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Event Log: April, Tangled Terrors Part Two
Slashing down the curtain of blackened roots that bar entry to the source of all this trouble will open up access to a truly massive cavern, the ceiling of which is far, far over your heads. Unlike everywhere else in the Underground so far, slats of light from aboveground filter in through cracks in the ceiling of varying sizes, where thick, sickly roots penetrate the surface and reach down, down, down, hanging like stalactites or wrapping around the mass at the center of the chamber. There it is, the pulsing louder than ever, a steady drumbeat of unease: a beating, throbbing mass of Cwyld, easily as large as one of the bigger buildings in Aefenglom. Pitch black in color, it’s attached firmly to the coiling roots of what must be a huge tree above, leeching from it like a parasite and reaching dark vein-like fingers into the leyline. This is an ancient, well-established thing that must have laid dormant for a long time, newly awoken by the efforts to clear away infection in the tunnels close to it. With every beat of this hideous heart, the problems that plague the Underground, Aefenglom, and the Mirrorbound grow incrementally worse. It’s easier to feel out the leyline here, even for those who may not be sensitive to such things, and its poor condition is enough to fill even the stoniest heart with empathetic, deep-rooted despair - the magic here is badly tainted, the land dying all around you. |
I. The Screaming Tree
The ancient tree before you is just as dead, its branches long bare, its bark crumbling and leaving bone-white patches of the raw wood visible in the trunk. It might have been beautiful once, homey, its roots spread wide and forming natural hollows and bowers to rest in, but that was a long, long time ago. Before something terrible happened here. Look closer at the trunk, and bear witness to the faces of two dozen humanoid creatures who seem like they were partly absorbed into the tree and frozen there, their expressions a tableau of horror, fear, despair, many of their mouths twisted into screams. Men, women, there are even a couple of faces that seem so, so very young, held in place inside the dead tree by black, pulsing veins. Their long limbs are outstretched like branches, as if they’re reaching for you, desperate for help. Black, oily sludge constantly leaks from their unmoving eyes like tainted tears. The Dryads died out a long time ago, fallen to the Cwyld, that’s common knowledge, but now you’re seeing it for yourself. The pulsing mass of Cwyld below overtook this tree, and the Dryads who no doubt lived among its roots and branches. "Can thou feel their cries? The hopelessness wrought deep in their souls?" comes a larger than life voice near you, laden with despair of her own to see the evidence of lives cut tragically short. “I remember this place. It was a Dryad settlement once, long ago.” |
II. Guardian's Blessing
"Mine wings bore me as swiftly as they could," she says, settling into a sitting position in the dead grass, watching the tree with immeasurable sadness. "Thou hast seen what lies beneath, have thee not? The Cwyldheart." Her tone is nearer to disdain than sorrow, but there's a clear remorse in it as well. "I had not thought they existed still, but perhaps they merely laid dormant where my senses could not find them. This one poisons the very leyline that runs beneath thine Aefenglom." She goes on to inform all who are gathered that when she heard from you Mirrorbound that something was amiss, she came as quickly as she could to see the damage, and to try and offer her help if she can. Cwyldhearts, she tells you all, are masses where the infection is concentrated, where it has consumed a great amount of magic or lives, and when active, they cause powerful surges in infection all through the leylines they attach to. She wasn’t aware that any remained, and speculates that they hide themselves when they go dormant. This one is most assuredly active, and that means it won’t stop until it has consumed everything it can, turned every life from here to Aefenglom into an infected husk. But Creia, her talons scratching at the dead ground, and her gaze fixed on the tree, does not seem so willing to accept that. "Thou who hath been called by the world, thou hath proven thyselves capable of achieving the improbable before, have thee not? That I stand here now before thee is proof enough of that. Perhaps, should thee take heart and valor in hand, thou may be able to do so once more. Wouldst thou like to try?" In a surge of power, the ground immediately beneath her shifts, the grass changing color slowly from gray to white to green with new life, and she drags her claws through it to turn the earth, revealing large brown seeds shaped like teardrops, the size of footballs or ostrich eggs, nestled in the dirt. Despite their woody outer shells, she’s very careful with them as she offers a seed to anyone who steps forward to take one. "Each of these seeds contains a piece of my magic. Keep them safe, plant them in the center of the Cwyldheart, and add thy power to mine own. Yes, yes, those who are closer in form to myself as well, everyone with a spark of life in them can lend their voice to the chorus of this world. It will amplify thine abilities and thine hope for a better world, and enough of them should allow thee to destroy this blight for good." She casts a glance to the tree, to the frozen faces of the Dryads, something new entering her expression, something like hope. "And who knows what may happen then?" This mission is a dangerous one, but Creia sends off those willing to take it with a warm, heartfelt wish. "Thou must take care of thyselves, but be certain to take care of thy comrades as well. Thou shalt need one another." |
III. Heart of Darkness
Whatever entrance you find closes up the moment you and your fellows step through it, and it becomes obvious quickly that either you will succeed here, or you’ll join those Dryads in the infected tree. Your Watch still works, at least - most of the time. The connection is quite spotty, and voices can come out sounding garbled and nightmarish on both sides, but with persistence, this is the only way you’ll be able to talk to anyone who isn’t on this mission with you. Otherwise, you’ll have to rely on your fellow volunteer heroes to help you through this.
Negative feelings seem always at the forefront, paranoia and fear especially, filling those who venture here with the sense that they need to watch their backs. The air is thick and stale, damp and reeking of rot. The natural pathways that tunnel through the Cwyldheart like twisting arteries are lined with clusters of purple fungi, and very old, sludge-covered bones of the creatures it infected long ago. They’re rare, but occasionally blind Shades still wander within the chambers of the Cwyldheart, so twisted and mutated you can’t tell what they used to be. These are attracted to sound and motion, and by staying very still, you can generally avoid their attention. Everything in this place gets more dangerous once it gets the scent of those seeds you carry, though. As if sensing what they could do to it, it will react defensively. Protect those seeds; Shades will come after those who carry them, the roots in the walls and the bulbous mushrooms loosening and growing and lashing out. The Cwyld may sink its claws into you in an attempt to infect and consume those seeds - too much contact with the roots or the Shades may start to cause physical mutations in you, just like those mutations of the velvet wormipedes and the native creatures of the tunnels. Your limbs may change and twist, you may grow new blackened protrusions. It's painful, and disgusting, and if it goes too far, you may need to hand your seed off to someone you can trust, lest you sabotage the mission yourself. b. Heart on Your Sleeve
But then the strangeness gets more improbable, like the Cwyldheart itself wants to probe at your weaknesses, bring them out to the forefront to better get under your skin and make you lose hope in ever finding the center. All those things that have hurt you in the past, that left their marks on your mind, your soul rather than your body, surface as wounds or scars on your physical form. None of them will be debilitating or life-threatening in themselves, you won’t bleed out from your past broken heart, but they will be painfully obvious to those around you, and some may not handle that type of vulnerability well. The only thing that seems to ease the pain from these psychological wounds is talking about the events that caused them to another person, whether they be your Bonded or a total stranger, or just sharing an emotional connection of some kind. No one wants to discuss some of their worst memories or open up to a near stranger, but it might be necessary to keep yourself from being distracted or held back as you wander the maze of the Cwyldheart. c. A Helping Hand
The land recognizes all bonds, even those that are unofficial, even those that are new. While you can hang on to your Bonded if you’re lucky enough to have them with you, friendships or familial relationships or a budding romance, the heat of a rivalry, or even the new and tenuous bond of two strangers brought together by mutual dangers can be used to your advantage. Physical contact with any of your fellow Mirrorbound, even just clasped hands, or a comforting hand on your shoulder, can make it easier to cast spells to light your way through the dark or fight off the few wandering Shades. It can give you the strength to use your abilities, not quite to their fullest, but better than you can use them alone. It will also help you protect those seeds you hold close to your chest. Your bonds, and your Bonds can help shield their presence from the Cwyldheart, making it safer to proceed. It’d be easy to push people away, especially bearing the physical representations of your deepest emotional hurts, but you’ll never survive that way. You’ll only make it to the center by coming together. |
IV. Seeds of Hope
This chamber is vulnerable, all the strange defenses outside meant to protect it. The soil here is black with infection, but soft, easily dug with your hands or tools if you happened to have brought them. The perfect place to plant your garden of hope for the future of Geardagas. Once you’ve broken through to the innermost chamber, the pulsing seems to fade away, letting you think again, clearly, for the first time since you entered. The walls are still. You’ve made it this far and no more dangers will come for you. Plant the seeds you worked so hard to keep safe in the blackened soil, hold your friends tight, and plant a piece of your own innate magic with them. All your best intentions, all your joys, all your light. Let it bloom. The seeds take root quickly, and bloom they do, growing fast and strong and pulsing with magic, Creia’s bolstering your own to make something bright and brilliant. The resulting plants grow huge in a matter of minutes, twining together in harmony. Maybe you can even tell which seed you have carried, because the plant is a larger version of something significant to you, or it bears colors that represent you. They form a sheltered bower, and spread upward, pushing away the blackened walls, sinking fresh green tendrils into the bigger roots of the dead tree. The Cwyldheart crumbles around you. The black recedes. The leyline fills with fresh magic and pulses with new life. A gentle warmth wraps around you like a blanket and heals your wounds and banishes any infection you picked up. It will keep working over the next few days, the new life sinking in, banishing the Cwyld entirely from the Underground caverns and weakening its hold above. It will gradually bring life again to the ancient tree and make it bloom once more. At this point, you can stick around to watch it happen, or you can return home with the good news, and trust in what you helped to start. With the destruction of the Cwyldheart, all its negative effects will fade. Your Bonds will snap back into place and right themselves from the Dryad Tree clear into Aefenglom. You might feel the phantom ache of that loss for some time more, but the moment it’s destroyed, everyone will know that all will be well. |
Welcome to Tangled Terrors, Part Two! This part takes place entirely at the site of the Cwyldheart, but anyone is welcome to do Watch threads on this log to communicate with the group they aren't part of (staying home vs expedition team). We'll be posting a small wrap-up at the very end of the month that will describe the aftermath and the rewards characters will reap for their efforts, but it won't be a full event post of its own. As always, you're welcome to use this log or make your own, and please make sure you warn for any content that might be disturbing to others! And lastly, please direct your questions here. Have fun!
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Now, he must--not submit to panic or rage as Mello turns that fire on him; at least he's been here before, and remembers how badly it had gone--remembers, also, that Near had told him not to borrow trouble and what would lashing out be if not outright buying that trouble to own? --All a second's flashing consideration when Mello's scorching hands touch his flank, and the big deer shudders but does not cry out nor flinch aside. Quite the opposite: He plants all four hooves and braces himself, fur rippling along his neck and shoulders in a mute threat.
His hide, at least, is thick. He can tolerate the burning touch a few seconds before he's got to do something (the scent of scorched hair and blistering skin are worse even than the pain, compliment to the blisters on his fetlocks).]
No.
Stand down.
[Last warning. Even if the rampaging Witch is damned unlikely to listen.]
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He braces against Myr's hind leg, but it's not good. He can't stand, immediately, breathless and burned, shaking for reasons his body remembers from their last physical brush even if his mind has forgotten. He can't fight with his magic silenced.
No self-destructive impulse can reverse the plain and simple truths. He swallows, presses his limbs a bit closer toward his aching core, and permits Myr to protect him, for the moment.]
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[L has backed down, for whatever reason. He looks so injured. Defeated. Weak. And it's in this moment of calm — the environment around them is silent in Mello's ears — that Mello peers through blackened eyes at his ex-mentor. The one he would've followed to the end, no matter the outcome, and realizes — ]
[He's the threat, here.]
[Controlling his own magic is something he hasn't quite learned yet, so the most he can do is draw himself back, remove contact from L's Bonded. Let the heat bubble and burn his own palms, and nothing else. He's exterted so much, though he's still racing with an adrenaline that far surpasses any anger he's ever known.]
[Idiot child who knows nothing.]
[T'ch.]
Get him away from me, [He mutters to the interloper.] Now.
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Myr quivers once in reaction as Mello pulls his hands back, muscles tensing as he braces for whatever follows the momentary withdrawal. When that is no more than words, his great heart nearly bursts from the relief of it; he does not need to be told twice to drop and awkwardly kneel by his fallen Witch. Hopefully--with help--L can at least drape over his back and hold on long enough for them to get somewhere else.
He catches at L's collar with his teeth to urge him on. Come on, come on. No telling how long they've got and Myr's only suppressed his urge to flee the flame, not silenced it entirely.]
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He tries to pull his leg away from the places where Myr's been burned by Mello's touch, not wholly successfully. Without his magic, the techniques that allow him to paradoxically draw strength from the shedding of his own blood, Mello's assessment of his battle-worthiness isn't far off.
It's insulting; it's infuriating. Mello must know, he thinks darkly, that were it not for L's Bonded nearby, he'd be atoms, he'd be ash.
He clings to Myr's neck with one arm, grasps to check for the seed with his other. The priority; the reason they're here, that the idiot child pulled his focus away from.
L didn't give a shit about any of them, was it?
Idiot child, who knows nothing...]
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[Whoever, whatever this motherfucker is, he's just made Mello's long, long list of enemies. He won't even watch their departure; nails digging further wounds into the burns on his hands. Just long, purposeful strides in the opposite direction, and if the blonde was ever a volatile thing, he's nothing less than a hurricane right now.]
[But he's always been one to have the last word, so — ]
And keep him the fuck away from me, [He shouts behind him while everything continues to ignite and consume and tear him down the way L had intended with his words.]
[Fucking asshole.]
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Though he's scarcely thinking about that as he limps his way down the tunnel the opposite direction from Mello's fiery retreat, shuddering now and again as the scent of smoke reaches him. They can't afford to go too far from the group--they are still Shades here, now and again, to say nothing of the Cwyldheart's malign influence itself--but they can separate a little.
And...find a healer. For all L's care in not jostling it, the ache in Myr's blistered side is growing steadily worse. It beats in time with his heartbeat, with the pulse of this damnable fragment of the Void, with the fury brooding in his Bonded's heart.
That lattermost is what actually worries him most. He comes to a plodding stop, stretching his head out to nose against a wall in search of familiar scents. He'd come this way before, he's nearly certain.
What happened? he almost, but does not, ask. He's not sure he can deal with that on top of--everything else. Not yet.]
We need a healer.
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He senses the question that goes unasked. Myr's right; it's more strain than either of them can approach at this moment, perhaps even given time to breathe.
Something went terribly wrong, and that's obvious enough without him saying so.]
Light.
[The word is hoarse and muffled against the stag's fur. It's effort just to raise his head; that, or shame, keeps it down.]
He's made study, and he's good...
[Like L, Light has a way of mastering whatever he touches.]
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He twists his head back to nose his Witch once, dim reassurance for both of them they made it out alive.]
Guide me to him.
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L captures Light's attention first. His body is already so disfigured from the scars of his past that it would almost be difficult to discern any new injuries, but they stand out enough to catch the eye, and the smell isn't lost either, especially in closed quarters. ]
Linden? What happened to you?
[ It's only natural for his eyes to drift to Myr next. The two are close enough that it stands to reason any attack on one would involve the other if they were close by. Like with L, the injuries are easy to spot. ]
You were attacked?
[ It's obvious that they're both in need of help and even while Light asks the probing questions, hands go to L's shoulder to try and stop him from walking, to steady him. Before he can do much, Light needs to know what he's working with. ]
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Burns... I'll explain, but please see to him, first.
[The request shouldn't be surprising. Light's seen the detective's brilliance and cruelty; any tenderness he reserves for others is far rarer, and it stands out by sheer merit of the contrast.
Mello's laid hands on his faun. Quite literally, the painful-looking burns are in the shape of palms and fingers.]
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But try telling that to the stag's instincts and see how well they took it.]
Linden, [he rumbles, discontent at being triaged ahead of his smaller, frailer Witch. The burns are deep enough to warrant worry, having scorched away the full thickness of his hide to the muscle and fat beneath...and they hurt enough that the protest is only token.]
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[ It's important to know when to indulge L and when to push back. The time spent pushing back in this case would only cost them precious time. Light could have them both healed before L agreed to be treated first. ]
Are your eyes hurt?
[ Under normal circumstances, it might seem like a stupid question, but having Myr's eyes bleed fits into the theme of this place. Until now, he hasn't heard of Myr using his eyes for anything, but he admittedly doesn't know a lot about the faun. ]
If it's fresh, I should try to heal that first before you bleed out. [ If it's not, Light's magic is useless against the bleed. ] If it's the magic of this place, I'll move to your burn first.
[ They're both injured enough that it's not going to be a quick fix-up. Each injury is going to take a decent amount of magic, and Light needs to know what to prioritize. While he may know for L, he hasn't seen Myr enough to know how these caverns have affected him. ]
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[Snaps the man who is clearly not fine. He stands aside, letting a nearby boulder take his weight so that Light can better see the burns.
The edges of his eyes tighten at Light's questions, a slight wince.]
The... burns, please.
[It's the magic of this place, and Myr is unlikely to tell Light, at least, what has ailed him in his life's dealings and darkness.
He pushes himself up once he's had a moment to catch his breath, moving around to stand at the stag's shoulder. If he needs a receptacle to whisper into, and heal himself, the detective is all ears, at least... and happens to know more than Myr realizes.]
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Explaining that there are no eyes under the blindfold to be hurt is not something he has in him right now. In lieu of words (treacherous, difficult words), he nods in emphasis to L's request; just the burns. He won't bleed out any time soon.
He shuffles his hooves, turning side-on toward Light's voice to better bare the awful burns for inspection. He turns his blood-streaked head toward the sound and presence of his Witch, intuiting what L's there for and almost--almost desperate enough to shove his inhibitions entirely aside.
They're stubborn, though, this inhibitions; Light's proximity makes it worse. And...]
I haven't been able to tell anyone, [he murmurs, for his Witch's ear alone. His tone is small and ashamed.] It isn't--it doesn't hurt, [because "it isn't as bad as it looks" is wrong when he knows very well his blindfold and fur are both saturated,] that much.
I thought I could hide. And not explain.
[Not a safe idea in a Cwyldheart, Shivana, and you know it.]
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Then, onto the burn. Painful, but at least not bleeding. How deep? Light's no doctor, but he studies what medical texts are available to help supplement his magic under the assumption that the better he can understand what he's doing, the stronger and more accurate his magic will be. It's definitely at least a harsh second-degree burn, perhaps even cross the line from that.
Shaped like hands. That's impossible to miss. ]
You'll have to hold still. Healing burns isn't like closing a cut; there's missing skin. If any part of it feels numb, there might be nerve damage, and when the starts to heal, it's going to hurt, but if you can bear with it, it won't be for long.
Is the person who attacked you nearby?
[ He holds no desire to have a fire monster suddenly ambush them. But, since the answer isn't relevant to healing, there's no reason to delay it any further. Bringing both hands in front of him, both palms hover above the burn and the healing starts. It begins in the deepest depths of the injury and as he'd warned, any damaged nerves that had been blissfully numb would start to hurt as the damage starts to become undone. ]
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No shortage of people, who would rather keep wounds than relinquish secrets.
[He's one of them; Light's one of them. So many choosing to nurse their misery because worse misery and exposure awaits them if they breathe a word of what happened to leave that mark on their soul. He rests a hand on Myr's neck, stroking the blood-streaked fur; is he more of a source of stress or comfort, for his Bonded? Is L the one selfishly seeking a grounding touch now to banish the memory of Mello's searing hands on his neck?
At least he knows from experience that Light's touch is gentle. The meticulous young man has always taken great care when handling the damaged flesh of others. They'll need that skill and care, given the current unstable magical climate.
He glances back at Light, continuing to pet Myr's fur in short, quick strokes.]
No... and he won't be.
[Keep him the fuck away from me.]
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Dangerous, amatus, [he mutters, to his Witch alone. Even knowing very well L's words were meant as sympathy rather than rebuke, he's taking it as remonstrance because he deserves it. (Craves it, even.) It is more of a risk to keep some secrets than it was to split the misery behind them across those who were able and willing to help.
Or so went the thought. He makes a noise of discomfort as Light's efforts wake dead nerves back to itching, painful life; the skin on his side twitches like he's been bitten, though he's otherwise still as instructed.]
I did this to myself.
[The words are scarcely above a whisper now.]
My--eyes, and what came after.
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Myr's outwardly quiet. While their relationship can hardly be called a relationship, the faun has spoken to him when their paths did cross so even if Myr's judgment is obvious, the polite side of his personality usually wins. Possibly, he's too bothered by what happened to speak, but it's more likely they're speaking to one another through the bond.
Reassuring. Myr considers his decision to keep the secret to himself silly, or at least L thinks he will. L isn't wrong, of course; a lot of people are making the decision to keep the physical reminder of their pasts a secret to keep from sharing.
While the initial heal is painful, Myr should begin to feel an ease not long after as the endings themselves heal further. The replacement of the skin is more advanced and does take longer to manage. ]
Was it an inhabitant, or something down here?
[ As much as Light realizes they're having an internal conversation, he also wants to know the safety of these tunnels. A lot of his attention has to be on the magic to give it the best chance of not going awry. ]
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Such a mess, for one he wants to protect. So many mishaps and pitfalls and dangers. He wonders, idly, if later on when they're in better shape, he'll confide in Myr that he's actually witnessed the event that resulted in the loss of his eyes.]
A mirrorbound witch.
[Better to skip at least a few of the twenty questions, in a game that could otherwise turn tedious.
What he'll say about the situation's personal nature, his targeted instigation and the rage and grief Mello could only feel for his fallen idol, remains to be seen.]
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Perhaps this isn't the best time to discuss this. (Perhaps there's a relief in that.)]
You won't be able to lead him on forever, Linden.
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But you're sure he won't attack again. Did you kill him, or is his reason for attacking gone?
[ The 'why' isn't necessarily as important as assuring they were safe. Magic isn't stable yet. If there's an attack and Light's caught off guard, he can't promise nothing will happen. ]
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Myr's right, as he often is. Myr says the things that L's first impulse is to fight or deny, but can't because he trusts the source, knows the truth at the heart of it himself even if it's inconvenient.]
In the altercation, Myr and I prevailed.
[Light might notice that L's magic is still silenced, near the end of the spell's duration. It's the reason Mello isn't dead, truly, and that's probably the most disquieting part of all of this for the detective.]
He's not stupid... he knows that under the same circumstances... the same results are likely.
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He may have been infected, [he adds to L's comment, for both Witches' ears. ] Which would worsen matters when we're already on edge, but he's seen reason now.
[That... does mean they owed a duty to Mello and the other Mirrorbound to track him down and see him cleansed. Damn it. The stag grumbles to himself and noses against his Witch's hair, snorting dismay at the smell of blood and--odd softness to L's skull.
Shit. That's not a wound L could be up and walking around with so it's likely a result of the Cwyldheart but it still nearly stops Myr's heart a moment to feel it and sends a charge of icy adrenaline through the Bond.]
--Your turn for healing. Now.
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Thankfully, that wasn't necessary. ]
I'll need you to stand still and turn the injuries toward me. And I have a lot more questions after you've had a chance to heal.
[ L likely would have known he would. After all, it's important to know if that person is a new risk or an old risk, and considering they lived together, a risk to L could likewise be a risk to Light. ]
Remember that it's going to hurt at first, but I'm sure it's already hurting enough that it won't be too easy to notice. The guy really wanted you to suffer, didn't he?
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