lunaecalamitas | thousand dreams, lotus boats upon the waters

thousand dreams, lotus boats upon the waters

NEW MOON ADAGIO

Between the constant requests from the North and the sense of tension that pervades the manor, Sage Tatara makes an executive decision: we're going North, baby.

Of all the things that have happened thus far, let this be the ultimate test of your magic. Even as we near summer, it's frigid. Protect yourselves and your allies from the cold. Protect yourselves while also fighting off monsters (or other territorial wizards, should you make the terrible mistake of wandering into another's territory), flying through the vast wilderness, or protecting the poor humans who need your help to survive. Time to blow off some of your steam. Just be sure to obey Tatara's one rule: don't kill each other.

One particular problem of note is in the Forest of Dreams. Without its guardian, many of these rogue monsters and dangerous predators, displaced from their normal habitats, have found their way into the forest. Many of them, however, are unable to survive against the fatal toxin, and there are plenty of animal corpses and mana stones that litter the forest. It might be best to clean these up before the forest guardian returns...

That said, the toxin is yet another thing you must protect yourself against in addition to the cold. While you can likely keep yourself from dying from the toxins, you may not be immune to its effects. This deadly toxin causes anyone who breathes it in to dream and hallucinate vividly, be it images of the past, imagined futures, thoughts of the present processed and warped...

Strangely enough, those nearby may end up sharing in your dreams... Did you want the darkest recesses of your thoughts, hopes, and fears unearthed for others to see?

Those who decide to venture far past the more populated (in relative terms) parts of the North may find themselves stumbling upon what looks to be an abandoned bandit hideout. It seems it's been abandoned for quite a while—nothing to loot here, sorry!—but there sure are a whole lot of monsters that have decided to make this hidden corner of the North their home.

While you're at it, you may find a nearby cave. Beautiful crystals dot the walls and the floors, and there are small pools of hot spring water free for relaxing. It seems to be relatively free of monsters, too. So maybe this wouldn't be a bad spot to relax, away from everything else?

However, there's one thing that makes this cave truly unique, and it isn't the vistas or the springs—it's the bats. These bats hear echoes of the past and replay them for visitors. Should you stay a while and listen, a bat may pay you a visit. And when it does, it may play for you the voices from the memories of visitors past, whose stories may hold a clue or two to your circumstances...

While the Forest of Dreams is a memory/dreamshare free for all, the aural memories replayed by the bats in the Cave of Time will come from one of the original wizards only. If you'd like an audio replay of a perhaps significant moment either in their personal life or a clue as to what happened to them (it will be randomized), then please reply to this comment!

JOB BOARD

Clean-up and repairs. While thanks to the hard work of your Eastern friends the worst was prevented, the City of Rain emerged from their short ordeal a little worse for wear.

Buildings need repair, blood needs to be cleaned off the streets, the injured need help. This is, perhaps, the only time you will be allowed to use magic openly in the city (you've been given permits and everything!), but you still are not allowed to talk outside of designated zones. Please, please don't get arrested...

As for the scrap that litters the streets? Unfortunately, you'll have to take it back to the scrapyard. But this time, there's a big, roaring bonfire out there. Just chuck all the scrap and debris in the fire. The city isn't taking any second chances—extreme situations call for extreme measures.

Reverence. Several Northern villages are currently outside the protection of a wizard, and have requested the sage's wizards' presence. They're terrified of the monsters and worried the barriers for their villages will fail sooner than later. They don't simply ask for help for free, however, and these smaller villages are steeped in their tradition—they'll pay you their respects, praying to you, offering you gifts, groveling at your feet, in hopes for a modicum of your time and protection. Do their offerings please you? Then assist them with what you deem appropriate for their worship to you: kill a few monsters for them, or a lot if you're pleased. Strengthen the barrier a lot, or not at all if you're displeased. It's up to you! You have the power here. What's it like to be a god for a day?

Ladies' night. The monthly lady officers' gathering is coming up in the City of Affluence—it's an exclusive meetup for the women involved in and related to Western military and bureaucratic affairs. Anyone is welcome, so long as they meet two requirements: they are outwardly presenting feminine, and they have an invitation to the gathering. Here's your chance to flex your transformation and glamour spells! Infiltrate the meetup with a disguise and a fake invitation, mingle, enjoy the drinks, the jazz, the entertainment, and find out what you can... What's the Western army up to? Be careful, though—don't get caught and kicked out!

The attendees seem to be excited about the new phantasmagoria technology and the upcoming display, and many whisper about the upcoming Venator meteor shower...

G'RAHA TASKS

Greetings, new friends! I am G'raha Tia, and while I hesitate to call myself a mentor or a replacement for the one you had, I am eternally grateful for the assistance I received and will do my best to help your cause in any way I can. To that end, I feel I may need to be caught up to speed on the events and get to know all of you.

We can have some tea and sandwiches and have a discussion! That's the best way to learn, sometimes.

TATARA ACTIVITIES

Even if we're not here for very long, I think we should leave our mark (not literally! Don't paint on the walls!). I got paint and big paper in the dining hall, but no brushes... Do you know what that means? Finger paint! Finger paint a portrait of yourself with your name and I'll hang it up in the library when they're all done!

Thanks to Cid and Khun, my camcorder works now. The thing is, what's the point of filming anything if we have no way to watch the film?! Could you guys work together to make some kind of projector? Or like...VHS player? We could have a movie night together!

OOC NOTES

🌙 Welcome to your fourth event! It's your dreamshare and memshare event! Ready to open up with your deepest and darkest secrets?
🌙 We're halfway through the game. How do you feel?
🌙 Back at the manor, Kurapika and Maya have set up a bulletin board! Leave comments, argue with your neighbors, have fun. Be nice. Don't set it on fire.
🌙 On the admin side of things, Lav has swapped out Wanderer for G'raha! Please say hello to your new mentor NPC.
🌙 Your OOC plotting post is here! Remember to keep all wider plotting to the post, and remember to check back frequently, since not everyone checks plurk or discord all the time.
🌙 The next country to go on their mission is North. Do you think a PVP-enabled mission will go well?

» NAVIGATION

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(( Reply to this for a memory from the original wizards! Memories given will be randomized. ))

[ Hit me up and let me suffer as someone canon familiar- ]

[ The voice is boyish and bright, but in this instance, wracked with terrible, terrible pain.

His voice is hoarse.

"Stop this! Leave my men alone! Who—who even are you?!"

Above his ragged breathing is another voice, but only barely audible. It's smooth, a trap bathed in honey, dangerous.

"Owen—"

Before he can speak again, there's an impact, the spark and sounds of magic. Boots scrape against stone, steel clattering to the ground, and there come cries of soldiers as they take the brunt. A sound escapes his throat, half-formed at the horror of his soldiers being ripped apart.

The sound of breathing, of an elevated heartbeat. The sound of a decision being made that will change the course of his life forever.

"Gladius...Procella!"

There comes the sound of magic again, but warmer, weaker, and it is quickly drowned by the terrible rumble of a spell much more powerful, much more dangerous than his. The honeyed voice laughs low, clearly amused; but whatever this other person says is quickly lost beneath a horrible, blood-curdling scream.

He screams in pain, in horror. Oh, the horror.

"My—my eye! What did you do to my eye?!" Pain wracks his voice, his breathing, his heartbeat. The sounds echo from the bats and that hurt almost feels real.

He screams.

"Give... Give me back my eye!" ]

[

Hm. Hm,,,

This sure is something to overhear. Wizards sure wizard.

...Who is he kidding, he can imagine de-eyeballing happening with Exalts. Ugh. ]

[ beam me up ]

[ His smooth, sweet voice gives a quiet ugh, laced with barbs.

"What rumor?"

Another voice speaks, loud and animalistic, but for much too long. The way he huffs quietly in the middle suggests he's stopped listening.

"Mm. I don't care," he says with feigned indifference. Because soon after, he speaks, tone smooth and flat and much too curious. "What happened to the young knight captain?"

A moment of silence. The answer displeases him.

"Hah?"

His conversation partner speaks, on and on—his quiet huffs the only audible sign he gives of his growing disappointment—and eventually breaks into song. Other voices speak up in commentary, distracted by the lyrics and it is clear that they have too much to say about music, but he doesn't much care for this song or stories about jail time or quite literally anything else.

"Shut up. No one cares," he spits quickly, interrupting them all. He wants everyone to talk about what he wants to talk about, evident by the way he so quickly redirects the conversation. "Listen to me. If the knight captain can't be a knight captain anymore, then what will he be?"

One voice replies, and the world falls silent. There's a quiet ring in his ears—his disappointment and displeasure is immeasurable. That can't be right.

But yet another voice speaks, and the world comes to life again. The moonlight lilts in his ears and in his cold, empty heart. Whatever it said, this fills him with delight, and he chuckles bright.

He hums quietly, pleased. His tune is chipper, upbeat, smooth and melodious. There's the quiet tap of shoes on stone, in time with his own humming.

He laughs, loud and with delight.

Won't anyone look at him and his prize? ]

[ Why not? Let's gooooo. ]

[ A sigh, in tandem. The voices are young—childish, even—but are worn with a quality only the longest-lived beings have.

"'Tis soon."

"'Tis soon, indeed."

"What will become of us, Snow?"

"You have seen all I have, White. We've no choice but to trust our newcomers."

"Perhaps it is wrong?"

"We are never wrong."

Another sigh, in tandem. This time, it is defeated.

"How strange..."

"Hm?"

"We are never wrong. Yet if this is to pass, then how is it that our other prophecies will remain unfulfilled?"

"A mystery, indeed... Those who are meant to die in the next calamity cannot die now; those who are meant to be rendered stone at the hands of another cannot be rendered so like this."

"Then we will be fine."

"Will we? Should our newcomers not do their jobs properly, then we will all perish, and we have created quite the stellar paradox."

"Oh-ho. What a sight that would be to behold."

"But it would not be a sight for us."

...

"No matter what happens, White, I am with you."

"We are one and the same."

"We are together."

"Always." ]

[time to retreat here as he tends to [redacted]]

[ "What about you, Sage? Enjoying yourself?"

Behind the sweet, gentle voice is the murmur and sounds of a joyous gathering. A party, perhaps, not so dissimilar to the ball a few weeks ago.

He gives a hum of adoration. "How cute of you," he remarks. "If you're not having enough fun, then why don't we dance?"

His tone is soft enough, his words kind and inviting enough. But beneath the surface of the mellow, sunlit stream is a frigid, relentless undercurrent.

"Don't be shy. You could be man or woman, elderly or a dog, or even the Calamity itself—I'd still hold you in this dance like I loved no one else in this world."

His voice drops low.

"And then for one, wonderful moment, we'd share in the same passionate dream."

There's a rustle of fabric, and a pause.

"Your hand, dear Sage."

There comes a hesitant response, and he is surprised.

"Why not?"

An awkward laugh, an awkward excuse.

"But I want to dance with you."

Why?

He whispers again, smiles and sunlight over a barren tundra.

"Because I want you wrapped around my little finger."

His voice cools, flat.

"The sage acts as leader of our manor. And if I want you to do exactly what I want, then wouldn't making you fall in love with me be my quickest option? I'm inviting you to love—an act that opens up your heart to those you don't trust, even to those you despise."

He speaks casually, as though he calculates the traffic through a busy city.

"So? Will you dance with me?" ]

[ ME!!! ]

[ There comes the rustle of lush foliage, the quiet hush in the air of the deep wood. He is silent, his breathing even. Someone walks ahead, pace just as even. An owl hoots in the distance.

He speaks, calm. His voice is young, but cool and composed.

"Why are you walking so fast? You should walk next to me."

The voice that speaks in turn is elegant, smooth, yet agitated.

He huffs, upset in turn.

"Don't say that. I'm your vassal. It's my job to serve you. And I promised to—"

The other voice rises in frustration. The footsteps through the underbrush come to a halt; leaves shudder as the person ahead whirls around. He, too, stops.

"Heh," his chuckle is light, proud. What the other yells at him for seems not to bother him. "You're even more handsome when you're ordering me around."

Except that only makes the other voice angrier—it rises in frustration, gripes echoing through the still foliage.

"Why, Heath?" his voice rises in frustration, too. "Why did you ask me to come with you, then? I thought I was useful to you. I thought you needed—"

A yell, in anger. It cuts him off. But it doesn't deter him.

"Fine. If you don't, then I'm going back to the manor. At least Faust knows how to make me useful."

He whirls on his feet, the leaves and branches shuddering in his frustration. He takes one, two steps atop dead foliage, the only sound in the tension between them, when there comes a low, menacing shudder.

It echoes in the distance, far, but slowly grows. It is no monster, no beast he is familiar with; it whips through the dense trees as it gets louder, and louder.

Static fills his ears, his sense of direction and his heartbeat and his thoughts quickly fizzling out beneath the relentless wave of sheer noise. His breathing quickens, but soon that, too, is lost beneath the audible shudder in the fabric of reality.

Faint, behind the noise, the other voice yells for him. Over and over. Panic, regret. Shino, Shino.

The noise swells—

and silence. ]

[SURE WHY NOT WHAT COULD GO WRONG.]

[ The foliage crumbles under his angry footsteps as he marches forward, pushing aside branches. There's faint footsteps behind him, someone following with an even pace. But his breath is ragged in frustration—the other presence is not welcome.

The other voice says something. He huffs and replies, his own voice smooth, yet agitated.

"I don't need you to hold my hand. I can manage on my own. I hate it when you treat me like this."

The other voice is scarcely audible behind the buzz of upset in his ears. But one word sticks out, and there's a rush of foliage before the rustling comes to an abrupt halt.

"Do not say that word around me! You will not remind me of—of that anymore!"

But his anger is only met with a light chuckle. He sighs, his anger and frustration boiling over.

"I wish I'd never made it! You're just—all you ever do is talk about me like, like some...intangible object. Why don't you ever listen to me? You don't listen to me! I don't want you here!"

His anger echoes through the still trees and brush, fading quickly in the carpet of leaves. What the other voice says causes him to inhale sharply and yell, cutting it off.

"I don't!"

There's a brief pause, a total moment of silence before the other voice speaks in quiet defeat. Shortly afterwards, there comes the distant rustle of underbrush as the other person turns to leave.

Regret rings loud in his ears.

But the low, menacing shudder in the distance rings louder.

It happens so fast. Melancholy and regret and disappointment fly away with the disturbed flocks of birds, and his ears buzz terribly as something whips through the trees straight towards him.

Crunch, crunch. He leaps forward, through the branches.

"Shino? Shino?! Shino!"

He cannot hear his own panic and regret over the noise.

Because soon, comes silence. ]

[ what could possibly go wrong with this ]

[ There's a unique sort of sound that only a fresh snowfall brings. The blanket of silence is comforting, and the world hushes beneath the majesty of the cold.

It must be that sort of winter night, because there is a muted hush in the way the fire crackles, in the way his wine glass taps softly against the wood of the end table, in the way the page crinkles as he turns it.

Perhaps there is a softness, even, in the way the quick patter of little feet rush through the hall. His attention narrows on the footsteps, cautious, alert.

There's the soft tap, tap of his finger on the page; he clearly cannot concentrate while the other runs about.

He inhales, perhaps to speak, but he is quickly interrupted by the loud clack of the door opening, of the little footsteps rushing towards him.

There comes a child's voice, delighted and eager. His clothes rustle as they're tugged.

"Do not run, Arthur," he speaks, his voice low, smooth, calming. "You will hurt yourself."

But it seems the child pays no mind to his warning; the young voice goes on and on and on, cadence delighted, eager to share knowledge he already knows. On occasion he inhales, ready to speak, but cannot speak fast enough. The child talks over him, and he cannot keep up.

"It is late. You should sleep," he interjects eventually. But the response he receives is a whine. There comes a soft thud of a book landing on the sofa cushion beside him.

A pause. He sighs.

"Very well. I will read to you. But only one story."

There comes the rustle of clothes, movement on the sofa as the child nestles in beside him. The pages flip open, and he begins to read. His tone is even, quiet, comforting...

And soon the crackling fire and the hush of snow is all muted beneath the soft snores of the child's breath in slumber. His voice quiets, and he no longer reads. He sighs, fond.

Good night, sweet prince. ]

[ yeah this stuff is important even if khun would rather just read an entry in a database somewhere. ]

[ The murmur of voices echo in through the caverns. They settle low, serious. His own breathing is louder than usual, frustrated. For a few more moments, he waits, listening, but eventually, he clicks his tongue.

That's his conclusion.

A hush falls over the area as his clothes shift, his shoes tap on stone as he walks.

"Who was it that got a good look at 'em?"

There comes a lone voice in response from the silence.

"And?"

The response he gets from that displeases him. He clicks his tongue again.

"Bastards. Don't like that we've got Westerners skulking in our territory. They get anywhere near here, kill 'em. I ain't lettin' go of our hard work here."

A few other voices pipe up, louder and louder than the last. They argue over one another, but before the volume reaches a peak, there is the quiet rustle of fabric as he raises a hand to stop them. A hush falls over them again.

"The meteor? Did you say they're taking pieces of the meteor?"

A low murmur in affirmation, and he barks loud in laughter. The answer changes his mind completely, it seems.

"Damned idiots. Leave them be, then. They're givin' themselves bad luck with that thing. If I find any of you bringin' that shit in here, I'm killin' you myself."

Again, his shoes tap against the stone as he walks away. That's not business he's willing to deal with. ]

[Sure, hit Phil with your worst!]

[The first voice is loud in a way that speaks of arrogance, and they sound—agitated, the sort of tired irritation of someone pushed to the edge.

"Glory fades in the blink of an eye. I'm merely a penniless scholar, now, so I'll bid you goodbye."

The second voice is calmer, gentler.

"Please, wait, M— Genius of the ages... you're known for never showing your face, so what brings you here tonight?"

An irritated sigh.

"I'm looking for a patron. You see, the rich aren't holding onto their wealth as good as they used to. Probably because of that approaching war."

"I don't believe it. The Western royals would shower you in wealth, for all of your talents."

The first man continues on, as if he wants this conversation as quickly as possible.

"No, they really have gotten quite stingy. Maybe because of the throne changing hands—but, say. Do you know the lady of Sapphire Castle?"

There's a confused, curious murmur.

"Yes, the lord of the Sapphire Castle is said to be even richer than the royal family, now, so I'm here to meet with the family's daughter. I've heard she's quite a talented musician, and I'm certain that sheltered girl will take quite the liking with me."

He launches into a speech, as the second man quietly hm's and adds input at the right places, about how nothing is as beautiful and thrilling as the moon, which remains ever out of reach, making it the subject of so much art. Artists all love beautiful and thrilling things, but with the most beautiful and thrilling thing something nobody can grasp, they must settle for what they can reach. Someone beautiful and thrilling like him, a man so desperate for funding...

"I will get on my knees before the sheltered princess and kiss her feet if that's what it takes."

There's a laugh in the second man's voice, now, barely contained.

"I understand, but it seems like even a man like you can make mistakes.

"You must have been so absorbed in your own research you failed to notice what was happening in the world around you. The only child of the Sapphire Castle's family is not a daughter, but a son. His name is Rustica—"

The conversation between scholar and noble fades, with the faint sound of a harpsichord being played.]

[Come to think of it he peeked in here a while back but maybe the bats are friendlier now???]

[ They are...

There comes a tired, bitter sigh, breathed into something close. The crook of an elbow, a table, the like. Soon, it's followed by a low groan. He's disappointed. He's disappointed in himself, most importantly.

Somewhere in the distance, far out of attention, is the clinking of glasses, the soft hush of running water, shoes on hardwood. There is a voice, smooth and soothing, but he doesn't seem to respond well to whatever was said.

"My research..."

The other person in the room gives a click of the tongue, but he sighs. How precious his research must have been to him.

"It's all gone... My life's work, up in smoke..."

The weight in his voice is equal parts to the years he lives, it seems—a wizard lives a very long time. Could a wizard as long lived as he have single-handedly pushed an entire world into scientific advancement?

He sighs again into the crook of his elbow, into the bar. Faint in the back of his mind does he register, only scarcely, how the other in the room shuts up shop for the evening, just for his privacy. Blinds pulled shut, latches locked, shoes on hardwood.

"What if..."

The quality of his voice changes, his clothes rustle as he changes position. No longer does he speak despondently into his elbow. His voice carries quiet, but clear through the air.

"What if, after I manage to recoup as much as I can..."

The stool creaks, the footsteps stop. If there could be a sound of gazes locking, the bats would most certainly play that, too.

"...I spread it out, all over the world, hidden? So that should something happen again..."

The other presence sighs, and begins to walk around again. But he continues his thought, mostly to himself, partially to the moon that he cannot see beyond shuttered windows.

"...We won't lose it all at once." ]

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thousand dreams, lotus boats upon the waters

OG WIZARD MEMORIES

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sorry for the delay!