❪ event ❫ THE DESCENT: PART TWO.

[natha]

JULY 16th: THE MORNING AFTER     In the early morning, your characters' phones will buzz with a text from an Unknown ID. It contains an audio file as well as its transcription: DARMA'S MESSAGE It worked. By the miracles of all universes, you survived. It was not ideal by any means, but it was all we can muster with limited time. We hope you can forgive us for your injuries and headaches, and we thank you for working together and helping one another. But now, your journey is just beginning. You must head east to find the Outpost. That shall serve as a fine rest stop. However, there will be danger ahead yet. The beasts you encountered in the simulations are now very real. They will attack, as you are seen as meat. Please exercise caution, Refugee. This shall be my last message for some time. The Moons are protected, but I must rest... I leave the rest to you. INTO THE WOODS     Head east, Darma said— and so you do. That seems to be all you can do. Traversing through woods is not a simple task. Hopefully you have taken advantage of the camouflage outfits offered prior to the start of this great migration. Naturally, for those of you who have done the training modules, some things will be a bit familiar. Some wildlife will mimic what you've seen there. Nevertheless, it'll be crucial for one to keep on guard. While Sael selected the Outlook as the ideal place for landing due to its direct removal from Olympian or Wyver soil, it doesn't come without its own dangers as you venture east. Perhaps it's time to face your fears. PROMPT A. There are many creatures roaming around these parts. Some will blend straight in with the woods, others will be bold and loud. While traveling as a party of about 180, it's quite easy to become targets. Fortunately, that also means strength in numbers. Maybe you've got someone's back on this, perhaps they have yours. Either way, what's quicker way to bond than to face a couple of questionable beasts? Maybe you've ran into a Arache (CW link: arachnophobia), a creature known for mimicking voices, even ones they haven't heard. They weasel their way into your subconscious and pick out voices from your memories, luring their victims deeper into the strange woods with the voices of their loved ones. Sometimes, it's a cry for help; other times, it's a replay of a striking memory. Once its victim steps into its large, barely-visible web, the Arache will store them or start its feast. Or, perhaps, you may encounter a Ditz Moth, as large as a rabbit who are relatively easy to kill, but they leave an awful scent on you the moment they flee or die. Be sure to mask this scent immediately, whether by covering yourself in fresh flowers or soaking in river water for an hour, because it's been known to cause extreme confusion. You'll end up dizzy, you'll confuse your friends for enemies, or enemies as loved ones. Or, you run into something else entirely! The forest is the home for many creatures from many worlds; who knows what you may encounter? PROMPT B. You've been traveling for a fair distance. While this is by no means a desert, the sun begins to settle, leaving an unprecedented heat. Perhaps it's the contrast against the night, but you find it almost unbearable. Lucky for you, the goddess of fortune is smiling upon you. At a distance is a clean lake. One full of lush scenery, and large trees canopying the immediate area. There is lots of shade, and maybe this is just the break you need. Or alternatively, the rations were sparse last night. It barely covered a meal each. Fortunately, this area seems full of wildlife one can hunt. Perhaps, that three-headed rabbit in the distance? Maybe that frog that smells a bit like lavender and vanilla? Additionally, for those who find themselves more inclined to leaving it up to fate— ENTER: OLYMPIA'S WEST OUTPOST     After a full day of travelling, you finally make it to the West Outpost as Darma instructed. You can tell by the way the trail gets neater, flatter. There are some small shops all along the sides of the road, offering trinkets, precious stones, and food. Unfortunately, you don't seem to have the money to purchase anything. The only thing you can do is watch wearily as you approach the West Outpost Gate. Near the gate, you're expected to form a line. The guardsmen seem to be inspecting every person entering. When it's finally your turn, the guardsman seem to know exactly what group you are. He immediately calls you Refugees, then proceeds to open a folder specifically labeled Refugee Group D. You might assume the "D" stands for Darma. He seems to be happy to see your arrival — Anyway, we've been expecting you. You're in luck! You refugees arrived the day after Thesa's blessing, y'know? That meteor shower was a sight to behold! What's your name? Oh, there you are— here, take take this. It's your passport. Gonna need that to get to Olympia. Your sponsors paid for your inns for tonight, so get yourself a room. You're at the last leg before the Capital. Keep your head up, all right? It seems now you are an official Olympian citizen with this passport. As you walk around, there will be an old man about. He sees you holding your bags and passports and approaches you. He has seen the fiasco in the skies from the day before. Naturally, he believes it to be a divine sign, and you the product of that. Which translates to free food. It must be relieving to eat (relatively) normal food after so long. There's also a very special visitor at the Outpost today: a woman by the name of Lysa, who happens to be a renowned healer in Olympia. Following the strange meteor shower, she’s come out of the city and into the outskirts to see it all for herself, this divine phenomenon brought upon by Thesa. While she has no explanation for the sudden occurrence, she stays, because she can sense that her services are needed. Healthy characters will taken by the hand and brought to a wounded fellow refugee. Lysa will then urge them to stay by that refugee’s side, to care for them. Please, do not go. I need a little of your compassion and patience. PROMPT A. If the wounded party has lethal injuries, Lysa will give the healthy character a vial of Screaming Draught to feed to them. It's a strong healing potion known for its ability to regenerate cells. It can close up almost any sort of wound, no matter how large, and can even regenerate limbs. However, its ability comes at a costly price. Seconds after taken, the wounded character will experience an excruciating, constant pain as the healing takes place. Some who have taken the potion may even start to become delirious, seeing hallucinations. If asked about this effect, Lysa looks solemn, remarking that her clinic is too far away and she does not have anything gentler on the body on hand. She urges your character to help the suffering one through this, giving them their comfort and any kind of support. PROMPT B. If the wounded party has smaller injuries, Lysa will give your character a vial of some basic Proliferation Elixir, a weaker healing potion with less devastating side effects. It can heal cuts, bruises and minor fractures. Characters who take it will experience side effects such as dizziness, nausea and a persistent chill. They are still in need of attention, and Lysa will urge the healthy characters to tend to them. Warm them up. Feed them something nice. Keep them from wandering around when they should be resting. Show any kind of care and you'll make Lysa a happy woman. Characters who answer Lysa's pleas will be given a small vial of Proliferation Elixir as a token of gratitude. It's good for one-time use. NIGHTFALL AT THE WEST OUTPOST     As dusk approaches, bustling Outpost quiets down as the flea shops pack up their things to go home. But it seems this outpost is not one that simply sleeps at night. Thesa is high on the skies when the Outpost square lights up. There's music, dancing, and laughter. They seem to encourage you to join them as well. "This celebration is for you! Come, join us!" Perhaps their enthusiasm is infectious enough for you to succumb to it; perhaps you don't understand at all why they're this happy after the hell you went through to get here. It's not like you can tell them what the "meteor shower" actually had been. At least they offer free alcoholic drinks and a great feast similar to those you remember from home. You may find that the drinks are far stronger than any alcohol you've ever had, but it taste like a typical cocktail, or whiskey/scotch/vodka/your flavor drink. Nothing particularly special until you make your way back to the inn. Let's hope you won't walk into the wrong room. FINAL OOC NOTE     This is PART TWO of our three-part intro event. PART THREE will be up on JULY 22ND, at 6 PM EST. In the event of CAPTCHA, we will be providing an overflow. In the event of a second CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP. The NETWORK is still down. Characters may still message each other's personal IC inboxes. REMEMBER TO USE COMMUNITY TAGS. RECOMMENDED LISTENING: Nocturn OOC PLOTTING may be continued here. PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE (coming soon) QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● world ● map ● reputation ● npcs taken ● reserves ● application calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

ii-b. sticks my leggy out ..........

[pappio]

[ Guilt's still riding him as hellishly as it's ever been, after that less-than pleasant reunion. He's already scrubbed off all remnants of that odor, but not the remorse riddling him clean through, nor the way Noct totters and attempts to save face with a myriad of wounds that his crumpled clothes barely conceal. Compared to him, he's gotten off easy, scotch-free of everything but his shame. Squatted down on a chair just adjacent to the inn's less-than comfortable bed, it's all too telling that Noct can't even feign sleep properly, his breath hitched to capsize upon every ragged exhale. Lysa's already foisted the medicine onto him, leaving the room to attend to her next hapless patients, which means Gladio can resort to the terribly petty act of flicking Noct's forehead, the heinous potion already uncorked and ready for imbibing. ]

Hey. Up and at 'em. You're not fooling anyone.

[ C'mon, prince. Questionably palliative medicine waits for no man. ]

... slides it back in

[noctsout]

[ Guilt and shame isn't so much as to what he wants out of Gladio than the right and permission to sleep, thanks, to be left alone without the reality of being actually alone. It's a fine balance to be striking, one that takes more effort than Noct is currently capable, his ribs breathing fire and misery on every intake of air. He's yet to take stock of the bruises that he might be wearing atop of the skin stretched over tender organs and even softer bone, but that all seems moot when his attention could be better focused on curling up. Curling up further, as it were.

Or, you know, in trying to extend the life expectancy of this silent treatment-- at least, until his forehead comes under the assault of the terrible annoyance that is flicking, forcing him to dispense more of his precious energy to try and swat Gladio away. To peel one eye open with which he can use to skewer Gladio with a grumbly glare. ]

And you're not coming anywhere near me with that thing. I'll be fine.

[ Stop trying to make him take his vitamins and cough syrups, seriously. Let him sleep. ]

SPLAYS OUT OVER U

[pappio]

[ He's acting like a pill bug with the way he's crumpled inward, a good part of his soul resisting self-preservation and proper treatment. But the inability to access their stockpile of potions leaves them where they are now, and between a rock and a hard place, sorely conquered by— singling Noct out with hurt, if the visceral reactions of the other people Lysa's administered the potions to have any bearing on how he'll take it (a million times worse than stuffing spinach down his gullet with Ignis's blessings). He hates these moments, tense and brittle and languishing, and from beginning to end, it's unfair to induce even more hurt on Noctis, but— well.

In this condition, lacking the anger for even a proper upset, Gladio's got to be petty and unkind. It's not his privilege, not his birthright as Noctis's Shield speaking up, but as his friend. So: he's sloshing up the potion, one hand tucked into his hair. ]

Just open your mouth, Noct. You can sleep after. I promise.

[ Plaintiveness really doesn't suit him, but there he is, 'fessing up to an apology that never quite becomes verbal. ]

You know I'm only as good as my word.

[noctsout]

[ He'd half a mind to fight back, a pill bug on it last limbs, curled into himself and the misery of self-pity and pain that had no outlet. By now, he knows better than to cast blame where it won't stick, in how such habits had a tendency to precipitate into something fouler in taste and personal relations. And compounding that knowledge is how there's just enough thorniness leftover from that moment in the train, before his ancestor's tomb, for Noct to be less than liberal with his words and actions, to find it easier to squirrel away his hurts than to subject them to the vulnerabilities of garnering more. How he stiffens, tenses (but not quite flinches), at the weight of Gladio's touch is a reflex that he can't help but give away when he feels him drawing closer, fingers tangled into hair.

Noct wants to shove him away. Not because he suffers under ridiculous flashbacks of Gladio's expression reflected in the swing of his greatsword but because he doesn't. There's guilt here that's more than a little misplaced, and-- shit, he's not mad that that happened, not really, but damn it if it doesn't hurt. He wants to shove him away, but he doesn't, appeased enough by the words to curl his own fingers into the neck of the vial instead. ]

... I can drink it myself. Let go.

[ But by the gods, it smelled as foul as it looked. ]

Still pretty sure there's a lot more people who need this more than I do.

[pappio]

[ Frustration pries itself off of him at that look he receives in turn, the nascent beginning of strain tucked into Noctis when he reflexively goes tight and strained with a tension that volleys and volleys around him. There's nothing he can say, beyond his palpable relief. Nothing he can lend a voice to that makes the doubts creeping in at the edges any less vicious to behold. It's not very graceful, but Noct's instinct of self-preservation (or plain resignation) kicks in enough that Gladio can retract his fingers, curling them unseen where he's leaned over the mattress. ]

S'long as you're gonna do it. [ Just get it over with. The stink of it is awful, even before Gladio's gone to the trouble of uncorking the vial, but beggars can't be choosers. ] Last I checked, there's plenty to go around.

[ Not that many people wanted to subject themselves to excruciating torture. Surprise, surprise. ]

Just drink it, Noct. You're not gonna get any better 'til you do.

[noctsout]

Not going to feel any better when I do, either.

[ Considering, yeah, the excruciating torture that people seemed to be shaking under. The only thing worse about subjecting himself to questionable healing methods is having to make himself vulnerable in front of the guy who put him in this spot in the first place. Which isn't-- fair. No blame, remember? This wasn't anyone's fault, it wasn't the fault of anything but maybe the smelly bugs as well as their own, mutual indiscretion, in having put down their guard when it should have been rock-solid. New world, new monsters, new... everything, and all.

But the way in which Gladio's holding vigil by Noct's bedside while Noct fought the instinctive dislike in having to go plunging headlong into pain? At least that was familiar. ]

... Can't I just take a potion? Or something?

[ Maybe he could even turn this drink into a defunct potion. That'll work out for everybody, wouldn't it? ]

[pappio]

Not if you keep whining like that, no.

[ Toughen up and grow a spine, already, they've waged combat with gods and all manner of daemons, uncorking a potion and downing it should be a piece of cake, baby. But Gladio can't force him, only stand his ground when Noctis takes to turning his nose up and suggesting something so inane as potions, given the circumstances.

The outcome's obvious. The Genji blade stowed by his side says it all about the extent of Noct's abilities (and with the Crystal presumably shattered, it's a miracle that Noctis can warp at all). But he'll humor him. Least he could do, bearing the responsibility on his back. A good minute or so passes, and then he quiets that thud in his chest for a resignation he can snatch his hands around. One concession, if it'll placate Noctis to try and use his magic again. ]

Go ahead and try. Be my guest.

[noctsout]

[ He'd rather have another go with the Archaean than uncorking this particular potion and knocking it back, thanks. There's suffering to those that linger in the mats around him, chilled down to their bones or seeing things that could not possibly be there, not with the force of the terror that they seem to invoke. Doesn't seem like such a great way to spend the afternoon, just saying. (But nor could Noct argue with the results of those that were walking away, healed and mended and none for the worse-- save, perhaps, the slight shake to their sanity. Which is all well and good, if Noct had any marbles left to give after everything, up to and including what had happened in the forest.) ]

Don't mind if I do.

[ So let him take up the offer to knock back one of his potions, and-- oh. Oh, damn, that was just disgusting and gross, why did his potions have to turn into veggie smoothies of all things, and why did he keep forgetting about it, as if that'd turn everything back into normal? Ugh.

Okay, Noctis Lucis Caelum, just-- ] Alright, all better! Let's go.

[ Act your little ass off. Let's go while trying to scrape the taste of vegetables from his tongue, wobbling like the world was swaying, his body throbbing with the effects of trying to hold down the frenzy with which Gladio had been gripped, yep. ]

[pappio]

[ Suffering is lying in wait here, too, opening its maw to imbibe Noct as soon as he slugs down the potion, draining the vial of its Pandora Box — a world of suffering awaiting with the silver lining of mended skin at the end of it. No telling if it repairs that mental trauma too, though. Gladio leans back, all temperate, and lets Noctis have a go at uncorking one of his potions, which has since lost the ethereal shine, less boon and more necessary evil.

Dawdling is necessary, while Noct goes through the five stages of grief, gagging at the taste. Gladio's hand likens itself to quicksand, insinuating between Noct's hands to pluck the bottle and take a chug of it himself, and yep — arugula, spinach, gysahl greens — nutritious, if entirely bereft of that magick-y taste. Hilarious. His laughter absconds with the rest of his cool, barking and loud. ]

Nice try, princess! Almost had me there.

[ Assertion's a foregone conclusion, as he sets the bottle aside, his hands plying themselves on those shoulders until Noct's knees abandon their rise from the mattress and see fit to crumble. ]

We'll work on your acting skills after you take it. No more avoiding it. [ And there's Gladio, toting the horrible elixir, pressing the glass of it to Noct's defenseless cheekbone. ] Drink up.

[noctsout]

[ This is an insult laid at the feet of the long and royal line of Lucis, alright? How dare the Crystal turn his potion-making skills into smoothie-making skills before it croaked! --or. Something. That's just unfair, that's just-- ugh. Ugh. He's wiping his mouth and considering the pros and cons of just, you know, crawling himself right off the bed to find a corner to spit in (what? not like he was gonna do it in public) when Gladio accosts him all over again, laying claim on the rest of his smoothie-potion and a shoulder to prevent any undue crawling.

And brandishing that vial. Again. Alright, fine. Noct tried. ]

Fine. [ Give it here, already. Uncorking the thing to get a whiff of it doesn't do him any favours, but at least he knows to clamp his nose with his other hand. ] ... Bottom's up.

[ And swing it back, downing the contents in one gulp. 'Cause he's not going to manage a second, not with how violently he takes to trying to cough up the first. ]

[pappio]

[ Took him long enough.

Contrary to popular belief, torture isn't Gladio's style; he's always been governed more by careful restraint as addled by duty (control and denial, rather than pain for the callous sake of it). Catching Noctis is second impulse, when he wrenches forward, instinctual, following the haphazard tumble of Noct's body as it wrenches forward. This is a lot of faith to be injecting into a potion of questionable substance and even more questionable means, but when bereft of all other adequate options, Gladio has always tended toward the extreme.

That doesn't change now, even in neglect of the paradox of keeping Noctis safe by proffering a potion that'll foist torment onto him so easily. ]

Hey, hey. I got you. [ His hand goes up to pat at Noctis — to steady the tremors stuttering awake in him, an offhanded, automatic gesture. There's no longer any belligerence on his end, just a calmness he's dead-set on instilling into Noctis, rubbing warm circles along his back and down his spine. ] How'd it go down?

[noctsout]

How do you think?

[ It went down even worse than the veggie smoothie, a feat that Noct hadn't considered to be even possible. There's a bitter lump in his throat that he's still struggling to swallow around, wiping at his mouth with a back of a hand like a heathen. (Like as if he hadn't been raised on the manners that Ignis Scientia had worked tirelessly to infuse within him.) All minor offenses in the grand scheme of things, really, all so very minor in comparison to why he'd needed the healing in the first place.

Minor, in comparison to the stiff and sudden spread of the sting and burn and agony that spreads outward from the pit of his stomach, making hostages out of his joints to jerk him forward, leaving Gladio's touches to remain unappreciated and forgotten. ]

What the-- hell--

[ Made to kneel, Noct presses his forehead down against the mattress as he curls his arms around his body, eyes squeezed shut. Muffling the shout into thin notes of distress is about all that he can manage as twists and writhes, alternating between breathing too fast and not breathing at all, and. Oh Gods. Oh fuck, what the fuck. ]