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melodiesofeternity2018-11-16 11:26 am
sassafrisk) wrote in melodiesofeternity2018-11-16 11:26 am
Player Plot: Winter Isn't Coming, it's Already Here
Who: Everybody who signed up for the event.
When: November 23rd-30th
Where: The Uncharted Territories
What: Frisk leads an expedition into the North to try and find Hades. It doesn't go well.
Warnings/Notes: Post a toplevel to each of the segments below if you want. Encounters will be posted under the appropriate toplevel. For combat, I'd appreciate it if you put where your putting your passive job stat boosts in the subject line of your first post, plus any other boosts your character may have. Thank you!
THE STAGING GROUND (DAY ONE)
The directions that the volunteers have been sent over mail lead to a chocobo ranch just a day away from Armstrong Fort. For a groundbreaking journey into the unknown, the staging ground for Frisk’s expedition isn’t all that impressive. A quaint, if run-down, farmhouse lies next to the chocobos’ grazing patch, where Frisk can be seen arguing with a surly-looking Elezen. White chocobos coo at the new arrivals next to a mound of barely organized high-quality camping gear, staring at them curiously (or blankly, depending on how much intelligence to ascribe to chocobos). It’s a brisk November morning, and the cold bites into marrow of one’s bones as frost-encrusted dead grass crunches beneath the chocobos’ feet. Bleak grey clouds block out the sun, threatening snow but never quite delivering. Resignation and bleakness permeate the air. This certainly isn’t an auspicious start to an already dubious quest.
INTO THE VAST (DAY ONE)
The first day of the expedition is, in a word, boring. Dreary, depressing, monotonous, and several other words of similar caliber would also be apt descriptors. The moody weather doesn’t change through the long hours of plodding towards Armstrong Fort, the clouds oscillating between grey and sullen, and black and intimidating; but always refusing to actually burst and bring down snow on the party’s head. Not even random encounters deign to make an appearance to spice up the day, due to the extensive efforts of Tark Varentain’s military. Perhaps the only redeeming factor of this first day is that the flat terrain and docile chocobos make the actual riding of the birds a breeze, with only the most inept of chocobo riders--such as Frisk--falling off or bruising their rumps through other means. With MogNet reception growing spottier as the team approaches the Claus Snowfields, the only way to pass the time is with conversation.
ARMSTRONG FORT (NIGHT ONE)
When Armstrong Fort appears on the horizon near sundown, it brings a sudden change in weather. Snowflakes begin falling from the sky, increasing in numbers and force as the expedition party makes its way towards the imposing fortress. After just thirty minutes, it’s nearly impossible to see ten feet past your chocobo’s beak. Thankfully, the white chocobos are used to such conditions, so the expedition party still makes good time. The party arrives at Armstrong Fort an hour after the inclement weather begins, and they’re greeted by grim guards who refuse to let them in after a solid fifteen minutes of arguing with Frisk, despite the permit for lodging that they display.
Inside, the fort is just as bleak as the outside, although in a significantly different way. Primarily elezen and human soldiers huddle around sputtering fires on the walls, peering through the snowstorm looking for any signs of monsters. The cries of the wounded echo from the medical hall, although all of the soldiers remain stoic even to their comrades’ pain. If pressed, one of the guards will begrudgingly explain that without a regular shipment of mana potions, their healers often can’t use magic on every wounded soldier, forcing them to do it the old-fashioned way.
The empty bunks that the volunteers are escorted to are uncomfortable, cold, and barren, but it’s marginally better than sleeping on the floor. Marginally. But whatever slumber the party gets is interrupted at one in the morning, when a pack of ferocious yetis attacks the walls. The soldiers stationed at Armstrong Fort are used to such assaults and don’t need any help fending off the monsters, but if any of the adventurers give their assistance anyways, they’ll earn the guards’ grudging respect and perhaps a little something for their trouble.
CLAUS SNOWFIELDS (DAYS TWO AND THREE)
The volunteers are awoken just before the crack of dawn, dragged (by force if need be) to a breakfast of heated ration block and hustled out the door before the sun would even peek over the horizon if it wasn’t completely obscured by the endless snowstorm. From there, a boring journey becomes downright miserable.
Everybody has to huddle uncomfortably close together on their chocobos to keep from losing each other in the oppressive whiteness of the storm. Even the high-end survival gear that the volunteers are wearing only slightly blunts the biting edge of the cold, the raw frigidity of the environment digging deep into the marrow of the bones and nestling there like some twisted parasite. The white chocobos, as surefooted as they are in this environment, struggle against the howling gales, each step forward seeming like a monumental accomplishment.
It isn’t long before all sense of direction is lost. Compasses stop working just a few hours in, their only use being pointing a way vaguely forward to venture towards. The only reliable way to tell the time is the frequency and strength of monster attacks; as the day inches towards night at an agonizingly slow pace, more and more monsters bound out of the snow to savage the party. At the start of this leg of the journey, packs of roving monsters only came once or twice every hour. But as the hours grind past it begins seeming like the party can’t have five minutes of peace before being interrupted by some manner of beast. It’s not just yetis and ice elementals, either: there are strange, exotic animals, all the apex of physical perfection that comes with the ability to survive in such a harsh environment. Magical constructs such as ice golems and undead dressed in the clothes of other explorers also sometimes come charging out of the snow at the party, forcing a confrontation.
When: November 23rd-30th
Where: The Uncharted Territories
What: Frisk leads an expedition into the North to try and find Hades. It doesn't go well.
Warnings/Notes: Post a toplevel to each of the segments below if you want. Encounters will be posted under the appropriate toplevel. For combat, I'd appreciate it if you put where your putting your passive job stat boosts in the subject line of your first post, plus any other boosts your character may have. Thank you!
The directions that the volunteers have been sent over mail lead to a chocobo ranch just a day away from Armstrong Fort. For a groundbreaking journey into the unknown, the staging ground for Frisk’s expedition isn’t all that impressive. A quaint, if run-down, farmhouse lies next to the chocobos’ grazing patch, where Frisk can be seen arguing with a surly-looking Elezen. White chocobos coo at the new arrivals next to a mound of barely organized high-quality camping gear, staring at them curiously (or blankly, depending on how much intelligence to ascribe to chocobos). It’s a brisk November morning, and the cold bites into marrow of one’s bones as frost-encrusted dead grass crunches beneath the chocobos’ feet. Bleak grey clouds block out the sun, threatening snow but never quite delivering. Resignation and bleakness permeate the air. This certainly isn’t an auspicious start to an already dubious quest.
The first day of the expedition is, in a word, boring. Dreary, depressing, monotonous, and several other words of similar caliber would also be apt descriptors. The moody weather doesn’t change through the long hours of plodding towards Armstrong Fort, the clouds oscillating between grey and sullen, and black and intimidating; but always refusing to actually burst and bring down snow on the party’s head. Not even random encounters deign to make an appearance to spice up the day, due to the extensive efforts of Tark Varentain’s military. Perhaps the only redeeming factor of this first day is that the flat terrain and docile chocobos make the actual riding of the birds a breeze, with only the most inept of chocobo riders--such as Frisk--falling off or bruising their rumps through other means. With MogNet reception growing spottier as the team approaches the Claus Snowfields, the only way to pass the time is with conversation.
When Armstrong Fort appears on the horizon near sundown, it brings a sudden change in weather. Snowflakes begin falling from the sky, increasing in numbers and force as the expedition party makes its way towards the imposing fortress. After just thirty minutes, it’s nearly impossible to see ten feet past your chocobo’s beak. Thankfully, the white chocobos are used to such conditions, so the expedition party still makes good time. The party arrives at Armstrong Fort an hour after the inclement weather begins, and they’re greeted by grim guards who refuse to let them in after a solid fifteen minutes of arguing with Frisk, despite the permit for lodging that they display.
Inside, the fort is just as bleak as the outside, although in a significantly different way. Primarily elezen and human soldiers huddle around sputtering fires on the walls, peering through the snowstorm looking for any signs of monsters. The cries of the wounded echo from the medical hall, although all of the soldiers remain stoic even to their comrades’ pain. If pressed, one of the guards will begrudgingly explain that without a regular shipment of mana potions, their healers often can’t use magic on every wounded soldier, forcing them to do it the old-fashioned way.
The empty bunks that the volunteers are escorted to are uncomfortable, cold, and barren, but it’s marginally better than sleeping on the floor. Marginally. But whatever slumber the party gets is interrupted at one in the morning, when a pack of ferocious yetis attacks the walls. The soldiers stationed at Armstrong Fort are used to such assaults and don’t need any help fending off the monsters, but if any of the adventurers give their assistance anyways, they’ll earn the guards’ grudging respect and perhaps a little something for their trouble.
The volunteers are awoken just before the crack of dawn, dragged (by force if need be) to a breakfast of heated ration block and hustled out the door before the sun would even peek over the horizon if it wasn’t completely obscured by the endless snowstorm. From there, a boring journey becomes downright miserable.
Everybody has to huddle uncomfortably close together on their chocobos to keep from losing each other in the oppressive whiteness of the storm. Even the high-end survival gear that the volunteers are wearing only slightly blunts the biting edge of the cold, the raw frigidity of the environment digging deep into the marrow of the bones and nestling there like some twisted parasite. The white chocobos, as surefooted as they are in this environment, struggle against the howling gales, each step forward seeming like a monumental accomplishment.
It isn’t long before all sense of direction is lost. Compasses stop working just a few hours in, their only use being pointing a way vaguely forward to venture towards. The only reliable way to tell the time is the frequency and strength of monster attacks; as the day inches towards night at an agonizingly slow pace, more and more monsters bound out of the snow to savage the party. At the start of this leg of the journey, packs of roving monsters only came once or twice every hour. But as the hours grind past it begins seeming like the party can’t have five minutes of peace before being interrupted by some manner of beast. It’s not just yetis and ice elementals, either: there are strange, exotic animals, all the apex of physical perfection that comes with the ability to survive in such a harsh environment. Magical constructs such as ice golems and undead dressed in the clothes of other explorers also sometimes come charging out of the snow at the party, forcing a confrontation.
no subject
Besides, as if Kuja was one to talk with how he dressed.
Dylas was most of the way to knocking one of the wights clear out of the battle, and definitely out of reach of any hope for a good hit with a counterattack; but he at least had room for one last •Magitek Wall on the remaining Wight nearby- hopefully it was the one who was foolhardy enough to single him out- and even managed to send a crackling arcane bolt colliding with it in a followup •Magitek Judgement.
That sun had better hurry up and rise already.
no subject
Lying where one of the Wights was in a Wight's Heart, a piece of twisted black metal inscribed with runes that seem wrong to the eyes.
Wight's Heart: This can be imbued into a weapon to have all attacks made and skills used with it deal weak dark damage in addition to its normal effects. The Heart also doubles dark damage for attacks that already deal dark damage (this stacks with its other effect), and raises Attack Potency by one rank.
no subject
They won.
He cranes back his head and takes in the sunshine. For once, he didn't feel like he should immediately slink back into his apartment.
But after a while, he did notice he was standing on something.
He looked down and spotted a dark lump. He narrowed his eyes, and picked it up with his begloved hands.
"Hey, uh. Magic people. What's this thing?"
no subject
The tragic end of a bromance.
He looks back towards the shelters and is about to abandon everyone to go warm up inside of them when he hears 'magic people.' That's him. He's the magic person. He slithers over to Richard, and soon he's on both sides of him. Tail to the left, torso to the right. When Dylas sits around the couch, he...you know how it goes.
He grabs the rock. It's still pulsing, as an undead heart would, of course, and Dylas isn't too bothered by its runes being both a monster (self-proclaimed) and Necromancer.
"I think it's their heart," he says before opening his mouth wider than a person should. He places a clawed hand on Richard's shoulder to, you know, brace himself as he eats his dessert? And then swallows it whole right in front of him and Red. If it's a little juicy (and what good rocky wight heart isn't), maybe it even dripped on Richard a little. "Huh. It's not very filling," he says even though both of his hands are pulsing with dark energy and his eyes are glowing more golden than before.
no subject
"DID YOU JUST EAT THAT THING?!"
You know, the thing that fell out of an unholy, animated corpse? As if grotesquely devouring it in front of everyone wasn't already bad enough.
no subject
He'll see him again, hopefully.
Admittedly, the zora can't help staring at Dylas after seeing him swallow the rock whole like that.
"Dude..."
A disappointed headshake.
"...I could've made you a mean stew out of that. It'd really warm you up. On the other hand, cooking it distills any power you could get from it. Pros and cons."
A casual shrug. Someone's certainly not bothered by this.
no subject
Chomp. Gulp. The heart was gone, the only thing left being gravel and maybe a bit of snakeman saliva. Richard just stares at his hand for a second, and just for the life of him looking as if he hasn't quite comprehended what just happened. As if his mind was failing to contain the enormity of how messed up that thing he just watched happen was. He began to chuckle because he was feeling too awkward to do anything else.
He began to move slowly. Very notably with his other hand, he decided to start digging in his coat for his flask. "Yeah, uh. You know, stone soup is uh. You know what, no, I have no quip for this." He undid his latch on the mouth of the flask and started taking a long drag off of it.
Yes, he didn't drink. This was going to be one of the rare, justified exceptions.
no subject
"What, were you going to eat? It's not a big deal."
His eyes are still glowing a little. His hands are still pulsing with a dark cloud of energy. Dylas looks a little possessed, but instead he stretches his arms over his head and yawns before pulling his cloak tighter around him and looking at the other two.
"I'm going to sleep as soon as we get the call to go back inside. There's no time for stew. Aren't you coldblooded, too, fish man?"
He sort of wants to steal Conway's alcohol and take it for himself, but he's caused enough trouble and his hands are cold. He holds out his hand instead and, shocking even himself, asks politely.
"Can I see that? Please?"
Of course, see that means "I would like a drink of that flask," and considering where his mouth has been...