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lunaecalamitas2024-04-04 11:33 pm
promittere) wrote in lunaecalamitas2024-04-04 11:33 pm
if you say it's magic, then you're my wizard
WANING GIBBOUS OVERTURE
The seconds tick by, the elevator rattles. There's a soft, musical chime announcing your arrival before the elevator doors creak open, leaving you and a number of others in the courtyard of a stone manor. The manor is large, looming over the trees surrounding it, and the gardens are well maintained, rows of hedges and beds of blooming flowers as far as you can see. The doors linger open until you clear the threshold, as if waiting patiently for you. Dawdle too long and you’ll feel a gentle push, nudging you out into the yard. The doors shut with more rattles and a cheerful ding!, and if you turn to look at it there's nothing to be seen behind you but the milling strangers.
Then there's a sting, mild at first. But soon, the spot where your sage's crest is starts to burn. It's as though you have been branded, and the searing heat clings to your skin. Should you look at your crest, you'll find it glows a faint red, like the dying embers of a fire, but given enough time it will cool to black and no longer hurt.
Once the pain fades, you notice is that the air around you feels distinctly different. It's hard to say exactly what makes it different, or how. It feels brittle, but malleable. That perhaps if you said or did the right thing, you could command reality to your liking—
The wind blows, stirring leaves and flowers, and that's when you notice there are two people in the courtyard that did not emerge from the elevator like everyone else. The taller of the two looks briefly shocked, before a warm smile blots it out, while the shorter of the two looks remarkably unimpressed—for as much as you can make out his expression under the large hat he wears. He glances at the taller man, the charms that hang from his hat clinking, and crosses his arm over his chest.
The taller man nods, turns to the group, and says, "Sorry. I know you were probably in the middle of something important. But...I need you. My name is Tatara Totsuka. I'm your sage, and you are my witches and wizards."
He looks up to the moon hanging in the sky, still pale and visible despite the light of day, and lays it all out for you: a wizard under the sage's guidance is supposed to fight off the Great Calamity—the moon—when it nears. But you are not meant to carry out this task. The original sage and twenty-one wizards suddenly vanished not long ago. No one knows what happened to them, or where they are. They aren't dead. They are gone.
That you are here, that there are so many of you, that you came from different worlds, means that this is a mistake. Something, somewhere, isn't right. Yet the world has decided to claim you in a frantic attempt to keep itself together.
This world is breaking. If you don't fix this, then you'll be stuck here fighting the Calamity yourselves.
When Tatara looks back down to the rest of you, there's a smile on his face, tinged with apology. "But I think it'll be okay. We'll figure this out... Right?"
The golden light of sunset is oddly cold. It settles over you not in a welcoming embrace, but in a possessive hold. There is a sinking feeling in your gut: whatever your home was before matters no longer. Welcome to a world on the brink of destruction—let's hope it's not for good.
The day begins to draw to a close. You're given the rest of the day to process Tatara's words and to familiarize yourselves with the manor. There are plenty of empty spaces in the manor with sparse furniture where you can rest and try to unwind, and hopefully get some sleep. Everything about today might be a lot to unpack, but surely you can at least relax and prepare for the next day.
The morning starts with the sound of bells. A cacophonous racket of them, ringing in your rooms, in your head, jolting you from whatever slumber you can grasp. The source seems to be a note, unassuming if not for the way it shakes with each toll of the bells, and the noise only stops when you read it.
"Go to the courtyard," it says, and if you try to ignore it the noise returns, growing louder and louder until your vision swims and you find yourself standing in the courtyard with everyone else—and the shorter of the two men from yesterday.
"Practice starts right now," he says, looking bored and just as unimpressed as he did yesterday. The sun has barely started over the horizon—it's early, almost absurdly so. "You need to learn magic sooner instead of later, unless you want to die like miserable worms. If you do, just quit now so we can replace you with someone useful."
His explanation on magic is brief—he explains that magic is a deal struck between caster and the spirits of the world, using a meaningful word or phrase to communicate your will to the as-of-yet unseen spirits of the world, who will respond to your desires and power your magic. A focus, an object of significant meaning, will help strengthen your ties to the land and direct the magic for your spells. If you have nothing that would work as a focus right now, he says, chances are the perfect thing will find you anyways.
While he looks unhappy to do so, he emphasizes that magic—as it works here—is all tied to your emotions and your convictions, and then he assigns you a challenge for the week. He wants you to come up with your incantation—the words you'll use to cast all of your magic—as well as find or draw forward your focus, with the final task being summoning a magic broom you'll use for transportation.
Then there's a sting, mild at first. But soon, the spot where your sage's crest is starts to burn. It's as though you have been branded, and the searing heat clings to your skin. Should you look at your crest, you'll find it glows a faint red, like the dying embers of a fire, but given enough time it will cool to black and no longer hurt.
Once the pain fades, you notice is that the air around you feels distinctly different. It's hard to say exactly what makes it different, or how. It feels brittle, but malleable. That perhaps if you said or did the right thing, you could command reality to your liking—
The wind blows, stirring leaves and flowers, and that's when you notice there are two people in the courtyard that did not emerge from the elevator like everyone else. The taller of the two looks briefly shocked, before a warm smile blots it out, while the shorter of the two looks remarkably unimpressed—for as much as you can make out his expression under the large hat he wears. He glances at the taller man, the charms that hang from his hat clinking, and crosses his arm over his chest.
The taller man nods, turns to the group, and says, "Sorry. I know you were probably in the middle of something important. But...I need you. My name is Tatara Totsuka. I'm your sage, and you are my witches and wizards."
He looks up to the moon hanging in the sky, still pale and visible despite the light of day, and lays it all out for you: a wizard under the sage's guidance is supposed to fight off the Great Calamity—the moon—when it nears. But you are not meant to carry out this task. The original sage and twenty-one wizards suddenly vanished not long ago. No one knows what happened to them, or where they are. They aren't dead. They are gone.
That you are here, that there are so many of you, that you came from different worlds, means that this is a mistake. Something, somewhere, isn't right. Yet the world has decided to claim you in a frantic attempt to keep itself together.
This world is breaking. If you don't fix this, then you'll be stuck here fighting the Calamity yourselves.
When Tatara looks back down to the rest of you, there's a smile on his face, tinged with apology. "But I think it'll be okay. We'll figure this out... Right?"
The golden light of sunset is oddly cold. It settles over you not in a welcoming embrace, but in a possessive hold. There is a sinking feeling in your gut: whatever your home was before matters no longer. Welcome to a world on the brink of destruction—let's hope it's not for good.
The day begins to draw to a close. You're given the rest of the day to process Tatara's words and to familiarize yourselves with the manor. There are plenty of empty spaces in the manor with sparse furniture where you can rest and try to unwind, and hopefully get some sleep. Everything about today might be a lot to unpack, but surely you can at least relax and prepare for the next day.
The morning starts with the sound of bells. A cacophonous racket of them, ringing in your rooms, in your head, jolting you from whatever slumber you can grasp. The source seems to be a note, unassuming if not for the way it shakes with each toll of the bells, and the noise only stops when you read it.
"Go to the courtyard," it says, and if you try to ignore it the noise returns, growing louder and louder until your vision swims and you find yourself standing in the courtyard with everyone else—and the shorter of the two men from yesterday."Practice starts right now," he says, looking bored and just as unimpressed as he did yesterday. The sun has barely started over the horizon—it's early, almost absurdly so. "You need to learn magic sooner instead of later, unless you want to die like miserable worms. If you do, just quit now so we can replace you with someone useful."
His explanation on magic is brief—he explains that magic is a deal struck between caster and the spirits of the world, using a meaningful word or phrase to communicate your will to the as-of-yet unseen spirits of the world, who will respond to your desires and power your magic. A focus, an object of significant meaning, will help strengthen your ties to the land and direct the magic for your spells. If you have nothing that would work as a focus right now, he says, chances are the perfect thing will find you anyways.
While he looks unhappy to do so, he emphasizes that magic—as it works here—is all tied to your emotions and your convictions, and then he assigns you a challenge for the week. He wants you to come up with your incantation—the words you'll use to cast all of your magic—as well as find or draw forward your focus, with the final task being summoning a magic broom you'll use for transportation.
Threading out magic practice and ICly discovering your characters' magic words, manifesting their foci, and summoning their broom will count as three different jobs, and will be eligible for a set of rewards each. While not technically classified as a job this time around, this is a special circumstance. When you've accomplished any of these things, please submit them to the rewards page as a job submission.
If you're having trouble coming up with a focus or incantation, think about your answers for the first and third mandatory questions on your app! Your focus of choice does not have to be in your character's inventory—if what works best for them as a focus did not come with them, then they can focus and reach across universes to bring it here with them.
If you're having trouble coming up with a focus or incantation, think about your answers for the first and third mandatory questions on your app! Your focus of choice does not have to be in your character's inventory—if what works best for them as a focus did not come with them, then they can focus and reach across universes to bring it here with them.
JOB BOARD
You may have just gotten here, but people across the continent still need the sage's wizards to do things for them. The job board will typically have 2 - 3 requests each event that can be turned in for rewards when completed.
Sugar delivery. Confectionery shops and pharmacies put in regular orders for wizard sugar to the manor, and despite the unusual circumstances, now is no different. Wizard sugar—sugar spontaneously created through a wizard's magic—is said to have restorative properties and said to bless those that consume it, so it's no wonder it's in high demand. It also happens to be one of the first things young wizards learn to do. So once you've perfected your sugar, go deliver it to the shops in Central capital and to the Southern merchants waiting for shipment near the Central tower.
The Southern merchants, in particular, seem rather anxious to receive as much sugar as possible, as soon as possible.
The Southern merchants, in particular, seem rather anxious to receive as much sugar as possible, as soon as possible.
WANDERER TASKS
The wizards' new mentor knows that this must be an incredibly overwhelming experience, so he has a list of things that should help break down the process of learning and understanding magic. Or that's what he says, at least, but it feels like he's trying to make things more difficult...
Nobody is going to hold your hands for you, and the best way to learn is to understand the root cause of an issue. Use that paper being left around for something actually useful and do some research on the spirits of the countries you've been tasked to represent. I'll be expecting some actual thought out papers within the week.
For the idiots who can't research to save their lives, prove you can actually manage the bare minimum. There's a spot you can't reach without magic within the manor grounds—bring me one of the trinkets you find there.
For the even bigger idiots who are overconfident, come find me and we can spar. I won't go easy on you.
TATARA ACTIVITIES
Tatara knows things are tense and uncomfortable for his new wizards, so he'll offer up a few activities each event post to help them relax if things get too tough.
We're all new here, but we'll be friends before long, I know it! There's a table in the dining room with paper, pens, markers, glitter, and pins so we can all make name tags and get to know each other better. We'll go from strangers to neighbors to besties before you know it!
Oh, you should probably get a feel of the manor, too. This IS your new home, after all! And what better way than...hide and seek?! Sounds fun, right? I'd tell you MY favorite spot to hide, but then that wouldn't be fair!
I don't know how long we're going to be here, so it probably wouldn't hurt to settle in. Grab a friend or two and head to the market in the Central capital to stock up on whatever food you like and stuff for your room. May as well get comfortable!
OOC NOTES
🌙 Welcome to Lunae Calamitas's first event post! Yer a wizard, whether you like it or not.
🌙 While not technically jobs, ICly working out your character's focus, incantation, and broom are all separately eligible for rewards. Good luck on your basics, little wizards! You'll need them...
🌙 Your OOC plotting post is here! Please keep all your plotting on the plotting post, since not everyone uses discord or plurk.
🌙 The South will be going on their mission next week to get this party started. Keep an eye out, Southies!
foci
If it's a flexible definition, I might try to use my sword. ( The one at his hip; his hand rests on the rapier's hilt, idly. ) It's not like it's special to me. But it's reliable. That might be enough.
( That sounds a little lukewarm. But Mika seems to be in a similar boat as his neighbor: no particular sentimental attachments to much of anything. Finding his weapon something constant and dependable seems close enough, even if its origins displease him.
But maybe that would work acceptably enough for those of them short on heartfelt feeling. )
no subject
[ maybe in hands other than his the tome would represent something that he would rather not remember, but in his hands, it's inconsequential. of course his destiny belongs to him. that is his truth: he is fate, the inevitable conclusion that awaits.
(there was no other way, no running from it. this purpose was his to choose.) ]
We might have to make it be enough, if we take our hosts at their word.
[ drafted to save a world from its impending destruction, an apparently recurring calamity, while being as good as without any of the more... esoteric skills they might have had previous. ]
no subject
( Frank!! He unsheathes his sword, sliding it out— a nice, ornate blade. It doesn't seem very special, but... )
This is supposed to work a certain way, but it doesn't, anymore. I guess we have to replicate the effects with magic, but...
( It's annoying, to have to do that. It was working just fine before!! )
no subject
[ unsheathing it from where it's kept reveals what is probably more impractical seeming of a sword than mika's; jagged like a bolt, the metal of the blade zigzagging back and forth in a dangerous arc. ]
There's no shortage of magic in this realm. How odd for any power that sources from other places to suddenly find itself inert here... perhaps it's simply a matter of incompatibility?
[ inconvenient, though. lightning magic is as lightning magic does, and yet this sword of his might as well be a fancy toothpick now if he doesn't spare the effort to empower it himself. in the metatext's words: annoying. ]
no subject
That might be it. If all magic comes from "spirits," as suggested, then these spirits might only respond to living things, and don't "bless" inanimate objects with supernatural properties. Using objects as conduits and containers for magic is probably the closest equivalent there is.
( At least he's been listening to the magic system lore here and trying to piece it together... Not that it makes it any less of a pain to swallow. )
What was your sword capable of, previously?
no subject
Or, well, it should have been. [ a shake of the head, a huff, not quite resigned. ] It's but a pretty trinket now. Functional as a mundane blade, of course, but no more unique than the next length of steel one might come across.
What of yours?
no subject
Nothing as fancy as shooting lightning. ( No shame being from caveman town in comparison. ) I'm pretty strong and fast, physically. If I let it drink my blood, it amplifies that. It reinforces and sharpens the blade itself, too. But the mechanism for it doesn't manifest anymore.
( He's tried, alas. Mind, it works the way you ask Alexa to set an alarm, so "trying" involved a lot of shouting at his blade with no results. Frustrating and awkward. )
... The image for it is pretty clear in my head, at least. I figured I might as well try to brute force it into working using this place's magic system, somehow.
no subject
[ a living or sentient weapon of some sort? well, not precisely, unless arriving here has put it into dormancy, but ... how odd. ]
I assume it hadn't required too much tribute, originally, or else it would defeat the point... but do you mean to try to convert it to work with this place's magic, or simply mimic the original effects using the system of magic here?
[ distinctions only a nerd would care about, probably, but the main thing is this: if it's the latter, and one is only working to recreate the effects, then why not skip over some of the more finicky activation requirements like needing to feed it blood? ]
no subject
... Probably the first. If I'm just channeling magic back into myself through the second method, I might as well just power myself up directly. I guess if I could get the spirits to accept an offering of blood in exchange for more power, with my blade as a conduit...
( He's mostly just thinking aloud here... He never looked into how these things actually worked back home, and he's almost regretting it now. )
... Though I don't think spirits of my affiliation excel in raw power. Apparently we're supposed to be good at multitasking, or something.
no subject
[ whatever those might be, right. attachment, sentimentality, humanity, passion, loyalty... connection.
so many concepts to attribute to the one single thing. ]
Multitasking, hm? That almost sounds like they might be somewhat flighty and capricious, going from one thing to the next, but...
[ a tilt of the head, his consideration of his neighbor clear. ]
I am not sure that descriptor quite fits, but perhaps I'll yet be surprised.
[ maybe under that dour and blunt demeanor lies the heart of a dilettante, but from where he's standing? probably not. finicky and detail-oriented, then? ]
no subject
I'd hope not. I don't like wasting time like that.
( Don't consider him flaky, pls... he'd have to reassess what he's doing wrong. )
I think it's in reference to complex magic with a lot of moving parts. At least, that's what I understood of it. Seals and stuff.
( Now, the conundrum is figuring out how to do "complex" magic when you're still a beginner... )
... Maybe if I formulate what kind of magic I want to do with my weapon as something with a lot of small parts, the spirits would react to it better. ( And he might be able to use his rapier as a focus then, even without the sentimental attachment? ) ... Seems worth a shot, at least.
no subject
Haha. Then perhaps it is the realm of spirits that prefer those who overthink, then. [ finicky and detail-oriented it is. ] In which case... you might as well experiment. Perhaps they prefer a clear end vision with all parts working in harmony, or perhaps they do want you to visualize each individual component of casting.
As far as I can tell, they respond better regardless if they know you expect success.
[ confidence and self-assurance are key, in his so far admittedly limited experience with the magic here. like those pithy motivational posters you'll see around workplaces and self-help groups- whether you believe you can or you can't, you're correct.
or perhaps that's simply because the spirits that supposedly favor his country are the northern ones, drawn to strength. ]
If nothing else, breaking it down into multiple smaller parts might get you a partial result where only some components work and not the others. You might be able to refine it from there.
no subject
After a few moments of thought, he begins to draw his rapier. )
... I'll try it.
( He glances about, finding a conveniently placed tree nearby - and with a strike so swift it's hard to see, he slashes at its surface (knowing it's too depowered to cut through, as it normally might) - it leaves a proper nick. That's the baseline.
He lifts his blade again. )
... Donec moraire.
( He speaks his spell certainly - sharply, in line with his intent. It helps that he has a very strong visual of his intended outcome - sharpening the blade beyond its normal means - and an image of the magic: blood channeled through his blade like a river, interwoven around it like a sharp-razor net. The magic manifests in a ripple of scarlet along is blade, as if a pulse of blood - it leaves a bright, red mark along the sharp edges of the blade, and it swings his blade again.
He can't slice through the tree just yet. He didn't think he'd be able to. But the result is a success: a far deeper cut into the tree, deeper than a normal rapier could manage, if at all.
Rather than pleased, Mika seems to simply study it, as if trying to parse what went well - and what could improve. )
... I think familiarity can mimic sentimentality here. ( In terms of the needs of a focus. ) Your advice had merit, I think.
no subject