🏝️ dulces sueños group excursion! 🏝️

[hearthwarming]

🏝️ who: intrepid adventurers (vacationers?) and more!
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.

[ Hopefully everyone had fun on the Arco Lunar! The morning after the boat departs from the docks, a letter arrives to your mailbox: ]

Hello, intrepid adventurer!

I am excited to have you along for a group excursion to the mysterious new island! In two days' time, let us gather in the town square and set off from there! Please be prepared to stay the night. It will be so fulfilling and memorable for everyone to spend a night on an adventure together!

If you have any questions or concerns, please come find me at my flower shop in town or at the forest farm where I live!

Sincerely,
Oriphi

[ If she accidentally delivered it to a few wrong mailboxes, then... Oops!

On the promised day, once everyone (and likely a few surprise tag-alongs) has gathered or been gathered, Ori distributes little paper bags of snacks to everyone. Inside are cookies, oat snacks, and a freshly-picked apple from her and M-21's orchard. Do with them as you please... Just don't let her catch you throwing it into the sea or something. 🥺 ]

Alright. I think we should head out, then! Thanks for coming along, everyone! I hope it'll be a great time. Oh, and please don't forget to drink plenty of water and use this incredible ointment I discovered on this island! It's called "sunscreen!" Tieflings don't really get sunburnt, but you should use it!

[ And with that our intrepid adventurers set off to the mysterious, dangerous, unknowable... resort island! ]

( This is the ill-fated mass extinction memshare event. Please refer to the event for details on the resort and the plotting post for any specific details for characters' memshares! There are toplevels for each area of the resort (and for the memshare). Enjoy! )

Comments

[for8000amonth]

[ Welcome to memshare hell, here is a big ol' selection of Adelis' memories for your viewing pleasure.

These can be in First Person or Third Person, and CYOA is an option for both- however, First Person will not have as much freedom as Third. Please state if you'd prefer the CYOA or wish to watch audience style.

If you'd like a random one, please let me know if there's any of the listed cws you'd prefer to avoid, and if there's anything else that squicks you out that I may have forgotten to list. Ostoya is very bleak, very dark, and very gruesome, so the mild and pleasant times are few and far between, but there's a few in there!

Also, if you'd prefer a wildcarded memory of something specific (such as family, etc), please let me know! I can work with that, too.

EX. Memory Name, Specific Memory / First Person / Audience style / No Mind Control ]

[pactmarshal]

[ dreamworld/first person pls! ]

[for8000amonth]

[ When you open your eyes, it is to the familiar taste of fetid dust on your tongue.

It is cool, a light draft whipping through the darkness, and it only from the light of a lantern that you can see exactly where you are- the floor is the creak of old wood beneath you, and the walls of aging, chipped stone. A glance to the side shows the dip of a staircase going down, and to the other shows an open doorway with another set going up- and should you crane your neck, you see the dark ceiling crawls ever higher and higher through the square space cut between what seems to be several floors. A tower, of some kind.

There is a sort of reservoir in front of you, the gleam of rippling water, and in front of you is the skittish figure of a ratty-looking girl. And you both are not alone. Near you are three other figures- a cautious-looking man, who's back is straight and who's gaze is flitting around with an alertness that matches your own. A red-haired woman, hovering by the girl by the water with a bit of a twitchy look about her. And finally, a eerily-silent child, who's face is blank as they slowly patter about the floor. All of you look battered, blood and dirt clinging to the abnormally elegant clothes with their singed edges you all currently wear, and you feel the ache in your bones to match.

You ran here, heart pounding heavy against your chest with an unforeseen sense of urgency. Your head is buzzing with a hot, loud static, and you do not wish to turn back and see the figures you left behind. If you do, you may hesitate, for the sight of two women dancing in tandem amidst the hedges and bloodied water still lingers on the back of your eyelids. You are close to what you came here for, following this girl on her futile quest through the seeping memories in her dream- clean, purified water, to spread it amongst the Shade. The healing qualities could do wonders for the disease and rot-choked populace, if only you could get just a bit of it.

And yet here you are, leaving the grounds of a mass execution. Watching the young and old get herded in, boxed by the hedges and forced to the green lilypads sitting over the water. A familiar figure with long hair greets you, made entirely of mist and fog, and as you take his hand and dance you hear the tears and screams and splashes as the water slowly churns a deeper red for every figure fallen.

You catch her attention, as she watches the bloodshed with an amused smile. You blink, and you are in her arms- and so you dance with her, for the sake of your own survival which coincides with the other's. The water surges with every dip of your body, and despite the conversation, you feel nothing but a surge of hatred and cold, icy fear.

And when someone snatches her eyes, in the wrong place at the wrong time, you leave him to die.

Your legs burn from the dancing and jumping just as they do from the liquid that had lapped at your ankles, burning the flesh and urging you forward, because you know fully well if you don't-

even if this is a dream, someone else's, you won't come back from that.

It is abnormally quiet. While you were chased, the figure left behind distracted your pursuer enough you can breathe- and yet you find it hard. There is a stone in your chest, uneasy and uncomfortable, to match the grinding headache. There is a shift, and if you look, you will see both the women steadily heading in the direction of the staircase leading up, whilst the other two glance but don't move to follow quite yet.

The floor creaks beneath your feet.

What do you do? ]

[pactmarshal]

[ The pounding of a heart against a ribcage is painfully uncomfortable.

Anxiety and urgency alone are bad enough--but to have it accompanied by a physical sensation like this? It's almost unbearable. Limbs ache in a way he has never experienced before--is this what it is like to have muscle? Trahearne swallows thick, struggling to breathe with newfound operations within him, to calm himself and assess the situation. Images of memories--ones clearly not his own, of cruel death and destruction of the likes he has never witnessed before--flash in his eyes with each blink as he tries to orient himself.

His eyes dart upward in response to the shift, watching the women go up the tower. And to the others, only to briefly take them in.

He looks down at his hands, his singed clothes. These are not his. He does not wear clothes.

With another thick swallow, arms out to steady himself, he rights himself. He isn't sure why, but he has the feeling that wherever he needs to go, whatever he needs to do, it is up. With one final glance at the other two, perhaps as a signal of his intent, he makes his way towards the stairs leading up, after the women. ]

[for8000amonth]

[ If your distress is visible, none of the others pay it much attention- there is obviously much on their minds, and their own states are enough to worry about. You, after all, still feel that buzzing in your skull, the sparks left in the wake of your escape. Your heart has calmed somewhat, but the unease remains, leaving a cautious tension with every movement.

The floorboards creak lightly beneath your heels, as you turn to follow the two heading up. Their steps are slow, and they whisper to themselves, the black-haired girl walking ahead with a sense of familiarity between them both. You linger behind, but when you go to take the first step to catch up-

You hear a resounding slam of wood, and then a loud shuffling.

Both the remaining two's heads whip to the stairs leading down, bodies tense, but just from the sound alone, you have a sinking feeling in your gut as to what that was.

You've been barricaded in, the sound of wood planks thunking over the door from the outside reaching you even up here.

And in the tense atmosphere, the slow sound of clapping breaks the silence. It comes from above, and while you can't quite see him from where you are, the redhead jolts up to see something higher up on the curved staircase. And then the voice comes, and a sharp jolt of familiarity rings through your very being.

'I'll have to admit, I didn't expect you to make it this far.' [ You cannot see him, but you know, down to your core, who this is. ] 'A group of streetrats from the Shade...Did you know how the city's defenses would be occupied with the execution?'

You can hear the approach of feet behind you, your other companions hurrying over. The way up the narrow staircase blocked by both girls who seem particularly frozen for the moment, unsure of how to react in the moment to this new presence. ]

[pactmarshal]

[ Everything here puts Trahearne on edge--the creaking of the floorboards, the silence, the way the human (or human-like) organs inside of him respond to invisible dangers. He feels sick, in a way.

And so he nearly jumps out of his own skin when the barricade slams down behind him. He almost chokes on his own tongue, and he feels the uncomfortable beating of his heart quicken again. He hates this.

But it's the voice he hates most. He knows it. It's unexpected. And when he pinpoints it, he finally realizes whose memory he inhabits.

After one more cursory glance at his self, just to confirm his suspicions are correct, he bounds up the stairs, using what little energy remains to push past the girls--or get as close to past them as possible--and look up the stairs at the unseen speaker. ]

Mishka?!

[for8000amonth]

[ This, is where the memory diverges- as you know, deep down, Adelis said nothing at that voice. He felt the surprise, the dread, but his mouth did not open in acknowledgement in this dusty, dark staircase. Nothing but the clench of his fists, as he realized the situation they were in.

You dart a few steps up, heels clacking against the stone, but the stairway is too narrow for you push past the other two, clustered together as they are. You can, however, from behind Legba, see the man himself staring down at you- and you see the barest flicker of surprise on his face as he registers your form.

...But then it smoothes out, into that faux smile you know him so well for.

Well, that's a surprise. I was not expecting to see you on the losing side...but no matter.

He dismisses you. His gaze leaves you after lingering if but for a moment longer, before it settles on the black-haired girl in the front, who has gone ghastly pale.

Unfortunately for you, Kvetka has hired me to make an example of your leader...as well as dispose as the rest of you. Please do understand, it's...

The buzzing gets louder, like locusts descending on a corpse. You know this sound.

Just business, yes?

Skip, in all her panic, darts up and pushes past him, clearly in an attempt to throw him off. He does not, however, barely budge, even as the sound of her footsteps echo in the small space. His gaze falls down to you all again, and your hand is already reaching for the cut of a well-polished knife as Legba yells her name.

I'll deal with you all once she's dead. If my friends haven't taken you as their hosts, before then.

And in a fashion you've seen many, many times before, you witness him dissolve, where he stood a swarm of nigh a thousand furious buzzing flies. It goes up, up the stairs, faster than you can keep up with. You can hear the footsteps behind you, as the others are about to catch up, and you know your only way now is up-

But you know what awaits you. And it does not thrill you. ]

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne was under the impression that Adelis and Mishka were close, akin to himself and Syrlya. In one manner or another. On amicable terms. Friends. So to see what is such an obvious betrayal from Adelis's perspective is...shocking, actually.

Had he misunderstood? What is happening here?

Questions and confusion roil in his mind, searching for answers from the body he inhabits, but he realizes they might not come right away. Not before he watches in surprise and horror as Mishka dissolves into flies and rushes away. He almost glances at Legba in surprise, but he knows he has no time to really process any of this. Information from Adelis seeps into his mind, and he knows he needs to follow. Dread from Adelis seeps into his bones, an instinct that wants to keep himself back and root himself in place, but he can't.

So he rushes up the steps towards the top--others in tow or not, it doesn't matter--hand hovering over the knife just in case. He doesn't know how to use them, but he will always try. Despite the dread, he has a feeling a fight awaits him at the top. He has to be ready. ]

[for8000amonth]

[ The realization trickles slow in the back of your head, a memory of adelis' slowly emerging. The faint remembrance of being offered a job from Mishka, for sizable coin, to deal with something for the Grand Duchess- but he had turned it down, dead-set on never selling his blood or blade to the kindred. While he-you-never knew the girl personally, you distinctly remember the elder man speaking of how it had been a job well done.

Now, there is a faint urge of irritation- because if a certain Assassin had never taken that bloody job, you wouldn't be in this mess.

The stairs clack beneath your feet- all of yours. Legba is ahead of you, and the other two behind, and there is a faint smell in the air- sickly sweet, like that of rot. It only becomes clear once you breach the door to the next floor, and then it becomes apparent.

In front of you, blocking the way to the next set of stairs, a massive, writhing pool of white covering the floor. Upon closer inspection, you recognize them a bit too well as Rot Grubs. You have seen Mishka use them before, in particularly gruesome fashions, and know full well the damage they can do- they will burrow under your skin if given the chance, and attempt to eat their way through you. There is no way around them, but you know they hate fire- and the satchel at your side contains a multitude of items, including a torch and a set of matches. It may not be enough to help you completely, but it is something. Alternatively, you can blitz it and hope for the best.

Choose what to do, and roll a d20, adding +8 for Adelis' natural dexterity. You need a 13 or higher. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[Dream world, the priest confession, third person, cyoa]

[for8000amonth]

[ For a moment, you think you might dream of yourself.

There is the sharp, ear-ringing clash of steel. There are snarls, of creatures not alive and yet not dead, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood and the sickly sweet of rot. And there are cries, of both ferocity and agony.

You open your eyes, and see the moon. There is grass beneath you, wet with dew and an unpleasant red that smears your shoes. In front of a mighty fortress wrought of stone, there is a battle- men wreathed in steel with their blades and their bows clashing against the cold flesh of creatures unliving. Some are rotted, bones jutting, flesh missing. But some are far more put together, in a way, resembling somebody you know-

Somebody who is here, with you. No, you are here with him- and others. A tense man, who's brows are furrowed as he looks on this scene with...the tinge of distress. A red-haired woman, who's fingers spark. A quiet child, whose hands wrap around the handle of a sword nearly as big as they are. And in front of you, far more in focus than the rest of the knights, is a blond man, blood on his face and determination clear in the grit of his teeth. He is fighting against a tall figure wreathed in black, skin a waxy white, and is being pushed back.

One dream down, and another to go- the second of three. Benjamin, Adelis' notices, seems to carry an an almost twitchy air around this one, as Sasha engages in their silent charades with Anatol. He, like others, cannot sleep well- and you all will see that he wakes from this dream, just as the girl had before him. This is a hollow place despite it's sunny, doll-like appearance, where people go to waste away slowly in ignorant bliss, and the very thought of it makes Adelis' sick.

He rubs at his newly cold arms, especially as they lie in wait for the man to tuck in a proper sleep. And when he does, unaware of their presence, they join hands around his sleeping body. The necklace pulses, your consciousness smears, and everything goes dark-

The specific confrontation in front of you, however, does not last much longer. The creature, the vampire spawn, jerks, unnatural, with the way it's head turns towards all of you. And then a putrid smile peels back it's lips from it's sharpened teeth, and the next thing you know, it is upon you-

The child heaves their sword without a hint of hesitation, and it slices through icy flesh...but it does nothing to deter it, especially when you notice the edges of the gash lightly writhing in an attempt to close itself. This is very obviously something strong, if the way the rest of the party tenses up, and there are the sparks of light and fire dancing around the fingertips of the remaining two.

Adelis, as well, pulls a knife from nowhere, the crackling pink of energy folding into blade in his hands. You do not belong here, but none of them seem to cast a suspicious glance your way. You are there, but you somehow fit in, like you were always there to begin with. And thus you are also in danger, for blood or not, you get the sense it will not hesitate to rend you with it's filthy claws as well.

In the background of this battlefield, something shifts. A figure, perhaps, out of the corner of your eye, but it is not as pressing as this.

What do you do? ]

[chronosynthesis]

[Ultimately, the battle takes priority. The shift in how the creature's strength is unexpected determines that he needs to ensure these people are safe. He needs to lend them his strength.

He sees Adelis, with what looks an awful lot like chaos energy--but now is not the time to dwell on that. Stab first, question later.

So he draws his blade (please let him have his blade) and rushes for the creature, teleporting to close the distance at a speed hopefully too quick for it to track so he can aim sharp steel into what looks like a weak point.]

[for8000amonth]

[ Thanks to the warp, your blade strikes true, even though the spawn is fast- but unfortunately, a weak point means little when you can see the edges of the wound continue to writhe in an attempt to close. It heals, fast, and it relishes in your futility with an almost taunting smile on it's face.

'Little mouse, what do you bleed?', it coos, but the blood smeared around it's face belies whatever playful tone it may have tried to keep. Not that it did a good job in the first place, unnerving sight that it is. Luckily, something whips through the air and sears into the creature, making it screech- bright, winding yellow light, flickering like a flame, as the thing furiously scratches at the smoking wound left behind. If your gaze flickers, you can see the pink-haired man with his sharp gaze set in concentration, the same light around his fingertips with a book gripped firm in his opposite hand. This injury, you find, does not heal so fast.

Still, this is but a small dent. But the spawn leaps away from you as a sword, two swords crash down where it was- that of the child, and that of the knight who had been facing it moments ago.

It seems you will have to hit it harder and faster to outpace it's healing. It is doable, with all 6 of you. The smell of blood only gets stronger with the battle raging around you, and there is a presence in the air that makes you uneasy. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[Oh he hates when they heal.

He steps back, shield raised in the time the creature takes to taunt him--and then something strikes it true, and it reels in true pain.

He sees the smoking wound, looks to the man who fired it--and nods once. Someone here has an edge. The rest of them just need to keep it distracted.

So his form seems to split, two other Syrlya's appearing and swerving with him as they pursue the creature in an effort to overwhelm its focus. Only one of these blade can truly hurt.]

[for8000amonth]

[ He is not the only one in that regard, he will find.

It is clearly not expecting the surge of faces, gaze whipping around, but Syrlya has an advantage in the lack of proper blood- it cannot seem to figure out which is real, and so it swings blindly, at both you and the other two physical combatants. It misses you, but strikes the child- opening claw-shaped gashes on their dark arms, which barely earns more than a twitch.

It is difficult to deal with so many combatants, as it hardly has time to blink when two crackling, pink blades fly past and sink straight into it's head. The hiss of it's voice is clear as it comments about cheaters, but as it reaches to pull them out, they flicker and disappear, only leaving the slowly healing holes in their wake.

You are hurting it, however slowly. It is a battle of attrition, more than anything, but you have strength in numbers it does not with it's allies otherwise occupied. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[He can tell Sasha is young. Clearly in child age, but she's holding her own against being slashed they, frankly, don't have the option of dragging her out right now. So he focuses on Trying to keep its attention with his own bright magical wells (to hurt it, to slow it, to protect them.] While digging his sword into flesh and flanking it with clones.

A battle of attrition. But Syrlya knows about pacing himself, because one wrong move overextending himself too quickly could always have cost his life. He won't make such a mistake against a single creature when numbers are on their side.]

[framestory]

[ hawkmoth, first person cyoa, please!! ]

[for8000amonth]

[ The everylasting night is young, and so are you.

There is a cool draft on your skin, when your eyes finally open. Perhaps it is from the cracks in the windows, boarded up and covered in scrap cloth, or the hole in the roof that stares into the ceaseless night sky above you. Either way, it sends a shiver through you- and shakes whatever bit of sleep might have been attempting to drag you down.

You are sitting, you find. Cross-legged against a wall, and when you look around through the darkness, only vaguely illuminated by the moon shining in, you find your home- if you can call it that. There are bits of debris here are there, broken stone and dirt in every corner. The floor is worm-eaten, but it at least supports your weight- although it creaks whenever you move.

You are also not alone, as you never are nowadays. You are awake, but the gaggle of children huddled in another corner of the room are not- they are of numerous ages, anywhere from 5-13, and in various states of grime, clothes ragged and ill-fitting. You find almost all of them, upon further inspection with a squint, are missing several of their fingers.

You, however, have all of them. It is your turn to keep watch, as you never know when something will come by in the night- monsters slipping into town, or the ones who already roam in their guises of flesh. You are the oldest, while not the leader, your 15 years giving you an edge they do not have- and yet something doesn't sit right with you on this night, an itching in the back of your skull that won't leave.

There have been some newcomers in town lately, passing through your walled town through the forests. They are usually easy pickings, not expecting the practiced twist of your hand to divest them of what you have- and while the others are not as good, while they still carry their distrust, they follow your example, eager to keep what remains of their mangled hands. You are quick of hand, fast of feet, and you are alert- you have much they do not. That, they respect.

Respect you have earned, through blood, sweat, and tears.

But one of these newcomers- he is wrong. Twisted, and the smile on his face reminds you much of kindred. Beautiful, but dangerous, like a viper in the grass. You bark at them to steer clear of him, just him in particular, as you will not be responsible for what happens if they choose to be stupid.

A week passes, two, and he still remains, and so does your warning. When you and them go out, you are careful and methodical, steering clear of his presence whilst lightening the pockets of those less venomous. It isn't much, but you are used to it- anything is better than nothing.

And so they fall asleep for another night where they still draw breath, and you absentmindedly wonder if the emptiness in your stomach will ever get better.

The room is average-sized, but there are still places to check. The windows, the corners, the haphazard piles of belongings....and there is also the door. You cannot sleep while on watch, but you can patrol about both inside and out, doublechecking for anything that might require you shaking the others awake for a heady escape.

Part of you senses that might be the case, some form of unease settling as deep in your gut as the scratch of the hunger. You last ate something two days ago, but there isn't much here.

What do you do? ]

[framestory]

[ The farsightedness doesn't help much, but good to know he has all of his fingers! He feels so, so hungry... Ellis is unfortunately not as diligent as Adelis for night patrol, and he finds himself going out the door to see if there's something to eat.

Just a tiny bit. Anything. ]

[for8000amonth]

[ The floor protests, as it usually does, as you stride over to the door, but your feet are light and manage to avoid most of the creaky spots as if by instinct. There is some familiarity that makes navigating in the poor light easy, despite your obviously blurry vision, and so your pale hands with their dirty fingernails grip the rusty door handle and pull it open.

The cool air brushes against your face as you step out, careful to pull the door shut behind you. The moon is bright, Lady Night in all her glory out as usual. It is, for once, an almost peaceful night. You can hear no howls deep in the woods, out of Keelburn's borders. No screams, of things human or inhuman...for now. It is quiet.

Perhaps that is just as dangerous.

Your 'hideout' is a dilapidated, abandoned home, wedged between newer buildings and left to rot. There is a rectangular space in front of the entrance, as dirty as the house itself, and to enter said space, there is a small entry from the alleyway- you have all piled it full of random debris to make it smaller, so even yourself would have to turn sideways to slide out...to make it all the more difficult for randoms to waltz in and grab you. You have a hidden hole in the back of the house, in case you need to make a quick escape, for the fumbling through the passage would likely alert you to any wrongdoers.

There is nothing around, when you look. It is still. You can go through the passage, into the Back Alleys, or you can go scale the rickety boxes you've set up to get onto the roofs. ]

[framestory]

[ Ellis looks around. For someone who usually opts to run away by securing escape routes, there's some sort of admiration he feels when he feels that everyone is set up so well with what could have been provided in the area. He's not sure if he'll find food up on the roofs, so he'll go into the Back Alleys. ]

[for8000amonth]

[ The air is still as you approach the passage, and you have to turn and squeeze as you slide through. Your ragged, ill-fitting clothes catch on wood splinters and bits of stone on the way, threatening to tear, but you know how to twist to prevent this from previous times. Something pounds in the back of your head- you know you shouldn't go too far, abandon your post, but the emptiness in your stomach is just as convincing. You are fast, you think. You could get something small, even if it isn't good, and nobody would be none the wiser.

When you step into the alley, it is blissfully quiet, as well. Most people are indoors right now, but every town has it's drunks and it's insomniacs. It's not the Dead Night, so the danger isn't too bad. It is not nonexistant, but none of you have ever lived a life with that luxury.

The alley opens at both ends- it is dark here, but the streets are lit by flickering lanterns that sway in the breeze. There is more noise on one end- that's where the tavern is, leading the street to the market stalls, and where most prefer to hang around to drink and forget their woes. The other leads to one lined with homes- small, squished together with their cracked windowpanes and drawn curtains, likely with few awake. ]

[framestory]

[ Time to rob some houses. Give bread!! Ellis will try to be sneaky, but he's not particularly great at it. Adelis, lend him some of your stats. ]

[passthrough]

[RNG me up between citadel, ceremony, or welcome home! Surprise me. :) First person CYOA.]

[for8000amonth]

[ There is revelry in the air.

You blink up at the dark sky, a carpet of stars and a waning moon high above like the curved blade of a guillotine. You are in a town, with cobblestone beneath your feet, and in front of you there is a church. There are people milling about you, all gaunt and rather sickly looking, but they carry on with their preparations all the same. There are banners, and tables, and while it is not the type of celebration you would think...you know, in your gut, this is a festival.

'What do you think the Duke's son is like?'

'Our Holy Father must be pleased. We've never planned anything like this.'

'May he be as gracious and loving as our Father....'

The people speak in hushed tones, in reverence. The Court has many unpredictable elements, but Duke Alexei Koshevek has always treated his people with love. Gifting toys to the children, visiting the villages and hearing their plights. Even those who his gaze does not reach for strive to be worthy of his attention, and if that is not possible, to never disappoint him. He is an untouchable entity, who's purity is fathomless. They are blessed for his merciful hand.

But you know this is not true. You know what he is, what he truly is- a soulless creature, like any other, who is incapable of truly feeling the love he says he does. This praise churns your gut in a visceral disgust, watching these people willing to bend over backwards for such a monster.

You have reached the surface, after escaping the endless dream, and you never thought the lands of Ostoya would be far more preferable. But you have learned many things, of the creature dwelling within the Penumbral Vestibule, and they are hard to ignore. So you stick with those you have been with this whole time- with Legba, as you have worked together before, even before all of this. With the silent Sasha, who still grinds your nerves for all their petty smiles and endless silence. And with Benjamin, who is the one who suggests this foray in the first place, now that his identity as a Raevan spy has been revealed.

The news of the festival comes to your ears, and arouses confusion. For the others may not know, but you and Benjamin do- that Duke Koshevek has no members of his family. Every other member of the Court has others who bear their name, but not a single one has ever been turned in the name of the Head Priest. This, in itself, does not settle right. And while Koshevek territory is not even kind to it's people, nevermind outsiders, a bit of investigation may help in the long run-

And so you set off, to the seep of the Black Mire that seems ever darker under the endless night.

There is an odd buzzing, in the back of your head. It should not filter through your head so much, but you cannot stop thinking about the Duke himself- why is he doing this? Who is it for? What could he possibly be planning, doing something so ridiculous just for turning? No other members of the Court make it such a grand ceremony, for their people to celebrate.

The church is in front of you, and there are people milling about inside as well, just as there are out here. You think you see your companions nearby, the red and pink of their hair peeking through the crowd. Something stirs in your chest when you look at the building with it's stained glass and spires, but it also spurns you away, urges you to go back to those you feel even the slightest bit safer around.

What do you do? ]