⭐️ 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

[heartsbane]

[ it would be a lie if he didn't think the situation looked a tad dire in the moments that lead to Eren's surprise appearance. Jorah has seen fire in many places — battlefields both on land and sea, villages burnt completely to the ground, spewing out from the maw of dragons that were once extinct. pyres. he would not make for a good Queensguard if he had pyrophobia, but his affinity towards the element does nothing if it makes contact with his skin or overwhelms his internal organs.

what makes him worry the most, if only for those few precious seconds, is the look on Daenerys' face if she found out he died the same way she learned of her inherent bloodline and destiny. the irony would certainly be too much.

Jorah steels himself in hopes of coming up with a solution, but it doesn't appear he has to. one comes flying into the fray quite literally. the thought of a dragon making its appearance known in this city of cities distracts him more than the heat biting at his skin. he'd probably continue losing himself to the sight of a smaller scale of one of Dany's children had it not been that it was coming at his direction at a dangerous speed.

even if the intent was to draw blood, he's too instinctively prepared to defend the creatures that he wouldn't dare draw his sword and attempt to harm one. fortunately for the knight, he saved himself a potentially broken sword and a paper-cut wound for lizard-Eren. unfortunately, his distraction caused him to not see the pillar before it was too late, and it was the very same drake that nearly gave him a hard attack that saved his life. wow. so many emotions to process. ]

... I don't believe so. Unless they're unconscious, there was but the one voice. If you shield me, I can make my way to him.

[usurpers]

[ this isn’t even my true form, would say the rollercoaster of emotion that is life itself in this world gone cuckoo. there it was, though— or, he, the little one still trapped some ways away from them. the dragon peers upward, then ahead; creating a gust would do them no good. there’s nothing else he could do here other than shield those vulnerable to the heat of the flames that licked them. ]

Under me. [ he says, after a moment of thought, sure to leave his belly off the ground and his legs erect, keeping his wing held up to umbrella jorah. ] Wherever you walk, I’ll cover you.

[ and with either to far tip of his wing digit or his tail, even his neck outstretched, he’ll be sure to push them out of the way. ]

[heartsbane]

[ ok, Eren. nice to see you're secretly a final boss with your 18 forms. good thing Jorah is on your side.

the size of the dragon leads him to believe that there is not much for him to do except prevent himself from becoming a liability to also be worried about. it becomes clear with time that said dragon thinks differently. with the spread of his wing ensuring that most smoke and debris is pushed aside, he understands the direction and gives a firm nod. a man and a dragon walk into the basement of an orphanage. the jokes can write themselves.

he would like to rush this process, but he knows overstepping can lead to more problems than not. one foot in front of the other, like a boy learning to walk for the first time, Jorah leads the unlikely duo through the hallway. they become ever so closer to the room where the unsuspecting child lies waiting to be saved. wood once again splinters off from the ceiling just as they become within arms (or wing's) reach, crashing down to the floor with a thunderous boom. his arm is moved to shield his face from the smoke and ash blown into his face, but there's no stopping how quick it all burns his eyes. ]

Can you... nngh, move that out of the way, friend? [ what else does he call a talking dragon?? ] Some precision will be needed, lest we cover the poor lad in there...!

[usurpers]

[ when he triggers ragnarok, he will be at his most disgusting 👌

basements are the biggest jokes of all time, and eren is no stranger to them. fifteen years of what’s in the basement??? hadn’t been the greatest answers of all time, though!! let’s prefer this basement over that one. the dragon hisses when, not the heat falls above their heads, but the weight of breaking wood. his leathery mud-wings hold the debris from impact with the man beneath them, including the showers of flame, dust and fractures. it’s only a few bumps to him— bruises heal, and anything larger, he’d have to shield them both out of the way.

like so. eren barks as his wings pull forward and safeguard, albeit a proper reaction comes delayed. heat and ash still bursts its way under his belly, a tickle for him but scorching for jorah. stepping sideways, he asses the position, jorah, the door, then the wood. ]

—When I pull it up, I’m going to your right! [ because this . . . will need precision on its own. eren wasn’t at his largest, but he was still large, and too much uncoordinated moving could mean an injury to jorah— but he couldn’t wait long for them to synch ideas, either. eren tries with his jaws, sinking his exposed fangs into the wood and levering his weight to pull upward, swing and pull himself sideways. it might expose jorah for a few moments— but the door is wide open for him. ]

[heartsbane]

[ okei.......

Jorah has always been grateful of drakes and their habit of appearing at opportune times. he often equated the saves to Daenerys, but considering she is nowhere to be found here, he has to wonder if it's his own luck that finds him constantly relying on their help. is it possible that he is the dragon fucker? the world may never know. what is important is that he has a certain hulking creature to thank for taking the brunt of all of the debris, lest the old bear be found pinned to the ground with first degree burns to replace his original scar tissue.

adrenaline is pumping by now, so he can forgive the fact that his skin is undoubtedly hot to the touch. he'll even ignore that his eyes are incapable of tearing up from how much the smoke has dried them. the goal is right before their very eyes, and he doesn't have to take a guess to assume the child's condition is far worse than that of his own. he's at the mercy of his dragon companion and what he is capable of doing in such a tight area. fortunately for him, Eren is sentient and just as cautious as he is.

he doesn't respond. the moment an opening is created, Jorah sprints as fast as he can while hunched low to the ground, ignoring the fact that his scarf is no longer covering his face and how the flames begin to kiss at his throat and neck. he makes it into the room relatively unscathed, finding the Faun youth hunched over in a corner of the room. a few seconds are spared to ensure he can inspect the boy for any immediate concerns, but aside from general shock, he was alive and breathing. the scarf is quickly wrapped around his neck and face before pulling him up to his feet, turning to look at Eren once more. ]

The child is fine! Do you think you can make an opening in the ceiling here? I fear our exit is about to be too much for even you! Perhaps you can carry him out and I can climb up—!

[usurpers]

[ the moment jorah realizes he was the dragon fucker all along would need some proper thought placed into it. days to consider and reconsider.

eren waits from outside the room once he's done maneuvering the debris, only with an eye glancing sideways through the riving frame, and an anxious sort of myrr he can't contain in his throat as he watches the man work. an occasional look upwards shows that he's studying a way out. the building was close to crumbling, trying to walk through it would endanger even him if the remaining structure fell on him. he had strength, but pressure and the right spot would entrap and injure him as easily as any animal. but what of the two with him? the better way, though not the easiest (there was no easiest) was to flee from the ceiling, just as jorah's own idea vocalizes.

there were no thicker tastes of life through the smoke, not that eren could pick up. there are no others to tend to, a relieving sign that tells him to move, attempting to take both man and child into the curl of his hand. a hand and long arm very attached to his wing, that would serve excellently as a blanketing shield from the fire completely. ]

You're both going. [ it was too dangerous to put them on his back just yet, or hold them in talons too close to fire, and very many years ago— he hadn't the strength to carry his own mother. he didn't even have enough leg power to flee on his own. he'll use every ounce of gift this form gave him, and every bit of will he's gained from boy to man. ] Just hold on to him!

[ he'll keep them close to his belly and chest, away from the blistering heat, and onward to extending his neck, prying through the ceiling's hole. he's careful with weight he chooses to lift and drop, a little slow— but only because he knows the two will not burn, and neither would he. the difference to smoke and fresh(er) air is instantaneous, even when there's still too much of it to assume they were completely in the clear. the building cracks underneath eren's weight once he rises to the roof, dangerously so, and that's when they have to by fast.

on his back you go, pooh. eren won't say anything other than hurriedly rush him to his shoulders with his snout, and cradling their bodies to give them the leg up. ]

[heartsbane]

[ the last thing they needed was to find out there was another child hidden away in a closet or trapped elsewhere, so while Eren was surveying the surroundings for an exit route, he was calming the Faun and attempting to confirm he was by himself. how he was left on his lonesome is a story for another day, one that will no doubt entice shame on anyone that has decided to forget about him, but alas. survival is all that matters; for all three of them.

Jorah is a prideful creature, but he isn't so stubborn that he thinks he can get himself and the child out of this on his own. he likely wouldn't have even gotten to this room had it not been for Eren's opportune assistance. consider it a wild thought to be scooped up by a dragon willingly, all while ensuring a child was also clutched onto for dear life. he doesn't resist when the arm makes its way towards him, simply tightening his scarf around the boy and picking him up from underneath the back of his legs.

there's nothing to help remind you of your small place in the world than for a fully grown, tall man fitting nicely in the dragon's grip. he's carried along with the child as if he weighs nothing, and as much as he would like to say his eyes are open to enjoy the ride, they are not. his arms move to bury the Faun into his chest to keep smoke and falling debris out from his eyes, and his own neck tilts down to use Eren's scales to partially block his own. awww, they're snuggling. how cute.

they make it past the ceiling with little issue, and Jorah quickly escorts the lad up Eren's shoulder before he manages to climb his way up himself. both of them make it to the roof as fast and as carefully as possible, well aware that the building was not built to withstand the weight and stress of a dragon deciding to use it as a scratching post of sorts. once they're a small distance away, he turns to face the dragon to see if he can help with their escape now as well. ]

I think we are far enough to give you space! Can you fly out?

[usurpers]

[ if they are on his back— then that’s all eren needed. the dragon looks down, around them as he pulls at the roof to bring his hind legs out of the hole, and his front claws an easy space apart for their needed momentum in a few moments. the sharpness of some splinters scrape at him, creating a rather thick sound but no wound, his hide and scales were thick if it wasn’t his weak spot.

the sky was clear, and before eren could verbally say yes he instead barks, feeling and hearing the cracks and dangerous creaks under him that urges him to say no more and just do. jorah May not have had the chance to ride of the back of his queen’s dragons, but he does have the chance to ride this one— eren lifts his torso to flap, create powerful downdrafts as his hind legs run and push mercilessly on the building about to give away under him. each crack signals a step he takes, until he propels them high enough, with one final hop, that needs not another running start.

bat-like wings beat constantly until he’s stable, the start up was turbulent, but once they got away from the smog and filled their longs with freshness, the man and child will soon realize they’re climbing. hopefully, no one here fears heights. you’re flying on a dragon, my man. wind hitting against faces and hair and smoothing out into a gentle glide. ]

Good job, Jorah.

[ job well done!!!! ]