⭐️ Player Event Log: September, Little Dorchacht

[usurpers]

Player Event Log: September, Little Dorchacht

On the 21st of Septeril, the mirrorbound may see something glinting and chirping from the screens of their watches, to alert them of a message wherever they may be— The Black City’s Coven, the streets, even the sewers— a name stands just underneath written words of the device’s screen with a brief disclosure: The care centers are scapegoats to breed the city’s monster stock. The Resistance has a plan to put a dent in the system for good, so If you’re inclined for whatever reason, look for them. They’ll strike in four days and need volunteers. Any further questioning will be met with silence, or urging one to seek out those who have deemed themselves responsible, three stars dawned, excited and ready: La Resistance. Characters will be led to hideouts, sent messengers, notes and even encrypted talk under a simple guise of sympathizers in and around the Coven itself, if so much as desired to hear from them. The information is the same, wherever one hears from: “ In the "poorer" sections of the city, those less off and more exposed to various influence, there are sections dubbed as "care centers" for the lost. Some of these are true orphanages for those who've lost their parentage in some way, human only, but most are simply covers for the collection and breeding of Monsters for stock. It's been thought that by breeding "domesticated" pairs together, it'd elicit a stock that's more eager to obey without the use of magic, but so far that hasn't been the case. Like a long line of domestication, basically. They don't always keep the Monsters they breed -- many are studs offered from the Coven, who are masters among masters at keeping their Monsters heeled.” Many and all speculation is confirmed, and if you agree to help them in any way, shape or form, your informant can only grin as freely as they feel once they hear you say “yes”. —Well, hop to it! Depending on what roll you play, you have a strategy you need to follow, now. Either that, or . . . If you have your own plans, you’re welcomed to drum to your own beat. As long as you don’t interfere, says their leader rather dangerously. The Resistance, you’ll realize, would go very far for control over Dorchacht, with some individuals being very for the murder of Morgana Drummond. (It's on the table, but generally speaking they'd like it not to come to that -- there are worse things you can do to a Witch.) Their numbers aren't the highest, but it's safe to say that though they are a smaller part of Dorchacht's general public, the connections they have and where they have certain players do make them formidable in a sense. They would be able to pull through given help, and would more than welcome it. You have four days!

I. THE BOOM The night is dark on the 25th of Septeril, but the terrors lurk far more during the day. Dorchacht's air is heavy as ever, but so eerily silent amidst the calming lullabies played throughout the streets. It’s too late for anyone to be breaching the unspoken curfew, save for guards and the city’s army (widely known for keeping the peace, The Resistance would comment during briefing). Little by little, it grows darker. Lamp posts are broken, ambient magitech is dulled to shadows, and through them creep the silent steps of the war horses— the group The Resistance has tasked with creating vibrant and insufferable decoys. It doesn’t matter how it’s done, or how creative one would like to get. As long as you have the military’s attention, you’re doing a splendid job. Let it be known, though! Most veterans have taken a kindled liking to using fire to set the market and other strategic locations to flames. Tonight, we break the chains! Tomorrow, we set our city free!, they yell, boisterous and as lively as the blaze that gives Dorchacht a face that has never before been seen, or remembered: animated. It may be in the trojan horses greater interest to go along and keep them safe— not all of them know how to defend themselves from the eminent threats to come. Or maybe you have something else in mind, and desire to use the growing chaos to unfold other pieces to the puzzle the Black City hides.

II. THE CLATTER Tucked away into Dorchacht’s pockets of poverty are the human orphanages, locked, sound and asleep. Well— if the children haven’t heard the commotion yet, and you know children. Feisty little rugrats. The dark horses (and trojans) are tasked to enter these establishments under the facade of good samaritans, to usher the children and caretakers out from the (possible) fires dangerously close to licking their rooftops, as well as the chaos from the coming riots only spreading. Children will be children, and some will cling, plenty will scream, and a good handful will cry. Do your best to get them out of the way, so to speak. Remove them from danger, shake off the nitpick employees (or duct tape a few to a wall for the kids to throw tomatoes at) and return to your objective: the basements or locked rooms. Down the poorly lit staircases and soundproof-charmed hallways will be found adult monsters of all kinds and genders. The darkness is their only friend, their living conditions are indignant, and compulsion spells still plague them to obey. They haven’t see the light of day for as long as their eyes remain opened, caged and forced into bearing offspring for their slavers. Many are exhausted, frightened, and some may even be too far along their trauma to react nicely to their visitors if left to their own devices. Some may be newcomers though, strong of mind and only waiting for you to give them freedom, to allow them to help you help them. Calm them, steady them, and free them. Lead them safely to The Resistance’s hideaways, and beware those who may come to stop you. The less you’re seen, the better.

III. THE CRACK The Coven as a whole may be a little restless, as much as they attempt to hide it, once they’ve gotten word of the uncontrolled pests in town. The occasional hush and whisper rushes through their halls with clicking boots and flowing cloaks to awaken those nearly ready to rest, with the majority of their witches cursing the Resistance, and one or two smirking subtly under their pointed hats. The willing dignitaries of Aefenglom old and new that have received word in secrecy— gift horses— are told to stay in the building under their watchful eyes and safety. shelter is offered close to the river and harbor from where they came. They wouldn’t want their guests harmed in this ugly crisis, after all. Though look hard enough, trek with patience, and the sympathizers will come forward quickly, nimbly with news: a back entrance for those who want access to the city exists. Those who come will be met with Resistance members beyond these gates, disguises in hand to offer and grand thanks for joining them. Nerissa Bell will approve without openly approving— her hands are rather tied, but do take care of yourselves. She’ll do the best she can to keep accusations null and void. The citizens of Dorchacht are frightened and panicked, others join in the inspiring revolt, and even more jeer as the city splits. Some buildings may be truly lost and close to collapse by the enchanted flames and sparks of fireworks popping into the sky. Homes and businesses aren’t saved from the crossfire, even a handful of citizens are caught in the fray— no one said you couldn’t help them, care for them, and tranquilize them. No one said you couldn’t fight, either. You’re “glorified tourists”, aren’t you? Show them your glory (without giving yourself away).

this is the player plot announced and discussed here to help free dorchacht! all players are welcomed to wildcard what they do to their heart’s content and by no means are trapped into these prompts! more group discussions can be found here and questions can be directed here! have fun!!

Comments

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ The thought of potentially being trapped in this form never crossed his mind. It's fine, it's an easy enough promise to keep. when he's out of sight, that's when he lets himself start to change. It's ... painful, to say the least, but there's no sign of the pain either through their Bond or through his voice. He can handle almost any kind of physical torment, after all -- even if this is unlike anything he's experienced before. Soon, any human features are gone and all the remains standing in his place is a towering, scaled beast.

Diarmuid is just as likely to hear him coming as much as see him. Berserker's steps are loud, though it's more the sound of his claws against the ground than his actual footfalls. His tail drags the ground a little bit, adding to the noise. This...is going to take some getting used to, but it's fine. It's just a different weapon in his arsenal.

He stands in front of the witch, looking down at him. As in the considerably smaller form, his tattoos are reflected in his scales in striking crimson against the black of the rest of his body. He lowers his head down in front of Diarmuid, a familiar low rumble coming from him as he nudges him very gently.

How very different from the last time they went into battle together...Much more significant, certainly. If they had more time, he might think on this more, but that's for later. Now it's time for action. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[There's no pain, perhaps, but there's a subtle change through their Bond, a shifting of minds between man and beast that Diarmuid only barely catches. More conspicuous, however, is the sound of Berserker's approach in the aftermath. The Lancer turns abruptly at the scrape and crunch of claws on dried earth- and finds himself face to face with a full-sized dragon. He's faced both Eldritch abominations courtesy of Caster and ice-spewing salamanders in the caverns but the sheer size of him, that breath-catching presence, has him lost for words.

It's only when he nudges against him with that great muzzle that Diarmuid snaps out of it.]

... you always find new ways to surprise me, Berserker. Colour me impressed.

[Just for a moment, he closes his eyes and tips the brim of his hat back so that he can press his brow to his. The scales are smooth and cool to the touch, more like leather than the platemail he was expecting, but pleasant. More importantly, it's a relief when he finds that they don't impede their Bond; their connection is as strong as ever.]

Are you sure you won't find it undignified to carry me?

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ There was a bit of a nagging worry that this transformation might limit their Bond, but it's all washed away with one simple touch. Berserker has to fight the urge to seek more and focus on the task at hand. The question instantly snaps him back.

Undignified was being the size of a housecat and getting stuffed inside Diarmuid's shirt; carrying him on his back is miles more dignified than that incident. The dragon gives him a look that says "stop asking dumb questions" before lowering himself down. Even if it were undignified, it's easier (and safer) for him to carry the witch -- getting around the city on foot could be a nightmare with the potential mayhem. They can stay together this way and cause twice as much chaos. It's a win-win, really. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[Ah, he knows that look. It's impressive how perfectly from human to dragon.]

... alright. [Diarmuid bops his forehead against Berserker's one more time for good measure and then turns his attention to the task of trying to take his place atop him.] Forgive my clumsiness- I'm used to smaller mounts.

[So he says, but there's little that's clumsy about his movements. Diarmuid nimbly hoists himself up into the space in between his wings and his neck, straddling him as he might a horse. After a moment or two of shifting as he finds his balance, he leans forward.]

Like this? We're flying into a battle- I wouldn't want to be a distraction.

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ He's surprisingly patient as he waits for Diarmuid to settle in. His weight is barely noticeable, a slight pressure where he settles in. He's not a distraction it at all -- his presence grounds him and keeps the feral instincts from creeping in too strongly.

Berserker looks back at his passenger for just a second before he takes flight. It just feels right to head into battle this way, even if it's unusual. A one-man war no longer, ever lonely no longer, now with someone to fight alongside. Finally someone who could keep up with him and give him strength. Not a commander, not just an ally...

He shakes those thoughts away as they climb higher. The gloom above the city extends seemingly endlessly; as depressing as it is, it provides good cover for the dark-colored dragon. It seems the Resistance has not quite started their attack in earnest, though a few glowing fires are visible from this height. A guard post would make a perfect ambush point and spotting them from here is trivial -- they're responding to the fires now, scrambling from the building like ants from a kicked over mound.

Target spotted, Berserker starts his descent. "Descent" is generous, it's more like a dive. His wings flatten against his body and he tucks his legs against his body, building up speed as they get closer and closer to the ground. His wings spread out to act as a brake, jerking him backwards from the sudden momentum shift. He lands just behind the line of advancing guards and takes the opportunity to make use of his poisonous breath. A cloud of black mist pours from his mouth as he flaps his wings once to push it towards the enemy.

Let the chaos begin. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[Their last flight together, by the lighthouse at the turn of the season, seems aeons away now. As Berserker's dark, imposing form slices through the night air and cloud, Diarmuid steadies himself both literally and figuratively. By the time that Dorchacht's shape emerges from the gloom and the guard post is within sight, he's already fallen back into the mindset that made him one of Fionn's deadliest warriors.

Berserker's first attack, though, catches him out. Whatever immunity he might have unconsciously built up suddenly seems paltry in the face of the sheer condensed power of that poison. Diarmuid's eyes water, chest briefly tightening as he's forced to moderate his breathing to get used to the sting in the air. It passes. With his scarf- a thick, black, embroidered thing- pulled up across his nose and mouth and the mist being funneled away from them, he recovers quickly.

There has to be a degree of moderation here. While it's with a cold eye that he observes the unfurling chaos below, he's mostly looking for anyone that might be unintentionally caught in the crossfires. The guards themselves, though? There's little compassion left for them.

For now, he'll focus on protecting his partner. A spell dances on the tip of his tongue- and then Berserker will feel sturdier, his stamina greater. It's not as effective as it might be on a smaller creature but it's noticeable.]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker could easily wipe this entire post out without even trying; at his size and strength with his sheer force of will, he could probably take out most of the Dorchacht military without breaking a sweat. The goal here isn't to kill, though, it's to disrupt and delay. He'll only kill if he deems it necessary (that, of course, is a low bar).

The poison causes a panic, as expected -- it comes on so fast and so suddenly, they barely have time to respond. It's not just the poison that causes a panic: Dragons are never around the city in any form, especially not like this. To see one roaming freely, free from a witch's control, and attacking people is surely a sign of Cwyld infection. The guards scatter further, some screaming from the pain, some falling as they try to wipe the poison away. It's a mess, it's chaotic, it's exactly what's needed.

Only the brave or stupid try to directly retaliate against him. Some attempt to bark commands to get him under control, only to be met with a swift strike from his front leg to knock them back. A few others try to directly attack him, but his scales make it difficult for the spells to have much effect. He doesn't immediately notice one approaching him from behind with a blade, the sudden sharp pain of it slipping in between the scales on his thigh stopping him in his tracks. A quick kick knocks the attacker away, but the blade remains wedged in place.

He gives a look back to Diarmuid -- they need to move again. ]