Event Log: February, Outpost Problems

[faileas]

Event Log: February, Outpost Problems

I. Adventuring We Will Go (Tomorrow) The word gets around pretty quick. Anybody who plans to journey with the group of Wilders venturing out to set up a new outpost is invited to attend a traditional gathering they have before an expedition: the packing party. On the evening of the 15th, the Wilders' HQ is bustling with activity. The whole group is present making the final preparations, sorting gear, and checking the carts for maintenance. The atmosphere is easy and upbeat, very casual, with Wilders laughing and telling jokes and stories as they work. One has to have a little fun before it's time to be serious, after all! A lot needs done, and more hands are always welcome. Camping gear and provisions need to be checked, inventoried, and dispersed into enchanted rucksacks that can hold twice as much as you might think they could - there will be enough rucksacks for each explorer in the party. Everyone is expected to carry their own. Shrunken-down construction materials for the new outpost need to be loaded into the three self-propelled carts the party will travel with (if only they were self-steering as well!). The carts themselves haven't been necessary for an expedition in a while; they could probably use some fixing up, greasing the axles and making sure the enchantments are fully charged with magic. And, too, this is a chance for the group to mingle and get to know each other. You have to be able to trust your fellows out there in the Wilde, after all. So there's a table with food bought off a few street carts: fried hand pies in meat (no one's sure what kind of meat, but hey!), veggie, and fruit varities; a pot of simmering jellied eel to be scooped into cups and eaten with spoons; fried squabs on sticks dripping grease. Beer is plentiful, as are bottles of a non-alcoholic ginger beer. Everyone is encouraged to eat, pack, and get to know each other. Especially because, the lead Wilders on this expedition will say, it's recommended that everyone going out there have a Bonded - whether it be their own normal Bonds if they're also going, or temporary Bonds with their fellow party members. The table also bears a few dozen of the temporary Bonding potions, and it's highly encouraged, though not required, that more experienced explorers temporarily Bond with those who are much newer to Aefenglom. It's nature's buddy system, you know. Whatever you're going to do, do it before the morning - the group leaves at first dawn, and will not wait for anyone too hungover to be on time. While having a Bond isn't required for the trip, the Wilders will strongly encourage it for anyone who isn't Bonded or whose Bond partners aren't going. The three-Bond safety limit does still apply to temporary Bonds, though! If you'd like to tag around for potential temp Bonds, head over to this thread right here!

II. The Silent Forest It becomes clear that, while the journey starts off easy, it won't remain that way. The group leaves out at dawn and passes first through stretches of land considered 'safe' - safe enough to be generally habitable, and the first couple of hours see the occasional farm on the way. There are few to no signs of Cwyld this close to the city, but then they start to slip into the region considered 'in progress'. These are the lands the Wilders have been focusing on, and so while there are the occasional patches of infected plants, they're easily dealt with by small, controlled burns. As the day drags on and the hike continues, though, the landscape changes. The trees grow thicker and the underbrush more dense. The machetes have to come out at points to clear the path for the carts; whoever is currently on cart-steering duty, please don't damage them! The atmosphere, too, changes around this time; the laughter dies down, expressions become more serious, Wilders are noticeably more alert to the possible presence of Shades or hostile creatures. By evening, the forest is thick and dark, the trees around them ancient and twisting. No one has ventured out to this area in quite a while, the more experienced Wilders will say, and that becomes very obvious. The once-beautiful forest is heavily infected by the Cwyld, and the small cabin that served as a Wilder outpost is overgrown, still bearing the 5-year-old corpse of a dead Wilder. Adventurers are advised to take caution when touching anything - wear gloves and heavy boots and watch your step out here, folks. The way still needs to be cleared. a. The Flora The oldest of the trees present are fully dead, thick trunks turned black and shiny, letting in light from above where their leafless branches reach out to the trees around them. The brush is thick and thorny; even small pricks and cuts in the skin are liable to be infected, a black ring forming around the wound, darkening the veins branching out from it, and need immediate treatment to keep it from spreading. It's hard to avoid other than by simply wearing thick clothing and hoping for the best. Nestled in the roots of the trees are pitcher-like plants filled with a sticky sap; the Wilders are excited to see these, and despite the dangers, comb through them to see if any remain uninfected. The sap in infected plants is black and tarry, while in uninfected plants it runs clear. This sticky liquid is excellent for smearing over wounds to seal them and draw out minor infection, and they'd be delighted to take some whole plants back for cultivation. As well, a certain breed of tree seems to have escaped infection entirely; these tall, woody trees have shiny green leaves, a contrast to the rest of the forest, and bear small green fruits that smell (and taste, should you eat one) deliciously sweet. All is not always as it seems out here in the Wilde, though - be careful which fruit you choose to imbibe. These trees are not immune to the Cwyld, they only hide their infection well. It can only be determined which trees are infected by cutting into them and inspecting the sap (difficult, because the sap of all the trees is highly toxic, and even inhaling near it will have nasty side-effects of vertigo, vomiting, and even temporary blindness). If it runs black at all, the tree is infected, and the fruit, sweet as it might taste, is deadly poisonous. Trees that are only mildly infected are a Russian roulette: you have an 80-20 chance of getting a toxic fruit or a good one. Most of the Wilders don't feel it's worth the risk. b. The Fauna The party spends a couple of days in the Silent Forest out of necessity. Initially, it seems as if there is no animal life left on this desolate patch of land. No birds chirping, no mammals scurrying about, not even an insect to buzz around the explorers' heads. It becomes quite clear that the Cwyld has consumed nearly everything, and the life left is hardly life at all. Shades are not uncommon. When camp is made for the night, capable fighters will have to rotate guard duty and patrols around the campsite, to fight off the shadows of what used to live here as they sense life and magic to consume. Dessicated, white-eyed bucks with cracking antlers, bloated and mutated birds screeching angrily, even, perhaps, the Shade of a bear, huge, enraged, and difficult to take down. But that second night, those who are alert may get the tingling sense that they're being watched. They are, in fact, by a band of nomadic Monsters, primarily Harpies and Arachne passing through. They don't approach the camp, and they won't speak to any of the Wilder group, merely watching them with something like curiosity before they flee into the forest again. It's hard to get close to them before they disappear, more at home in this dead forest than you will ever be, but close observation shows that all are scarred in some way; missing parts of limbs, eyes, or bearing even worse marks on their bodies. c. The Solution It's too thick an area to clear simply by burning. They'd set the whole dry patch of forest alight and kill who knows what along with the Cwyld. Some smaller areas can be taken care of with fire and careful supervision, but the rest of it... The lead Wilder on this expedition, a prematurely-greying Witch named Rilla Sparks, puts forth a suggestion. She admits, it's one based heavily on theory and speculation, along with the findings of certain prominent researchers in the city. If they can find the leyline, she thinks the Witches in their party can flood it with enough positive, nurturing magic to 'flush' the Cwyld out of the vicinity, so to speak. Or, she hopes, enough to make it passable in the future. It's experimental, but isn't that what this trip is about? Discovering new things? If enough of the party is game, the first step is finding the leyline in the area. This can be sniffed out by Witches and Monsters both, as they're drawn to sources of magic, even tainted magic; and, too, if anyone takes a look from the air, the leyline becomes obvious, as it cuts a much darker, more heavily infected line across the forest floor, like a blackened vein. Once it's found, it's up to the Witches in the group. Gathering over the blackened ground, anyone who wants to participate in the ritual should join in pairs or groups, down on their knees to be closer to the earth, and should 'push' their magical energy into the leyline through their hands pressed to the dirt. Each push results in a pulse of light beneath the blackness of the ground, weak at first, but stronger the more magic is expended. It will take several hours, which means the occupied (and then spent) Witches will require the protection of their Monster fellows, and interacting this closely with a tainted leyline will have side effects. A low degree of Cwyld infection is possible in the hands, but not guaranteed. Intense fatigue and dizziness is certain, along with pain when casting spells, and terrible nightmares for as long as the symptoms last - anywhere from 2 to 6 days, depending on how much magic the individual Witch expelled and how much rest they get after. It will take some time to see if their labors bear fruit. They'll check on the area again on the way back; they can't stay in one place for too long.

III. Ruins of a Past Life In the next couple of days, as the journey commences, the obvious signs of infection lessen in the landscape. The trees thin out again as they head further north. With the Wilde just barely dipping toes into autumn, and no thick canopy of foliage to block out the sun, it's a hot, uncomfortable walk. Those on cart-steering duty are considered lucky, getting to sit for a few hours, but it doesn't last - the duty is rotated between volunteers. Enjoy it while you've got it. At one point, with the sun high in the sky, they stop to refill canteens and jugs with fresh water and to take a bit of a swim. Here, the water cascades into a wide lake below, which eventually feeds back into the main river that cuts through Aefenglom farther south. At the top of the waterfall, it's much easier to see something in the distance, that isn't specifically on the route but is a small enough detour (only a mile or two off) that the guides permit it. It's the ruins of a former settlement, clusters of shells of burned out houses and buildings, a dried up well, and the crumbling remnants of a wall - reminiscent of the Bright Wall, but much, much smaller, only about eight or nine feet high at its tallest point. There is no magic left in it, though, nor any people in the ruined town. There haven't been for years and years, judging from the mossy overgrowth and state of disrepair. Some signs of the former inhabitants can still be found in the houses; the Wilders agree to make camp here for a night, to give everyone some time to explore. a. In The Daytime The ruins are depressing, but safe, in the daylight. It isn't hard to put together what happened here - a Cwyld outbreak must have come on them quickly, and judging from the hasty, half-burned homes, it was poorly contained. Some homes still contain skeletons in rotted scraps of clothing, some bones charred and others picked clean by animals. Many of their possessions still remain, except there are no books left anywhere in the town, even on shelves where books obviously were before. The patterns in the dust indicate that the books, all that survived the fires initially, were removed much more recently, within the last year or two perhaps. Otherwise, much is untouched. There are still dishes and flatware on broken tables, rotted blankets on beds, children's toys scattered over floors, axes hung on walls. A sort of thick, somewhat mucous-y grayish-green moss grows in flat sheets over most of the ruins. It isn't infected by the Cwyld; in fact, the areas where it grows seem to be free from it. Coincidence? Not? The Wilders have never seen anything quite like it, and are interested in taking samples back to study. (And for those of you who can't help but put things in your mouths: yes, the moss is edible. It tastes a little... earthy, but gives a pleasant caffeine-like buzz and burst of energy. Good for Witches still feeling the effects of the leyline flushing.) Outside the remnants of the wall, there are years-overgrown gardens, and perfectly good potatoes, asparagus, and raspberries can be found still growing, hardy and perennial even without human hands to tend to them. These people lived a more simple life than those in relatively-modern Aefenglom, as there isn't any magitech to be found, but somehow, they made themselves a home out here in the middle of nowhere. b. Ghosts of a Forgotten Settlement After nightfall, the dead town comes alive again, in a morbid sense. The party will soon find that the sunset brings the emergence of specters of the town's deceased residents - ghastly semi-transparent echoes of humans and Monsters, men, women, and children, in the state they were in at their deaths. Some are badly burnt, others were obviously infected, on their way to becoming Cwyldtid. Now, they go about their former lives every night, filling the ruined town with a sense of dread and foreboding that is impossible for the living to ignore. The ghosts cannot be touched or physically interacted with, and many of them simply ignore the Wilders and Mirrorbound completely. Spectral children play in the streets, adults tidy shops that are no longer there, or head out to the field to farm. They do so with expressions full of sadness, and desperation, as if trapped in this cycle of un-life. Others not only notice the group, but try to turn on them, enraged at the sight of intruders, though their shouts and screams are silent. They can't do any damage, but if they pass through you, you'll feel a bone-deep chill, despite the late-summer heat hanging in the air, and the specters' 'touch' will fill anyone with an aching, heavy despair, or rage - echoes of the emotions the ghosts experienced before their deaths.

IV. The Northern Outpost The sparse forest thins even more to the north. The terrain grows more uneven, rockier and hilly, with drier soil and hardy, sun-bleached grass instead of moss and leaf litter. Several natural rock formations can be spotted in the distance, growing larger as the group gets nearer. The trees here are few and far between, shorter and sturdier, casting only small circles of shade on the baked landscape. Wildflowers dot the grass in every color of the rainbow in the areas that remain uninfected. A low degree of Cwyld infection can be found here, turning the grasses overgrown, dry and brittle, and the sparse trees gnarled and blackened. This is to be expected, though. You can't venture this far out and expect anywhere to be completely untouched. The spot Rilla Sparks chooses for the new outpost is cradled between two large spires of stone, with a cliff-face at the back of it - protected on three sides to defend from animals and Shades, with a relatively clean stream within an hour's walking distance. Construction has to commence immediately. Once they land, it's a flurry of activity, as there is much work to be done. The building supplies are returned to their original sizes and it's all hands on deck to put together the low wooden building. With everyone working as quickly as they can, it should take about three days to get set up enough to consider the outpost open. Also on the to-do list: setting up the teleporter waypoint given to the Wilders by the Coven, to shorten the trip from Aefenglom to this far-flung outpost. It's smaller than the one in Dorchacht, only able to transport three people at a time, but the technology is the same. They'll need as many magitech-capable hands as they can get to calibrate it to the local energies and get it up and running. While all this is going on, exploration of the local area is high on the list as well, to ferret out any potential dangers that may be inherent to setting up here, or potential boons that can be taken back to Aefenglom, and to start work on their maps. There's a job for everyone, and while they're happy to let people do what they're good at, or rotate between different tasks, anybody slacking off will get the stink-eye - you came to work, right? This is no vacation! After the first day, though, things start... getting a little weird. Items start disappearing at random times, just out of nowhere, no rhyme or reason to the things taken. Hammers, half-drawn maps, scraps of wood, your half-eaten lunch if you look away from it for long enough. Personal items may go missing as well, if left unattended, so keep your precious things and weapons close. You may hear muffled voices - laughter, indiscernible chatter - around the times when stuff goes missing; it could be the voice of a stranger, or maybe it's the voice of someone you know, someone you've been traveling with for the last several days. But why would they want to steal your pen, or your handful of nails, or your drink cup? Weirder still, holes in the dirt start turning up in the night. Maybe six feet deep, dug at an angle like the beginning of a tunnel, and cutting off abruptly. Digging further down in these holes doesn't turn much up at first, but checking enough of them will turn up only a handful of the smaller missing items with teeth marks in them. Inconsequential, uninteresting, inedible things, or straight up trash in some cases. With enough persistence and maybe a good old fashioned stake-out, the culprits turn up: a pack of sand-colored, hyena-like animals that perfectly mimic human and Monster voices that they hear (often repeating words out of context, like much dumber parrots - they don't know what they're saying, only what the words sound like), and scavenge for whatever they can get their paws on. The hyenas are aggressive when confronted, and pack-oriented, but can be won over eventually by feeding them, or talking at them: different hyenas like different sounds and different words, so it might take some trial and error. Several bear low-level infections that can still be cured. Maybe eventually they can be trained. But then, where is everything else they stole? Please note that only a very small number of the items missing will be found on this trip! If you don't want something of your character's gone for an indeterminate amount of time, don't have it stolen. It's just possible they might turn up at a later date, however...

Welcome to February's event log, Outpost Problems! The expedition will last about an IC week for everyone who completes the trip; characters can return to Aefenglom with a pair of Wilder scouts at any stop along the way, though. As always, please direct your event-specific questions here! You can tag around for temporary Bonds in this thread, and if your character would eat the fruit in the Silent Forest, please post here for your dice roll (we did say it's a Russian roulette). Enjoy the trip outside the Bright Wall, everyone!

Comments

[weiward]

[yeah, wei wuxian sort of struggles with that problem too - not recognizing the tune from before, not remembering its name. but somehow he always ends up playing it.]

Sort of. [the look in his eyes doesn't really match the curve of his mouth. wei wuxian looks down at the tasseled flute for a long moment before continuing.] When I played, it was usually for the dead. This used to be my spiritual tool. I learned how to make them listen to me.

[and obey him. wei wuxian looks up again, suddenly curious to see the reaction of someone not from his own world.]

What do you think about such tricks?

[petcromancer]

[Hector nods. There's an understanding between necromancers.]

I used a spark. A light to guide the spirit and an infusion of power to shape and bind it.

[He eyes the instrument. That's a method he's never heard of before.]

Did they willingly listen to you, when you played for them?

[weiward]

[wei wuxian blinks once before smiling, a real one this time. this is the first time he's met someone like him, and someone who might not misunderstand him for his methods.]

Where did you learn how to do that?

[that's a different way of doing it for him too, but wei wuxian gets the credit (and the blame) for being the first in his world to do such taboo things to begin with. he considers that question for a moment, lips pursed as he nods.]

The corpses just moved as I willed them to. And I think the resentful spirits were actually glad to be harnassed.

[since it was for fighting, revenge, things that they longed to do instead of being repressed.]

Are there a lot of people who follow your practice?

[petcromancer]

[Hector smiles back, though he falters when the conversation turns to his background.]

I had been taught some alchemical principles as a child, but my talent ran to necromancy. I only found a mentor for that later in life. I was self-taught until then.

[That is glossing over a lot. Far better to find out more about this other necromancer that to keep dredging up his own past.]

So do you control them, or just give them suggestions? Do they retain their own wills?

[There are so many variations of undead, and Hector knows some of the common struggles of corralling them to a common purpose.]

If by follow you mean 'with torches and pitchforks', then yes.

[weiward]

Ah, yeah. I'm self-taught too.

[unless one counts the spirits and resentful energy and other things that surrounded him in the burial mounds for those three dark, long months. wei wuxian doesn't. he'd rather not think about it at all.]

Control. Where I'm from, people normally call upon their own energy for fighting and protection. It's a little bit like being a witch, I guess. [not that he knows how that feels for sure, being a monster.] But there's other energy out there that can be used too. Most people just believe that it's taboo to do so.

[something that it sounds like the other man can relate to. people were only just beginning to turn against him, fear him, blame him. he has no idea just how bad it will get once he becomes the yiling patriarch. but it's enough for him to offer a sympathetic smile.]

People seem more open-minded here, except now it's gone.

[petcromancer]

That seems to be the way for most of us.

[From what little he knows of the only other necromancer he's met, that seems to be the nature of the business.]

So is the 'witch' way accepted but the other powers are forbidden?

[Hector frowns. It's so human, always finding minute distinctions with which to congregate and to outcast anyone who differs.]

Here is much more accepting, but even where witches and monsters can live freely, our former trade is looked down upon.

[He has been warned by one who has been here longer than him not to speak about necromancy openly. There are some lines even the natives of this world won't cross.]

[weiward]

It's the 'proper' way.

[the accepted way, that is. relying on a sword instead of a flute. dealing with things a certain way and in a certain order. following the rules without question. these are the things you did if you wanted to be respected in the cultivation world.

even if necessity is eventually what made him what he was, wei wuxian always had a different way of thinking.]

Here too? [his eyes grow a little wider. he hadn't heard.] Who told you that?

[petcromancer]

[Hector's eyes give a little roll at the idea of a 'proper' way of magic. Hypocrites, it seems, span the divide between worlds.

He nods at the other man.] Yes. I heard it from Everett, a faun who has been here for months. He runs the tea shop. He said I should be cautious about speaking about my work, for it would not be well-received by the locals.

I do not think you would be burned at the stake here for it [Which is a thing that happens in Hector's home world], but it is frowned upon. I get the feeling doors might close to you if you were to practice openly.

[weiward]

I wonder why. Doesn't it seem a little strange to you?

[maybe it's just him. but in wei wuxian's short time here already, he's seen a number of different kinds of magic and different monsters. there's more individuality than the world he's from, where everyone is divided up by bloodline and into a handful of sects. why is this one thing still taboo everywhere when so much else is already allowed? what happened here to make it so?

and maybe the best question of all, why is he even worried about it?]

It's not like I could. Not anymore.

[he smiles a little, reaching up to the top of his robes. he pulls ones side down just enough to reveal the white puca fur underneath.

and while he's at it, he might as well introduce himself.]

I'm Wei Wuxian.

[petcromancer]

Of course I think it is idiotic. It's discounting an entire school of magic, for no reason other than superstition.

[Hector hasn't had a chance to dig into the history of this world to find out why. It could be there is no reason, other than humanity's instinctive fear of death.

Hector sighs, but as the other man shows off his fir, he taps his horn-nubs in solidarity.]

It's the same for me. I'm Hector.

[No family name, no title.]

[weiward]

[wei wuxian can't stop himself from smiling at hector's unhesitant and blunt opinion. maybe that's something else that all necromancers have in common. or maybe a certain type is just more drawn to it. either way, lan qiren wouldn't want either of them in his class.]

I wasn't sure.

[after meeting louis, he's learned to assume nothing. wei wuxian hesitates at what he's about to say next, because it seems like it could be asking for trouble, but...

like that's ever stopped him from anything.]

I wouldn't mind finding out more about its place here. There has to be ways it could be useful.

[he just takes a look around them.]

[petcromancer]

[Hector nods, and any lingering caution he has about being candid with this man evaporates.]

Exactly. There are so many applications that people gloss over or ignore. Think about all the good that can be done. Healing necrotic flesh. Recycling bodies to use for tasks that are too dangerous for the living. Necromancy isn't evil. It is a tool. Any morality you wish to ascribe to it is determined by the wielder, not by the art itself.

[Oh, but the other people from his version of Wallachia would be horrified if they heard him talking like this. So it's a good thing they aren't here.]

[weiward]

[wei wuxian's eyes widen at everything hector lists. there are sure to be some, perhaps many, who would think this way too morbid to consider. but it makes such perfect sense. if the flute in his hands could be used the way that it was before, this expedition would've been easier and safer for everyone.

if anything, this place needs cultivation like his. like hector's.

he wonders what lan zhan would say if he could hear the two of them talking. but he's been strangely more lenient since they came here. wei wuxian even dares to think that he might be able to get him to listen.]

So what do we do next?

[petcromancer]

[Necromancy- it's just extreme recycling. What could be wrong with that?

Hector looks around at the wandering ghosts and lets out a breath.]

I don't know. Do you mean about these spirits, or in general?

[Hector has never been good about knowing what to do. He's no leader.]

[weiward]

In general. There has to be a way of finding out more, of making a case to those who can use magic. Maybe my bonded-

[he stops abruptly. would he dare ask the witch to dabble in it?

he sighs too.]

I guess I'd just like to find out more about it's history here.

[which sounds a lot like research, he hates research.]

[petcromancer]

[For Hector's part, research is fine so long as its in a subject he enjoys.]

I wouldn't ask anyone who might not be on our side for now. Not until we have more facts to make a stronger case.

[That is the real reason necromancers operate in the shadows, isn't it? It's not by choice; it is necessity, to keep themselves safe from the disapproving world. ]

I've checked the coven libraries, but I wasn't able to find anything in the sections that were open to me. If there is information, it is hidden or protected. I'll keep looking, but I don't know what luck I'll have.

[He shakes his head, watching another ghost as it drifts aimlessly through the ruins, powerless to compel it to move on.]

[weiward]

[he frowns softly at that. it's not like he was going to run right out and start talking to the first person he came across...except that possibility can't really be ruled out either.

but it's true that he resorted to his tricks out of necessity. to avenge. to protect himself.]

It's okay. I don't plan on giving up, do you?

[he smirks a bit. once wei wuxian thinks he's right, he follows that path to the very end.]

[petcromancer]

[Hector's lips turn up into a soft smile.]

No, I don't either. Even if I can't do it anymore, I want to know. There must be someone who could exorcise these spirits.

[weiward]

A witch.

[as much as it disappoints wei wuxian on a personal level, it seems beyond monsters.]

Do you have a bond with one yet?

[petcromancer]

[Hector shakes his head.]

No, I haven't bonded with anyone yet. It's...a big step. I'm used to working alone.

[weiward]

[wei wuxian nods with that. it is a big step. he hadn't realized just how big it would be until he thought about if he'd arrived without lan wangji.]

I can talk to Lan Zhan. He understands things a little better now.

[now that they're on the same path.]

[petcromancer]

[Hector is assuming that ‘Lan Zhan’ is the aforementioned bonded. He nods.]

So long as you can trust his discretion. We’ll help no one if we get ourselves arrested.