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goodmorrow2023-11-25 11:36 pm
morrowmods) wrote in goodmorrow2023-11-25 11:36 pm
Entry tags:
Event: Arrogance is in Everything I Do
arrogance is in everything I do
if you think my winter is cold
A Cold Wind
For the last several weeks, the village has been blessed by visions of the future and of the gourd-creatures that came to visit at night. But that all appears to be taperiong off entirely. Townsfolks disposed of the carved pumpkins once they started to spoil, and the monsters subsided accordingly. For now, at least.
Since then, the temperature has been steadily dropping. The standard novitiate robes increasingly feel thin against the elements, though those who have achieved higher levels will find thicker outerwear provided to them, progressively ornate in accordance with rank. Some of the veterans who refuse to pledge to a higher rank try to spread word of places outside of town where beasts can be hunted for their pelts, though the native townsfolk all advise against following the suggestions of "those rascal vandals," if asked. They insist that nothing good lives out there.
But there does seem to be a bonus for those brave enough to venture out into the verdant patch between the graveyard and the monastery, a boon to those seeking a bit of extra warmth, a protein other than the stews and soups usually offered, or just a new adventure. Though they aren't always visible, a patient hunter might notice a faint scratching sound just before a patch of soil unsettles itself. That small warning is all they'll have before a thorn-pelted creature digs its way up from underground and bounds onto the grassy knoll. They are enormous beasts, standing at more than half the height of an average man. They also seem to be more earthen than a traditional Dire Wolf, with pelts that appear far more akin to vines and branches than traditional canines. But those that slay such massive beasts will find that their skin can be pruned down into a coat as well as any normal wolf pelt. The meat cooks up just as well, if the taste is a bit gamey. At the very least, it's an animal that provides its own garnish.
Since then, the temperature has been steadily dropping. The standard novitiate robes increasingly feel thin against the elements, though those who have achieved higher levels will find thicker outerwear provided to them, progressively ornate in accordance with rank. Some of the veterans who refuse to pledge to a higher rank try to spread word of places outside of town where beasts can be hunted for their pelts, though the native townsfolk all advise against following the suggestions of "those rascal vandals," if asked. They insist that nothing good lives out there.
But there does seem to be a bonus for those brave enough to venture out into the verdant patch between the graveyard and the monastery, a boon to those seeking a bit of extra warmth, a protein other than the stews and soups usually offered, or just a new adventure. Though they aren't always visible, a patient hunter might notice a faint scratching sound just before a patch of soil unsettles itself. That small warning is all they'll have before a thorn-pelted creature digs its way up from underground and bounds onto the grassy knoll. They are enormous beasts, standing at more than half the height of an average man. They also seem to be more earthen than a traditional Dire Wolf, with pelts that appear far more akin to vines and branches than traditional canines. But those that slay such massive beasts will find that their skin can be pruned down into a coat as well as any normal wolf pelt. The meat cooks up just as well, if the taste is a bit gamey. At the very least, it's an animal that provides its own garnish.
opulent and imperial
Devotion
The Devotion ceremony this lunar cycle focuses on revering the gifts received from the Old Ones. Ornamentation is the order of the day, and the church officials have spared nothing in their elaborate decoration of the devotional space. The hall is opulent, dazzling in the precious metals and gemstones draped over nearly every surface. Even the masks issued to devotees are gold and silver, often encrusted with heavy stones. Some revelers wearing robes of higher ranks are also wearing ornate neckpieces to allow for additional support to prevent their heads from bowing under the weight of their personal decorations.
The speeches this month explain the connection. Out of all the riches and finery that the Old Ones have brought to Revelbrooke, none are more precious than the pilgrims from other worlds. They are the true vessels of the will of the Old Ones, destined to bring their village into a new era. And for this proof of Devotion, they pray in thanks and appreciation for these gifts, which the town will watch over and polish until even the most rebellious novitiates have accepted the Old Ones into their hearts.
As silly as the intelligible portion of the sermon might sound, something feels strange when the elders slip into chanting in the tongue of the Old Ones. The travelers from other worlds will begin to feel an odd sort of rigidity settle over them. Perhaps at first it feels like the urge to sit up a little straighter, or to speak more formally than they normally would. But somehow, by the end of the sermons, all this finery makes much more sense. Of course this celebration is for them. Why isn't every Devotion dedicated to them? They are the gifts from beyond the stars, aren't they? It's high time that they are recognized for what they are.
This air of nobility will remain with them for the remainder of the evening, as even the sloppiest fishmonger novitiate is careful to use every utensil for its intended purpose and sip drinks with a pinky out. Surely everyone will remain polite and full of decorum, lest the festivities end with a proper midnight duel. Proper swords would be provided in such a case, but the church officials would really prefer that conflicts not go quite that far...
Unfortunately for those who skipped the Devotion ceremony, the attendees will return to their homes still carrying themselves with an overblown arrogance that they won't start to shake until they've gotten a good night's sleep. Hopefully there aren't any peas under their mattresses to keep them awake and cranky until their pretty princess needs are met.
The speeches this month explain the connection. Out of all the riches and finery that the Old Ones have brought to Revelbrooke, none are more precious than the pilgrims from other worlds. They are the true vessels of the will of the Old Ones, destined to bring their village into a new era. And for this proof of Devotion, they pray in thanks and appreciation for these gifts, which the town will watch over and polish until even the most rebellious novitiates have accepted the Old Ones into their hearts.
As silly as the intelligible portion of the sermon might sound, something feels strange when the elders slip into chanting in the tongue of the Old Ones. The travelers from other worlds will begin to feel an odd sort of rigidity settle over them. Perhaps at first it feels like the urge to sit up a little straighter, or to speak more formally than they normally would. But somehow, by the end of the sermons, all this finery makes much more sense. Of course this celebration is for them. Why isn't every Devotion dedicated to them? They are the gifts from beyond the stars, aren't they? It's high time that they are recognized for what they are.
This air of nobility will remain with them for the remainder of the evening, as even the sloppiest fishmonger novitiate is careful to use every utensil for its intended purpose and sip drinks with a pinky out. Surely everyone will remain polite and full of decorum, lest the festivities end with a proper midnight duel. Proper swords would be provided in such a case, but the church officials would really prefer that conflicts not go quite that far...
Unfortunately for those who skipped the Devotion ceremony, the attendees will return to their homes still carrying themselves with an overblown arrogance that they won't start to shake until they've gotten a good night's sleep. Hopefully there aren't any peas under their mattresses to keep them awake and cranky until their pretty princess needs are met.
rich in keepsakes
Beautiful Things
Normally, the Devotion is easily discarded with no real outward indication that one was in attendance. But this time, there is no hiding that one went to hear the elders speak, regardless of how they feel about the experience when they return to their senses. From the moment they wake after their post-Devotion cooldown, they'll find an ostentatious gemstone embedded in their foreheads. Likewise, their robes will be encrusted with matching stones, marking them as precious and delicate, the blessing of the Old Ones. Trying to remove the head-stones will prove itself a dangerous endeavor: the skin around the stone feels more like a smooth, hard porcelain, and is apt to crack before it will yield the glittering mark.
For the first few days, it might just exist as a gaudy annoyance. But over time, that hard feeling spreads, leaving a sense of being hollowed out somehow. If they're the type to study their religious texts, they might find themselves losing focus mid-verse and instead begin whispering in a tongue they haven't learned yet, manifesting the moaning, slurping sounds that pledge themselves to be an empty vessel for the Old Ones to use. The fits are temporary, and can be interrupted by an onlooker, but engaging in such prayer will make their gemstone take on a faint glow, giving the rest of their face a gaunt and sunken-eyed look in comparison.
After about a week, the gemstone-marked are nearly untouchable. The townsfolk are kind enough to send extra portions and blankets since so many of them report feeling unwell, but none of it seems to help with the feeling of hollowness. Moreover, the mark seems to have left them afflicted with a physical fragility as well. The threat of skin cracking around the gemstone is very real now, and has spread throughout their entire bodies. Even though they can move normally enough, their bodies have grown almost glasslike in durability. A bad fall could shatter a person's leg into pieces too small to set back together, and a simple game of tag could quickly turn lethal. But that too is the will of the Old Ones. Their pretty vessels are not built for roughhousing. Perhaps they are best left on a shelf until this too passes.
For the first few days, it might just exist as a gaudy annoyance. But over time, that hard feeling spreads, leaving a sense of being hollowed out somehow. If they're the type to study their religious texts, they might find themselves losing focus mid-verse and instead begin whispering in a tongue they haven't learned yet, manifesting the moaning, slurping sounds that pledge themselves to be an empty vessel for the Old Ones to use. The fits are temporary, and can be interrupted by an onlooker, but engaging in such prayer will make their gemstone take on a faint glow, giving the rest of their face a gaunt and sunken-eyed look in comparison.
After about a week, the gemstone-marked are nearly untouchable. The townsfolk are kind enough to send extra portions and blankets since so many of them report feeling unwell, but none of it seems to help with the feeling of hollowness. Moreover, the mark seems to have left them afflicted with a physical fragility as well. The threat of skin cracking around the gemstone is very real now, and has spread throughout their entire bodies. Even though they can move normally enough, their bodies have grown almost glasslike in durability. A bad fall could shatter a person's leg into pieces too small to set back together, and a simple game of tag could quickly turn lethal. But that too is the will of the Old Ones. Their pretty vessels are not built for roughhousing. Perhaps they are best left on a shelf until this too passes.
ooc notes
With apologies for the holiday-related delay on this post, please enjoy our event to carry us from late November into the start of December.
What's that I hear? You wanted to murder a giant wolf? Well have some stats for it, if that's the sort of thing you find helpful when threading out combat.
It seemed like a few folks were interested in having some deaths facilitated, so there might also need to be some parameters about that fragility curse in the back third of the event. Essentially, people affected with gemstones will slowly find their bodies taking on the properties of fine china, with all the risks that material normally entails. After a certain point left to player discretion, they are literally breakable. If someone with an advanced case is injured enough to break, there will be no blood or internal organs damaged; they're literally hollow with nothing inside of them. If you want to play out a broken/damaged limb or small injury that's put back together with some krazy glue and desperation, it will heal after the event but leave scars along the repaired lines. It's up to you if a completely broken body creates an immediate death or if the head can keep functioning independently until the event naturally wears off, at which point the broken person-pieces will become a pile of gore that needs to be scooped up. In cases of resurrection, the church officials will also take shards of broken novitiates and restore them within the normal death/rebirth timeframe.
Happy RPing! See you in a few weeks when the next TDM rolls around.
What's that I hear? You wanted to murder a giant wolf? Well have some stats for it, if that's the sort of thing you find helpful when threading out combat.
It seemed like a few folks were interested in having some deaths facilitated, so there might also need to be some parameters about that fragility curse in the back third of the event. Essentially, people affected with gemstones will slowly find their bodies taking on the properties of fine china, with all the risks that material normally entails. After a certain point left to player discretion, they are literally breakable. If someone with an advanced case is injured enough to break, there will be no blood or internal organs damaged; they're literally hollow with nothing inside of them. If you want to play out a broken/damaged limb or small injury that's put back together with some krazy glue and desperation, it will heal after the event but leave scars along the repaired lines. It's up to you if a completely broken body creates an immediate death or if the head can keep functioning independently until the event naturally wears off, at which point the broken person-pieces will become a pile of gore that needs to be scooped up. In cases of resurrection, the church officials will also take shards of broken novitiates and restore them within the normal death/rebirth timeframe.
Happy RPing! See you in a few weeks when the next TDM rolls around.
no subject
He does grimace though and wipe a hand across his mouth again.]
So it would seem, yes. It was a rather unfortunate surprise. I'm not really the salad type.
[Bleeech. Health food. Not that he should complain. It's still likely better than the putrid rats his master had liked to feed him for most of his time as a vampire. But he's been spoiled by much more pleasant blood recently.]
no subject
Were you hunting for a pelt, then...?
[ ...the vampire's meal certainly seems to have been carnivorous, itself, from its own teeth. But it - photosynthesizes? Two nutrition sources? ]
no subject
[He stands then, dusting off his pants and surveying the creature with another wrinkle of his nose.]
No need to pretend you didn't see what you saw. It's not exactly something I'm looking to advertise, but... [A vaguely dismissive wave of his hands.] Vampire, creature of the night, blood drinker, so on so forth. I assure you I'm keeping my meals to beasts... well, unless I have permission.
[And he does have a standing arrangement with Gale for regular snacks.]
Anyway, I suppose the pelt is at least still serviceable.
no subject
[ He looks down at the animal. Now that the creature has given its life, it makes sense to use as much of it as possible....Ken understands that theoretically, but.... ]
Are you....familiar with skinning.....?
[ ....he's a college student from Tokyo.... ]
no subject
[Another glance down at the creature and he frowns.]
I've spent my centuries inside a city's walls, so I've certainly never flayed a beast myself, but...
[A momentary pause, a barely perceptible flinch through his features.]
But I am familiar enough with seeing it done... I am sure we can muddle through it.
[And Astarion will try to pretend the reason he knows so much about flaying is because it was done to him, repeatedly, when his former master was looking for a source of entertainment.]
no subject
--It's a little shameful that he feels a bit squeamish. But he can't let the vampire down. ]
We'll need a knife....
[ Probably a....long one? To slide under the pelt....? Carcass preparation isn't one of the million things he's read trivia about for fun. ]
no subject
But oh knife, sure yes. Sadly it's not a fileting blade, but he does produce a knife from somewhere in his robes, flipping it with a bit too much finesse until he's holding the blade end and holding out the handle to the other man.]
We certainly do, yes. Now where to begin.
[He reaches down to see about flipping the creature more securely onto its back.]
no subject
Certainly not in front of a vampire, who has no choice but to, ah, experience hunting firsthand. It's disrespectful. ]
...Tail to...throat, isn't it....?
no subject
[Haha. It's fine. Probably. He can tell how uncomfortable Ken is too, and he's not exactly helping. But that's him.]
I'm Astarion, by the way. Pleasure to meet you, circumstances aside.