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lunaecalamitas2024-06-13 05:00 pm
promittere) wrote in lunaecalamitas2024-06-13 05:00 pm
let the magic take control, it's there wherever you go
CADENZA DI FIRST QUARTER
On this bright and sunny morning, Sage Tatara and Mentor G'raha call a meeting. It's mandatory.
Once every wizard is gathered in the lounge, Tatara settles into one of the plush armchairs, clearly too big for him, but absent is any of his silly expressions that might make light of the difference in size here. Instead, with a serious hue in his coral eyes and neatly pressed lilac dress shirt, he looks like he means business.
"Now that the Western wizards are back, we need to share what we've learned with each other. I know some of you have been sharing information privately amongst yourselves, but I think it's time we put all the pieces we have together.
"Everyone encountered a moon stone on their missions, and I think the general consensus is that neutralizing these stones brings the old wizards back physically, somehow. But we haven't received any reports of any of them waking up yet."
That isn't to mention the sage, who still remains missing...ostensibly. They'll get to that in a second.
"If there's anything else you've learned that you think might be related to these things, or to our situation specifically, then speak up now."
When the conversation dies down, Tatara raises his hand to get his attention back on him and G'raha again.
"For the second order of business, I have good news and bad news."
His tone and expression are lighter this time.
"The good news is that we've found a ritual that can send everyone back. There are details we can work out in the meanwhile, especially if you've decided not to go back to your home world, but for now, we need to talk about the ritual itself.
"In order for the ritual to work, we will need rare materials from all over the world. I'll be posting the materials on the job board so you know where to look."
G'raha adds, "We'll need these materials by next week, before the full moon. There's a reason for that, but we'll touch on that in a moment."
Tatara glances at him and nods.
"The ritual is far too powerful for any of us to perform, so we'll have to wait until the old wizards wake up. But...I have a feeling we might be able to do something about that."
When Tatara stands, G'raha follows suit.
"There's one last thing I need to show you."
With a silent gesture, Tatara makes for the door of the lounge and expects everyone to follow. Yes, everyone.
Sage and mentor then lead everyone down the winding corridors of the manor, past an indiscreet door into a wing of the building that has remained relatively untouched. The lights here are off, but the chandeliers and sconces quietly flick on as they make their way down the dust-laden corridors.
Soon, all will notice that the halls they walk through are a mirror image of the residential section of the manor, except it seems no one has lived here for quite a while.
You're led up the stairs, where Tatara and G'raha stop before a door that is a mirror location to Tatara's room on the second floor. A faint energy pulses from inside, one belonging to a person unfamiliar to all.
After an exchanged glance, Tatara pushes open the door and G'raha steps inside. He gestures to the sight at the center of the room: there, on his knees, is a young man. His face is frozen, twisted in panic—in fact, all of him is frozen, and his image practically see-through, just scarcely flickering on the razor-thin edge of existence. He holds his fist high above his head, as though clinging, with dear life, to five faint ethereal threads—yellow, purple, blue, pink, and green—that float in the air above his head. The threads are just as faint as he is, fading before they reach the walls.
"This is the previous sage," Tatara says. "He appeared here a little before the Western wizards returned from their mission. I'm guessing whatever they did to the last moon fragment is related."
G'raha nods. "The sage's soul seems incomplete. Putting him back together may be the key to waking him, and the rest of the wizards, up. However—" he pauses, reaching to gently run a finger over the purple thread. It flickers faintly. "The energy in these threads is too faint to see where they lead. They do seem to grow in strength as we get closer to the full moon, though. It's likely we'll see what lies at the end of them when the time comes, next week."
"Next week," Tatara repeats. G'raha steps out of the room, and Tatara closes the door behind him. "We'll wake him up next week.
"But before that, we have materials to collect."
Once every wizard is gathered in the lounge, Tatara settles into one of the plush armchairs, clearly too big for him, but absent is any of his silly expressions that might make light of the difference in size here. Instead, with a serious hue in his coral eyes and neatly pressed lilac dress shirt, he looks like he means business.
"Now that the Western wizards are back, we need to share what we've learned with each other. I know some of you have been sharing information privately amongst yourselves, but I think it's time we put all the pieces we have together.
"Everyone encountered a moon stone on their missions, and I think the general consensus is that neutralizing these stones brings the old wizards back physically, somehow. But we haven't received any reports of any of them waking up yet."
That isn't to mention the sage, who still remains missing...ostensibly. They'll get to that in a second.
"If there's anything else you've learned that you think might be related to these things, or to our situation specifically, then speak up now."
For a summary of everything discussed in the meeting, please see this comment. Thank you Mauyn!
When the conversation dies down, Tatara raises his hand to get his attention back on him and G'raha again.
"For the second order of business, I have good news and bad news."
His tone and expression are lighter this time.
"The good news is that we've found a ritual that can send everyone back. There are details we can work out in the meanwhile, especially if you've decided not to go back to your home world, but for now, we need to talk about the ritual itself.
"In order for the ritual to work, we will need rare materials from all over the world. I'll be posting the materials on the job board so you know where to look."
G'raha adds, "We'll need these materials by next week, before the full moon. There's a reason for that, but we'll touch on that in a moment."
Tatara glances at him and nods.
"The ritual is far too powerful for any of us to perform, so we'll have to wait until the old wizards wake up. But...I have a feeling we might be able to do something about that."
When Tatara stands, G'raha follows suit.
"There's one last thing I need to show you."
With a silent gesture, Tatara makes for the door of the lounge and expects everyone to follow. Yes, everyone.
Sage and mentor then lead everyone down the winding corridors of the manor, past an indiscreet door into a wing of the building that has remained relatively untouched. The lights here are off, but the chandeliers and sconces quietly flick on as they make their way down the dust-laden corridors.
Soon, all will notice that the halls they walk through are a mirror image of the residential section of the manor, except it seems no one has lived here for quite a while.
You're led up the stairs, where Tatara and G'raha stop before a door that is a mirror location to Tatara's room on the second floor. A faint energy pulses from inside, one belonging to a person unfamiliar to all.
After an exchanged glance, Tatara pushes open the door and G'raha steps inside. He gestures to the sight at the center of the room: there, on his knees, is a young man. His face is frozen, twisted in panic—in fact, all of him is frozen, and his image practically see-through, just scarcely flickering on the razor-thin edge of existence. He holds his fist high above his head, as though clinging, with dear life, to five faint ethereal threads—yellow, purple, blue, pink, and green—that float in the air above his head. The threads are just as faint as he is, fading before they reach the walls.
"This is the previous sage," Tatara says. "He appeared here a little before the Western wizards returned from their mission. I'm guessing whatever they did to the last moon fragment is related."
G'raha nods. "The sage's soul seems incomplete. Putting him back together may be the key to waking him, and the rest of the wizards, up. However—" he pauses, reaching to gently run a finger over the purple thread. It flickers faintly. "The energy in these threads is too faint to see where they lead. They do seem to grow in strength as we get closer to the full moon, though. It's likely we'll see what lies at the end of them when the time comes, next week."
"Next week," Tatara repeats. G'raha steps out of the room, and Tatara closes the door behind him. "We'll wake him up next week.
"But before that, we have materials to collect."
JOB BOARD
An important note for these tasks is that they are time sensitive. At least one completed thread of each material must be submitted before 11:59 AM EDT, June 22 for the gathering of the materials to be considered successful. Now's the time to coordinate and work together.
Water from the Lost Oasis. Mesa was once a great city of commerce in the southern part of the Central country...the part of the country that is now a vast desert. The city was once lost to the sands, and though it is said to have recently emerged from its sandy grave, it is still rather difficult to find in the desert. It is very easy to get lost, even on broom, so be careful.
Either way, your task is to collect a bottle-ful of water from this barren oasis. Your only choices may be to commune with the spirits to have them to show you a phantasm of what the bustling city was like in its heyday, before it was destroyed, or to brute force dig your way to the ground water. Why here, when there are other oases in the desert? This is an ancient place of power, and the land is special.
The Central spirits here are very old and very picky—Northern wizards beware, as your presence may not be entirely welcome. Acting out may cause the spirits to lash out and cause sandstorms.
Either way, your task is to collect a bottle-ful of water from this barren oasis. Your only choices may be to commune with the spirits to have them to show you a phantasm of what the bustling city was like in its heyday, before it was destroyed, or to brute force dig your way to the ground water. Why here, when there are other oases in the desert? This is an ancient place of power, and the land is special.
The Central spirits here are very old and very picky—Northern wizards beware, as your presence may not be entirely welcome. Acting out may cause the spirits to lash out and cause sandstorms.
The Frozen Oz Root. Named after the world's most powerful wizard, the Oz flower is a brilliant crimson and deathly poisonous. It grows in the vast snowy plains of the North, but it is said to be exceedingly rare, despite how the color of the flower stands out so starkly against the white of the snow. Finding it will not be easy and you will need sharp, tireless eyes.
Despite how beautiful the flower is, that is not what we need. All of the flower's poison is housed in its roots, and we need the poison. However, the most important thing is that the roots remain frozen. Do not let it thaw. Once it thaws, the poison loses the quality we need for the ritual.
Despite how beautiful the flower is, that is not what we need. All of the flower's poison is housed in its roots, and we need the poison. However, the most important thing is that the roots remain frozen. Do not let it thaw. Once it thaws, the poison loses the quality we need for the ritual.
A Storm in a Bottle. It's the fickle quality of the spirits in the Valley of Storms that cause the eponymous storms. They're shy and sensitive, a lot like the Eastern wizards themselves, and don't require a lot of prodding to elicit any sort of reaction from them. Your job is to agitate the spirits in the valley just enough to cause a storm, and to catch that storm, lightning and thunder and rain and all, in a bottle for use in the ritual. Western wizards in particular will have an easy time stressing them out, but be careful not to push the sensitive spirits too far—the valley is also known as the Valley of the Lost for a reason (don't get trapped, please come home!).
In contrast, if you accidentally make the spirits happy, they might take the form of cats instead... Which is nice, but the manor isn't exactly aching for more cats. Just don't get too distracted playing with them if this happens, okay?
In contrast, if you accidentally make the spirits happy, they might take the form of cats instead... Which is nice, but the manor isn't exactly aching for more cats. Just don't get too distracted playing with them if this happens, okay?
Blood of the Last Monster. The Western military and word on the street will tell you that all of the magical monsters in the West have been slain, their mana stones harvested. But is that true, when there has been no word of the death of the mythical tarasque? The legend of the tarasque tells of a large, ancient beast with six bear paws for legs and a massive turtle shell on its back, who slumbers in the depths of a remote ravine among the mountains on the Western Country's northern border. You are to collect a vial of this ancient creature's blood. Nothing more, nothing less.
Be careful not to wake it, and be careful not to kill it. If awakened, there's no telling if anyone would be able to stop a creature of that size and caliber. And if killed, its mana stones would attract all the wrong kind of attention. Besides, doesn't the West still deserve to keep some of its native fauna, magical or otherwise?
Be careful not to wake it, and be careful not to kill it. If awakened, there's no telling if anyone would be able to stop a creature of that size and caliber. And if killed, its mana stones would attract all the wrong kind of attention. Besides, doesn't the West still deserve to keep some of its native fauna, magical or otherwise?
Pestilence Frog Mucus. Though once a plague-ridden bog, the Swamp of Pestilence is now home to a thriving, diverse, and healthy ecosystem. It's now also home to a very rare type of frog, its stunning green, yellow, and blue stripes eye-catching and attractive. However, this frog only emerges from the depths of the bog on a clear twilight after a day of rain in the rainy season...except the Southern rainy season isn't for another few months yet. You don't exactly have the time to wait until then, do you? You'll have to figure out a way to trick the frog into thinking it's the rainy season to lure it out, or dig it out by force... Either way, you'll need at least a vial's worth of this frog's mucus. Make sure the swamp water (or rain water, for that matter) doesn't contaminate it.
OOC NOTES
🌙 Welcome to your final final mingle! It's time to share info and get down to business.
🌙 How do you feel about the bonds you've forged thus far? Was it all worth it?
🌙 Pair guesses are now closed! Thank you and congratulations to all who found their pair!
🌙 A reminder that rewards close at 11:59 PM EDT, June 19, and that includes mission rewards. If you have not submitted rewards for your mission participation yet, then now's your last chance!
🌙 Speaking of time limits, if you missed it above, all materials must be submitted before the finale for the gathering to be considered a success. Plan your time and your threads wisely.
🌙 Your OOC plotting post is here. Please note that this plotting post doubles as the sign-up for the finale and final encounter. Read it over carefully and fill out the form if you'd like todieplay.
🌙 Speaking of, what do you think is happening next week...?
no subject
[ he's let them stay red since the meteor shower so he might genuinely not be aware of what solomon is talking about, ]
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[ he's pretty sure they've been red at at least several points, by now? oh well. ]
What you've seen them as— [ greybrowngold and everywhere in between, ] is what they were— before.
[ before what? take a guess. ]
This close to the end, I figured there was little point in continuing to play pretend.
[ pretending what? at least one person here has the context to know. ]
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...]
Mm. I'm glad you're comfortable enough to be your honest self, even if it's only for a short while.
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from the moment he was born, whether he was aware of it or not, memories or no memories ... they were and are, one and the same. the robin before he knew, simply more naive, perhaps less harsh. never innocent, considering what they are and have lived through.
or did this one kill him when he came to be?
... a bland smile. ]
It's really not so much a matter of comfort as it is a reminder.
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[Robin could choose any way to present himself, after all. Whether he wants to let himself be seen as terrifying, if this is an attempt at honesty for someone specific, or if it is just something far more personal... it still shows a shift in the dynamic between them and him, even minutely.]
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[ you, who declared you would never bow before a god— but, now, that isn't what he asked for, now was it? ]
'An honor.' [ a long blink, a quiet, private laugh. ] Honestly. Who are you speaking these words for, Solomon?
[ who and what do you think he is? ]
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Mm... "contempt" is not the word I would use. I just have my priorities, and I am not ashamed to speak freely about them.
[He pointedly doesn't answer the question posed to him.]
If it's offensive to say as much, you know you can correct me. As much as I like to get a rise from you, now isn't exactly the time or place.
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I'm not interested in an argument. Frankly, I'm simply curious to know who you think you're addressing.
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[He's tried going Full Mystery before. It was miserable and boring.]
I'd rather not resort to titles. Otherwise... the answer is that, I don't know.
How did you put it before... Someone awakened when you did not necessarily want it, summoned before a feast of worship and carnage you wanted little part of. One with a deep amount of pride and bitterness and sorrow in spades.
Your life is a complicated one, and you come across as the old soul you are. But I doubt I know any more of you than you do of me, at this point.
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[ you don't have to throw yourself at someone to not be a complete mystery. but he doesn't harp on the point, instead letting his expression twist into something almost tired, but mostly just wry. ]
Of everything I might have ever said ... That's the thing that sticks, is it?
[ pride and bitterness are to be expected. he is a divinity continually disappointed by the world he'd once
cared fortried to coexist with. he is thoroughly unimpressed by the bulk of humanity, a fact anyone could have gleaned from his discussion with mika.sorrow, though... he's already said too much, hasn't he?
then fine. we give solomon more of what he's been looking for and expecting to hear. divulging these truths doesn't matter anymore. ]
Indeed, that deplorable set of affairs was... The man I was had been trying to stop it, even if he didn't quite know how deeply he was intertwined with that fate. The beast they awoke saw only the proof that they must all be brought to an end, no grace or mercy to spare for anyone in its sundered heart. But to speak of them as different people or beings is to misrepresent the truth. I am and have always been one and the same.
I've brought one world to the edge of ruin and had intended to do the same to another. Still care to speak to me?
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[What lines he had drawn were only a warning if things had ever come to blows - a state of unrest, when their team was fresh and uneasy. Their mission had done quite a lot to convince him they could sort their differences when it mattered.
Still, he keeps his tongue silent as Robin continues.]
...Mm. I think I see what you meant, that it's a reminder.
[His volume drops as he crosses his arms in front of him, a casual stride towards Robin if only so the talk can not be so public. Grand gesture wasn't needed here.]
Yes, I would. But only if you would allow it. Regardless of my intention in my mischief, I'm aware I've been unkind.
When one goes through lifetimes upon lifetimes for a certain cause, it can make us blind to seeing the world any other way. As much as I hate to see what that can do, I'm not immune to doing the same.
I won't always agree with you. But for what I might have said and done to misjudge you, for the cruelty I've shown... I apologize.
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eventually, he sighs, with the air of something relenting. ]
... You should hold more against me, honestly. You are aware I stand in opposition to your unconditional faith in people.
[ there's just too much of him that loathes to see injustices run rampant, even when he was a kinder being. in a fairer world. in a better world, perhaps, there would be more to agree on.
but that is not the world they live in, singular or macrocosmic. and as someone who stands so wholly apart from humanity, there's nothing he can do about that, can he? it is one thing to be a man, declaring his judgments of another of the same. be one meting out those decisions from above, however... no matter the intent, for good or for ill...
(there is no way to tear it out except by the root, but what does that make him?) ]
If this overture is your attempt to clear the air, consider it done. Go ahead and continue to address me, if you will, or do not. You owe me no obligation, and I've every intent to cooperate for the rest of our remaining time here. After that, it will cease to be of any concern.
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[Perhaps surprisingly. His support was unconditional, it was true, but not his faith.]
My faith in humanity isn't forgiveness for their wrongdoings or ignorance. I don't want it to become a blind eye to the consequences, to the hurt and destruction they can cause, or as some excuse to stand in the way of their opposition if their own poor choices lead to disaster of their own making.
I only believe they have the ability to be better, and that they deserve the freedom to find that path. That their kind can deserve punishment without condemnation to death or enslavement. That generations don't always deserve the whip meant for their ancestors' sins.
It's that freedom and a chance for their peace that I want to see. Even if it's fleeting, or if it needs to be a fight that never ends among themselves.
[Maybe because it was one he never saw on his own. Not without total removal, a ghosting away to become little more than a legend, flitting and out behind the scenes and letting time become irrelevant for himself.]
Feel free to judge me for that as much as you feel you should. But... if there were a way to go about it peacefully, without injustice across all sides... that's what I would hope for.
I wish the world could be so simple, to let that happen easily. [His smile is slight, but genuine.] But things have proved me wrong before.
no subject
[ an echo, perhaps; grima's tone matches solomon's in volume, but is neutral, weighed, empty. no judgment, no accusation, no derision.
he keeps his expression closed off as he glances forward and away, hands folding behind him instead. ]
It's a pretty picture your words paint. It is the like of that which I've heard before.
... They will not learn from the mistakes of their forebears. It's cyclical, these patterns of pain and strife, rebuilding, and arrogance and indolence. Individuals may shine, but corruption threads through the heart of any society, and it's sickening to see the suffering left in its wake. Kindness— desperate, persisting, wholehearted, sincere, small, large— has not saved the ones I've seen, nevermind the multitudes for whom it's nothing but lip service.
But they cannot be shepherded either. You cannot guide them on a larger scale when the difference between the two of you is so great, for then they come to rely on you and your words, whether twisted beyond their original meaning or not, and that breeds both dependency and resentment. People will look to deify anything that promises them something better, and that breeds both sycophants and those who cannot live without being told what to do— neither of those any better than if guidance had never been offered at all.
[ he stops. turns back to solomon and states, simply, hands in front of him, palms facing upwards. ]
I am Grima. I am Despair. I do not hope against hope. I deal in certainties and absolutes. Fertilize the ground, and it will improve the soil. Perhaps the fruits that may one day grow there will ripen sweeter than what preceded them, [ and maybe they will not, ] but that is not my domain.
Everything falls to ruin. Everything dies. At the end of the day, the worms will sup from the fallen all the same. Death is the one true equalizer— the only one sure to leave everything the same in the aftermath. But ... you would argue that such is not equitable, wouldn't you?