logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: HUNGER AND THIRST

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: HUNGER AND THIRST

characters: everyone.
location: around beacon.
date/time: september 19-30.
content: some new friends - or enemies? - seek offerings, and offer something in return
warnings: memories may involve violence, death, grotesque body horror. please cw as appropriate.

pining for the things i could have been.

Recently, the forest spirits have been agitated. The crooners, those that remain, chatter noisily and strut with purpose. The lunch lady hunches over their station and holds claws to their face, miming peering through dense brush. The skunk judge murmurs about the ones from the countryside. Word has passed beyond the reaches of Beacon's light - there are people in town, and they are mostly good this time. These lantern-bearers have lasted longer than most. They may even want to help.

Seems these spirits will have to see these people with their own eyes, and test those rumors themselves.

For the first two prompts below, please feel free to NPC spirits yourselves. However, if you prefer, you may post your toplevel under the MOD-CONTROLLED SPIRITS header and we will do our best to drop in and out with interactions as time permits. These are not intended to be one-on-one threads with spirits written by the mods, and you will likely not always want to wait for a mod reply at every step and may find yourself doing some minor NPCing all the same, but we will do our best to keep up with you and your thread partners who tag in!

In that header, please specify whether you want a friendly or antagonistic spirit, or if you want a surprise, you can always say "surprise me!"

ALL MY JOYS.

You come home to find spirits in your wardrobe, with socks on their hands and pants tied in daisy chains from wall to wall. Abruptly they squeak and dive for cover, or crash through windows in their attempts to escape. They steal things that are yours, only for you to find them days later, floating in the lake or buried in the greenhouse. Can you chase them down alone? Maybe you need some help.

Not all spirits are so troublesome. Maybe you turn up at The Landmark kitchen to find that one spirit has already gotten the coffee pot started - well, except it has poured instant cheese powder from a box of easy mac into the pot. But at least it's trying to help! Maybe you can show it how the machine works. Others wind up at Solis's labs where they thumb rapidly through books and peck at computer keys, and more than one takes samples from the shelves and shoves them in your face. Did you need this alien foot in a jar? No?

A pack of roving... branches? crawls around town. They have no mouths with which to speak, but instead vibrate and clack their many tangled limbs together. They grow in number and size, making a thicket of live wood that bars you from a doorway, completely fills up a section of the tunnels under the town - or makes an impromptu and convenient bridge, if you think that climbing on someone's limbs is appropriate. Is it?

Largely these spirits seem neutral, even benign. Confused. They might ask for your help, or try their best but they struggle to communicate even more than the usual forest spirits do. They have no sense of what your personal space is, though, and more than one will reach for a lantern to bring it closer and investigate. Awfully uncomfortable, so what are you going to do about it?

ALL MY GRIEF.

At any moment, the above interactions can go south fast if you meet the wrong spirit. The one who took your lantern? Decides to run off with it, leaving you gasping for air and with very few options if you are to survive. The branches constrict and crush you, or drop you suddenly in the river. Are they here to harm you, or just to test your limits?

Others will be malevolent no matter what. The scrapyard dog snarls and pulls at its chain as it watches the thing that stalks and hunts. A small herd of soft, wooly spirits crouch low to the ground, whimper and pant as if sick or starving, only to turn on you with vicious teeth once you seem invested in assisting. Better hope you have someone nearby who can help you fend them off. Or is it better to try to distract them and make an escape? Will they be convinced to stand down, or will they wear your face as a new mask?

ALL MY BONES.

You are directed by the local spirits to the dense curtain of trees where torchlight fades to darkness. The ones you are familiar with hang back, but nod for you to continue ahead alone, or with a friend or two if you prefer. The more people who go together, the stronger the connection - as indicated by the spirits grabbing at your hands and linking them together, and giving a very serious nod. Bring your offerings whether they be food, stories, gifts, or memories of your own, and hope they are sufficient. Place them on the forest floor, or hold them out to the air. The new spirits will find you, they promise; this is not a trick. Make yourselves comfortable on the damp, mossy ground and wait for the sound of footsteps in the leaf litter.

For this prompt, you are welcome to describe your arrival to the site if you like, but all that is required is a comment with the names of the people involved, and the offerings you bring. Characters can make multiple offerings and visit multiple spirits as many times as they wish.

Afterward, a spirit will lead you back to Bonfire Square and encourage you to tell others what you've learned from your new guests. No fair keeping the goods to yourself alone!

LEFT IN THE LONG NIGHT.

After connecting with spirits, you are led back to the bonfire, to recover and recuperate from the joining of hearts, minds, and memories. You will find yourself weary, in a way the flames seem to help. The glow of the campfire is comforting, tempting. It might be difficult not to fall asleep or try to draw others into enjoying the comforting lull of crackling firewood along with you.

The weariness does fade, after some time around the fire. You're not the only one resting from the experience in the glow of firelight — and there's likely things you've seen to share. Ideas and memories and pieces and figments of past to fit into place like puzzle pieces. Now is a good a place as any to share it, isn't it?

Lastly, those that approach a spirit in tandem will find an unseen consequence. A link between them that isn't so easily shaken by a short stay at the fireside. Characters will find that feelings and sensations seem to move from one to the other without warning. Fear, anger, mourning, resentment, joy, love. Touching makes the link stronger, but even distance isn't enough to stop it. Did you want to share night terrors, even a mile apart? Or to taste coffee, even though you're in the middle of brushing your teeth? Well, too bad. The effects will last for two weeks, whether you like it or not.

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Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Let us know who is arriving and what they're bringing! A spirit will be with you shortly.

If you opt to use the first two prompts with some bonus mod-controlled friends, leave your toplevels here! As noted above, please let us know if you'd prefer a friendly or not-so-friendly encounter, or if you'd like to leave it to us to decide.

1. The Lab.

"Hey, have you seen-"

Rosinante emerges from the storage room at the labs with an armful of mineral samples, all numbered, and a clipboard balanced on top of them, only to slip on something (or nothing, or a mote of dust for all he knows) and slam himself onto the floor. The rocks go scattering across workstations, get caught up in cables, and as he shakes his head to clear it from the jarring fall, he notices that they're not alone in here. He, and whoever else in the lab, have been joined by one of those tall, feminine spirits who stoops down to pick up a stone. The mask it's wearing doesn't look like something it can see through, but maybe that's not a problem as the spirit pops the rock into its mouth and chomps down with hard metallic leaf-shaped teeth.

"Did that just show up in here?" he asks, a little concerned. He knew there were supposed to be new spirits showing up soon, but somehow he hadn't realized they were here now.

2. Downtown

It's finally time to admit his shoulder bag is starting to wear out. He's had it longer than he's been in Beacon, and patching only holds so long. He's carried Mary in this, not just all his things, so it's seen a variety of uses.

He made sure before entering the clothing shop that there was already someone else in here. Normally he wouldn't worry about being alone for a few minutes in the middle of town - even when unsafe, people aren't too far off and help is easy to find. But with all these extra eyes and limbs and teeth around, and with him doing his best to stay safe for the sake of the people who depend on him, it's probably best to be a little extra cautious.

"Anything good?" he asks as he's distracted by a belt. Seems like real leather, nice, but is it too short? He holds it up to his waist to find out.

Edited 2020-09-20 01:02 (UTC)

all my bones

( With how blunt and brusque as Javert is, he's never been adept at diplomacy. He's never cared to learn the spirit's language, knowing that he would only say something wrong, and that there are others among them that are much more sensitive and well-suited than he. He finds it strange, then, that then spirits would encourage him to help with the others that have appeared from within the woods.

He doesn't know what to give as an offering. He doesn't wish to tell a story, or offer out any personal secrets. He isn't quite so sure what the spirits would like best, and so he looks to his partner, or someone who just happens to be nearby, wondering, )

What shall we do?

( He can make something, if he must, but he is an average carpenter at best and only slightly skilled at cooking. )

the long night

( After the ordeal with the spirits, Javert collaspes near the bonfire, his posture slumped and weary. He's not quite as irritable as he ought to be, after having experienced a great many emotions and memories. When someone claims a seat nearby, he doesn't prickle or turn away.

He doesn't notice, either, that he's still feeling someone else's emotions. As the night goes on, however, perhaps his partner will find themselves feeling a little more annoyed than usual, or suddenly frightened, once Javert realizes what's happening. There are moments, too, when Javert is filled with an overwhelming wave of affection. Or when someone lands a hit on him in combat practice, which his partner would feel quite clearly. )

Edited 2020-09-20 23:35 (UTC)

These three arrive with Mary riding on Rosinante's shoulders, and they will present a very colorful painting that all three contributed to! Well. Mostly Rosinante and Mary. Law added his jolly roger and the other two drew Law around it. It's a "family" portrait! Sure do hope these spirits like art at about a preteen level of competence.

I. Bones

Once they know what the spirits want, Soldat sets about coming up with a variety of offerings to share with them-- and with other Beaconites. They take it seriously, and all offerings have special significance based on who they're to be delivered with. Origami with Misty and Javert, food with Merwen, technological tinkerings for Reiju, and a patchwork cloak just delivered by themselves.

Find them sitting in the Invincible with paper to fold, trying to decide on the best items to bring, or exchanging recipes with Merwen in the kitchen, or just around the town with a needle, thread, and a collection of fabric scraps being sewn together. And half the time, they have a spirit sitting nearby, either waiting to snatch something or trying to mimic whatever they're doing.

The actual sharing is... a little terrifying, honestly, to a guy who'se had their brain messed with in lots of creative, painful ways. But Soldat is making a deliberate choice to trust, here, and to do what they can to help bridge spirits and Beacon residents. It's hard, but they're stubborn. They keep going back.

II. Night

After the gifts have been given and received, and the worst of the spirit mischief has subsided, Soldat settles back into their routine. Or... they try to. Things keep popping into their brain, or they keep thinking there's something else in their hands, or that they're somewhere else.

Considering how many people they shared gifts with, it takes quite a while to work out what exactly is going on, and mostly they feel like they're going a little crazy. (Crazier, anyway.) It gets worse the more offerings they make.

Anyone who's wound up connected with Soldat get moments of increased paranoia and need to keep eyes on their entire surroundings, flashes of unexplicable terror of something that isn't there, and... voices: one Brooklyn-accented man who sounds a lot like Soldat only more brash and more expressive; one flat-accented creature who speaks loudly but without inflection and not often more than one word at a time; and one rough, shuddery voice who sounds nothing like Soldat at all but constantly urges the listener to eat whatever's nearby, whether it's edible or not. It's not all bad: there's snatches of music (and humming or singing along to it), a variety of tasty food, warm swells of fondness. But the paranoia is probably the most all-encompassing, and the voices can be jarring. Enjoy your insight into what goes on in your soldier's head, everybody.

Edited 2020-09-21 04:14 (UTC)

I. Joys

Oh not again. Soldat remembers the first time the spirits stole their shit, and they're not happy to re-experience it. This time, they chase and call ahead in their own language, "Please, please I need that!" but they keep their temper in check. It helps that none of the spirits try stealing their knives, this time.

Every day in the kitchen there's a new spirit who wants to "help" with lunch, that Soldat has to monitor them closely and give careful instruction lest their "help" ruins the meal. They know the spirits mean well... but wow is it frustrating.

And they forgo some of their "free" and sleeping time to add another short patrol, to make sure anyone who needs their help in translation with or defense against the new spirits, gets it. They really, really don't want this to go badly. The better the spirits feel about them, the more likely the green-eyes won't find anyone to help them... and the more likely they'll get help against the World Eaters.

II. Grief

Soldat stops at the junkyard like always, only to find the dog spirit there growling. They do their best to soothe them, but the dog keeps bumping them to one side and trying to make a protective stance.

"It's okay," they try to say, "I can take care of myself. And you."

But they're looking around for the source of the danger, as they murmur and stroke the dog's spiky back fur.

Merwen and Soldat exchanged recipes and learned how to make food from each other's world for this offering: Merwen made a grilled cheese sandwich, and Soldat made a seaweed dumpling filled with chopped nuts and herbs. They deliver both food items together, and sit together in the grass to wait.

They won't need to wait too long. There's a crack of branches, and a swish of leaves - whatever is coming their way is large enough that it cannot move through the forest without making a bit of a racket. Finally, a masked horselike creature arrives, pink and fleshy with a grinning, toothy mouth. It sways its head side to side as it looks them over, then leans its long head down to sniff at the offered food before plopping down on its haunches. It opens its mouth, revealing an extendable inner set of jaws, and from that a long tongue which stretches to envelop the sandwich first, then dumpling second, each time delicately carrying the food to its mouth which it chews carefully and thoughtfully.

Must be delicious, for the fleshy horse creature pats its belly in satisfaction and rumbles its thanks, then leans forward to swipe that long tongue (surprisingly velvety, not slimy after all) over the faces of the two, then sets its forelimbs across Merwen's and Soldat's shoulders.

Darkness envelops them both, and they find themselves now watching through that masked face, suddenly hyper-aware of the taste of the air which gives far more information than the dim outlines of trunks and leaves. Ahead, other spirits chatter to each other, their speech perfectly understandable.

"We found one. Too late. Separated from lantern, is lost!" comments a squat mushroom-like creature as it eyes a dark humanoid shape on the ground. Another spirit, batlike with six wings, flies in and delivers the lantern, dropping it to the ground.

The air tastes of fresh loss; it is interwoven through the hollow, lifeless scent of forest and spirits. The flesh horse ambles closer, drapes its tongue over the empty lantern, and waits with the others.

Vigilance pays off, although it isn't clear how much time elapses, for the progression of time is of little consequence to the dead. By now, the body is gone, and only an impression remains in the leaf litter of where it used to lay. But there is movement in that spot - an upwelling of darkness from around the base of the discarded lantern. It oozes, tar-like, outward and then upward until it stands on long shaky legs like a newborn. The darkness wells upward into the form of something doglike, which shakes itself off and then sniffs at its paws.

"Dog," the flesh horse pronounces as if it's said something particularly clever, and the other spirits giggle. Yes, the lantern-bearer died, but then again, they were already dead, weren't they? In this dead world, they've taken a new form, just like all the rest of them have. Flesh horse doesn't remember what its lantern looked like, but it knows who this lantern-bearer once was, and it thinks that Dog is a much more appropriate name than Samwise.

There's a wave of cold, and a long, low groan that echoes through the ground. Flesh horse looks to the sky. Mushroom pats Dog's flank. "Ending soon. You'll help," it says with a nod. "Make a mask first."

Flesh horse doesn't like endings much. Doesn't like the feel of the command-phrases mimicking the eaters of worlds. It left long ago once and will leave now again, to return only if it thinks the lantern people might finally succeed. It watches Dog concentrate, trying to grow its first mask, and decides it's time to go.

As Soldat and Merwen come to on that patch of grass, the flesh horse retracts its feet and plants them on the ground, but remains seated while its tongue idly pats at the spot where the food was left, tracing the remains of scents and tastes, then gives a series of rumbles.

"Cook good. Like your food. You want to know things? Ask."

Reiju is bringing a bit of technology she's been tinkering with, and Soldat is mostly here as translator and support, though they probably poked at the item a little bit, too. Maybe offered advice on how to open the plating based on the plating on the metal arm, or something. Anyway, have some clockwork decor, spirits.

After a moment to regain her sense of self, Merwen takes a breath. What an experience in exchange for a bit of food. After Soldat translates, because she's still working on mastering the spirit language thank you, she offers up a question.

"And is this the origin of all spirits here? Including the green-eyed spirits?"

Javert and Matt arrive in tandem, with Javert hovering as close to the other man as he's able. He's protective, and they're both naturally wary. To the spirits, they offer two sets of rosary beads, one from each them, which they place on the forest floor before stepping away.

Edited 2020-09-22 01:47 (UTC)

Crisp, sharp footsteps announce the arrival of a scarecrow-like creature. Shredded clothing hangs from their limbs, and the tops of their shoes rest on top its feet, but the soles have been entirely worn away, leaving toes protruding that are too humanoid-looking for the rest of its ragged body. They carry themself proudly, though, and Reiju and Soldat almost get the sense that the spirit's arrival should have been heralded by trumpets with how high their head is held.

The spirit gives a bow so deep it's comical, then holds up a cracked monocle and inspects the bit of clockwork, hmmming and ahhhing, though their voice comes out as a whisper through a wheat field, or corn husks crackling in the breeze. They pick up the piece, finally, take an end of loose twine that has come untied from their shirt, and weave it through any open gaps, winding it around metal and then tying it in place. A necklace! Or something. But the spirit seems pleased regardless, laughs a dry laugh, and then blows a gust of hot, dry summer wind into their faces.

They are carried north on the breeze to a time and place far across the lake. The burlap-headed spirit is hidden here beside an old rusted water pump, crouched low as they watch lights approach. A team of twenty-two, they count - half the town, come all this way in an act of desperation and violence. Word had passed through the forest that they were coming, that they were determined, and therefore more foolish than they realized. They had locked the Keeper in his tower, destroyed so many spirits who tried to hold them back, and they were now betting their flames on this one final, heroic, stupid act.

Before they can pass, burlap-head stands and leaps in front of them and shouts, even though they know these lantern people might not understand. Might be violent. "You bring light to light-swallower! Life to death-maker! This is-"

They don't get to finish their sentence as one of the people knocks them aside with the butt of a gun and whatever they say, the burlap-headed spirit does not understand. They scamper backward to the shelter of the pump and wait.

We can help, they think. We want to help. But they know why they cannot help. To travel near the eaters of worlds is to become enthralled by death. So they watch, and hide, and are privately grateful that these lantern-bearers showed mercy when mercy was not given to so many others. In the few stories that escaped from Beacon, they knew that this group had become as frightening as the ones with green eyes. Strong, smart, vicious.

The wind shifts and frost blankets the ground on this, the last day of summer. Through the trees, the lake crystallizes. The sky above darkens abruptly, and the low hum-buzz spreads through the ground faster than the people can know. Burlap-head grips the pump and tries to stay focused against the savagery that wells up within them as those pale green eyes begin to dot the forest like fireflies.

The lantern-bearers look shocked, and the burlap-headed spirit feels slightly sick with the realization that these ones will fail as well. Cracks begin to lace the lanterns like pulsing veins, and one immediately falls to the ground as elongated spines jut sharply outward through their clothing. The remainder are split - some kneel to try and help, while others raise hands, weapons, and wands to the air, preparing to fight even though they are few and uncoordinated.

A long, lightless limb steps down out of the sky to the plain in front of the people with their lanterns, which do not even reflect on this one's flesh. Furious, desperate spellcasting and gunfire lasts all of a few seconds. Burlap-head's ears are ringing, and they shut their eyes beneath the mask to fight off the call of death itself but from the woods, the green-eyed ones leap and run toward their feast like hyenas seeking scraps.

When the burlap-headed spirit risks a peek at the would-be combatants, all it sees are bodies. Some are mere dry skeletons. Others are dismembered piles of organs. The green-eyed ones swarm and pick over the bones, kick aside empty lanterns. They only look up for a brief moment when the red beam of the distant lighthouse sweeps past just enough to illuminate the space around the thing which has no light at all.

The frost melts, the lake moves, and Soldat and Reiju find themselves back in their own minds as the creature with the burlap head stares at them with its ragged face. "Unprepared," it declares in that crackling voice which Soldat translates for Reiju.

"Violent. Needed help and did not listen. Long ago but winter always comes again. No tall light now. No more tries."

Fitz brings his fancy guitar to play, and he sings a song he wrote a long time ago for a girl named Sam. Stone adds his voice, not with words but resonant tones, a compliment and counterpoint to the plaintive melody.

"Had lanterns? Had life? Now spirit. Dead world only holds the dead," it says sagely, with a nod. "Green-eyed ones same dead too. Dead are dead are dead, and only make more dead. Stories sometimes come of the one who made the lanterns. Keep the dead a little bit alive for a moment longer but never forever."

The ground actually shakes under the footsteps of the approaching spirit, and trees bend to make way - not something one can so easily see in all the darkness, but the creak of trunks is unmistakable. From up high in the canopy, a massive antlered head bows down to see these tiny creatures that have done their best to welcome them. The spirit is lush and green, and aside from the antlers looks to be made entirely of living vines that snake and slither, moss that drips droplets of cold, fresh water, and a mask that might actually just be several entire bushes tied to cover its face. A similarly large green hand reaches down and takes the two sets of beads, and rolls both onto a wrist. The spirit spreads its hand and shakes experimentally, but the beads catch on the branches and do not come off. Nice! New bracelets. For a moment the spirit then looks at them both as if at a loss, and contorts its hand, wrapping fingers into a fist before giving them both - a thumbs up! Yes, that's that strange gesture it has seen once before. Good.

From its back sprout new vines, which grow toward the ground and then climb up Javert and Matt. Flowers sprout, smelling of sweet nectar. Their eyelids grow heavy.

They dream.

From high above the trees, they see all. A lighthouse in the distance, and mountains. A lake that shimmers under faint and fading starlight. On the lake, a craft. The lush green spirit does not recognize the name of this craft but knows it is one that can go far underwater to hide from the ones who eat worlds. So why is it at the water's surface now? Death itself is so close. The lighthouse will sound its commands any day, or so it would bet if it were one to make bets with the other spirits. Instead, it watches and grows.

The craft has come farther out in the lake than usual and ripples in the water betray the location of the ones who hunger. The craft rocks as they bump against it, as their teeth fail to find purchase in the metal hull for the moment. It stops, a hatch on top opens, and light spills out from those funny little lanterns that the lantern-maker brought to this world. Lush green one always chuckles. They had a lantern of their own once, but what good did it do? They are here now, part of the forest, and they see all.

Then, there is a pillar of light - a tall, extendable tower hung with their own lanterns - and that is alarming. So much light from so isolated a place, with one who eats light so close? The lighthouse commands will be too soon for the not-bet, at this rate! The lush green spirit is suddenly aware of dozens of hands and limbs and wings, all coming to climb up or fly over, to perch on shoulders and antlers and watch the strange, sad spectacle.

The pillar of light works, if luring is what the lantern-people wanted. The air turns cold and dry and even from this distance the spirit can see the little figures on the water-craft hugging their clothing tighter as ice paints fractals where the water meets cold and cooling metal.

"I was in Beacon," a five-headed catlike spirit perched on a lush shoulder speaks. "Twelve nights ago. They said they would poison the light. Trap this one and save themselves."

"Poison the light?" the lush greenery rustles. "How?"

The cat's eight tails swish in the air and it shrugs. "Words I have never heard. Thee sounds. A pulse." Nobody knows what the multi-cat is talking about. It is a new thing they have never seen anyone try, and the lush spirit cannot decide if it is very clever or very stupid, and wonders then - if it is clever, and if this undoes death and brings light back into the world, is it ready to let go?

Of course it is. The greenery is only a ghost of life. Its leaves are already dead.

One of the little people on the water stands, and squinting, the lush green spirit can see that attached to the pillar of light is some mechanism. How mysterious! How very interesting. And at the horizon beyond the lake, it can now see the devourer of life, eater of worlds and bringer of death begin to amble nearer, lured by that which it has sought so long. The hum, the droning song of these creatures, echoes through the night and lush greenery roots in place. It wants to watch. Others are unable to resist the commands and leap and fly from their seats to try and swarm, but most are stopped by the lake. Lush greenery can see multi-cat from here, prowling on the rocks. Clever people, again, though the frothing of icy water suggests that maybe the waves are less of a defense than they had hoped.

One of the lantern-bearers stands and holds one of their funny little rectangles to the sky, toward the stalking giant as it circles, blindly seeking. There's a little flash from the tablet, then another, and the world eater swings its head and begins to beeline for the craft. It draws nearer and nearer, and the water is full of ice and teeth. The craft rocks, and one of the people falls into the water. It takes several seconds for the abrupt, short scream to reach the lush green spirit. Strange, to hear a ghost, the voice of one already gone.

As the world eater races toward the lake, toward the craft, more hands reach up out of the hatch and the standing one presses a button on the pillar. There's a sharp crack, a hum and a pop of electricity and every lantern goes dark. The eater of worlds is struck a second later by the poisoned light, for that must be what it was, the lush greenery reasons. It reels back, then sinks to its knees in the water of the lake, and the echoing hum of its speech falls silent.

But lush greenery still has leaves, and several minutes later, the eater of worlds stands back up and bellows its pulsing sounds that form fractured ripples over the freezing lake, and soon the lighthouse echoes it as a red beam sweeps once, then dims.

The flowers close, the vines retreat, and the rustle of leaves suggests a shrug. "You speak?" the spirit asks in its own language and looks to the two to see if they understood.

Edited (whoops forgot that cw sorry) 2020-09-22 04:36 (UTC)

It's Soldat's idea to drag both Misty and Javert with them, this time, because all three of them know origami and if two is good surely three is better, right? Javert brings an origami star that Soldat taught him to make, Misty brings an origami frog (meaningful), and Soldat (after seeing the frog) brings an owl (equally meaningful, albeit in a very different way). The three of them stay standing, this time, rather than sit, mostly because Javert is bad at relaxing and Soldat is kind of nervous about dragging them both out together.

Soldat is reminded a little bit of Owl-Friend by the suit and the clawed hands :(

No tall light. No lighthouse. No more resets-- this is their last try. No wonder these spirits are coming out to see them. "Unprepared," they say after a moment, and after a glance to Reiju and a murmur to her what they're going to ask. "You thought, we can help, we want to help. Can you still help? Help us be not unprepared again?"

They sing and play and soon find themselves with an audience. The flock of spirits settle in a ring around them, some on the ground, some up in the branches, grasping at the trees with their strong claws as their long tails sway to the beat. They begin to hoot and chirp, singing along and making up the words (and the tune) as they go. But with each note they seem to slow down and grow drowsy, and at the same time their hooting unifies into a low, steady meditative whistle that draws Fitz and Stone into a comforting trance.

They are hunting. The speech of the commands from the tower fills them with purpose - the low thrum-buzz-echo that carries through air and soil and soul tells them it's time. Snuff out all who cling to their lanterns, change them, make them one with the feral dead. They have no attachment to the people in town and have only come down from the mountains to heed the call they cannot resist. Find the light, crush it, erase every instance of it. Not the lighthouse, never the lighthouse; not the one with feathers either, as it sweeps torches into its dome of sticks and ignores the whirlwind of violence around it. Not the tall man who looks haunted by what he sees, and not the coward who hides even though his name is safe.

The hunters spot a point of light bobbing as fast as it can out of cover and into the open, making a break for the pond. They are a flurry of feet and wings and talons, the eight of them. They grab with claws and tear into flesh, they rip out eyes and swallow shreds of lungs and liver. They leave the smear of gore and one departs to lift the dying lantern and take it into the forest so they can add to their number. More help to hunt another time.

They sweep past the steepled building and its damage, which others are repairing. They wheel over the old sign to the north, and marvel at the strange buildings. PIZZA. DAYBREAK. Nonsense pictures in runic shapes. Curiosity has distracted them from hunting.

Not all of them. The largest and always most ferocious of their number strikes another, overwhelmed by the sound of the lighthouse and driven to follow its orders. The struck hunter retaliates. The two lock feet and wheel and tumble to the ground and one by one they all drop, ravenous and desperate for flesh even if it is their own. The largest among them, always the most driven, has the other pinned and plucks mouthfuls of feathers with a fury that not even the others feel, but they understand. It is time. These both are no longer a part of them.

The largest hunter rips the pinned one's mask from its face. Sinks its beak into its throat. Severs already-dead flesh. Swallows, and grows. This is not the first time this hunter has killed one of their number. They were twenty once. Today they were ten. Now they are eight.

Yellow eyes turn green. Legs lengthen and warp. Feathers molt all at once as limbs and claws contort and Something More arises. It cries a sharp clack-hiss at them with all the gravity of those commanding tones, and the hunters take to the sky, once more seeking lanterns to extinguish. This is the way of things, after all. Dead become dead become dead. But even with this understanding, they are sure to give their new leader plenty of space. Something More will feast first the next time they find one running.

Beaks clack contentedly as they wake from the music and begin to preen. One rouses all of its feathers, becoming very round. The hunters are not hunting today, and so one even waddles over and goes to sit in Stone's lap, carefully curling its talons so as not to hurt.

They are still eight, and for now, they look content and very comfortable with the music-makers.

Soldat translates for Merwen as best they can, then they have their own question. They've worked out what the "ending" is, now. "No more endings now. You return because no more endings? Or because we could do right thing?" They mean "succeed" but don't have that specific word yet. But doing the right thing is probably a thing they want to be doing, too.

[It takes Soldat a while to work out what's happening, honestly. Their brain isn't the most stable even at the best of times, and after being basically invaded multiple times by spirit-memories, they're pretty shaky about reality anyway. As they walk wearily to the bed and breakfast for the evening chess match, after a frankly too-short spirit language lesson because they were too tired for the full thing and their students weren't really in better shape, they can feel something not their own, but all it does it make them wince.

(Where is that comin' from? Probably some... leftover... spirit thing. ~~Not edible.~~ No, Pit. You can't eat feelings. ~~Why not. That's stupid.~~)

Soldat actually chuckles weakly at that, pushing open the door.]

"Can try. Some won't, some will. Many of us might go if best way to help is not to be enemy. I saw aurora. Might be like this again for some. When death sings, most can't help but listen."

The burlap-headed spirit pauses and thinks, then tilts its ragged head, making the trinket around its neck rattle slightly against some buttons.

"Maybe you help us. Maybe we listen to you and not eaters of worlds. Maybe."

There's a long, slow, thoughtful exhale - almost a groan, but not an unpleasant one. Like something very thought-intensive is going on in that fleshy horse mind. It licks its own teeth.

"We return because we hear you are different. The dead ones here like us, they send word. You have a chance. But now only the one. We who remember even just a little of what it is to be alive, some of us want to let life come back. So it is both."

With another satisfied grunt, the spirit stands on all four limbs again, and reaches out with its tongue to give them one final pat on the head. "Tell your friends. We were once like you, dead but not dead. Not all remember this, but some do. Do not give up. Also next time I see you I would like more sandwich and plant ball."

The spirit who arrives to greet them appears equally cautious as they step carefully forward with hands clasped before them and look at the three. Only half the face is masked, for the other half is formed of long, unruly, restless tentacles that explode outward from the cratered cranium. Otherwise, this is one of the more humanoid spirits they've seen - tall, bipedal, with dry, cracked hands and bare feet and even a visible ear. The adopted clothing, an oversized but nicely-ironed suit, looks to be carefully cared for.

Perhaps then it is no surprise that such a spirit appreciates the neatness and precision required for origami. After studying the trio, they finally decide to bend down and collect the pieces, then stand again to inspect them. As they do, the paper blackens and crumbles to ash in their hands slowly, as if lit by invisible fire. They hold the star aloft, and the ashes blow to the three. Their vision catches at the corners; embers spiral wildly and the world curls and burns away, leaving blackness.

Sound comes before vision. Labored breathing, and a far-distant rumble as everything shakes. The light is so bright he swears he can see it through his eyelids, even though he knows this is a safe distance, and the protective shelter around him will filter out the worst of it. The power plant is one of the safest areas in town.

Not that it matters. They're all dead anyway. Bryson just wants to live long enough to see this through to the end. Whatever future this world has might not even have people left, so he slips his glove off, revealing red, rotting skin, and resumes his writing.

I've just heard the third volley. Should be the last. If that damned thing is still walking around out there then I guess we're all fucked.

I remember reading War of the Worlds when I was a kid. Martian invasion seems preferable to this. I always thought it'd be exciting, being one of the guys to fight the aliens, defend the world. Hero of humanity and all that shit. Now I just hope it was worth the price.

If anyone ever finds this, stick to what you know, all right? There's a reason we're born afraid of the dark. That shit out there ain't what the books and movies make it out to be. Aliens, gods, whatever you want to call it, we're just lunch to them and if the whole of humanity gets killed by some motherfucking alien having lunch on a Wednesday then...

Fuck, man. Then I don't know. I guess we're not all we think we're cracked up to be if that's what our whole species gets reduced to in the end.

Dan said it was always gonna be the cockroaches who'd live through this, so I guess if you're a cockroach that learned to read, congratulations. You win the big prize. Inheritors of the world. Glad we could hand it off to your capable selves. Because then at least you're here. At least then something survived.

Harder to write. My hand barely moves. Feels like my bones are burning. So here's Bryson Langstrom's last words:

Fuck you, Maridel Solis.

He tries to set the journal down but drops it instead. Fuck it, good enough. He's too full of rot and decay and death to worry about that now. He drags himself up onto his failing feet and peers out the window, across the open expanse of barren mountainside. Used to be a forest there once, he thinks. Used to be trees. Now it's just rock.

But with all the smoke, he can't see clearly enough to know if the launch worked. He turns, and his ankles collapse, so he drags his way to the radio, to the long-range monitors, to the cameras installed up on their towers that are close enough to see in the persistent twilight. There's a black stain in the middle of the crater, and all he can think is Thank God, it worked.

He leans against the console and closes his eyes.

When they open, Soldat, Misty, and Javert look at the spirit with its long half-face, who watches them back. It makes no attempt to speak - it doesn't even look like it has a mouth, really - but finally gives a deep and very formal-looking bow.

1. Joys

Cao Pi spends so much time maintaining perfect control of himself and his being that when he loses it, it usually comes off jarring and/or hilarious. Right now it's pretty damn hilarious, even if he doesn't think so, as he goes tearing past nearly-naked in dogged pursuit of a spirit carrying his chestplate over its head. The round furball is even faster on its spindly little legs, but Zihuan is at least keeping pace, perhaps finding it a lot easier to run without robes and armor weighing him down. But god he's pissed, occasionally yelling out a "Stop!" as if that's going to work.

Yep he sure is mostly naked right now. That sure is some ancient Chinese loincloth action and nothing else. He stumbles on a root and pauses to hop on one foot to nurse a stubbed toe, cursing willfully in his native language in that brief moment when no instant magical translation will correctly do for what words he just used.

2. Grief

It happens in a moment. Cao Pi is going around minding his business, nothing seems out of sorts at all, and then a slender spirit taller than him bumps into him and takes off into the darkness, and the bobble of light that goes with it is the emperor's lantern. He gets out a yelp and "Come back with that!" before feeling the first wave of effect, coughing and stumbling. Hopefully someone saw it happen and can take over the pursuit before worse happens.

3. Night

Don't worry, friends, the magical wine bottle is here to take your worries away. Cao Pi hovers around the bar in the Invincible, not only because that's where the glasses are, but because it's a lot easier to defend himself, his shit, and his lantern with four walls, a couple doors, and a bar counter between him and most of the spirits. There's a tiny one perched on his shoulder like a parrot, but it's just watching him - and everyone else who comes for a drink. He will pour, so long as you do the honors of topping his glass off in return. Just come and plop down and you'll get a glass, and remember, he doesn't card.

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EVENT LOG: HUNGER AND THIRST

ALL MY BONES.

MOD-CONTROLLED SPIRIT INTERACTIONS

Rosinante | OTA | friendly for 1, unfriendly for 2

javert | ota

Rosinante, Law, Mary

Bucky/Soldat | OTA

Bucky/Soldat | OTA | Friendly for I, unfriendly for II

Merwen and Soldat

no subject

Reiju and Soldat

no subject

javert & matt murdock

no subject

Fitz and Stone

no subject

cw: suicide

Soldat, Misty, and Javert

no subject

cw: gore

no subject

Long Night

no subject

no subject

no subject

Cao Pi | open