goodmorrow | Event: Arrogance is in Everything I Do

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Event: Arrogance is in Everything I Do

arrogance is in everything I do

a cold wind | devotion | beautiful things | ooc notes

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.

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.

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.

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.

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[ Gale Dekarios was wandering through the forest, he had not attended the devotional and he had no interest in doing so, though he had heard about it throughout the household and likewise he was not fond of the after-effects for there were certain people that had become quite simply insufferable.

Astarion.

It was Astarion.

And so he had distanced himself, he let Astarion lord it over everyone however he wanted no part of it. What he was scavenging for? Remains to be seen, perhaps he was looking for a cat out in the wild-- maybe for interesting clues as to the civilization they were embroiled within, maybe even arcane secrets.

The sound of something, a half scream, have whine and the tone of it; he would recognize that tone anywhere. And for all of their differences, he was on his feet and with surprising dexterity he was making his way attempting to follow it. ]

Damn it, Astarion-- [ He shouted as loud as he could ] I'm coming, stay right wherever you are!

[It was hard to blame Gale, at first at least, because yes he had become even more insufferable than usual, and that level was already quite high. But once the arrogance faded into that hollow, terrible feeling, well, he had wished the wizard was around. But whatever he didn't need anyone, clearly. He'd been on his own most of his undeath or at least without anyone he could properly consider a friend or ally and he could do it even better now alone since he had his free will and everything and...

Well, it hadn't gone well. Clearly.

When he heard Gale's voice, his head jerked up, another shard of him falling away, the tip of a pointed ear. That was Gale. He'd know that voice anywhere. For the first time since he'd felt himself begin to shatter, he felt something like relief. He did stop in his tracks.]

Gale! I'm over here... if you could hurry, darling, I would appreciate it. [An attempt at his usual sardonic tone, but there was no hiding the fear in it, the panic.]

[ It took far too long for Gale's liking to finally reach Astarion and the sound of fragmented cracking was like something that wretched at him, it splintered through his heart and he forgot completely about their argument-- whatever it was, it did not seem quite important now, did it? He finally got to the little copse of trees where Astarion was and in the pale moonlight he saw something crash to the ground, shatter into a thousand little bits.

How was he supposed to..?

He almost nearly did not think until the very last moment-- he watched a leave fly from a tree glide down to that shoulder, and he could hear the slightest sound underneath as if the fragile skin could not bear the weight. He has no glue and even if he did.. something was utterly futile about a thousand pieces and none of where he knew where to place them. Gale could not resist it though, he gingerly reached for Astarion. ]

How can I, what can I do to help?

[ The normally calm and quite benign voice (insufferable in it's own right) was now edged and laced in the faintest bit of hysteria. ] Damn it, I wish I knew mending.. the world would be so much simpler if I could cast my spells.

[ Ah but there was the crux of the matter, he could not. ]

[Astarion probably should have known better too, but he didn't care. The wizard reached for him and he reached back, his one remaining hand -- blessedly free of the spiderweb shattering still, as the other side of his body had taken the worst of the blow -- finding Gale's and gripping tightly. The wizard would notice that his skin felt different, smooth and chill as it normally was, this was a different level, fine china that could be broken so easily.]

Gale...

[He shook his head at the question, and even pieces of his hair were shattering, like each strand was made of spun glass that splintered into a rain of stardust as they reflected the moonlight.]

I don't know. I don't know what's happening to me. It's been getting worse since that fucking ceremony. And then tonight I...

[And there was no magic to be found between them. Not that he knew much more than a simple cantrip or two, nothing that could do anything to combat this.]

I'm scared.

[A soft, vulnerable admission.]

[ The spray of finely-glimmered porcelain reflected off of him, and painted Astarion in the desperate light of a mermaid slowly descending into sea foam, becoming an element other than their own, while the Prince watched her sink slowly out of his grasp-- as the cold light of metaphorical dawn washed over them.

He pulled Astarion close them, as tenderly as he was able. He could feel dust against his lips, if he inhaled he knew he would take the vampire deep inside of him, as if somehow holding him would keep him moored and centered to this world and reality.

The wizard could not fight it, could not stop it-- it was futile to try and yet he attempted to press himself closer and to keep Astarion together, as if that was a thing that was within his power. His mouth against cheek as he murmured. ] I meant nothing of what I said, you realize. I was a prig and I was angry; but I was never ever angry at you directly.. but this place.

[ On and on through his mind, Gale thought perhaps he could've prevented this if he had not argued with him; perhaps he could have protected him, kept him from wandering far out from the sight of others. ]

[He couldn't even bring himself to protest the touch, didn't care if it would be the thing that shattered him completely. He wanted it, needed it, to be held one last time, to allow himself that brief moment of denial where he could pretend he was safe, wanted, even as he felt more of himself crumble away. He no longer had a second arm to wrap around the wizard, so he only tightened the grip he had on Gale's hand, leaning in to him like the other man was the only shelter in a storm that would be the end of him.

He turned towards Gale. Always so warm. Astarion was terrified still, did not want to die, but if nothing else, this was better than dying alone, left a pile of forgotten porcelain, shattered to dust and forgotten.]

I was being a twat. [He laughed, a fragile little sound.] I know that. I know I am more often than not. I didn't mean... [Another sound that started as a laugh but finished as a sob that wracked his shoulders, the sound of broken glass accompanying it as more pieces of himself fell away.]

Don't let me go. Please. [Let him shatter here in these arms that had given him the only moment of warmth and respite he remembered knowing. Precious stolen time that it was in a world that was supposed to have ended.] Hold me?

[The same request Gale had made that night, if a bit more frantic.]

[ It was fine, Gale had two arms of which he wrapped around the broken vampire; he could feel his palm digging into porcelain but he did not care. Gods, he did not care about the pain or the blood that was starting to seep from holding on too tightly, that did not matter but those vulnerable fragile words did matter so very much and he struggled to contain himself.

He pressed a soft kiss to Astarion's cheek, just below a crack that etched itself down hairline, like ice shot through a windowpane. His eyes closed and he nuzzled there, inhaling the scent of honey, the sharpness of wine and the slightest hint of incense. Gale's breathing came as if he was storing up all of his feelings for this foppish vampire. ]

I will not let you go, my Star. You were never anything but Astarion to me, and that is enough, you are more than enough, you always have been.

[ A squeeze and he felt a slight crack and it rambled through his heart like barbed wire, rambling like some sick twisted fairy tale to capture him and imprison in something that he dreaded. ] It would be so easy to say that you are someone that I could love and perhaps my silly foolish pride would've said that yesterday during our argument.. but Astarion, I know that is not the truth. You are someone I do love, and fondly even as you were being a monumental bastard.

[ A chuckle though he tried to hush it, for fear of breaking the ear that needed to hear those words the most ] That is what makes you loveable, all your flaws.

[A hitch of sound at the brush of those lips, and he couldn't be sure if the warmth he felt was real or just his desperate imagination. Could he even feel anymore? He was an empty thing, a porcelain doll breaking in slow motion, but not nearly slow enough. There were things he wanted to say, wanted to do, so many things, and time's hourglass was shattering with him, and there'd be no stopping it all from slipping away, so much sand between cracked and crumbling features.

Gale's words drew the vampire's attention and he leaned back enough to look at him in confusion, certain that Gale was speaking sweet lies to him to ease the moment. Instead he looked into those infinite, dark eyes and found himself looking at truth. To be worth anything, to be lovable, to be loved, it all should have been impossible for someone like him, and Astarion knew that, knew it down to the place where his undead heart had once beat.

And here was Gale, speaking those words and giving him this gift, even for just a moment before it all ended. Tears slipped from his eyes, but those too were glass, falling like crystal.]

Oh my darling, the things I should have told you. You are m-- [In a last final act of cruelty, time stole the rest of his words, the splintering web of shattering reaching a point where even the movement of his lips, of his eyes blinking back tears was too much. It was no longer a slow loss of a fragment here, a piece there. The pale elf shattered fully, collapsing into shards of himself, pale porcelain and spun glass. He clutched tighter at Gale, but there was nothing to be done.

Another few seconds and he was no more, a pile of sharp, broken pieces caught up in the dark fabric of his robes. Well, all save for his hand still clutching at Gale, pristine and unsplintered but ending abruptly below his wrist.]

[ The breaking was painful to watch because it felt like he as breaking as well but he got to see the dawn on that face-- and it was not dawn within this existance but he saw the way that for a moment emotions caught fire behind expression and then emblazoned those eyes, the tears sparkled like pastel rubies before they to shattered and stung his skin.

Then sound came, and it was a terrible final thing; but not before he heard Astarion start to talk-- but those words were death on lips, as Astarion burst into a shattered looking glass within his arms and all he could think of was his heart imploding into himself.

The force at which the vampire had been rent sliced his own skin, his robes-- the skin of his throat where the Netherese Orb turned bloody, like a crimson moon held aloft within the sky bronze. He allowed the shards to fall around him, but he still held the hand while he started to cry. Deep rending sobs into a night that was infinitely darker and more lonely, as he realized he was alone there now.

He would keep that hand with him, slipping it into his pocket and then moving back to the Novice House. He was quite a sight and also changed; his robes and skin bloody where he had not bothered to cast prestidigitation. He crawled into a cold bed with no change and held the hand close.

But he did not sleep. ]

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Event: Arrogance is in Everything I Do

3. Let's face it, I want angst

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