[WORLD ONE | OCTOBER INTRO LOG]

[spellbindmods]

Who: The new coven members and old blood
Where: In and around the hub island
When: Day 92
Open/Closed: Open to All

All characters are told briefly what their powers are by Genette -- no extemporaneous details. For instance, if your character has the ability to detect lies, they'll be told as such -- no warning about limitations, repercussions or the like. They'll also be given a variant of this letter so they aren't totally ignorant of the situation -- though of course adapt this letter to the current setting and surroundings of the game.

This setting may be familiar to you -- maybe you caught a glimpse of it when you first visited. Maybe this is your first time experiencing this weird world and the panic is setting in. If you're totally lost, a tall human woman with a long scroll of paper will stop by to give you the run down. She'll also give you a letter, which may give you more questions than answers since the information is a wee out of date. (Maybe someone else can fill in some gaps for you). What is at first painfully obvious is that you're ill-equipped. Any magic or powers you had previously are suddenly replaced with an empty hole in your being. That's not all that's gone, but perhaps that's what's most pressing. Another thing you may notice is that there are others just like you, wandering around and just as confused. If you feel so inclined, you may want to ask around and see if anyone else knows what's up. A ▢ If one of your characters isn't looking to introduce themselves to others, someone's willing to do it for them. Genette is trying to make sure all newbies are accounted for and have a buddy, so she's grabbing them when she finds them and tossing them at the first coven member she sees. "Hi, so-and-so, this is so-and-so! They're new, so show them the ropes -- be friends, okay?" You get the gist. Your character may be paired up with another newbie, a seasoned character or both! Five times, even! Timelines in RPing are weird! B ▢ Let's say that instead of milling about and doing nothing entirely productive, your character has decided to try and venture off to find a way off this huge floating rock. That's nice -- but be warned that the forest is filled with interesting things. For instance, they've happened to find a hollowed out tree that happens to be where a hoard of land crabs are living. They move fast -- run quick! C ▢ Other characters may want to establish shelter before they do anything else -- and that's their right! The problem is that if your character wants to be well-supplied, they're going to have to do things for themselves. There's something of an assembly line set up, but not a lot has been done in way of making things workable. Genette wanted all new coven members to have a little food parcel to take to their hut, but time constraints, you know? If you want any food for now -- or for later -- you may want to cook some of this (poisonous) eel, salt some boar jerky or cut into one of these rabbits. You've also got some berries to eat in the meantime, if you want something simple!

By the time afternoon sets in, everyone should be a little more adjusted -- or, they should at least be a little more aware of the situation. From there, things still need to be done and exploring is always an option! D ▢ For those characters who want to stick around the base camp, there's something worthwhile in discovering the buildings around the area. One such building is the mansion, which contains extra supplies and a renovated kitchen. The kitchen is now functional with electricity and running water, with a few raw ingredients for making whatever your character would like. It's minimal, but also not totally useless. E ▢ If you mill about too long, you'll be put to work. Run into Genette and you'll be sent to pick western part of the island to look for strawberries, wheat and deer (good luck hunting if your character doesn't have the capabilities, but maybe someone else can help?). Run into Genette and she'll offer your character an ax to chop wood with (is this a wise idea? probably not), or a request to go fishing in either a stream or the ocean attached to the island on the eastern side. Or your character can do both if they so choose...? F ▢ With all of these new people milling about, telepathy is on the fritz again. At least, it certainly is for those who are new! Your character may not realize their broadcasting frustrations to the network, or maybe a stupid secret. Their mental filter is certainly broken, but that's at least a great conversation starter. Night finally falls on the exhausting day, and it's time to rest. Thankfully the island is beautiful at night, especially the sky. The night is filled with space worms, relaxing mist and wondrous sights in the stars. G ▢ Adding to the excitement of the beautiful night, Genette has set up something of a...talent show? In an effort to get new coven members acclimated with their magic, she's asked them all to use their magic in some way -- it may take a volunteer, or maybe they can show it off all on their own. In any case, show me what you got. H ▢ Of course, some characters aren't going to be up for this fancy display and will want to go about their own business. There are plenty of places to sit and stew on this island, both private and in plain sight. The stars are spectacularly bright, and the higher up your character gets the less it seems like night time. If they're lucky, they may catch sight of a shooting star, though it's of course much larger than usual. They're directly in space, after all! I ▢ Wildcard! How will your character interact with this new and unusual world?

Comments

h

[splinten]

[Dirk isn't sure what he's looking at initially. But as he approaches the man, he slows down, tilting his eyes up. The illusion seems to spread into place around him.]

Huh.

Good thing I brought my shades.

[reckoner]

[ Though he hadn't climbed far, Gaelio had thought he'd put enough distance between himself and the base camp to guarantee isolation. He startles at the voice, his surprise less obvious by tension or expression, and more in the flickering, then dispersing of the illusion.

He blinks as his eyes adjust, pupils expanding, though no light had truly shone. ]

Too bad. They're decorative again.

[ Sunglasses at night. Sure. ]

[splinten]

[Prince of Cory Hart.]

Either the worms mist is getting more potent on the hallucinogenic side or that was your power.

[He glances at Gaelio. Which is it?]

[reckoner]

Either or.

[ Though he's not used to worms mist. A third of his life in space, and yet. Not that he's fussed. It's strange, but he did converse with a hedgehog today.

No point to being evasive. He doesn't even mean to be, really. But it's another beat before he yields. ]

The latter.

[ Then, less to be demonstrative and more to see if he can't keep it up while holding a minimal conversation, he focuses, projecting the illusion once more. Blinding sun, hot skin, a circle of blue. ]

[splinten]

[Dirk was going to let him just be an evasive dick, while noting, 'What an unnecessarily evasive dick' (as if he has never been a dick) but at least he did put it down.

Oh hey, sunlight again.]

Illusion magic?

[reckoner]

[ Equally pointless to mislead, given they must all work together for Qri. So he doesn't answer, "weather magic," or limit it to fabricating the sun. ]

Yeah.

[ A beat, then another of hesitation, doubt crinkling between his eyes. This guy can see it, but... ]

Can you feel it, too?

[splinten]

Yeah. It's pretty effective.

[It's been a while since he felt the sun like that. Aimantis was under a water dome, and a space rock doesn't quite match the Houston sun.]

You could likely manage a full-scale mindfuck with this.

[He isn't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.]

[reckoner]

[ Pretty effective.

He debates attempting a swift change, rolling in a thickening cloud and fabricating lightning. That, or maintaining this. Consistency, he thinks. Speak and focus. ]

A mindfuck?

[ Gaelio echoes it, voice bland, but lips curve for the duration of the word. Never swearing himself, the blunt noun and its connotations are certainly... descriptive. Of course, he's already managed one of those, if confused and unintentional, torn between himself and the man who first bred the pain's source. ]

Maybe.

[ A beat. ]

Do you think it's dirty?

[splinten]

[Wait what. Dirk looks at him, trying to understand the meaning.]

I mean, yeah, sure it could have kink applications. But if you mean 'dirty' in the more broad sense of 'unethical,' then yes, it probably could be considered dishonourable for a fight, but the point of fighting is survival. And if it's sparring, then it has the same rules as any other kind of weapon: make it clear to the other combatant what you're capable of and don't fucking maim your sparring buddy.

1/3

[reckoner]

Kink?

[ look it's not like the term's unknown to him it's just been two years since his brain was anywhere near a place for that sort of thing, so it flies over his head - ]

[reckoner]

[ - hits a branch or higher cliff outcropping or something, tumbles back down for a delayed impact.

Oh.

but his brain's still too whatever man, so he just ignores it. ]

[reckoner]

Is the point of fighting survival?

[ A question somewhat astray from the original inquiry, but more immediately interesting. Dishonourable... the rules of sparring are uncontroversial, but that word sticks. ]

[splinten]

[His head cants a fraction.]

It could depend on your point of view or the exact fight, but yeah. I don't necessarily mean the survival of an individual or immediate survival. A fight over territory is, in a sense, a fight for survival, in that it's a battle for resources that are required for thriving. A fight that might kill a parent but will save a child ensures survival of the line. A doomed fight against an oppressive force is a fight to ensure that an idea survives even after you die.

You could argue that none of those are actual survival, obviously. My usage here is loose enough that it could justify, for example, imperial conquest as a kind of struggle for 'survival.' On the other hand, I'd argue that the stakes being survival aren't justification in themselves, in that the logical conclusion of my argument is that all sides are putting a kind of survival at stake.

[A pause, as he considers it.]

I don't know. I'd want to refine this argument before putting it out and staking my name on it. I think the essential idea of survival as a variable term works, but I need to put a bit more into the nuances.

[Just. Casually analysing his own perspective while talking to someone, like he does this all the time.

Look, you spend thirteen years alone and another three arguing with your sunglasses and try not to come out of it like this.]

[reckoner]

[ While he didn't expect such an in-depth response, he isn't surprised, having had no reason to expect anything summary, either. More to the point, the whole of it interests, and Gaelio listens, puzzling alongside.

Territory, progeny and blood, an idea and the oppressive force against it. The latter nettles, though he's spared from an examination of why by the young man continuing. His head tilts, then rolls on his neck. Yeah, like that, it does seem to reach a perspective where any motivation could be interpreted as survival, which threatens to diminish the strength of the word.

Nuance and names. Gaelio keeps an eye on him as he finishes, unperturbed. While he hasn't that experience, his own was unique enough to make this intriguing more than odd. ]

Aa. But if it's too variable, it won't mean anything.

[ Or anything worth fighting for. Gaelio leans back, his palm scraping over the rock, a supportive angle. ]

Then -- revenge. Tell me how revenge becomes survival.

[splinten]

[There are personal connections and ones that are not, Dirk's mess of analytics from a distance and the deeply, achingly intimate connections that he tries to pretend aren't his main driving force. Revenge: a smiling tyrant with tyrian purple lipstick, a brother he never met with a broken sword in his chest. Revenge: dead friends, dead family. Planets smashed to nothing in his eyes.]

I'd say that that one is more a question of survival than my argument about territory. You don't go for revenge for shits and giggles. You pursue it because something of value has been taken from you. Something so valuable, so important that it can't be replaced, something that defines who and what you are. Psychologically, that creates a situation where your mind is at stake. It's your sense of self that you're putting on the line when you fight for revenge. On a metaphysical level, it's your soul. So it becomes impossible to imagine turning away, even if you know you'll die, because a loss of the self is more painful than loss of life.

[A pause, and Dirk glances back to where the fake sun was.]

That's how I'd frame it, at least.

[That woman took everything.]

I don't know. Edmond Dantes might disagree.

[Make her pay.]

[reckoner]

[ Ah.

Now it comes: surprise.

Less in the physical, in any reflexive pull of muscle to show more of the whites in his eyes or adjust the shape of his eyebrows. Less in the direction of his eyes, in any stimuli, except one: the pull of his next breath.

Yet another too young face, but with speech that connotes intimate familiarity with that which has driven Gaelio for two years. Irreplaceable, definitional value, with mind, self, and soul at risk. Because they cannot be replaced, they were taken, their faces imprinted: Carta, Ein, and a friendship most vital smashed with his body. He closes his eyes to better see them.

He closes his eyes against the sun and the sun blips out. The warmth of it lingers a moment longer, displaced, but fades with the blue cut of sky, lit by nothing.

He had felt that by removing the mask, by declaring himself to that man and reclaiming his name, firming revenge, he scratched back toward Gaelio Bauduin. Though his mind and body were no longer his own, there was enough of himself in that definition. Only to wake here. With that man, yet unable to reach definition.

Gaelio might be silent too long in the dark, but he doesn't notice. ]

He might. In that, I would part from the Count. He might not be the authority.

[ Not on revenge, on his revenge, as it should be. ]

Though, it's too bad...

[ ...not that he's going to say just what is, as he adds, ]

You could stake your name on that. What name?

[splinten]

[Dirk isn't stupid, and he isn't blind. He registers it: the faintest indication of surprise, as muted as any emotion he has ever failed to have the practice to express. The too-long silence. The allusion, to something Dirk can't possibly reach at.

He remembers what Jay suggested. He wonders how many of them are from broken moments, places where the records of their lives glitch into intolerableness.]

Dirk Strider. What's yours?

[reckoner]

[ Vidar. But, she took his mask, and he'd already retaken his name. All that waiting and hoping, for this. ]

Gaelio Bauduin.

[ Opening his eyes, he only then processes the darkness, the cooler air, that he'd lost focus and with it the illusion. Gaelio blinks, tipping his face toward the stars, then glances over. ]

What would you like to see, Dirk?

[splinten]

[His gut says, home, but his mind can't name it. It isn't a vast and empty ocean, striking endlessly against support beams. It isn't a cold green planet, descending into darkness and suffocation. It isn't anywhere that no one would catch him if he drowned. And what right does he have to the people? Man, how sad is it that he couldn't even be tricked by a Lotus-Eater Machine because there's nowhere in any world or even an illusion of one his fucked up mind has managed to make into something like a home?]

An unbelievable shitty skateboard.

[Monotone. Looking Gaelio dead-on. Apparently genuine.]

As shitty as you can imagine it.

[reckoner]

[ What a kid. Gaelio looks back, inexpressive, but allowing another moment to pass in the mild night breeze, as if waiting for Dirk to reveal the joke. Another second and that similarly impassive face would crack, exposing the hollow center of that apparent sincerity.

It does not come, and Gaelio drops his eyes to the ground, musing, confronted with having to produce a skateboard. He's never seen one off the page or screen, never mind held one. Even the motorized and elaborate boards were considered far below a Seven Star's time, and his father had his limits in indulging commercial whims. It wouldn't do for an heir to be skating around; really, an impossible image.

Maybe his inexperience will assist, because his idea of it keeps vague and televised. A board, obviously, sort of rounded edges. Plain wood should do for "shitty," as though it might splinter, and some kind of wheels. Four, right? Sort of... there and there? With a motor in the back, beneath...

He puts out his hand, trying to convince himself of how it feels, and in nudging it, how the wheels would sound and turn. In trying, too, to push it out, to make the visual more convincing, he pushes the sound too, and not yet adept at separating sensations that blur so easily firsthand, even without touching it, Dirk might briefly feel rough wood beneath his fingertips.

But, yeah, as he stares at the empty space that fills with this contraption, it's definitely some ridiculous rich kid's loose idea of what a poor street punk might have hobbled together and fallen regularly off of. The motor rat tat tats and the wheels wobble, each a different size and color. Not yet looking up -- ]

Like this?

[splinten]

[It's interesting watching him trying to craft it: the slip of sensation, the awkward and uncertain working towards some end. Dirk knows skateboards from key examples, but this.... This is none of them. This is something entirely else.

This is hilarious.

Yes. Exactly like that.

[He loves this thing holy shit.]

[reckoner]

[ Should he feel a flare of pride? Of course not. The task had been "as shitty as you can imagine," making a good job definitionally a bad job. Still, though it flits and fades quickly, his mouth arcs, sharp enough to be a smirk. ]

How useful.

[ As it's clearly anything but. How far could he go with it? If he tried to stand on it, or if Dirk did, could he make him believe it moved beneath him, and replicate skating, the sky passing more swiftly overhead? Though he never moved at all? He presses his hand harder against it, both trying to convince himself of the wood, and trying to get through the illusion. Funny, that it feels real enough to resist, though nothing's actually there. How easily and thoroughly even his own mind can be mislead -- trigger enough stimuli in the brain, and believe in what feels real.

Only, knowing what is real, after half a minute, his hand pushes through and meets the cold rock below. As the board flickers, he feels both air and wood digging into his wrist. ]

You won't get much use out of it.

[splinten]

That tends to happen with illusions.

[Curious, Dirk tries to straight-up step on the shitty skateboard.]

[reckoner]

You have experience?

[ Gaelio leans back, pulling his hand loose (from nothing). In theory, even in practice, he knows he should be able to effectuate this. Though without meaning it, he had deceived himself, then McGillis, with his own death. The scar tearing open on his face, the crush of metal -- it had been real for both, felt it, until he understood and stopped.

If he could do that, relive and project his death, then why not a skateboard?

except that he's never skateboarded and doubts thinking, all right, you're skateboarding will do it.

Keep it simple, maybe. He has to step up first. Just that sensation -- as if an actual step, or a curb. Only, rickety, because wheels, and. Shitty. ]

[splinten]

I've watched tv.

[It's better than experience: it's research via fiction. He's impressed by the realism of the step. It really pushes back, unbalanced and uneven. And shitty.

Time to try the other foot. Will he fall through? Will he get to kind-of-ride an unbelievably shitty skateboard? only the future can tell]