pathologise: (pic#16408724)
[personal profile] pathologise
time loops
shapeshifting
walking dead
dragons
death at every route

that's the bullshit everyone thinks is the first thing you should know
not 'hi, sorry you're stuck here like the rest of us'
"at least there's alcohol" isn't a comfort
getting caught by magic is an absolute way to die so we're fucked
if the beacons just break why are we trying to find them?
why are they apparently believable?
we're helping the people that kidnapped us
has anyone said no? because i don't want to help them and fall into more magic and death


( she is very drunk and not at all coping with everything she's been told since getting on the train )
downswing: (Default)
[personal profile] downswing


Before her second disappearance, Prassenze ravaged her compartment for a hidden box.

( 'How do you know this, Wangji?' 'Any details?' No. )

Separately, forge or jewellery master begged sought. A trinket for powders.

New arrivals, be welcome.



( ooc: CONTENT WARNING that he is looking to make tokens to hold hell demonic lizard creature ashes, if that creeps anyone out OOCly ;; )

bravelyrunsaway: (glance; not a time for ideals)
[personal profile] bravelyrunsaway
Afternoon, loves, this is for the lot of us chaotic companions heading eastward, ever east.

( he claps his hands. )

The good king Deimar is so thoroughly certain of everyone's inevitable death, his in particular, that we had a nice, terrible conversation about his elder brother. One Haiva, you know him?

( a pause, waiting for people to take that name in. )

I'll make it short. Unpoetic. Haiva fell in lust with a siren, murdered her when her people's cure was not conveniently provided at his whim, framed Rathakku for it, and convinced his uncle, cousin, and a number of paladins to declare a holy war on the sirens. They're demons, you know. Who've largely been slaughtered. The remainder are, apparently, summoning the creature that has killed those who look like him. These Reaper murders.

Those who care for Emilia or Caitlyn, keep them from Haiva's gaze after Alem falls. If you don't understand why Deimar's hands are tied after having covered twice for his brother, I'm not the one to break down politics for you. They're poor bedmates.
jatharin: (deimar)
[personal profile] jatharin


( On this occasion, King Deimar in silvered splendor: tussled, armour scratched and drenched in blood and soot, surrounded each way by his men or Rathakku's creatures. He screams, just as harpies swing in: )

Fall back — fall back, fall back( An infantryman politely keels over, arrow driving through his ribs. Deimar stops to stare — ) ...maybe with less enthusiasm than that.

( But then, he's led to take cover off the field, and he can mutter into his pendant: )

Greetings, greetings. Your king speaks. Deimar. ( As if, perhaps, some need the reminder. ) Let's cut through pretence: Alem is lost. The merchants are offering their... obscenely costly help with evacuation. If we had any alternative or dignity, we would decline. It won't surprise you that I've agreed, gratefully. Go to Hassir. Yes, it's a monastery old and true. No, you cannot bring your wine.

( And gentler, firmer: ) It will have you. All of you who go, Hassir will have you, and it will save you. Make a new life, away from this mountain. Away from our blood's burden, away from Hell.

( Then lighter, in this breezy tone: )

...which, I regret to inform you, is opening nice, creaky and wide beneath our floorboard. You've heard the old stories: the Motherless Children beget their devastation, bolstered by whatever souls they consume in their putrid wasteland. They're breaking through. Terrible creatures. Filthy. Ugly, too.

To all men and women of Alem who are strong, gifted and able: I won't tell you to take up your weapons and join me below in glory. If you die there, no one will mourn you, no one will weep over your bones. No one will even remember you. No, they'll live peacefully, happily and oblivious to your sacrifice. But they'll live.

So. You have your choices: Hassir or Hell below. What say you?


( ooc: brainstorming post if you want to ICly figure out where characters are headed. Hell officially starts to open on March 18, but feel free to forward-date responses & threadjack at will. Good luck saving humanity! )

jatharin: (deimar)
[personal profile] jatharin


( The first transmissions is recorded footage, clearly captured by a pendant held by a shaking hand. Before it, legions of heterogenous, misshaped demons part for the gilded palanquin of Duke Rathakku, his long tendril legs seeping off his cushions.

Beneath his litter, death hounds feast on the fresh remains of a man carrying a peace stindard.

Rathakku appears untroubled, unhurried, indifferent: )


Tell your new king... he will have the peace of the old. And we, we will give it to him. If you can reach him.

( Only more seconds capturing footage of fumbling feet and gracel, the pendant carrier stumbles back, starting to run —

Before the transmission switches to the lightly amused face of Alem's king Deimar, whistling: )


...friendly sort, isn't he? That was four months ago. He's softened since. I'd say the colder weather agrees with him. It's good for you new recruits to see that. To see him. It builds character. ( A pause, then helpfully: ) ...spoils appetites, too! Means less dinner for you, more supplies for the morning. We've all won here.

( But the joy seeps from him. ) I know what you have come for. The beacon. I accept you. It's honest trade, we need the hands. Hells, fond welcome. And to those of you serving as envoys, we'll raise a cup to you first. I should hope there's meat on your bones!

Now, a few... guidelines! As it were. What are you? Madmen, criminals, thieves, mercenaries? I don't care to know. Under my roof, I'll have none of that quarrel. ( Steely: ) No squabble, no torture, no rape. We're in tight quarters, blood runs hot. But you'll somehow prevail over any instincts. No... innocent stabbing. There's enough of that in the Wards of late.

I understand some of you are joining the watch towers. I'll come see you. It's ugly work, and you won't thank me. But I thank you. If that bitch Irenia flies by, remember: she's an ugly, slow whore, and you can take a sharp stick's end to her throat. ( Silence, then breezily: ) I don't mind if you do that our merchant friends, either. Just make sure you've learned where they've stored their grains first. ( Light coughing. ) Don't let Haiva hear that. We're to be friends with one and all! Even when they skin us for gold.

As it stands, the day's news: we prepare to evacuate new convoys of our weakest civilians every five days. Unfortunately, Rathakku is... either remarkably intuitive or well informed. He seems to find our escape corridors in the mountain and blockade them. So! We start anew, with fresh escape routes. Do help. And if you can keep our vulnerable on their feet and not trip up the paladins who are working in the Gut's Bind, even better.

By the way, we cut any hands laid unkindly on healers. We can likely spare you more than them.

And the punishment for snitching to uncle Thyvault where the last of the good wine sits is worse than that. I'll deliver that one personally.

Now, good to have you! Die well.

( ooc: welcome to Alem & threadjack liberally c: )

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Mar. 27th, 2021 06:18 pm

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