felldenlogs | (OPEN) The Gathering Storm

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(OPEN) The Gathering Storm

WHO: Lightning and anyone!
WHAT: Trying to salvage what can be salvaged, and gathering what can be gathered.
WHERE: Kyst, farms in Moon territory, and forests anywhere.
WHEN: Oct.8th - Oct.21st
WARNINGS: Rotten food and likely animal death (hunting context).

Kyst
[Kyst is bedecked in orange and green, red and black. Banners hang from doorways and balconies, the deep colors of All Hallow's Eve having changed the city's look entirely. The mood in the streets is festive, children celebrating and the adults in high spirits as they prepare for the colder months to come.

"No, no, no! This is all wrong!"

At least, so long as one stays out of the east markets. The normal hustle and bustle has been replaced by something a little more frantic, every seller that once sold fruits and vegetables scrambling through their stalls, their voices pitched high as they call back and forth between one another. It's at one of these stalls that Lightning can be found, knife in one hand and what was once a firm apple in the other. The merchant who owns the stall, hands on his head, stares at it.

"How can this be happening?! How many apples is this?!]

Fifteen. They're all like this.

["Try another! You--" Grabbing another apple and a knife, he forces them into the hands of anyone unlucky enough to be walking near enough to grab. "Help us! Sort through anything that's not rotten and--Em!" He turns, calling after his teenage helper, "Bring out the other barrel! We have to sort through all of it!"

And then he's gone, darting off to go deal with something else. Lightning's still frowning at the apple in her hands, the once firm cream flesh turned to brown mush. Food doesn't rot this fast, does it? If the apple in the newcomer's hand is anything like hers, anything like the rest of the poor merchant's stall, then that's the norm here.

This...isn't good.]

Moon
[As the days go by, the situation only gets worse. What was left of the harvest has all but rotted by now, but what's left in the fields is no better. The farms within Moon territory are scrambling, trying to save what they can, and it's all hands on deck. Lightning has been here before, helped to protect this farm before the Harvest, so the owner knows her. It's why he's fine with leaving her giving orders to a group of farmhands, and anyone unlucky enough to have come by this way.]

Rotten wheat over there, good wheat towards the silos!

[Over there being in a big pile left in a large patch of freshly turned mud. Lightning's got her hair tied back, a red scarf wound around her mouth and nose. The farmhands, their masks and gloves tied tight around their own faces and hands, dump once golden and now blackened wheat into the pile before they scramble back. Lightning holds up a hand, flames dancing to life in her palm before she lets it fly and--

The whole pile goes up in flames. It does nothing for the smell, smoke mixing with rot, and Lightning tucks her scarf up a little higher on her face. Her eyes are hard as she turns to the nearest farmhand.]

Bring the next batch!

[Help out or stay out of the way. She's going to be busy for a while.]

Wilds
[The situation is getting worse by the day. As the farm workers and merchants scramble to salvage what they can, as the cooks and bakers hurry to preserve what they can, Lightning is taking a different approach. Putting her in a kitchen would be a pure disaster, plain and simple, but hunting? Hunting she can do. Not as well as Fang, and she's not the most subtle woman in this world, but meat is meat. It's the best option they've got.

It's why she's out here, probably lost and definitely not where she started, crouched in a copse of trees with her deep blue cloak drawn tight around her and her sword in hand. Across the way? A deer nosing through the undergrowth for choice morsels to eat. It hasn't seemed to notice Lightning's presence, but the approach of another person will certainly set it off. As it is, any rustle of brush or snap of twig will turn three heads towards the noise; the deer, Lightning, and Lightning's accompanying spirit, though the latter is clearly the most relaxed of the three. Join them in the hunt? Spook the deer off to save it from the wrong side of the dinner table? Totally your call.]

(ooc: Lightning will be on patrol in Kyst and various locations in Moon for Week 2, so feel free to hit her up anywhere there, or hit me on Plurk (

saratogaroad) and we can work out a custom starter!)

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[The chaos over the past week tempers down at night, people generally needing some repreieve from the fear and scramble of saving their food. What little there is to spare for the campfire is passed around, and while Syrlya is inclined to abstain and leave it for someone else he does need to eat to sustain himself as well--especially when he's running around trying to help salvage what they can and find a source and solution to what's happening.

He breaks off a piece to put in his mouth as one of the moon temple's farmers starts first, telling the eerie story of the three-fingered man that haunts the northern streets of Kyst. A pretty typical ghost story of unexplained sensations and someone disappearing in the night. Syrlya's half attentive, though he also spares Lightning a glance.]

[This is nothing new to Lightning, hunting for a solution and running desperately low on time to find one. Even the low supplies aren't really new as she chews her way through a piece of tough jerky, more of her attention on the surroundings than on their companions.

Always on watch, this one, and as the first farmer finishes his story her attention lingers on the shadows that surround them. It's only when another of the farmers speaks up that she turns back to their little group.

"We've got two Otherworlders with us tonight, lads," The old man says, his beard a little scraggly after all the chaos but his eyes still shimmering brightly. "What do you say we tell 'em the story of the Empress' Revenge?"]

The what?

[In answer? A grin that is more concerning than anything else. The old farmer's got a good story, it seems! Oh, dear.]

[Syrlya also sits up to attention, raising his brows.] You mean the Emperor's wife?

[One of the other farmers nods. There's no one else they'd be calling by that name.]

Is she supposed to mean something to us?

["Well, she ought to! This could be her doing, you see," The old farmer leans in, grabbing a branch to poke at the fire. "A long, long time ago, long before any of you folk were even a twinkle in your granparents eyes, the Emperor and their wife were livin' the dream. A happy home, great subjects, the whole lot of a fairytale."

One of the other farmers scoffs. No love lost between him and the Court, it seems, but their storyteller keeps going.

"But it didn't stay that good forever. See, one night, the Empress was killed. Murdered by her guard, who the Emperor had given her personally." He leans in towards the fire, pitching his voice low. "That guard was one of us, a Moon Temple man through and through. Did us all a great deed, he did, but things started goin' weird not too long after. People spooked to death in their own beds, screamin' in the streets for no reason, whispers in the woods at night. People started seein' this ghostly lady, cryin' with rage, all across the Temple Lands. Wasn't long 'fore they realized the ghost of the Empress had come back to get her revenge on all of us for bein' betrayed."

"That was hundreds of years ago!" One of the other farmers chimes in, but he looks around the dark all the same. "It can't still be her!"

Shrug goes the old farmer, still grinning. "Who says it can't? Ghost sure don't care about time, lad."]

So the ghost of the Empress is haunting the Temple lands and screwing everything up. [Frown, and a look in Syr's direction. Can you believe this crock?] Right.

If it ws the Empress, would she not have a stronger presence?

[The old man scoffs, like these two can't enjoy a good ghost story.

Syrlya looks back with interest, although not the kind the farmer was probably looking for.] The Empress... she died after the war started, correct? Was she a god as wekll, like the Emperor, or only mortal?

[Definitely not the kind of interest the farmer was looking for. The glimmer in his eye fades away, most of amusement vanishing with the chill wind.

"What's it matter?" Not to mention, how should they know? Do they look courtly to you, Otherworlders? "Whatever she was, she's dead."]

It matters because gods don't die quietly. Might not be her ghost causing all of this.

[The idea the the ghost story may not be so ghostly after all? That gets them to shut up real quick. Lightning crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for an answer, but the farmers exchange a glance and are slow to respond, turning her words over in their heads before the youngest scratches sheepishly at his cheek.

"We don't really know, Miss. We stay out of business with the Court. Doubt somebody as high as the Emperor would wed a mortal, though. They'd never stoop that low."

Wouldn't they? The fal'Cie needed humans. Why wouldn't the Emperor?]

[Syrlya doesn't know of any gods leaving behind spirits the way the other mortal races do, either. Would she attack her own people and Kyst, however?

Syrlya's gaze drifts to the fire, thoughtful, before he looks up.] Nothing like this has happened before, has it? That's why you would blame the Empress.

[The younger farmer looks to the older one in deference, while the old man lets out a sigh. "Ghosts are always coming around this time of year, but everything rotting like it is is new."

"There's more than last year, too."] More spirits? Like the connection to the afterlife is stronger, or the spirits are more restless than times before?

["Both," the young farmer says with an awkward shrug, "There's usually some hauntings, some screaming, the graveyards feel weird, but this is...different. It's almost like all the spirits want out or something. Like, they all want vengeance or..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I don't know. They've just never been like this before."

Vengeance. Lightning glances in Syr's direction, a half-grimace on her otherwise carefully neutral face. If is is vengeance they're after, that would explain why all sides are under threat. The Branded came from everywhere, after all.]

How did you stop them before?

["We don't," Chimes in the last farmer, quieter than his companions. "They always go back after All Hallows." He adds a log to the fire. "Always did, at least."]

[It stands to see if they'll return after All Hallows, too... joy.]

Disruptions to the magic of a world can cause all sort of strange phenomenon. Perhaps the loss of it is hitting a breaking point and it can no longer maintain its realms properly at their waning point.

[The younger farmer just about chokes on his drink. The only topic worse than vengeful ghosts is the impending end of the world, though Syrlya looks only thoughtful like the possibility of reality caving on itself isn't a bother to him. He's used to it.

The old man waves a hand. "Don't folks like you have any ghost stories from wherever you're from?"]

[There's no beating around this bush, but he's got a point. Magic can screw just about everything up, so why not this too? Ghosts and spells and hauntings and blegh. It honestly makes her miss the fal'Cie. At least those she understood.]

My world doesn't have ghosts. The dead stay dead.

[The Cie'th are another story, but one that she's not about to get into tonight. Leaning back on her hands, she turns to Syrlya.]

How about you? Are hauntings a thing back home for you?

Hm? [Syrlya blinks slowly before quickly devouring the little of his ration he has left.] Oh, well--yes, spirits not quite ready to pass on or called back from the Mists often find their way in Tyria again. There's an entire army of vengeful ghosts that were cursed by their king to fight for their homeland for eternity.

[Things have escalated from 'no ghosts' to 'murderous army of ghosts'.] At the moment it's impossible to get any of them to pass on.

[In the silence that follows that admission, any of them could hear a pin drop. The farmers stare across the fire at him, drinks forgotten halfway to mouths or fire-stoking paused halfway through the motion. Even Lightning stares at him for a few seconds before slowly shaking her head.]

An army of vengeful ghosts. Right. [And she thought things were bad here. Wow.] Better hope we don't end up with that same problem here.

["Aye...aye," The old farmer shakes off his surprise, "That'd be something we don't rightly need. Gods, lad. What sort of mess is your world to have that sort of thing running around?"]

[Should he mention the ghosts came around as a last ditch effort not to lose a war?

... Maybe not for now.]

That really isn't the biggest mess we have to clean up. [He shakes his head with a wry smile.] It's really a beautiful place though, Tyria. Worth fighting all the trouble for it.

["Aye," the farmer nods, "That much we can agree on. Our homes...they're always worth fighting for." He smiles at them both in turn, though it's tinged with a bit of sadness all the same. "Things are a right mess right now, but we're all glad you're here, Otherworlders. Thank you."

At that, Lightning looks down into the fire. It's so easy to get lost in the big, god-betrayal side of things sometimes. So easy to forget that, at the end of the day, these people need help, too.]

Thank us when the fighting's done. We've got a long way to go.

["You sure do. You can start by hunting down the Empress' ghost!" The younger farmer chimes in with a grin. "Get her to stop rotting our food and we'll cook you all a feast!"]

[Syrlya snorts.] I'll do what I can for the rotting, so long as you make sure our current supplies keep making it.

["Deal." At least the mood is lightening up a little--there's not much they can do in this moment, so they should take the respite while they can.]

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(OPEN) The Gathering Storm

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