Event Log: September, The Price of Revolution p1

[faileas]

Event Log: September, The Price of Revolution Part 1

I. The Freedom Festivities Behind the fortress-like walls of Dorchacht, what was once a gloomy, imposing city is lit up for the festivities to come. Septeril brings with it many mixed emotions for the citizens of what used to be called The Black City, though the overwhelming atmosphere is positive - this is a celebration of freedom hard-earned and prosperity hard-fought-for. The triple stars of the Resistance, now the current reigning party, feature heavily in decorations and in clothing: in pins, on hats, golden stars enchanted into fabric to dance merrily across skirts and cloaks. Stars light up the streets in decorative strings hung from lamppost to lamppost, flickering gently over the cobblestones. Mirrors, as well, feature into the decor, tiny round ones hung in multitudes from awnings and in windows like ornaments, catching the light and playing it across the otherwise-utilitarian architecture, lending it a sort of understated beauty. Much of Dorchacht has been rebuilt and repurposed by necessity since the uprising last year, and many new small businesses and restaurants are being featured at the festival - their goods or their foods on display in markets of street-side stalls or on the feast tables. Local handmade wares and crafts are out for sale for modest prices, and every sale helps out both the small business, many of which are started by former slaves, and helps the local economy, which is better these days but still recovering. The festivities go for six days, almost a full week, with feasting and bonfires every evening, and tours and tales of the city by day, as they display the changes for the better they have all made. And then, on the final evening, all are invited to watch a grand fireworks show that will be put on in the skies over Dorchacht, presided over by the Circle of Three themselves. Mirrorbound are welcomed warmly, whether they were present last year or not, and treated much like family - get ready to be pulled into activities and plied with food left and right. a. Join the Fun The children of Dorchacht are out by the dozens during the festivities, excited by all the freely-offered, special sweet treats and the magical sparklers and poppers being handed out by the fistful. The poppers explode when thrown to the ground in bursts of bright colors, completely harmless, and the sparklers are enchanted not to burn little (or big) hands if mishandled. Mirrorbound passing through may find themselves roped into elaborate pretend games of revolution by eager faces: the children name themselves either Resistance members or Mirrorbound, and 'do battle' with their magic fireworks against scarecrow-like constructions cloaked in dark bed sheets as 'the bad guys'. Depending on one's perspective, it may seem dark, but this is what these children have known very recently in their lives, and their caretakers or parents (there are more of the former than the latter, especially for the young Monsters) let them play as they will. If asked, they'll just explain that some of those kids even remember the fighting when it happened; this is just another way that they try to understand how the city has changed. More organized, family-friendly reenactment performances are also common, with several of the orphanage groups putting on small plays about the uprising, or moral plays about kindness and togetherness between Witches and Monsters. This includes a prominent set of performances by the Mirrored Hearts Home for Children - maybe you're helping out with their sets or costumes, or maybe you assisted with their scripts and songs. Those Mirrorbound volunteers will want to see the kids do well, right? They'll be heartbroken if you don't show. Of course, kids aren't the only ones doing reenactments. The newly formed Dorchacht Historical Society, dedicated to protecting Dorchacht's history going forward, puts on several - and may drag in passers-by to play different roles! Only the luckiest are begged to play the role of The Dragon, who valiantly rose up against their cruel former master, Morgana, and helped lead Dorchacht to where they are today. b. Forget-Me-Not While the overall air is celebratory, among the adults who are old enough to understand just what was lost as well as gained, there is an undercurrent of sombre remembrance. Many visit the burned-out Old Coven, left as damaged as it was when the fighting ceased, as a monument to how freedom fighters suffered and fought. Plaques dot the grounds and buildings there seemingly at random, until you realize that each metal plate bearing names is laid where someone died. To decorate these plaques, and homes and businesses as well, there are tables set up in the yard of the New Coven, heavy with a rainbow of small magical flowers called Forget-Me-Nots, and the supplies to make remembrance wreaths. In this new tradition, the flowers are chosen with a dead, missing, or simply absent loved one in mind, and woven together with glass beads, small wooden charms, and a spell written on a slip of paper. The enchanted fragrance of the Forget-Me-Nots allows whoever smells them to witness short, happy memories of the person the wreath was made for - whether they knew that person or not. The memories come from the wreath-maker, and are only short flashes (less than a minute long) or mere impressions, but all are pleasant or warming. With the spell woven in, they'll last for an entire year without wilting or losing their effects, a souvenir from the festival to take home. Mirrorbound are encouraged to join in, and make wreaths of their own, whether or not they lost someone in Dorchacht's uprising. It can be for someone who has disappeared from Geardagas, someone who died long ago, someone living they miss from home, anyone who is not currently with them.

II. The Uninvited Guests On the 25th, the final day of the celebrations, the partying lasts all day. Food and drink are abundant on every corner, upbeat music is played by street performers and over the radios that can be found in nearly every household and shop, and the bonfires have been enchanted to let the flames take fanciful shapes. Drinking games and dancing, storytelling and general partying all last clear into the evening, but once dusk falls, everyone gathers in the center square of the city for the fireworks show. The Three are there - the Witches Bryn and Hilda, and the Monster known as The Dragon, Starlight, or formerly Fafnir - with Nessie and Mhairi as guests of honor, and Hilda is the one to set off the first enchanted fireworks, after a brief speech thanking everyone for coming out to celebrate a year of freedom and independence with them. It's with bursts of colorful light in the night sky behind her that she seems to appear from nowhere: tall, dark and imposing, a sharp-eyed Witch that exudes power. Morgana Drummond is not alone, either, flanked by a dozen rough-worn Witches and a host of others. The chaos that ensues is immediate and violent. "All of this for me?" Drummond sneers. Attacks bounce off her, no matter how powerful - even Nessie's considerable spells. Witches will be able to sense the strong barrier spell close-fit around her body, and the others around her will not let Monsters get close. It's The Dragon who speaks, voice rough from disuse but loud enough: "How dare you return here-" "I built this city in all the ways that matter. I was never going to let you have it. You burned away my Dorchacht, so now I will make sure there is nothing left of yours but ashes." a. To Sleep, Perchance Unreachable, Morgana Drummond's form limns in a sickly violet light, the circle of a spell forming beneath her feet, steadily growing as her power gathers. So much magic gathered in one spot is bound to be felt by all the Mirrorbound, Witch and Monster alike, oppressive in nature as if it could steal the breath from your lungs. Perhaps it truly was a fluke that she was driven from Dorchacht, a happy accident caused by a timely distraction. The spell circle spreads, glowing, until it envelops the entire city, and it pulses once, blinding, before it sears itself across Dorchacht's streets and buildings in burnt lines and symbols. The fireworks continue to pop and burst overhead, casting shadows that seem suddenly sinister. Nothing happens for just a moment - and then all the people of Dorchacht collapse in waves. Next to a stunned Nessie and furious Mhairi, Bryn, Hilda, and the Dragon fall into a heap as well, the final three bodies to hit the ground. Mirrorbound and citizens of Aefenglom do not fall prey to the sleeping spell despite being in its area of effect. It happens in the span of just a few minutes, and then Morgana is gone in the blink of an eye, leaving her people to sow terror on the sleeping city. b. Battle on the Streets While she brought with her only a dozen Witches from her former Coven, she's collected a force in the Wilde. Blank-eyed rogue necromancers, mind controlled the way the Monsters of Dorchacht used to be, storm the streets controlling in turn their dead Monsters and creatures. A few even have with them dead Nuckelavee, which will require multiple fighters to take out. Wilders from Dorchacht gone missing on expeditions in the last year bear the signs of mind control as well - the ones who aren't dead, shambling around the necromancers. Maybe you recognize them, maybe you don't. Maybe you can help them, or maybe you can't. The mind control enchantments can be dispelled with a lot of effort or with the specific spells used often by the Resistance a while ago, for those who still remember it. In the slums of Dorchacht, the people who were convinced of Morgana's return, those who want to return to the days of slavery and terror, break free from the now-sleeping guards and failing wards that kept them contained and join the fighting, manic in their glee. The spell that put the rest of Dorchacht to sleep seems to slip right off them, perhaps sensing their loyalty to terrible causes. It is chaos, as the insurgents set fires and attack at will with magic, claws, weapons, anything they have. Mirrorbound will soon realize that they and the visitors from Aefenglom are not the only targets. The sleeping people of Dorchacht are ripe for the killing, unable to react or defend themselves. The fighting will continue into the night until the invaders are all dead or captured.

III. The Aftermath When the fighting ends, the work begins. An entire city deep in the throes of an enchanted sleep is a worst-case scenario that none of them could have predicted, even those who had a hunch Morgana didn't die out in the unexplored Wilde. Miss Nessie and Mhairi will remain on the scene helping to direct the aid efforts in the aftermath of the battle. Fires must be put out, corpses must be rounded up to be buried or burned, captured attackers must be secured and questioned, sleeping citizens must be whisked from the streets to safety and shelter, and buildings ensured to be safe in the meantime. Aefenglom's Coven are called in to assist, anyone who is available, and Mirrorbound help is more than welcomed. They will need everyone they can get to make sure not all is lost in this tragic attack. Nessie herself will ensure the Three are taken to safety in Aefenglom until the people of Dorchacht can be woken. Action needs to be taken quickly. Morgana needs to be found as soon as possible, and capable hands will be needed to search the Wilde far outside Dorchacht, the most likely place for her to go. More urgently, however, are the sleeping citizens. Nessie announces late the next evening, the normally-bubbly woman gone solemn and serious: "I believe I've found a counter-ritual for the spell that nasty woman used, I have. I will need your help, though, Mirrorbound. Volunteers only, of course, of course, as it's likely to be quite dangerous, though the Dreamers and I will take every precaution we can. Discuss among yourselves, decide if you're willing. Those who are, meet at the Coven at midnight on the 27th. It's not right to just leave them all like that, not right at all..."

Welcome to September's event log, Part 1 of The Price of Revolution! This event will continue in the TDM posted on the 21st, with a foray into purposeful dreamwalking. It will be a hybrid test drive and event that current characters will be allowed to top level on as well. Quests into the Wilde to search for Morgana will currently bear no fruit beyond small clues, but Part 2 in early October will deal with her whereabouts and her final fate. As always, direct your questions about the event HERE! And finally, for those who are wondering what's up with Dorchacht, we have a Setting update for you.

Comments

[scowlish]

[It hadn't occurred to Onni that the number of wreathes he's created would be ominous or concerning - where he comes from, everyone has lost people, usually more than one. Finland is still mostly wild Silent World, there's only one walled city while the rest of the settlements bleed into the forest around them, and all those fuzzy edges make for a high risk of outbreaks and attacks. Of course, he has personally lost a lot more than other people he knows, and primarily all at once, but it's something he doesn't usually discuss much or bother to compare with others.

Now, though, it's evident, particularly when Jaskier comes up to him and says his name and comments on his wreathes. Blinking a little, he glances down at them, making a soft hum in his throat.]

I suppose you could say that. I was just lost in thought, and I guess I made a few.

[Pale eyes track Jaskier's hands when he moves as if to pick one up, and there's a moment of relief when he pauses and asks before simply grabbing one. Glancing over at the other man, Onni considers for a moment. He hadn't really anticipated anyone actually wanting to look at the memories woven into the wreathes, and while he has a few clear memories of his childhood and a general sense of how things had been or how they had gone, he has, he thinks, far less memories than most people. Frankly, he knows there's a chance that Jaskier might see a memory that Onni doesn't even properly or consciously remember. Still, that's what the point of this is, isn't it? And there's nothing bad about the memories, they're meant to be fond and happy and full of love.

So, after only a moment or two of hesitation, he nods.]

Yes. I didn't expect anyone to want to touch them, but they're meant for sharing.

[His eyes stay on Jaskier as the other man responds, and if he does touch the wreath he'll find himself dropped into a tiny, extremely rustic cabin. Through the windows, the thick green Finnish forest is visible, the sun high in the sky.

There are two children at the table - one is recognizably Onni, who is around 12 years old, and the other is a small round girl with two long ash-blond braids and pale blue eyes, around 6 years old. In front of them is a small notebook bound with string and a handful of little pebbles which have been carefully divided into four groups of three. The little girl is holding a pencil, her expression deeply focused as she carefully copies down an equation while she glances back and forth between the groups of pebbles and the book - '12 ÷ 3 = 4.'

"That's right, Tuuri! Good job." says the younger version of Onni, eyes bright and smiling at her in a way he almost never smiles now. Reaching past her, he mixes the pebbles together again, and then pushes the book out of the way so Tuuri can reach them easily.

"Okay, now let's try...six, how many groups of six can you make with these?" Onni asks, and the little girl nods, mouth set in a determined line, and carefully starts moving the stones, counting out loud as she slides each one across the table.

The memory fades, and Onni is still looking at Jaskier, trying to read his expression for any sign of a reaction to it.]

What did you see?

[cointosser]

[Curiousity and nosiness mix into a heady combination, which explains why Jaskier does most of the things he does. To write so many stories so well, Jaskier had to understand the people around them. A true artist must take in as much as he possibly could, of course. To summarize the human heart was truly an impossible task, but he would never stop trying.

(But mostly, really, he's just nosey in this particular instance Not a lot of chances to learn about a man as taciturn as Onni.)] I can't help myself, really.

[It's truthful. He sets his own wreathe down carefully, unsure if the magics may combine into an overwhelming sort of memory. One at a time. Simpler.

He brushes over the feathers on the wreathe first, then closes his eyes as his fingers press deeper. It's the strangest feeling, being pulled into a memory. The witch part of him can at least recognize it's magic at work, but it's a bit too much like falling into a dream. There's no ending of consciousness and beginning of the dream. It's seamless. A jump that he can't pinpoint.

There's thick green that's familiar to him; so much of his life has been spent in thick, dark forests like these. Riding past cabins and cottages dotted here or there in the countryside of the Continent, or walking alongside Roach.

Nice to see someone has a sphere like his.]

I see you were quite the adorable child, weren't you? [He pulls out of it, warmed, taking his hand back. A snapshot of a family's life. One they didn't realize was being recorded for the future. It was sweet. Jaskier smiles, genuine. He can't say he had anything to compare so much.] Maths. You were teaching your... sister, perhaps? Tuuri.

[scowlish]

[While Jaskier had been viewing the memory from the wreath, Onni had been watching him, his eyes sharp and searching for any sign of emotion or reaction to what the other man had been seeing, any sign of discomfort or whatever else. Part of him wants to know what the other man had seen and part of him shies away from that, because he's afraid of the hurt that will come if he hears about his parents or Tuuri or any of the other people who are gone from his life forever. People he'll never have back, people he'll never be able to hug again. Even hearing about Lalli would hurt now, because even though his cousin is alive, he's definitely angry at Onni, and he isn't here where Onni can see him and know he's safe. He hates it.

But Jaskier doesn't look unhappy or anything. He just holds the wreath respectfully and his expression is blank while he experiences whatever it is he's experiencing. And then he comes back to himself and answers Onni's question.]

Adorable?

[A snort, because the idea of anything about Onni being adorable is laughable. But when Jaskier explains what he'd seen, smiling, his expression warm, Onni's own expression softens a little. It hurts, to hear about it. It's not something he consciously remembers, just one of those things he knows had to have happened. Teaching Tuuri to do math when he was young and they'd both been in school at Toivosaari, before everything had happened. For a moment he's too choked up to say anything, but he nods, and then takes a steadying breath, glancing away in hopes that Jaskier won't see the way his eyes are going slightly red around the edges. He knows they are because he can feel the sting of tears, the tension in his chest and throat that comes with holding it back.

After a few moments, he composes himself and he can speak.]

Yes. Tuuri is...was. Was. My sister. I was six when she was born, and she was no end of trouble.

[A pause, and then, his voice quiet.]

I would have died for her, ever since the moment she was born.

[cointosser]

[An incredibly intimate moment, then, to let a relative stranger view with his own eyes. Luckily, Onni does not look terribly regretful he allowed it.

Not particularly happy with it, either. Jaskier is no fool, at least where it comes to matters of the heart. He doesn't press for more questions, and busies himself with taking his own wreathe from his neck so he does not see the clear sadness across his companion's face.

There are no shortages of people who have lost others. Even here, on another plane.]

Well, I was being nice. She's a right bit more adorable than you were. [A sister. It must have been ideal, in those moments, where there was nothing to worry for in the future. At least from what he could take in the moment.

Jaskier smiles. It's clear Onni loves her, even now. Perhaps especially now.] You know, there might be a spell that will keep these wreathes preserved? I can look something up. So it's always there for her. I'm sure there's something.