybe Cammie can sense them: insect wings and screaming and viscera on the floor; a body, dead but still breathing, staring blankly as an ovipositor slides lovingly into its slack mouth -

Saturday shakes her head, hard.

"Don't let it distract you." Don't let it distract me.

a. (cw assassination/choking)

[zerg_rush]

[Sure, Nightrenders don't have lungs (probably? what does she know about demonic magical construct biology?) but someone tightening a rope around what answers for one's neck is still a hell of a distraction, not to mention an easy way for Kerrigan to unbalance the thing and bring it to the ground with a sharp backwards jerk. Its claws disengage from Kaworu's force field as it instead scrabbles to get hold of the person garroting it.

For a moment, the scene flickers, changes. The redheaded woman ruthlessly choking her target remains constant, but now the action takes place inside a nondescript office and instead of a nightmare creature, there's a man in a business suit, eyes bulging and neck and hands bloodied by his own attempts to loosen the ligature. It's all but silent, the victim unable to make a sound beyond his heels scraping helplessly against the carpet and Kerrigan not speaking, only breathing in and out in unintentional mockery of the man she's preventing from doing the same. A feral panic drapes over the tableau. His panic, somehow. Not hers. She feels nothing. It's easier that way.]

Dammit!

[Kerrigan shatters the past with a curse, the office reverting to a ruined fairground and the dying man becoming a still-animate Nightrender again.]

Kid, seriously. Get it in gear!

OOC: Telepathy permissions!

Ronan Lynch | OTA | CWs for memories: death, suicide, internalized homophobia, gore

[somnioergosum]

[I can switch to action tags too if you prefer. Also if your character remembers him from P90, it actually is cool to remember him and brings it up. This starting should make him build a bridge and get over certain levels of paranoia. (Though he might still feel weird about it)]

a) RENT

Ronan hadn’t bought anything, not once he realized these were actual fairies. But his father’s stories couldn’t work past basic human instinct. When he realized they were being attacked, Ronan grabbed a sword. It was too bad it had failed him.

With so much chaos, Ronan hadn’t noticed this Nightrender until it was almost on him. He raised his sword but it stretched out his hand and breathed.

Ronan fell to his knees. His eyelids fluttered as he fought back-- and lost. Black ooze welled in his eyes and ran down his nostrils. A raven not far from Ronan fell to the ground.

[Options are below, with CW’s beside them so you can skip. Everything is kept very brief and just basic descriptions.]

1. His mother’s death- CW: death, gore, dismemberment, grief
“Mom!” Ronan knelt before the pieces of what used to be a person, a blond woman judging by the hair. A girl with the legs of a deer sat close by, crying. Next to Ronan, stood his boyfriend, who looped his arms around him.

I can fix her—” Ronan said, his voice growing increasingly frantic. “I can put her back. I can put her—” Ronan’s voice broke.


2. After the “suicide attempt” cw: suicide, hospitalization

Ronan lay on a hospital bed. His arms were bandaged almost up to the elbow, which luckily left enough room for an IV. A nurse stood watch at the door but she averted her gaze to Ronan’s vitals, allowing Ronan and his friend the pretense of privacy.

“Declan’s talking to the doctor now,” Gansey said. “He said they’ll release you under conditions.”

“I know,” Ronan said dully.

“I said that you could stay with me,” Gansey said. “That I’d make sure you didn’t… that this won’t happen again.” He took a deep breath. I need you to tell me before you ever—”

“I didn’t—” Ronan started and then stopped. “It’s not like that.”


3. Being Unmade [cw: death/dying]

The world was all darkness. Ronan was nothingness in them. A small figured in the middle of a void of nothingness that seethed hate. It held him, suffocated him. He couldn’t breathe but he could breathe life into something else. He created a monstrous and beautiful bird— the size of a condor, with six beaks, 12 wings, and 12 claws. It was pure white.

The demon’s hold on him loosened. Ronan jolted awake and the scene shifted to two teenagers in a car and three outside of it. Ronan, in the front seat, gasped as he awakened. His eyes were full of black ooze and it trickled down his cheeks. In the backseat was Adam and also in the car was a young girl. Black trickled down her ear.

The bird flew away.

“What was that!” One of the teens outside the car jumped back.

“He brought it back from his dreams,” another said. “It won’t hurt us.”


4. Crushed by Crushes [cw: internalized homophobia]

The thing about a bad memory is, sometimes it’s not just one instance, it’s not a single moment in time. There are long strings of connected events that hit you like a sucker punch each time. When combined? It devastated. Adam saying the waitress was cute. Adam holding his girlfriend’s hand. Adam, looking at her and never at you, because he just didn’t feel that way and never would. And Ronan, who could never admit why he felt so angry and hurt every time it happened. He couldn’t even say that he was jealous because he would have to face the truth about himself— as if being a dreamer wasn’t enough to damn him, he just had to be gay too.


When Ronan’s soul emerged from his mouth, it was a small glowing flower. What kind changed from moment to moment, now a rose, next a lily, then something that only existed in Ronan’s mind— the soul of a dreamer. The black ooze stopped pouring from his eyes, nose, and mouth and what was left slowed to a trickle.


c) RESCUE

Ronan soon found that the sword he grabbed was useless but he still held onto it. At first he didn’t know if these memories were coming from his own mind or not, but he soon recognized the emotion. This was like a nightmare but one he couldn’t change (and he’d tried). It was one thing to have his thoughts torment him. Just thinking that something else was doing it pissed him off, enough to fight back.

So when he was forced to remember when his friends had left him or that Adam was leaving, he thought about the times they spent together.

And then something flickered inside of him. So he concentrated harder until a doppleganger made of light emerged. It was himself but purer and with raven wings as large as an angel.

Ronan stared. “What the fuck,” he said.

Then someone screamed and the— whatever it was— responded to his thoughts and flew towards the person.

“Hold on! I’m coming!”


e) WILDCARD
Want something else? Surprise me! (Or message me first, whichever you prefer)

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday is moving! She's had the breath squeezed out of her, so not very fast, but she's doing a passable army-crawl away from the creature when it topples. Her leg feels like she plunged it in fucking nitrogen; she's not sure it will bear weight.

"Alloran!" He's gone still. She swears, getting up on her knees. The creature flails, slicing at her and trying to shove off the whateverthefuckitis, flying manta ray that Alloran's morphed into. Saturday yells, rolling to dodge, and comes up with sword in hand.

"Fuck you! Die!"

She slams her blade into its head. It roars, thrashing, and cuts her across the face. She tries to hit it again and one of its arms slams into her spine, throwing her a good ten feet.

[tr1xx]

Cammie flinches, it's hard not to. A part of her is used to flashes of other people's memories, she's shared her mind with her team so many times, she's caught bits and pieces, they all have, but it's nothing like this. Like having the worst things thrust right at you.

Despair aura. Sounds about right.

But she keeps her feet under her. Has to rely on Saturday a bit, for now, but she keeps her feet under her. Left foot, right foot. One step at a time, just get away from these things. Don't think about Saturday's memories, of screaming and dead bodies and ovipostors and gore. Don't think about Nemesis, clawed hands and purple clouds of nanites and isolating her away from the only people who could ever hope to help her and—

"He was like— like fourty foot tall. And metal, and so strong, and—" Deep breath, she lets out a laugh that might sound forced for how strained it is, but it's genuine. It's real. "But right now I dinnae doubt for a second ye'd kick his giant metal arse."

[wheyoftheadept]

"What, a giant robot? Easy. All I gotta do find buttons and start pushing. I got this whole curse with technology, see? I even try t'use it, it breaks."

She adjust Cammie's weight a little, trying to think of anything that isn't chitinous legs skittering over Maggie's face, or fresh rot spreading in Caim's wound.

"Reminds me of this cartoon I used to watch. Had a really stupid theme song. You dig gi-ant ro-bots. I dig gi-ant ro-bots. We dig gi-ant ro-bots. Chicks dig gi-ant ro-bots."

Her voice is dreadful - like someone gargling razors at the bottom of a well.

"We're getting to the trees. Heading north, like the summer folk said. Something called a Heartstone there. Sounds like a nice place. It's gonna be okay."

a) RENT 3.

[millenyal_pink]

The sudden flash of someone else's memories and the familiar sensation of non-existence suffocated her for a moment. She looked around to see who it was coming from-- there.

Someone kneeling on the ground with black ooze dripping from his face. The Nightrender in front of him prepared to strike.

Elle leaped forward and knocked the Nightrender over, but not before her own memories rushed forward.

Elle could feel every cell, every atom, of her body pulling apart and the very essence of her being unmade.

The pain was beyond comprehension; beyond screaming or crying or any reaction at all. One moment she was whole, and the next she was torn apart completely. She only existed as a vessel for agony, before she ceased to exist at all.

Even the echo of sensation had Elle paralyzed from the pain.

At least she already knocked the creature away. Now they weren't in immediate danger from anything other than their own minds.

[tr1xx]

"That is a really stupid theme song, and I've watched a lot of bad mecha shows with weird tunes." Cammie laughs, still edged with strain. "Remind me— remind me never to let ye near me in my robot body. Have to fix the Holons often 'nough as it is."

Like her Holon will ever turn up in a place like this, but it's easier to focus on something else if she's joking about that. Easier to ignore the flashes from Saturday, flashes of memories that remind her how lucky she is to fight battles where the damage done doesn't usually stick, back home.

The place with the Heartstone does sound nice. Like a save point in a game. She can practically hear Yaz getting on her arse about needing to think about more than games, but jokes on her, she hasn't even played Siege in months. Admittedly unwillingly, but still. "Right. Aye. Heartstone. Just— gotta move north."

[wheyoftheadept]

"Get that quest marker." Saturday laughs. "Yeah, I'm not the guy you want holding the tech-kit when the rigger or the decker goes down. Our decker, 8-Bit, she won't even let me in the same room as her gear if she can help it. She claims I have an aura."

Ah, Bit - Saturday's heart spasms. She may never get to apologize, now. She'd apologize a hundred times, even for the things she's not sorry for. Send Gray packing, puppy-dog eyes and all. If she could just get home again.

"What's a holon, some kind of drone?"

[just_ace]

Ace briefly registers relief that his gambit worked before the consequences crash down on him. As he tries again to free himself from the net his limbs stubbornly refuse to comply.

Ace is no stranger to physical pain, but no matter how intense it never lasts long. Yet another advantage he has slowly learned not to take for granted.

Despite the grace Luna has given him protecting him somewhat from her curse, the net hurts. So far he has been able to push that to the back of his mind and focus on the battle.

It seems he pushed it too far back because he missed the accompanying fatigue as it insidiously leeched its way into his bones.

He manages to lift his head a bit and he is seeing the world through a pane of leaded glass.

His thoughs are coming slower now too and he feels a calm numbness begin to spread inside him.

Dan isn't skewered. Maybe it is okay to rest. The lady these Sisters work for just wants to talk, right? Surely he'll be able charm her out of whatever servitude she has planned for him...

Yet he doesn't yield to unconsciousness. Instead, memories well up from the depths of his subconscious. Bad memories, yes, but it isn't pleasant dreams he needs to fight the numbness.

A gang of adolescents in prep school uniforms all competing to see who could sharpen their wit to deliver the deepest wound

The leader of his first pack casually tossing a man's lifeless body aside then handing Ace the dead man's knife. 'The first share of the kill, Herr Wyrmfoe.' Her voice is dripping with sarcasm.

Stacia, all four of her limbs severed, the stumps cauterized with silver, a letter on pristine stationary with a wax seal placed carefully next to her. Her mental screams barely registering next to the deafening silence in his mind where Lillys happy voice had been.

Stacia again, now whole somehow, looking on with cold satisfaction as her revenge comes to fruition. The pack of Silver Fangs begins to argue, quietly at first, then more heated. By the end there is nothing left but motionless heaps of fur and viscera coating the walls. She doesn't lift a finger. Her expression does not change.

These memories don't buoy him up. He is objectively a monster but not that kind. But they remind him that he is a child of Goat. That through all those dark times he had his stubborn dedication to the principal that it will all turn out okay as long as he commits unwaveringly to his duty and treats everyone with respect regardless of their station or circumstances.

Suddenly something shatters the glass separating him from the world. At first he thinks it is Goat but as he regains his senses he realizes Dan has severed the silver net with a magical arrow.

With more than enough precious seconds wasted on reverie he moves, scrambling free from the net and bolting toward Dan and Concrete Blonde, giving the Sister a wide berth.

[tr1xx]

"Heh, I'm the opposite, one everyone goes to for tech stuff. Kinda my thing." If her figuring out the shock collar thing wasn't enough of a giveaway on that front. "Dinnae think that's gonna be so much of a problem here. Haven't seen anythin' electronic that one of us didn't bring with and mosta that shorted out. Maybe this place has an aura, too."

The further they move the more distant the memories are and though there's tickles of them on the edges, still flashing in front of her eyes when she doesn't try hard enough to push them away, she's a little stronger with every step.

Not like she hasn't had nightmares before. Not like she won't have them again, probably with brand new details for flavour from the other memories flashing in her head and the image of the Nightrenders, but it's fine. It's totally fine.

"Holons are big, fuck off mecha that we like— so we kinda upload our brains into them? Electronic versions of 'em. Not the actual fleshy bit. We become the robot."

All that metal tearing, all those sparks, all that screaming... you can take damage in a Holon and walk right away, so long as the brain stays intact. You can have your head ripped off and live to tell the tale.

[hasapoint]

That's some imagery that is just not going to get interrogated right now. Far too much going on. The walking dyrstaff is drawing closer, unhurried.

:I'd ask but there's not much time. Hold out for a moment,: she says, and starts to build the parts of a spell in Raistlin's flesh and bone. And lungs, very definitely lungs. It takes her longer than the shield had, multiple seconds. This is a spell that she can and does literally cast in her sleep but she's normally working with someone more robust, whose body she knows better, and who doesn't have that there-and-gone trace of oily something making it more complicated. Not to mention bad memories!

In between a flash of frantic drowning with stones tied to her feet the surface far above and the dull despair of the healer says one more will kill me but I think he switches out the herbs and I've missed my monthlies, there's a moment more specific to Need. A conversation with a priestess looking into a bronze mirror, allowing Need to see her face - seamed, and she wears high regalia, but she seems so young, everyone is so young now. What was your name before the Twins gave you 'Need'? And... nothing comes. Nothing comes at all. It's not possible to remember every detail of several hundred years of existence - and she's made herself into something that could last until the End of All Things.

She's made her peace with that, but how horrible it had been in the moment surprises her. No matter, though, she's done well enough that it won't break the boy, even though she's had to resort to scaffolding in places. Need pours her power out as strength.

Tim Drake

[the_hit_list]

A/D Combo.

Tim is in rough shape. The only reason that he’s on his feet is because he’s hugging his staff like a drunk hugs a lamppost. He’s been able to make some attempts to evacuate himself out of the faire, although the staggered stops and starts go only vaguely in the right direction, give or take 90 degrees.

He’s having trouble seeing reality through the memories, and even when he can the perspective feels off. He can be looking down at his dad’s body, a boomerang impaled in his chest, and between a row of market stalls simultaneously. Over his shoulder at the Nightrenders- or is it the same man, one of a pair of rotting zombies dressed in black and black light? No, up at Bane throwing Batman off a building while his eyes are straight ahead. At own his unsteady feet on the ground but he’s kneeling at the body of his best friend. While he knows that what he’s seeing isn’t real - it’s some sort of fear toxin or hallucinogen - that doesn’t dampen the effect of being caught halfway between a blind panic and crippling despair.

And the shifting visions don’t lessen the anguish that washes over him. Every time is the first time; even though Tim knows more than months or years have passed. It’s a fresh horror each time, every time.

He still tries to head north through the stalls, but he’s walking like forward is interchangeable with every direction on the x-, y-, and z-planes. The nightrenders will catch up with him soon, even at their slow, janky pace. He probably won’t even react.

[ Your choice of what vision or visions to pick up. If you’re canon familiar and would prefer something other than the options given, just let me know. ]

B/Cish.

There are times where Tim is able to put enough distance between himself and the nightrenders to get some sort of clarity, but it’s never enough. It’s only enough for decisions like to protect someone who’s fallen behind in the race to flee the faire - higher levels of executive function that might discern that he is not consistently in good shape to do so? That escapes him. Those things are going to kill people if no one does anything.

And now, they’ve drawn the twins attention of the twins, who are floating steadily towards Tim. Tim produces a bo out of seemingly nowhere in response to the weapons that they’re carrying.

“You need to get out of here,” he says, as if he doesn’t need to do likewise. “I don’t know who they are, but nothing that floats and talks in unison is good.”

[ Actionspam is also welcome. ]

[wheyoftheadept]

"We've got somethin' a little like that. Riggers. I don't think they upload like that but the real good ones, with the fanciest gear, they talk about it kinda the same way. Course my Pops like to point out that an RC car with a glock strapped to the roof is technically a drone - that always winds 'em up."

They seem to have found a lull, out at the edges of the chaos. Screams echo and smoke reeks, but farther away than they were. Despair still scrabbles at the edges of her mind, though; it feels like walking on a razor's edge.

"Must be useful. Big trouble if they find the controller, though. Don't envy workin' security on that job."

[tr1xx]

"Oh, I can bet. That kinda thing would drive Doc Weller right up and 'round the bend, too. Very protective of his tech, him."

And very protective of them, too. There's a brief memory flash of a distant explosion, of the ground shaking beneath her feet, of the realisation that the Doc was dead, dead so they could get away. Easier to suppress, than the more visceral memories that hit before.

Cammie breathes in, and out. "Usually our bodies are either a little ways away in a ship, or back at base. We can only be uploaded so long or we get stuck, so... closer the better. An' the thing about the tech is it's super new, enemies wanna get their hands on it and if they do... we're royally fucked. So. Yeah. No pressure, right? Us in the Holons gotta not get captured or lose our e-brains, control centre gotta stop them gettin' the rest of the tech."

Absolutely no pressure whatsoever!

[zerg_rush]

Kerrigan cannot claim to be a fan of situations that can't be solved by pumping them full of rounds from an anti-materiel rifle, so this entire mess has proved...trying. The smoke creatures especially are making her miss firebats—she bets a flamethrower would take care of those real quick. Unfortunately, she's on her own and her high-tech toys are nonfunctional. Time to...get creative? Ugh. Kerrigan hates getting creative. Getting creative means things have gone so far south any plans you had are now useless.

Stop. Think about the objective. The objective is the only thing that matters.

She doesn't have to beat the smoke-thing. She just has to get the guy with the weird hair out. Force it to drop him, then grab him and run. They can figure out together how to free him from the bonds once they're clear.

Kerrigan's eyes narrow while she stares at something past Raistlin, and she chews her lip in concentration. Might as well lean into being humanity's most powerful psychic, right?

A tug...and then another...and there's a crash as a half-collapsed stall becomes a fully collapsed one. Its cheerful red and white striped awning comes flying and flapping as Kerrigan's telekinesis pulls it free of its moorings. Seemingly of its own volition, it wraps tightly around the smoke monster hauling Raistlin off to his unspecified doom, and she yanks, trying to force it off whatever passes for its feet.

At the same time, she's out of cover and sprinting. Even without her psionic enhancements, Kerrigan's fast.

"You okay? Come on." The latter is an expression of intent rather than a command, because as she says it, Kerrigan's got a handful of his robes and is pulling him into a firefighter's carry across her shoulders, a position he has to share with her rifle. Really, this isn't going to be comfortable for anyone involved.

OOC: Telepathy permissions!

Re: II (cw: dissociation)

[just_ace]

"No rest for the wicked"

Ace contemplates how to 'distract' a creature that wants to eat his brain or soul without imperiling either of those things and comes up empty.

He is fond of his brain now that he has it again and his soul... he isn't even sure that belongs to him.

Oh well.

Exposing his brain as bait would be inconvenient so he goes for option two.

Offering gnosis to spirits is something he is used to doing pretty regularly. This is creepier but not fundamentally different. Focusing on the space above his palm he concentrates a portion of his spiritual energy. He isn't in the umbra so he is surprised when a small white light appears.

The nearby Nightrenders all immediately snap around and lock on to him.

"I think that worked a little too well" he shouts so Elle can hear him wherever she is slinking then he pulls his gnosis back into himself.

"Thats enough of a free preview. You'll have to catch me if you want the buffet!"

Ace wheels his arms around comically to make sure the Nightrenders are tracking him and bolts in the opposite direction of the cowering children.

[talk_radio]

[Bee lifts his elbow higher, letting her through, before moving to follow.]

Hang on! Wait for me! Danger, Will Robinson, danger!

[Running away from the fire is a good thing, but running away from him while having no idea what's waiting for her out there isn't. Not that Bumblebee himself knows what's going on beyond there being monsters, but that's more than enough for right now.]

[just_ace]

The melodious yet gutteral sound of Stacia shouting questions at him in the high tongue is something he missed, but he doesn't really have time to revel in it.

Ace is managing to keep his vital organs out of play for now but controlling Mackenzie much more than that is going to be tricky.

If he lowers his center of gravity he could probably get her over his shoulder but that would free her to rake his back relentlessly with her claws. He wouldn't make it far like that.

He manages to shout "Not sure. She is about as angry and pointy as they come. May have to wait the frenzy out."

Between breaths he is innundated with chaotic flashes of memory. That they are similar to the stories of so many other Garou doesn't diminish them in the slightest. If anything it heightens the tragedy and sorrow.

He blinks them away because he can't afford to give them any space right now but he won't forget them. These sorts of memories should be whispered to trusted friends, screamed at the open sky or chanted at Moot with Pack and Sept to aid with comfort and with vengeance. It is a violation to have them ripped from your mind and broadcast to strangers.

He did not consent to the visions but he spares a brief thought only to confirm to himself that he does consent to the burden they represent. He will mourn Mackenzies dead as if they were his own. It is the only act of defiance to the Nightrenders he can take.

Then he feels the flow shift. Time slows to a crawl and suddenly it is his memories pouring out.

His heart beats and he is somewhere else.

Stacia, all four of her limbs severed, the stumps cauterized with silver, a letter on pristine stationary with a wax seal placed carefully next to her. Her mental screams barely registering next to the deafening silence in his mind where Lilly's happy voice had been.

Another heartbeat and he is back in the fight. He shuffles his feet in the dirt, struggling to maintain leverage.

His heart pounds in his ears

Flash

Stacia again. She is now whole somehow and she does not appear as herself, but it is clear in the way of dreams that it is her. She looks on with cold satisfaction as her revenge comes to fruition.

Before her are a pack of Silver Fangs. The very same as left the letter and the other bloody 'messages'

One of the Fangs, a Theurge speaks. In the memory there is no sound but the intrinsic knowledge that he is revealing a dirty secret.

The pack's Galliard fathered a child with another Garou, an unforgivable sin in the eyes of their alpha. Information dug up and positioned just so to give rise to this very confrontation.

This is but one of many details meticulously brought together with calculating precision. The curtain risen, the players set, the pack of fangs that maimed and killed as if they had the right dance on Stasia's strings.

The Alpha flies into rage and the Theurge, terrified despite being only the messenger, tries to flee. When the Alpha finally regains control there is nothing left of his pack but motionless heaps of fur and viscera coating the walls.

Stasia doesn't lift a finger. Her expression does not change

A heartbeat

The struggle continues. Mackenzie has no shortage of rage to fuel her frenzy. The only thing keeping this from being much worse is that Ace can employ strategy while Mackenzie can be counted on to be as aggressive as possible.

He isn't really sure what to do except hope he can wear her out before the flashes of memory make him slip or she gets in a lucky hit and his intestines end up scatteted across what is left of the faire grounds.

Open to All

[garmr]

A massive, black blur charges ahead, cape billowing behind him, displacing the haze and the flames. Guts brings down the Dragonslayer in one swoop, the swing of the sword nearly invisible as it bisects a line of smoke monsters with the sheer force of the strike. The tip ends up somewhere behind him when the hunk of metal slows to a stop, hovering somewhere near Raistlin. Somehow, the blow manages to kick up embers and dirt into the air with its formidable sword-wind.

Raistlin gets a brief glance out of the corner of his eye, "Hey - think you can get up? You're not gonna let these things be the end of you, right?"

He squares himself between Raistlin and the two sisters, undaunted by them and the smoke monsters around them. His bares his teeth in return. The brand on his neck was bleeding like an open wound.

B

[talk_radio]

Tim's suggestion just gets a look. No quick radio clip, no trill, just a disbelieving stare. Because, really, of the two of them Bumblebee is pretty sure he's not the one who should be getting out of here right now.

Besides, he gets the feeling that running for it isn't going to deter to these two. They need to be driven off. Bumblebee's armblades click into place as he gets ready to do just that.

"♪Hit me with your best shot!♪" Pat Benatar's voice screams.